#its hard to tell for sure until we see the man the myth the legend himself

[krotiation]

@makooti-bionic it's just an angsty way to look at kat, chances are he's just a spoiled rich kid who throws a fit when he doesn't get what he wants 😔 (and I honestly lean towards this more cause I don't believe that characters have to be too deep to be good or entertaining)

But if we go with the more angsty interpretation it's fun to imagine what would have happened if kat had just. left maliwan and started working for atlas instead. Y'know... pretending that rhys would have given him the chance after murdering his siblings with no issues. Maybe he would have gotten some type of redemption or maybe he eventually would have resented rhys like he did kat sr in this scenario

[nmikaelsonimagines]

Haunted, Part Two: A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

So this is Part Two! Hope this is okay for you guys, and enjoy x 

Need to catch up? Find the rest of the series just below:

Haunted

Stood there and watched you walk away From everything we had But I still mean every word I said to you

In her dream, Klaus Mikaelson was walking away from Y/N Y/LN. She couldn’t bear it, she knew that much, couldn’t watch him leave her. In her dream, him leaving her meant something worse than death, so she said his name, and he stopped.

He turned.

In her dream, he seemed to change his mind. In her dream, he seemed to be saying something she couldn’t quite work out, but it made her heart feel like it was about to burst all the same. In her dream, she repeated those words back to him, her conscious mind still not entirely sure what she was saying.

In her dream, Klaus, her figure in the shadows, the creature that had saved her life, the something that had been pulling her to New Orleans, was walking back towards her, and Y/N watched as those sapphire eyes turned to gold, watched as those black veins appeared on his skin.

In her dream, Y/N wasn’t scared as he approached her, her blood racing, her skin tingling as he trailed a finger down her arm, like he was examining her. Those golden eyes looked at her like they were studying her, a predator eyeing up its prey.

But Y/N wasn’t scared. Not even when he kissed her.

He will try to take away my pain And he just might make me smile But the whole time, I'm wishing it was you instead

In her dream, as Klaus Mikaelson’s lips met hers, moving with hers in perfect synchronicity, like they were made for each other, all of Y/N’s pain faded away. She was no longer afraid of the monsters that lurked in the dark, the greatest of them all providing pleasant temptation.

She felt his absence when he pulled away from her, but she couldn’t help but feel that pull, that string that had led her to New Orleans when those golden eyes returned to their blue, when Klaus’s lips stretched into a smile that she returned in an instant.

When Y/N woke up, breathing heavily, she could only think of the Klaus in her dream. It wasn’t the first dream she had had about him since the night he had saved her, each one the same. He was trying to tell her something, and she was trying to say it back, but she didn’t know what it was. He would kiss her in his hybrid form and she would want to take him in her arms and hold him close.

And every day since, she hadn’t stopped thinking about him, part of her wishing that the situation would happen with the real version of Klaus. He hadn’t been around her since that night; she couldn’t feel his presence anymore, and she missed it.

Which was why she made the decision to go and find him herself.

Oh, holding my breath Won't see you again Something keeps me holding onto nothing

Y/N looked up at the gates of the Mikaelson compound, holding her breath. Klaus had been avoiding her, she knew that, and it probably would have been wise to let him do so, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her head ever since she realised he was the something that had brought her to New Orleans.

She needed to know what he did, needed to know why she couldn’t stop thinking about him, needed to know what he was saying in those dreams. Something about him was making her want to hold onto him, and she couldn’t bear the thought of that something turning into nothing.

She pushed open the gates and exhaled as she stepped into the courtyard. There was silence for a moment as she surveyed the area, listening, hoping to feel Klaus’s presence. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew that if Klaus were there, she would feel him. She had felt him ever since she had arrived in New Orleans, after all.

Then there were footsteps, and Y/N was face to face with a blonde woman. The woman looked her up and down, eyes widening, before she spoke.

“It’s you.”

Come on, come on, don't leave me like this I thought I had you figured out

“I’m sorry?”

Y/N looked at the blonde woman who was still studying her. She looked like Klaus, and she figured she must be one of his sisters. She seemed to know her in the same way that the vampire Klaus had saved her from did, and it only added to her confusion.

“It’s you. You’re Y/N.” Oh, so she knew her name. It should have surprised her more than it did, but after her encounter with Klaus, it seemed that the Mikaelson family had a habit of knowing who she was. The woman held out her hand and Y/N shook it as she introduced herself. “I’m Freya.”

Ah, the witch in the family. “I was looking for Klaus.”

Freya’s face fell, and a pit began to form in Y/N’s stomach as she waited for her answer. “Klaus isn’t here.”

“Well where is he?”

“My brother seems to have dropped off the radar for a while. He left New Orleans about a week ago.” He had saved Y/N a week ago. Why would he leave after she had finally got to speak to him? Why would he leave her alone after he had saved her life? It didn’t make sense, but then again, nothing was really making sense these days.

Something's gone terribly wrong You're all I wanted

“Why?” Y/N hated the way Freya was looking at her, with pity in her eyes. This wasn’t how today was supposed to pan out, and she had a feeling it wasn’t about to get any better. She followed the witch over to the seating area of the courtyard, patiently waiting for her answer as Freya looked at her with the utmost sincerity.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“I’m going to be honest, it seems to me like I don’t know a lot of things. I don’t know why your brother has been watching me since I arrived, why people are trying to kill me to get at him, and why everyone seems to know who I am. I was hoping for some answers.”

Freya sighed, a sympathetic yet hopeful smile on her face. “What do you know about werewolves, Y/N?”

“That Klaus is half one, for a start.”

“And how do you feel about Klaus?”

That she wanted him. That there was something about him that she wanted to dive into, to never let go of. That she couldn’t explain any of it without sounding crazy, but Klaus had drawn her to New Orleans. “He saved my life.”

“And now you’ve come looking for him.” Freya looked at Y/N, her eyes twinkling. “Tell me, Y/N. Have you ever heard the stories about werewolves only having one great love of their life? They call it mating.”

Come on, come on, don't leave me like this I thought I had you figured out

Y/N knew all about it. Mating was something she knew as being fictional, something only in stories, in myths and legends. It wasn’t real, that bond between two people that could never be broken. It was made by fate, destiny, and it took a momentous encounter for the two people involved to realise what it was.

Y/N didn’t have to wait for Freya to explain for her to realise what was going on. Something brought her to New Orleans, the supernatural creatures of the city knew who she was, were trying to use her to hurt Klaus. Klaus had saved her life and now she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Now she wanted him more than anything in the world.

But there was one thing it didn’t explain. “So why did he leave?”

“He’s figuring some things out. He didn’t say what.”

“So, what? He’s just going to leave me – me­ – here until he figures out whether or not to act on this?”

“He’s not exactly in control right now. I imagine he’s deciding what to do when it comes to you. You make him vulnerable, after all. But he’ll do what’s right, he always does.”

Y/N didn’t point out that reputation suggested otherwise, her heart pounding as the reality of the situation sunk in.

Can't breathe whenever you're gone Can't turn back now, I'm haunted

“So everyone knows?”

“Most people, yes. It’s kind of hard to not to notice it when you’re all Klaus Mikaelson watches all day, everyday.” Freya smiled and took Y/N’s hand with sisterly affection. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this. And I know it seems scary, but Klaus is a good man.” Y/N raised an eyebrow and Freya chuckled. “Well, most of the time.”

Freya’s words gave Y/N a little bit of hope. Already the bond between her and Klaus was settling, and the idea of spending her life with him was starting to seem like an inviting prospect. That was, if he ever came back.

He was running from her, she knew it. He had seen how she made him act on that night, and now he was avoiding her. Y/N feared that Klaus didn’t like how she had made him vulnerable, how she made him lose control.

He was supposed to be all powerful, and she supposed that he didn’t like realising he had a downfall.

The idea of him not coming back broke her heart in ways that she was still struggling to explain. She was sure that whatever happened, Klaus Mikaelson, her something, would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Which was why she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard his voice, however angry he sounded.

“What is she doing here?”

Masterlist

[ichorai]

cellmates ; four ; j.wy

pairing ; jung wooyoung x reader

summary ; stuck in jail after stealing a necklace off the princess, what happens when your new cellmate with an impossible escape plan comes along?

words ; 5.2k

warnings / includes ; medieval fantasy au, blood and grime and death and everything in between, some curse words, future ateez cameos, future suggestive / mature content, cellmates to (future) lovers !!

a/n ; surprise !! here you go stop crying >:( kdjffj jk i hope yall enjoy !!! the plot thickens up quite a bit in this one 👀 ,,, there are also a couple surprises sprinkled here and there :DD to make up for what i did to yall last chapter lol

cellmates masterlist.

As a child, a popular tale you often heard was one depicting a man stranded on an island, throat dry with thirst and stomach void of nourishment. He passed out in exhaustion by the beach, just on the brink of death. But before his soul could fade away, the mermaids took pity on the man of skin-and-bones and brought him underwater, breathing life back into his lungs. He contentedly lived the rest of his life as a merperson.

Although stories like those always had happy endings, they could never really make you smile, unlike how all the other children reacted. What about the people the man cared about when he was on land? Had he just completely forgotten about them to selfishly live an easier life underwater?

The same thoughts ran through your pounding head repeatedly as you dully stared out into the gleaming ocean. From where you were, bound tightly against the main mast, you had a clear view of both the ship’s deck and the waters. You couldn’t really remember how long you’d been tied up… if you could recall correctly, they had only thrown Wooyoung overboard just last night. That felt like an eternity ago. 

All thoughts of mermaids and fairy tales and Wooyoung dissipated from your mind once a pirate stepped into your view. In the daylight, they were far less scary than when you had first encountered them. The pirate had bronzed skin verging on being sunburnt, and sharp eyes of molten gold. A red bandana held his hair out of his leering face, and you noticed a dark branding burn of a sword ran through a skull embedded on his chest, partially covered by his loose tunic.

The man tutted, grabbing your chin between two fingers. It was then that you realized just how tired you were; you hadn’t gotten any sleep, instead spending the night struggling against your bonds and crying after Wooyoung.

“Let me go.” Your voice was so hoarse that it didn’t sound like yours anymore.

The pirate merely grinned and shook his head.

You wracked your brain for a second before spitting out, “Isn’t it bad luck to have a woman onboard? Your ship will sink if you keep me here.”

“Why, you must have nothing but worms between your ears,” He cackled in a sinister manner. “That’s just a silly little myth, sweetheart. Women are more than welcome here.” With those words, he ran his eyes over your tense form. A predator surveying its prey.

Much to your relief, the pirate stepped down. That feeling didn’t last very long, however. Just as he slid back, more pirates filtered into your view, clearly just having woken up to start the day. There were so many eyes on you; some curious, some disinterested, and some boldly staring with unsavory expressions.

“I say we make her do the dirty work,” One with golden teeth chimed. “Scrub the decks, clean the chamber pots.”

“We should toss her overboard. We don’t need another mouth to feed.”

“Keep her tied up there! A pretty thing like her should be on display for everyone to see!”

“We can drop her off at the next port and sell her off as a slave. We could use the extra gold.”

“Awh, don’t you think we should keep her? Ain’t half bad to look at.”

Those were only just a few snippets you could make out in the midst of the tumultuous roaring of the pirates as they yelled their suggestions over each other. They grew progressively louder as more ideas came into mind on what they should do with you. Panic brewed within you, but your limbs were tired and your mind was numb. All you could do was stand and watch.

The pirates immediately quietened once a one-eyed man with a peg leg hobbled out of the navigation room. The soft clunk, clunk, clunk of the wooden leg against the planks was not unsimilar to the rapid thundering of your heartbeat.

This is the captain, you thought. It was obvious, what with the way the pirates shut their mouths tightly and bowed their heads down to their chests. Some even trembled on the spot. If Wooyoung were here, he’d laugh at them.

Oh, how you missed him. 

The captain had a voice of pure silk, a stark contrast to his ragged appearance. In a quietly powerful tone, he stated firmly, “We leave her here until we reach Aurecia. Then we sell her off.” After a tense pause, he sternly added on, “Nobody touches her until then. Aurecians pay well for unspoilt women, so if any of you lot come remotely close to her, I’ll have your heads.”

The diminutive consolation you received from the captain’s commands ebbed away slightly when you thought more about what he was saying. They were going to sell you off as a slave in Aurecia. And if you could recall the map correctly, Aurecia was the opposite direction of Virelis, where you were supposed to be going. To top it all off, Cerulea and Aurecia were trusted allies, and that could mean nothing good for you.

“No!” You suddenly interjected in a croaky voice, throat so dry it felt like you had sandpaper in your mouth. “Please, don’t take me there. I need to go to Virelis. Please, you can sell me there!”

Everybody stared at you in complete befuddlement. The captain gaped at you with one narrowed eye and spat out, “Virelis doesn’t take slaves. Don’t play games with me, girl.”

Out of desperation, pleading words frantically poured out of your mouth before you could stop and hesitate, “Then don’t sell me! I’m useful, I swear!”

“Forgive me if I have difficulty believing you,” The captain said in a bored tone, gesturing to your bleeding, tied up form. 

A frustrated huff escaped you as you hissed out, “I’m Y/N L/N! I was the one that stole the princess’ necklace! I’m a valuable asset and you’d be lucky to have me on your crew.”

A stunned silence washed over the pirates. Then, one by one, they started laughing. They snorted and chuckled and slapped their knees as if you had told them the funniest joke in the world. You half-heartedly attempted speaking again, but your voice was drowned out by their howling laughter.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP BEFORE I FEED YOUR SORRY ASSES TO THE SHARKS!” The captain bellowed, his velvety tone long gone. He had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, a scowl pulling at his lips. 

The lot of them snapped their mouths shut so quickly you could hear their teeth clacking against one other. 

“Y/N L/N is nothing but a legend,” The captain stepped closer to you, his one eye narrowed in suspicion. “I don’t know, nor do I care for why you’re lying, but it better not become a problem. I’ve already got one crew to deal with. I don’t need to add a raving lunatic onto the list.”

“Please!” You wiggled against your bonds slightly, wincing at how the coarse rope fibers scratched at your chafed skin. “Why would I lie?! You’ve got to believe me, I’m Y/N L/N, I’ve been in jail for a long time and I’ve only recently escaped with the man you tossed overboard. Please, we can go bring him back, he can tell you, I - !” 

The words lodged in your throat. It was pointless, trying to convince a haggle of savage pirates to go back for someone they tossed to the sharks. There was a sort of heavy pain deep down in your chest, and you brokenly blew out a sigh. The feeling churned at your insides uncomfortably. It might’ve been the sea sickness, but you knew it was a nasty combination of guilt and panic and regret.

The captain noticed your abrupt change in demeanor, but decided not to comment. Instead, he said stoically, “Y/N L/N is a wonderful character in a legend told to scare children and I would absolutely love to meet her. But unfortunately, I don’t think I’d ever get the pleasure to. She’s not real.” You stared into his one eye, tears welling up in your own. “And about the man we tossed over… he put up a real fight and he wasn’t worth the trouble. He’s probably long gone by now. It’d do you good to forget about him.”

Pirates behind the pair of you started snickering, but were quietened when the captain straightened and just about snarled out, “DON’T YOU HAVE WORK TO DO? GET ON WITH IT, YOU STINKY BASTARDS!” 

They scrambled in a panicked fashion, a few of them running into each other as they dashed in opposite directions, others clumsily slipping on the damp plank wood, and some merely ran like headless chickens with no definite direction in mind. 

“They’ll treat you well in Aurecia, girl,” The captain slipped back into his velvety tone once more. You supposed this was his way of apologizing… or, the closest thing to an apology you’d ever get from a pirate. “Just try to accept it and it won’t seem as bad. This lot here won’t hurt you in the meantime. I’ll make sure of that.” He gestured to the rest of the men who were settling back into their daily routines. You were surprised to see that they were already hard at work; manning the sails, scrubbing the decks, navigating the ship, so on so forth. The life of a pirate definitely wasn't an easy one. 

You said nothing in return, staring blankly at the glinting ocean. The hollow clunk, clunk, clunk of his peg leg fading away was a sure sign that the captain was gone. You couldn’t bring it in yourself to watch him go.

This was most probably the worst possible time to cry. At this point, you were surprised your sore eyes could still manage to produce tears, considering how dehydrated you were. It was obvious that some of the pirates were still watching you, pausing mid-job. You tried to ignore them and hung your head sullenly as dry sobs rumbled in your chest.

You were stuck floating in a gigantic cesspool of saltwater, and yet your body had the audacity to produce even more. It was this very water you were bobbing on that most probably filled Wooyoung’s lungs as he gave up his last breath. The thought did nothing but make you weep harder. 

Pirates really had no designated time to have luncheon and supper, but their stomachs all seemed to revolve around roughly the same hours. By the time the golden of the sun was grazing against the deep green waters and the sky was bleeding a strange shade of amaranthine, they were all shouting out complaints of hunger and trotting to the small kitchens below deck to have supper. 

You were hungry, but also sure that if you had even a morsel of bread, you would heave it right back out. The day was spent with you gazing at the rocking waters, bustling pirates, and the large, tattered flag that hung proudly way above you. On occasion, you tried pleading to the pirates who were passing by, but none of them so much as glanced towards you. It seemed as though they took their captain’s orders to heart. 

And so, after hours and hours of being neglected, imagine your surprise when one particular pirate sheepishly walked up to you, a little after all the others had disappeared below the deck to eat.

At first, you hadn’t noticed the quiet man because you had your stinging eyes shut, trying to block off the last and harshest glares of the sun as it sank under the edge of the world.

He cleared his throat once, and your eyes flew back open, startled.

“You must be starving,” He said. 

The first thing you noticed about him was the strangely soft shade of pink his hair was. It wasn’t unsimilar to the color of Yunho’s hair, and you found yourself wondering how the kind giant of a man would react knowing that you lost Wooyoung. 

“Oh,” He gestured to the brightly-hued strands on his forehead. “I’m half fairy. Everybody looks at me funny when they first see my hair.”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you observed the man in front of you suspiciously. You had little to say in reply to the strangely personal fact he told you, and so you bit down on your tongue and let silence further consume you.

He had an angular face and complementing sharp features, but he bore a timid expression in an unexpectedly stark contrast. What was this fairy-man doing on a pirate ship? He didn’t look at all like the rest of the crew. The others were sunburnt and filthy and rugged. He, however, was somewhat well kempt, skin void of burns and scars and dirt. A loose cream-hued tunic was hung over broad shoulders, barely slung over his hardened chest, a leather belt tightened around the small of his waist and tucked into black trousers. It was quite a dignifying outfit in comparison to the rest of the crew clad in dirty rags and stolen clothes that didn’t match in the slightest. But for that, you could understand. Seeing the pirates randomly throw on haphazard articles of clothing, you thought back to when you were on the run with Wooyoung, stealing clothes off of drying lines and changing into whatever would fit.

The only thing that pushed the strange pink-haired man more towards the ‘rugged pirate’ side was a silver lip ring glinting with the late sunlight from the side of his bottom lip. In his eyes you saw gentle kindness, but you knew better than to trust him just yet. 

“Are you hungry? I can sneak something up for you while everyone’s busy stuffing their face full.” He had a voice of honey and silk, tempting you to accept his generous offer. But you kept your mouth shut.

“I understand,” A sad, empathetic look crossed his face. “Sea sickness is the worst the first couple of days. From there, it’ll gradually get better once you get used to it. But please, drink some water.”

From out of nowhere, he brandished a pretty silver chalice and held it up to you, the metal stingingly cool against your lips. You would’ve been stupid to turn down the water, so you leaned forward slightly and slurped at the drink so quickly that some sloshed down your chin and dripped onto your chest. 

“I can get you some more later,” He said, pulling the cup away as you gasped for air. “But I have to tell you something important first. My name is San, by the way.”

He had a name that roughly translated to ‘mountain’ in Old Cerulean. You thought it was a rather pretty name… fitting for such a pretty man.

“I just wanted to say this while no one was around,” San sucked in a deep breath, steeling his quaking nerves. “I believe you.”

The water had certainly drowned away the scratchy burn in your throat, so you were free to painlessly stutter out, “W-What?”

“I believe you,” He repeated. “It’s like you said… why would you lie?”

“You believe that I’m Y/N?” Your voice raised an octave or two higher, to which San shot you a warning look and glanced behind him as a precaution. If anybody heard or saw either of you, the captain would have his head. “Why?”

Hope was a dangerous thing. It muddled your brain and clouded your consciousness, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy. So you looked upon the pink-haired pirate dubiously, furrowing your eyebrows.

“I might be the most gullible man out there,” San snorted, raising a hand to rub against the back of his neck. “You kinda fit the description in all the stories and legends. And you don’t look like you’re lying… I don’t know… it must be the fairy blood in me. My mother always knew when I was lying or telling the truth. She used to tell me that good people only truly lie when they want to protect others. But… you don’t have anybody here to protect. Not anymore, anyways.” There was a guilty, remorseful sort of look that flooded his face. 

You were so relieved that you could’ve burst into tears right then and there. 

“And… that man the others threw overboard… he kept saying your name. You might’ve had reason to lie to us, but he didn’t. Especially not then.” San spoke gently in a low tone, as if he were speaking to a frightened child. Something painful twisted in your stomach at his words. “So… yes, Y/N, I believe you.”

Then he leaned forward and quickly swiped his cool thumb over your damp cheek. You only then realized that you were crying again, flinching away from his touch at first, before relaxing your tensed muscles. 

“Thank you,” was the only thing you could properly croak out. There were so many things you wanted to tell him. Help me. Let me out. Bring Wooyoung back. Take me away from here. Why are you helping me? What are you doing here?

Although none of your erratic thoughts were heard, you sagged in relief when he said, “I’ll try to talk to the captain about making a stop in Virelis.” As a tentative afterthought, he added, “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“I loved him,” You croaked out, surprising even yourself. “I didn’t know that I did.”

San flashed you a sad smile, “Some people never realize. You’re lucky that you did.” Then, he murmured after gesturing to your bloody hands and wrists, “I’m also sorry about them hurting you. I have a special coconut extract lotion that treats wounds and burns very well. I’ll try to sneak up something for you to eat, as well. We’ll have to wait until it’s completely dark, though.”

You had so much to tell him, so much to ask, so much to thank him for. The fairy-man rotated on the stub of his heel to walk away, and you whispered out, “San!” He glanced back at you with a curious expression, and you nodded your head, sincerely grateful, “Thank you.” The questions could wait, you supposed.

A smile so wide spread across his lips that his eyes almost disappeared. Around savage pirates practically all his life, he rarely ever heard those two strangely comforting words. He dipped his head politely and walked away, leaving you to your own overwhelming thoughts.

Sleep had taken you under its dark wing a little while after San left, however fitful and sporadic. Your head pounded as your swollen and aching eyes fluttered open, somewhat surprised to see that it was still dark. Where was San?

Then, as your consciousness shook away the foggy webs of sleep, your brain registered a faint singing voice. However, it wasn’t just any rotten pirates’ singing voice; it sounded as if a woman was wailing, but in the most beautiful way possible. The trembling vocal chords pierced through the night sky, high-pitched and ringing in your ears melodically. It was a song in a language you couldn’t understand, but the warbled words molded together sounded pure and whole, just about placing you under a trance. But of course, you were still quite dazed and confused from slumber, unable to clearly hear the singing voices. On top of that, the water seemed to be extra loud, splashes and waves thundering against the boat almost every five seconds.

Tired, you rolled your stiff neck. Strangely, you noticed that the deck in front of you was void of any pirates. Glancing to the side, there was not a single soul to be seen manning the navigational wheel. Your neck ached as you craned it to look upwards, squinting at the crows’ nest, just to see that it was equally empty. Where are they? you thought absent-mindedly.

The singing was getting louder, and you had to physically shake your head to get your mind out of the gutters. The ropes strained against the skin of your raw wrists even more when you shifted to look behind you.

The sight that you were met with had you reeling against the mast in panic. 

Sirens. Dozens of them, sitting on moldy rocky ledges jutting out of the ocean waters. They were beautiful creatures, smooth skins tainted a faint green and shimmery silver hair just long enough to drape wetly over their breasts. They bore seductive expressions and parted their full lips to croon out the mesmerizing song in unison.

And the splashing against the boat? With a choked gasp of horror, the undisputed mystery of where all the pirates had gone was answered. One by one, they were marching off the planks, plummeting into the salty ocean waters, swimming as if their life depended on it, closer and closer to the beckoning sirens. They all held entranced expressions, some with gaping mouths and others with fully blown pupils of adoration and lust.

The sirens were far enough where you weren’t fully under influence, but much too close to be clear of mind. You had to count yourself lucky for being female; it was known that sirens had stronger effects on men. But you didn’t have much time to spare.

You suddenly became short of breath in panic. Where was San? Had he already jumped off? Blowing out a shuddering sigh, your neck trembled with great effort as you angled yourself to look back again. It was easy to spot his brightly-colored mane, the pink starkly bright in the moonlight.

“SAN!” You screamed to the best of your abilities, voice scratchy from your previous slumber. For a second, the fairy-man seemed to twitch slightly into your direction. A particularly high-pitched note echoed across the waters, just about slicing through any hesitation San might’ve held. Just like that, he turned completely away from you with a stupefied look, before hopping off the ship and plunging into the ocean.

A scream of protest ripped through your throat. There was no time to think… you could already feel their lulling voices numb the corners of your mind…

No. No, I have to get out of this. 

With a quick glance back, a flare of hope ignited somewhere within your chest when you spotted a dagger just behind you, buried in the fraying wood of a grog barrel. Its handle was jutting out in your direction, the crooked blade void of rust and gleaming with reflected moonlight. Excruciating pain shot through your right arm as you twisted your wrist about, desperate to be freed of the knot. The hardest part was getting your hand through the tight loophole, groaning at the throbbing sensation.

After frantically yanking yourself upwards, you managed to wrench your right wrist free, covered with blood and scratches and blisters. Then, with no time to spare, you reached as far as you could behind you, towards the barrel. Your bones ached and cracked under the strain, but you pushed through with gritted teeth. Tears ran down your twisted features from the pain. With a final shriek, you lunged and wrapped your blood-slicken fingers around the hilt. The sick sound of your left shoulder popping had you screaming in pained misery, but there was no time to lament. You’d fix it up later.

It took little effort to extract the blade out of the rotting wood. You prayed not to drop the dagger as your hand trembled ruthlessly. Swallowing dryly, you raised the blade to your left wrist, and began hacking away at the ropes.

They were tough, coarse things, but gave way eventually, unraveling with each strand. You didn’t even have to cut through the whole thing until it was weak enough to break on its own. 

You were free. 

The sirens’ song grew louder and louder, and frantically, you wobbled away from the mast and to the side of the ship, steadying your shaking legs against the rail. Every fibre of your being screamed at you to stop and jump into the water, swim to the beautiful melody that came from just over there…

“No!” You managed to moan out. Your left arm was completely useless; you weren’t able to move the limb at all. The tearing of your shirt as you somehow managed to rip off the sleeve rang in your muddled head alongside the foreign words quavering through the air. You used the dagger to slice the cloth in half, and shoved each piece into your ears. It was disgusting and uncomfortable, but it would have to suffice. The sirens’ voices sounded little other than muffled hums, and though you had to stay cautious, you could already feel your mind clear tremendously.

The last of the pirates had just clambered off the side. You would’ve heard the large splash he made as he cannon-balled into the waters if it weren’t for your make-shift ear plugs.

You were tired. You were thirsty, aching, sleepy, and just about every other bad feeling one could possibly have. Unfortunately, the ship was still heading right towards the sirens, no doubt turned off-course by a crewmate heavily under their influence.

And so, you dragged your heavy limbs over to the navigational wheel, letting out a soft tormented wince when the small act of curling your quaking fingers around the wooden spokes were enough to send what felt like great electric shocks of pain up your spine. Then, you spun the wheel one-handed, over and over and over again until the massive beauty of a ship leaned away from the sirens (who were clearly enraged, hissing and baring their sharp teeth), silkily gliding over the waters. Warm ocean air billowed into your face and tousled your hair, and for the first time since you’ve gotten onto the ship, you didn’t feel like throwing up. 

A part of you felt bad for leaving San, the only pirate to show you even just a morsel of empathy. Who knows, maybe he’d survive. He was half fairy, after all. You muttered out a soft soft wish of good luck for the pink-haired man, though you doubted that would do much.

Your mind was quick to leap from the fate of San to a man who’s been in your life for much longer. Where would you be if it weren’t for him?

Wooyoung wasn’t one to just… give up like that. He couldn’t be dead. Perhaps you were being a fool for holding onto hope, but you would gladly welcome that title if there was even the slightest chance that he was still out there, alive and breathing.

And so, you steeled your nerves by drawing in a grand breath. Your lips settled in a firm, determined line.

You were going to go find Wooyoung.

Where were you to start?

Dozens and dozens of maps and scrolls were tossed about as you pillaged through the papers, in search of a chart that would actually be of use to you. Much to your dismay, there weren’t any maps whatsoever that held the directions to Virelis. There goes that plan down the drain. Where else was there to go?

The sling that held up your left arm was procured hastily from the medbay after you popped your dislocated shoulder back into its socket with a quailing shriek. The pain had faded into a dull ache, but at least now you could wiggle your fingers. That was a good sign, you supposed. Your stomach was full with what you could find in their kitchen pantries (which was mostly just stale biscuits and half-cooked fish), and to be honest, you felt better than you have in a long, long time, despite the circumstances.

There was still the problem of finding him, though. If you could recall correctly, you were only around a days’ sail away from where they had kicked Wooyoung off.

But that would mean turning back to Cerulea. And that… definitely didn’t sound smart. You rubbed your fingers against your throbbing temple, taking a long swig of refreshing water from a pitcher. Gentle light was filtering in through the small circular window, illuminating the yellowed maps in such a way to make them look golden. There was no time to appreciate the simple beauty of this, however, because a stupid, moronishly foolish, plan was forming in your head.

What if you went back to Cerulea? Would Wooyoung be waiting for you there? Maybe he was staying with Yunho while he got back on his feet. After all, it’s not like he could swim all the way to Virelis, especially with how injured he was. Cerulea was a much closer, safer plan. It was the only place he could go, right?

Unease twisted your stomach at the thought of going back to the country that locked you in a dark dungeon for moons upon moons upon moons. Deep down inside, you knew that no part of Wooyoung would ever willingly go back to Cerulea. Not after all he went through trying to get out. But what else were you to do? And even if he weren’t there, at least you’d be able to inform Yunho on what happened. Then the sweet giant of a man could help you find him.

You stood up, compasses and maps slipping off your lap, respectively clanging and fluttering towards the ground noisily. With large, determined strides, you exited the navigational room and to the main deck, where the steering wheel was situated. Warm, salty breeze whispered against your ears, calm and encouraging.

“I’ll find you, Wooyoung,” Your words were swiftly stolen by the wind. You hoped that gale would be kind enough to carry the message over to him, however impossible it was.

Halfway across the world, laid an unconscious dark-haired man, clad in nothing save for his smallclothes and bandages tightly wrapped around his skull. He was situated stiffly atop a narrow bed, scars and bruises still quite fresh and clearly visible against his paler-than-usual skin.

Wooyoung awoke with a startled choke of a gasp, sore eyes flying wide open. There was a searing pain in his abdomen as he sat up, wheezing and hissing in agony. He took in his surroundings with a panicked demeanor, gaze landing on the mildly surprised fair-headed figure with striking green eyes standing by the doorway, fresh bandages in his palms. He’s an elf, Wooyoung realized after a long moment of gaping, noticing the ever-so-slightly pointed ears poking out beneath silvery locks and the infamous nature-woven clothes only elves wore.

“Took you long enough,” He said in a thick Elvish accent, followed by a beguiling snort. “I thought you would stay asleep forever. I’m Yeosang.”

Wooyoung blinked sluggishly once, twice, and a third and fourth time for good measure. He knew very well that he should probably answer. After all, elves were widely known to be an easily offended kind. But for the love of everything he held dear, he just couldn’t seem to crack his lips open. 

The two stared at each other awkwardly for a second more. Then promptly, his eyes rolled into the back of his skull as his upper half crumpled onto the bed, instantaneously returning into the sweet relief of unconsciousness.

[softyoongiionly]

Portraits of a Tiger || 03

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut (later), Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: language, depictions of violence both verbal and physical however they are fairly mild, mentions of war and power dynamics, there will be smut in future parts so, (18+ only please).

A/N: They are back and realer than ever I AM ACTUALLY NOT OK RIGHT NOW PLEASE CRY WITH ME IN MY ASK BOX. OK LOVE YOUUUU!!!

@bulletproofbirdy​ my sweet and beautiful friend! I owe this all to you. Never doubt your brain because, its freaking genius. I love you.

“What did they say?” Yoongi asks, his lips resting on the back of his hand as he leans onto the wooden table.

Seokjin sighs, “They said that they have observed these groups using similar tactics. Rachel has noticed that they encircle the perimeter of the village first and slowly work their way in, Y/N agreed with her observation.”

“Usually raiders blitz their way into a territory, right? We’re obviously dealing with something else here...” Hoseok interjects, looking to his General for answers.

Yoongi’s features tense up, his hand moving to settle onto the table, “I don’t understand what invaders would want with this territory-” He seems to grow irritated, his eyes transfixed upon a map of their current region, “it’s several miles from any meaningful trade route, the port is at least 20 hours by horseback; it makes absolutely no sense.”

Before anyone else can intervene, Yoongi turns his attention to Namjoon, who sits at the other end of the table, his brows furrowed in concentration as he scribbles furiously in his journal.

“What do you think of this?” Yoongi murmurs.

Namjoon doesn’t look up, he just continues his current task as he responds, “I think it’s time I pay the Meddleways a visit...”

Immediately, tension spreads amongst the group.

Yoongi shakes his head, “I don’t think that’s necessary Namjoon, they-”

Namjoon looks up, pointing his gaze directly at Yoongi, “They are still a threat, hyung. Vengeance is a messy motive sure but, it’s extremely powerful. If they are influenced solely by their desire to harm you for what you did with their leader, they will stop at nothing until their objective is complete.”

The Meddleways were an extremist group that had a nasty habit of weaseling their way into vulnerable villages and, attempting to coax the inhabitants into joining what is essentially a cult. The Queens got wind of their practices and immediately tasked Yoongi’s fleet with understanding more of what they were capable of. Enter Namjoon, posing as a medicine man from the East port who sought after a spiritual awakening. Namjoon lived with the group for just under two weeks before he realized the true nature of the group. Their mission was simple: infiltrate the target village, strip the surrounding area of natural resources and, dismantle their leadership and, infiltrate their religious systems.

They were essentially, a very deadly gang of power-hungry miscreants whose true objective was to expand their influence and take over the Queens territory, which would inevitably lead to the fall of the royal family.

It’s no surprise that once Namjoon reported his findings, the Queens were understandably horrified and moved them all the way up Yoongi’s watchlist.

Due to the trust Namjoon had built with them, they didn’t think twice when he suggested that they accelerate their course to get to the village due to the oncoming storm. He led them right into the trap of the Tiger himself; well, the Tiger and his 22,000 men.  

Namjoon also made a carefully crafted choice to avoid revealing himself as a traitor, should any of the remaining members (those who weren’t slain or arrested) decide to regroup and continue their leader’s mission.  

“Do you really think their motive to settle the score is enough for them to endanger their own lives over? I told them that if they continued their work, they would meet the same fate as their brethren.” Yoongi’s voice is tired but he tries to remain alert for the sake of his fleet.

Namjoon nods, “I do. That is the way they operate. I don’t doubt that they reconvened after the fall of Xansa. They have likely moved on to someone else.”

Xansa.

At the sound of his name, Yoongi sighs uneasily and shakes his head as the scar along his eye ignites with the memory of its inception.

Xansa was the leader of the Meddleways: the brains, the heart and the soul.

Namjoon warned Yoongi of his cruelty after witnessing the way he treated his followers. His charisma was as deadly as his blade and his need for power dripped from his aura like coagulated blood.  

He was ruthless.

From what Namjoon could gather, he alone had hundreds of deaths upon his hands. His plan wasn’t just to expand his influence; he sought after total domination.

Yoongi fought him during their capture of the Meddleways and it’s one of the few times throughout Yoongi’s career that he genuinely thought he was going to die.  

He survived and killed Xansa in the middle of a thunderstorm, in front of all of his followers, just as the local stories have told.

Xansa left his mark on Yoongi however and ensured that he never forgot the time his life was almost ripped from him.  

“As of now, I don’t think we have enough evidence to prove this theory Namjoon but, I will consider your input and ask that you alert me of any other ideas you might have. For the time being, I don’t want anyone of you away from the fleet. If there truly is a new group of invaders on the horizon, they will look for any excuse to shed blood and prove their power. Understood?”

The six of them nod, lips tight with concentration as they listen intently to their General.

Yoongi values the opinions of his men very much and they know that they are free to speak as often as they see fit. At the end of the day however, Yoongi has the final say. He is their leader and his word is gold. They trust him enough to follow his orders without question, even if they don’t always understand his intentions.

Yoongi lets out another breath before nodding towards the exit of the tent, “Eat well tonight and turn in early. Training will get harder tomorrow as we will be teaching the recruits how to disarm their opponent. Jungkook-ah,” He turns to his younger brother, “I need you awake before dawn to assist me with the morning briefing.”

Jungkooks smiles, his head bobbing with an eager nod, “Yes hyung.”

Yoongi resists the fondness that blooms in his chest, patting a hand on back, “Very good. Namjoon- please continue exploring further theories and prepare for a possible journey to your connections when I deem it safe to do so. Hoseok, you can take the morning off but I will need you out here by midday to continue your classes. Jin hyung, I need you to enter the village and gather more information on their recent raids. The village leaders are located near the market plaza. Jimin and Taehyung, you will be with me most of the day as I will need to use you in my demonstrations.”

“Should I tell Y/N to halt her deliveries then? Since we will all be preoccupied?” Jin inquires hesitantly.

The bread supply is already depleted, and he is unhappy at the thought of going without it, particularly after a hard day’s work.

“I doubt Hyung would refuse a visit from her. Even on such a busy day...” Jimin smirks, wrapping an arm around Taehyung who chuckles warmly.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “It makes no difference to me whether or not she does her delivery.”

Jin throws an incredulous look his way, “Yoongi. You aren’t seriously going to pretend she hasn’t caught your attention are you?”

Namjoon is scribbling in his journal again but he doesn’t miss a beat as he murmurs his input, “Hyung is worried that getting involved with a civilian will be complicated so, he is concealing his emotions for her because it’s easier that way. However, he will probably leave during our meal tonight to go see her because, he is captivated. According to the shift in his body language, he also has strong sexual urges for her as well but, fears that getting involved with her in such a way would be irresponsible as he still has time left in the Queens Army.”

He doesn’t even look up from his journal as he psychoanalyzes his hyung. His tone is cool and almost detached but his lips twitch with a smile as soon as Jimin and Taehyung begin laughing.

Yoongi is unable to help the shock that colors his features, his cheeks reddening with the heat of embarrassment as he watches the rest of his fleet begin to laugh at his expense.

“Did I miss anything?” Namjoon looks up finally, smirking across the table.

They expect Yoongi to rush out of the tent in a fit of denial but, instead he slumps back in his chair, his own smirk decorating his features as he stares at Namjoon across the table, “Just one thing...”

Namjoon’s brows raise, “Oh? Enlighten me please...”

Yoongi chuckles, moving his finger in a come hither motion to prompt the rest of his fleet to lean in eagerly.

They aren’t used to their leader sharing his emotions so, they are besides themselves at the thought of hearing more.

“That I would feel an immense amount of displeasure when being psychoanalyzed by my own solider which would then result in the punishment of the entire fleet in the form of hmm-” Yoongi places a finger on his chin in thought, “running drills for 2 hours after training tomorrow? Does that sound about right to you Namjoon?”

The group groans, Jin’s eyes widening in horror, “Namjoon-ah! Look what you’ve done!”

Namjoon however doesn’t flinch though, he just chuckles as him and Yoongi exchange conversation through shared eye contact.

“Hyung, please...” Jimin whines, reaching for Yoongi’s hand, “Don't make us do that, I hate running- it's not even in my job description.”

Yoongi just quirks a brow, a smirk still on his lips, “If you’d like me to stay out of your plans for the day, I suggest you stay out of mine. Is that something you think you all could manage?”

“Oh yes, absolutely hyung- no problem.”

“Who’s y/n? Never heard of her...”

“Hyung you are always right; that’s why we trust you, you know? You are the world’s greatest general.”

“We won't say anything, we promise.”

Yoongi chuckles, his eyes glinting with a bit of fondness, “Namjoon?”

Namjoon nods, lifting his hands to concede despite the grin still on his mouth, “Your words are divine my General.”

A phrase very often said in the fleet’s initial training with Yoongi.

It was a psychological tactic he used to build trust between him and his trainees but now, so many years later, it’s looked upon with humor.

“Good.” He stands, a look of complete satisfaction on his face, “Eat your meal and then it’s straight to bed. I better not see any empty cots when I return...”

There is quite a bit of movement in the tent as Yoongi makes his way to the exit, with the rest of his fleet (sans Namjoon) quickly abiding by his orders.  

As Yoongi pushes aside the cloth door of the tent, the light from the full moon hanging over their camp causes him to turn around.

“Yah-” He nods to Namjoon, his finger pointing through the opening of the tent, “it’s a full moon.”

Namjoon perks up, shoving his journal aside hastily and practically tripping over his own feet as he stumbles eagerly towards Yoongi.

Before Namjoon brushes past him, he looks at Yoongi with a sheepish smile and bows his head,

“Thank you hyung...”

Yoongi smirks fondly, tipping his head in return, “Send her my best.”

Namjoon’s smile broadens, nodding eagerly before rushing out towards the moon.

As cold as Namjoon may seem, he too has a lover on his mind.

Danielle.

Childhood sweetheart who became his wife as soon they were 18.

Through various aspects of Namjoon’s personal faith, he believes that the fastest way to communicate with her is through the moon. The moon has the strongest gravitational pull when it’s at its fullest so Namjoon usually spends most of those nights, speaking with her until sunrise.

He sends letters too but, the moon brings him comfort.

Just as she does.  

Yoongi chuckles at his eagerness, watching him until he finds a place near the edge of their camp to sit and begin.

Speaking of lovers on the mind...

As much as Yoongi hates to be predictable, he would be lying if he said that Namjoon’s assumptions of him had been incorrect.  

He will be going to see you tonight.  

Even though he isn’t certain of where things might be headed between the two of you, he can’t help but wish to be near you again.  

Captivated was the word Namjoon had used and as Yoongi starts on the path towards the river, he grins to himself; captivated truly was the perfect word.  

You weren’t exactly sure if Yoongi would show up at the River tonight.

It’s not like the two of you had an agreement to meet.

In fact, the last time you saw him, he was doing his nightly walk and rather than stopping to say hello to you, he merely smiled and bowed his head in your direction.

The two of you had held hands the night before so, you figured that maybe something were to happen between you but, then again, maybe he was just looking for comfort.

Or attention.

You don’t imagine he experiences the physical touch of another person unless it’s during battle, which can’t be a very pleasurable experience.  

As you slip your shoes off near the entrance of the river, your heart flutters at the association of Yoongi and pleasure in the same sentence. You know you’re likely only causing your own suffering to think of him this way but, you can’t help it.

You want him.  

You really do and with everything you have, you hope he wants you too.

The stickiness on the back of your neck pulls you out of your thinking as it reminds you of the incredibly hot day you’ve just worked through.  

Towards the end of summer, the sun decides to give an encore of what has been an already sweltering and humid season. The week before it begins to cool down, the temperature comfortable and breezy before your region is hit with one final heat wave. Today, in the marketplace you quite literally salivated over the thought of cooling down in the river that evening.  

The river is often packed during days like today but once the sun sets, everyone heads back to their homes.  

That is when you choose to come by.  

It’s quite peaceful in the evening, the heat is still present but bearable and the slight breeze that whistles through the trees provides solace on your flushed skin.  

You don’t plan on fully submerging yourself because, you aren’t entirely fond of the idea of your feet being suspended in the deep and dark waters of the river.

Instead, you opt to wear a blue linen set that you often wearing during warmer months which will allow you to wade in the water without getting your clothes wet.

The river runs cold all year round, freezing over during the winter time but the cool sensation is welcome against the tips of your toes. You step further in, letting out a deep sigh and allow yourself to shut your eyes as you wade further into the water.

The water surrounds your ankles and just as it begins to slowly surround your calves, you hear the low melody of a voice you have waited for all day.

“Y/N?” Yoongi calls gently and it makes you grin because, you can sense he is actively trying not to scare you again.

Turning around, you are met with the sight of him; hair pulled back, white linen pants and a tighter fitting black shirt. It’s the first time you're seeing his arms and immediately, you’re able to recognize the symbols of both his strength and his experience. His skin looks beautiful in the moonlight, the sinewy dips of his muscles travelling alongside the colors of his veins, various scars littering the surface of his arms.  

He truly is something else entirely.

“Thank you for warning me this time instead of sneaking up on me.” You tease, the water sloshing as you turn your back to the river.

His lips twitch, “I’ve never snuck up on you before, you just aren’t as prepared as you should be, especially for someone who likes to wander out into the forest by themselves...”

“The forest is technically that way.” You quip, pointing through the trees.

Finally, his lips crack with a grin as he shakes his head at you, “Technically it is but, danger can lurk around every corner.”

You can’t but giggle, feeling rather giddy in his presence, “You make a good point- the fluffy squirrels and chirping birds are truly vicious creatures...”

He rolls his eyes then and shakes his head once more, a light chuckle leaving his lips as he steps towards you.

But as he’s opening his mouth to speak, you drop the bit of sarcasm in your tone.

“How was your day?”

Yoongi feels a bit of warmth in his chest as he genuinely can’t remember the last time someone asked him that question.

Immediately however, he is hit with a pang of anxiety, the conversation he had with his men coming back into his mind.

Looking upon your warm expression, he fully appreciates your beauty.

The curves of your face, the sincerity in your gaze, the small smile on your lips...

He knows you’re capable of holding your own but, after hearing of a possible threat, he is infected with the need to protect you.  

“It was fine. How was your day?” He attempts to reign in the worry in his tone, feeling very confident in his ability to conceal his true emotions.

He should know better...

“What’s wrong?” You ignore his inquiry regarding your day, stepping towards him once more, unsure of how close you should get.

He chuckles and shakes his head, “Nothing. Why do you think something is wrong?

“You look troubled-” Pointing a finger towards his face, you soften your tone, “Is something bothering you?”

Yoongi feels strangely emotional at your concern, still not fully understanding your interest in his feelings.  

He doesn’t want to lie to you but, he also doesn’t want to spend his time with you talking about potential danger.

Besides, he really would like to hear about your day.

“It’s nothing. Just had a meeting with my men earlier, things got a little tense that’s all.” He assures you before extending a hand your way, “I’m off-duty now though and I’d really like to hear about your day if that’s alright...”

The sight of his hand sends butterflies down your throat and into your stomach before you interlock your fingers with his a little too eagerly.

He chuckles warmly, noticing your excitement and gently pulls you closer to him.  

Being near Yoongi feels almost familiar.

It’s comforting and slightly intoxicating as the skin of his forearm brushes along the inside of yours.

The two of you begin following the length of the river, your plans and shoes suddenly forgotten.

“My day was ok...” You begin, tilting your head, “the heat was unbearable though. I thought I was going to faint in the middle of the plaza today. Ugh and then Jane kept going on about how I needed to find a husband and start a family, ‘ You aren’t getting any younger you know? Sooner or later you’re going to end up a spinster peddling night shade for a decent meal’ “ Your face scrunches up as you imitate the very unique tone of Jane’s voice and it causes Yoongi to chuckle warmly beside you, amusement coloring his features.

“Don’t laugh!” You whine, leaning into him but, your mouth is already pulling up into a smile, “She’s relentless!”

Yoongi continues laughing, using his finger to flick a tear from the corner of his eye, “She is quite abrasive. I actually like that about her but-” He points at you, “She shouldn’t be harassing you about your marital status. I assume that you’re unmarried by choice...”

There go the butterflies again.

“Why do you assume that?”

Yoongi glances at you before returning his gaze on the path you two are on. The corner of his mouth is pulled up into a smile as he lets out a breath, “I’m mainly assuming that there have been other suitors you’ve crossed paths with. You don’t seem like the type of person to settle or the type of person who makes decisions based on the opinions of others.”

As flattered as you are by his statement, there is one particular thing that captures your attention.

“Other suitors?” You raise your brows, stealing a glance his way in time to see him fully grin.

“Yes,” He nods, tightening his features with sincerity, “other.”

You feel your stomach doing back flips, the giddiness bubbling inside you threatening to explode but instead of jumping for joy like you want to, you merely squeeze his hand and offer him a grin in return.  

The moment is over as soon as it begins as Yoongi looks down at your feet before frowning and turning back towards where the two of you had first met tonight.

“Where are your shoes? Why did you take them off?”

You giggle, “I was about to wade into the river to cool off, I don’t normally keep my shoes on while I do that.”

His frown falters a bit when you giggle but, he halts your movements none the less, “You could step on something, it’s dark out here...”

“It’s not that dark.” You insist, turning your body so you are face to face with him, “I walk through this area all the time.”

Yoongi feels his breath hitch as the proximity between the two of you lessens. He isn’t prepared for the feelings swirling inside of him or the ease of access he now has to your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose, your lips...

He would love nothing more than to place his mouth on every feature.

On every inch.

He clears his throat, “Fine. We’ll walk slower then so, at least if you step on something- it won’t be so hard.”

His solution makes you laugh again but it also pleases you.

You like that he doesn’t try to force his opinion on you and that he trusts your judgement.

“Fair enough.” You concede, reluctantly turning so the walk can continue, “How was the bread today by the way? I added a bit more garlic this time...”

He nods immediately, patting his stomach, “It was delicious. This batch was completely mauled by my fleet- my little brother in particular shoved at least 10 pieces into his mouth.” He chuckles, shaking his head, “I’m convinced that boy is part animal or something, he certainly behaves like one.”

Giggling, you mimic him and shake your head as well, “Or he just really likes bread. I would probably behave like an animal if I were deprived of carbs of 6 months out of the year.”

“It’s more like 10 months out of the year.” He corrects, “We only return to the kingdom during blizzard season or if one of us is injured.”

Your eyes widen, “Really? I thought members of the Queen’s army rotate every six months. You only take a break for two months out of the year?”

Yoongi chuckles at your surprise, “Yes-” He nods, “We are considered uh- special forces. The Queens employ us full time. The fleet I oversee of the Royal Army- they rotate quite often but the seven of us operate March through December.”

Kissing your teeth, you can’t help the genuine look of concern on your face, “How long have you been doing this?”

His eyes narrow, “Hm- I think I’m going on ten years now...yeah. I joined when I was 18.” He nods in agreement with himself, “This is my last year of service.”

Your heart jumps to your throat, “Really?!” The volume of your voice climbs dangerously high and it causes Yoongi to laugh, his eyes widening.

“Does that excite you?”

“I mean-” You bite your lip, trying to figure out if his retirement is something you should celebrate, “is it something you’re looking forward to?”

He smirks, eyes glinting with amusement, “It is.”

“Then yes,” You decide, stopping the pace of your walk so you can turn towards him, “it does excite me.”

His smirk never falters, whilst his free hand moves to trace down the length of your arm, seeking the grasp of your fingers. His touch leaves a trail of fire on your flesh, your other hand eagerly intertwining with his.  

“Oh? Why does it excite you?”  

The tone of his voice lightens; it’s playful and almost a little taunting as he leans in towards your face.

“Um-” You clear your throat, stepping closer to him so that your toes are almost touching his, “Because maybe, I would get to see you more. If you were retired...”

Yoongi’s eyes soften, the back of his thumb brushing over your knuckles, “Hm. So, she’d like to see me more...”

“I really would.” You confirm, the look in his eye offering you some confidence in your next move.  

Swallowing back your nerves, you take the hand you’re currently holding and guide them to your hips.

Without a word, you place your freed hands on the ball of his shoulders, sliding them inwards towards the base of his neck. As the two of you make eye contact, you feel his grip on your hips tighten, his big hands feeling the flesh there for the first time. The movement of your fingers causes him swallow, the Adams apple bobbing in his throat whilst his tongue pokes out to wet his lips, only making them more inviting.  

The seam of your top would make it so easy for him to slip his fingers beneath it to feel your skin for real but, instead he merely flexes his fingers just enough for the tips of them to press into your body.  

In your own attempt to explore his skin, your fingertips brush the soft skin at the junction between the base of his throat and his shoulder, your palms lying flat on his collar bones.

He lets out a shaky breath, a small chuckle leaving his lips as he forces his eyes away from yours.

“You’re making this very difficult...” Yoongi murmurs.

You slow your motions on him, “I’m making what difficult?”

He’s still looking away, but his hands squeeze your hips, anchoring them in place to stop them from wandering as he wishes to.

“I’m trying to court you properly but, now you’ve gone and put my hands on you...” He smirks, his feline-like eyes darting back to yours, “you aren’t even giving me a chance here.”

His accusatory tone causes you to giggle, your fingers inching closer to brush against the hair at the nape of his neck, “Who’s to say what’s proper?”

“Societal decorum, your parents, my parents, our friends- “ He chuckles, glancing up towards the sky, “whatever god is in my head right now, shaming me for the thoughts I’m having.”

“Any god who shames you for your desires is no god of mine...and besides,” You breathe, leaning up towards his lips, “we’re the only ones who get to decide what’s proper for us.”

He sighs, his breath close enough to wisp across your mouth, the proximity intoxicating.

“I should have known the day I met you that you make your own rules...” He smirks, the need to press his lips against yours nearly unbearable. He nods to you then, raising his brows, “What do you think is proper for us in this moment? Since we’ve already disregarded decency.”  

Another giggle leaves your lips and without thinking you move the rest of the way so that your mouth lingers just in front of his own, “I think it’s proper for you to kiss me- for the first time, underneath the full moon.”

At your boldness his heavy gaze widens slightly as a sharp breath leaves his lips before pushes them onto you.

Immediately, lightening shoots through the center of your spine, exploding into your heart, your hands on his shoulders tightening significantly, his own grip on your hips following suit.

Your bodies press together as your lips tuck in and move against each other. The tip of your nose rubs unceremoniously on the bridge of his own, the kiss deepening with a mutual sigh between the two of you.  

Your chest is pushing against the linen of his shirt, your body coming to life as he begins walking you backwards towards the large willow tree standing proudly near the river. When your back presses against the rough bark, you take the opportunity to slide your nails up his neck and into his hair, careful not to ruin the state of his ponytail too much. Your touch elicits a very faint groan from him, his teeth nibbling against your bottom lip.

With the increase of your breathing, you press him closer to you, pushing your breasts into him, hoping that he will take the hint and continue touching you. His hands merely squeeze at your hips, holding you steady against his body whilst his tongue brushes your bottom lip.

He’s requesting entrance into your mouth, which you gladly grant, parting your lips and sliding your own tongue along his. The two of you play in each others mouths, it’s slow and almost messy and it causes your fingers to tighten in his hair, wishing desperately that you could run your fingers through it properly.

Yoongi’s heart feels as though it's going to give out from all the sensations he’s feeling, his resolve weakening by the second, all thoughts of decorum leaving his conscious.  

The bark of the tree is digging into your back, but you can barely feel it; your mind is too full of Yoongi. His hands begin inching up your torso, almost massaging his way up, his grasp tightening further as he resists the urge to move his hips.  

But he can already feel the blood pooling between his legs, and he knows that things are already going too far so when you slide your leg up to hitch it around his waist, he finally pulls away.  

Breathing heavily, the two of you rest your foreheads on one another, lust swirling in the air around you.

“Why did you stop?” You pout, pecking at his lips.

Yoongi chuckles into your lips, leaning away slightly to press a kiss to your nose and then your forehead and as his mouth lingers there, he responds, “I have to maintain some level of decency- I am a man of the royal family.”

Like a spoiled child, you slump back against the tree, your lips still pouted as your hands return to his shoulders, “The royal family is miles away...besides, we were just kissing.”

Yoongi’s raspy laugh makes you want to kiss him even more while the fondness in his gaze makes you want to grin like an idiot.

“Your little suggestion to kiss me was turning into something else entirely and you know that.” He accuses playfully, bringing a thumb over your cheek.

“Were you not enjoying it?” You point out, dancing your fingers over his chest and he rolls his eyes, catching your hand in his own.

“You know very well that I was enjoying it.” He smirks, glancing down between the two of you at his semi-hard length pushing against his linen pants, “I am a man of my word however and I meant what I said about courting you properly.”

The sight of his length removes all moisture from your mouth, most of it seeming to reallocate between your legs.

“But you’re-!” You almost whine, wanting nothing more than to resume your earlier encounter.

He chuckles once more, bringing your fingers to his lips, “I am.” He concedes, dragging his lips over the back of your knuckles, “your lips are lethal.”

Your focus hones in on the wet lips currently pressing kisses against your hand but, your stubborn nature wishes to press the issue further.

“Then why did you stop?”

Yoongi smirks, “Because it’s not proper to have each other now, even when I want you as bad as I do-” He kisses between the junction of your pointer and middle finger, brows raising at the sight of your pouted lips, “Why are you still pouting?”

“Because...” You sigh, licking your lips, “I already told you I didn’t care what others thought I-”

Yoongi chuckles again but this time, the sound is darker, “Y/N, when I tell you that we should wait, it isn’t because of the opinions of others it’s because...” He pauses, licking his tongue between your fingers, sending a shock wave between your thighs, “I couldn’t possibly pleasure you properly against this tree...”

You let out shaky breath, leaning into him once more, “I believe you could.”

He grins, kissing over the spot he just licked, returning your hand to his shoulder, “Oh do you now?”

“Mhm.” You hum, giggling as he pinches your hips, your fingers clasping behind his neck.

He leans over, kissing your lips gently before pulling back to secure your gaze, “Be patient my sweet girl...” His voice drops to a whisper, “...and let our fairytale develop a little longer.”

You can’t help but embrace him then, tucking your face into his neck, “I’m sorry if I’m so eager...I’ve just never felt this way before.”

He chuckles warmly, easing you away from the trees so he can rub your back, “Please don’t be sorry. This is new territory for me as well. We can navigate it together ok? My fleet has to move on in a few weeks but, it will only be a few months until I can make it back to you. After that- we'll have all the time in the world.”

Nodding, you press a kiss to his neck, tightening the embrace, not wanting to let go, “Why do you have to be such an accomplished solider General Min? Mediocrity could have really worked in your favor...”

He laughs again, the sound warming you from the inside out, “Terribly sorry mam. I had no anticipation of being captivated by a smart-mouthed apothecary during a refuel stop.”

“Oh so I’ve captivated you have I?” You tease, your fingers walking slowly across his back.

He smiles, turning his head to kiss the side of your head, “To put it very lightly yes- yes you have.”

Captivated was the word Namjoon had used and it truly was the perfect word.  

Absolutely perfect.

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Feral Fatality

(Part 2)

I'm supposed to be working on the requests but here I am. Writing nonsense. But its my nonsense so *shrugs*

Pairing: Jason Voorhees x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence (or so I think), Blood (lots of blood), Murder (as usual), Feral side of the reader coming out for a brief moment, and cursing.

—

Three harsh knocks made you flinch and woke you up from your sleep.

"Hey, loser! It's dinner time. Eloiza wants you by the campfire. Now." Layla, one of Eloiza's side girls, stressed. You sat up, rubbing your eyes before you set your book on the bedside table.

"Did you hear me?! I said—"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you alright. I'll be out." You swear the whole camp could hear her with the way she's squawking.

She stomped off, huffing loud.

You chose to stay in your baggy clothes. A black hoodie with a small yin-yang symbol on your left breast with a matching pair of black and white sweatpants, half of your ebony hair tied up in a ponytail.

It was already dark when you walked out, the moon climbing bit by bit up to the sky and subtly lighting your path. You shivered as a chilled breeze went past.

In the distance, you could see a small fire, dancing, swaying its fiery arms. It would have been a nice sight if not for the people around it.

Even from afar, you could see them engaged in a heated session, the smell of cigarettes and pot reached your senses, making you grimace.

"Yo look, it's (Y/N)," one of them said once you were close to the campfire.

Few gave you glances, before going back to their business. You remained quiet, though you noticed five people were missing in the group.

Fucking in the cabins, no doubt.

Eloiza was in the middle, her ass planted on someone's lap while she held a cigarette, both of them sharing and blowing smoke at each other.

Different. Out of place. You regretted coming out here, but if you didn't they'd only harass you in your cabin. Break down your door, and drag you out just to humiliate you. Then it fully dawned on you; no adults or teachers to protect you here, they could kill you if they wish.

You cursed as worst-case scenarios ran wild in your mind.

Damn, I'm gonna die tonight.

"Layla, why don't give her some food already, she's obviously hungry," Eloiza ordered.

"Ugh! Me again? Why can't you let Betty do it?" She was straddling Jake, vice-captain of the rugby team in your school. Layla subtly ground down her ass unto his crotch. The act was uncomfortable and disgusting to you.

Eloiza shot a glare at her, expression grim.

"Fine!" she jumped off, "I'll be right back babe," she whispered not so quietly. It was clear that they weren't in a relationship, only looking for someone to fuck. Lacking the sense of intimacy that lovers have. The air was just full of sexual tension and lust, anyone who's good at reading people would know.

And right now, you wanna vomit.

"While we wait for that hoe to come back, why don't you sit down with us for a bit (Y/N)?"

"Thank you, but I'm fine standing. I'll just take the food and eat in my cabin," you replied. Your smile was fake and your voice, monotonous. You hid your hands in your pockets.

"I insist, let's chat for a bit," she said. The rest of the group ignored you still as they were busy with their...partners.

You blinked and looked at her right in the eyes.

"No."

You refuse to submit to her, you submit to no one. You came to camp to get away from the noise people like her make. Ironically, you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her either.

"What did you just say to me?" Oh, right, Eloiza hates you as much as she hates being disobeyed. Her face turned red, and it wasn't from the fire.

"No," you repeated.

"No?" she scoffed, "I told you to sit the fuck down. I was being kind to you and you de—"

"No, I won't sit down. And no, you were not kind, you just gave me an order and I refused."

The group froze and looked at you, halting their activities. Eloiza shot up, making you raise your guard and take a step back.

Still, you did not expect her to grab a half-burning log and fling it at you.

You barely dodged, the hefty ember grazing the side of your face, burning your skin and some of your black strands. You took a sharp intake of air and staggered back, dizzy and groaning from the pain as you hover your hand on your cheek. Gasps and cheers sounded around you.

"Nobody. Disobeys. Me." she said, accentuating every word. "You're just a useless piece of shit. You think being a smartass will save you? You do realize that I can kill you right here and now, don't you?" Eloiza threatened as she approached you, her eyes burning holes into your head. A hand grabbed her arm, "Babe, you can't murder her! We'll go to jail if you—"

"Shut up, Evan. No one would know what happened here. It's so easy to say a bear attacked and ate her. And who would notice her gone anyway? Everyone knows her parents don't give a shit about her."

She's right, no one would care if I'm gone. Nobody would give two shits if I died.

"But—"

"I said shut up, didn't I?! Do you want to die too, huh?!"

"Let her have fun, Evan," Betty commented.

"What the fuck is going on here??" Layla was back, carrying a bowl of soup.

While they were preoccupied, you twisted on your heel and bolted, your vision spun but you didn't stop. While a handful of traitorous thoughts tells you to drop dead, that you should just die than prolong your suffering, your heart didn't. Yes, not a soul cares about you, but you have yourself, your books, and your art. There was no fucking chance in hell you'd let them have their way with you.

You raced to your cabin and slammed it open, closing it in the same fashion and locking it in place. Your face was throbbing, stray tears stained your cheeks as you searched for a handkerchief to wet and cool your burns.

You eventually managed to lessen the pain, thanking yourself for bringing skin ointment. Your hands were shaking as you applied it to your skin, whimpers escaped your lips as it stung a bit. You took deep breaths to calm your heart down...

In. One. Two. Three. Out. Repeat.

—

Jason Voorhees stood in the shadows as the scene took place.

A girl was telling you to sit, and you refused politely, yet she asserted.

The others ignored you until you outright said no.

Was it so surprising to hear one word from your mouth that the whole group turned to you?

The girl snapped, took a burning log by its safe edge, and threw it at you. It hit your cheek and you staggered backward.

His grip tightened around his weapon as alarms rang in his head, an overwhelming urge to protect you arose. You did nothing wrong and that woman harmed you.

She was shouting, threatening to end your life. A man stopped her but...

Jason heard what she said, the words only made his sight darken with rage. What did she mean by "your parents 'don't give a shit' about you"? Did they not love you as a parent should to their child?

He sees you dash back to the cabin in haste and silently praises you for taking the chance to escape, he wouldn't want you to see what he'd do to them. The killer watched for a little longer only to make sure they wouldn't follow and hurt you again.

With you out of the way and safe, he emerged out of hiding. He threw an ax with precision, splitting open one's head like a coconut, the blood spattering on the ones nearby. In an instant, they shrieked in terror, their faces turning pallid, terrified as they scattered in different directions.

The hunt begins.

—

You broke out of your trance when the screams reached your ears.

Oh.

You were no fool of course. You knew the legend about Jason Voorhees was true, just from looking into the cases of mass disappearances, bodies never seen again. With no evidence, no one believed it, thinking it was just an old story to scare people away, a silly myth.

Nobody, except for one little you.

Well, maybe there was somebody else but you know what I mean.

It wasn't hard to connect the dots. There were two conclusions you came up with;

Either the killer was real or the people found themselves in the stomach of a monster.

You preferred the former, honestly.

Somehow, you expected this to happen. It was part of the reason why you came with them even though you knew the possibility. Risking your life in the process just to see him with your own eyes.

Wow, what's happened to me...

You sat up on the floor and as if on cue someone pounded on your door.

"(Y/N)!! (Y/N) Let me in! Open the door and let me in!"

By the sound of it, it was Betty.

You ignored her pleas, she deserves to get torn in half for being the bitch she was...

Wait.

Why not do it yourself?

A glance at the toolbox was all it took for you to stand up and take out a screwdriver. You approached the door, Betty still pleading for her life behind it.

"Please, please! I don't wanna die yet! I'm too young to—"

She stumbled forward when the door opened. But instead of a thank you, she screeched as you tackled her to the ground and stabbed her in the eye.

Stab.

Stab.

Stab.

Her blood splattered on your clothes and skin as you drove the metal tool into her skull several times. The squelching sound of meat and bones surrounded you together with the deafening pounding of your heart.

Betty had long gone silent. Her face was unrecognizable once you stopped.

Oddly enough, you felt a familiar thrill with what you did. It was the same one when you won your first contest, received your first trophy, and made your first masterpiece. It was a first.

And it was...enthralling.

You sensed someone's eyes on you. You looked up and saw a tall and massive man with a hockey mask covering his face, standing a few meters away, his machete dripping with blood. A glint of blue flickered in his eye for a moment.

Jason Voorhees.

Not knowing what to do and still high in the moment, you waved the bloody screwdriver at him and smiled.

"H-Hey," you uttered out.

The murderer—well, you were a murderer now too— trudged towards you, stopping when a scream to your left cut through the air.

—

Jason honestly couldn't believe what he was seeing. Little you with a little tool, gouging the brains out of the one he was chasing down.

With a screwdriver.

Multiple emotions went through him that moment, he was shocked that you could kill someone with your tiny hands, proud that you just killed said someone that was his prey, and relieved that you were alright.

Wait, were you?

He was snapped out of his thoughts when you waved and greeted him. You just waved and greeted— what? Why weren't you running back inside your cabin? Why didn't you scream at the sight of him? Did you not know him? Was the blood on his clothes and the weapon he was carrying not ringing any bells?

Jason wanted answers and moved to close the distance between you, but then a shrill cry echoed.

Someone got snared in his traps.

He looked at you, your face was dirty with blood, but your eyes were wide open, not of fear, but happiness?

He'll have to finish his hunt first. He gave you one more look before he trudged to the origin of the sound. He'll visit you later, that is if you're still here. He wouldn't be surprised if you used this chance to get out of the place, and he'd let you. You were innocent...different, and the murder you just did was well-deserved, albeit shocking.

-

It was the one who injured you, the cause of your burn, miserably crawling on the ground as her foot bled through the jaws of a bear trap.

"Help! Please help me!! I'm dying! Somebody help—"

She howled as the killer gripped the source of her pain and dragged her back to the center of the camp, taking the long path on purpose.

Jason was always angry in one way or another every time people came to disturb the place, but this? Oh no, all he sees is red, not a word had been heard from his mother ever since.

He would usually kill them the instant he catches his prey, but he wants—needs— this one to suffer. He knows, more than anyone, how it feels to be an outcast, to be bullied for being different. This hideous woman is going to die slowly, the pain she gave you a hundred times more agonizing.

"Let go of me you fucking murderer!" She shouted, kicking and clawing on the dirt in hopes of stopping him. Jason paid her no mind, his eyes focused on the fire that glowed close.

This bitch will burn to ash.

He stood in front of the campfire and brought up her body over it, her long blonde tresses turned to nothing as she flailed and shrieked pathetically. The killer crushed her legs before he let go, the flames big enough to devour her entirely, scorching her alive.

A yell from behind drew his attention as another one ran towards him, an ax lifted and ready to attack.

"Die you monster!" They shouted, embedding the ax on his shoulder. Jason felt no pain from the shallow wound, only an itch.

What a lousy attack.

Jason pulled out the silly thing and bashed it on his assailant's skull with one heavy strike, crushing the bones beneath. Lifeless, he tossed the body into the fire, the cries died down moments ago, only the smell of burnt flesh filled his nose as the embers crackled remained.

The undead man stalked away, feeling better than before. There were still a few people waiting to be disposed of.

Jason Voorhees will not rest until every single one of them is dead.

[silvysartfulness]

Omg I saw that you used to write for the assassin’s creed fandom and honestly what a throwback 😭 are they on livejournal?

Aahhh, this is the part where I have to admit, I don't think I ever put any of those drabbles online! It was more a fun thing me and wife used to do, writing very very short 5 minute one-shots based on single word-prompts.

Oh, wait! Apparently I actually still have them, in an old folder of mine! Will post under a cut. These are AC 1-3-brotherhood, primarily focused on the latter.

La Volpe/Cesare post the fall of the Borgia was my main rarepair ship in that fandom, so that's the main (if occasionally only implied) focus for a lot of these. (CW some dubcon/non-con under the cut, so be warned.) 😊

1 Unwillingness

It goes against everything he is, a greater challenge than any battlefield taken on. Snarling, eyes blazing his defiance, Cesare submits for now.

2 Memento

”Something to remember me by,” murmurs Volpe softly against the sensitive skin of his neck, and it's all Cesare can do not to yelp as those vicious teeth leave a bleeding gash in his ear.

3 Baseline

He still doesn't trust Machiavelli, Volpe muses, and it's equally clear Machiavelli doesn't trust him. Perhaps their shared love of secrecy is the one dependent thing about their relationship.

4 Sniper

He has shot guards from rooftops, towers, horseback, beams and the treacherous crumbling tops of ancient stone pillars. So why was it, muses Ezio afterward, that he hadn't even thought of pulling crossbow or gun out as his sworn enemies held their short council in the courtyard a few measly yards below his feet?

5 Birthplace

It is in Masyaf the order of Assassins was born into what it is now. Searching for answers Ezio sets out on the longest journey of his life, back to the beginning of all.

6 Denunciation

It is hard to remember what it was like to have faith, Cesare thinks, but easy to remember when it was lost. What God could ever work through the instrument that was Alexander VI, his father?

7 Distaste

”Volpe, you didn't!” Ezio exclaims, his face a mask of distaste. Volpe smirks.

”Oh, it was not at all bad. Cesare is well trained.”

Ezio shudders. ”That is exactly what bothers me!”

8 Elimination

Constantly, frustratingly one step behind, it is little Cesare can do as his allies are meticulously taken out by the Assassins one by one. And yet it is not until the last of those on his side willingly turn their backs on him that he realizes this battle is lost.

9 Bluntness

”You can do as I say,” says the master thief matter-of-factly, turning the vial of antidote over in his spindly fingers, ”or you can spend the night dying slowly while vomiting your innards all over the floor. The choice is yours.”

Pale with fury Cesare chooses to live.

10 Turf

The Assassins had been myth, legend, bed-time stories to frighten a young boy already afraid of the dark. But as they dealt an all but deadly blow to his father inside the Vatican itself, Cesare grimly declares war. Roma is his city, and all who oppose his rule must be swiftly and mercilessly dealt with.

11 Assassination

He burns for the ideals, fights the fight with passion and utter devotion. But when Shaun's shaking hands lower the suddenly impossibly heavy gun he knows something he'dnever even thought about (Innocence? Compassion? Humanity?) has perished as surely as that very first body at his feet.

12 Apprentice

He remembers a gangly youth skidding across slippery roof tiles, trying so hard to keep up and even harder to hide his inability to do so. La Volpe silently studies Il Mentore and considers he's no longer sure who would lead the way across the rooftops.

13 Debris

Ezio swears as the ceiling collapses over the bed he shared with Caterina until moments ago – his armor and weapons are buried in the rubble and will be hard to replace. He does not yet know they will be the least of his losses this day.

14 Scolding

Altaïr has never been one to accept blame or criticism for his actions, but something about the way Malik's not-there left arm twitches as to shake a not-there fist in his face as the man speaks makes him look away in hidden shame.

15 Torrent

The rain pours down over the city, making roofs and cobblestones alike wet and slippery. Volpe tugs his collar tighter around his shoulders against the biting cold and idly contemplates if a trip to the Castello would be worth the trouble.

16 Anchor

He cheats and steals and tells honeyed lies with the ease of a snake. But his eyes can be oceans and his touch velvet – sometimes Ezio wonders if his always restless, inspiration-ridden friend keeps Salai around just to remember what it's like to be human.

17 Truce

”It would be nice,” says Machiavelli evenly, ”if you would not so readily name yourself judge, jury and executioner the next time you fall victim to unfounded suspicion.”

”Fine,” mutters Volpe, frowning. ”It would be niceif you were not so secretive. And stop trying to steal my spies. Get your own.”

”Fine,” Machiavelli replies with a minute smirk.

Fellowship is knowing just when your brother-in-arms is lying.

18 Nook

There are many unknown and unseen hiding places among the rooftops of Florence. On his back, hair plastered against his face and hot breath against his ear, Giovanni concludes it's very handy that La Volpe always knows to find one when you need it.

19 Orgy

These parties are more to his father's tastes than his his, Cesare firmly tells himself, perhaps letting his eyes linger thoughtfully on the multitude of courtesans a moment longer than intended. Then a familiar slender hand grazes his thigh and he is reminded that the only person even close to matching his own schemes, cunning and skill is the woman on the throne next to his.

20 Scoff

”I spend all my time in the Animus,” Desmond frowns, ”Lucy's keeping an eye on Abstergo and Rebecca... hacks and stuff. What do youdo, really? Anyone could use, what, Google and Wikipedia?”

Shaun grins or at least bares his teeth.

”You mean Templar Central One and Two? No, it's called obtaining knowledge, Desmond - sifted like little gold nuggets of fact from the vast sands of ignorance you're so fond of burying your head in. Google can't help you there, I'm afraid.”

21 Scolding

At the time, Ezio always figured Giovanni's constant nagging and pleading with him to stay out of trouble was only the worrying of an overprotective father. Only later was he taught discretion was part of the ancient Assassin's creed. He never got very good at it, even so.

22 Bonfire

No-one is entirely sure why Julius II has tempered justice with mercy for now and opted for his enemy's imprisonment rather than death sentence. As far as la Volpe is concerned, the way Cesare goes pale whenever the topic is brought up is at least good for entertainment.

23 Nakedness

Being exposed holds no particular shame for him, but the walls and floor are freezing to the touch, draining precious warmth from his aching body. Now would be a prudent time for an accursed thief to show up with a blanket to bargain for.

24 Arbiter

It was funny, Machiavelli drily noted in his notebook, how God and Divine Justice so often were on the side of the biggest army with the sharpest swords.

25 Purgatory

The land burns, smoke choking the sky and tinting the sun a sickly shade of blood. It is with a cold and unfamiliar sense of foreboding Cesare hurries through the flames toward the towering walls of the fortress to escape this hell on earth – one way or another.

26 Fingernail

Ezio has more than his fair share of scars adorning his hardened body, some remembered more fondly than others. He would never dream to ask Caterina to trim her nails, or use them just a touch more carefully.

27 Slavery

The Creed dictates freedom of thought, and in his reckless youth Altaïr would use it as justification for any rash impulse. But the older he grows, the more he comes to realize freedom and all its crushing responsibility can be the harshest master of all.

28 Carnivore

When confronted on his nasty habit of biting, Volpe only grins and quips something about foxes and their nature. Cesare is tempted to snap he's often seen dirty foxes prowling the back streets for garbage, but can see where Volpe would go with that, and so holds his tongue.

29 Bluntness

Ezio is too flustered after his mother's blunt request he find other outlets than vaginas to realize the enthusiastic young artist at his side seems more than eager to offer a few suggestions on the particular subject.

30 Vow

He will live, Cesare vows. He will live, he will regain his freedom, his power and his army. At any cost. And then they will. All. Pay.

31 Blending

It was simply not fair, thought Machiavelli, that no matter how solid your acting, no matter how meticulousyour disguise, Volpe would immediately spot you in a crowd and grin at you. Clearly spying on the sly old fox called for more cunning means, he conceded as he made his way to the Rosa to shamelessly bribe Claudia for information.

32 Misconduct

“Not that we are in any particular hurry to the Castello,” Orsini says, the knuckles of his war-gauntlet quite pleasantly buried in Cesare's face, “but things would just be easier all around if you would stop squirming and came quietly.”

33 Ultimatum

“If you don't stop hogging my mp3-player,” Rebecca whispers softly in Shaun's ear, “I'll tell Lucy exactly whatyou and Desmond used her yoghurts for last night.”

34 Takeover

“Stop!” Lucrezia commands as the soldiers feed the paintings to the fire – already the image of a swan is crackling and fading to black amongst the flames. Such a waste of beauty. She hasn't even realized Cesare is standing behind her, fierce and bloodied after the battle, until he speaks.

“You like them?”

She nods, and he touches her cheek with a smile, careful not to stain her hair.

“Then they are yours. A memento of the day the Assassini fell.”

35 Afterlife

“I blame you for this,” says Cesare flatly as the imps re-heat the lake of boiling tar. Again. “There is no God, you said. No heaven and no hell, you said. Stupid old bastard.”

Rodrigo mutters something about Hell being other people, but will have to concede that in this trifling matter, yes, he was mistaken.

36 Distaste

He would rather be hated than forgotten, Cesare sullenly thinks, rubbing his stiff hands for warmth. Bony, filthy, with the matted long hair of a hermit falling into his face, he has to settle for the guards' contempt. At least it's better than pity.

37 Slavery

He isn't really paid, Leonardo thinks, merely kept alive, yes. Not really compensated as such. And so the construction of the intricate war-machines is really on the consciences of his masters, not his. Sting of guilt quenched he returns to the blueprints with renewed fevered enthusiasm.

38 Probation

“What's the catch”, asks Cesare with deepest suspicion.

“No catch,” Volpe assures, looking innocent. “Just a reward for your recent good behaviour. Keep it up and there may a meal and a hot bath in it for you, too.”

Cesare does not for a moment believe they are just going out 'to stretch their legs', but a meal does sound inviting. He follows.

39 Adversity

Ezio strongly disapproved of the idea of his little sister taking over the Rosa in Fiore, and he frankly can't say whether he is more disappointed or proud when it flourishes under her care.

40 Bluntness

“You are a thief,” Machiavelli growls, piqued into a rare display of anger. “A liar and a cheat and an honourless thief!”

Volpe grins.

“All those things. And I'm still better than you.”

41 Scheming

Ezio gave the Apple to Mario, who had it stolen by Cesare, who gave it to Leonardo, who found it plucked out of his helpless hands by the Pope and his daughter. He ponders life was easier when he was just a painter. The Apple is a thing of awe, but the intrigues in its wake make his head hurt.

42 Favorite

It wasn't that Cesare particularly hated his older brother. It was just that while he no longer childishly sought his father's approval, the position as the Pope's favorite son came with several practical perks. Unfortunately for Juan, that meant he simply had to go.

43 Truce

When things are civilized, they can be bearable, almost even pleasant. The food is good, the wine plentiful, and Volpe's skilled fingers all but gentle. An unspoken truce, no matter how temporary. But neither man ever forgets the truth, which is war.

44 Scour

They answer to no-one, self-proclaimed executioners beyond all law. Too much blood on their hands now. Just before sunrise Cesare gives the command to attack. The cleansing of Monteriggioni has begun.

45 Extrovert

To hold his own council and play his cards close to his heart has always been his way, and he knowshe is a master at his game. And yet, Machiavelli can grudgingly admit to himself, it isn't until the boisterous chaos in human guise that is Ezio bursts in on the Roman scene that he begins to see how they will win this war.

46 Protagonist

“I will avenge the cowardly, treacherous plot against my father,” he thinks. “I will root out all those involved, every single one, and I will kill them and all they stand for.”

No-one ever sets out to be a hero, only to do what is right.

For Cesare, the path ahead is clear.

47 Willpower

It is never easy. Every time Altaïr visits his (his!) bureau in Jerusalem, Malik has to struggle with himself not to slay the man in his sleep. On many a moonlit night, only a lifetime of discipline stays the blade in his white-knuckled hand.

But strangely, it does get easier over time.

48 Esacalation

At first it had been mere proof of his ability to go anywhere in Roma as well he pleased, the taunting and impotent rage in response a given bonus. After some time, forced still-furious intimacy gained through blackmail had appeared a logical step. Then force turned out redundant. As Cesare clings to him, nails biting into his arms and teeth bared with need, Volpe admits to himself he would never have suspected the caged Borgia would so willingly use him to sate his desires – nor the other way around.

49 Torrent

Raw grief fades over time, a broken heart healed into a dull ache. The thing that keeps Claudia from sleeping at night is not all she has lost, but her screaming frustration at not being able to take her fate, and that of those responsible, into her own hands.

50 Danger

The peaceful life he had envisioned just the evening before will have to wait, Ezio grimly decides, pressing a hand to his wounded shoulder and focusing on not falling off his horse. And despite the shock, grief and pain, it somehow feels right. He has lived this life so long, he isn't sure he remembers how not to.

51 Splattering

Leonardo likes to buy birds at the market and set them free, watching with dreaming eyes as they take to the endless sky. Once, Ezio surprises his friend with twenty white doves. Much belatedly he wishes he'd remembered that stressed pigeons prefer to lighten their load before taking off.

52 Ramification

“It is time you take responsibility for your actions,” Rodrigo snarls, and Cesare struggles with the impulse to scream, childishly, “But father, younever did!”

53 Concession

“I'm not sure we should...”

Lover and Thief, silhouettes in the dark, alone. A light touch.

“Come now. It will be good, I promise.”

“But, what if...”

“Ssh. Are we not both Assassins? Everything is permitted.”

His honed thief's nerves tingling with foreboding warnings, La Volpe allows Claudia to persuade him in the end, knowing Ezio will probably kill him, and that it will no doubt be worth it.

54 Leer

You can't even seehis face in the shadows beneath the cowl. And yet, Volpe just standing there outside the bars, nonchalantly leaning one hand against the wall, makes Cesare want to scream. Or punch him hard. Preferably both.

55 Whisper

Ezio reflects that there are few other voices he would instantly recognize by just a short, urgent uttering of his name. His hesitation to turn around stems not from uncertainty, but the childish wish to postpone the trial of his oldest friend's rumored treason just a few moments longer.

56 Absurdity

At first Ezio had felt confused, then worried and finally terrified. But as they've fled Florence and the man introducing himself as uncle Mario tells him that his family belongs to an ancient clan of legendary assassins, relief washes over him. Finally is clear it has all been an insane dream. He can't wait to wake up.

57 Experimentation

Leonardo da Vinci is a true genius, his brilliant mind always seeing the world through a lens of wonder. Nothing escapes his never-sated curiosity – but that a small poseable wooden mannequin could be used like that? Cesare is a man not easily impressed, but will have to admit the artist rarely fails to amaze.

58 Farewell

It is with uncharacteristic kindness Volpe kisses him, between shared gasps for air after their final tryst. A last goodbye before the approaching dawn will see Cesare on his way to exile in Spain.

”Growing sentimental, old fox?” the younger man scoffs at him. ”No need. I shall return soon enough, and repaint the walls of Roma with Assassin blood.”

Volpe just smiles. He has already helped Ezio prepare his own journey and knows with certainty that Cesare will never again return to Rome.

59 Turf

”Maybe Giovanni could get away with doing paperwork all day over in Florence,” Mario says, and his tone clearly states what he thinks about his brother's choice. ”But arround here we train Assassins, not accountants or delivery boys.”

Ezio's body has never ached as much in his life as it does after his first day of training with his uncle.

60 Smoothness

When she smiles her deep red lips are like tantalizing rose petals, framed by sun-ray golden hair. She is smooth, flawless, perfect. But every rose has its thorns, and Lucrezia's are laden with poison.

61 Kneeling

Every fiber of Ezio's body strains desperately to regain control as he jerks like a puppet on golden strings of light.

”You are lucky,” breathes Rodrigo in a low, husky growls, leaning hard on the staff after the battle, ”So verylucky, little Assassin, that I am in a hurry.”

As the dagger sinks into his guts, Ezio briefly thinks that indeed, it could have been so much worse.

62 Purgatory

The imps don't know whether to feel amused or put out that the screaming, flailing argument between father and son has by now escalated to the point they don't even seem to register the lake of boiling tar anymore. A bit of respect for good solid workmanship, is that too much to ask?

63 Lick

It has to be said in favour of Machiavelli's assassin reflexes that the unexpected lick at his ear out of the dark earns Volpe neither a jump or a shriek but a rapid fist to the nose.

Only half an hour later, safely home in his bedroom, does Niccolo allow himself to contemplate what might have otherwise transpired.

64 Bonfire

It is a sad thing, reflects Ezio in hindsight, older, wiser, that compared to all the priceless art and knowledge fed to fire during Savonarola's mad reign of Florence, the mere loss of a human life that ended it is remembered with little sense of loss or revulsion.

65 Last

After Mario's death, Ezio has felt the weight of being the last Auditore Assassin ever heavier on his shoulders. But as he watches Claudia fearlessly take her leap of faith, he wonders how he could ever have been blind enough to think himself alone.

66 Well

The guards in hot pursuit yell and stab at wells, haystacks and dark alleyways. From his perch on a rooftop Ezio smiles. He always did prefer to take to the sky.

67 Wrongdoer

As his support falters and the opposition grows ever bolder, Cesare becomes increasingly frustrated with their attacks and accusations. He would prefer to answer only for his own sins, not those of his dead father.

68 Deliberate

It really is getting unnerving, decides Machiavelli, the way Volpe has taken up the habit of commenting on his every observation with a frosty ”Indeed” or ”Yes, quitethe coincidence”. He wishes he could believe the man isn't doing it on purpose.

69 Counter

When he first arrives in Jerusalem, Altaïr can't quite shake the feeling that the only thing between him and certain death is a rather narrow, map-strewn desk.

70 Bribe

Cesare has always been good at striking a profitable bargain. Unfortunately Borgia as a currency is bitterly deflated, and these days he often have to sell himself too cheap for comfort. Even though it isa warm, snug blanket.

71 Chess

Cesare knows he is a brilliant strategist – not so much because of the expected praise from his subordinates as from the satisfactory number of pins currently adorning his map of Italy. He would like to believe himself modest in this, careful not allow hubris to cheat him of a victory. And yet he never knows whether to frown or laugh helplessly as the absent-minded artist all but appologetically check-mates his king time and time and time again.

72 Feel

Leonardo never knows how to feel when Cesare enters the room. At first he is apprehensive, but as weeks turn into months and he realizes he's not only allowed but encouraged to dream up grander designs than ever before he is thrilled.

In the end, seeing the Assassins' plans put into motion long before Cesare even knows the final battle has begun, he can only avert his eyes in regret.

73 Mister

”Outside the kingdom of God is the realm of men,” Salai says, leaning just an inch too close. ”You worship there, Messere?”

Only years of training his clueless look on Leonardo helps Ezio keep a straight face as he blankly waves for the boy to follow him.

74 Fine

There are simply too many guards around for a discreet kill, so Ezio grudlingly counts the florins and hands them over. How was heto know he wasn't allowed to park his horse there? Time to liberate another stable from its Borgia-tower shadow, he decides. Burning them all down is easier than keeping track of territories anyway.

75 Dog

If La Volpe is the fox and Ezio the bird of prey, Pantasilea ponders, then Bartolomeo reminds her of a large, lumbering dog. Faithful and loyal unto death, but with a booming bark and a vicious bite for those who threaten those dear to him.

76 Forgotten

When Volpe appears he is the first person Cesare has seen in days. He greets the thief with his usual brazen curses, careful not to let any trace of relief shine through. Of all things he is most afraid to be left alone to die; not slain out of hatred or need, but simply ignored and forgotten.

77 Changed

Had Ezio been the kind of man to think upon such things, he might have noticed the Cesare facing him atop the towering walls is not the self-assured young general he met a handful years previous in Roma. Tired-looking and hunched over he looks defeated even before the battle has begun. But Ezio is here for one single purpose alone, and has never been the kind of man to think of such things anyway.

78 Gondola

Antonio assures Leonardo that only from an extensive tour with his private gondola will the artist truly get to know his new home town. As it happens, a rocky two-hour boat ride later, Leonardo still hasn't really seen much of the city. But that's quite alright, as he happily agrees to repeat the endeavour soon again.

79 Casino

It never hurts to try to win Fortuna's favour when gambling is one of your favorite pastimes, Salai knows, but in this particular case divine intervention is quite a bit closer at hand. As long as you have La Volpe's favor, the dice at the Sleeping Fox will never let you down.

80 Soup

The first bowl of watery gruel ends up thrown in the guard's face with enough force to break his nose. The next morning the second splinters against the wall. Nearly a week passes before he forces himself to eat the fifth, to preserve his strength.

Cesare closes his eyes as he quickly raises the bowl to his face to wolf down the hundredth, before the reflection in the dull surface can show him what he has become.

81 Carrot

”Tell you what,” murmurs Volpe in the starving prisoner's ear, dangling the vegetable in front of his face, ”If you give me a good enough show I'll even let you keep it for supper when you're done.”

82 Madame

Volpe has to admit himself impressed – Claudia is shrewd, ruthless and horrifyingly practical, and stillmanages to be praised a good businesswoman rather than cursed a thief.

83 Kilt

Yes, Ezio decides as he flexes his body inside the unfamiliar weight of Romulus' armour, there is definitely a draft around his nether regions. Whatever the old Romans may have thought, a skirt of leather belts does notconstitute proper clothing.

After some swearing and creative arranging of his spare cloak he considers it may well look even moreof a skirt, but at least this cut preserves his manly dignity when he jumps.

84 Theft

He has stolen valuables, information, people and lives. La Volpe draws in a deep breath as he surveys Roma in the first light of morning, then exhales in satisfaction. She is the greatest city in the world, and she is all his for the taking.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

A Mere Mortal - Chapter Five

A/N: This story is based on Landlord Vampire Fic Frenzy hosted by the amazing @just-the-hiddles​. The second last chapter of this series! Yay Feedback’s appreciated as always! :))

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Bucky Barnes x Vampire! Loki x Human! Reader

Word count: 2043

Warnings: Foul language, murder description, mostly angst.

Tags: @buckybarnesplumwhore​​ @ladyacrasia​​ @tcc-gizmachine​​ @alexakeyloveloki​​ @rogerrhqpsody​

Taglists open! Send me an ask if you wish to be tagged in future chapters.

...

You’d had enough. Bear was driving you insane with his persistent howling and barking. For such a small pup he was quite loud. Groaning, you turned on your side hoping to block the noise out.

Maybe it’s a phase. Don’t they start teething or something at this age?

You thought you’d ignore him and eventually he would keep quiet and go back to sleep, but something made you get out of the warmth of your bed, down the stairs and flick the light on in the living room. Bear was standing by the front door, staring it down as if it were an enemy. Huffing, you went closer.

“What is it buddy? Bad dream?” you leaned down to give him a scratch but he backed away; instead trotted up to the door and began scraping it with his front paws.

“You want to go for a walk now? Its 4:00 am and freezing cold. Come on now back to sleep.” You turned to switch the lights off again when Bear grabbed your pajama bottoms and tugged on them.

“What the hell Bear! We cannot go out now. Enough.” Irritated at this point, you picked him up and took him upstairs to let him sleep in your bed. Maybe he’d calm down then.

Once inside, you slid inside the still warm bed with the puppy and cuddled him close, he was surprisingly pacified at that time. He scrambled around a little bit before snuggling in, his rapid breathing gradually began lulling you back to sleep. Though it was short-lived.

Soon the quiet of the room was broken by Bear’s yapping right beside your ear. Angry at this point, you threatened to lock him in a room, though you could never do such a thing. He sat beside your bedroom window and looked out into the darkness. Following his gaze, you peered out to see what’s got him so riled up.

You saw a blurry dark figure laying on the ground on the far end of the street. The hairs on the back of your neck stood in alarm as you squinted to see clearly. 

Were they unconscious? Or worse? Should you call the police?

Deciding the latter was the logical option, you got your phone and dialed 911 and waited for in your living room for a car alarm to be heard. You weren’t planning on standing in the dark out there alone.

Upon hearing cars in the distance, you pulled on a sweater and a hat, carried Bear in a little blanket and went out to the possible crime scene.

As you got closer, your heart rate picked up, Bear’s barking returned and you could sense something was horribly wrong. One of the officers saw you approaching and walked towards you.

“Do you live around here ma’am?” he asked looking at you warily.

“Yes, right down the street. I was the one that called you. My dog kept barking endlessly and I saw a figure on the ground. What happened?” you asked trying to peak behind him where the figure still laid, lifeless.

“I’m afraid it’s an animal attack. A brutal one. This woman was dead when we arrived. Her head was about ten feet away from her body.” He said matter-of-factly.

Your eyes went wide as he described the scene as if it were a routine weekday for him. You stepped around him, still in shock, to see who the woman was. To your horror, it was Jenny. Jenny who served you food at the grill on your very first day here; Jenny who was always so warm and kind towards you whenever you visited her.

She lay there on the cold ground, decapitated. Her mouth agape in shock, her eyes grey, lifeless, and what looked like scratch marks all over her severed neck and shoulder region. All this, and not an drop of blood was to be seen.

That was odd, to say the least. Judging by the intensity of the attack, there should’ve been a pool of blood right? Unless those freaky legends were all true. It couldn’t be, could it? Body drained completely of blood? What animal does that? Your detective alter ego was hard at work at this point.

“I can escort you home miss. We’ll do an inspection of the woods for any signs of animals. It’s not safe out here.” The officer broke you out of your mental investigation of the scene.

Agreeing, you let the officer walk you home, still in disbelief that you had just witnessed such a terrible yet odd scene. You were in shock.

Placing Bear down once you were inside, you walked in the kitchen, dazed, and got a glass of water. Bear following you closely, sat right at your feet as you leaned on the island counter, and looked up at you concerned.

“I forgive you for waking me up.”

…

You woke up that morning with a pounding headache and your hyper puppy dancing around the bed and licking your face.

Stepping under the shower, you recalled last night’s or rather, this morning’s events. The sight of Jenny’s lifeless body without a drop a spilled blood filled your mind with equal amounts of panic and curiosity. Mind immediately jumping to Bucky’s story from the other night.

Bucky! You could talk to him about the incident. You hadn’t spoken to him since the little make out session at his house. Sure not much time had passed, plus you had just witnessed a mysterious death.

Sam’s words echoed in your head at that moment. Creepy town.

After a heavy breakfast, you fed the dog and stepped out heading towards the library. The change in weather was quite evident as the leaves had started to fall and your breath was visible even during the day as well. You were sure you heard leaves crunch a few feet behind you but you didn’t stop to look, in fact you picked up your speed and jogged to the library.

“Ah (Y/N) my dear, how nice to see you again.” Frank’s kind voice came from his desk on your right as you entered the library.

“Good morning Frank. Did you hear about Jenny’s death?” you replied, immediately getting on the subject. You saw him get shifty-eyed for a little before a sympathetic smile donned his aging face.

“Ah yes. Terrible animal attack. You be careful when stepping out at night, my dear.” He replied hurriedly making you wonder if he’s memorized that response.

Not asking any further questions because he said he was busy looking at the logs, you made your way to the usual spot by the window and opened up a dusty copy of Dewsbury Legends & Myths.

You were lost in the book, not noticing a figure approach and sit right across from you, until he cleared his throat.

You looked up to find Loki peering at you intently with a slight smirk adorning his thin lips. As if a hunter would look at its prey who has absolutely no chance of escape.

“Hello love.” His smooth accented velvety voice enveloped your senses with intrigue and trepidation. He was leaning close, a bit too close for your liking. Your body automatically straightened back, going as far as away from the man without getting up.

“Loki. What brings you here?” keeping your tone polite yet unyielding you held his gaze.

“Oh you know me, Frank is a dear friend. And you are too.” He added with a full grin this time. Something about that grin sent a shiver down your spine. You wanted to get away from his presence, and yet you couldn’t get yourself to physically stand to leave; as if he had put you under a spell.

“How’s James? Haven’t seen him in a while. You two have gotten quite close it seems.” He interjected your train thoughts, his tone dripping with disdain.

You remained silent. Somehow you knew this wasn’t the end of his queries.

“Sad what happened with Jenny, you must’ve heard. Such a poor thing. Pathetic.” He said, gaze piercing at this point as if trying challenging you to speak the obvious at this point.

Your mouth went dry as your mind grasped the idea of what Loki had just implied. It was him. He did it. He killed her. He had bitten her, drained her body of blood.

Him.

Was he a-?

In flight-or-fight mode you scrambled to gather your things to get the hell away from him, of course he stopped you.

“Come on darling, it is only just getting interesting. I haven’t even told you the best part yet” His calm demeanor frightened you all the more.

“Since you’re so keen on knowing our town history, has James been telling you the real one or the one about Morwenna and Lucas?” Loki said sitting back on the armchair, knowing you wouldn’t run away now. Not until he spills the whole truth anyway.

Your voice came out feeble and shaky as you asked him what he meant by the real story.

“Has James ever mentioned of his deceased sister? My guess is he hasn’t. Well (Y/N), Evelyn was James’s sister who died tragically in the woods.”

“Evelyn was Lucas’s sister.” The words just blurted out without your approval.

“There is no Lucas darling. James made it up. He’s been telling that story for decades.”

Decades?

“You’re lying.”

“Perhaps you should ask him yourself. He should be here any minute, wanting to ‘protect’ you from me.” Loki sneered, leaning forward again. You swore you could see his eyes turn dark.

As if on cue, the library door swung open and Bucky came charging in towards you. Your body felt released from invisible chains as you scrambled to stand up and backed away from the two men.

“(Y/N) I’ve been calling you, why didn’t you pick up? What’s he doing here?” he looked concerned as he scanned you before staring daggers at Loki.

“Nice to see you James. I’ve just been updating our darling (Y/N) on real Dewsbury history.”

Before he could answer, you interjected,

“What happened to your sister?” your voice shaking with fear as you began plotting your escape from the small library. Would it really work? Probably not. Would you still try? Yes.

“Don’t believe a word he says doll, I was worried about you.” Bucky started stepping closer as you moved further away, not knowing who to trust.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Look, let me take you home, we can talk then.” He tried to reason with you as he saw fear in your eyes.

“That’s not an answer either.”

All the while Loki sat back in the armchair, observing the drama unfold. The one that began because of him.

“She died. In the woods.” Bucky finally said, head bowed.

You knew deep down Loki’s words were true, though Bucky’s admission shocked you nonetheless. It was true. The legends, the myths. And you needed to get away from them at once.

You made a run for it as you closely avoided Bucky who could’ve easily stopped you, but didn’t. As you reached the door, his hand interrupted your actions. You didn’t even hear his footsteps follow you.

“Please let me explain.” He pleaded.

“You stay the fuck away from me.” Yelling, you pushed his hand away and opened the door, bolting towards your house.

You kept glancing back as you ran, looking to see if either of them were following you, they didn’t.

“(Y/N) please, I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I was protecting you.”

 Of course he was standing right behind you. 

Angry tears blurred your vision as you turned to face him, “I think I told you to stay away from me. Leave me alone. Please.”

Bear’s barks filled your ears as you heard him scratching at the front door, to come to your aid. You turned and opened the door, immediately your dog began growling in Bucky’s direction without stepping out of the house. He could probably sense Bucky wasn’t a human.

“(Y/N).” he said as a last attempt to get you to listen.

You of course, slammed the door, locked it shut and sank to the floor, crying.

…

[vylequinnewriting]

Telvan Tale: Whale of a Time

Here’s the first Telvan Tale! (More information can be found here) It’s probably one of the most horrific ones I’ll write so viewer discretion is advised. It’s heavily inspired by a mix of myths around Alcatraz and typical slasher story tropes. Instead of writing of a retelling of the urban legend, I instead chose to write the truth that no one knows. 

Content Rating: Mature

Content Warnings (send me an ask if you think of a tag that should be added): Graphic violence, blood & gore, murder, forced captivity,  cannibalism, death, extensive body horror, war (mentioned), memory loss

Word Count: 2374

Telvan Tale Taglist (ask to be added/removed): 

General Taglist (ask to be added/removed): @ecwrenn

“The best time in my life was when I went to Kromhold.”

“Well golly, that makes me feel great to hear but you don’t look like you're having a whale of a time.” I laugh heartily. Not much I can do for him besides try to lighten the mood. 

“I mean before all the barbed wire and concrete.” He takes his head out of his hands and looks off to the window. I know that look, I invented it. It isn't focused on what’s here or what’s to come, is to look back on what was. He didn’t need to say much past that. He’s told me plenty about him and where we are. His tone is genuine and his gaze is forlorn enough that I can’t help but feel pity for him. 

My friend here talks about Kromhold when it was under a different name. I remember those days but not as clearly as him. This was back when it was a castle open to all instead of a fortress designed to contain and isolate. One could enter for a pittance and in exchange be given a memory worth a lifetime. Decadent foodstuffs lined every street. A friend lurking behind every corner. Every poster, every coat of paint, every leaf was prim and proper. I’s were dotted and T’s were crossed. It was wonderfully, perfectly, saccharine. All thanks to an anonymous benefactor, Bellanaya was able to stay open for years, ensuring at least three generations had seen its glistening walls. That was the past, and all that’s left now is a bitter aftertaste.

“What was your favorite part? Mine was the whale watching. I could catch up with the whole family from right on the beach.” Another jest, but what could I do, tell the truth?

“The teacups.” He nodded, as if to agree with himself. “Definitely the teacups.”

“You always striked me as a coffee person.”

“No, no,” waving his arms like he’s swatting away my witty retort. “The ride. Never could handle most of the others, even the bumper cars would tumble my stomach around like a washing machine. I threw up plenty of times on the trip here. “ He looks out the window and locks eyes with the sky.

Even in the past he wasn’t worth his salt it seems. It’s fair I suppose, the only thing he has to hang onto is me after all. Even his skin looks ready to leave him. Dry and gray, it clung to his bones shivering with shallow, dissonant breaths. He had to look better than this at some point, if he’d been here back in the heyday. The cars were taken out around the 14th year of business. Another 11 before we had to close up shop. Back then his name wouldn’t have mattered, only how much he was willing to spend. They needed it more than he would. But just like everything else, discounts and promotions wouldn’t help what was to come.

He takes a break from his staring match and sighs. “How’d this happen? You were here from when the park was still a park, weren’t you? What happened?” 

I let loose a giggle. Unintentional and all it does is serve to unnerve him. We’ve had this conversation so many times I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of this situation. Despite all the trust I’ve cultivated with him, he has troubling matching eyes with me. Granted, all he can do is look down at me from this position. “You aren’t from around here are you? From the south I bet, beyond the sea and all?” He doesn’t need to answer yes, he’s already talked about the plains where he lived enough for me to guess with certainty. I continue, “The same thing happened to this place that happened everywhere. Money was the only thing keeping us in business. Memories stopped being made and started being sold. Then the war hit the mainland. We were ready to shut down and leave, but that wasn’t an option with the flames licking away at the island. So we stayed. When all was said and done, the Sangreguila came and forced us to stay open. As you can see, the objective was still to give our visitors memories they wouldn’t be able to forget. This time they couldn’t leave.” 

He curls up into a ball at the foot of his cot. “Zastüd didn’t help.” He couldn’t help but shudder and sniffle after uttering those words. For some it was a victory the likes of which no one had seen, and for others it was a loss felt around the world. He fell into the later camp it seems. A shame.

“Wiping a city off the map didn’t do much for international relationships. Not to mention Zastüd was a technological marvel. It was even worse that they couldn’t find out who did it. After everyone was done pointing fingers, they picked a couple patsies to throw in here and tossed the key in the ocean. They wanted to make a place for just the absolute worst society had to offer. People who wanted the world to burn and chose to do so with their own hands. Just like you.” Those words hurt him, but I know he couldn’t redirect his anger at me. I’d been his only friend since he arrived here in Kromhold. 

Gods, I hate that name. Cold and hard, so I guess it's at least truthful. Bellanaya was such a better name. Regardless, Kromhold did it’s best to break him down but he refused. He was innocent, after all. When he’d first arrived he was greeted with a fist to the mouth. Despite his absolutely rancid reputation and overpowering stature, he fell apart at the first sign of a conflict. Being given what was in essence a death sentence didn’t help his confidence either. Those who wanted fights found a whimpering dog. Those who wanted friends found a monster only held back by a tight leash. But then he found me.

I’ve been the only companion this poor boy has known. I’ve given myself the task of helping him throughout this trial. The only way I can is to help him remember. The good times, the bad times, the times in between, they all fade away with a nice rosy pink when you look back on them. It was my Mother who first told me about what I could do. She once had it herself but thought it better to give it to me. “People will always forget about you until they need you,” she said. I’ve always hated that word. Forget. I still took the gift gratefully, it was my Mother’s and to have anything from her was the greatest honor. Even now, that gift is the only thing I have of value. It’s all the boy has needed fortunately. As long as I flash a smile or say some outdated slogan he stays sated for the day. It’s a small price to pay for what he’s done for me. He always forgets the next day or sometimes even right after I’m done speaking but I’ll always start talking to him the next time he asks.

“Oh gawrsh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Best friends don’t hurt best friends right?” I squirmed over and offered a “hand”.

 He looks up and wipes his face. He appears to mull it over but I know his answer. He takes my loose fibers in his claws and mutters, “Friends till the end.” 

I hate being in this position but it’s the only way I’m still here. At least I’m not in the same situation as the other mascots. They usually “enforce” the rules around here along with the standard armed guards. One of the boys on my friend’s block snapped and stabbed one, only to find out it was another prisoner. Warden made sure they stayed in character and kept silent, permanently. The rumor was the Warden wore the suits too, but no one had the fortitude to try and hunt him down after the first incident. The boy came to me that day, crying up a storm. Took ages to calm him down. When he could finally look me in the eye, I didn’t miss the gleam in his eye. It came from a deep, dark place that even he didn’t know he had. Perfect, I thought. 

Many a day and night has passed and that boy has turned into an old man. He’ll still be a boy to me, bright eyed and gentle, not wanting to hurt a fly. This place changed him. It made him rough and broken. This is one of the few days he can speak to me with clarity. Normally, he can’t help but keep looking out that window and hoping for something different. I think it’s high time I gave that to him. This is not the first time I’ve said these words, but I believe it is the first time he’ll hear them. 

“Do you remember your first day here? They needed five men to drag you in. All you could do was scream ‘I’m innocent’. That didn’t matter to them. Everyone in here could be innocent of their crimes but the guards don’t care. Still, they needed five to bring you in, and that wasn’t even with you trying, bud.” 

He looks wide-eyed. Confused, even. Enough to register what I said. That’s all the proof I need to continue. 

“Do you remember the day you met me?” He shakes his head. Words escape him and so does the memory. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I was just a scratch on the floor and a prayer sitting in between the walls. Forgotten. All I could do was sit, wait and listen. And then you came in. You wanted to never forget. Not Kromhold, but Bellanaya. It was pretty shoddy workmanship but you made a burlap sack into the spitting image of Wilfredo the Whale. You know, me! I scared you half to death the first time I talked but we’ve been friends since then.”

He grinned ear-to-ear. Revealing a row of sharpened, yellow teeth. Not fit for anything but meat. Ironic since all he’s eaten for the past couple of years is gruel.

 “I remember.”

“Do you want to go back?”

“Excuse me?” He’s a bit taken aback. Understandable but unwanted and unnecessary. All I need is a “yes”, not a “yes and”. 

“What would you do if I said I could take you back? To the days where you were free. No man could control you. If they tried, they’d learn why they shouldn’t. You are the only important person to me. I can’t let you rot in this cell.”

“What do you mean you can take me back?” There wasn’t disbelief in his voice, only contemplation. They love it when you play the hero. Thanks for teaching me that lesson, Lecuto. What a wonderful Sister. 

“I can give you back your body, silly. All you need is to put me on your head. Say the magic words, then watch as the magic happens.”

He thought for a second. And then another second. He did not take a third. Years upon years of friendship does that. I waited initially, just to add a sense of suspense. I’d do my Mother wrong if I didn’t have a dramatic flair. 

“What are the magic words?” There was a slight tremble to his voice. He didn’t believe something so incredulous despite my entire existence. Hilarious.

“There aren’t any.”

My body didn’t have much to offer as it was, so I could do little besides spread my fibers. A bit of resistance and they began to slink under the skin. All the natural pathways of his body were too easy to explore, invade, and conquer. He didn’t have much to offer in terms of a protest. Was it shock that I’d betray him so easily or was it a staunch belief that I’d help him? 

It mattered little in the face of what I was presented with. All the juicy goods he’d amassed over the years sitting in front of me like a feast before a king. The first birthday he could remember was light and refreshing in a place like this. Benito, his childhood hound was next to go, rich and flavorful, like his surprisingly long life span. Almost fifteen years, that one. As delicious as they were, they were unimportant. 

Ah, here it is. 

His first kill. The rage. The bloodlust. The emptiness. The overwhelming fear. And finally, hunger. 

He’d never truly been strong, especially when it comes to impulse control. The other piece I’d needed came soon after, about five or so years. Countless bodies scoured those days but none were like the first. He became complacent and slow. He wanted to savor the meal rather than simply consume. When he was caught he had nothing but regret. He said plenty that meant nothing to the Sangreguila. It wasn’t his hands that made the first cut. He wasn’t there to bathe in blood, he merely slipped onto a scene and unsuccessfully tried to make himself scarce. That wasn’t flesh stuck between his teeth, he just so happened to rip into livestock with reckless abandon moments earlier. 

I could tell some didn’t deserve the pain Kromhold had  inflicted upon them. My friend here was not one of those poor souls. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why they didn’t shoot him right then and there. Haven’t they heard the saying “a legend is made when someone hides the truth?” 

When I was done sifting through his head, I drained out all that wasn’t important. I didn’t require much magic to remold his shape back to those years. He still remembered them fondly somewhere deep down. Muscles atrophied by years of misuse and malnutrition now pulsed with power. Legs that trembled with each step stood straight. Teeth that reeked of disease and looked a putrid yellow instead became fierce, white fangs. A perfect weapon to be used by me. I couldn't have wished for a better present. Now only one thing was left.  To leave this prison behind with a trail of terror. 

No one will ever forget me again.

[moiraineswife]

The Mask - A Jasnah Fic

I’m re-reading TWOK at the moment so y’all get to suffer with me since I was compelled to produce this Angsty Jasnah Meta Fic. AKA: Jasnah’s deep paranoia and isolation are not healthy or good for her mental health and I WILL explore that until y’all cry over it with me.

Title: The Mask

Summary:  Set during TWOK. A Re-Write of the poisoning scene, Chapter 48: Strawberry from Jasnah's POV, plus her reaction right afterwards and some Jasnah/Ivory interactions. Basically a deep-dive into Jasnah's character and her paranoia around betrayal. It's painful. I made myself sad. Now I make you all sad with me. Also an exploration of Jasnah and Ivory's relationship, which I think is really underrated and would love to see more of on-screen. 

Teaser: ‘A sudden wave of revulsion rose in her. She felt used. She felt violated.

Shallan had been close enough to her to do this. She had let her close enough to do this, had dropped her guard, had let her in.

She had been carrying around something other, something planted on her, something she had not recognised as not her own. What else could the girl have put on her that she would never have noticed? How easy it would have been for her to slip poison into her wine, or a blade between her ribs.’

Link: ao3

Commission Link: Have me write other cosmere characters

Jasnah stood as Shallan jump from her hospital bed and rushed to the side of the ardent as he collapsed, convulsing. 

Then she too trembled and fell to the floor. 

“Poison, as we suspected,” Ivory murmured to her, perched on her collar, close to her ear, his words too soft to be heard by any but her. 

Even she barely heard him. She was not listening, already moving as he spoke, sinking to her knees above Shallan and cursing. 

She had thought- In the jam. She had been sure. The piece of bread she’d eaten herself had been an added precaution but storms. She’d been wrong. Storms. 

“She’s been poisoned,” she announced to the yammering, scrambling, panicking cacophony of nurses and doctors clustering around her. “I need a garnet. Bring me a garnet!” she added, voice rising, the authority in it finally snapping through the confusion, asserting some order to the chaos. 

Shallan was still stirring beneath her. That was good. There was still time.

 The girl was fumbling with something, but Jasnah wasn’t paying attention. 

Beside them, someone was crying out over the ardent. Apparently he had stopped breathing. She did not care about him. But Shallan. Storms, Shallan. If she died in a plot to kill Jasnah, if her lack of vigilance led to this, if this was also her fault, she-

“Control, Jasnah,” Ivory said, quiet but firm.

Right. She took a breath, forcing herself to project a composure she still did not feel, but had to pretend at. 

“Shallan,” she murmured, trying to sound soothing, seeing the girl’s eyes rolling, searching blindly in her terror, “I’m going to have to Soulcast your blood to purify it,” she explained gently. 

She had problems, still, administering help without explaining what she was doing, after what had been done to her. Even if, logically, she knew Shallan likely had no idea what she was saying, and couldn’t consent one way or the other. It helped focus her mind. 

“It will be dangerous. Extremely dangerous,” she said, already dreading it. 

Storms. How had it come to this? It should never have gotten to the point that the child was caught in the crossfire from her enemies. She should have stopped it before it did. She should have- No. Those thoughts would not help. She had to deal with what was happening now, not waste time worrying about what she should have done. 

“I’m not good with flesh or blood. It’s not where my talent lies,” she continued quietly, stroking Shallan’s hair, aware that a part of her was still panicking, and it was rambling, seeking some kind of purpose while she waited for the correct gemstone.

“You...can’t…” Shallan whispered hoarsely, barely conscious. 

“Hush, child,” Jasnah said, trying to calm her even through her own mounting panic. 

“Where is that garnet!” she snapped at the room around her. 

So many people rushing and talking and hovering around her like buzzing insects, and none of them could bring her what she needed, they- 

“You can’t Soulcast,” Shallan’s voice said, so weak that Jasnah almost missed it. 

But she heard the jangling thump as something hit the floor. A Soulcaster. Identical to the one she wore. Along with a single garnet sphere. Both dislodged from Shallan’s safepouch.

She gasped, eyes going wide.  

A Soulcaster. 

Shallan’s insistence that she couldn’t Soulcast right now. 

Her mind connected dots and screamed terrible conclusions too fast for her already rattled emotions to process.

“Jasnah, she dies,” Ivory said sharply, as Shallan lost consciousness in front of her.

Analysis later. Action now.

She pushed the spiralling thoughts from her brain and seized the garnet sphere, drawing in its light, covering the action by removing her glove and exposing the fabrial on her hand, letting it draw the attention of any who cared to watch her. 

What happened next passed in a haze. Soulcasting flesh or blood was difficult. Doing it while it was still within another person’s body? It took all of her concentration, all of her skill, and all of her self-control to accomplish it. 

And she had to do it over, and over, and over again. 

Each time she thought she had at last succeeded, the girl’s body absorbed more of the poison from her stomach and she strayed towards the Beyond once more. 

Ivory remained with her, encouraging her quietly, assisting in Shadesmar when she began to grow exhausted, not allowing her to become sloppy.

All the while she tried not to think that she might be saving the life of someone who had betrayed her. Someone who might have been in league with the ardent, who might have just tried to kill her. 

At last, Shallan seemed to stabilise, and Taravangian’s healers decided that the poison had been successfully removed from her body. They scooped her up and carried her back to her bed, tucking her up and measuring vitals, praising Jasnah for her swift action, telling her that she’d saved the girl’s life. 

Jasnah followed in something of a trance, not fully conscious of what she was doing, barely hearing their words. 

Now that she didn’t have something to do, a task to focus on, she found her thoughts returning to what Shallan had just said. What it implied. What it meant for her. 

Ivory stayed silent as she stood over her ward, staring down on her face. Storms, she was still so young. She looked more so unconscious, occasionally stirring feebly as the healers attended to her. She looked too small for the large white robe she had on, too young to be caught up in all of this.

 Grimacing, she forced herself to examine the two Soulcasters side-by-side. The one from Shallan’s pouch was an exact copy of the one she’d been wearing on her hand. 

The girl’s words confirmed what she had initially suspected. A swap had been made. A fake Soulcaster switched with her own, which Shallan had assumed was real, and had tried to rob her of. 

It was a fake itself. An excellent illusion to allow her to use her powers, carefully, in front of others. Who would assume that the heretic Alethi would be able to Soulcast herself? Using powers almost lost from history to the muddy waters of myth and legend.

But Shallan could not have known that. The fabrial she wore was a perfect copy. As the one she’d given her had been a perfect copy. They were not hard to replicate - not as a mere piece of jewellery, at any rate. 

A sudden wave of revulsion rose in her. 

She felt used. She felt violated.

Shallan had been close enough to her to do this. She had let her close enough to do this, had dropped her guard, had let her in.

She had been carrying around something other, something planted on her, something she had not recognised as not her own. What else could the girl have put on her that she would never have noticed? How easy it would have been for her to slip poison into her wine, or a blade between her ribs.

It made her feel contaminated, unclean. 

She felt a strong desire to fling the fabrial from her and shatter it against a wall. But no. She must compose herself. It would not do to cause a scene like that in such a public space. She could not have them doubt her composure, her rational mind.

So she waited, standing still, hands at her sides, staring down at Shallan’s limp form while the surgeons bustled around, as though Soulcast from stone.

“Well, Jasnah,” Ivory said quietly, as a muscle feathered in her jaw after several long, drawn out minutes of just standing there. Waiting. When she wanted to move. She wanted to run. She wanted to get out. “You are doing well.” 

He was all that kept her grounded in the agonising, drawn out wait. She was not an impatient person, by nature. She could wait. She could allow things to come in their own time. But Storms this was difficult.

Mercifully, someone approached her to inform her that the ardent, her would-be assassin, had succumbed to his own poison. 

Good, she thought, rather savagely. 

The sudden intensity of the anger and contempt that surged within her a worrying sign. She had to control that. Always in control. Even when nothing else was. Even when the world slipped closer and closer to Desolation, she would always be in control of herself.

“I would see the body,” she said coldly, tearing her eyes away from Shallan at last.

The healer seemed uncomfortable with that, but she was a storming princess, and this man had just tried to kill her. She would not be denied. And she had not asked. She had commanded. That command was heeded.

They led her to a smaller room, separate from the more public wards Shallan had been in, where they had laid the body of the young man out on a table. 

His death would hurt Shallan, she- No. She would not feel sympathy for her. Not now. Not after what she’d done.

A quick examination was all she needed to locate the tattoo on his forearm that marked Kabsal as a Ghostblood. Another failed attempt on her life by them to add to the growing list, then. 

She did not linger with him. 

She ordered a search of his quarters, though assumed he would be too careful to have any documents or notes of use lying around. His kind typically were. 

Then she forced herself to return to the main room to hear news of Shallan. It hurt. But she had done many things that hurt her over the years. It needed done, and so she would attend to it.

Once the doctors, gently, told her that the girl was now stable, and would survive the ordeal, she left without another word. Merely stopping at the door to request that the girl be guarded, and that she be sent word once she woke. 

Then she gathered her things from the hospital room, and walked, composed, and poised, from the place. 

She maintained that composure, perfect posture, as she’d been taught, straight backed, head high, utterly in control despite everything that had happened. Her racing thoughts. Her still pounding heart. 

She did not waver. She did not break. She did not allow a single crack to slip through the mask she had cultivated so carefully for so many years. 

A mask that was, more and more, becoming difficult to take off or separate herself from. But she couldn’t think of that now. She needed it. She needed the illusion of reason and control it brought to her in this moment of madness.

At last she reached her chambers in the Palaneum. 

She stepped inside. Set her things down, neatly, each in its proper place, then moved to her desk. She drew out the chair, and sat down delicately. She tucked it in, precise, neatly aligned with the edges of the desk. 

Then, alone, sure she would not be seen, she buried her face in her hands, the mask seeming to crumble into them. 

Her shoulders slumped as the weight of everything that had happened crashed down upon her at once. 

She exhaled shakily, squeezing her eyes shut, pressing her fingers against them, trying to process, to regain control to, to- 

“I am sorry, Jasnah,” Ivory’s quiet voice said. 

She felt the ghost of a touch, his hand on her shoulder. In some things, Ivory remained distinctly alien, a spren to the bone, so to speak. But in others he had picked up small human gestures from his time with her. 

She looked up, jaw tight, and found him standing beside her at his full height. He had so rarely assumed that form, lately. He had not felt safe enough to do so. The possibility of an interruption by Shallan had always been present. 

No more. No more...

Jasnah put her safehand to her head, breathing slowly, trying to compose herself, to force control over emotions that were rising and rioting out of control. 

She had barely slept for days. She had camped outside the girl’s hospital room, awaiting any chance to be admitted to see her. She had thought Shallan had attempted to take her own life. She’d thought that had been her fault. She had cursed herself endlessly in that sterile white corridor. 

Too much. Too intense. Too harsh. Too demanding. Too caught up in herself to recognise the emotions, and needs, and struggles of others. And it had led to the child’s near death! 

The image of finding her, slumped over, blood pooling around her from the gash on her arm, had haunted her. 

She had lost so much time. Unable to concentrate. The work had been a distraction - but how could she distract herself from the fact she might have killed her young ward? Such a bright, vibrant, promising young woman, driven into darkness by Jasnah. 

It was all a lie. 

Jasnah had panicked in vain. She had grieved in vain. She had blamed herself, and hated herself for what she had done in vain. 

It had never been her. 

Shallan’s guilt over the theft had been what had driven her to despair. Not Jasnah. Not Jasnah. 

Now this. 

Another assassination attempt by the Ghostbloods. That was not surprising. They were growing bolder, more desperate, as she drew closer and closer to the secrets that could unravel Roshar. 

She had suspected the youthful ardent. He had been too attentive of Shallan, too present, always forcing himself into their lives. Every time he’d visited had likely been an attempt to claim her life. Her prudence had saved her. Again. 

She could deal with that. It was worrying, but she’d long since had guards in place to protect herself from his sort. It was not truly that which caused her such pain in this moment.

What hurt more than any poison could ever have done was the betrayal.

 Again. Stormfather. Again. 

Shallan. So eager, so intent, so apparently hungry for knowledge and learning. So like Jasnah had been herself, when she’d been younger, caught up in the thrill and joy of scholarship for the first time. 

Jasnah had been stupid. She had let her guard down. She had let Shallan in, when she’d sworn to herself never again. But she’d been fooled. She’d been taken in. 

She shivered to think that she had considered sharing the secrets she had uncovered with her. Ivory had agreed. If the Ghostbloods ever succeeded in their mission of killing her, unlikely, but not uncertain, Roshar would not be left in the dark. Lost without the information she’d uncovered. 

She’d been building Shallan up as a lifeline, as a backup, an added safety net for this world she wanted so desperately to protect. What a fool. What a storm’s cursed fool she had been.

 She’d actually allowed herself to care for the child. She had let her get close. Close enough to hurt. And of course she had. Of course she had.

Jasnah clenched her hand into a fist and had to stop herself slamming it down on the table with great difficulty. What would that accomplish? 

Yet she longed for it. To give in, for once, to those harsh, near feral instincts, on the off-chance they might actually make her feel better.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to rage. She wanted to tear the heart from her chest, Soulcast it to crystal, and shatter against the wall so she would not have to feel anymore. 

But no. She had slipped in letting Shallan in too close. She could not let her control slip, too. She must be composed. Always composed. Always in control. She could never let that slip again. Never. 

So she forced herself to breathe, to slowly unclench her fist and set it down, gently, palm first, on the table. 

Would that she could wrestle her traitorous emotions as easily as her outward responses. 

Shallan. Shallan had betrayed her. Stolen from her. One of her most intimate and precious items, supposedly. Ripped from her person. Replaced with a fake. And she had not noticed. 

That caused her to shiver. 

The fake fabrial had been a cover, a way to hide what she was, lest she find herself the target of more unwanted, irksome assassination attempts.

Or, worse, find herself locked up again as an object of study and- 

No. No that was irrational. But still. This had exposed a weakness, a flaw in the armour she had built around herself. If she had Soulcast while wearing the fake she would have exposed herself. 

Shallan would have known that something was wrong. The girl had enough wit to ask questions, to draw conclusions, as she’d taught her. It could have destroyed everything.

“We haven’t Soulcast around her recently, have we?” she asked Ivory quietly. 

“No,” he said, firm, confirming what she’d suspected and putting her at ease, “Not since we dealt with the killers in the alley.” 

Yes. That was right.

Even so, she felt exposed. Horribly so. She felt vulnerable, and used. A means to an end. A vessel for wealth, or prestige, or power. Not a person. She had tried to train Shallan, to educate her, to help her understand the world and she, she- 

Jasnah should have known. 

No-one wanted to get close to her for any reason other than to use what they could of her. Then leave. Regardless of the husk they left in their wake. What did that matter, when they had what they wanted?

 No-one had behaved any differently towards her in years. Shallan was not an exception, she was simply the latest example of this rule of her life. 

Hadn’t she accused her of being precisely what she was? Hadn’t she seen the truth of her on that first day? Spoken it to her, even. A rural opportunist, only seeking to use her for her own gain? She had assumed she’d wanted a political alliance, to help balance her failing house. 

She had been wrong about the details, but she had been right about her.

As she’d been right about the ardent. She’d assumed he’d wanted to get close to her, to hurt her, or take the Soulcaster from her. She’d been right about that. She’d trusted her instincts and kept him at bay. 

She’d let her own nature and experiences cloud her judgement when it came to Shallan. She would not make that mistake again. Another lesson for her, then.

“Jasnah?” Ivory said, sounding concerned, as he put a hand on her shoulder again. 

“I knew,” she found herself saying, shaking her head, furious at herself, as much as the child, “I knew that she would betray me, Ivory. And still I allowed her, I allowed it, I-” 

“No,” Ivory’s interruption was so stark, so surprising, that she looked up at him, frowning. 

“No,” he repeated, shaking his head firmly, “You did not know that she would betray you, Jasnah. This is not something that can be known. It is not a rational truth. It cannot be known until it is. You did not know. Not until it was known.” 

She looked up at him, wilting. Sometimes Ivory’s blunt, literal way of processing the world could be a bit exhausting. Especially at times like this. 

“I had more than enough evidence from previous experience to have known better,” she said, tired.

Ivory appeared to consider this, then he said quietly, “If I had used the evidence of humans’ betrayal of spren, then this would not be,” he said, gesturing between her and himself.

She sat up a little straighter, watching him. His expression had grown distant. His sharp features had been hard to read, but she knew him well enough to read the emotion in him now.

“We had evidence that humans could not be trusted,” he went on, voice unusually soft, “That they would kill us if we bonded. But I wanted you. I wanted our bond. I went against the experience of the ancient fathers, the disapproval of the other inkspren, for you.” 

“I remember their displeasure,” she said, with a grim smile. 

The other inkspren had tried to kill her, rather than allowing Ivory to risk a bond. She sobered, realising what he was implying. 

“These bonds, we need them,” Ivory said firmly, “Spren and humans. I must have our bond to have sentience, to have sanity, in this realm. You must have bonds with other humans for the same reason. I did not understand. But now I do. You cannot exist alone. You must have these bonds. Even if they, too, come with the risk for destruction. This is good. This is, Jasnah.” 

She sighed, “It does not feel good, Ivory,” she said quietly. 

“It is right to be upset, Jasnah,” he replied. 

“I am not upset,” she said, pointedly. 

He glowered down at her in abject disbelief. Which was appropriate, as it was a blatant lie, and she knew it.  

She sighed, deflating again, “I do not want to be upset,” she amended, more honestly. 

Her eyes drifted to the stacks of notebooks around her and she felt suddenly cold, as another emotion swept over her. Anger. 

“We’ve lost so much time to this,” she whispered, the enormity of what they faced threatening to crush her.  

But she couldn’t let it. She couldn’t fail again. 

“We will be,” Ivory said firmly, jerking his chin. 

“But will we be enough?” Jasnah sighed, closing her eyes. 

“Jasnah?” Ivory said, sounding concerned again, even unsure, “This is not you. This uncertainty. This doubt. It is not.” 

She smiled weakly and looked up at him, shaking her head, “I am tired, Ivory. I am so tired.” 

“Yes. You need more sleep. I have said this,” he agreed jerkily. 

She smiled thinly at that. Dear Ivory. Blunt and literal to the end. She loved him for that, she truly did. 

“Perhaps I do,” she agreed. 

She had been feeding on Stormlight to push herself without sleep for too long. Logically she knew that. Ivory had persisted in reminding her each night, to reinforce the point. It was just so hard to waste time lying down doing nothing while the world teetered on the brink of desolation. 

“But I was not speaking of physical fatigue, Ivory,” she explained. 

He had grown proficient at understanding human behaviours, particularly hers, over their years. But sometimes she still had to break things down for him. 

“Ah,” Ivory said, nodding, “A human expression. A non-literal truth?” 

“It feels very literal to me now, I assure you” she said, the humour draining from her, like light sucked from a sphere. 

She rested her head on her hands again, massaging her temples, shoulders slumped. She hadn’t been this vulnerable in some time, either. For the similar reasons as Ivory. 

She had not wanted Shallan to see. She hadn’t let her know of her weariness, her fear or strain. She had tried to protect the girl from it all. Even as she planned to rob her, and possibly assist her ardent friend in her assassination, she-

Jasnah sighed heavily, feeling a deep and heavy tiredness within her very bones. 

She was glad she did not have to put up a front for Ivory. They were bonded, their souls entwined. Concealing things from him would be like concealing things from herself. She trusted him. He would never abandon her. He would never betray her. He would never hurt her. 

Probably. 

“I am tired, Ivory,” she confessed, the words coming out in a groan, heavy, and hopeless. “I am so tired of being betrayed. I am tired of trusting, only to have it used as a weapon against me and rammed into my back months later. Just when I’d finally begun to relax, to let someone in again, I’m made to feel a fool for doing so.”

Stormfather. This was so much. Pressing upon her, heavier and heavier with each passing day, demanding more and more force of will to hold it all back. 

She covered her face with her hands, voice falling away to barely more than a whisper as she found herself confessing, as if from her deathbed, “I am tired of being reminded over and over and over again that loving someone is not enough to stop them hurting you.” 

“I love you,” Ivory said simply. 

Jasnah started, hand slipping in her shock and she turned to look up at him, lips slightly parted in surprise. 

He was gazing down at her, and somehow, his expression softened his harsh, sharp edged features. 

Absurdly, she felt her throat tighten at the words, at the sincerity, the intent. 

Ivory did not say something unless he considered it true. And his definition of truth was one of spren, not people. 

For Ivory, truths were things that could not be otherwise. It was not enough for him to believe it was true, or for it to be a truth that could exist until proven incorrect, or replaced by something better. 

Ivory understood truth as a rational, mathematical thing. His truth was absolute. Unconditional. 

It was impossible for the sum of two and three to give any answer other than five. It was not possible, in this world, set as it was, for a square to have any less, or any more, than four sides. 

So, in Ivory’s mind, it was impossible for his love for her to be anything other than absolutely true.

“I do, Jasnah,” he added firmly, looking at her with gentleness, “Have I ever hurt you? Have you felt yourself worse for our bond? Our friendship?” 

“Of course not, Ivory,” she murmured, reaching out and taking his hand. It was a largely pointless gesture, as he barely had any substance, but she felt he would understand all the same. “But you’re different.” 

“Yes,” he agreed, “I am spren. We are stable, unchanging, eternal. Such is our bond. Humans, they are not. They are unstable,” he said bluntly, apparently not realising that most people would consider this rather insulting. He did not mean it as such, she knew. “But you need them. You need their change. They will help you grow.” 

She smiled hollowly and said, without much humour, “It would be nice if my growth could be spurred by something pleasant, for a change, rather than the usual onslaught of deaths, assassination attempts, and betrayals from my closest allies.” 

“Pleasant does not help you excel,” Ivory insisted, stubbornly, “It only is, so it shall only let you be. It push you to change, or to become what you can be.” 

“This changes so much, Ivory,” she murmured, too weary to continue debating the potential benefits of her pain, “There are so many things we must consider now. So many potentials.” 

None of them were at all ‘pleasant’. 

Ivory sniffed. He did not like potentials, loose ends, or uncertainty. On that count, she agreed with him. They needed to know precisely what they were dealing with. The full extent of Shallan’s betrayal. 

She was going to have to tear open this wound, while it was still fresh and dripping, to examine precisely how deep it went, and what damage had been done. 

They were going to have to see Shallan again. To ask her some painful and difficult questions. 

Perhaps she had merely been bribed or enticed by one of the devotaries, who considered it a sore subject that she possessed a Souclaster, something they considered a holy relic. 

The girl was strongly religious, and found great comfort and strength in her faith. Jasnah had never begrudged her that. There had been times, she was sure, that the child had feared she would attempt to convert her, or take it from her. 

No-one ever understood. She had stepped away from religion because it had not brought her any support or hope. But she knew that for many, it did. They saw their Almighty, and his teachings, as a guiding light, something that illuminated and heightened their lives. Why would she ever seek to take that light away? 

That was how she would begin her line of questioning, for that was the answer she most wished to be given. It would not be the first time it had happened, and she had been close friends with Kabsal, the ardent. 

Jasnah tapped her fingers on the table, considering the altogether more distressing alternative. 

For Kabsal, her would-be murderer, had not only been an ardent. He had also been a Ghostblood. 

Could it be that the girl had been working with them? Someone to get close to Jasnah, to allow access for Kabsal, an excuse to continue visiting her, being around her, letting him spy and make attempts on her life? In return, she would be given Jasnah’s fabrial, and the good will of her enemies. 

Storms, what a mess. 

She rose and moved to her trunks, opening the one in which she kept her notebooks. She would review the one with information on the Ghostbloods, cross reference it with the research she had done on House Davar, determine whether she could find any links or additional motives for their partnership, she- 

As she moved aside her neatly stacked notebooks, seeking the correct one, she dislodged a paper, which drifted to the floor behind her like snowfall, skidding beneath the desk. 

Ivory, who had enough physical form to interact with very light objects like sheets of parchment, retrieved it for her and held it out. 

She froze as she looked down at it. It was not a loose sheet of notes - a practice she avoided at all costs, in any case - but a drawing. One that Shallan had gifted to her, when she had accepted her as ward, wrought with such obvious skill and care. 

Jasnah closed her eyes, and felt something deep inside her tremble. This was too much. Too much for one person to bear alone. Too much.

“I don’t think I can do this again, Ivory,” she found herself whispering.

 Weak. Unacceptably so. But sometimes she was weak. For all this world tried to tell her otherwise, she was still human.

“You will,” he said, pushing the sketch into her hand. 

She took it from him, and knew that he was right. She would do it. Because it needed to be done. And storm it all, whatever else, she did what had to be done. 

A part of her wanted to Soulcast the sketch to flame in her anger. But no. That would serve no purpose beyond spite. 

This is a lie, a lie she used to manipulate you, a part of herself whispered. 

But perhaps it could also be a truth. Perhaps some part of the girl had come to enjoy her time with her. Perhaps the theft had been difficult for her, painful, even. It had driven her to attempt suicide, after all. There must have been guilt, must have been regret, or doubt. 

She wasn’t sure if that made this better or worse. 

If she was simply a cold monster, removed from her, without connection, as Kabsal had been, it would be easier to hate her, easier to do what needed to be done now. 

But she had not been. She had been Shallan. She had come to matter to her. Truly. 

“Come,” she told Ivory, getting to her feet, placing the sketch carefully back inside her trunk for now, “We have work to do.” 

Hard work. Painful work. But that was the only kind she’d known for so long. There was nothing for it but to simply do it. Push through the darkness and hope that, some day, she would finally emerge into the light. 

***

[blackjack-15]

Death, Philosophy, and the Runs — Thoughts on: Legend of the Crystal Skull (CRY)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN, DAN, CRE, ICE

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it. Like with all of the Odd Games, there will be a section between The Intro and The Title called The Weird Stuff, where I go into what makes this game stand out as a little strange.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: CRY, mention of CUR, mention of ASH.

The Intro:

 It’s time for New Orleans, y’all.

Legend of the Crystal Skull is a game that’s often rated highly by the fandom, especially for its atmosphere (which is among the most well-done and pervasive of the whole series). Honestly speaking, were it not for the mental health/death/immortality storyline(s), CRY would simply be a Jetsetting game a bit out of order, given its fascination with its location (even if the amount of locations is slightly smaller).

One of the high points of this game is honestly its location and ambiance. CRY takes the idea of the “dark and stormy night” and plays it to perfection, cloaking everything in such thick atmosphere that the players, like Nancy, can’t always see the way ahead, and have to take leaps of faith every once in a while.

The characters contribute to the thick atmosphere; Bruno is a shadow, Henry’s hiding everything under a guise of nonchalance and a fishnet glove, Renée is all gardening grandma hospitality but never says anything about herself, Gilbert has Southern Manners while avoiding saying anything bad even when he means it, and Lamont refuses to get involved in anything outside his shop. They aren’t perfect suspects, but they’re good characters, and it elevates the game.

Bess’ hesitance to delve into this atmosphere makes her the perfect partner for Nancy who begins by investigating just who the Skeleton Man was who attacked her before spiraling deeper and deeper into the mysteries surrounding Bruno Bolet and his crystal skull.

But while the costumes, pageantry, puns, and secrets all contribute to the atmosphere, nothing quite reaches the same level of Sheer Aesthetic as Bruno’s last years being dedicated to finding a crystal skull. Glittery and gothic with power over life and death, it’s easy to see why the game is named after it (which, of course, I’ll get into below).

This isn’t to say that CRY is all sizzle and no substance — far from it. CRY doesn’t attempt to teach the player the entire history of New Orleans, the complex background and practices of voodoo (or any of its other sister practices), nor does it get into iguana physiology or the mechanics of how to make someone sneeze or get the runs.

While education is of course present in CRY, it’s more centered in philosophy than in hard, straight facts. Professor Hotchkiss – a returning character perfectly suited to the French-influenced New Orleans and her love of slightly sinister history – gives the mission statement of the game, summing up its central philosophical question – “Does this mean that there mysterious external forces at work in the universe of which we do not and cannot ever have full knowledge? Or does it all boil down to us? If the human heart desperately wants something to be true, does the human mind have the power to make it true?”

It’s a fascinating question, and touches on all sorts of real-life phenomenon – the power of suggestion, the placebo effect, intelligent design, among others – without ever seeming like HER is trying to Teach a Lesson. Out of all the edutainment elements in this series, CRY (and I would add ASH in here as well) features some of the most subtle work that HER ever accomplishes.

The Weird Stuff:

Of course, a discussion (one-sided as these metas mostly are) of CRY wouldn’t be complete without addressing the things that qualify it to be a truly Odd Game within the Nancy Drew franchise.

The first and most obvious is that we’re dealing with death – and a recent death at that — for the first time in a while. We’d have to go all the way back to CLK to see another death of a relative not long before the mystery starts, and Emily’s mom’s death and Josiah Crowley’s death don’t hang over CLK the way Bruno Bolet’s death hangs over CRY.

Bruno is given instead more weight – part of the mystery is figuring out who he was, what he liked, what he wanted, and what he did every day, especially leading up to his death. The house is almost a stand in character for Bruno; it reflects him perfectly, including all the things that were important to him, and just as determined to keep his secrets. A lot of Nancy Drew games have the house/location as a character, but only a few associate the location with a specific character, and CRY does it possibly the best.

The second thing that makes this game so odd is the showcasing of an abusive relationship. Sure, Summer doesn’t hit Henry or anything, but is just as abusive all the same, and the game doesn’t shy away from showing her horrible behavior and the effect that it has on Henry. He stays with her because, like a lot of abuse victims, he doesn’t think he can do ‘better’ – that somehow this is what he deserves – and the only slight problem with how it’s portrayed is that we don’t get to see Henry leave her and be happier.

Lastly, in an oddity for Nancy Drew games so far, mental illness is put at the front and center of the game (rather than being a one-off random thing not really mentioned like in CUR). Henry, separate from the abuse he receives from Summer, is obviously depressed, and the game doesn’t really shy away from showing it. Sure, they might not use the term “clinical depression”, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not acknowledged. Henry’s depression, his sadness, his feeling of being out of control and yet still tied down – that permeates every moment of the game, and especially his conversations with Nancy. The whole reason Nancy’s there at the Bolet mansion in the first place is because Ned was worried about his shy, depressed classmate.

Gosh, Ned is such a good guy. He deserves so much better than Nancy “Lacks Tact” Drew.

Unlike a lot of the “Odd” games, the odd things in CRY don’t detract from the game; they make the game what it is. It’s a bit more mature, a little more introspective, a touch less black and white than most of the Nancy Drew games have been up until this point. No characters are simply caricatures, there’s very little stereotyping (for a ND game), and it’s not pointlessly spooky or try-hard in any way. CRY is the rare game that simply is what it aspired to be; while what it aspired to be was odd (and it is Odd), it doesn’t make it bad. It makes it feel genuine and honest – and after ICE, I can’t think of anything better for a game to aspire to be.

The Title:

We’re getting to the portion of Nancy Drew games where, regardless of the quality of the actual games, their titles are smash hits every time. “Legend of the Crystal Skull” is an incredibly good title on multiple levels.

First, it tells us what the game is about – not the Crystal Skull itself, but the legend of it – the myths, mysteries, and effects of the Skull. Not only does it (correctly) indicate that this game is a little more about philosophy than it is about something concrete.

The second thing it does is establish a sense of mysticism that is reinforced the second the game begins. We’re in New Orleans, we’re learning about this Crystal Skull, it’s dark, rainy, and spooky, there’s death and specters and possibly more afoot…and this doesn’t start with the Skeleton Man cutscene, or the phone call, or even the warning on the screen to play with the lights off – it starts with the title.

The Mystery:

We begin with Nancy and Bess visiting New Orleans – the French Quarter, to be specific – for a fun little vacation, only to be met with a Dark and Stormy Night. Ned, knowing of his girlfriend’s plans to visit New Orleans, asks her if she can check up on a classmate of his who’s going through a hard time: Henry Bolet.

Determined to get the visit out of the way, Nancy leaves Bess back at the hotel and traipses over to the Bolet Mansion. When she walks in – I know, honestly, Nancy –  the open door, she’s greeted by a person in a skeleton costume in the front room, rather than a miserable college student.

She’s soon knocked out by the Skeleton Man, coming to when an elderly woman offers her an odd concoction and the Skeleton is long gone. Soon, Nancy discovers that Henry’s dead uncle was in possession of a Crystal Skull that was to protect its owner against any source of death other than murder, the plot starts to thicken quicker than a bubbling roux.

CRY is home to an incredibly solid mystery, full of atmosphere, colorful characters, and even a food minigame as if to draw me in specifically. While I don’t think it’s the best Nancy Drew game by a long shot, I would say that it’s definitely the best of the Odd games, and by far the most successful mystery + atmosphere combination that we’ll have until we reach SAW, quite a few games later.

Now, let’s move on to our colorful characters.

The Suspects:

We’ll start with Renee Amande, as I think she’s our first character who is properly introduced post-cutscene (with her concoction). Bruno’s elderly housekeeper, Renee is a practitioner of voodoo (kind of) and a believer in the crystal skulls – she wants to reunite all thirteen of them to move the world to a higher plane of understanding.

Our villain, yet not our killer – not directly at least – the only thing Renee is guilty of other than attempted murder of a plucky Illinois detective is falsifying a letter. The shock of the “false” crystal skull shocked Bruno so badly that he had a heart attack and died, but Renee didn’t actually kill him. She’s one of those villains in Nancy Drew stories who commit a minor crime, and jump immediately to murder when she’s discovered.

As the villain, Renee is actually the only suspect that could even work. The game plays with Dr. Buford and the mysterious Skeleton Man, but in reality Renee’s the only one with motive and opportunity. But, given that Nancy spends 3/4ths of the game trying to figure out what crime has actually been committed, rather than working with cold hard facts, that works out pretty well.

Henry Bolet, on the other hand, is apparently catnip to a good section of the Nancy Drew fandom, and is the closest thing to a living victim that we actually have in this game. When his parents died, he was shipped off to live with Bruno – and Bruno shipped him off to military school, so he should be a bit more muscular than he is – and he’s never gotten over their deaths.

Like, “Nancy finds him crying over his parents” kind of never got over their deaths.

I’ll be honest, while I know lots of people who did Love him with everything in them, I never really saw the appeal of Henry Bolet as a love interest for anyone, or even as a compelling character. His voice actor – Brian Neel – does a great job, with his voice definitely being the part of him with the most obvious appeal, but otherwise…maybe it comes from my distaste for underdog stories, maybe it’s that I’m no good with crying people, who knows.

As a suspect, Henry’s pretty much out from the moment that he confesses to Nancy that he sold a trunk for quick cash for his abusive girlfriend. HER isn’t bold enough to have that be a lie, nor are they dumb enough to make him the culprit after that. Henry’s out of the running for most of the game, but he never really becomes Nancy’s confidante, not like other early-clear suspects.

Henry’s an interesting puzzle as a character, but that more comes from his place as the central piece of CRY’s “Oddness”, rather than any interest in him as a possible suspect.

On the other end of fandom appeal lies Dr. Gilbert Buford, whose greatest sin as a character is declaring an obvious heart attack an obvious heart attack and using regular, polite Louisiana manners for a man of his age while interacting with a character who obviously has no problem with it at all.

Dr. Buford is hard at work giving the majority of Bruno’s characterization that doesn’t come from his house to him, as well as giving a truly excellent scare when finding Bess in the Secret Meeting scene. As a suspect, Buford is a moderately good one – cagey, a doctor, knows about the Skull – but ultimately falls short as he just has too many of his own secrets to carry.

I personally like Gilbert Buford as a character, and find him an entertaining source of exposition – but then, I grew up around Southern manners (and military manners, which aren’t too dissimilar), so that might be the reason why.

Rounding out our suspect list – though barely qualifying himself, honestly, is Lamont Warrick, owner of a curio shop and intensely vulnerable to hot sauce and sneezing powder.

One can only imagine the Horror that would occur if Nancy were to mix those two allergens. Well, one can also Giggle at the mental image, but still.

As a suspect…well, even HER knew that he was a non-entity; his biggest part to play is actually after the game concludes, where he closes his curio shop in order to search for Bernie, who has swallowed the crystal skull.

I guess someone had to search for it? I’d love a follow-up with him, maybe over Labor Day, or Memorial Day, where Bess goes back to see if he’s had any luck, only to find that he found a dead body along with the alligator, and in order to not get suspected for the murder, they have to bring the body with them and pretend that it’s alive, taking it to bingo games over the course of the 3 vacation days.

Yes, that was all to set up a bad “Weekend at Bernie’s” reference. Hush.

The Favorite:

As you might have guessed from…well, most of this meta, one of my favorite parts of CRY is the sheer atmosphere that the game embodies from its beginning through the closing puzzle.

The Bolet mansion is just the right amount of cluttered yet comfortable, shadowy yet detailed, and gloomy yet homey to be a nigh-perfect location. The graveyard isn’t hard to navigate, is filled with puns, and does a lot of the character work for Bruno and (to a slightly lesser extent) Henry while allowing both characters to be private and a bit mysterious. The greenhouse is simultaneously cozy and elegant and yet slightly cage-ish and slightly claustrophobic.

Even the locations that Nancy stays away from — the hotel balcony, Zeke’s, the food truck, the secret meeting — are thick with a different kind of atmosphere: less wet, less foggy, more brightly lit, more French Quarter than haunting mansion. Bess’ locations are welcoming yet secretive, perfect for the reluctant amateur-amateur detective who just wants her vacation to be fun and mystery-free.

Adding to the atmosphere is the sheer number of cutscenes/cinematic camera usages in CRY. The opening with the Skeleton Man, Bess getting caught at the meeting, opening the final crypt, Renee shutting the tomb…they’re all so perfect, and do a great job at making you feel really immersed in Nancy’s New Orleans experience.

My favorite puzzle is honestly finding the glass eyes. CRY isn’t really a game I remember for its puzzles; they fade a little bit into the background (with the exclusion of a couple I don’t like) because they’re well integrated into the story, and because the game doesn’t really grind to a halt to make Nancy complete minigames like in, for example, CUR.

My favorite moment is split between two very different moments. The first is, unsurprisingly, the conversation with Hotchkiss mentioned above where she lays out the theme of the game. It’s a shockingly nice moment in the game, coming in the start/middle of the mystery and being a familiar face – er, voice – for Nancy to get help from. It’s a moment that lets you stop and think about what Nancy’s actually dealing with, rather than effectively pausing the game through a rhymed puzzle about the skull or other such nonsense.

The other moment is a little more obvious and a little flashy – the moment when Bess is discovered at the Skeleton meeting. The tension right before, the sudden pop-up of the skeleton mask between the boxes, the conversation afterwards…it’s just as close as possible to a perfect scene. It’s long enough before Bess is discovered that the player can kind of get comfortable, but not so long that it drags on. The moment of discovery is startling, but not scream-worthy or too scary to replay over and over or in the dark. It’s just great.

The Un-Favorite:

There’s not a ton to complain about with CRY, but I do have a few small things that make replaying it somewhat of a chore.

The first is my least favorite puzzle: the loquat bug spraying. It takes a long time, it feels shoved in the game just to have an extra puzzle, and Nancy can only take one loquat at a time. I feel like the player should be able to take up to 3, and then come back and do it again if they need/want any more loquats. Honestly, it’s a puzzle in a place where a puzzle really just shouldn’t be.

My least favorite moment in the game would probably be the chest that Henry sells to Lamont. After selling it and building it up for quite a few minutes, it’s kind of a letdown that it only has a few things it in. This would have been a great place to have more character-building work done, but instead the focus is on “how do we find it/open it” and less on “what can this do for the story”.

Finally, I mentioned it above, but I’m not a fan of how Lamont pretty much is a non-entity in the game. I’m fine with one suspect being less suspicious or having less ‘dirt’ on them than the rest, but Lamont really doesn’t have anything on him. He’s never a suspect for the Skeleton Man, he doesn’t really do anything sketchy…he’s just underwhelming.

The Fix:

So how would I fix Legend of the Crystal Skull?

I think really the only fix that I would attempt is to give Lamont a little more plot significance. Sure, his curio shop is beautiful and wonderful and important to the plot, but Lamont himself really isn’t. In order to include him more in the plot, make Lamont a bona-fide treasure hunter that manages the curio shop for cash in between expeditions. He’s heard that Bruno has a treasure that people have killed for, but couldn’t figure out what it was before Bruno’s death. He buys the chest from Henry and searches it top-to-bottom trying to figure out if it’s hiding something since it’s obviously Bruno’s personal chest.

To add a bit more importance, I’d place him at the Bolet mansion on the night of Bruno’s death as well. Renee’s there, Dr. Buford is there, Henry we’ve already written off completely in the actual game as a suspect, so Lamont should be there as well, snooping around to try to figure out what treasure Bruno’s got and if he can persuade him to sell it (or at least let Lamont see it). Nancy can match footprints in the garden to his boots, or some other method of proving he was there. I’d just like for Lamont not to drop off the map early on. It also makes his canonical ending that much neater.

Honestly, that’s it.

Sure, I’d appreciate the loquat bug spraying minigame to be fixed as well, but CRY is honestly a pretty character-based game, thick with philosophy and legends, and it doesn’t need a ton of help in that area. Make all the suspects viable for most of the game, and I think an already entertaining and atmospheric game would be just a little bit better.

[mischiefandspirits]

Colony of Gotham (5/7)

The Colony of Gotham is an urban legend that is whispered about in the dangerous city. It’s said the Colony is a family of demons and spirits that stalk the night, hunting for the souls of the guilty.

When Bruce became Batman, he’d never intended to be mistaken for a demon. He was happy to lean into it, though, and as he gained his partners – as his family grew – they all followed suit.

First Part ~ Previous Part ~ Next Part

Vampires’ animal forms

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The zeta had barely finished announcing the departure of the speedsters to Gotham when a hissing voice echoed through the Watchtower.

“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t have done that. But I’m sure they’ll come out in mostly one piece. Maybe not alive but probably one piece. Shame. They didn't seem too bad. For heroes.”

Everyone was immediately on their feet and in fighting stances. Wonder Woman demanded to know who was there and the voice announced itself as Pythia the Coded Serpent, Oracle of Gotham and Advisor to the Colony. For a moment, every screen around them flicked to an image of a python with dark green feathers in the place of scales and looming shadow-like bat wings stretching out from it. Its empty white eyes stared them down, then it was gone and when they tried to speak to the voice, it didn’t answer. They tried to contact the speedsters and Tigress, but their calls wouldn’t go through. Zatanna tried to dispel whatever magic the serpent had used, but couldn’t. Without any idea where the speedsters had gone, all the older heroes could do was sit and wait.

Meanwhile, Young Justice and Supergirl immediately sent messages to Tim, Stephanie, and Bette, asking them to let them know if they saw Wally and Bart and got thumbs up emojis in response.

The three did not text them when Wally and Bart arrived at the manor.

Instead, they stayed hidden in the cave with Barbara and watched Dick tell them Tim was out before giving them both a dumbfounded expression when they asked him about Batman.

“Bat-who?”

He waved off all their questions, saying Batman was just a myth and he wouldn’t have told Wally if he’d known the stories would spook him like that. All the same, the spooky stories had been banned from the manor for the time being since Cass had started to have nightmares lately. They kept trying to get him to talk, but he soon received a text and had to leave to pick up Carrie from a friend’s house.

When the speedsters got back to the Watchtower no worse for wear without even seeing a bat, they all thought Pythia was just bluffing. 

Then they found a small, bat-shaped listening device on Kid Flash’s boot. No one could explain how it had gotten there. No one, not even Dick, had gotten close to him while he was in Gotham.

Then again, few people notice Cass when she doesn’t want them to.

Over the course of the following week, the same kind of bugs were found by all the heroes who’d been at the meeting, and some who weren’t. And it wasn’t always when they were suited up. Lois Lane, Superman’s wife, found one in the pocket of a pair of his lazy jeans, Troia found one stuck to her work camera, and one of the Green Lanterns stormed into the Watchtower, cursing out Superman and Wonder Woman for ticking off demons after he’d found one on his ring. The only relief they could find was that none of the bugs were turned on, but it was a small relief.

The message was clear: The Colony knew exactly who they were and could get to them without them ever knowing they were there.

The only ones who didn’t receive bugs were Flash -- who was happy to say, “I told you so!” to anyone who brought it up -- and Tigress -- who left any time someone brought up the Colony. The one and only time someone tried to stop her, she flipped them over her shoulder then said, “I wouldn’t pick a fight with Joker so I’m sure as hell not messing with the only thing that can take him down. Leave. Batman. Be.”

Safe to say, by the end of the week everyone was jumping at shadows.

Which meant the call they received was a bit overkill.

Wonder Woman, Superman, Flash, Wonder Girl, and Nightwing were debriefing after a joint mission between the League and Young Justice when all the screens in the room filled with static and the lights dimmed halfway. The largest screen then lit up with the image of a figure. Most of him couldn’t be seen, the dark patches of hair, mask, and suit blending into the shadows that surrounded him, but this only made his pale face and the bright blue streak on his chest and arms stand out more. Black lips split into a sharp smile as the creature realized he had their attention.

He greeted them each in turn, reaching Nightwing last and referring to him as “Copycat.”

“Nightwing?” Superman said, stepping towards the screen.

“In the flesh. Or as close to it as I come. Well, sort of. Got a little help from Pythia.”

If the group had looked at some of the other screens, they might have noticed the shapes of serpents moving through the static. Unfortunately, no one dared look away from the man so Barbara’s hard work went unnoticed.

“What do you want?”

The spirit’s head tilted to the side, slipping past his shoulder in a way that made his neck look broken. “Wasn’t that obvious?” He chirped. Then his head was straight up and he wasn’t smiling. “I’m here to warn you. Stay out of Gotham. If anyone wanted you here, they would have asked. And the little magic kid doesn’t count. As any Gothamite would tell you: Gotham problems are Gotham’s problem. Get lost, Metropolis.”

Flash couldn’t help but snort, having heard those last three words more times than he could count from both his partners. He regretted it instantly when he felt the spirit turn his attention to him, though he couldn’t tell you how he knew when all he could see where his eyes should have been was void.

The demon’s lips pulled up into a smile again, but this one was less fangs and more mischief. “You should take my words seriously. I had planned to leave my Flamebird alone until it was time for us to be together again. But if you keep it up, I might just need to steal my fire away now.”

“Flamebird?” Superman asked.

“My love,” the spirit answered, though he kept his attention on Flash. “I recently found my fire in Blüdhaven. Such a beauty, as I’m sure you can all attest. After all, Flamebird is one of you.”

Before anyone could respond, he was gone. As the screens and lights returned to normal, they turned to each other. Flash was pale as he started wringing his hands. Nightwing barely started to ask what was wrong before Flash started fretting about how Tigress must have been the one the spirit meant. They lived in Blüdhaven together and no one else in the League was recorded as living there. Her blonde hair and orange suit and fiery attitude must have made the spirit think she was Flamebird. They had to do something!

They called Tigress up and showed her a recording of the video Wonder Girl had smartly taken. She glared at all of them as the video progressed and when Flash worried over her she rolled her eyes. She was from Gotham. She knew the Colony. If they came for her, they came for her. Worrying wasn’t going to do anything to stop people that managed to slip past their defenses time and again. The only concession she agreed to was asking Dick if he’d be alright staying at the manor for a few nights so they could have some personal time.

It wasn’t unusual. They each had stayed elsewhere on a few occasions since they’d moved in together. Sometimes they just needed time as a pair instead of a trio. As such, Dick agreed easily.

Despite her calm attitude, something about the video bothered Artemis. As they went home and readied for bed, it replayed over and over in her head. She didn’t recognize his voice, but something about the way he talked nagged at her. The quirk of his smile tugged at her brain. The way he’d focused on Wally then immediately started in on Flamebird after the speedster had snorted seemed strange too. The way he was teasing Wally, taunting him, it didn’t feel malevolent. More like he was screwing with him.

Artemis shot up in bed. “Goddamit Dick, you little troll!”

Wally woke up at her scream and jumped to his feet, looking around for trouble. When he didn’t see anything, he turned to her, only to see her pulling on sweatpants. He asked what was going on and she told him they needed to see Dick immediately. He tried to argue, but she just made him put on some clothes before dragging him out of the apartment. Once in the car, he complained about how he shouldn’t be getting punished when Dick was the one in trouble then nodded off until they reached the manor.

Artemis was already at the door by the time he climbed out of the car so he didn’t hear what she said to Jason when he let them in.

“So which demon spirit are you?”

He does notice when Jason grabs them both and hauls them around the mansion, through a secret door, and down into some giant cave.

He doesn’t know why it’s happening, but he is awake enough to register that it is happening.

They both end up tied to chairs with a serious Jason, a cheerful Cass, and an annoyed Tim standing over them.

“So what do we do with them?” Tim asked and Jason pulled out a gun.

Suddenly Wally was wide awake. “Woah, okay, what is happening? Where are we and why is Jason going to shoot us?”

“He’s not,” Cass said, which wasn’t very reassuring considering she was speaking over Jason’s, “You know too much.”

“Who knows too much?” Cullen asked, strolling in. He looked over the two captives and shrugged. “Come on, Cass. Time to go home. Leave the others to their games.”

Cass pouted, but followed her older brother out after giving Artemis and Wally a friendly wave.

“So what do we do with them?” Tim repeated.

Artemis proceeded to curse them both out now that there were no children in the vicinity before demanding to see Dick.

Jason’s response was to aim the gun between her eyes and pull the trigger.

Once she had a faceful of glitter, he said he’d go get Dick. He ignored her cursing as he swaggered back the way they’d come.

“Should have called the idiot and made him come to us,” she growled and Tim agreed. She shook her head to try to get rid of some of the glitter, to no avail.

“No, seriously, what is happening?”

“Your death.”

Wally shrieked and vibrated straight through his bonds. He spun around and found himself face to face with a giggling Carrie. Except that the voice coming from her was not her voice.

He looked at the others to see Tim was amused and Artemis was done. It was at that point that he took in the cave. His eyes widened. “Oh.”

Jason and Dick arrived, the latter looking sheepish. Artemis immediately tore into him.

“In my defense, you guys didn’t exactly tell me about your secret lives either.”

“You ALREADY KNEW!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me. And hey, at least I told you I was a vampire.”

Both took a second to think about that as they realized they probably should have connected the large family filled with creatures of darkness to the creatures of darkness running around protecting Gotham.

“You still didn’t need to be a dick about it.” Dick opened his mouth at Artemis’s words. “Oh shut up, you know what I meant!”

As it hit Wally just how much the family had been messing with the League, he smirked. “You know what would really freak the League out?”

“No,” Artemis said as the siblings perked up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Young Justice were all hanging out in the Watchtower’s canteen, waiting for Kid Flash so they could have a team meeting, when Tigress came in to ask Troia and Aquaman if they’d seen Flash. Apparently, he’d left early that morning to check on their partner before monitor duty then disappeared. The last anyone had heard from him was when he’d asked Captain Marvel to fill in for him shortly after he’d left Tigress. She had called their partner, but apparently Flash had never shown up.

That was when Kid Flash raced in, looking terrified.

Flash had called him in the early morning and left a voicemail, but he had only just seen the message because his phone had died. When he’d charged it enough to turn on, he’d listened to the message and…

“Hey, kid. Wanted to see if you wanted to get lunch after I get off duty today. I’m getting to the manor now so I can ask Dick and Tim if they want to come too. Call me wh-Oh shi-What are you do-”

“Hello, my flame.”

Troia and Aquaman immediately sent a call out to everyone connected to the Batman case. No one was pleased to realize Nightwing thought Flamebird was Flash, not Tigress like they’d assumed. When the group checked, they found that the call came ten minutes before the one to Captain Marvel and came from the edge of Wayne Manor’s property line.

Hearing this, the team all spammed Tim with texts checking to see if he was okay.

The bird, having grown tired of all their smothering, sent them a picture of himself flipping them off with a caption saying he wasn’t a child and could take care of himself. He was from Gotham, not Metropolis. He then turned his phone off so he wouldn’t have to see their demeaning fretting.

If he hadn’t, he would have seen the group panicking over a shadow behind him that they were convinced was one of the Colony. Without the others noticing, the five snuck away to Gotham. Tim was less than pleased when he opened the door.

“Since when do you open the door for yourself?” Jinny asked.

“Since Alfred’s in England and Bruce and Selina are on their honeymoon. Why are you guys here?” Cassie showed him the picture and he slapped his forehead. “I knew you guys were getting paranoid, but this is ridiculous. That is my jacket.”

They refused to believe him so he offered to bring them up to his room to prove it. They made it halfway there before the sounds of thumps had him turning around to see them all unconscious on the floor, Jason and Cass standing over them.

“Seriously, Jason? Stop kidnapping everyone! You're ruining the bit!”

“You and Dickie are the ones who decided to drag your friends into what was supposed to be a family thing.”

“I told them I was fine! They’re the ones who just showed up for no reason!”

“You’re just mad Artemis isn’t here too,” Dick said as he and Wally walked up.

“Shut up, Dickhead. She’d kick all our asses if we dragged her into this and you know it. Now help me get them to the cave.”

“Definitely pouting,” Dick whispered to Wally and Jason slugged him.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight ch 1

A wind passes through an apple orchard, and the world is changed.

Chapter 1: Apples First

Dragon chapter icon – does that mean we get to see Rand post-Dragonmount? I am… very curious.

Though apples in this story just make me think of Perrin, what with his entire family buried beneath the apple trees.

But first, the Wheel, and the wind.

Crisp and light, the wind danced

That’s a marked shift in tone from how the wind has been introduced in the last few books, as a darker and more violent or vicious force. It is entirely possible that I’m overthinking this. But the wind has always felt like something of a binding thread in the whole idea of ‘the Dragon is one with the land’ and it would be fitting for the wind to change as Rand does.

Then again, it does accelerate somewhat in the next paragraph or so.

Are we starting off in Seanchan? That wind sure does get around.

These were towers meant for war. By tradition they were unoccupied. How long that would last – how long tradition itself would be remembered in a continent in chaos – remained to be seen.

That’s an excellent line. It reminds me of another one from an introductory wind sequence: Trade slowed for winter and wars, and the Dragon Reborn, but it never really stopped, not until nations died. I’m not sure why, really; there’s not a huge amount of similarity there beyond an abstract concept of socioeconomics phrased in a particularly lovely way, but there you go.

Beyond that, though… how long tradition itself would be remembered in a continent of chaos is applied to Seanchan here, but it also touches on a rather central theme of the series overall: the tension between past and future, the weight of story and tradition, of myth and legend, against the inevitability of change and the passage of time.

The wind continued eastward, and soon it was playing with the masts of half-burned ships at the docks of Takisrom.

I like the contrast here between playfulness and violence, between caprice and destruction.

The Fields of Peace were aflame

Well that’s… an image. Okay. Damn.

Semirhage really did do her work well. She may be dead now but before she died, I think she made a pretty solid case for herself as one of the most effective Forsaken. Throwing an entire continent into utter chaos, even while helping that empire bring chaos to another continent? Driving Rand across the last of his own thresholds? You could even argue that her death was itself a triumph, because in pushing Rand to the point where he was willing to kill her, she achieved precisely what she needed to.

I mean, Moridin’s nihilism certainly played a role in Rand’s ‘none of it matters’ on Dragonmount, but Semirhage played a rather starring role in getting him there, and for that she deserves some villainous accolades in whatever terrace of hell she’s now decorating to her tastes.

Eventually, the wind encountered another continent, this one quiet, like a man holding his breath before he headsman’s axe fell.

Well. Depending on the exact timing of this – and I certainly have my guesses – that’s… exactly what’s happening. The land waiting, breath held, for the Dragon to decide its future. Salvation or destruction. And so of course the wind arrives to bear witness.

By the time the wind reached the enormous, broken-peaked mountain known as Dragonmount, it had lost much of its strength.

No, I’m not having emotions about wind, you’re having emotions about wind.

But…yes. Because by the time Rand reached Dragonmount, so had he, for all that he held more power than ever before (but power is not strength; the last several books have been a testament to that). Rand is the wind and the wind is Rand and the land is one with the Dragon and the wind both represents that and carries it outward and I just love how this is done.

I love how this sense is created of everything looking towards Dragonmount, and of this silence as the world holds its breath to learn its fate, as the whole dance that’s been spiralling out from Rand at its centre for so long now pauses, draws back towards that centre, and it all turns on the edge of a decision, a perspective, a single choice alone on a mountain that represents at once death and rebirth.

Hi, I’m Lia, and we’re like two pages in and not even done with the wind sequence and I’m already having a Situation about it. Anyway, what else is new?

An orchard of apple trees rather than a grove of olives at the base of Dragonmount. I mean. That works too.

Two figures stood there: a youth and a sombre man in his later years.

Tam? And Rand?

Oh wait no.

Hang on, Almen Bunt? As in, the NPC cart driver from all the way back in The Eye of the World? Wow. That’s some true dedication to conservation of characters right there.

The boy of thirteen had golden hair from his father’s side.

Uh oh, you’d better keep an eye on that one, Almen; sounds like a potential future protagonist and possible long-lost scion of a royal line you’ve got there.

And during the night, every single one of [the apple trees] had shed their fruit. Tiny apples, barely as large as a man’s thumb. Thousands of them. They’d shrivelled during the night, then fallen. An entire crop, gone.

Damn it Rand. (But also… how appropriate. Apples for innocence, and all of them lost).

‘I don’t know what to say, lads,’ Almen finally admitted.

I think in this situation, ‘…fuck’ would not be inappropriate.

So their storehouse looks about like a grocery store’s shelves during lockdown. No grain, no fresh fruit, probably no toilet paper.

Almen’s determined to make the best of it, but it’s hard to make the best of ‘cosmic shenanigans turned to possibly destroying the world with a stray thought because there really is only so much pain a person can stand and when that person happens to be tied to the fate of the world, things get a bit dicey’. But best of luck to you, Almen. Hold on a few minutes and things might get… better.

In all his years, he’d never seen anything like this. This was something evil.

And yet it’s caused by the one who is meant to be the champion of all that is good and bright in the world. He never turned to the Shadow, but with what he had become by the time he reached Dragonmount… he didn’t need to.

I like the way we see this, as well, not just by watching Rand directly in the latter half of TGS, but also in these brief thoughts and viewpoints of complete outsiders, who really don’t know what’s going on. I like that, from that perspective, there isn’t even any doubt. That it’s so obviously something evil, something wrong, something terrible. It serves to highlight just how far wrong everything had gone. Because watching Rand, book by book, you see it happening, but it’s slow. Gradual. So easy, a step at a time, to justify and understand. But then you take a step back and look through a pair of eyes with more distance and see only what he is now – or rather, what he was right before that realisation – and that realisation is terrifying.

The land is dying all around them and at the centre of it is the Dragon Reborn, who is one with the land and yet dying himself even as he lives. Who, at this point, no longer wants to live. And so the land obeys his will. It’s a slow suicide of a world because the weight of that world is too much for the one who has to carry it.

Staring down those neat, perfect rows of useless apple trees, Almen felt the crushing weight of it. Of trying to remain positive.

Rand your nihilism is contagious. Well. Moridin’s nihilism. Which sort of proves the ‘contagious’ point.

I like this as well, that Rand’s own despair is mirrored and echoed not just in the land, but in the people who inhabit it. Like a very slightly less literal wind; the wind is the land’s version of ‘something that reaches everywhere, far beyond where it originated’ and this despair – for now – is the more metaphorical.

This is it then, isn’t it? He thought, eyes toward the too-yellow grass below. The fight just ended.

Well. Yes, very possibly. But not quite in the way you might think.

This is so well done: the way you can tell precisely where we are in Veins of Gold by the thoughts and despair of a single farmer. The way it shows so clearly the reach of Rand’s… self? Effect? I can’t think of the right word, but it’s like how we see the wind brushing across Almen’s shirt, and now Rand’s despair brushing across his mind. Land and Dragon, and it’s all tied together.

Maybe it was time to let go.

He felt something on his neck. Warmth.

Oh no this is beautiful.

It just tracks so perfectly to Veins of Gold, and none of that even needs to be shown. And you can see the precise moment where that despair (‘none of this matters!’) turn to hope.  Which is entirely the point, in a way: it may just be one lonely broken hero on a mountain finally trading despair for hope, but it touches everything. He may be alone and unwitnessed, but the entire world feels it. The sun, the wind, a change.

And I think part of what I love about this is that it’s not dramatic. Neither the despair nor the warmth. Instead it’s this soft almost aching gentleness, because that’s all any of it is. It’s not a battle or a dramatic pronouncement or a cheering crowd or a display of power. It’s just… a thought. A shift.

A gentle warmth rather than a… well, a force of light, if you will.

Which serves as the perfect contrast, really, to one of Rand’s darkest (for all that it was blindingly bright) moments. At Natrin’s Barrow he shone with all the cold brilliance of the Light’s power bent on destruction; all light and nothing of warmth. Now, though, in the moment that truly matters, the moment where everything changes, it’s as simple as the sun emerging from behind the clouds, a warmth on the back of a farmer’s neck, a quiet, unseen but all-encompassing realisation that there is something left to fight for.

He hesitated, then turned weary eyes toward the sky. Sunlight bathed his face.

I just… I love that such a simple statement can carry so much weight behind it. It’s the mark of an extraordinarily well-crafted plot point, that this is all it takes to invoke all its effect, and to convey that effect so perfectly. We know what this means, and it’s neither subtle nor heavy-handed; it’s just… right.

And I still can’t get over how perfect it is that we’re seeing this through the eyes of an utterly random and otherwise unimportant character, because that’s the whole point. That’s what Rand, finally, realises he’s fighting for. The chance for people – any people, random people, villagers and farmers and merchants and monarchs alike – to just live. And so of course we see this through the eyes of, to borrow another chapter title, just another man. Because that’s all any of them are.

The apple trees were flowering.

Oh.

I’m.

This whole scene is just hitting the exact tone of gentle yet powerful beauty-in-simplicity, little-things-that-mean-everything that just gets me.

The apples fell and famine seemed certain and yet here they are, flowering once more, a second chance. A rebirth, if you will.

OH NO OH NO HERE HE IS I’M NOT READY FOR THIS

Almen spun to find a tall young man walking down out of the foothills.

Coming down from the mountain like a benevolent wind and bringing flowers with him like the Aiel and the Nym of old, bringing life back to the land like a goddamn messiah and it’s all done so gently and I’m fine.

‘Ho, stranger,’ Almen said.

I don’t even know why this gets me but it does. Stranger, and yet he is the centre of everything. The centre of everything, and yet at the end of the day he is just another man, another stranger.

It’s been a long time since Rand has walked unrecognised. Maybe that’s it.

‘Did you… did you get lost up in the foothills?’

Well. That’s one way to put it. But the point is: he found his way back.

Or his way forward.

Or something.

‘No. I’m not lost. Finally.’

I’m FINE, this is FINE.

Maybe what really gets me about this scene is that it’s hard to remember the last time there was a scene involving Rand that wasn’t overshadowed by pain and desperation. And now it’s… yes, the pain is still there on some level, but it’s like this weight has been lifted, and so the gentleness of this scene stands as a – well, not sharp because the whole point is it isn’t – contrast to everything that came before, and it’s only in the absence of that pain and despair that you realise how heavy it was.

‘There’s nothing back there of use.’

Except for everything.

‘There are always things of use around, if you look closely enough. You can’t stare at them too long. To learn but not be overwhelmed, that is the balance.’

Ah. And so at last he understands. The importance of balance, but also in this specific circumstance which, I think, is in reference to his memories of his life as Lews Therin.

Because at last, at long last, he has accepted those. He has learned to accept them without losing himself, without fear of losing himself, without feeling as if it is an existential struggle, as if he must keep a barrier between them, as if accepting those memories means accepting that fate.

But now he understands: that he can remember, and learn, but still move on, move forwards, grow. Try again, try differently. Have a second chance, informed by but not bound to the doom of the first. To be himself, but to accept the entirety of what that means. Who he was, who he is.

The man’s words… it seemed they were having two different conversations.

It’s okay, Almen, you get used to him.

Perhaps the lad wasn’t right in the head.

No, see, the thing is, he finally is.

‘Do I know you?’ Almen asked. Something about the young man was familiar.

‘Yes,’ the lad said.

Okay, I love this? On so many levels.

Because sure, there’s the literal: Almen has in fact met Rand before, and Rand answers honestly. And then there’s the next layer down: Rand is the Dragon Reborn and therefore known to most at this point, and he answers that honestly as well.

But then there’s this sense of something even more figurative, less tangible. The Dragon is one with the land, and Rand stands as the Light’s champion and the land personified and the centre of the fight and the wind that brings the apple trees to flower. He’s a part of the world and so Almen knows him, as all know him, as all will know him, even those who have never met and never will meet him.

And finally, I love that Almen has to ask. That there’s still this sense of anonymity, for all that it’s threaded through with a familiarity deeper than any acquaintance. That Almen looks at him first and sees a man, a lad, a stranger, rather than the Dragon Reborn: saviour and destroyer, rather than a monster or a madman or a force of nature. That they’re just two strangers in an orchard, and yet they’re not.

Honestly any kind of play on names and naming and identity gets me every time, and when you combine it with my other fictional love of the space between humanity and divinity and monstrosity, you get a very happy Lia.

‘Gather your people and collect those apples. They’ll be needed in the days to come.’

I mean, for projectile weapons you’d be better off sticking with Aludra’s fireworks, but sure.

‘Gather those apples quickly. My presence will hold him off for a time, I think, and whatever you take now should be safe from his touch.’

There’s just this almost startling and yet utterly peaceful sense of calm to him, that we haven’t seen since… honestly ever. Calm and accepting of who and what he is, and for the first time since he left the Two Rivers, not fighting himself in some way. And what a difference it makes.

It's also remarkable how differently it comes across compared to the icy emotionlessness he surrounded himself with after Semirhage. Because that, too, was conveyed as a perfect calm – but there was a wrongness there that’s lacking here. It’s only a few lines of dialogue, and yet it’s so clearly different.

‘I do know you,’ Almen said, remembering an odd pair of youths he had given a lift in his cart years ago. ‘Light! You’re him, aren’t you? The one they’re talking about?’

HE FINALLY REMEMBERS HIM AND IT’S AS THE BOY RAND AL’THOR FIRST, RATHER THAN THE DRAGON REBORN. I’m sorry, but everything about this just gets me. That for once, he is the person first, and the role second. That the true recognition is of a boy from a dusty road.

It's a lovely kind of irony – rather than cruel, for once – that it’s only after he truly comes into his power and accepts it and stops fighting himself and his role and everything he was and is, and is finally ready to face the world as the Dragon Reborn as the Dragon Reborn is meant to be, that he is at last recognised as human by a stranger who sees him.

Meeting those eyes, Almen felt a strange sense of peace.

Well that’s new. And a welcome change. How long has it been since people looked at him and felt anything but fear, or saw him as anything but dangerous?

‘It is likely,’ the man said. ‘Men are often speaking of me.’ He smiled, then turned and continued on his way down the path.

Peaceful and wise and making his way through the orchard like the wind, knowing and acknowledging but not forcing his place in the world. A force of nature still, but this is worlds away from ‘I am the storm’.

He just… is. And he understands that. And accepts it not begrudgingly, or out of duty, or despite the pain it causes, but entirely and unreservedly and with the understanding, at last, of why.

‘Where are you going?’

The man looked back with a faint grimace. ‘To do something I’ve been putting off. I doubt she will be pleased by what I tell her.’

I would bet actual money that means he’s going to see Egwene, and I had to laugh at how even this new wise, calm, peaceful Rand is fully recognisable as the boy from Emond’s Field in this moment. Because those two are never going to be anything but at least a little exasperated with one another at all times, and it’s such a perfect childhood-friends-turned-sweethearts-turned-basically-siblings dynamic and the faint grimace really sells it. (I would not be remotely surprised if there is name-calling. ‘Woolhead’ and ‘stubborn’ will likely be thrown around)

But it also serves as a reminder that, for all his newfound wisdom, Rand is still human. Which... even that little touch is perfect, in this scene. To ground him, just a little. I just love everything about this entire chapter.

Almen thought – for a moment – he could see something around the man. A lightness to he air, warped and bent.

WHERE ONCE THERE WAS DARKNESS. Because he is who he is meant to be now! The champion of the Light in truth! There is finally light to Rand, in more ways than one, and it’s really kind of surprisingly beautiful.

Everything is different, even if no one but Rand will understand why.

I still just love the way such an absolute change came not from a battle or a crown or a display of power, or even an achievement, but purely from… himself. So much played into creating that moment, yes, and so much was focused on it, but ultimately it was just Rand, alone on the mountain of his suicide and birthplace, coming to terms with himself and seeing something in the world worth saving.

And I’m struggling to express precisely why I like that, but I think it’s something about, I don’t know, the power of the individual, I suppose? The way something so existential can come from something as simple as acceptance? The way nothing has changed, and yet everything has changed, and the cause of it all is finding a purpose, a reason, a last decision to choose a chance at hope over the certainty of despair.

I mean, so much of epic fantasy is about the magic and the power and the politics and the battles, about everything taking place on a grand scale, about the fantastical. But sometimes you also get moments like this, where balanced against all of that you still see the importance of just… a person, and a choice.

Next (ToM ch 2) Previous (ToM prologue pt. 3)

[jeaniegreysummers]

crying power || Jean & Bruce

WHO: Jean Grey-Summers ( @jeaniegreysummers ) and Bruce Banner ( @hulkout ) WHERE: Stark/Avenger’s Tower WHAT: Jean has spent weeks planning a big science experiment, with a single intended goal - to bring Erik Lehnsherr back from the dead, sans Phoenix. She recruits Dr. Bruce Banner to assist. WARNINGS: death mention, murder mention WORDS: 3.7k

JEAN: The widely held view within the walls of the Institute was that the Avengers were a bunch of over-hyped frat boys in receipt of extensive preferential treatment, and Jean was loath to disagree with them. After all, the X-Men had been fighting this world’s battles for decades before Nick Fury put together his merry little band of misfits, and all they got for their efforts was sent to Salem to hide behind masks and pretend they were ‘normal’ (whatever that meant). The Avengers got praise. They got accolades, got medals, got their faces plastered on billboards and songs written to celebrate their glories -- with one notable exception, at least from the original team.

Bruce Banner.

She’d researched him, before, followed him through with both a personal and scientific curiosity. He was a man born human who tried to make himself something more. He was a man playing with genes on government contracts, and it went wrong. He was a man who, it could be argued, deserved what he got.

But he was a man who, when given the potential to destroy entire cities, went on the run for years at a time. He was a man who took the role of scientist on a team where he could be the heavy hitter. He was a man who was very hard to find, a man who filled the role of pacifist far more than his friends.

And he was a man Jean needed, despite her previous feelings on him, despite everything else.

(Jean was good at putting aside personal feelings for the mission -- at least until the mission was over. She’d learned that from her father.)

Avengers Tower was a fortress. Its defences had been bolstered after the siege, even if Stark had backed down remarkably quickly (and uncharacteristically quickly, Jean noted). Still, the Phoenix could move her through in an instant, could have her in the labs a couple of seconds before the alarms started blaring.

Heels clacking against the linoleum, Jean stepped out of the darkness, coming into the direct eyeline of the very scientist she’d been looking for. “Dr. Banner,” she said, holding out her hand for him to shake. “A pleasure to finally meet you. Do you mind telling Mr. Stark’s lovely computerised assistant that I’m here for a meeting before I get shot at? That wouldn’t end very well for anyone involved.”

BRUCE: Inadvertently, people who often strayed too far from the limelight always made themselves a target. One small slip up and the mystery was far more notable than any secrecy. Still, it never surprised Bruce if someone knew his name, and surprised him far more if someone knew his face when he was much more human and much less green, donning a lab coat and a pair of reading glasses.

F.R.I.D.A.Y sent out an alert that someone was in the facility — not the actual housing unit — but credentials weren’t given. Typically that meant that Tony had allowed them past the new functionality they’d put in place, working endlessly on code and bantering over F.R.I.D.A.Y’s own comments through the night. It was almost easy to fall back into the routine of it — being Tony’s tech-guy. His science guy. The person he always counted on to be sitting on the lab stools well into the night.

It had been easy to fall back into being an Avenger too.

Which was why the snake of nerves in his stomach uncoiled and hissed at the sight of an X-Men in the lab. His safe haven. His safety room. The room of safeness where he drank his tea and poured over a biochem journal when he was stressed—

“We don’t really do the gun thing anymore,” Bruce balanced around the pencil between his teeth, hands preoccupied with realigning a piece of equipment, “If you were going to get shot, it probably would have been before the big doors opened for you.” With a hiss and a click, the mechanics slid into place, Bruce turning his attention toward his guest. Tony’s guest? Jean. White? No. Grey. “Hi. Uh,” Bruce dropped the pencil, looking at his hand afterward when he thought about the possible saliva transfer. Gaze flickering over the smooth, cool one of Jean’s, he hesitantly gripped her much smaller ones in his own, “Bruce. Well. You know that. You just called me by name. Anyway, hi — what are you doing here exactly? Tony’s not here. Well, I mean, he’s here, he’s just not here.”

JEAN: The answer seemed simple to anyone on the outside, to those who still believed the carefully crafted story that Jean’s propensity for dragging herself (and others, now) from the grave was a secondary mutation meticulously honed. For all intents and purposes her resurrections had been flawless, and if she wasn’t as close to Scott as she was, she may not have noticed a difference -- but she did. She saw Erik shift, felt the cool off her husband’s skin, saw how Maddie’s smile twisted just a little too sharp. She knew it was the bird within them, knew the effect it could have, knew how it could blend things until the horrific was justifiable.

Jean couldn’t use the Phoenix to bring Erik back, but she needed him. She needed him as a father, of course -- needed him more than she’d needed almost anyone. She needed him as a leader, too. The future they had built, the legacy he left behind, that was threatened by the Black Knights. It was threatened from the inside as much as outside forces. Genosha balanced on a knife’s edge, and she needed to guarantee safety for her daughter.

It’ll be Rachel, one day. Jean wasn’t going to allow that to happen. She’d always been a pragmatist -- a soldier’s daughter.

“You’re telling me a Stark backs away from things that go boom?” Jean asked, an eyebrow raising. She managed to keep her more aggressive thoughts about Iron Man to herself, managed to train her voice to a careful tease rather than anything too condemning. She wasn’t particularly concerned about the concept of Bruce refusing her, but she always preferred to use her words than her powers -- and she wasn’t entirely sure how it would work with the Other Guy. She’d seen the wreckage in South Africa post Scarlet Witch intrusion. “See, the doors didn’t open. I scattered my molecules, went through the wall. I think that’s why your electronic friend is having a mild coronary.”

Tony’s not here. Jean held back a snort, and simply nodded instead. “I know he isn’t. I sent him to my lab in Genosha.” He was easier to distract than she thought he would be, although Jean did get the distinct impression Stark was aware he was being distracted and went with it regardless. He got the opportunity to dig around her archives, after all, so it was a win win. “I was looking for you. I have a case I’d like to get your input on.” Jean reached for her bag, pulling out a stack of papers which she set on the workbench between them. “I was looking into the Cradle,” she said. “My colleagues seemed to think it was a thing of legend, but I’m not so sure. Every myth has its place in reality, right? Now, imagine the Cradle, combined with that nanotech Stark boasted about at the Expo. Imagine it combined with the energy I can provide, or take from the people around me.”

Jean allowed the words to settle, eyes flashing with just a hint of orange as she finally met Bruce’s gaze. “I could bring my father back to life,” she said. “I could bring him back to life, but I need you to do it. What do you say?”

BRUCE: It would have been easy to get defensive - to say that there’s no way he would be stepping toe into anything that so much as even sort of resembled Cradle. That he wouldn’t be participating in playing God anymore and that his time years and years of time for all of the nonsense was over. He’d gone into hiding for a purpose after all — but the notes in his desk drawer currently, the ones marked in blue and black ink with little comments from FRIDAY as he worked, said otherwise. The ones with the exact nonsense he hated - like time-travel.

And then, the words really hit him. “You ... Erik’s dead?” Dark eyelashes fluttered, dipped in cherry red in the right light, and Bruce had to hold himself back. He strayed away from the news. Purposefully so, considering most of the time it was negative things (like the world exploding, or Bruce going on a rampage, or more terrorist attacks on meta-humans and mutants).

The ache clawed it’s way from his stomach and into his throat, and for a second the whole world flashed green, tilting sideways and knocking into his skull like the angry fists of a small child who was too large for his age. Uncontrolled, like a battering ram.

Caramel eyes flickered down to clenched fists on the metal table in front of him, indents of his fingertips marring the edges in warped zigzags where his hold was too strong. Where Hulk’s hold was too strong. His reflection in the same metal table showed that same jade at the corners of his temples too.

“How did it happen?” Using her words as a bartering chip, Bruce would get his answers. After all, she couldn’t access it without him, without Stark (and deep inside, he’d hoped that Tony would say no if Bruce asked him to).

The scientist ignored that the same rumble of hurt in the guts of him called out for Erik, his new friend, his new maybe-something if Bruce didn’t fuck it up. He would bring Erik back. He didn’t really have a choice. “How did it happen?” He repeated again, less strangled this time.

JEAN: There was that word again. Dead. So final, so complete, so absolute — to everyone but Jean Grey, it appeared. To everyone but the people Jean Grey loved the most (her best friend, her sister, her teammates and fellow soldiers … it was only a matter of time, she told herself, before they were all back on firm ground) it lasted beyond human compression, spanned centuries and even longer. Legacies lasted for a millennia but death? Death drew on even after that.

Death wouldn’t draw on for Erik Lehnsherr. Logically, they needed him. Emotionally, Jean had been half alive since he took his final breath. Scott could scarcely get words past the lump in his throat. Maddie was shifting, changing, questioning. The world wasn’t on its even keel anymore, and they had battles and wars facing them they had no idea how to handle alone — and he was her father. More than anyone else, he was her father. He raised her, cared for her, protected her. Challenged her.

Was killed, by her.

“He’s—” Jean wanted to correct him, wanted to say something like not alive or not breathing or temporarily indisposed, but those would be lies. She couldn’t feel him anymore. Neither could Lorna, who lost her due north. “He’s dead.”

And then she got a front seat to Banner in all his grief, in all she needed to know to realise she’d been exceptionally strategic in choosing him for this request. She knew this already, of course. Erik taught her compassion, taught her love, taught her how to decode messages and read faces and expressions — but he also taught her how to plan, how to read people.

How to use people, that small voice provided. Jean pushed it to the back of her mind. That wasn’t what this was. She could do it by herself, if she wanted, if she so desired. The only reason she was here was because she was trying to do things differently, trying to learn from past mistakes. Trying to be better.

(But there was still a part of her that hoped, when that flicker of green came across his irises, when his grip increased on the steel of the table. There was a. part of her that yearned for a fight, a flicker that turned into a spark. We haven’t had a challenge like this in a while, the Phoenix crowed. A good way to expel some energy. A good way to level New York, more like.)

Jean clasped her hands behind her back, wringing them together as she waited. Charles’ lessons were still clear and bright in her mind. She was strong enough to hold him back, perhaps, if she tried — but getting into his head wasn’t what she was here for. Making him comply wasn’t who Jean was.

It wasn’t who she wanted to be.

The moment passed, and she didn’t breathe a sigh of relief. She didn’t react at all. He asked the question she knew was coming, and she steeled herself, prepared for a rejection.

We could make him do it. We could. Stop holding yourself back. We have all the pieces, now, you and Madelyne. Why ask anyone else—

“It is a very long story,” Jean prefaced, “and from what I understand, you will want to know each detail. I’m not sure I can provide that much. There’s a lot even we don’t know, as X-Men — as mutants — but I’ll tell you all I can.”

Where to start?

“There is a cosmic force,” she began, “an entity I’ve only known referred to as the Phoenix Force. It is, for lack of a better term, the embodiment of life itself. It’s capable of great feats, and draws even more power from the universe if it has an appropriate host.” This time, Jean did chew on the corner of her lip, did lose some of the strength in her shoulders and confidence in her stance. “I’ve been its host since I was eighteen years old. It always protected me, brought me back when I was injured or … or when I was killed. It did the same for my husband, after Central Park. But there’s a cost.

“It takes everything in you, and makes it stronger. Anger becomes rage, affection becomes passion. Love becomes all consuming, but so does hate. And in my ignorance, I split a piece of this force, and it found a home in Erik. It … changed him. Altered him. Encouraged him to make decisions he would normally measure more carefully.”

She didn’t want to talk about the missiles, not in detail. She didn’t want to tell this man how she scarcely held her father back from committing a massacre against the very people Banner had fought alongside with the Avengers. She didn’t want to tarnish the memory that still existed of him in the public consciousness — a flawed man, perhaps, but ultimately heroic for what he had done for his people.

“He was a danger to himself and others,” she settled on. “I made the decision, as I did for myself many years ago, to end that particular threat before it went any further. We saved the world, but I lost my father. My sister lost her father. My people lost their leader, my husband lost his light, and Erik lost his life.” She sucked in a breath, brought her hands around to the front. “I hope if we can restore the latter,” Jean continued, “the rest might fall into place.”

Wishful thinking, perhaps. Wishful thinking — but God, wasn’t that what the X-Men were built on?

BRUCE: One talent that Banner and Hulk actually shared was the ability to stay quiet; read the room for tells, evaluate situations based on the now rather than the could be.  While the scientist in Bruce often disagreed with Hulk’s methods of ‘smash now, ask questions later’ there was definitely something to it.

The urge to put his fist through the metal table quelled just a few moments after it had appeared, but there was something about Jean’s story that just didn’t add up to him. So you and Scott took it into your own hands to decide whether or not he got to live or die? Bruce didn’t actually say it, but the desire was strong. Lucky for him, he had much better self-preservation than Tony or Clint, and he let the woman finish her explanation before he even tried to comment.

“You know death does not come with convenience, right? If it’s not the…” He swallowed, “Phoenix, it will be something else.” Like lack of forgiveness, or Erik coming back a lifeless zombie. There wasn’t an exact science, to resurrection. At least not yet. After all, it was one thing when you had an internal power that was able to bring sustenance back to regenerative cells, it was another when you were starting from scratch, like with the CRADLE. Bruce would have to write algorithms based on Erik’s DNA: mutated DNA.

He said so, a moment later, but his words were not dismissive in nature. Instead, they were just facts.

Bruce Banner was going to help bring back a man who was likely better off dead. But you don’t want him dead either, Banner a voice betrayed in his psyche. How obnoxious, to be betrayed by his own subconscious. The physicist had spent countless hours staring at DNA. Sorting how to evolve and demonstrate it differently when being accessed through a different source code. Pulling it apart like the strings of a handmade sweater, like he’d done with his and Hulk’s. While he was specifically oriented in gamma-radiology, it should have been less complicated to perform tasks with something much more humanoid than Hulk would ever be.

“Okay.” Bruce said finally, twirling his hands around one another with some thought, “I’ll help you.” He should have made conditions. Should have said, But if things go wrong, it’s your fault. But he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Wanted to see his friend again. Wanted to share a connection with someone who was inherently good, despite what the outside world may have perceived.

Standing from his stool, Bruce marched forward with an odd confidence, “It’s going to take me some time to write the code. I need his file. Uh, anything you can get me pre-Auschwitz.” Bruce looked at her from under his fringe, one sturdy finger pushing up the rim of his round glasses.

JEAN: No one thought of Jean Grey as the brains of the operation in the early days of the X-Men. They all had their respective roles. Scott was the stoic leader, Warren was all charisma and private school charm, Bobby was the comic relief, Hank was the scientist and Jean … well, Jean was the girl. She was the one who tried to hold them together, the person who knew instinctively when someone was upset long before she went venturing into their mind (perhaps a little too far in the early days, before she learned restraint -- before she learned that curiosity shouldn’t win out against sanctity), the one who defended Charles and softened Scott and hardened Warren in the places that mattered.

No one thought of her as anything other than the girl on the pedestal, or the body rotting six foot under. No one thought of her past the tragedy, a life ended far too soon and then violently brought back into the present, constantly within and without, years missing where she was absent from lives that moved on without her. (Bruce said death wasn’t convenient like she wasn’t the person who knew that the most, like she hadn’t lived and died more times than anyone could ever imagine). She opened her mouth to say that, to tell him what it really felt like to be dragged from the dirt, how it was better than the emptiness that Erik was lingering in now.

Death still terrified her. Every part of it, every aspect. They said it was the unknown that scared people, about what happened after. Jean knew, and she still hated it, still ran from it at every opportunity -- still couldn’t leave Erik in it, no matter what.

It wasn’t a lack of love that killed him. It was a lack of choice. She wanted to say that, too, wanted to ask Bruce if he’d ever stared a monster of cosmic proportions in the face and felt it calling to him. She thought he would understand, thought the Hulk would give them something of a shared foundation, a trust that would linger (because to have anyone near Erik, she needed to trust them immediately, wholly). Instead, she found nothing but suspicion on his face, found she was staring down the barrel of a gun instead of the compassion she had expected from his reputation.

But she wasn’t here, in the end, to make friends. She wasn’t here to be the Jean Grey that had portraits hanging in the Institute, or counselled her friends after a hard battle. She wasn’t here to be the golden girl, the shining beacon of morality. She was here for a single purpose, and she was here as a scientist.

“I have it all in here,” Jean replied, tapping the side of her temple. “I did my homework before I came to you.” Weeks and months of scouring through records and minds, trickling her way through states and countries to gain information that was long thought lost (but nothing disappeared forever. Jean knew that). “I’ve been coding it, on my personal system. I can send it through.”

The information read cold, clinical. She tried to think of it that way, as she manufactured this plan -- as she realised that it was going to work. But there wasn’t a part of Jean that could maintain that for long. She nodded once, allowed her gaze to drop from Bruce and move to the CRADLE, instead.

(It was Erik who first sat down with her, she remembered, long before the X-Men were even thought of. It was Erik who said, you’ve got a lot more in your head than you let people see, don’t you? It was Erik who first said sometimes telepaths have the most to hide, the heaviest burden to carry. It was Erik who helped her know physics so she could deconstruct it.)

It wasn’t a logical plan, but it was the only one she could make, the only choice that didn’t choke her.

“Let’s get started.”

[tsukidotcom]

haikyuu characters as boyfriends (hc)

this is my first time doing something like this, so it might be bad! Sorry in advance 🥺

Hinata Shouyou

If you are shorter than him, even if it’s by less than an inch, he will take that fact with PRIDE!!

He may atease you a little bit but it’s only for laughs and giggles. He knows the frustration of people constantly telling him he’s short. like, No Shit Sherlock! But it isn’t often he finds someone shorter than him, let alone being able to tease anYONE for their height.

Will try to be the best bf eva and still help with reaching the highest shelves. How? Easy! With a little bit of problem solving.

“Hinata, help me reach the top shelf!”

*will feel happy someone finally asks him for help with something he is usually incapable of doing* “Okay!”

he will either give you a piggy back ride or let you sit on his shoulders so you can grab what you want. This could either end really well or really horribly. Worst case scenario is if one of you get hurt in the process but you guys usually laugh it off!

All in all, is gonna be mega soft for you. Treat you like a baby princess. Will always spoon you!! Cuddles!!

Now, if you’re taller than him..?

Total different story.

1000% is gonna be teased by Tsukishima, Kageyama and a little bit by Tanaka. Mostly Tsukishima. But also Kageyama and Tanaka.

You might also tease for laughs and giggles. You don’t push it like Tsukishima, though.

He will use his tippy toes to give you kisses 🥺🥺

Protect him!!! At all costs!! He’s just a baby crow into the wilderness. He’ll surely appreciate you and what you do for him. He will also try protect you back (like he did for the manager kiyoko). It may not be as affective but it’s the thought that counts !!

if you take interest in helping him practice or volleyball in general he may just cry out of pure happiness. If you don’t know a clue about volleyball or how to use the ball HE WILL GLADLY TEACH YOU. IF YOU’RE EYES SPARKLE AT HOW GOOD YOUR BABE IS AT VOLLEYBALL HE WILL S W O O N. You’ll make him feel like the most powerful man on the planet.

If we talk about sleep, he‘s still going to be the big spoon. Yet he doesn’t mind being the little spoon. He likes being both! As long as you’re with him he will sleep soundly like the babey he is.

At this point, height isn’t a factor he cares about. It is all about personality!!!

Really cherishes and cares about you. He’s just a cute bean that loves volleyball. Have a lot of trust and faith in him! He wants to be the best boyfriend ever 🥺 honestly will skip a few practices for you. But you owe him!

He’s very inexperienced. He might not even know how to properly kiss yet! (he’s THAT babey and innocent). You can try to coach him a little bit. If you don’t know much, either, then you guys can work with each other without feeling like you’re doing something wrong. Because y’all don’t know what’s right or wrong. You’re in this together! KDKFK

When it comes to physical attraction he leans towards long hugs and regular cuddle sessions. He likes your warmth 🥺💖 He’ll just lay on top of you. He’s just like a weighted blanket. And he is ALWAYS open to you laying on him, too. Sit on his lap 🥺 he is gonna play with your hair. He has a little sister at home so he probably knows how to do little tricks like braids.

Going to his house for study sessions or just to hang out is sometimes nerve wracking. His little sister can be incredibly annoying and nosy. he doesn’t want her crashing into his room when he can be alone with you. But small playdates with his little sis is always appreciated because he still cares for her (yet its still kinda embarrassing). He prays everytime you come over his mom doesn’t embarrass him, either. Baby pictures? No way in hell is he gonna let you see them. THEY WOULD BE ADORABLE TO YOU BUT REALLY EMBARRASSING TO HIM. He will get really flustered.

Kageyama Tobio

Before he had feelings for you his mind was crammed with volleyball. There was no other room for anything else. But when YOU came into his life, he felt like things about volleyball was dumped far away.,, Deep in his noggin. He was getting confused about simple things and started overthinking about his movements more. His serves became less accurate/delayed. Safe to say you had an effect on his practice. He kinda got angry at you about it LMAO

Of course the other teammembers figured something was wrong with Kageyama, but they didn’t know why. He’s a very hard person to read,,, that is until he’s around you. He obviously acts differently. His cheeks become a little more pink and he stutrers his words more often. He doesn’t say anything mean to you like he does with Hinata or others. He’s more.. soft around you?? Plus he never stops staring. They INSTANTLY knew he liked you. He was always in denial but they never believed him. This was followed by countless attempts to tease Kageyama. Hinata and Tsuki really got on his nerves at those times.

Once when you guys SOMEHOW got together, he was pretty stoked about it.

Again, the only thing in his brain is volleyball. If you can’t handle him and his passion then the door is right there. Please fully support him with all you have!

He doesn’t care if you play volleyball or not. Just as long as you’re there for him. He‘ll become really bright if you ask him about it, too. Like, his eyes will sparkle and almost show more color. He’ll ramble about it for ages before getting flustered and stopping himself. You could only chuckle,, as you think he’s adorable. You can obviously tell volleyball is his passion.

Cheer him on during matches! Even though he’ll get flustered and will probably be teased by Tsukishima and Hinata, it makes him play better (he wants to look good for you ;]).

It will take a long time until he gets comftorable with you and know what’s okay and not okay. At the start of a relationship he doesn’t want to be wrong. He hates being wrong. Despises it. He wants to always be right so he can be the perfect boyfriend you deserve. So,, to not make a fool of himself, he observes you and takes mental notes of anything you say. He will try to avoid asking directly if something is good/okay, but he will ask if needed. It’ll be a total awkward mess for him but at the end of the day he cares and wants whats best for you.

He isn’t very touchy but in private he digs for cuddles. Being able to sit so close to you like that makes him head over heels for you. He’ll also die if you play with his hair. He’d act like he hates it at first but he could honestly fall asleep as you rub his scalp 🥺

In public he might sheepishly hold your hand. After some time he’ll take your hand without even thinking but at first he’s gonna be scared. ‘was it the right time to hold their hand?’ ‘did i do something bad?’ ‘what if....’ ‘but...’ please squeeze his hand as an act of reassurance. Smile at him, too. He’ll feel a little better afterwords.

With him always observing you, he can tell when something is wrong. He might be able to pinpoint what’s bothering you exactly. He’s that good. He is more of an action than words type of guy so he will purposely give you more attention. He’ll try to hint that he can tell something’s off. If you don’t get the hints he’ll finally ask if you’re okay. Will give you anything that he thinks you want or need. You want to talk about it? He’s listening. Cry on his shoulder? His arms are open. Want to distract yourself? Lets go do something. Movie? Sure thing. Eat? Already on it. Just talk about anything? Okay.

He won’t admit it but he loves seeing your smile so when that’s taken away from him he wants it fixed ASAP.

You guys will have regular study sessions. Even though he’s volleyball smart he’s flat out dumb when it comes to school work (but don’t tell him that). A nicer word would be ‘clueless.’ You’ll help him with notes and homework since you’ll probably have some of the same classes as him. He very much appreciates it. He might show his appreciation by giving you a peck on the cheek or lips (if your lucky).

He will make sure he looks good for you. Make sure he smells good and takes care of his hair a little bit more.

He will also internally freak out if he sees you wearing and smelling his hoodies or shirts. You’re so damn cute he doesn’t know how to handle it. If you ask for a hoodie he probably isn’t going to give you one so you’ll have to steal it yourself. He won’t realize it’s gone till he sees you wearing it. Then he’ll be like;

“........is that my-“

“Yep! But it’s mine now, so..”

*wants to get angry at you but can’t because you look so fucking cute with his hoodie he liteally can’t handle it*

When you two are alone he might just hug you and (if you’re lucky) pick you up off the ground because his instincts says to squeeze you and hold you tight. To protect you. He feels so much aching love for you oh my god it’s oozing out of him. And if he ever gets the hoodie back?? You already know he’s gonna wear it because it smells like YOU now! Your smell makes him so happy and calm.

when he’s in a real soft mood he’s gonna b touching you 27/4. Holding you, hugging you, cuddling you, feeling you. He loves the feeling of his skin touching yours. Like. Your skin is so soft. He’ll just bury his head in the crook of your neck and enjoy your presence. Your body. Your smell. He loves every aspect of you. And when he’s soft he always shows you how much you adore him through hugs and kisses.

And as a setter he’s real good with his fingers ;)

Tsukishima Kei

Ah, yes.

The myth, the legend.

When he first falls for you, expect for him to suddenly disappear from your sight. Despite being a smart guy he will be very confused/clueless as to why he feels the way he feels. He will think it’s a bad feeling¿ and want to get away from it as soon as possible. At first he wouldnt know it was you who caused him to feel all soft and fuzzy. But when he realized those stupid butterflies were connected to YOU??? He’s gone.

Similar to Kageyama, it hit him hard during volleyball practice. It would take more just to focus on the game. It’s harder for him to move around. He’d get really frustrated and would think this was all your doing. Another reason why he’s distancing himself!!

Obviously you’ll feel sad and think you did something wrong. He most likely wouldn’t consider what it would look like in your perspective. Probably because he thinks your doing this to him on purpose like some sort of witch or mastermind.

THEN he finds himself thinking about you EVEN MORE!! Just the thought of bumping into you again makes his heart skip a beat. He hates it.

The only way for you guys to talk about this is if you go up to him before he can run away OR yamaguchi (or someone else) realizes what’s going on and forces you guys to meet up.

Once when he settles down and realizes it’s because he fell for you there is No Way he is gonna make the first move. You’re gonna be making the first move whether you like it or not. Who cares about toxic masculinity!! Girls can ask guys out, too!

“Tsukishima?”

“hm.”

“I like you”

*chokes on water or his own spit honestly* “W Hat ?”

“i.,. i like you, Tsukishima Kei.”

MEGA RED RN BUT HE’S TRYIN TO HIDE IT. so yOU BETTER PRETEND YOU DONT SEE IT. “tch,. y-you dumbass.”

by then you probably figured out he likes you too because id he didn’t he wouldv’e outright rejected you like the asshole he is 💔 but now he’s your asshole ❤️

Like Kageyama, he believes in actions more than words. Verbal communication when it‘s about love is almost nonexistent while being in a relationship with Tsuki. It’s 👏 all 👏 about 👏 ACTIONS!! 👏

Don’t expect him to be all touchy with you, either. He isn’t much of a fan of holding hands or cuddling. He isn’t really into all the PDA. He just likes standing or being near you. Just the feeling of your presence is enough for him.

But he will sometimes kiss you either on the cheek or head. Mostly the cheek. It’s easy, fast, and subtle. If he’s REALLY in the mood he will kiss you on the lips.

During a match he doesn’t care if you’re there or not. It doesn’t hurt him if you aren’t. He knows you’re human and he doesn’t expect you to be there. But you usually are. Your presence definitely makes him more reliable in a game. He tries a little more and a little harder. He wants you to know you’re boyfriend is the best volleyball blocker on the block. When he successfully blocks a powerful spike he is FOR SURE gonna glance your way to see if you saw. Make him feel like he’s the most powerful thing in the world. He gonna get cocky as hell.

After winning a tough match in the finals/nationals he for sure is gonna feel a little pumped. If not more. You feel really happy and excited that the team won, too. So when you run around the halls to see him alone,, filling up his water bottle, you’re gona RUN up to him and hug him. And kiss him. He’ll be surprised but honestly a kiss from you is the best reward after winning a tense match. Suddenly his shoulders (he didn’t even know that was stiff) loosen. His hands explore your hips and waists. Very passionate kiss!! He likes those every once in awhile!!

If y’all get in the z o n e and just keep on kissing he’s gonna be the first to stop it. Not because he’s not enjoying it. But because he doesn’t want anyone walking in on you guys. He does things like this in PRIVATE. He’d never go down like that in a place where he could get caught.

What’s alone time like with Tsukishima? Well, you guys would probably in his room doing your own things. He doesn’t need study sessions because he’s good at school work. In fact, HE would probably be the one giving you study sessions if needed. If you have trouble on a subject he’s gonna help you, but not babysit you. He explains it once or twice and thats it. You’re kinda on your own after that. But he’s good at explaining things so it works out at the end.

He is really geeky about dinosaurs. Nothing much to it. He doesn’t say anything about it because he thinks it’s kinda embarrassing .. BUT! if you’re willing to have a full on conversation with him about dinosaurs he will be ON FIRE. He’s instantly gonna become super informative and passionate about it. Like a child. He wouldn’t mind watching documentaries with you either.

IS A MEGA TEASE. A REAL, STUPID TEASE!!!!!! He’s a sarcastic bitch so try not to take everything he says personally. This is just how he is. How he communicates and shows his affection. Although he knows he could probably go to far/get carried away. If he does you can talk to him about it. You will have to be right on as to what is hurting you because he doesn’t really grasp how his words can hurt you when he didn’t mean it.

“Kei..?”

“Yeah?”

“I...You know what you said to me a few days ago..? About ___?”

“Uhh, yeah. Why.”

“..This is stupid, but it hurt my feelings a little bit- I’m sorry I-“

“But why? I don’t actually mean what I said. So why would it effect you?”

“I know you actually don’t mean it. But... you do this all the time so it seems so real.. like you DO mean it. Even though I know you don’t mean it, it still...”

Babey probably won’t fully grasp the issue but will try to watch what comes out of his mouth. If something slips out and you show a negative reaction (you become silent, show a painful expression, etc.) he will probably say that he’s sorry. He doesn’t admit to saying sorry often because he hates being wrong (like kageyama). He probably won’t verbally say sorry when you first begin dating. It’ll take some time till he’s fully comftorable around you.

He will know what to do when you’re angry or sad because he always feels irritated. He might leave you alone because that’s what he always wants when he’s mad. If you’re sad he isn’t going to force you to talk to him about it but he isn’t gonna act like he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t really sugar coat things so he’s gonna flat out say ‘hey, you’re not okay. i can tell.’

At the end of the day he cares for you and will protect you. Make sure you’re okay :>

[daggerzine]

R.E. Seraphin molds tiny shapes into big songs.

Though he’s been on the scene for a while now (with different bands) I hadn’t heard the music of Bay Area musician R.E. “Ray” Seraphin until this year via a cassette called Tiny Shapes via Paisley Shirt Records (more on the label below). His first real band was Talkies, which he discusses below (and I have enjoyed), but he seems to have really come into his own this year with that cassette and a new EP, A Room Forever, which came out just a month or so ago. In his music you’ll hear influences of 80’s jangle pop as well as some deeper post-punk stuff (and for more current stuff I hear whispers of Dean Wareham and his bands and Wild Nothing). Reading below he seems very well grounded and seems to have a great attitude about everything (even not being able to play shows during a pandemic or being in a writing slump). I think once this is all over this guy will go on 5-year tour and gain lots and lots of new fans. In the meantime do check out his stuff, you won’t be disappointed.

   Where did you grow up?

Berkeley, CA. The area I grew up in was filled with Victorian homes and dilapidated industrial warehouses. My family home was walking distance from a lagoon and an old, rusty set of train tracks. I felt I lived in an unremarkable college town. There wasn't much activity outside of the school. I discovered Berkeley’s storied political and musical history much later in life. Now, of course, there are many books written about Berkeley, but I thought it was a kinda nondescript city as a kid.

 Do you remember what band made you fall in love with music?

Dating myself hard here, but I remember being floored by The White Stripes’ “Fell in Love With a Girl” video when I was 11. The Top 40 music making the rounds on VH1 and MTV at the time was beyond dreck — a lot of Train, Staind, Matchbox 20. The White Stripes were the first band I was exposed to that made succinct, catchy, no-frills music. I was genuinely enthralled. Plus, the Lego animation in that video still holds up.

 Was guitar your first instrument?

I started on bass. My first instrument was an extremely cheap, pointy BC Rich knockoff monstrosity. I believe I was 13. I had no idea how to play and little interest in learning. For the first year, I putzed around with a Pro Co RAT, a wah pedal, and a tinny-sounding Crate practice amp. I just tried (and succeeded in) being as obnoxious as possible. When I started writing songs, I eventually graduated from playing bass poorly to playing guitar poorly.

 Tell us about your first band.

My first band that played shows was called The Phil Spector Shotgun Experience. That was primarily a cover band I put together with my high school buddies and my mom. We covered Radio Birdman, the Pink Fairies, and the MC5; we also had an unwittingly hilarious original called “Nitroglycerin Man” — the first song I ever wrote (maybe I was subconsciously inspired by Wages of Fear). At some point, we kicked my mom out of the band and started playing as the Impediments. That band kicked ass — we made pridefully dumb American punk music. That was also my only band to sign a record contract, so it’s quite possibly been downhill from there!

 Tell us about The Talkies (unless that was your first band mentioned above).

Talkies (no article!) was a group I started in 2014 as a vehicle for my songs. My previous bands had been more of a shared vision, so Talkies was my first foray into being the lone genius of a group. The sound was mostly drawn from what is disparagingly known as power pop. Basically, I was heavily into the band Shoes for a few years.

We released a few albums and EPs. Did a couple short tours. During that time, the project was dragged from the Bay Area to Austin and back before I finally, mercifully pulled the plug last year. It was time.

 When did you transition from Talkies to the solo stuff you’re doing now? Did it feel comfortable?

Talkies had run its course, but I had a smattering of songs leftover from that project that I wanted to record. Around that time, I learned my good friend Jasper Leach (Burner Herzog) was getting ready to skip town. I had always wanted to work with him and, seizing my final opportunity to do so, we banged out my début, Tiny Shapes, last summer. The whole experience was fairly serendipitous. The stars aligned for that one.

I wouldn't say the process was comfortable. Recording the album felt necessary, urgent — almost compulsory at times. My heart was ready for a new project and I truly wanted to center myself for the first time. I’m glad I did. This is the happiest I’ve been musically in some time.

 “I think therefore I am”

I love the songs on A Room Forever. How did they come together?

So glad to hear that! I got asked to contribute to a compilation back in April. With the deadline approaching and inspiration still eluding me, I took a glance at my bookshelf, noticed a particular Carson McCullers title, and whipped up “Clock Without Hands.” After my trusty collaborator Owen Adair Kelley added his parts, I felt we had stumbled upon a great sound. I tried to harness the creative spirit and pushed myself to finish a few ideas buried deep in the recesses of my Voice Memo app. I got friends Matt Bullimore (The Mantles) and Yea-Ming Chen (Yea-Ming & The Rumors) involved, and that was that. No great origin story — just pure American ingenuity and elbow grease.

 Tell us about Paisley Shirt Records. Who runs it and how did you hook up with them?

Paisley Shirt Records is simply the man, the myth, the legend — Kevin Linn. He is a San Francisco-based musician and artist who records as Sad-Eyed Beatniks.

I met him when I was looking for someone to release my album, Tiny Shapes. He had just put out a tape by Hits — a great local band featuring some friends of mine — and I felt a kinship with his roster. So, I reached out to him. Foolishly, he agreed to put out my album and we’ve been inseparable ever since. Solid dude. High marks.

 Have you done any solo tours? If so where and how did they go?

Ha! No. I had only notched two shows as R.E. Seraphin before the pandemic hit. Likely not doing anything beyond the odd live-stream show for a while. That said, if any tastemaking European touring agencies are reading this — give me a ring!

The latest EP

 What are your top 10 desert island discs?

Ah, jeez. This question. I’ll just say these are 10 (plus one) that I come back to quite often. In no order:

 Marquee Moon by Television

The Everly Brothers’ Best

Forever Changes by Love

Let it Be by The Replacements

Third/Sister Lovers by Big Star

The First Songs by Laura Nyro

16 Lovers Lane by The Go-Betweens

In a Silent Way by Miles Davis

A Different Kind of Tension by Buzzcocks

Something Else by The Kinks

Old No. 1 by Guy Clark

 What are a few Bay Area bands that we should know about.

This is a golden-era for weirdo pop music in the Bay. To name just a few: Galore, Cindy, The Umbrellas, Tony Jay, Flowertown, Healing Potpourri, Latitude, Cocktails, The Reds, Pinks, & Purples, Yea-Ming & The Rumors, Anna Hillburg, the 1981, Toner, Frank Ene, Neutrals, Owen Adair Kelley, April Magazine, Telephone Numbers, Hits, Sad-Eyed Beatniks. Essentially every act associated with Paisley Shirt Records and/or Mt.St.Mtn. My bias is strong.

 Do you feel that the pandemic has helped your songwriting or hindered it (if either)?

A li’l column A, a li’l column B. I’m a natural procrastinator, so I’ve definitely savored the lack of band practice and shows (things that often necessitate new material). That said, I doubt I would have finished A Room Forever had I not been quarantined at home. Without having many obligations and without being able to leave my house, music definitely became my raison d’être for the first time as an adult. I was fortunate to not be deemed an “essential” worker and to be able to focus energy on my passion momentarily. Silver lining.

 What’s next ? A new record by the end of the year possibly?

Hopefully continuing to promote my music and play shows on the ol’ webiverse. A Room Forever will be receiving a small vinyl and tape pressing at the end of September via Mt.St.Mtn. and Paisley Shirt Records. So, looking forward to that.

I was creatively tapped for a few months after A Room Forever. While a new album is possible, it’s not probable. I am plugging away at a few tunes, but I tend to conceptualize albums as a thematic whole and not as a collection of songs. Haven't stumbled onto my next Big Idea yet. Don't count me out, though. I could see myself dashing off a covers album for sure.

 What is one song you wish you’d written?

Too many to name! I’ll reframe that question to mean a great song I could see myself capable of writing in an alternate time, place, or dimension. Maybe one of Peter Holsapple’s songs from The dB’s — “Black & White” or “Neverland.” Also: anything by Wreckless Eric or Martin Newell.

 Final thoughts? Closing comments?

Just finished reading an interview with the great James Purdy, and thought this quote summed up iur current political climate well:

“You go out into the world and no one knows you, you can be ruled because you’re programmed. Everything is stamped, put on the shelf, described, thrown out into the garbage. It’s a political process, and behind that an economic process. But to be nothing, that is the worst of all possible things.”

   www.reseraphin.com

www.paisleyshirtrecords.bandcamp.com

[sirtravisjacksonoftexas]

Was Jesus a mythical figure based on the Phrygian god Attis? Um, NO, and here is why (Expanded and updated)

Originally, Attis was the mortal son of King Croesus. Despite a prophecy warning of his death, Attis was accidentally killed in a boar hunt. In later times, he was seen as the son of Nana, a nymph or female spirit, and Agdistis, a hermaphrodite monster (though technically, Agdistis was the grandfather; Attis’ father was actually a tree (more on this later). He was the consort (in some accounts lover) of Cybele/Kybele, the Phygrian mother goddess. There are varying accounts as to how he died and what happened afterwards, but he nevertheless went on to be worshipped as a god in Phrygia (a land located in Asia Minor (Modern Turkey).

So, was Jesus Christ based on Attis?

Short Answer:

Do bears live on Mars?

Long answer:

(Before continuing, I want to warn the reader; some of the details of Attis’ myth are sexually graphic in nature. Its like something that both Salvador Dali, the surrealist artist, and Jerry Springer might come up with if they lived at the same time and worked together, possibly while snorting crack. Reader discretion is advised).

1. Born on December 25th?

Nope. No mainstream (i.e. non-Jesus Mythicist) book or ancient text makes such a claim. 

2. Born of a virgin?

There are some ancient sources that say that Attis was the son of Cybele (Identified by some ancient Greeks and Romans with the goddess Rhea, and by others as the Greek Goddess Demeter.) , and at least one where it is described as a “virgin” conception or birth (though this was not the mainstream myth). This may be derived from the fact that, in one version of the myth, Cybele is identified with Agdistis (“Agdistis” was at times an alternate name for the goddess Cybele). However, not only would Cybele be in the latter case Attis’ father or grandfather (more on this later, hope you’re not squeamish) but this conception would be more accurately rendered “sexless” rather than “virgin”.

Because, you see…Cybele was known to have had SEX!

You heard me, Ron.

King Midas, the mythical king who could turn anything he touched into gold, was said to be the son of King Gordius and Cybele. He was NEVER (repeat) NEVER described as being the product of sexless or virgin conception (To be fair, in another version of the myth, Midas was adopted by King Gordius, but even this one doesn’t state that he was virgin born). In another version of her myth, she was raped by Zeus. She was also said to have had several husbands (Iasion, Olympos, and as we will see, Cronus). She bore Iasion a son named Corybas/Korybas, and she bore Olympos and a daughter named Alce-Cybele/Ake-Kybele. Some believe that the latter story is probably one part of a larger Euhemerist interpretation of Cybele’s myth, ie. to see a more historical reality hidden within the myth. Thus gods could be based on real people, certain events in myth would have actually been more mundane in real life, etc. However, not only is this not known for sure, but in Diodorus’ Siculus’ (1 century BC Greek Historian) account of the myth, the gods are still listed as…gods, not mortals. Indeed, in some versions of her myth, she is the wife of Cronus, god of time and father of Zeus. The reason why she was thought to be such is because she was identified by some with Rhea, Cronus’ wife in Greek myth. Though the two goddesses had far different mythologies (thus one of the problems with identifying on god or goddess with another), their stories became so intertwined that Cybele was eventually seen as Cronus’ wife (Cronus was known to have sex).

Now there is one myth were Cybele is mistaken for a virgin. In this tale, she is the mortal daughter of King Meion and Queen Dindyme. She was left to die in the wilderness after she was born, but miraculously survived and later had SEX with Attis (who is not her son in this version of the myth). Her father discovers that she is alive, taking her in. He thinks that she is a virgin…till he finds out otherwise.

Thus, we can conclude…that she “got around”.

Not much of a virgin, eh?

Some Jesus Mythicists will protest, saying that, in the version of the myth where Cybele and Agdistis are the same being, that she would have sired Attis long before any of these flings occurred (she’s never pictured as sleeping with her lovers while a hermaphrodite). However, not only would Cybele be technically Attis father or grandfather instead of mother (you’ll see why later on), there is nothing in the myths that state that she didn’t have sex before she, um…”sired” Attis (Once again, more on this later). Jesus Mythicists will protest again, saying that both Julian the Apostate and Saint Augustine of Hippo both relate that Cybele was indeed a virgin. True, both Julian the Apostate and Saint Augustine (who called Cybele “Cœlestis”) do state that she was a virgin, but both men lived in the fourth century AD (Augustine dying in the 5th century), while the texts showing that Cybele was not a virgin predate them by centuries. Indeed, scholars believe that Julian derived Cybele’s virginity from that of the Virgin Mary. 

Thus, Paganism was borrowing from Christianity.

Thus, Jesus Mythicists have no case here.

So…what do we know about the birth of Attis?

In some accounts (including the oldest account from Herodotus), Attis is the son of a mortal man (hard for mortal men to be fathers without a combination of women and SEX!). In Herodotus’ account, where Attis is spelled “Atys”, his father is King Croesus, while his mother is never named. Later, when Herodotus mentions Cybele in connection to a battle that King Croesus fought, he never states that she was Attis’ mother. In one version of the myth that Pausanias, the ancient Greek Travelogue cites, Attis is the son of a mortal named Galaus the Phrygian, and was born a eunuch. In some accounts Attis is simply a foundling, a child left in the wilderness to die (though this detail also pops up in tales where he has a divine mother). 

In the mainstream myth (which postdates the version of the myth that Herodotus tells) , Zeus masturbates on Mt. Agdus, which to him looks like the goddess Rhea (his…mother. Cybele was identified with Rhea). His semen hits the land and produces an almond tree. One of its fruits fell on the lap of Nana, a nymph and the daughter of a river god. 

Thus, she becomes pregnant.

In another, a hermaphrodite monster named Agdistis (Likewise born of Zeus masturbating on Mt. Agdus) was made drunk by the gods (adding wine to the pool where the monster bathed in). They tied Agdistis' genitals to a tree after the monster went to sleep. When Agdistis awoke and moved, the monster was inevitably castrated. 

A pomegranate tree (some sources state an almond tree) arose from the severed genitals. Nana gathered its fruit in her lap, one of which disappeared (in one account she pushed the fruit into her womb, possibly hinting at her kinky nature), and she suddenly became pregnant. Sounds at first like a virgin birth...until you realize one important detail.

Nana is never called a virgin. 

Though some modern books state otherwise (Such as M.J. Vermaseren’s “the Legend of Attis in Greek and Roman Art”), we have no ancient sources that state that she was indeed a virgin. Indeed, Nymphs were usually the object of intense sexual desire (this is where the term “Nymphomaniac” comes from). They were generally amorous, and were often recorded as having sexual relations with mortal men. Their beauty was enough to drive men insane.

  There were some virgin nymphs (the Muses, Callisto (the latter of whom was a companion of the virgin goddess Artemis) but this virginity wasn’t totally safe (Zeus raped Callisto in the form of Artemis) and virgin nymphs were the exceptions, not the rule. Nana is not married already in the myth, but that doesn’t mean that she wasn’t having sex prior to this incident (most, if not all, sexual relations between nymphs and mortals did not involve a marriage).

Now there is a version of the myth where Nana is the mortal daughter of a king, who flees after her father intends to kill her for what he perceives to be evidence of fornication (i.e. her pregnancy). In some accounts where she is a nymph, her divine father likewise suspected that she had sex and thus sought to kill her. This is as close to a virgin birth as Attis gets, though we have to remember that just because Nana didn’t sexually conceive Attis doesn’t necessarily mean that she actually never had sex period, or that she didn’t have sex while pregnant (Yes, some people in the ancient world did have sex outside of marriage. Why do you think the Bible mentions and even condemns the practice? see Deuteronomy 22:28-29, 1 Corinthians 7:1-2, 8-9). Contrast that to the Biblical evidence for Mary’s virginity (Matthew 1:18-25, Luke 1:26-34, 2:1-7). True, Nana didn’t have a child before Attis, but then again, people have had sex without conceiving a child (even when protection isn’t used), and there are sexual acts that will never, ever result in a pregnancy. 

Thus, we can’t say that Nana was a virgin.

Jesus Mythicists may protest, saying that an ancient inscription from Pereus mentions a goddess named “Atremis-Nana”, thus proving that Nana was a virgin. After all, why would she be identified with Artemis, a virgin goddess, if she wasn’t a virgin herself?

Well, that depends on which “Nana” is being identified with Artemis.

You see, there were several goddesses named Nana.

The Babylonian goddess Nana (not to be confused with the god Nanna) was often identified with Artemis in Asia Minor (which is why some scholars have identified Artemis-Nana with her, not Nana the mother of Attis). This is intriguing, considering that the Asian version of Artemis wasn’t a virgin. Indeed, Ancient Armenia also had a mother goddess named Nana as well. Sometimes, ancient gods could share the same name. Indeed, the Sumerian god Nanna (aka Sin), shares the same name as a Norse goddess of vegetation!!!

To be fair, some scholars have tried to connect the dots between Nana, Artemis-Nana and the Phrygian Nymph Nana (and no doubt the Armenian mother goddess Nana), and ancient cultures may have identified one Nana with another. Perhaps the Armenian Nana is a different version of the Phrygian Nymph Nana.

However, remember the problem of identification; the gods might be identified, but their myths will be different. Artemis is one of the 12 major Olympian deities, while the Phrygian Nana is a nymph, a lesser divinity. Artemis is a twin (her bother is Apollo), while Nana is never said to have a twin. In all her myths, Artemis is always a deity, while Nana is a mortal in some myths. Artemis is the daughter of Zeus and the Titan Leto, while the Nymph Nana is the daughter of the River God Sangarius. Artemis is a major goddess that is immortal (i.e. indestructible as well as everlasting), while nymphs like Nana could be killed. Artemis is never a mother, while Nana is. One cannot say that Nana is a virgin because some in the ancient world identified her with Artemis, anymore than we can say that Artemis is a mother because she is identified with Nana (and as we seen, Nana the Nymph’s identification with Artemis-Nana is tentative). Indeed, Artemis and Nana are different goddesses in the Greek mythos. 

Thus, not as much of a connection as Jesus Mythicists would hope.

  I Haven't even brought up the differences between the Babylonian, Phrygian and Armenian Nanas (trying to keep this as short as possible).

We have no evidence that Nana was a virgin. There is no primary source that states that Nana was a virgin. Attis had a sexless conception to be sure (though the fact that Nana, in one of the versions of the myth, shoves a pomegranate into her womb, shows some odd sexual connotations), but not a virgin one. Indeed, there are other gods (and monsters) who had sexless conceptions, and many have little to no similarities to Christ at all (Ouranos, Mars, Agdistis, the Gigantes (Giants with serpents for legs), Meliae (Ash tree nymphs), the Erinyes/Furies, Aphrodite (in one version of her myth), etc.

So much for a virgin birth. 

3. Savior slain for mankind?

Nope.

4. Body represented by bread and wine in a Eucharist/Lord’s Supper? 

There was a communal meal where eating and drinking from cymbals was noted. Jesus Mythicists will say that the food “was most likely” (repeat: most likely) bread and wine. Um, someone should have told them that bread and wine were forbidden at Attis festivals.

The most likely item on the menu in this ritual was…milk.

5. A shepherd?

Yes, Attis was a literal shepherd.

Jesus was called “The Good Shepherd”...metaphorically. He was a literal carpenter and Rabbi (Mark 6:3, John 3:1-3).

6. Called “Divine Son” and “Father”?

Attis never had the former title. he was the son of a nymph named Nana and a monster/demon named Agdistis. In some versions Agdistis is identified with Cybele, thus making him the son of two goddesses (Nymphs like Nana were lesser female deities). However, in Herodotus’ account, he’s the mortal son of a King. In one account, Nana is a mortal (still impregnated by Agdistis’ tree). In another account, he was the son of a mortal named “Galaus the Phrygian”. No divine ancestry is noted in that version either. In another account, he started out life as simply a mortal foundling.

And as for “father”; He was indeed called “Papas” or Father.

Jesus, i.e. God the Son, was not.

In one version of the myth, Attis has sex with Cybele and they have a child. In this version, Cybele is a mortal (The daughter of King Meion of Phrygia), though she eventually becomes a goddess in the tale. Some of the ancients identified Attis with Iasion, one of Cybele’s hubbies, and they conceived Corybas. So he was, in at least one version of his myth, a literal father (not in others. Indeed in one account he was born a eunuch).  Compare this to Jesus, whom we have no evidence that he was even married, let alone a father.

So, given that Jesus was not called “Father”, and thus has no connection with Attis here, why do Jesus Mythicists continue to bring this idea up?

Because Jesus said in John 10:30 “I and the Father are one.”

I’ll give you a moment to recover from the intellectual equivalent of a fart.

Since Jesus was the Son of God, this makes him out to be both a “Divine Son” and “Father”, in the Jesus Mythicist view.

However, Jesus is not the Son of God in the same way that Attis and others with a divine parent were. Jesus isn’t a demigod, or a different god from God the Father; they are a trinity, three persons, one god. This is why Jesus told his disciples to “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” (Matthew 28:19), instead of saying “baptizing them in the NAME of the Father and the NAME of the Son and the NAME of the Holy Spirit.” That’s why he didn’t say “Baptizing them in the NAMES of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Indeed, Jesus existed long before he was conceived in the womb (John 1:1-3, 8:58), something we cannot say of Attis. The term “Father” was reserved for God the Father, not Jesus. Though they are the same god, they are different persons within the trinity.

Attis is not part of a trinity. He is a single god, a single person, who just happens to be called “Papas”, and who happens to be a son of a goddess in some versions of his myth.

Thus, no connection between Jesus and Attis. 

7. Attis worshippers sacrificed a bull or sheep (the Taurobolium), where initiates were considered born again? Was it referred to as “washed in the blood of the lamb”?

There was a Taurobolium, and it did involve a bull sacrifice (sheep were a less expensive alternative). However, the earliest source that discusses this is in the 2nd century AD (postdating the New testament). Also, we have no record of people believing that this ritual saved souls until 400 AD.

8. Crucified?

No. In Herodotus’ version, he dies on a boar hunt, courtesy of friendly fire. In the mainstream version of the myth, Attis fell in love with a nymph and planned to marry her, despite his pledge to the goddess Cybele to remain chaste for her (Cybele actually loved him). She drove him mad, which led to him castrating himself under a pine tree (In some accounts Agdistis does this), and subsequently bled to death. In one account, after his madness faded and he realized that he had made himself a eunuch, he attempted suicide. However, before he could carry it out, Cybele turned him into a fir tree (no death in this version). In another, a boar kills him. In another he bled to death and was reborn (No resurrected, mind you. Reborn/reincarnated). 

Poor, poor Attis.

Oh and BTW: did any of those fates sound like a crucifixion?

Ehhhhh nope.

What about the Attis holiday held on March 22nd, where a pine tree was cut down and an effigy of Attis was tied to it? Well, this didn’t represent a crucifixion; it represent Attis death under a tree. The effigy was tied to it for practical reasons (Remember, together they represent Attis’ death under a tree. The scene wouldn’t look right if the effigy was left behind while the tree was carried away!). The Roman Emperor Claudius was said to have instituted this holiday (41-54 AD) , but this claim dates back to the 6th century AD. The only Attis festival attested by a 50 AD calendar is one that was held on the 27th.

So, given the facts of the case…why do Jesus Mythicists continue bring Attis and crucifixion up?

Because Jesus cross was metaphorically likened…to a tree (Acts 5:30).

Attis was said to have turned into a tree or died under one, Jesus’ cross was metaphorical likened to a tree, so there MUST be some kind of connection!

Excuse me while I ram my head into a wall.

8. Resurrected?

Nope. He was reborn (in some sources, he was reborn as a tree. In all sources (including the tree rebirth one), he became a god (seemingly reborn as a god). Reincarnation and apotheosis (becoming a god) are NOT the same things as a resurrection! Some modern mythology books make this striking mistake, despite the fact that Resurrection, apotheosis and reincarnation have totally different definitions (see your Webster’s dictionary). In one version of the Attis myth, he never died (he turned into a tree before he could commit suicide). In another, Agdistis asks Zeus to revive Attis. Zeus responds by keeping Attis’ body from decay, making one of his fingers constantly move and his hair to keep growing.

In other words, Zeus did a half-butt job.

Oh and by the way; the oldest texts that speak of Attis having any kind of resurrection postdate the time of Christ considerably.  Indeed, all such supposed similarities with Christ are found in texts that postdate the time of Christ by...several hundred years. 

Think about that as we continue.

9. Killed on a Black Friday?

Nope. There is no Black Friday mentioned in his mythos.

10. Killed on March 25th?

Oh, there was festival called the Hilaria that was celebrated on this date. It implied that Attis returned from the Underworld, but not an execution. Indeed, the earliest attestation of this holiday dates to the 3rd-4rth century AD.

11. His priests were made eunuchs for the Kingdom of Heaven?

No, they were castrated in homage to the castration of Attis. In early Christianity, all Christians were a royal priesthood (1 Peter 2:5,9). Early Christians were not Eunuchs. Jesus mentioned that there were men who lived like eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven (Matt 19:12), but this is in reference to the Essenes, a Jewish sect whose members most often refused to marry.

Wow…see what happens when you dig into the Hebrew culture which Christianity derived from, instead of trying your best to find a pagan parallel?

Should Jewish culture always be ignored in favor of pagan culture when considering the background of Christianity, which was originally a…Jewish sect?

The Attis Myth has many different versions, and Jesus Mythicists will try to take elements out of several of them and combine them into a narrative that, in their eyes, fits that of Christ in the Gospels. They also ignore parts of these myths that are even more inconvenient for their case. The oldest version of the tale, as told by Herodotus, is ignored. The other account that likewise describe him as the mortal son of mortals (once again with no supernatural conception) is likewise ignored. The fact that Cybele wasn’t a virgin, that Agdistis (whether identified with Cybele or not) is never called as such in the ancient sources, that Nana is never called as such in the ancient sources, that Attis was never crucified, that his festivals didn’t indicate that he was crucified, that he was reborn instead of resurrected, that he never had a Lord’s Supper, that any supposed similarities to Christianity post-date the New testament, that Julian the Apostate mixed Christianity with paganism, etc are also ignored. What’s also ignored is that scholars who study Attis note that the Attis cult borrowed from Christianity, not vice versa.

Jesus was not based on Attis.

Jesus is real, not myth.

Sources:

Herodotus “The Histories”, 1.36-46, 80 Ovid “Metamorphoses”, 10.103 Ovid “Fasti” 4.179-246 Pausanias "Description of Greece", 7.17.9-13

https://www.theoi.com/Text/Pausanias7B.html 

Diodorus Siculus “Library of History”, 3.58-59, 5.49 Pseudo-Hyginus, “Fabulae”, 191, 274 Nonnus, “Dionysiaca”, 20.35, 25.310 Arnobius, “Against the Heathen”, 5.6

https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/06315.htm 

Julian the Apostate “Hymn to the Mother of the Gods”, 166b Saint Augustine, “City of God”, 2.26

https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/120102.htm 

"Titans and Olympians: Greek and Roman Myth" by Tony Allan, Sarah Maitland, and Dr Michael Trapp (consultant), 31, see also 27, 48, 62 “The Age of Fable” by Thomas Bulfinch, 117 “The Legend of Attis in Greek and Roman Art” by M.J. Vermaseren, 1-6 “Cybele and Attis: The Myth and the Cult” by M.J. Vermaseren, 91 “Cassell Dictionary of Classical Mythology” by Jenny March, 119, see also 32, 81 “The Mythology Book: Big Ideas Simply Explained” by Philip Wilkinson (Consultant), 116-17 “The Ultimate Encyclopedia of Mythology” by Arthur Cotterell and Rachel Storm, 261, 270,272-73, 313, see also 51, 63 “The Penguin Dictionary of Classical Mythology” by Pierre Grimal, 27-28, 69, 112, 393, see also 82-83, 297-98 “Encyclopedia of Gods” by Michael Jordan, 141, 176-77 

“A Study of Women in Attic Inscriptions” by Helen McClees, PhD, 25 

https://books.google.com/books?id=Q87sMk1a-MIC&pg=PA25&dq=Artemis-Nana&hl=en&newbks=1&newbks_redir=0&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiDp_rfzrrlAhVFLKwKHXDgCh8Q6AEwAXoECAQQAg#v=onepage&q=Artemis-Nana&f=false

“Soteriology And Mystic Aspects in the Cult of Cybele and Attis” by Giulia Sfameni Gasparro, 50 “Orion: The Myth of the Hunter and the Huntress” by Joseph Fontenrose, 216

https://books.google.com/books?id=tD4lJxC95mEC&pg=PA216&dq=Artemis-Nana&hl=en&newbks=1&newbks_redir=0&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwilte-r0rrlAhVPR60KHcZpDLUQ6AEwAnoECAIQAg#v=onepage&q=Artemis-Nana&f=false 

“Emperor and Author: The Writings of Julian the Apostate” by Nicholas Baker-Brian and Shaun Tougher (Editors), 223-24  

https://books.google.com/books?id=CPZODgAAQBAJ&pg=PA223&lpg=PA223&dq=cybele+motherless+virgin&source=bl&ots=IVIba3LcHH&sig=ACfU3U2lqywj_ShyU-sCAjk_6P1zPZETYg&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiVz7C-w7rlAhVDOq0KHWxFDN0Q6AEwA3oECAkQAQ#v=onepage&q=cybele%20motherless%20virgin&f=false 

“An Encyclopedia of Religions” by Maurice Arthur Canney, 125  

https://books.google.com/books?id=EycnAQAAIAAJ&pg=PA125&lpg=PA125&dq=Cybele+C%C5%93lestis&source=bl&ots=5w7bPC1Jya&sig=ACfU3U3izeKmY44UJBx3iLUdCZsmozbdvg&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiOhZPnxLrlAhUOGKwKHZe_Dh4Q6AEwC3oECAkQAQ#v=onepage&q=Cybele%20C%C5%93lestis&f=false 

https://www.ancient-origins.net/myths-legends-europe/pagan-attis-and-christian-jesus-spurious-connection-009634 

http://www.tektonics.org/copycat/attis.php 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7-9aVdOKy0&feature=emb_title 

https://books.google.com/books?id=H-qCAgAAQBAJ&pg=PT135&dq=Cybele+was+attis%27+mother&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjSy-Wmq6HlAhUCXa0KHRdYDuw4UBDoATAFegQIBRAC#v=onepage&q=Cybele%20was%20attis'%20mother&f=false 

“Shattering the Christ Myth” By James Patrick Holding, 299  

https://books.google.com/books?id=2XHysoHc2ksC&pg=PA299&dq=Galaus+the+Phrygian&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjT4sGo46HlAhVKQ6wKHciTAGoQuwUwAHoECAIQBQ#v=onepage&q=Galaus%20the%20Phrygian&f=false 

“Attis, Between Myth and History: King, Priest, and God” By Maria Grazia Lancellotti, 92  

https://books.google.com/books?id=oE8vW4BX9kwC&pg=PA92&dq=who+was+attis%27+mother?&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjpneqKhqLlAhUEc60KHSJWDtUQ6AEwA3oECAMQAg#v=onepage&q=who%20was%20attis'%20mother%3F&f=false 

https://withalliamgod.wordpress.com/2011/01/21/refuting-attis-myth-parallelism-to-christianity/ 

https://www.ancient.eu/Cybele/  

https://www.theoi.com/Phrygios/Kybele.html 

https://www.ancient.eu/nymph/ 

http://www.realmermaids.net/mermaid-legends/nymph/ 

https://womeninantiquity.wordpress.com/2017/04/02/the-nymphs/ 

“Encyclopedia of the Ancient Greek World” By David Sacks, Oswyn Murray, Lisa R. Brody, 226  

https://books.google.com/books?id=yyrao0dadqAC&pg=PA226&dq=Nymphs+myth+Nymphomaniac&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjZxqaq4KHlAhVPUK0KHfB4DMMQ6AEwAnoECAYQAg#v=onepage&q=Nymphs%20myth%20Nymphomaniac&f=false 

“Nymphomania: A History” By Carol Groneman, 185  

https://books.google.com/books?id=lnmJsQq5abkC&pg=PA185&dq=Nymphs+Nymphomaniac&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiatcrX3aHlAhUMna0KHYOUAhMQuwUwBnoECAUQBQ#v=onepage&q=Nymphs%20Nymphomaniac&f=false 

“Functional and Dysfunctional Sexual Behavior: A Synthesis of Neuroscience and Comparative Psychology” by Anders Agmo, 430

https://books.google.com/books?id=mmJjj6UvB9YC&pg=PA430&dq=Nymphs+hypersexual&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiW-9mg3aHlAhUEM6wKHZCIDjwQuwUwAnoECAUQBQ#v=onepage&q=Nymphs%20hypersexual&f=false 

https://www.theoi.com/Olympios/Artemis.html