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yamayuandadu · 11 months

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The most important deity you've never heard of: the 3000 years long history of Nanaya

Being a major deity is not necessarily a guarantee of being remembered. Nanaya survived for longer than any other Mesopotamian deity, spread further away from her original home than any of her peers, and even briefly competed with both Buddha and Jesus for relevance. At the same time, even in scholarship she is often treated as unworthy of study. She has no popculture presence save for an atrocious, ill-informed SCP story which can’t get the most basic details right. Her claims to fame include starring in fairly explicit love poetry and appearing where nobody would expect her. Therefore, she is the ideal topic to discuss on this blog. This is actually the longest article I published here, the culmination of over two years of research. By now, the overwhelming majority of Nanaya-related articles on wikipedia are my work, and what you can find under the cut is essentially a synthesis of what I have learned while getting there. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed working on it. Under the cut, you will learn everything there is to know about Nanaya: her origin, character, connections with other Mesopotamian deities, her role in literature, her cult centers… Since her history does not end with cuneiform, naturally the later text corpora - Aramaic, Bactrian, Sogdian and even Chinese - are discussed too. The article concludes with a short explanation why I see the study of Nanaya as crucial.

Dubious origins and scribal wordplays: from na-na to Nanaya Long ago Samuel Noah Kramer said that “history begins in Sumer”. While the core sentiment was not wrong in many regards, in this case it might actually begin in Akkad, specifically in Gasur, close to modern Kirkuk. The oldest possible attestation of Nanaya are personal names from this city with the element na-na, dated roughly to the reign of Naram-Sin of Akkad, so to around 2250 BCE. It’s not marked in the way names of deities in personal names would usually be, but this would not be an isolated case.

The evidence is ultimately mixed. On one hand, reduplicated names like Nana are not unusual in early Akkadian sources, and -ya can plausibly be explained as a hypocoristic suffix. On the other hand, there is not much evidence for Nanaya being worshiped specifically in the far northeast of Mesopotamia in other periods. Yet another issue is that there is seemingly no root nan- in Akkadian, at least in any attested words.

The main competing proposal is that Nanaya originally arose as a hypostasis of Inanna but eventually split off through metaphorical mitosis, like a few other goddesses did, for example Annunitum. This is not entirely implausible either, but ultimately direct evidence is lacking, and when Nanaya pops up for the first time in history she is clearly a distinct goddess.

There are a few other proposals regarding Nanaya’s origin, but they are considerably weaker. Elamite has the promising term nan, “day” or “morning”, but Nanaya is entirely absent from the Old Elamite sources you’d expect to find her in if Mesopotamians imported her from the east. Therefore, very few authors adhere to this view. The hypothesis that she was an Aramaic goddess in origin does not really work chronologically, since Aramaic is not attested in the third millennium BCE at all. The less said about attempts to connect her to anything “Proto-Indo-European”, the better.

Like many other names of deities, Nanaya’s was already a subject of etymological speculation in antiquity. A late annotated version of the Weidner god list, tablet BM 62741, preserves a scribe’s speculative attempt at deriving it from the basic meaning of the sign NA, “to call”, furnished with a feminine suffix, A. Needless to say, like other such examples of scribal speculation, some of which are closer to playful word play than linguistics, it is unlikely to reflect the actual origin of the name.

Early history: Shulgi-simti, Nanaya’s earliest recorded #1 fan

A typical Ur III administrative tablet listing offerings to various deities (wikimedia commons)

The first absolutely certain attestations of Nanaya, now firmly under her full name, have been identified in texts from the famous archive from Puzrish-Dagan, modern Drehem, dated to around 2100 BCE. Much can be written about this site, but here it will suffice to say that it was a center of the royal administration of the Third Dynasty of Ur ("Ur III") responsible for the distribution of sacrificial animals. Nanaya appears there in a rather unique context - she was one of the deities whose cults were patronized by queen Shulgi-simti, one of the wives of Shulgi, the successor of the dynasty’s founder Ur-Namma. We do not know much about Shulgi-simti as a person - she did not write any official inscriptions announcing her preferred foreign policy or letters to relatives or poetry or anything else that typically can be used to gain a glimpse into the personal lives of Mesopotamian royalty. We’re not really sure where she came from, though Eshnunna is often suggested as her hometown. We actually do not even know what her original name was, as it is assumed she only came to be known as Shulgi-simti after becoming a member of the royal family. Tonia Sharlach suggested that the absence of information about her personal life might indicate that she was a commoner, and that her marriage to Shulgi was not politically motivated The one sphere of Shulgi-simti’s life which we are incredibly familiar with are her religious ventures. She evidently had an eye for minor, foreign or otherwise unusual goddesses, such as Belet-Terraban or Nanaya. She apparently ran what Sharlach in her “biography” of her has characterized as a foundation. It was tasked with sponsoring various religious celebrations. Since Shulgi-simti seemingly had no estate to speak of, most of the relevant documents indicate she procured offerings from a variety of unexpected sources, including courtiers and other members of the royal family. The scale of her operations was tiny: while the more official religious organizations dealt with hundreds or thousands of sacrificial animals, up to fifty or even seventy thousand sheep and goats in the case of royal administration, the highest recorded number at her disposal seems to be eight oxen and fifty nine sheep. A further peculiarity of the “foundation” is that apparently there was a huge turnover rate among the officials tasked with maintaining it. It seems nobody really lasted there for much more than four years. There are two possible explanations: either Shulgi-simti was unusually difficult to work with, or the position was not considered particularly prestigious and was, at the absolute best, viewed as a stepping stone. While the Shulgi-simti texts are the earliest evidence for worship of Nanaya in the Ur III court, they are actually not isolated. When all the evidence from the reigns of Shulgi and his successors is summarized, it turns out that she quickly attained a prominent role, as she is among the twelve deities who received the most offerings. However, her worship was seemingly limited to Uruk (in her own sanctuary), Nippur (in the temple of Enlil, Ekur) and Ur. Granted, these were coincidentally three of the most important cities in the entire empire, so that’s a pretty solid early section of a divine resume. She chiefly appears in two types of ceremonies: these tied to the royal court, or these mostly performed by or for women. Notably, a festival involving lamentations (girrānum) was held in her honor in Uruk. To understand Nanaya’s presence in the two aforementioned contexts, and by extension her persistence in Mesopotamian religion in later periods, we need to first look into her character.

The character of Nanaya: eroticism, kingship, and disputed astral ventures

Corona Borealis (wikimedia commons)

Nanaya’s character is reasonably well defined in primary sources, but surprisingly she was almost entirely ignored in scholarship quite recently. The first study of her which holds up to scrutiny is probably Joan Goodnick Westenholz’s article Nanaya, Lady of Mystery from 1997. The core issue is the alleged interchangeability of goddesses. From the early days of Assyriology basically up to the 1980s, Nanaya was held to be basically fully interchangeable with Inanna. This obviously put her in a tough spot. Still, over the course of the past three decades the overwhelming majority of studies came to recognize Nanaya as a distinct goddess worthy of study in her own right. You will still stumble upon the occasional “Nanaya is basically Inanna”, but now this is a minority position. Tragically it’s not extinct yet, most recently I’ve seen it in a monograph published earlier this year. With these methodological and ideological issues out of the way, let’s actually look into Nanaya’s character, as promised by the title of this section. Her original role was that of a goddess of love. It is already attested for her at the dawn of her history, in the Ur III period. Her primary quality was described with a term rendered as ḫili in Sumerian and kuzbu in Akkadian. It can be variously translated as “charm”, “luxuriance”, “voluptuousness”, “sensuality” or “sexual attractiveness”. This characteristic was highlighted by her epithet bēlet kuzbi (“lady of kuzbu”) and by the name of her cella in the Eanna, Eḫilianna. The connection was so strong that this term appears basically in every single royal inscription praising her. She was also called bēlet râmi, “lady of love”. Nanaya’s role as a love goddess is often paired with describing her as a “joyful” or “charming” deity. It needs to be stressed that Nanaya was by no metric the goddess of some abstract, cosmic love or anything like that. Love incantations and prayers related to love are quite common, and give us a solid glimpse into this matter. Nanaya’s range of activity in them is defined pretty directly: she deals with relationships (and by extension also with matters like one-sided crushes or arguments between spouses), romance and with strictly sexual matters. For an example of a hymn highlighting her qualifications when it comes to the last category, see here. The text is explicit, obviously. We can go deeper, though. There is also an incantation whose incipit at first glance leaves little to imagination:

However, the translator, Giole Zisa, notes there is some debate over whether it’s actually about having sex with Nanaya or merely about invoking her (and other deities) while having sex with someone else. A distinct third possibility is that she’s not even properly invoked but that “oh, Nanaya” is simply an exclamation of excitement meant to fit the atmosphere, like a specialized version of the mainstay of modern erotica dialogue, “oh god”.

While this romantic and sexual aspect of Nanaya’s character is obviously impossible to overlook, this is not all there was to her. She was also associated with kingship, as already documented in the Ur III period. She was invoked during coronations and mourning of deceased kings. In the Old Babylonian period she was linked to investiture by rulers of newly independent Uruk. A topic which has stirred some controversy in scholarship is Nanaya’s supposed astral role. Modern authors who try to present Nanaya as a Venus deity fall back on rather faulty reasoning, namely asserting that if Nanaya was associated with Inanna and Inanna personified Venus, clearly Nanaya did too. Of course, being associated with Inanna does not guarantee the same traits. Shaushka was associated with her so closely her name was written with the logogram representing her counterpart quite often, and lacked astral aspects altogether. No primary sources which discuss Nanaya as a distinct, actively worshiped deity actually link her with Venus. If you stretch it you will find some tidbits like an entry in a dictionary prepared by the 10th century bishop Hasan bar Bahlul, who inexplicably asserted Nanaya was the Arabic name of the planet Venus. As you will see soon, there isn’t even a possibility that this reflected a relic of interpretatio graeca. The early Mandaean sources, many of which were written when at least remnants of ancient Mesopotamian religion were still extant, also do not link Nanaya with Venus. Despite at best ambivalent attitude towards Mesopotamian deities, they show remarkable attention to detail when it comes to listing their cult centers, and on top of that Mesopotamian astronomy had a considerable impact on Mandaeism, so there is no reason not to prioritize them, as far as I am concerned. As far as the ancient Mesopotamian sources themselves go, the only astral object with a direct connection to Nanaya was Corona Borealis (BAL.TÉŠ.A, “Dignity”), as attested in the astronomical compendium MUL.APIN. Note that this is a work which assigns astral counterparts to virtually any deity possible, though, and there is no indication this was a major part of Nanaya’s character. Save for this single instance, she is entirely absent from astronomical texts. A further astral possibility is that Nanaya was associated with the moon. The earliest evidence is highly ambiguous: in the Ur III period festivals held in her honor might have been tied to phases of the moon, while in the Old Babylonian period a sanctuary dedicated to her located in Larsa was known under the ceremonial name Eitida, “house of the month”. A poem in which looking at her is compared to looking at the moon is also known. That’s not all, though. Starting with the Old Babylonian period, she could also be compared with the sun. Possibly such comparisons were meant to present her as an astral deity, without necessarily identifying her with a specific astral body. Michael P. Streck and Nathan Wasserman suggest that it might be optimal to simply refer to her as a “luminous” deity in this context. However, as you will see later it nonetheless does seem she eventually came to be firmly associated both with the sun and the moon. Last but not least, Nanaya occasionally displayed warlike traits. It’s hardly major in her case, and if you tried hard enough you could turn any deity into a war deity depending on your political goals, though. I’d also place the incantation which casts her as one of the deities responsible for keeping the demon Lamashtu at bay here.

Nanaya in art

The oldest known depiction of Nanaya (wikimedia commons)

While Nanaya’s roles are pretty well defined, there surprisingly isn’t much to say about her iconography in Mesopotamian art.The oldest certain surviving depiction of her is rather indistinct: she’s wearing a tall headdress and a flounced robe. It dates to the late Kassite period (so roughly to 1200 BCE), and shows her alongside king Meli-Shipak (or maybe Meli-Shihu, reading remains uncertain) and his daughter Hunnubat-Nanaya. Nanaya is apparently invoked to guarantee that the prebend granted to the princess will be under divine protection. This is not really some unique prerogative of hers, perhaps she was just the most appropriate choice because Hunnubat-Nanaya’s name obviously reflects devotion to her. The relief discussed above is actually the only depiction of Nanaya identified with certainty from before the Hellenistic period, surprisingly. We know that statues representing her existed, and it is hard to imagine that a popular, commonly worshiped deity was not depicted on objects like terracotta decorations and cylinder seals, but even if some of these were discovered, there’s no way to identify them with certainty. This is not unusual though, and ultimately there aren’t many Mesopotamian deities who can be identified in art without any ambiguity.

Nanaya in literature

As I highlighted in the section dealing with Nanaya’s character, she is reasonably well attested in love poetry. However, this is not the only genre in which she played a role. A true testament to Nanaya’s prominence is a bilingual (Sumero-Akkadian) hymn composed in her honor in the first millennium BCE. It is written in the first person, and presents various other goddesses as her alternate identities. It is hardly unique, and similar compositions dedicated to Ishtar (Inanna), Gula, Ninurta and Marduk are also known. Each strophe describes a different deity and location, but ends with Nanaya reasserting her actual identity with the words “still I am Nanaya”. Among the claimed identities included are both major goddesses in their own right (Inanna plus closely associated Annunitum and Ishara, Gula, Bau, Ninlil), goddesses relevant due to their spousal roles first and foremost (Damkina, Shala, Mammitum etc) and some truly unexpected, picks, the notoriously elusive personified rainbow Manzat being the prime example. Most of them had very little in common with Nanaya, so this might be less an attempt at syncretism, and more an elevation of her position through comparisons to those of other goddesses. An additional possible literary curiosity is a poorly preserved myth which Wilfred G. Lambert referred to as “The murder of Anshar”. He argues that Nanaya is one of the two deities responsible for the eponymous act. I don't quite follow the logic, though: the goddess is actually named Ninamakalamma (“Lady mother of the land”), and her sole connection with Nanaya is that they occur in sequence in the unique god list from Sultantepe. Lambert saw this as a possible indication they are identical. There are no other attestations of this name, but ama kalamma does occur as an epithet of various goddesses, most notably Ninshubur. Given her juxtaposition with Nanaya in the Weidner god list - more on that later - wouldn’t it make more sense to assume it’s her? Due to obscurity of the text as far as I am aware nobody has questioned Lambert’s tentative proposal yet, though.

There isn’t much to say about the plot: Anshar, literally “whole heaven”, the father of Anu, presumably gets overthrown and might be subsequently killed. Something that needs to be stressed here to avoid misinterpretation: primordial deities such as Anshar were borderline irrelevant, and weren't really worshiped. They exist to fade away in myths and to be speculated about in elaborate lexical texts. There was no deposed cult of Anshar. Same goes for all the Tiamats and Enmesharras and so on.

Inanna and beyond: Nanaya and friends in Mesopotamian sources

Inanna on a cylinder seal from the second half of the third millennium BCE (wikimedia commons)

Of course, Nanaya’s single most important connection was that to Inanna, no matter if we are to accept the view that she was effectively a hypostasis gone rogue or not. The relationship between them could be represented in many different ways. Quite commonly she was understood as a courtier or protegee of Inanna. A hymn from the reign of Ishbi-Erra calls her the “ornament of Eanna” (Inanna’s main temple in Uruk) and states she was appointed by Inanna to her position. References to Inanna as Nanaya’s mother are also known, though they are rare, and might be metaphorical. To my best knowledge nothing changed since Olga Drewnowska-Rymarz’s monograph, in which she notes she only found three examples of texts preserving this tradition. I would personally abstain from trying to read too deep into it, given this scarcity. Other traditions regarding Nanaya’s parentage are better attested. In multiple cases, she “borrows” Inanna’s conventional genealogy, and as a result is addressed as a daughter of Sin (Nanna), the moon god. However, she was never addressed as Inanna’s sister: it seems that in cases where Sin and Nanaya are connected, she effectively “usurps” Inanna’s own status as his daughter (and as the sister of Shamash, while at it). Alternatively, she could be viewed as a daughter of Anu. Finally, there is a peculiar tradition which was the default in laments: in this case, Nanaya was described as a daughter of Urash. The name in this context does not refer to the wife of Anu, though. The deity meant is instead a small time farmer god from Dilbat. To my best knowledge no sources place Nanaya in the proximity of other members of Urash’s family, though some do specify she was his firstborn daughter. To my best knowledge Urash had at least two other children, Lagamal (“no mercy”, an underworld deity whose gender is a matter of debate) and Ipte-bitam (“he opened the house”, as you can probably guess a divine doorkeeper). Nanaya’s mother by extension would presumably be Urash’s wife Ninegal, the tutelary goddess of royal palaces. There is actually a ritual text listing these three together. In the Weidner god list Nanaya appears after Ninshubur. Sadly, I found no evidence for a direct association between these two. For what it’s worth, they did share a highly specific role, that of a deity responsible for ordering around lamma. This term referred to a class of minor deities who can be understood as analogous to “guardian angels” in contemporary Christianity, except places and even deities had their own lamma too, not just people. Lamma can also be understood at once as a class of distinct minor deities, as the given name of individual members of it, and as a title of major deities. In an inscription of Gudea the main members of the official pantheon are addressed as “lamma of all nations”, by far one of my favorite collective terms of deities in Mesopotamian literature. A second important aspect of the Weidner god list is placing Nanaya right in front of Bizilla. The two also appear side by side in some offering lists and in the astronomical compendium MUL.APIN, where they are curiously listed as members of the court of Enlil. It seems that like Nanaya, she was a goddess of love, which is presumably reflected by her name. It has been variously translated as “pleasing”, “loving” or as a derivative of the verb “to strip”. An argument can be made that Bizilla was to Nanaya what Nanaya was to Inanna. However, she also had a few roles of her own. Most notably, she was regarded as the sukkal of Ninlil. She may or may not also have had some sort of connection to Nungal, the goddess of prisons, though it remains a matter of debate if it’s really her or yet another, accidentally similarly named, goddess.

An indistinct Hurro-Hittite depiction of Ishara from the Yazilikaya sanctuary (wikimedia commons)

In love incantations, Nanaya belonged to an informal group which also included Inanna, Ishara, Kanisurra and Gazbaba. I do not think Inanna’s presence needs to be explained. Ishara had an independent connection with Inanna and was a multi-purpose deity to put it very lightly; in the realm of love she was particularly strongly connected with weddings and wedding nights. Kanisurra and Gazbaba warrant a bit more discussion, because they are arguably Nanaya’s supporting cast first and foremost. Gazbaba is, at the core, seemingly simply the personification of kuzbu. Her name had pretty inconsistent orthography, and variants such as Kazba or Gazbaya can be found in primary sources too. The last of them pretty clearly reflects an attempt at making her name resemble Nanaya’s. Not much can be said about her individual character beyond the fact she was doubtlessly related to love and/or sex. She is described as the “grinning one” in an incantation which might be a sexual allusion too, seeing as such expressions are a mainstay of Akkadian erotic poetry. Kanisurra would probably win the award for the fakest sounding Mesopotamian goddess, if such a competition existed. Her name most likely originated as a designation of the gate of the underworld, ganzer. Her default epithet was “lady of the witches” (bēlet kaššāpāti). And on top of that, like Nanaya and Gazbaba she was associated with sex. She certainly sounds more like a contemporary edgy oc of the Enoby Dimentia Raven Way variety than a bronze age goddess - and yet, she is completely genuine. It is commonly argued Kanisurra and Gazbaba were regarded as Nanaya’s daughters, but there is actually no direct evidence for this. In the only text where their relation to Nanaya is clearly defined they are described as her hairdressers, rather than children. While in some cases the love goddesses appear in love incantations in company of each other almost as if they were some sort of disastrous polycule, occasionally Nanaya is accompanied in them by an anonymous spouse. Together they occur in parallel with Inanna and Dumuzi and Ishara and Almanu, apparently a (accidental?) deification of a term referring to someone without family obligations. There is only one Old Babylonian source which actually assigns a specific identity to Nanaya’s spouse, a hymn dedicated to king Abi-eshuh of Babylon. An otherwise largely unknown god Muati (I patched up his wiki article just for the sake of this blog post) plays this role here. The text presents a curious case of reversal of gender roles: Muati is asked to intercede with Nanaya on behalf of petitioners. Usually this was the role of the wife - the best known case is Aya, the wife of Shamash, who is implored to do just that by Ninsun in the standard edition of the Epic of Gilgamesh. It’s also attested for goddesses such as Laz, Shala, Ninegal or Ninmug… and in the case of Inanna, for Ninshubur.

A Neo-Assyrian statue of Nabu on display in the Iraq Museum (wikimedia commons)

Marten Stol seems to treat Muati and Nabu as virtually the same deity, and on this basis states that Nanaya was already associated with the latter in the Old Babylonian period, but this seems to be a minority position. Other authors pretty consistently assume that Muati was a distinct deity at some point “absorbed” by Nabu. The oldest example of pairing Nanaya with Nabu I am aware of is an inscription dated to the reign of Marduk-apla-iddina I, so roughly to the first half of the twelfth century BCE. The rise of this tradition in the first millennium BCE was less theological and more political. With Babylon once again emerging as a preeminent power, local theologies were supposed to be subordinated to the one followed in the dominant city. Which, at the time, was focused on Nabu, Marduk and Zarpanit. Worth noting that Nabu also had a spouse before, Tashmetum (“reconciliation”). In the long run she was more or less ousted by Nanaya from some locations, though she retained popularity in the north, in Assyria. She is not exactly the most thrilling deity to discuss. I will confess I do not find the developments tied to Nanaya and Nabu to be particularly interesting to cover, but in the long run they might have resulted in Nanaya acquiring probably the single most interesting “supporting cast member” she did not share with Inanna, so we’ll come back to this later. Save for Bizilla, Nanaya generally was not provided with “equivalents” in god lists. I am only aware of one exception, and it’s a very recent discovery. Last year the first ever Akkadian-Amorite bilingual lists were published. This is obviously a breakthrough discovery, as before Amorite was largely known just from personal names despite being a vernacular language over much of the region in the bronze age, but only one line is ultimately of note here. In a section of one of the lists dealing with deities, Nanaya’s Amorite counterpart is said to be Pidray. This goddess is otherwise almost exclusively known from Ugarit. This of course fits very well with the new evidence: recent research generally stresses that Ugarit was quintessentially an Amorite city (the ruling house even claimed descent from mythical Ditanu, who is best known from the grandiose fictional genealogies of Shamshi-Adad I and the First Dynasty of Babylon). Sadly, we do not know how the inhabitants of Ugarit viewed Nanaya. A trilingual version of the Weidner list, with the original version furnished with columns listing Ugaritic and Hurrian counterparts of each deity, was in circulation, but the available copies are too heavily damaged to restore it fully. And to make things worse, much of it seems to boil down to scribal wordplay and there is no guarantee all of the correspondences are motivated theologically. For instance, the minor Mesopotamian goddess Imzuanna is presented as the counterpart of Ugaritic weather god Baal because her name contains a sign used as a shortened logographic writing of the latter. An even funnier case is the awkward attempt at making it clear the Ugaritic sun deity Shapash, who was female, is not a lesbian… by making Aya male. Just astonishing, really.

The worship of Nanaya

A speculative reconstruction of Ur III Uruk with the Eanna temple visible in the center (Artefacts — Scientific Illustration & Archaeological Reconstruction; reproduced here for educational purposes only, as permitted)

Rather fittingly, as a deity associated with Inanna, Nanaya was worshiped chiefly in Uruk. She is also reasonably well attested in the inscriptions of the short-lived local dynasty which regained independence near the end of the period of domination of Larsa over Lower Mesopotamia. A priest named after her, a certain Iddin-Nanaya, for a time served as the administrator of her temple, the Enmeurur, “house which gathers all the me,” me being a difficult to translate term, something like “divine powers”. The acquisition of new me is a common topic in Mesopotamian literature, and in compositions focused on Inanna in particular, so it should not be surprising to anyone that her peculiar double seemingly had similar interests. In addition to Uruk, as well as Nippur and Ur, after the Ur III period Nanaya spread to multiple other cities, including Isin, Mari, Babylon and Kish. However, she is probably by far the best attested in Larsa, where she rose to the rank of one of the main deities, next to Utu, Inanna, Ishkur and Nergal. She had her own temple, the Eshahulla, “house of a happy heart”. In local tradition Inanna got to keep her role as an “universal” major goddess and her military prerogatives, but Nanaya overtook the role of a goddess of love almost fully. Inanna’s astral aspect was also locally downplayed, since Venus was instead represented in the local pantheon by closely associated, but firmly distinct, Ninsianna. This deity warrants some more discussion in the future just due to having a solid claim to being one of the first genderfluid literary figures in history, but due to space constraints this cannot be covered in detail here. A later inscription from the same city differentiates between Nanaya and Inanna by giving them different epithets: Nanaya is the “queen of Uruk and Eanna” (effectively usurping Nanaya’s role) while Inanna is the “queen of Nippur” (that’s actually a well documented hypostasis of her, not to be confused with the unrelated “lady of Nippur”). Uruk was temporarily abandoned in the late Old Babylonian period, but that did not end Nanaya’s career. Like Inanna, she came to be temporarily relocated to Kish. It has been suggested that a reference to her residence in “Kiššina” in a Hurro-Hittite literary text, the Tale of Appu, reflects her temporary stay there. The next centuries of Nanaya are difficult to reconstruct due to scarce evidence, but it is clear she continued to be worshiped in Uruk. By the Neo-Babylonian period she was recognized as a member of an informal pentad of the main deities of the city, next to Inanna, Urkayitu, Usur-amassu and Beltu-sa-Resh. Two of them warrant no further discussion: Urkayitu was most likely a personification of the city, and Beltu-sa-Resh despite her position is still a mystery to researchers. Usur-amassu, on the contrary, is herself a fascinating topic. First attestations of this deity, who was seemingly associated with law and justice (a pretty standard concern), come back to the Old Babylonian period. At this point, Usur-amassu was clearly male, which is reflected by the name. He appears in the god list An = Anum as a son of the weather deity couple par excellence, Adad (Ishkur) and Shala. However, by the early first millennium BCE Usur-amassu instead came to be regarded as female - without losing the connection to her parents. She did however gain a connection to Inanna, Nanaya and Kanisurra, which she lacked earlier. How come remains unknown. Most curiously her name was not modified to reflect her new gender, though she could be provided with a determinative indicating it. This recalls the case of Lagamal in the kingdom of Mari some 800 years earlier.

The end of the beginning: Nanaya under Achaemenids and Seleucids

Trilingual (Persian, Elamite and Akkadian) inscription of the first Achamenid ruler of Mesopotamia, Cyrus (wikimedia commons)

After the fall of the Neo-Babylonian Empire Mesopotamia ended up under Achaemenid control, which in turn was replaced by the Seleucids. Nanaya flourished through both of these periods. In particular, she attained considerable popularity among Arameans. While they almost definitely first encountered her in Uruk, she quickly came to be venerated by them in many distant locations, like Palmyra, Hatra and Dura Europos in Syria. She even appears in a single Achaemenid Aramaic papyrus discovered in Elephantine in Egypt. It indicates that she was worshiped there by a community which originated in Rash, an area east to the Tigris. As a curiosity it’s worth mentioning the same source is one of the only attestations of Pidray from outside Ugarit. I do not think this has anything to do with the recently discovered connection between her and Nanaya… but you may never know. Under the Seleucids, Nanaya went through a particularly puzzling process of partial syncretism. Through interpretatio graeca she was identified with… Artemis. How did this work? The key to understanding this is the fact Seleucids actually had a somewhat limited interest in local deities. All that was necessary was to find relatively major members of the local pantheon who could roughly correspond to the tutelary deities of their dynasty: Zeus, Apollo and Artemis. Zeus found an obvious counterpart in Marduk (even though Marduk was hardly a weather god). Since Nabu was Marduk’s son, he got to be Apollo. And since Nanaya was the most major goddess connected to Nabu, she got to be Artemis. It really doesn’t go deeper than that. For what it’s worth, despite the clear difference in character this newfound association did impact Nanaya in at least one way: she started to be depicted with attributes borrowed from Artemis, namely a bow and a crescent. Or perhaps these attributes were already associated with her, but came to the forefront because of the new role. The Artemis-like image of Nanaya as an archer is attested on coins, especially in Susa, yet another city where she attained considerable popularity.

Leaving Mesopotamia: Nanaya and the death of cuneiform

A Parthian statue of Nanaya with a crescent diadem (Louvre; reproduced here for educational purposes only. Identification follows Andrea Sinclair's proposal)

The Seleucid dynasty was eventually replaced by the Parthians. This period is often considered a symbolic end of ancient Mesopotamian religion in the strict sense. Traditional religious institutions were already slowly collapsing in Achaemenid and Seleucid times as the new dynasties had limited interest in royal patronage. Additionally, cuneiform fell out of use, and by the end of the first half of the first millennium CE the art of reading and writing it was entirely lost. This process did not happen equally quickly everywhere, obviously, and some deities fared better than others in the transitional period before the rise of Christianity and Islam as the dominant religions across the region. Nanaya was definitely one of them, at least for a time. In Parthian art Nanaya might have developed a distinct iconography: it has been argued she was portrayed as a nude figure wearing only some jewelry (including what appears to be a navel piercing and a diadem with a crescent. The best known example is probably this standing figure, one of my all time favorite works of Mesopotamian art:

Parthian Nanaya (wikimedia commons; identification courtesy of the Louvre website and J. G. Westenholz)

For years Wikipedia had this statue mislabeled as “Astarte” which makes little sense considering it comes from a necropolis near Babylon. There was also a viral horny tweet which labeled it as “Asherah” a few months ago (I won’t link it but I will point out in addition to getting the name wrong op also severely underestimated the size). This is obviously even worse nonsense both on spatial and temporal grounds. Even if the biblical Asherah was ever an actual deity like Ugaritic Athirat and Mesopotamian Ashratum, it is highly dubious she would still be worshiped by the time this statue was made. It’s not even certain she ever was a deity, though. Cognate of a theonym is not automatically a theonym itself, and the Ugaritic texts and the Bible, even if they share some topoi, are separated by centuries and a considerable distance. This is not an Asherah post though, so if this is a topic which interests you I recommend downloading Steve A. Wiggins’ excellent monograph A Reassessment of Asherah: With Further Considerations of the Goddess.

The last evidence for the worship of Nanaya in Mesopotamia is a Mandaean spell from Nippur, dated to the fifth or sixth century CE. However, at this point Nanaya must have been a very faint memory around these parts, since the figure designated by this name is evidently male in this formula. That was not the end of her career, though. The system of beliefs she originated and thrived in was on its way out, but there were new frontiers to explore. A small disgression is in order here: be INCREDIBLY wary of claims about the survival of Mesopotamian tradition in Mesopotamia itself past the early middle ages. Most if not all of these come from the writing of Simo Parpola, who is a 19th century style hyperdiffusionist driven by personal religious beliefs based on gnostic christianity, which he believes was based on Neo-Assyrian state religion, which he misinterprets as monotheism, or rather proto-christianity specifically (I wish I was making this up). I personally do not think a person like that should be tolerated in serious academia, but for some incomprehensible reason that isn’t the case.

New frontiers: Nanaya in Bactria

The key to Nanaya’s extraordinarily long survival wasn’t the dedication to her in Mesopotamia, surprisingly. It was instead her introduction to Bactria, a historical area in Central Asia roughly corresponding to parts of modern Afghanistan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. The early history of this area is still poorly known, though it is known that it was one of the “cradles of civilization” not unlike Mesopotamia, the Indus Valley or Mesoamerica. The so-called “Oxus civilization” or “Bactria-Margiana Archaeological Complex” flourished around 2500-1950 BCE (so roughly contemporarily with the Akkadian and Ur III empires in Mesopotamia). It left behind no written records, but their art and architecture are highly distinctive and reflect great social complexity. I sadly can’t spent much time discussing them here though, as they are completely irrelevant to the history of Nanaya (there is a theory that she was already introduced to the east when BMAC was extant but it is incredibly implausible), so I will limit myself to showing you my favorite related work of art, the “Bactrian princess”:

Photo courtesy of Louvre Abu Dhabi, reproduced here for educational purposes only.

By late antiquity, which is the period we are concerned with here, BMAC was long gone, and most of the inhabitants of Bactria spoke Bactrian, an extinct Iranian language. How exactly they were related to their BMAC forerunners is uncertain. Their religious beliefs can be compared to Zoroastrianism, or rather with its less formalized forerunners followed by most speakers of Iranian languages before the rise of Zoroaster. However, there were many local peculiarities. For example, the main deity was the personified river Oxus, not Ahura Mazda. Whether this was a relic of BMAC religion is impossible to tell.We do not know exactly when the eastward transfer of Nanaya to Bactria happened. The first clear evidence for her presence in central Asia comes from the late first century BCE, from the coins of local rulers, Sapadbizes and Agesiles. It is possible that her depictions on coinage of Mesopotamian and Persian rulers facilitated her spread. Of course, it’s also important to remember that the Aramaic script and language spread far to the east in the Achaemenid period already, and that many of the now extinct Central Asian scripts were derived from it (Bactrian was written with the Greek script, though). Doubtlessly many now lost Aramaic texts were transferred to the east. There’s an emerging view that for unclear reasons, under the Achaemenids Mesopotamian culture as a whole had unparalleled impact on Bactria. The key piece of evidence are Bactrian temples, which often resemble Mesopotamian ones. Therefore, perhaps we should be wondering not why Nanaya spread from Mesopotamia to Central Asia, but rather why there were no other deities who did, for the most part. That is sadly a question I cannot answer. Something about Nanaya simply made her uniquely appealing to many groups at once. While much about the early history of Nanaya in Central Asia is a mystery, it is evident that with time she ceased to be viewed as a foreign deity. For the inhabitants of Bactria she wasn’t any less “authentically Iranian” than the personified Oxus or their versions of the conventional yazatas like Sraosha. Frequently arguments are made that Nanaya’s widespread adoption and popularity could only be the result of identification between her and another deity.Anahita in particular is commonly held to be a candidate. However, as stressed by recent studies there’s actually no evidence for this. What is true is that Anahita is notably missing from the eastern Iranian sources, despite being prominent in the west from the reign of the Achaemenid emperor Artaxerxes II onward. However, it is clear that not all yazatas were equally popular in each area - pantheons will inevitably be localized in each culture. Furthermore, Anahita’s character has very little in common with Nanaya save for gender. Whether we are discussing her early not quite Zoroastrian form the Achaemenid public was familiar with or the contemporary yazata still relevant in modern Zoroastrianism, the connection to water is the most important feature of her. Nanaya didn’t have such a role in any culture. Recently some authors suggested a much more obvious explanation for Anahita’s absence from the eastern Iranian pantheon(s). As I said, eastern Iranian communities venerated the river Oxus as a deity (or as a yazata, if you will). He was the water god par excellence, and in Bactria also the king of the gods. It is therefore quite possible that Anahita, despite royal backing from the west, simply couldn’t compete with him. Their roles overlapped more than the roles of Anahita and Nanaya. I am repeating myself but the notion of interchangeability of goddesses really needs to be distrusted almost automatically, no matter how entrenched it wouldn’t be. While we’re at it, the notion of alleged interchangeability between Anahita and Ishtar is also highly dubious, but that’s a topic for another time.

Nana (Nanaya) on a coin of Kanishka (wikimedia commons)

Nanaya experienced a period of almost unparalleled prosperity with the rise of the Kushan dynasty in Bactria. The Kushans were one of the groups which following Chinese sources are referred to as Yuezhi. They probably did not speak any Iranian language originally, and their origin is a matter of debate. However, they came to rule over a kingdom which consisted largely of areas inhabited by speakers of various Iranian languages, chiefly Bactrian. Their pantheon, documented in royal inscriptions and on coinage, was an eerie combination of mainstays of Iranian beliefs like Sraosha and Mithra and some unique figures, like Oesho, who was seemingly the reflection of Hindu Shiva. Obviously, Nanaya was there too, typically under the shortened name Nana. The most famous Kushan ruler, emperor Kanishka, in his inscription from Rabatak states that kingship was bestowed upon him by “Nana and all the gods”. However, we do not know if the rank assigned to her indicates she was the head of the dynastic pantheon, the local pantheon in the surrounding area, or if she was just the favorite deity of Kanishka. Same goes for the rank of numerous other deities mentioned in the rest of the inscription. Her apparent popularity during Kanishka’s reign and beyond indicates her role should not be downplayed, though. The coins of Kanishka and other Bactrian art indicate that a new image of Nanaya developed in Central Asia. The Artemis-like portrayals typical for Hellenistic times continue to appear, but she also started to be depicted on the back of a lion. There is only one possible example of such an image from the west, a fragmentary relief from Susa, and it’s roughly contemporary with the depictions from Bactria. While it is not impossible Nanaya originally adopted the lion association from one of her Mesopotamian peers, it is not certain how exactly this specific type of depictions originally developed, and there is a case to be made that it owed more to the Hellenistic diffusion of iconography of deities such as Cybele and Dionysus, who were often depicted riding on the back of large felines. The lunar symbols are well attested in the Kushan art of Nanaya too. Most commonly, she’s depicted wearing a diadem with a crescent. However, in a single case the symbol is placed behind her back. This is an iconographic type which was mostly associated with Selene at first, but in the east it was adopted for Mah, the Iranian personification of the moon. I’d hazard a guess that’s where Nanaya borrowed it from - more on that later. The worship of Nanaya survived the fall of the Kushan dynasty, and might have continued in Bactria as late as in the eighth century. However, the evidence is relatively scarce, especially compared with yet another area where she was introduced in the meanwhile.

Nanaya in Sogdia: new home and new friends

A Sogdian depiction of Nanaya from Bunjikat (wikimedia commons)

Presumably from Bactria, Nanaya was eventually introduced to Sogdia, its northern neighbor. I think it’s safe to say this area effectively became her new home for the rest of her history. Like Bactrians, the Sogdians also spoke an eastern Iranian language, Sogdian. It has a direct modern descendant, Yaghnobi, spoken by a small minority in Tajikistan. The religions Sogdians adhered to is often described as a form of Zoroastrianism, especially in older sources, but it would appear that Ahura Mazda was not exactly the most popular deity. Their pantheon was seemingly actually headed by Nanaya. Or, at the very least, the version of it typical for Samarkand and Panijkant, since there’s a solid case to be made for local variety in the individual city-states which made up Sogdia. It seems that much like Mesopotamians and Greeks centuries before them, Sogdians associated specific deities with specific cities, and not every settlement necessarily venerated each deity equally (or at all). Nanaya's remarkable popularity is reflected by the fact the name Nanaivandak, "servant of Nanaya", is one of the most common Sogdian names in general. It is agreed that among the Sogdians Panjikant was regarded as Nanaya’s cult center. She was referred to as “lady” of this city. At one point, her temple located there was responsible for minting the local currency. By the eighth century, coins minted there were adorned with dedications to her - something unparalleled in Sogdian culture, as the rest of coinage was firmly secular. This might have been an attempt at reasserting Sogdian religious identity in the wake of the arrival of Islam in Central Asia. Sogdians adopted the Kushan iconography of Nanaya, though only the lion-mounted version. The connection between her and this animal was incredibly strong in Sogdian art, with no other deity being portrayed on a similar mount. There were also innovations - Nanaya came to be frequently portrayed with four arms. This reflects the spread of Buddhism through central Asia, which brought new artistic conventions from India. While the crescent symbol can still be found on her headwear, she was also portrayed holding representations of the moon and the sun in two of her hands. Sometimes the solar disc and lunar orb are decorated with faces, which has been argued to be evidence that Nanaya effectively took over the domains of Mah and Mithra, who would be the expected divine identities of these two astral bodies. She might have been understood as controlling the passage of night and day. It has also been pointed out that this new iconographic type is the natural end point of the evolution of her astral role. Curiously, while no such a function is attested for Nanaya in Bactria, in Sogdia she could be sometimes regarded as a warlike deity. This is presumably reflected in a painting showing her and an unidentified charioteer fighting demons.

The "Sogdian Deities" painting from Dunhuang, a possible depiction of Nanaya and her presumed spouse Tish (wikimedia commons)

Probably the most fascinating development regarding Nanaya in Sogdia was the development of an apparent connection between her and Tish. This deity was the Sogdian counterpart of one of the best known Zoroastrian yazatas, Tishtrya, the personification of Sirius. As described in the Tištar Yašt, the latter is a rainmaking figure and a warlike protector who keeps various nefarious forces, such as Apaosha, Duzyariya and the malign “worm stars” (comets), at bay. Presumably his Sogdian counterpart had a similar role. While this is not absolutely certain, it is generally agreed that Nanaya and Tish were regarded as a couple in central Asia (there’s a minority position she was instead linked with Oesho, though). Most likely the fact that in Achaemenid Persia Tishtrya was linked with Nabu (and by extension with scribal arts) has something to do with this. There is a twist to this, though. While both Nabu and the Avestan Tishtrya are consistently male, in Bactria and Sogdia the corresponding deity’s gender actually shows a degree of ambiguity. On a unique coin of Kanishka, Tish is already portrayed as a feminine figure distinctly similar to Greek Artemis - an iconographic type which normally would be recycled for Nanaya. There’s also a possibility that a feminine, or at least crossdressing, version of Tish is portrayed alongside Nanaya on a painting from Dunhuang conventionally referred to as “Sogdian Daēnās” or “Sogdian Deities”, but this remains uncertain. If this identification is correct, it indicates outright interchange of attributes between them and Nanaya was possible.

The final frontier: Nanaya and the Sogdian diaspora in China Sogdians also brought Nanaya with them to China, where many of them settled in the Six Dynasties and Tang periods. An obviously Sinicized version of her, accompanied by two attendants of unknown identity, is portrayed on a Sogdian funerary couch presently displayed in the Miho Museum.

Nanaya (top) on a relief from the Miho funerary couch (Miho Museum; reproduced here for educational purposes only)

For the most part the evidence is limited to theophoric names, though. Due to unfamiliarity with Sogdian religious traditions and phonetic differences between the languages there was no consistent Chinese transcription of Nanaya’s name. I have no clue if Chinese contemporaries of the Sogdians were always aware of these elements in personal names referred to a deity. There is a fringe theory that Nanaya was referred to as Nantaihou (那那女主, “queen Nana”) in Chinese. However, the evidence is apparently not compelling, and as I understand the theory depends in no small part on the assertion that a hitherto unattested alternate reading of one of the signs was in use on the western frontiers of China in the early first millennium CE. The alleged Nantaihou is therefore most likely a misreading of a reference to a deceased unnamed empress dowager venerated through conventional ancestor worship, as opposed to Nanaya. Among members of the Sogdian diaspora, in terms of popularity Nanaya was going head to head with Jesus and Buddha. The presence of the latter two reflected the adoption of, respectively, Manichaeism and Buddhism. Manicheans seemingly were not fond of Nanaya, though, and fragments of a polemic against her cult have been identified. It seems ceremonies focused on lamentations were the main issue for the Manichaeans. Sadly there doesn’t seem to be any worthwhile study of possible Mesopotamian influence on that - the only one I found is old and confuses Nanaya with Inanna. We do not have much of an idea how Buddhists viewed Nanaya, though it is worth noting a number of other Sogdian deities were incorporated into the local form of Mahayana (unexpectedly, one of them was Zurvan). It has also been argued that a Buddhist figure, Vreshman (Vaisravana) was incorporated into Nanaya’s entourage. Nanaya might additionally be depicted in a painting showing Buddha’s triumph over Mara from Dunhuang. Presumably her inclusion would reflect the well attested motif of local deities converting to Buddhism. It was a part of the Buddhist repertoire from the early days of this religion and can be found in virtually every area where this religion ever spread. Nanaya is once again in elevated company here, since other figures near her have been tentatively interpreted as Shiva, Vishnu, Kartikeya and… Zoroaster.

Buddha conquering Mara (maravijaya) on a painting from Dunhuang (wikimedia commons)

zoom in on a possible depiction of Nanaya next to a demon suspiciously similar to Tove Jansson’s Fillyjonk

To my best knowledge, the last absolutely certain attestation of Nanaya as an actively worshiped deity also comes from the western frontier of China. A painting from Dandan Oilik belonging to the artistic tradition of the kingdom of Khotan shows three deities from the Sogdian pantheon: the enigmatic Āδβāγ (“highest god”; interpreted as either Indra, Ahura Mazda or a combination of them both) on the left, Weshparkar (a later version of Kushan Oesho) on the right and Nanaya in the center. It dates to the ninth or tenth century.

Nanaya (center) on the Dandan Oilik painting (wikimedia commons)

We will probably never know what Nanaya’s last days were like, though it is hard to imagine she retained much relevance with the gradual disappearance of Sogdian culture both in Sogdia and in China in the wake of, respectively, the rise of Islam in Central Asia and the An Lushan rebellion respectively. Her history ultimately most likely ended with a whimper rather than a bang. Conclusions and reflections Obviously, not everything about Nanaya could be covered in this article - there is enough material to warrant not one, but two wiki articles (and I don't even think they are extensive enough yet). I hope I did nonetheless manage to convey what matters: she was the single most enduring Mesopotamian deity who continued to be actually worshiped. She somehow outlived Enlil, Marduk, Nergal and even Inanna, and spread further than any of them ever did. It does not seem like her persistence was caused by some uniquely transcendent quality, and more to a mix of factors we will never really fully understand and pure luck. She is a far cry from the imaginary everlasting universal goddesses such longevity was attributed to by many highly questionable authors in the past, from Frazer to Gimbutas. Quite the opposite, once you look into the texts focused on her she comes across as sort of pathetic. After all, most of them are effectively ancient purple prose. And yet, this is precisely why I think Nanaya matters. To see how an author approaches her is basically a litmus test of trustworthiness - I wish I was kidding but this “Nanaya method” works every time. To even be able to study her history, let alone understand it properly, one has to cast away most of the dreadful trends which often hindered scholarship of ancient deities, and goddesses in particular, in the past. The interchangeability of goddesses; the Victorian mores and resulting notion that eroticism must be tied to fertility; the weird paradigms about languages neatly corresponding to religions; and many others. And if nothing else, this warrants keeping the memory of her 3000 years long history alive through scholarship (and, perhaps, some media appearances). Bibliography

Julia M. Asher-Greve & Joan Goodnick Westenholz, Goddesses in Context: On Divine Powers, Roles, Relationships and Gender in Mesopotamian Textual and Visual Sources (2013)

Paul-Alain Beaulieu, The Pantheon of Uruk During the Neo-Babylonian Period (2003)

idem, Nabû and Apollo: The Two Faces of Seleucid Religious Policy in: Orient und Okzident in Hellenistischer Zeit (2014)

Matteo Compareti, Nana and Tish in Sogdiana (2017)

idem, The So-Called "Pelliot Chinois 4518.24". Illustrated Document from Dunhuang and Sino-Sogdian Iconographical Contacts (2021)

Olga Drewnowska-Rymarz, Mesopotamian Goddess Nanāja (2008)

Benjamin R. Foster, Before the Muses: an Anthology of Akkadian Literature (2005)

Andrew R. George & Manfred Krebernik, Two Remarkable Vocabularies: Amorite-Akkadian Bilinguals! (2022)

Valerie Hansen, Kageyama Etsuko & Yutaka Yoshida, The Impact of the Silk Road Trade on a Local Community: The Turfan Oasis, 500-800 in: Les sogdiens en Chine (2005)

Wilfred G. Lambert, Babylonian Creation Myths (2013)

Enrico Marcato, An Aramaic Incantation Bowl and the Fall of Hatra (2020)

Christa Müller-Kessler & Karlheinz Kessler, Spätbabylonische Gottheiten in spätantiken mandäischen Texten (1999)

Lilla Russel-Smith, Uygur Patronage in Dunhuang. Regional Art Centres on the Northern Silk Road in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries (2005)

idem, The 'Sogdian Deities' Twenty Years on: A Reconsideration of a Small Painting from Dunhuang in: Buddhism in Central Asia II. Practices and Rituals, Visual and Material Transfer (2022)

Tonia M. Sharlach, An Ox of One's Own. Royal Wives and Religion at the Court of the Third Dynasty of Ur (2017)

Michael Shenkar, Intangible Spirits and Graven Images: The Iconography of Deities in the Pre-Islamic Iranian World (2014)

idem, The Religion and the Pantheon of the Sogdians (5th-8th Centuries CE) in Light of their Sociopolitical Structures (2017)

idem, The So-Called "Fravašis" and the "Heaven and Hell" Paintings, and the Cult of Nana in Panjikent (2022)

Marten Stol, Nanaja in: Reallexikon der Assyriologie, vol. 9 (1998)

Michael P. Streck & Nathan Wasserman, More Light on Nanāya (2013)

Aaron Tugendhaft, Gods on Clay: Ancient Near Eastern Scholarly Practices and the History of Religions in: Canonical Texts and Scholarly Practices. A Global Comparative Approach (2016)

Joan Goodnick Westenholz, Nanaya, Lady of Mystery in: Sumerian Gods and Their Representations (1997)

idem, Trading the Symbols of the Goddess Nanaya in: Religions and Trade. Religious Formation, Transformation and Cross-Cultural Exchange between East and West (2014)

Xinjiang Rong, The Colophon of the Manuscript of the Golden Light Sutra Excavated in Turfan and the Transmission of Zoroastrianism to Gaochang in: The Silk Road and Cultural Exchanges between East and West (2022)

Gioele Zisa, The Loss of Male Sexual Desire in Ancient Mesopotamia. ›Nīš Libbi‹ Therapies (2021)

#mesopotamian mythology #sumerian mythology #mythology #bactrian mythology #sogdian mythology #sogdia #nanaya

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carnalactivities · 2 months

Text

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : a lot :P

[ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 : 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬. ]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : innocent y/n x priest Ransom Drysdale

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Ransom helps a young choir girl fulfill God's will.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Non/dubcon, religious themes, age gap, fingering, vaginal sex, virginity loss, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, corruption kink, manipulation, explicit language, slight dd/lg (mostly just dd), degrading, smut, 18+.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : Do not copy, translate, or repost my work as your own. this book does contain dark themes. please do not read if any of these topics trigger you. i have had this plot for awhile and literally froze when i realized Ransom embodied this role. i took my time and care for this work. i know tis’ is long but please bare with me. since it is my first posted work, i wanted to make it count. all love and light ~ always, always, always ~ A

"He hath come to the bosom of His beloved.

Smiling on him, He beareth him to highest heav'n."

The youths choir singing echoed throughout the church. Not a corner free from their angelic tones. Though the choir ranged from ages, the difference of genders were noted by the boys standing tall in the back and the girls in the front. All of their faces were recognizable to him now, since he was present for most of their rehearsals before every Sunday, but your face had always stood out to him from the beginning. Even now you outshined the rest of your peers- by both voice and presence.

But even still Ransom watched you from the corner of the chapel, hidden in the shadows. Yes, he did appear every now and then during their rehearsals for appraisal or even just the view, which was always you. But when he watched you perform, he didn’t want to constantly be observing the other pupils as well. He wanted only to watch you and this dark archway was perfect for that.

Most nights he lay in his bed, trying to push out the thoughts of everything his life lacked now. Everything he had before, he quickly realized how much he had taken for granted during his first night in that dim and barely furnished apartment. To consider it a home would be charity in itself, but he couldn’t afford much more. He had lost everything when he came here a few months ago.

He came here on the run, wanted for murder though he wasn't responsible for it. It was an accident. A mistake.

Sometimes his brain got so clouded and he got aggressive. He always seemed to lose himself in those moments but he never mean't for Jonie to fall like she had. He remembered standing over her body, realizing what he had done. There was no mistaking the empty look in her eyes.

So he ran.

There was no time for alibis, he had a mile long trail of proof behind him, so he outsmarted them. His family all knew his patterns and lifestyle, and it didn’t make it any easier that they all probably would’ve gladly sent him behind bars. So he went to the last place any of them would’ve suspected: to church.

Tricking the deacons was a lot easier than he had thought. He figured they would've wanted some sort of resume, but they were so desperate for a new father that they were putting a robe on him that day.

Becoming a preacher was more work than he had signed up for though. He had to prepare a weekly sermon, bless the sick, baptize sinful, visit the poor, help the elderly- the list seemed to be never ending. Not even to mention he was paid a set salary, a percentage already taken out to help provide not only for the church but also for the poor and elderly. And on top of all the things he had to add to his life, there was about ten fold of things he had to remove : sex, language, drugs, alcohol....sex.

It was humiliating that a man of his stature had resorted to his right hand. He hadn’t used his own hand to finish since he was 16. Once he lost his virginity, and experienced real pleasure? There was no need to go back to such desperate measures. But here in this small town, there was no slew of women ready at his feet and word seemed to travel fast. He learned that when he had walked into the chapel and the whole congregation was waiting for him with open arms once they heard of their new pastor. He couldn’t risk his position now because of a few(most) horny nights.

But when he met the choir that day as well and your face eagerly peered up at him? It was a shimmer of light in his very dark tunnel.

He let his thoughts wander to you some nights and it helped him cope. How your voice rang higher than the rest of the choir. How your face scrunched in concentration when you sang. How sometimes when you would sing a solo or a particular high note your eyes would open and your cheeks would flush with embarrassment as if you weren’t stealing the breath out of everyone watching. How Ransom was sure you made the exact same face when you came as he fisted his cock at night.

Because though Random didn’t know your name, he had watched you long enough to actually know you.

You didn’t like the spotlight. You would much rather be apart or even behind the crowd rather than in the center-but never a follower either.

You were quiet, observant. When the director gave criticism you took it eagerly, always seeking to please. To improve.

You were never late, either. Never missed a practice session. You never complained neither. Not when rehearsals ran long or if the director was particularly impatient some days.

And all of these qualities came wrapped up in a cute lil’ innocent body. Because though Ransom noted these things about you, and saw the potential for his own personal use, it was initially your body that he had noted.

Your presence so delicate and naive. When his eyes had met yours for the first time, your smile had that perfect pleasing tilt. But your eyes had that glint in them. Knowing. Teasing. Practically speaking to him.

Take me.

Fuck me.

Break me.

And he wanted to. Right then and there. Even in front of your parents. But he just shook your hand and introduced himself. And because he was so occupied with how your hand felt in his, he had completely missed your name.

He regretted it that was for sure. He racked and racked his brain. Even tried to picture names just as perfect as you, but none fit. For months he wanted to rectify that. He needed a name for his little girl but he had yet to find it. But today he planned to change that.

Just your name, that was all he needed. And as Random stepped out of his alcove and headed past the pews towards the foyer door casually, he knew today was going to be that day.

“A little off key, altos but! I am highly impressed with how all of you have gracefully learned this song. I know when ya’ll are prepared, the congregation will love this hymn!” The choir directors voice called behind Ransom as he reached the last pew. He heard the movement of feet and knew the choir was already descending off of the stage towards where their belongings lay strewn in the front pews.

“Alright, great work today you guys! Remember to rehearse and memorize this Sunday’s hymns at least once this weekend. I will see you all Sunday at 9:00!” As the director finished speaking to his students, Ransom turned and tucked his hands into his pockets in a casual stance next to the opening of the foyer. The church opened before him and he watched as all the choir readied themselves to leave for the evening.

The students were quick to pull off their robes and stuff them in their bags that they brought, all chattering with each other. Some were already heading towards the entrance of the building, either with each other or alone but all still moving with quick steps. As they neared Ransom and passed him, a forced smile took over his lips and he gave words of encouragement and thanks to the choir as they passed him. Some responded, some simply just smiled in response to him but Random couldn’t have cared less.

His gaze kept returning to you, still at the front of the pews, carefully hanging your robe on a hanger and placing it in a bag you had brought with you. You weren’t in a hurry like the rest of the choir. Well not enough to crumple your robe in the process. Ransom loved that. You were patient. Sure minded. Never mind that you were the last one left, no, you would take your time.

Ransom watched as two kids, giggling and running down the center aisle, approached him. One chasing the other but as they headed straight for Ransom and the exit he heard your voice call out softly.

“Please don’t run in the building guys!” It was soft, silky, heaven to his ears. Sounding just like when you sing, and Ransom had to stop himself from letting a possessive growl escape his throat. He wanted to hear your words directed at him and even though he was craving your attention more than ever, he couldn’t help but note your words.

You had wanted those kids to listen to you, but you didn’t command them. You had barely even lifted your voice, you weren’t used to speaking above others. Ransom took it for what he knew it to be: you didn’t want to be the one to order others, you needed to be ordered yourself. Mentally Ransom checked off another box that you filled and he couldn’t help but think you were made for him.

You approached Ransom down the aisle and his hands curled into fists in his pockets as he took in your outfit.

You were wearing a form fitted top: a similar one he would wear when he worked out except he always opted for black whereas you wore white. And you paired it with a matching white tennis skirt. The skirt only reached down mid thigh and all that leg was going to be his downfall. Ransom noted your tennis shoes and socks that were also white and if he believed in angels- this was as close as he was ever going to get to one.

“I apologize for the kids running.” You smiled up at him, your eyebrows down in apology and your lips only slightly tilted up.

“Don’t be.” Ransom quickly responded. He forgot about his thoughts just heartbeats before and focused his attention solely on you for right now. “It’s not like it is your fault, right? Plus, I like to think of our church as a home. Though reverence is due, I enjoy to see when our members are relaxed as well.” His imsuchaforgivingandcomfortingmanbecauseimaholypriest attitude had always come naturally to Ransom since it was everything he was not.

“I love that.” Your eyes lit up as you clutched your robe to your chest as it rested over your arm. Though quickly your eyes lost the light in them as you seemed to remember something. Your smile slowly fell as well and your attention turned to your shoes below you.

Ransoms eyebrows scrunched and he couldn’t help but reach for you. His hand caught the bottom of your chin and he eased your face back up to meet his eyes again. Though portraying the perfect appearance of worry, Ransoms was fighting to urge to lift his thumb higher and catch your bottom lip. Maybe even to just cup your face. Anything, anything, to have more contact with you.

“What is it?” He asked you softly.

“I…” Your voice was so soft and hesitant. “I need to speak with you.”

Ransoms eyebrows lifted in surprise, that was certainly not what he figured you would say.

“Well i’m right here. You’re welcome to say whatever you need to.” Princess.

You turned your head, Ransoms hand falling from your chin, your eye line aimed at the choir director still at the pulpit.

“I was hoping it could be a private conversation.” You whispered and Ransom had to still his features as to not give off too much of what was running through his head from your words.

You wanted to get Ransom alone.

Ransom wasn’t so much delusional, he recognized when even his thoughts could take things too far. But here you were, wanting to be alone with him. You must’ve taken notice to him just as much as he had been watching and dreaming of you.

With a casual ease, Ransom smiled at you comfortably and nodded. “My office is just in the back. We’re welcome to speak there and no one will overhear.”

You nodded shyly in response. Your gaze averting his as you took your bottom lip in your mouth nervously.

You were nervous.

So, you had always had a craving for him just as he had wanted you. This must’ve been what a blessing was that he had always heard the members speaking on.

He let his hand fall to your lower back as he headed towards the hall that led to his office in the back. Gently he pushed you to follow beside him and he noted how you lowered your head and your steps blindly followed his.

Of course a pretty thing like you would be nervous, but you almost seemed ashamed. Ransom could handle nerves but ashamed? No. You should be honored. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. But then again, Ransom never really went for the plastic surgery and egotistical women. He always preferred the shy and inexperienced type. He always found more pleasure in taking firsts. Even after the night was finished Ransom always walked away knowing that the women he was with never would experience better than him and that was a bigger turn on for him than their pleading for more. Soon you would know. You would even plead. He would make sure of it.

As they passed the pews, Ransom caught sight of the choir director moving the lectern back into place in the center of the pulpit.

“We’re going to a chat in my office, Roy. Go ahead and head out when you’re done. I’ll lock up on our way out.” Ransom spoke to the man. He smiled in agreement in reply. “Of course, Father. I’ll see you Sunday.”

Ransom nodded and then headed into the hallway, just passing his spot from moments before.

In silence Ransom led you down the hallway. He had to calm himself every few breaths, restraining from the eagerness that overtook him. Ransom never got eager, especially not in moments where, though unspoken, both parties knew what was about to commence. But months of abstinence had made him impatient. He hadn’t let himself indulge in any past actions, but you never pass up a free dinner. Even Ransom knew that.

Opening the door for you he led you inside. “Go ahead and take a seat.” He cooly told you as he shut the door and made his way around the desk that your chair faced.

Ransom spent many days and nights in this office. He figured it better than his soulless apartment. Though full book shelves lined the wall and a computer sat at his desk 90 degree angled desk, he had barely touched any of the objects. Including the bible sitting idle on the desk corner. The only thing that showed his presence in this room was his coat hung in the corner and the name plate given to him a few weeks after accepting the job. Besides that, he got all of his sermons online and used his common sense for his role. His only use for this room was the occasional bible study or just simple mental escape. It wasn’t much, but his time alone helped.

As Ransom sat in his own office chair, he grinned at you. He was ready to quit the bullshitting and feel every inch of you and now that you both were alone, his dick was slowly starting to harden at the thought itself. God, he was desperate for you.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” The endearment rolled off his tongue before he realized it. For comfort or seduction- whatever you wanted to take it as- he didn’t care. Now that you two were alone, he wasn’t putting on a front anymore.

Your pretty little eyes roamed the room. Never going high enough to meet his own but quickly moving, just like whatever thoughts were spinning in the small head of yours. Ransom calmly licked his lips and couldn’t stop himself from slightly leaning forward and resting his clasped hands on his desk. Whatever words left your mouth next, he was gonna love.

“I…” A flush rose on your cheeks and you stopped yourself for a moment, nervously chewing your bottom lip. “I-I have a confession to make.”

Oh, you couldn’t even look at him as you said that. Your eyes had scrunched just to get those few words out.

“So, confess.” It came out more impatiently than he intended but he couldn’t help it. He was already imagining what your carnal sin was. That you had lusted after him. That at night you couldn’t help but imagine him there with you, feeding into all your desires and more. Probably fucking yourself dry with your fingers, just trying to curve the craving of his cock in you. Maybe even riding a pillow, desperate for friction on your small bud.

“I let jealousy consume me…”

That was definitely not what he was expecting.

His reaction was nearly physical. It felt like a slap in the face and pressed pause on all of his fantasies of you.

You came to him because you got a little envious of someone? That was your big confession. No, that wouldn’t do. All your doe eyes and coy smiles and now you finally sat in front of him, alone, all because you got fucking jealous. What?

He couldn’t mask the confusion on his face as he repeated your statement. “You got..jealous?”

“Yes, well. I mean…I did but it wasn’t only that.” You were talking so quietly now. Your hands nervously fidgeting with each other as you stammered out your words. Your eyes cast downward in shame.

“I let it affect me and my relationship with others. One day I came home and was short and said angry words to my mom. I ditched my friends in the mall last week because they practically called me crazy and just overa-“

“Wait, I’m sorry.” Ransom chuckled and shook his head, holding his hand up to pause you. “I guess i’m just confused because…well, what does a pretty thing like you have to be jealous about?” He tried to mask his irritation with a charming smile but it was half hearted and clearly forced.

Ignoring his compliment you cocked your head and went back to staring at your hands as you continued on with your explanation.

“There’s this boy that i’ve liked forever,”

“A boy?” His voice proceeded to get more agitated as he cut you off again. Ransom brought you to his office because he thought he was going to be able to bend you over his desk. Now you were plowing through his plans because you had a schoolgirl crush on some post-puberty prick?

“Yes, his name is Timothy. You probably,”

“Look at me when you’re speaking.” The command came out fast and the shortness of it even shocked Ransom. He was losing his composure much quicker than he realized.

He could’ve sworn he heard you squeak in surprise but immediately your eyes were on his and you didn’t combat his harsh tone. Clearing your throat you continued, your eyes never leaving Ransoms again.

“Timothy is on the choir as well. He sings tenor. We both grew up here together. Even playing tennis together, sometimes practicing with each other in our free time. For years i’ve had a crush on him and didn’t help that our families were close as well, so I see him pretty regularly. But then a few Sundays ago, he brought another girl to church with him. I guess they met somewhere on campus. N’ ever since then, Timothy has just been solely focused on her. And I just…I can’t help but be jealous of her. She is where I have wanted to be for years and I just don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Ransom tried to make sense of your strewn together thoughts. So what if your little boy crush found his own snatch? You were the prettiest little package just waiting to be opened. Ransom had never been selfless, he was aware, but he knew he couldn’t let you leave this room until you knew that you were deserving of so much more than that bare chested twig.

Licking his lips subconsciously, Ransom knew just how to convince you of it.

“Baby, you got nothing to be jealous of.” He enunciated his words with a casual cock of his head. Your cheeks heated and he grinned at your helpless reaction.

“She’s blonde and tall. She looks like a model!”

“Honey, I guarantee, whatever she’s offering him- you can offer better.”

“Well, no. It’s not like that for me. If Timothy likes her then I want him to be happy. I don’t think I can do anything better- I don’t want to.” Your words came out in a plea of defense and he just about groaned at your innocence. You were so fast to defend others, you would run yourself into a hole. You were so perfect, so clean- wanting nothing more than to do right by others. He needed to show you just how much you were worth.

“But you already have.” Ransoms statement clearly caught you off guard as you blanched back an inch. Confusion marred your face and Ransom took advantage of this moment to stand slowly, his eyes never leaving the prize in front of him.

“Here you are whining about this boy that broke your heart, but honey you have a man right in front of you.”

Your mouth formed into a perfect o and Ransom immediately wanted to see it filled. With trained poise though, he eased slowly around the desk and neared you.

“I-I don’t understand what you’re saying, father.” Your eyes still didn’t leave his own as he approached you and he mentally reminded himself to praise you for that later.

“Baby, you offer so much more than you realize. He may not have noticed that, but I have. I’ve watched you for a while now and I know just how precious you are. A real man would never waste an opportunity with you. Lemme’ show you, honey.” He let his hand trace the side of your face as he spoke. Ransoms pointer finger catching a lock of your hair between his thumb and he let it ride between his fingers as they snaked downwards before he finally cupped your cheek.

“I…” You were speechless at his confession and finally your eyes left Ransoms. “Father, I”

A groan left his mouth so softly but he knew you heard it from your frozen features.

“I’m sorry, baby. I just love when you call me that.” He rubbed coaxing circles into your cheek to ease his action, but having you wide eyed and below him because of the white collar he wore was turning him on more than he usually got. “Continue, honey. I wanna hear what you have to say.”

You peered up at Ransom in stunned silence and he watched as you nervously swallowed.

“I don’t think this is appropriate, Father.”

You said it so quietly but there was no sureness in your statement and Ransom knew he had you.

“Isn’t it? God brought you to me, baby. He knew what I needed and here you are.”

“Well, maybe but..but we shouldn’t let ourselves take our own preferences to what is before us. It could lead us to sin.” He tsk’ed at your response.

“You let me say what is sin or not. I’m the priest, remember?” You nodded in response and Ransoms smile was approving.

“I know how i’ve felt about you from the moment we met. Now, I know we’ve spent little time together but I know you’ve felt it too, princess. N’ I can bet there’s some proof of it coated on your panties, huh?”

Your response was a shake of your head. You tried to move your head out of Ransoms clutch but he was quick to wrap his hand in your hair at the bass of your neck, keeping you still.

“Lust shouldn’t cloud us.” You whimpered out to him.

“It’s not lust if we were destined for each other. I know this was in Gods plan to bring you to me.”

“Satan can tempt you-.” Ransom didn’t like your response and jerked your head forward.

“Nothing is tempting me. There’s temptation and there’s knowing. I know what I can do for you. I know that you can please me. Don’t you wanna please your father, baby?” Ransom was growing impatient with your protests. He needed you weeks ago and he wasn’t about to let this perfect moment slip from his grasp.

“We’re not husband and wife. We can’t.” You were whispering now. Your silent pleas laced your words but Ransom wasn’t going to let you go and resort to another night with his hand.

“God sent us to each other. He knew I needed you and He knew you needed a real man like me. So what does it matter if we wait until after a piece of parchment is signed. It’s all apart of the plan, honey.”

You nervously chewed on your lip in silence. Your brows were down in worry but he saw his words work its way into understanding behind your eyes.

“But we will be married then?” The question was hesitant. Your final resort and protest to your priest. Ransom just smiled in response, his grip on your hair turning gentler.

“Lord willing.” He stated.

Two, three, maybe four heartbeats passed before your chin dipped. It was barely a nod, but Ransom took it.

“Stand.” He demanded and you immediately listened. Fear or obedience, Ransom didn’t care what fueled your actions-just that you had obeyed.

Without releasing you, he swept the objects off his desk in one quick motion with his free arm. You gasped in shock but he didn’t care. His hands grabbed your waste and he planted you firmly on his desk in front of him.

You were right where he wanted you now. His for the taking, the breaking, and there were no more protests from your pretty full lips as you spread your legs so his hips could hit between them.

“Over here speaking about temptations, when you wore this teasing- skimpy outfit.” Pure want laced Ransoms voice as his hands traveled down your thighs. They met the edge of your skirt and he couldn’t help but slip them underneath, running his hands higher up your bare thigh.

“I-I had tennis practice before rehearsal. It ran longer than usual. I didn’t have time to-.”

“Shut up.” Ransom didn’t want to hear any more of your ramblings. He only wanted you.

In a rush of excitement, with less restraint than he usually practiced, he leaned forward and pushed his mouth onto yours. The kiss was hungry and demanding as your mouths slid together. You fought to keep up but it was impossible with Ransoms hunger.

His cock was already straining against the front of his slacks and his desperation got the better of him as he gripped the top of your thighs aggressively. You let out a whimper in protest to the pain and Ransom seized that moment to slip his tongue into your open mouth.

You tasted of peaches and mint and damn it, Ransom couldn’t remember when he had tasted of anything better. His tongue moved expertly around yours, catching a fast rhythm but yours was wild and inexperienced. Had you even been kissed before? Maybe, but properly like this, probably not. Being a girls first and knowing they wouldn’t have better was a huge turn on for Ransom, but even with a kiss? Ransom wasn’t sure he would be able to handle himself slowly when it came time for him to fully take your innocence.

The thought alone forced a growl up his throat. His hand left your thigh simultaneously, cupping your chin aggressively. Pulling your suction on each other apart, he watched as your eyes slowly fluttered open.

Your pupils were blown, lips swollen from barely being kissed, and your cheek was flushed beyond measure. You were the perfect picture of innocence and Ransom needed to contain himself. He was so fucking turned on that his mind kept skipping 3 steps ahead and there was so much pre-cum coating the front of his boxers from you. But that wouldn’t do. No, he needed to make sure you fit him and if Ransoms anticipation kept growing he would actually end up breaking you, but he was tired of kissing you now. He just wanted to feel how tight he knew you were.

“Lay down.” He commanded you in a husky impatient voice.

Immediately your back was pressed against the table and your head was angled so that your eyes were still on him. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. You were perfect.

Ransom let his hand release the hold on your face and slowly draw down your neck and fall in the middle of your chest. In reaction you gasped, your back arching off the desk slightly. But the movement had brushed your cunt with the front of Ransoms slacks and he knew you both had felt it when your eyes widened.

“My baby’s so eager, she’s rubbing herself on my clothed cock.” Ransoms body was out of his control now as his hand gripped your thigh and his hips rolled to firmly rub your clothed crotches together. Your whimper and response at his phrasing could’ve been enough to make him bust in his pants. He had just jerked off last night-what was wrong with him?

Letting Ransoms hips roll and press into you, he quickly made work of pulling your shirt off of you. Once he caught sight of how you looked laying in front of him without your shirt- he was on autopilot. In a frenzy your bra was next, Ransom only stopping for a moment to give one good squeeze to your tits and huskily saying:

“Baby, you fit so perfectly in the palm of my hand.”

Before he was moving to the rest of you. Shoes, socks, and finally he was ripping your skirt down your legs before he stilled. Taking in the sight of you lying on his own desk, he was rendered speechless. This was perfection in itself, like his own fantasy coming alive- here. Naked except for your underwear. Your face already looked so fucked out and he had barely touched you!

You didn’t like his stillness and immovable gaze as Ransom watched you. You whimpered at him and your hips raised slightly as you were desperate to get back the contact you lost from him.

“Father..please. I need you, back.” You whimpered at him and Ransom groaned in response. He knew he would eventually have you pleading for him, but you were still innocent and shy. He didn’t think you would’ve used your words that quickly.

In answer Ransom let his hand cup your calf and slowly draw up your leg. You gasped in response. Your hands clutched the edge of the desk and your head fell backwards as the response of skin contact with you.

As Ransoms hand got higher and closer to the last clothed piece of you, you were impatiently writhing on the desk. A whimpering mess as his hand got nearer to your mound.

As Ransoms hand got just centimeters away, he pulled back and clutched your thigh instead. You whined in protest but he couldn’t give two shits what you wanted. Despite the constant throbbing in his pants, he suddenly had all the patience in the world.

“Tell me, princess. How often do you touch yourself?” He grinned wickedly down at you. You raised your head to look up at him, your body stilling. There was shock written on your face from his words.

“I-never, father! I promise!” Your words were begging of belief but Ransom knew better. Nothing was ever pure and certainly not a pretty thing like you.

“Don’t lie.” He grasped your thighs harshly and gritted his teeth at you. “I asked a question, now answer. Honestly this time.”

Worry took over your features and you shook your head at him. “I promise, i’ve never touched myself down there. Not like that.” Despite Ransom wanting to believe differently, he knew you were telling the truth. Holy shit. There was no way the universe let him get this lucky.

“Then what is the reason for these pretty lil’ panties, huh?” Your undies were pink with a white trim. Bikini cut and a little bow took place on the top hem.

“I just like them, that’s all.” Of course something as innocent as you would naively pick something that would have every guy on his knees at the sight.

“Well you’re ruining ‘em, baby. They’re all soaked in the front.” His index finger ran over the darker shade on your panties and he groaned as he properly felt how wet you were. Your body was craving and calling for him and to think moments before you were trying to tell him no.

You whined and bucked your hips at his contact and he pushed your hips down in protest.

“Sit still.” He commanded you and with a whine you obliged. Little pants left your mouth instead and he watched as your bottom lip slid between your teeth as he pressed harder on your cunt. Snapping your eyes shut, you jerked your head away but couldn’t stop the gasp from leaving your mouth.

So fucking reactive.

Ransom let his finger softly trail around on your undies, teasing and taunting you. He wanted more from you. He wanted to see your control slip. Finally, he let his thumb press into your clit and rub a slight circle.

Obeying Ransoms command to not move, you tried to keep your hips frozen but couldn’t help it as your back arched. Your grip on the desk tightened and a helpless sound left your throat as a spark ignited up your spine from his thumb.

You had never felt anything like this. Your whole body felt Ransoms one touch and you felt like you were vibrating. You needed more. More of him, of his touch-just more. The craving of friction between your legs was so strong and you wanted to close your legs so bad but restrained from fear of Ransoms reaction. But he was teasing you. His kiss was pure fire and lacked restraint, but now he was still. Every one of his moves intentional. Maybe if you asked he would oblige you, even though he hadn’t before.

“More, please, I need more.” Your eyes stared at his but he didn’t look up at you. He seemed to be in some sort of trance, his eyes seared wholly on his thumb as he gently nudged you. “Father…” You begged and finally he looked up.

Once his eyes met yours and he saw the eagerness in them, his resolve snapped. In a blink your panties were off and you lay bare before him.

You were so much more soaked than Ransom had realized. It was practically pouring out of your hole. He needed to fill you now.

Something between a groan and a growl left his mouth and he reached forward for you. Clutching the back of your neck he harshly sat you up. His other hand was already waiting and was quick to push past your surprised mouth.

“Suck.” You immediately took the two fingers around your tongue and obeyed, your wide eyes never leaving his.

Pulled his hand from your mouth, Ransom let it fall to its rightful place between your legs. Fuck him, you were dripping. Messily he smeared your wetness around on your cunt, “All of this for me, baby, and i’ve barely fucking touched you.” Your eyes flashed as you recognized his language but you didn’t do more than whimper at his assault on you.

In circles he rubbed your bud, abandoning the idea of two fingers and using his whole hand. You whimpered and panted as you looked up at him helplessly. Towering over you, he tightened his grip on the back of your neck and pushed you higher to meet him.

Just as your mouths met, he pushed one finger inside of you. Fucking hell, you were tight. Ransom didn’t think he had ever had a cunt this tight before. Not even mentioning the fact that it was untouched. He knew you were going to be the death of him.

You let out a low moan at his intrusion in you and he couldn’t help but let his need out by gripping the back of your head harder and his mouth moving against yours faster. As he moved his single digit inside of you, you let your head fall back and Ransom watched as your eyes fluttered shut. Tired of ordering you around but wanting your submission to him, he changed tactics.

“So fucking tight but you’re grinding on my hand like a bunny, baby. Just because you’re a virgin doesn’t make you pure, honey. You’re a slut just like the rest of ‘em, huh?”

Because of his words or because he had slipped a second finger in you, harsh and quick, your eyes snapped open meeting his. Your jaw was slack but the only sound that left your lips was helpless moans and whimpers at his pace inside you. You shook your head no at Ransom but he only grinned in response.

“Really? ‘Cause i’m fucking you stupid with my fingers, haven’t even gotten my cock yet, and you can’t even form a sentence.” His tone was mocking and condescending and you couldn’t help but whimper. You shook your head at him harder in denial but with a curl of his fingers you were back to being subject to the onslaught of his fingers.

Ransom quickened his fingers rhythm and tried to add a scissor motion within you to help widen you out, but fuck. You were still sucking his fingers in just as much as his first one. Even if he had to tear you hole to hole, he was gonna make his cock fit. You would take him.

“Don’t fucking argue with me.” He seethed down at you and your response. You whimpered but Ransom gripped your neck harder, forcing your face up to his. “Your soaked cunt is sucking my fingers in like it just can’t get enough and only greedy whores act like that.” You whimpered but didn’t shake your head at his words this time.

“Admit you’re nothing but a greedy slut.” He ordered and you gaped up at him. At first your mouth opened and closed in shock but finally you swallowed and obeyed.

“I’m nothing but a greedy slut,” It left your lips so shamefully and was followed by a soft moan from the constant motion of his fingers and he growled. Fuck this, he wasn’t waiting any longer.

“Undo my pants.” He grunted out to you and his gaze dropped to his hand sinking into you. With fumbling fingers your hands met his belt and you quickly tried to undo it. It was haphazard and took you longer than you wanted but you blamed it on the two fingers inside you.

Once his belt was loose and his fly was down you looked back up at him expectantly. There was a glint in his eye as he licked him lips and focused back on you.

“Take my dick out.” Ransom watched as your throat bobbed nervously, your hands lacking less urgency as they moved to the waste-band of his slacks. With a slight push, his pants lay at his ankles and he stood before you in his black button down and boxers. “Take it out!” He ordered harsher this time and his fingers matched his cruel tone as they pressed harder inside you.

You moaned helplessly and obeyed. Pulling at his boxers until they slipped down his legs, you freed his dick. You didn’t want to look at him, at his most intimate body part, but your eyes couldn’t help but ogle.

Ransoms dick looked almost angry- all puffy, red, and dripping in need. But it was the length and size that made you gasp. He was big. Bigger than his fingers, big. You already felt so stretched from his two fingers alone, how were you ever going to take him? As if he could read your mind Ransom cut off your thoughts.

“I’ll make it fit. ‘N you’re gonna take every fucking inch.”

Like they were never there, his hands left your cunt and he mixed your juices with his as he stroked himself with the same hand he just had inside you.

You whimpered helplessly at his lack of contact on you again. Your body was alive, buzzing and burning, and you felt…close. Close to what- you weren’t sure but you knew you needed him back.

His hand dropped from around your neck and he pushed your chest until you lay back on the desk again. Nerves bundled up into your stomach as you saw him move himself closer to your mound. This seemed like a really bad idea.

Ransoms hand cupped your breast and squeezed as he tried to ease the tension building within him. He was stroking himself as he leaned forward and pressed the tip of him into your clit. You whined at the pressure, it was everything but not enough at the same time.

He moved his dick around on your cunt, groaning to himself at the sight. Your hips came up slightly as you sought for more pressure from Ransom and he obliged tapping quick, sharp slaps to your bud with his cock. This was about to be the best fuck of his life.

Finally, he lined himself up with your entrance. His hand pressing down on your pelvis to keep you still. His eyes flickered up to you for a split second and he cursed under his breath at the fear that was held in your eyes, as you should be.

With precision he rolled his hips forward and felt as just the tip slid inside you. You whimpered from below him and he couldn’t even blame you. He could feel all of you, wrapped around just that bit of him and he still had so much more to go.

With a little more pressure he pushed forward and immediately you gasped in protest.

“I can’t! It’s too much! Father, please!” You pleaded with Ransom and your eyes screwed shut at the pressure and pain at your hole. You weren’t ready, you were scared. He was too big.

“Shhhh…” Ransom shushed you and left your breast to cup your chin. “It’s okay. You just need to relax, baby.”

You shook your head at him. You couldn’t do it. But just when you thought it was already too much, Ransom pushed into you some more. A cry left your mouth and you moved to get away from him. Your hands came up in a flail, pushing at his shoulders and you tried to move your legs to gain leverage to push him off of you.

You couldn’t help the tear that left the corner of your eye as the pain sank down your legs. You wanted him off now, but Ransom was ignoring your resistance. He only held onto you harder as the pressure and pain became worse between your legs. In desperation you slapped at him and he growled angrily as he finally lifted his head to your attention.

“Stop fucking moving.” He ordered at you and released his hold on you to grab your moving arms. In a second, they were pinned at your sides, his breath heavy above you. “It’s only going to hurt worse if you don’t stop fucking moving. So when I tell you to relax-you fucking relax. Now stay the fuck still and take it.”

“But it’s too much!” You cried at him.

“Then fucking scream for all I care but stop moving.” He growled at you and you whimpered. Your breaths came up short as you tried to stop your crying but nothing helped. The pain didn’t fade, it only got worse as Ransom started to push forward again.

He wasn’t even in halfway and you were already a blubbering mess. ‘N fuck, he couldn’t seem to get any further. Your cunt was practically pushing him out but he wasn’t gonna fall for that.

In one stroke he pulled himself out and then gave a sharp thrust into you, your body heeding at his force and Ransom had to release your arms to catch himself on the desk. Fuck-he felt like he was about to cum. His thrust had worked, he was sitting in you almost to the hilt, but you were so damn tight around him he couldn’t move. How fucking pathetic of him if he got this far only to cum in one stroke.

Underneath Ransom though, you were not as happy. Your now free hands were gripping his biceps as you sobbed in pain underneath him. You felt him everywhere, was he in your stomach? He was so deep and you were so full but it didn’t feel good at all. It was nothing like the sharp tingles he was giving you earlier with his fingers-no it was pure pain and intrusion. Tears left your eyes and you mumbled incoherent pleads to Ransom to stop. You didn’t like this at all, and it only seemed to be getting worse the longer he sat inside you.

“Fuck, baby. Your cunt is gripping me like a vice. I don’t even feel like I can move, you’re holding me so tight.” Ransom lowered his forehead to rest on the desk above your shoulder.

Inch by inch he rolled his hips backwards easing out before slowly plunging back in until finally he sat fully inside you. You cried out loudly but it seemed to be drowned out by his loud groan. The movement burned and scraped your walls. Your nails dug into Ransoms shoulder as you tried to find some outlet for the pain but nothing was helping.

“Please, it hurts!” You tried one more time and you felt Ransoms breathe on your shoulder before you heard him chuckle.

Slowly he leaned back up above you, his eyes meeting yours again. His eyes held pleasure and mischief whereas you knew yours were full of tears and pain. How could be laughing at you, right now?

In a slow thrust he pulled out of you before pushing in again, harder this time. You cried out woefully as the pain bloomed again within you.

“Baby, nothing could stop me from fucking you right now. This is the best pussy i’ve ever been in and I would have to be fuckin’ crazy to give it up.” With his words he stood fully up again, seated in you.

He reached down and lifted your legs, locking them around his waist. Nervously you played with your hands again, unsure what to do with them now that they left his biceps. Ransom reached for them and lifted them above your head. He placed your grip on the edge of the desk you were lying on.

“You’re gonna need to hold on, princess.” His voice washed over you like water and you listened.

Your grip tightened on the edge as he pushed into you again. A whimper left your lips and you let your head fall back as you accepted your fate. Ransoms hands roamed your body greedily before he anchored them on your hips.

His thrusts were hard but measured as he started his slow rhythm inside you. He let his gaze wander from your pinched face to your tits. They bounced when his body found yours each time. He was in pure heaven. His cock wrapped by your tight cunt and the sight of you finally submitting to him.

He couldn’t help it as his hips started to roll into each thrust, desperate for contact with you. As he moved your eyes flew open and a gasp left your mouth.

“Fuck, I found that spot didn’t I?” He mocked you as he rocked and you whimpered in response. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as before and the feeling blooming in your stomach was better than just his fingers. Everything you were craving before seemed to be answered by his thrusts. As your body heated again, you felt that familiar buzz on your skin and you moaned helplessly as he started to pick up speed.

“Fucking milking my cock.” Ransom teethed out and you felt a sharp hold on your jaw.

“Open your fucking eyes.” You quickly obeyed and he pulled your face up, angling at the lewd act in front of you.

Blood coated the base of his dick and he let out a moan from the sight of your lost innocence.

You watched as he disappeared in you over and over again and moaned as each thrust hit home. Watching, as well as feeling him inside you, sent jolts across your skin.

“That’s right,” Ransom huskily said to you, seeing your reaction to him. “What would that prick Timothy think of you if he could see you being fucked, right now. Hm? That you’re a fucking whore? Being fucked by your pastor in the back of the church he attends every Sunday. Such a god damn slut.”

His words sunk deep and you tried to deny his proclamations but they only fueled the fire in you. He was so deep and you felt every single thrust. The buzz in your bones reached further and you helplessly tried to meet each of his thrusts. Your clit caught on his pelvis at each rock of his hips and you couldn’t stop the little noises that left your throat as the feeling within you reached a pinnacle.

Ransom felt your pussy spasm around him and he grunted at each thrust. Releasing your face, you fell limply back flat onto the desk and he rutted into you harder as he grabbed onto your waist again. He knew you were close and it was all but animalistic how he chased it for you. He wasn’t gonna let some wimp bastard steal your first orgasm. It was going to be him, all of your first were going to be with him and, fuck, that made his hips roll harder.

One moment you were present, the lewd claps and sucking sounds echoing through your head, and the next you were in the heavens. Your body arched off the desk as blood rushed into your ears and you barely heard as you cried out from the feeling that overtook your body. It was pure electricity. Running from your toes to your skull and you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want it to stop though. No, you wanted to live here. In this constant state of pleasure and stars. It was the best feeling you had ever experienced and it consumed you whole.

“Hol-ly shit!” Ransom shouted. Your cunt squeezed his length as you came and he knew he was right fucking there. You grasped him perfectly, every inch being swallowed by you and watching you come around him was all it took for him to find his own nut.

He fucked you through your shivers and spasms and you still whimpered underneath him as his thrusts became faster and irregular.

“Fuck, fuck-FUCK!” He grunted out as finally his orgasm overtook him. At his dicks first flex within you he fell on top of your still body. His hips still moving as his cum bursted out of him in quick ropes.

His own orgasm seemed to last for hours. His dick still twitching as he finally got the hearing in his ears back. Never in his life had he came that hard. Even when he was a virgin, pussy didn’t feel that good. Cumming didn’t feel that good. No, that was all you. Ransom gave you that credit.

You moved beneath the weight of Ransom, your breathing slowly starting to become normal again. You couldn’t help but let your hands fall onto his back, slowly feeling the muscles that were hidden beneath his shirt. Realization struck you as you both settled down from your highs.

You had just lost your virginity. Had sex before marriage. Let him curse and mock you as he took it from you and you couldn’t help but feel…content. You knew you should be regretting your actions. Shoving him off of you and leaving the room in a hurry, but you didn’t.

It was the priest who took it from you. He knew much more than you and you couldn’t help but feel pride that it had been with him you gave yourself to. Still worry pinched your stomach.

“Am I going to get pregnant?” You questioned. It was more of an inward thought but you had whispered it aloud to Ransom.

Fuck, he had forgotten a condom and of course you wouldn’t be on birth control. Never had he been so consumed by pussy that he let safety slip.

Ransom groaned as he pushed himself up on his forearms. He was rarely ever spent after sex. Maybe on very drunk nights he lazily passed out or even after multiple rounds but you had exhausted him just from that one cum alone. Looking down at you he took in your state. Your hair was a mess around your head and your cheeks were still flushed from being fucked. He had the urge to take you again but the urge to sleep was stronger.

“I’ll take care of it.” He responded. He didn’t really have it in his budget right now to pay for a fifty dollar pill but it was better than the thousands spent on a kid.

Pushing himself fully off of you and standing, Ransom eased out of you and you hissed in protest. Your walls were sore from the sex and he knew he had done his job properly. Hopefully you wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably for a couple of days.

Tucking your elbows under you, you leaned up fully taking in the sight of you. Faint bruises laced your hips from his grasp and you gasped. Had he really been gripping you that hard?

Ransom moved to tuck his dick into his boxers as he pulled his pants up, quickly tightening his belt. He tossed you your under things and clothes and you stared at him in confusion. That’s it? So much had just happened and he was giving you your clothes like it was casual. This was not casual.

“But,” You moved to sit up as you quickly worked to cover your nude state. “we’re gonna be married right?”

Ransom turned to you. The question catching him off guard. No one had ever asked him such a wild question before and it brought reality back to him. He was a priest, you were his pupil, this could spread like wildfire and his whole position could be threatened. He didn’t want to stay here permanently but until things cooled down for him, it was his safest option. Marriage, on the other hand, was a little too permanent for his liking.

But as Ransom took in the sight of you, wincing as you stood and frantically trying to put on your undies, he was reminded just how perfect you were. You were easy and convenient. You had obeyed his every command without fail and none of his previous fucks had ever gotten him off like you had.

He smiled at you and moved to cup your face with his hands. Pulling you up to your toes he let his lips press into yours. So different from the previous times he had kissed you, he put meaning and care into this one.

“Baby, you were made for me. Of course we’re getting married.” You smiled at his response, leaning back into his lips.

But you missed the glint in his eye when he spoke. He wasn’t gonna marry you because it was the proper way for you to be treated. No, he was marrying you because there was no way in hell another man would ever touch you again. You were his. For whenever and wherever he pleased. An object for his pleasure, not yours.

Ransom released you and let you return to finish dressing. He desperately needed to shower off the sweat that had collected on his back and go to fucking bed. Your pussy had drained the life out of him but he couldn’t complain if every time he fucked you it left him this spent.

“I’m all sticky and wet. It’s uncomfortable.” You whined as you finished putting on your last shoe. You moved awkwardly as you stood. Your face scrunched at the feeling of cum running out of you. Ransom wished he would see it dripping out.

“Let it sit, baby. I want you to remember me for a little bit longer.” He grabbed hit coat off the rack and folded it over his arm.

“Can I tell my parents we’re engaged?” There was so much hope in your voice as you collected your belongings yourself.

“No, not yet.”

“But they’re gonna be thrilled by the news!” You eagerly looked up at him and he felt irritation climb his spine. Maybe a sweet cunt wasn’t worth this much annoyance. Youth was also an ignorant curse.

“Some people won’t understand us, princess. Won’t understand God joining us together. Just give it time and i’ll let you know when we can tell them. Together, hm?” He cupped your cheek and even appeased you with a kiss on the forehead. You still sighed in complaint as you both head towards the door, but stayed silent.

Ransom knew you would abide by his word and wouldn’t tell a soul. Maybe one day you would realize the fault in letting him command you, but it wasn’t today. ‘N he knew it wouldn’t be for a long while. He had you whipped good. Especially when your soreness passed and you were craving only what he gave you, you would come to him begging for more. Probably go down on your knees for him.

Blood rushed to his dick and the thought and he grinned to himself. It was only after he had flipped the light switch and closed the door behind ya’ll, sealing the memories of your actions in the room did he realize he didn’t even pick up the stuff from the floor that he hurriedly shoved off.

He didn’t even catch your name.

#chris evans #ransom drysdale #ransom drydale x you #steve rogers x reader #dark fic #steve rogers #chris evans x reader #smut

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rallamajoop · 6 months

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Did Ethan play the piano?

There are a bunch of little hints scattered through these games about Ethan's character. He seems to have a love for the retro ‒ at least, his drawer is full of jazz CDs and he drives a 1971 Dodge Challenger. As Rose notes, he's clearly a wine drinker. And he may have played he piano.

I don't want to overstate the hints RE7&8 give us on that last part. Resident Evil is, after all, a universe where apparently being able to bang out a full sonata at a moment's notice is just a basic life skill for anyone who might want to infiltrate a suspicious facility (though just jamming a few bars of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star may also do in a pinch).

There's a piano in the Winters' home, but then, maybe Mia's the one who plays, or maybe the BSAA set them up in an already-furnished house ‒ who knows? You can't actually interact with it as Ethan, nor does Rose comment on it. But Rose does wonder out loud if her Dad played any instruments (after he jokes about whether baby Rose banging her spoon to the Miss D. record suggests she's going to grow up to be a musician) ‒ and that at least primes you to notice that piano, if you hadn't already.

There are also two different pianos you can interact with in the Baker property ‒ one in the guest room, which will slam shut if Ethan reaches for the keys, and a second in Lucas' room that merely prompts the message 'it's broken'.

It's not until Dimitrescu's castle that Ethan himself finally gets to make like all those other Resi heros, and bash out a quick solo to open a mini door in the piano, in which you'll find a key that will open another door... look, you've heard this one before.

There's an argument to be had whether any of the puzzle solutions in a video game like RE should be taken as truly diegetic. But if nothing else, this does at least suggest Ethan can read sheet music. Here's the asset for the sheet, by the way (and again with the bit you actually play highlighted). You can hear someone play the full song ("Sogno" ‒ which means 'Dream' in Italian ‒ by Francesco Paolo Tosti) here.

There's even a version with lyrics, though I doubt they necessarily meant much to whoever picked this piece for the game: more likely it was chosen for being a song with a very simple treble clef (so the player doesn't have to do too much work to solve the 'puzzle') but a much more complicated bass (so it still sounds sophisticated when played). Regardless, you can hear it sung here.

There's also one other little clue that might suggest that someone in the Winters' household has some real musical leanings: one of the CDs you can find in that drawer is titled 'Jazz Standard Theory'. Which sounds a lot more like an instructional CD than easy listening (though they're certainly not winning any prizes for those other titles).

Actually, while we're talking Ethan's CD collection, here's the asset for that Miss D & the Pallboys CD too! Surprisingly, it has a back as well, suggesting that at some point you might have been able to pick it up and examine it. The text is all pretty illegible, however.

(I've talked before about the theory that 'Miss D' is actually Lady Dimitrescu, but if you want the short version ‒ given that she's not from the village and is 'descended from a fallen noble', this one's surprisingly plausible!)

Hilariously, a love for jazz might just be one thing Ethan has in common with the Bakers, given you can find some records lying around the rec room upstairs.

Mind you, even RE2R managed to work a jazz festival flyer into this one puzzle solution...

Does someone in the team at Capcom have a thing for Jazz? Evidence is starting to stack up...

But getting back to our original topic, does Ethan play the piano? You can make a case either way, as the game never tells us explicitly. But there's enough here to point that way that I'd like to think he does, anyhow.

Which only makes the implications of this so much more tragic.

#Ethan Winters #Resident Evil Village #Resident Evil 7 #Rosemary Winters #Shadows of Rose #Resident Evil #RE lore #RE assets #jazz #Miss D and the Pallboys

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hotnbloodied · 8 months

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Yan!Xiao x Reader

(Note: This is just a short piece on Xiao, I wanted to challenge myself by writing a character that I find hard to write.)

!Warning! This post contains yandere themes and topics that may be uncomfortable to people who are sensitive to the topic, read at your own discretion.

TW: Unhealthy behavior, unhealthy relationship, obsession

!!READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!!

Ever since he rescued you that one time you couldn’t stop thinking about him. One day you were with your family coming home to Liyue from your trip to Mondstat. Your carriage got stopped and surrounded by bandits. Next thing anyone knew there was a gust of wind and all the bandits were passed out. At least that's what your parents would say, but you saw someone. Someone with dark hair and tealed tips wearing a yaksha mask and donning a spear. You knew that it was Adeptus Xiao. You decided that you were going to research leads, clues and anything that would bring you closer meeting him face to face. It wasn’t even a year in until it seemed like the Adeptus himself was tired of your persistence, opting to show himself before you to hopefully stop your incessant digging for information regarding him.

It happened one night when you stood at the top of the Wangshu Inn under the full moon. “Hey you.” You turned to be face to face with the Adeptus that saved you less than a year ago. “It’s you!” You said. “You caused a ruckus looking for me after all this time, what do you want?” Your face flushed, "I just wanted to thank you for saving me and my parents from those bandits, about a year ago." “Is that it?” “N-no!” You stutter, “I also would like to be friends?” “...I don’t need friends,” was the last thing he said before disappearing into smoke. “Wait!” But he was already gone.

From then on you were a regular at the Wangshu Inn, when you stayed there you went to the top of the inn where you last saw the Adeptus and just talked about your day or what’s been going on in your life. You did the same thing for around two years until one day you were in an extra somber state. “This will be the last time I’m able to visit,” you said to the verse, “my family says I’m getting too old to be continuously doing something silly like this. So this is goodbye.” You weren’t sure after all this time if the Adeptus ever heard your words but in fact he has, every single word. Your everyday ramblings eventually grew to be a comfort for him as much as almond tofu was. But now that he might be losing it, it made something well up inside him.

When you awoke you weren't in the inn, in the single bed room with the paper windows like you remembered but in a huge bed in a spacious room. The windows were large and let the golden sunlight pour in. The room was nicely furnished with wardrobes, desk, chairs and even a sofa. You looked in the wardrobe and found your items along with full rows of new clothing. When you dressed and collected your items you slowly opened the door to leave the room, walking out, you noticed you were in a big manor. The floorboards creaked while exploring the manor, it was so nice and or ornate. It almost felt like it was new, like it was recently decorated and furnished. When you finally found the front entrance and left the manor you realized that you were on some sort of floating landmass in the sky. You gripped your bag as you looked over the edge, you were astonished to say the least, “what is this?” “This is our home from now on.” Startled, you turned to be face to face with the Adeptus. “Home?” He slowly walked over to you and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Isn’t this what you wanted my dear? From now on, no one will be able to get in between us anymore.”

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miraclewoozi · 1 year

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SVT mtl : able to undo your bra with one hand.

content; boobs. smut/smut adjacent. MINORS DNI. crack. wc; 1.2k (apparently i have a lot to say on this topic lmao) warnings; boobs, i swore a few times, a funky mix of dom + sub members. let me know if there's anything you actually want me to tag this as though because i quite clearly don't know what i'm doing. /gen note; don't actually take this seriously, i just think i'm a Little Bit funny.

ALWAYS ——

seungcheol — sometimes you don’t even realise he’s doing it until you feel your bra go slack. manages first time, every time, without fail. walks past you at home and pings your bra open without warning just because he thinks it’s funny (and because you usually chase after him and pin him to the nearest soft furnishing, which always goes exactly the way he wants it to go).

jihoon — has literally magic fingers — and not just on a keyboard. smirks against your collarbone as he snaps them against the clasp and feels your tits soften against his chest. sometimes doesn’t even do it in a sexy way. it’s a love language, to him: if you’ve had a shitty day at work, it’s the first thing he’ll do for you. he hugs you tight and tells you how well you did, how proud he is of you as he masterfully flicks your bra undone, encouraging you to go run a hot bath. he’ll come join you once he’s finished folding the laundry.

jun — confidence is the key to anything in the bedroom and jun has it coming off him in waves. is it always on purpose? no it’s not. but for some reason, this guy has never had a problem with bras. then again, he could charm the birds out of the trees, so it’s kinda fitting that he can do this without struggle. it’s all in the thumb, he insists as he strips you out of the lingerie you picked out special for him. it’s not that he doesn’t appreciate how you dress yourself up for his eyes only, it’s just… boobs, you know?

minghao — a patient king. is never in a rush to get you naked and prefers to take his time undressing you, admiring you. he is always very slow, almost romantic with how he feels out your clasp beneath your tshirt and moves the two pieces apart. it’s absolutely still a one handed job, it just takes him a tiny bit longer, but those long, elegant fingers are precise and accurate 95% of the time.

jeonghan — a solid 80% success rate but is occasionally caught out by particularly stiff or bikini style clasps. never needs more than three tries though, and is frankly too stubborn to use a second hand. look, if it takes him a couple moments of struggling before it eventually snaps open? he still did it, and he’s not taking questions. it counts. stop giggling — it fucking COUNTS.

joshua — can, and does, but not always. if he’s in one of his moods, he’ll ask you to take it off yourself as he kneels between your thighs and rubs himself hard. if he’s feeling sweet, he takes his time to slide the straps down your arms and kiss over your shoulders before he even thinks about unfastening it. whichever way it goes, these moments with joshua are incredibly sensual, but there’s something about the loving way the way he hugs you close as he works it open with both hands that never has you wishing he’d get it done faster.

seungkwan — surprised both himself and you the first time the pair of you got steamy by pinging it open like a professional. you’re pretty sure it was an accident (& he knows it was one). you then walked in on him a few weeks later practicing with one of your bras on a giant teddy bear he won you on your first date to the fair. he argues that if the idea is stupid but it works… is it really that stupid in the first place? 65% of the time, he manages with one hand and never, ever fails with two. he also lavishes your tits with kisses the second he manages to work it off. a real sweetheart.

wonwoo — depends on the season, the day, the weather, and the alignment of the stars at the time of trying. somehow always manages to whip this skill out on special occasions but your average tuesday night screw either has your bra off before you can blink, or has you reaching behind to do it yourself as he murmurs all the filthy things he’s going to do to you against your ear. if you’re taking charge of him, though? sitting on top of his thighs, tickling your fingers over those washboard abs? he dissolves. can’t do that shit for love nor money. there’s something so deeply endearing about a man so broad just fumbling behind your back that you don’t even offer to help, either: you let him struggle, and struggle, he does.

soonyoung — too excitable to manage it with one hand but he loves to try anyway. the first time he managed it, he jumped up on the bed yelling about his success and it completely choked the mood. the thing with hoshi is that his arousal seems to strike at the most inopportune moments (on your way out the door for dinner, just before you have people coming over, right as you’re about to leave for work): at least half the time, you’re both undressing yourselves the minute the idea strikes and by default, he doesn’t have to worry about this too much.

chan — has managed this on a couple of occasions but he’s usually in such a hurry to strip you naked that he goes in with both hands from the start. likes to work you up from behind anyway, which helps him avoid trying to do it blindly. it’s kind of easy to undo a bra when he has you bent over the the kitchen counter. or the dresser, or a cabinet, or when he’s just pressing you against a wall with all his weight. hey, work smarter, not harder. (he’s already hard enough.)

mingyu — buys you so much lingerie and frankly, loves to fuck you while you’re still wearing it. sometimes pulls your tits out to suck on them but will usually leave your bra fastened, especially if it’s just going to be a quickie. if he does take it off, it’s a two hand job and sometimes still a struggle because his clumsy fingers can’t always coordinate the push-release thing. the more huffy he gets, the worse he struggles and the louder he whines. it’s cute, though.

seokmin — he’s just. too. needy. the second he sees a pair of tits, his brain runs a CTRL, ALT + DELETE, force shutdown. starts drooling at the way your bra hugs them, running his fingers over the lace, sometimes even forgets that taking it off is an option because it looks so fucking good on. by the time he wants to remove it, he’s so in his own head about getting them in his mouth that his hands are no longer working. has asked you to turn around no fewer than five times just so he can get the damn thing OFF and get down to business.

hansol — thought he was supposed to pull it over your head like a t-shirt the first time he tried. has been betrayed by front clasps and sports bras more times than he can count. it’s not a case of nerves, it’s a case of desperate frustration and impatient mutters of “man, fuck this” as he looks at you with eyes that say ‘please help’. don't get it twisted, hansol loves looking at pretty ones on you, for sure. he just adores you without one, too. maybe more. if bras have a hundred haters, he is one of them. ten? still him. zero? he is no longer with us. free the nipple is his motto and it’s only like, 40% for selfish reasons.

ALMOST NEVER ——

#j writes.#*#seventeen most to least #seventeen mtl #svt mtl #svt most to least #N E way. loser vern owns my heart. sorry to that man <3 #anyway BYE

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mochegato · 11 months

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Take a Chance

The large ‘Welcome University of the Arts London International Students’ banner draped ominously over the double doors to the ballroom, outside which Marinette and Adrien stood frozen, or rather, outside which Marinette stood frozen and Adrien stood patiently waiting for her to move.

Marinette smoothed down the full skirt of her dress, hands running and rerunning over her fabric as though there were wrinkles in it. There weren’t. She knew that. However, that knowledge in no way impacted her need to smooth down her skirt or adjust the belt around her sleeveless fitted bodice, which she should have thrown a cardigan over. Not only would it have warmed her up, but it would also have made the dress seem more casual. “I’m overdressed,” she groaned.

“You’re not overdressed,” Adrien sighed, a bemused smile tugging on his lips. He didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a close thing. This was the fourth time they’d had this conversation in the short walk over. And that was despite Adrien having intentionally directed the conversation away from that topic and toward finishing the furnishing for their apartment, their upcoming first day of classes, and plotting ways to get Felix to ‘network on an interpersonal level’ otherwise known as socialize.

“Everyone is going to be more casual than this,” she insisted as she stared at the doors in a familiar wide-eyed panic. “Oh, this is a disaster! Everyone is going to think I’m strange and not want to talk to me and then they’re going to avoid me for the rest of our time here and I’m going to spend my entire time alone and ostracized.”

Adrien turned to her with a flat look that he was positive would have had an effect if it hadn’t been softened by the warm look in his eye… and if she had been paying him any attention. Unfortunately, she was too far down in her anxiety spiral to take notice of him or reality, really.

He’d learned long ago, when she was in this state, the only way to get her attention was to ground her through touch, which fortunately was how he liked to communicate as well, he would just need to make sure to ground her periodically throughout the night. A hug or arm slung over the shoulders here, a forearm squeeze and hip check there and everything should be good.

He grabbed her shoulders gently and forced her to stop walking and turn to meet his eyes with a soft smile but firm voice. “First of all, no. Second of all, everyone is going to be so impressed with how good you look, they’re going to want to be your friend. Third of all, nobody can avoid liking you. Many have tried,” he smirked, the tension in his shoulders easing at the emerging ghost of a smile on her lips. He would have mussed up her hair if he wasn’t absolutely positive she would have ripped his heart out with her bare hands for even attempting it.

“Fourth of all, if everything you said was to somehow actually happen, which it won’t,” he added in hastily before she could interrupt, “you’d still have all of us. Felix and I live with you, Ash practically lives with us, Kagami is at our place constantly, and Felix seems pretty insistent on doing everything in the common area for someone who insists he doesn’t actually care about us.

“So, you couldn’t get away from us if you wanted to,” he assured her firmly. He pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her like a weighted blanket until he felt all the tension ease from her body, only then pulling away to kiss her temple. “Now, we can go home, if you want to, or… we can be brave and face it… together. And together, we can do anything.”

Marinette snorted at his dramatic delivery, but grinned back at him, giving him a determined nod. “Together. We can do this. We’re going to have an amazing time and meet new, incredible friends.”

He grinned and clapped her arms. “That’s the spirit. Now let’s go make new friends, and maybe something more for you.” He waggled his eyebrows at her with a smirk before unceremoniously shoving her toward the doors.

Marinette squawked as she fought to keep her balance, throwing a dirty look at him over her shoulder as she entered under the welcome sign. She ignored his presence behind her in favor of scanning the room to assess the scene. The tables were set up around the periphery of the room, but almost nobody was seated at them. Instead, they all seemed to be congregating in small standing groups near the dancefloor, dancing on the dancefloor, or grabbing snacks at the small dessert table.

The music was almost drowned out with the sound of conversation and laughter. Everywhere she looked, people were smiling, not a frown, scowl, glower, or sneer in sight. The jovial atmosphere drained away the last of her anxiety. The smile spreading across her lips was Adrien’s only warning before she yanked him toward a friendly looking group of students to their right.

They slowly made their way through several different groups, each more friendly than the last and everyone… well, some of the girls and one or two of the boys, were, in fact, impressed with her dress, and told her as much. After an hour or so, she couldn’t be sure how long it had been, having long since lost track of time, she had completely forgotten why she had been anxious in the first place and now felt chagrinned by her initial fear, not that she was willing to admit that to Adrien. She had absolutely no doubt he was already well aware and would rub her face in it enough at a later date. Acknowledging it to him would only bring that ‘later date’ sooner.

Toward the end of the night, she finally gave into her curiosity and excused herself to check out the desserts, not that she wanted to compare them to her parents’ she just… did, and get glasses of punch for her and Adrien, who had been quite vocal about how desperately he needed a drink or he wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive the night and since Ash was already sick and could barely talk, he had to make sure he could.

She shook her head as she made her way over, reevaluating her friendship with the drama king the entire way. Luckily, she now got to share the burden with Ash and Felix, well, mainly Felix, but really it was just a matter of time before Ash moved in with them, though she wasn’t sure if that would make it easier to deal with him because there’d be another person helping distract him, or worse because he’d be acting up for her.

She was so caught up in her thoughts she didn’t notice the man standing in front of the punch bowl already, only looking up when she was just a step away, too close to divert without bumping into him and… oh god! She realized too late to stop it, who was also holding a glass of punch that she was definitely going to spill onto both of them.

She tried to move to the side to mitigate the damage and brace for the impact, but it never came. In the blink of an eye, he’d managed to set the glass down and turn back to her, his arms cradling hers to keep her from falling. She blinked up at him, her eyes owlishly wide and her mind racing to make sense of what had just happened, but it was having a hard time once she met his brilliant blue eyes. The combination of his kind eyes, sweet smile, and strong arms holding her was messing with her head, making cohesive thought impossible. The only thought that managed to make itself known was that he looked really nice, personality and physically.

It took longer than she would care to admit, to realize she hadn’t moved from his embrace, but had continued to stare captivated into his eyes. She blinked a few times and hummed lightly before stepping back, a bright blush on her cheeks. “I’m so sorry! Thank you for saving me. It’s a terrible introduction. I’m so clumsy. I’m so glad I didn’t spill your punch on you. I was positive I was going to.”

He grinned at her, only then pulling his arms back from their position hovering around her to ensure she was stable. “Nope. Guess we got lucky. No spills. It would be a tragedy to ruin that dress of yours.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, her blush turning from a rosy dusting to a full-blown fuchsia. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and looked down shyly as she busied herself with pouring a glass of punch, desperate for an excuse to look away while she willed her cheeks to cool down, a mission that would be helped significantly if his dark hair didn’t have those adorable curls falling across his forehead, almost long enough to fall into his eyes, and if his lanky appearance wasn’t belied by the concealed strength she could detect beneath his fitted shirt.

“Hi, I’m Jon. American… uh, obviously,” he held his hand out to her, his eyes glinting brightly and his smile sweet and charming.

Marinette offered a small smile as she set down the drink to shake his hand. “I little obvious, yeah. But only after you started speaking…” She turned away from him pretending filling her second glass was her greatest priority and not mentally chastising herself for her ridiculously awkward observation. There was no reason to say that. What did that even mean? Of course it was after he spoke. What else would it be?

It wasn’t until she noticed him moving to refill his glass that she remembered she hadn’t introduced herself. She internally groaned and added to the list of things to chastise herself over while drifting off to sleep every night for the next few years. “Bonjour. Marinette. French… also obviously.”

Jon chuckled, holding onto his glass with both hands, like he was nervous or unsure what to do with his hands, but he never lost his boyish smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Marinette.”

“Enchanté,” she bobbed her head in introduction, her smile broadening at his bashful energy.

“Enchanté,” he repeated in a perfect French accent.

Her eyes lit up with a new-found interest. “Vous parlez français?”

His bottom lip pulled down in a wince as his eyes dropped to his glass. “A bit. I’m learning. I can’t… I’m not fluent.”

He sounded so apologetic, she couldn’t stop the chuckle that slipped out. “Well, you sounded convincing,” she assured him, her voice kind but quiet. His wince transformed into a brilliant smile at the compliment, causing her smile to widen as well. After a moment, she blinked and took another sip while her mind raced for something to say, not willing to let the conversation drop so quickly. She’d been talking almost nonstop all night long and yet now she couldn’t find anything to say? “Are you enjoying the event?” she finally asked.

“I am, yeah. I haven’t really met anyone other than my roommate so far in London, but I love meeting new people. I’ve already met a lot of new people tonight. You?” She giggled at his wild gestures as he spoke, almost like he had forgotten he was holding the glass at all. It was by sheer broken physics that the liquid stayed in the glass instead of ending up on both of them and the floor, table, all the other glasses, and some of the food.

“Yeah. I’ve gotten to meet a lot of people tonight that I think I really like too, but to be honest, I was terrified at first,” she admitted, leaning closer to him and lowering her voice like she was divulging a deep, dark secret.

He cocked his head to the side and watched her with eyes only for her, waiting for her to enlighten him. “Of what?”

She leaned back again and looked away shyly. “I don’t know,” she lied. Well, not an entire lie. She knew some of her fears, but she didn’t know why she was afraid of it, she just was. The idea of new people who she didn’t understand and couldn’t predict was terrifying. It was almost never as bad as she anticipated, but it was like her brain never registered that little factoid when dolling out dopamine or serotonin.

“I can’t imagine anyone not liking you,” he offered so softly, she couldn’t stop herself from believing he meant it.

Marinette smiled and ducked her head to hide what she was positive must be a furious blush, taking another sip to hide the real reason. “Adrien said the same thing as we were walking in tonight,” she admitted after a moment.

Jon’s face dropped momentarily but he recovered it quickly before she looked back up to meet his eyes. “Well, he wasn’t wrong,” he smiled.

She snorted and waved him off. “He usually isn’t, but don’t tell him that. He doesn’t need the ego boost.”

She glanced back at the group of students she’d been in earlier, observing Adrien mid-story. She could tell it was mid-story by the smirk he wore and the particular glint in his eyes. That combination was unique to his telling a story that could be embarrassing, usually to her, if he divulged the entire story, and he knew she knew that’s what it meant. She shook her head and smiled at him. He couldn’t stop himself from acting like a cat even when she wasn’t watching. “He was right. I haven’t stopped smiling and talking since I got here. I was just getting a drink for us.”

“Oh, right,” he nodded, his smile becoming a bit more forced as he eyed the second glass of punch. “I’m sorry to take you from your date... well not sorry,” he admitted sheepishly as his hand found its way to the back of his neck, “but... I’m really glad I got to meet you.”

Her eyes snapped to his instantly at his admission. “He's not my date...” she clarified quickly and a bit louder than she meant to. She shifted awkwardly and took a breath before continuing at a more normal volume. “I mean, he is, but not like date date. It's platonic.”

Jon looked at the group of students she’d looked at earlier and back to her uncertainly, because they had been awfully touchy with one another throughout the night for a platonic relationship. And that last look was awfully… familiar. Not that he’d been watching her all night, at least not intentionally, but he’d found his eyes drifting back to her frequently. Frequently enough that he was almost positive her friend had caught him several times. “Does he know that?”

She smiled and added thoughtful to the list of his green flags. “He does. And so does his significant other. They were supposed to be here, but they got sick. I was supposed to be a third wheel. Adrien and I are like siblings. We went through a lot together in Paris.”

His smile returned in full force as the tension completely eased out of his shoulders. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes sliding to the music stand and back to her, his smile softening with the movement. “So, he wouldn't mind if we danced?”

Marinette smiled and brushed her bangs, not out of her eyes because they weren’t in her eyes, more she angled them toward her ear out of the need to do something with her hands. His eyes followed her movement, but returned his eyes to hers so quickly she almost thought she’d imagined it. “He would not,” she confirmed.

“Would you?” he asked slightly bolder this time. He stepped around the table until he was standing just a few feet in front of her.

Marinette’s smile broadened as she grinned up at him, rocking slightly, shifting her weight from foot to foot, unable to control her sudden burst of energy any other way. “I would not either. In fact, I’d really like it.”

“Me too.” Jon’s smile matched her own, shy but strong, as he held his hand out for her to guide her to the dance floor. He wound through the couples until he found an open area, which led to a new issue… where to put his hands, which he fully realized was absolutely ridiculous. This was hardly his first-time dancing with someone he liked. He knew where to put his hands, but that didn’t stop his mind from screaming at him not to put his hands too low, that’s creepy, or too high, that’s strange, or too far toward her sides, they aren’t in middle school, or too far to the center, that would force her too close to him, which would be too forward for a first dance. Or do French women expect men to be more forward? Oh God, did that thought make him prejudiced?

His internal screeching battle royale was brought to an abrupt stop when she placed her hands gently on his shoulders and met his gaze with a sweet but nervous smile. He felt the tension that had started building in his muscles immediately start easing and a content smile turned his lips up. Instead of overthinking, he let his body act. There was a bit more space between them than the other dancers, but it felt right for the moment.

They swayed together for a few moments, gazing into each other’s eyes with their shy smiles seemingly permanently fixed before Marinette spoke up. “So, what are you studying?”

“Journalism,” he bubbled, his excitement for his chosen study bursting through.

“Oh,” she perked up, her eyes somehow becoming even brighter and moving a bit closer in her excitement, “my best friend is studying journalism. How do you like it?”

“So far, I mean we haven’t started classes yet, but so far, it’s great,” he shrugged. Marinette immediately cringed and barely stopped herself from turning around, running out the door, before dropping out of school entirely and starting over somewhere else so she would never have to face him again. “I think that’s more the new environment and just, you know, college though. Oh, no, wait, I’m supposed to say uni, aren’t I,” he chuckled and brought his hand from her waist to run it nervously through his hair. He placed his hand back to her waist, unintentionally bringing it closer to the center of her back. “What about you? What are you studying?”

Her eyes slid to the side and braced herself. “Communication design. It’s studying how design can be used to communicate with the viewer,” she added quickly, used to the question by now.

Instead of the wrinkled nose and questioning look she was expecting, his smile widened. “Oh! Maybe we’ll have classes together!”

“That would be great!” she grinned. They swayed for a few more beats before she spoke up again. “Where in America are you from?”

“Metropolis,” he answered quickly, hoping the reluctance he felt admitting that connection didn’t come through in his tone. His eyes snapped to hers at the loud gasp she let out. He’d already accidentally exposed his super speed to her just minutes before and now, combined with knowing he was from Metropolis, Superman and Superboy’s hometown… well, it wasn’t a large leap to his identity, was it?

“And you came here to study?” she demanded incredulously. “They have a great paper there. My friend wants to work there. It’s why she went to America to study journalism instead of staying in Paris or coming here. She wants to get an internship with Lois Lane. If you ever meet her, my best friend that is, she'll ask you a thousand questions.”

“Oh?” he asked breathlessly, completely unsure how to react to that; relief she didn’t guess his identity or mortification of her knowing who his mom was. His body decided on both in quick succession with a bit of self-doubt added in. Should he tell her? Did he want to expose that part of his life to someone he had just met? Did he want to change the trajectory of their conversation? He would almost believe she was fishing, a subtle hint that she knew who he was, but nothing about her physiology indicated she was anything but completely earnest. One thing was definite, her friend had to knew who his dad was too then, at least his civilian identity.

“Yeah, she had a blog about Paris’ superheroes. She was one of the go-to resources on them,” she answered, pride blaring from her tone, “she thinks Mme. Lane would be a perfect mentor with all her articles on the superhero in Metropolis but also other important things.” She winced and looked back up apologetically. “Sorry, I should probably know more than just ‘important things’. Alya would be mortified by my ignorance.”

He blinked; her friend would lose her mind meeting his family, absolutely go apoplectic. Luckily, Marinette didn’t seem as affected. “Oh, well… she…” he stammered at a complete loss on how to continue the sentence. He refused to lie about it, so instead, he diverted. He looked up toward the speakers. “It appears we’ve come to the end of the song,” he noted without loosening his grip on her.

Marinette hummed in agreement but didn’t step away while she considered whether she should return to Adrien. She had promised to bring him a drink, and Jon may want to talk to other people, he had said he wanted to meet new people. But he was still smiling down at her, his eyes glinting, and his grip hadn’t eased at all. It all made her feel warm and bold as the next song started. “We have. But you asked me to dance last time. It would be rude not to return the favor.”

Jon grinned brightly and tightened his grip on her fractionally, just enough to convey his contentment with her suggestion. “Well, it would be rude not to return the favor and accept and I was raised to be a gentleman. My Grandma would have my hide if I was rude to a beautiful woman. Definitely safest to keep dancing.”

Marinette flushed and looked down, almost burying her face in his chest. She looked back up after a moment but didn’t move away so her cheeky smile was clearly on display. “But it would be okay to be rude to an unattractive man?” she teased.

He barked out a laugh and returned to look down at her adoringly. “No, no it would not. I suppose it was just a way for me to compliment you,” he admitted.

She beamed at him. “Glad to hear I’m dancing with a rather handsome gentleman.”

He preened at the description and stepped closer letting his arms wind further around her back, not quite pulling her against him but leaving less space between them than had been there when they started, a space that decreased as they danced through the song, and the next… and the next, until Marinette had relaxed in his embrace so much, she had essentially melded against him. Even when she pulled back to look up at him, craning her neck to speak to or giggle at him, she did so without moving out of his embrace.

She hadn’t realized how comfortable they had gotten with each other, his arms overlapping themselves around her waist, one of her arms resting comfortably around his neck and the other resting against his chest, their eyes focused on each other’s, their faces close enough for their breath to intermingle, only becoming aware of how close they were when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

She blinked out of the little bubble they’d created and looked around to find the interruption, admittedly taking a bit longer than it should have for her to remember where she was. It took meeting Adrien’s amused smirk before it registered. “I just wanted to let you know my throat is so dry, I might not be able to speak tomorrow, you’re a terrible date, and I’m leaving.”

Marinette pulled away from Jon just enough to bury her head in her hands with a groan, but stayed close enough she could have hidden her face in his toned chest if she’d wanted to. “I’m sorry. I’ve completely ignored you. I did get a glass ready for you… before I got distracted.”

Adrien snorted and waved her off. “I’m fully capable of getting my own drink. I am somewhat self-sufficient, thank you very much, no matter what you and Alya… and Kagami and Felix seem to think. And I’m happy to be ignored if you’re happy.” His last word came out questioningly as his eyes met hers with a pointed look.

She looked between Jon and Adrien a few times. “Oh! Right. Sorry,” she realized sheepishly, and shot Jon a reassuring smile. “Jon, this is Adrien. Adrien, this is Jon. He’s a journalism student from America.”

Adrien nodded at her confirmation and turned to shake Jon’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Jon.”

“And you, Adrien,” Jon grinned back, glad for the confirmation that neither seemed jealous or upset by his proximity to Marinette.

Adrien looked over him critically for a few seconds before seeming to come to a conclusion. “I’d love to interrogate you, but I’d like to get out and check on my significant other, make sure they have eaten something and are drinking water, which they tend to forget to do when they get sick. Plus, they’re winding up here anyway,” he added motioning around them.

It was only then that Marinette and Jon looked around them and noticed the crowd had substantially thinned and some workers were starting to stack chairs. Marinette’s smile dropped and she looked over to Jon sadly. “Oh, I’ll…”

“I can walk her home,” Jon piped up quickly. He looked between the two of them but took particular notice of the way Adrien’s eyes tightened and his jaw clenched in response. He reached into his back pocket. “Here,” he handed a card to Adrien, “my student ID… and my real ID.” He held it up next to his face and schooled his face into the wide-eyed image in the picture from when they took the picture before the count of three.

Adrien snorted and handed the student ID back. “That’ll do for tonight, I guess. I’ll just have to interrogate you next time you’re with Marinette.”

Marinette blushed heavily at the insinuation. He looked over to Jon as he extended his hand to Adrien and smirked at seeing his matching blush. “I look forward to it,” his eyes darted to Marinette, “if she agrees when I ask.”

Marinette smiled and Adrien nodded in approval. “We’re having a get together at our apartment Thursday. You’re welcome to come.”

Marinette’s head snapped toward Adrien, eyebrows almost at her hairline. “We are?”

He snorted and shrugged. “I invited the people we were talking to after you abandoned me.”

She groaned and dropped her head into her hands again. Jon smiled at their interaction. It reminded him a bit of Stephanie and Tim, comfortable and teasing, like siblings. “I’d love to,” he chirped. Marinette peeked through her fingers and offered him a small smile.

Adrien smiled as he watched them. “Right then. I’ll be back later tonight. See you when I get home.”

She watched Adrien leave and turned back to Jon. “So… we should probably…” she motioned toward the door.

He blinked as if startled by the reminder, trying to pretend he was distracted by something other than having been staring at the way the spotlights were illuminating her hair. “Oh, right. Yeah.” He smiled and motioned for her to move first. “Did you have a coat or a bag or…”

She shook her head and followed Adrien’s path out the doors. “Nope, I’m good to go.”

He raised an eyebrow but nodded as he grabbed his hoodie from the rack. “Okay.”

It took less than a minute in the now crisp evening air for her to respond the way Jon was expecting, a shiver wracking her body, though he could tell she was trying to hide it. He draped his hoodie that he hadn’t even bothered to put on, expecting this outcome, over her shoulders and grinned at the look of her swimming in his clothes. It didn’t completely swallow her, but it was clearly a few sizes too big.

She jumped at the contact and started to remove the zip-up with an insistence that he keep it, but he held his hand up before she could and motioned toward his shirt. “I insist. I’m not cold. The long sleeves are enough for me.” He grinned devilishly. “And my grandma would leave me limping if I let a gorgeous woman shiver while I was hot anyway.”

Marinette blushed but looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Should I be concerned? Your grandma sounds rather violent.”

He barked a laugh. “I’ve made it sound like that, haven’t I?” He tucked his hands in his pockets but swung back and forth as he walked making him look goofy and childlike, and extremely sweet. “She’s not. She’s one of the most supportive, sweet, down to earth, but no-nonsense women you’ll ever meet.”

She nodded and looked forward with a shy smile, pulling the hoodie tighter around herself and letting his smell engulf her. “How are you liking London?” she asked as she looked up at him and swayed close enough their fingers brushed ever so slightly.

“I haven’t really seen very much of it,” he admitted sheepishly. He ran his hand through his hair again, but quickly dropped his hand back down so it brushed hers again, even more firmly this time. “So far it seems not too different from home. I’m still trying to understand London’s vibe. I’m positive there’s a ton I’m missing. How about you?”

“It’s been fun,” she nodded. “I’ve been here a few times, though. I don’t know it like a native, but Adrien’s cousin, Felix, does. Maybe I can ask him for advice, and I can let you know.” She looked down but glanced up at him through her lashes. “Or we can explore together,” she offered. “I mean, I’d like to get to know the area better myself.”

“That sounds great!” he gushed. “Oh, no wait. What is it they say here? That sounds brilliant? Brill?”

Marinette giggled and shook her head. “I’ve never in my life heard Felix say that but I suspect that’s more a Felix thing than an indication of British slang.”

“He sounds like an interesting fellow,” Jon chuckled.

“He… takes some getting used to,” she acknowledged slowly. “He’s a bit prickly. A bit standoffish…” she paused as she thought about how to describe Felix. “A bit hostile,” she finished with a cringe, but she quickly turned it to a smile. “But once you do get used to him, you’ll never find a more loyal friend… sometimes too loyal.” She almost voiced her mental completion of ‘dangerously so’ but thought better of it. “He’d try to overthrow a government if he thought you needed him to. Probably succeed to,” she finished with a mutter.

Jon snorted. “Yeah, I’ve got one of those too.” He grimaced thinking of Damian meeting Marinette. Honestly, it was impossible to tell if he’d embrace her, not literally of course, or try to kill her… literally. “Honestly a bit scary what he could do if he put his mind to it.”

Marinette beamed up at him, but her eyes slid past him to the sky above and gasped. The stars were shining bright enough she could make out a few even in the middle of London. “Look, you can see a few stars!”

He hummed and scrunched his face, as if he needed that to assist seeing them and couldn’t see them perfectly with his enhanced vision. “A few. That’s something I miss from home… well, not home, but kind of home, my grandparent’s home; seeing the stars,” he rambled. He shoved one of his hands back in his pocket, leaving the other to graze hers. “At night you can see the entire Milky Way sometimes. Millions of twinkling lights, absolutely gorgeous,” he sighed.

Marinette watched his dreamy expression for a few moments. “I miss seeing stars like that,” she agreed.

He quirked his head to the side and looked back at her. “You can see the stars in Paris?”

“Well… no,” she acknowledged. “We don’t get to see the stars almost ever in Paris. But I’ve gotten to see them closer and they were gorgeous,” she sighed, breathless at the memory of how beautiful the stars were between the fighting.

His face scrunched in earnest this time. “Closer?”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Uhhhh translation issue,” she exclaimed quickly. She shot him a strained smile. “I never asked you, what brought you here? It’s a long way from America.”

He eyed her suspiciously, but let it go. “It’s one of the top schools for journalism,” he started slowly, still watching her closely, “and one of my mom’s colleagues, one she really respects, went here and would tell me about it for ages and…” He sighed and looked down the street as they walked as he considered his next words, which was particularly difficult when he could feel her hand brushing against his so much it was like they were magnetized. “I don’t know how much you know about Metropolis, where I live, but there is a lot of rogue activity. I just… really wanted to get away from it, to have a normal college experience, a normal life experience, without fear of my school blowing up.”

Marinette chuckled mirthlessly. “I get that.”

“How about you?” he asked, lightly bumping his upper arm into her shoulder.

“A bit of the same actually,” she acknowledged hesitantly. “It’s a great school for design and, while I love Paris, it will always be my home… after our villain, there’s a lot of memories and a lot of aftermath, especially for Adrien. I have family in London and so does he. His cousin is going to a school just down the road, the London School of Economics? So, he’s here and one of our best friends goes there as well so she’s just a metro stop away. It seemed like a natural choice. And it’s really easy for me to jump on the Eurostar and go home whenever I miss my parents or friends.”

“Yeah. I’m close with my parents and friends too and I felt a bit bad leaving them but if they need me, it’s a quick flight home.” He froze, his eyes darting to her and away quickly. “I meant hop onto a plane and fly home.” He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled anxiously. “How else would I fly?”

Marinette laughed nervously and glanced at her dress pocket. “How else indeed…”

“But I do miss my friends,” he added quickly. “I call all the time, but it’s different when you’re not in the same room.”

Marinette hummed in agreement. “Yeah, like I said before, my best friend is also getting a degree in journalism, but decided to go to America for it.” She chuckled and lightly slapped his arm to pull his attention back to her. “It’s almost like you guys switched places,” she teased. Jon grinned. “And her boyfriend, Adrien’s best friend, is getting his degree at a film school there too, so even when we go home to visit, we still won’t get to see them.” She sighed wistfully, a far-off look in her eyes. “We used to basically live in each other’s houses.”

Jon nodded solemnly. “The price of independence and a new start.” They walked for a few more steps as the weight of his words set in. He suddenly bounced in front of her and started walking backward with a bright grin. “But!” he motioned toward the Millenium Bridge in the background, “how else would I get to see things like that. And I wouldn’t have met you tonight. And that would be a shame.”

Marinette giggled. “Tragic.” She bit her lip in a vain attempt to keep her smile from beaming too wide as she moved her hand so he could grip it completely. Her heart was thundering in her chest as she waited for him to respond, only slowing slightly when he finally interlaced their fingers and shot her a radiant smile. No, nope. She was pretty sure it was racing even faster after he took her hand.

“Exactly,” he agreed. He turned back around to match her pace by her side again, this time, gripping her hand tightly in his, as they walked in companiable silence for a few blocks, throwing shy glances at one another. “Penny for your thoughts?” he offered. “Oh shoot, no, I guess it’s shilling for your thought or something.”

She smiled but looked away shyly tilting slightly away from him as she figured out how to verbalize her jumbled thoughts. Her mind was racing, but not in the usual, overwhelming, anxious way. She might not be able to pin them all down, but she could feel they all pointed to one conclusion. “I’m thinking… I’m glad I took a chance. I’m glad I faced my fears and went tonight. I’m glad I decided to get a drink by myself. I’m glad I said yes when you asked me to dance. I’m…”

“I’m glad you let me walk you home tonight,” he added.

She turned her bright smile to him as she stopped and faced him. “Yeah, that too,” she agreed. They gazed into each other’s faces smiles so wide they surely outshone the stars. “This is me,” she finally announced.

He looked up at the building and back to her with a nod. “Oh. Well, that… You were right. That really was close.”

She hummed and rocked on her heels, not ready to let go of him yet. “How about you?”

“I’m really far, but I’m right on the metro, no wait, Underground, so it’s not bad.” He looked up at the building and back to her, not easing his hold on her hand either. “Can… would it be okay if I called you sometime maybe... maybe to explore London together?”

Marinette beamed and bounced in place. “Yes!” She cleared her throat lightly and tried again. “Yeah. That would be nice.”

He grinned brilliantly. “Great. That’s… that’s great. Yeah. Oh!” He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. She entered her number letting her fingers brush against his as she handed it back with a matching grin. Even after having held her hand for the last half hour, the contact still sent a jolt of electricity through his body. “Thanks. I’ll call?”

She hummed in agreement. “I’d like that.”

He started to walk away but Marinette called him back, running the last few steps to meet him. She stood in front of him smiling for a moment before taking off his hoodie and handing it to him.

She looked up though her eyelashes, a look that he quickly discovered melted him to his core. If she ever wanted anything, all she would have to do is look at him like that. “Thanks for letting me use it.”

“Anytime. Literally any time. Just let me know. I have a lot of very warm clothes and I can’t wear them all at the same time…” he stopped and grimaced slightly, cheeks glowing in embarrassment. She grinned brightly and looked down shyly.

“I don’t want to wait until tomorrow to figure it out,” he burst out suddenly. “Will you go on a date with me? Tomorrow? Noon? We can do lunch at Fields and a walk in the park? Maybe you can show me around a bit too, since you seem a bit more familiar with London than I am.”

Her smile got impossibly brighter. “Yes. Absolutely. That sounds brilliant.”

“Great. That’s...” he darted forward to kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she nodded.

He waited until she was in the building before making his way to the Underground entrance. She watched him enter before leaning against the door and squealing as she touched her cheek. She raced up the stairs, pulling out her phone as she moved and pulled up Alya’s number to squeal some more.

#maribat #marijon #fluff

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thegatesofsilverandbone · 1 month

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Ethan and Zach stood in the doorway of their new home, eyes wide with excitement as they surveyed the space that would be theirs for the next few years. The house, an old two-story near the edge of their college campus, was charming but worn. The paint was peeling in places, and the floors creaked with every step, but they loved it already. It had character, and it was theirs.

They had been friends since high school, and when they both got accepted to the same college, it seemed only natural to move in together. This was their first time living away from home, and the thrill of independence buzzed between them as they carried their boxes inside.

“First thing’s first,” Zach declared, dropping his box onto the wooden floor of the living room. “We need to make this place feel like home.”

Ethan nodded, already pulling out a framed poster of their favorite band to hang on the wall. “Yeah, once we get everything set up, this place is gonna be awesome.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking, arranging furniture, and decorating the rooms. As they worked, something strange began to happen. It started with small, almost imperceptible changes. The living room, which had been sparsely furnished, now seemed a bit cozier. The worn-out couch they had brought in looked more comfortable, as if it had been broken in over years of use. The walls, once bare, were slowly filling with framed photos and art, some of which neither of them remembered owning.

But they were too caught up in the excitement to notice.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow through the large front windows, Ethan and Zach took a break, sitting side by side on the couch. They looked around, satisfied with the progress they had made.

“You know,” Zach said, a thoughtful look on his face, “it feels like we’ve been here a lot longer than just a few hours.”

Ethan laughed. “Yeah, maybe it’s because we’ve been working so hard. But you’re right, it’s starting to feel like home already.”

Their conversation drifted from topic to topic, but as they talked, they both began to feel a subtle shift within themselves. Their bodies, once lean and youthful, were changing. Ethan’s arms, once toned but slim, were growing thicker, the muscles more defined. His chest broadened, and a light dusting of hair began to spread across it. Zach’s face, which had been smooth and boyish, now sported the beginnings of a beard, the hair coming in dark and thick.

They noticed the changes in each other, but instead of alarm, they felt a deep, inexplicable sense of rightness. As if this was how things were always meant to be.

The next morning, Ethan woke up feeling oddly refreshed. The bed, which had been a bit lumpy the night before, was now perfectly comfortable, as though it had molded to his body over time. He stretched, feeling the satisfying pull of muscles that seemed just a bit stronger than they had been. When he looked down at himself, he was surprised but not shocked to see a trail of hair running down his chest, leading to a thicker patch around his groin. His stomach, which had been flat, now had a slight paunch, but he found he liked the way it felt, solid and strong.

Zach was already in the kitchen when Ethan came downstairs. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and Zach, now sporting a full beard, handed Ethan a mug with a grin.

“Morning, handsome,” Zach said, leaning in to give Ethan a quick kiss on the lips. The kiss felt familiar, like something they had done a thousand times before, though a small part of Ethan’s mind told him this was new.

“Morning,” Ethan replied, smiling as he took the mug. He glanced around the kitchen, noticing how different it looked. The counters were cluttered with well-used appliances, the kind that spoke of years of shared meals and conversations. The table was set for two, with matching coffee mugs and a small vase of flowers in the center.

Zach, too, seemed different, not just in appearance but in demeanor. He moved with the ease and confidence of someone much older, someone who had lived in this house for years. Ethan felt the same way, as though the memories of their college life were slipping away, replaced by years of domestic bliss.

As the days passed, the changes accelerated. Ethan’s hair grew thicker, with hints of gray at the temples. His beard filled out, becoming a permanent fixture on his face. His body, once lean, grew stockier, with broad shoulders and a solid chest. Zach, too, changed, his once-boyish figure transforming into that of a mature man, with a muscular build and a deep, resonant voice that Ethan found increasingly attractive.

Their surroundings changed with them. The house, once old and worn, now looked well-maintained, the paint fresh and the floors polished. The photos on the walls showed a life they hadn’t lived—or at least, not in the way they remembered. Pictures of holidays spent together, vacations to places they had never visited as students, and images of them at various stages of their lives filled the frames. The furniture was no longer the mix of cheap pieces they had cobbled together, but sturdy, comfortable items that spoke of years of careful curation.

And yet, it all felt right.

Ethan and Zach, who had once been best friends starting their college journey, were now a married couple in their forties, deeply in love and inseparable. The house they had moved into as young men was now their home, filled with the warmth and comfort of a life well-lived together. They no longer remembered the excitement of their first day of college or the thrill of moving in as roommates. Instead, they recalled meeting at the university years ago, where Zach had been a professor and Ethan a fellow faculty member.

Their days were filled with the routine of a long-established relationship: morning coffee together, shared meals, evenings spent in front of the TV or reading by the fire. They had their quirks and habits, the little things that come with years of knowing someone inside and out. Ethan would always hum as he cooked breakfast, while Zach liked to tease him by sneaking up and wrapping his arms around him from behind. They still bickered occasionally, about the silliest things—like who left the socks on the floor—but their arguments always ended in laughter and a kiss.

Their bodies had aged, but it only made their love stronger. Ethan loved the feel of Zach’s rough beard against his skin, the strength of his arms, and the way they fit together perfectly at night. Zach adored Ethan’s thickening waistline, the gray creeping into his hair, and the way his eyes still lit up when he smiled.

By the end of the transformation, they were no longer the young men who had moved into the house. They were Ethan and Zach, the couple who had lived there for years, who had built a life together filled with love, joy, and the occasional challenge. They were older, wiser, and more deeply in love than ever before, with no memory of having been anyone else.

As they stood by the window one morning, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise, Ethan leaned in and kissed Zach softly on the lips.

“Happy anniversary, babe,” Ethan said, his voice warm and filled with affection.

Zach smiled, pulling Ethan close. “Happy anniversary, love. Here’s to many more years together.”

And as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the house around them filled with the quiet, contented peace of a life well-lived. They were home, and they were exactly where they were meant to be.

#transformation #ai art

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henrysglock · 1 year

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We Really Need To Talk About Henry Creel and the "Psychopath" Label.

I'm putting the word "psychopath" on a high shelf and out of reach until further notice because we as a whole clearly a) does not understand what psychopathy is, b) does not know what it actually looks like in people, and c) is more than happy feeding into the already existing stigma around the disorder by using the term to describe someone who is a villain, but who's also very much not a psychopath if you look at his actual mannerisms and beliefs.

That is to say: If we completely ignore any timeline fuckery and treat Vecna/Henry like one singular guy...The terms you all are looking for are "pathological altruism", "superiority complex", cPTSD, and/or autism.

Y'know, things that can stem from intense, prolonged childhood trauma and are characterized by a) believing oneself to have the power, authority, and duty to fix others' problems for them, b) fluctuations in sensitivity/reactivity to triggering situations, and c) reactive judgmental behavior.

"Psychopath" is not a catch-all for villains, and it does not equate to "violent man disorder".

Let's do a little psychoanalysis of what Henry actually does, working chronologically.

Little Henry (age 12)

He's described as "sensitive". This is code for many things throughout the show, some of which being artistic tendencies, quiet personality, increased vulnerability to emotional harm, queerness, neurodivergence, and connection to the supernatural.

He's shown gently collecting spiders in furnished jars. Henry identifies with the spiders, identifies that they both have been cast aside, and uses that connection to reach the conclusion that the spiders need love and care. He then handles them gently and spends time making homes for them. This alone is a display of empathy, sympathy, and compassion.

He's lonely, rejected by his mother and his peers. This rejection hurts him, and he later bitterly internalizes/recontextualizes the experience to avoid that hurt.

He's called "broken", but later realizes that he isn't broken at all. This indicates that he believed he was broken for some span of time, and his later anger surrounding the topic indicates that that experience hurt him.

He displays a variety of emotions. Henry openly displays sadness, fear, anger, enjoyment, fascination, and excitement.

He is unable to hide his social "wrongness". He couldn't hide the fact that he was different from the other children, indicating that a) he tried and failed, and b) he wanted to fit in at one point.

His father seemed to have liked him as a person. Whatever was "wrong" with Henry, whatever it was that he couldn't hide, it wasn't something that made Victor dislike him.

He recognizes cruelty in society and openly condemns it. Yes, I recognize the later irony in that. That's part of the narrative structure of his villain arc. This isn't about Vecna, it's about preteen Henry.

He hates dishonesty. Whether it be dishonesty with others or with the self, Henry has a specific and powerful hatred of lying.

Now, if anyone tries to tell you about diagnosed "child psychopaths", they're lying to you.

Psychopathy is clinically knowns as Anti-Social Personality Disorder, and it cannot be diagnosed until ages 18+, since children tend to grow out of any "psychopathy markers" they might display in childhood. Children displaying these markers might be flagged as having "conduct disorder", but not psychopathy.

However, lets look at the markers anyway:

GM: Grandiose-Manipulative, DI: Daring-Impulsive, CU: Callous-Unemotional Source

Conduct disorder: Generally characterized by aggression towards others/destruction of property, lying, theft, and limited prosocial emotions. GM: Superficial charm, glibness, suave behavior. Megalomania and narcissism. Lying. DI: Fearlessness, impulsivity, recklessness, lack of responsibility. Risk taking behaviors. CU: Lack of remorse, empathy, sympathy, or compassion. Shallow emotional affect.

Let's tally him up.

Psychopathy:

Grandiose-Manipulative: ❌ Henry does not fit in, and it's clear to everyone that he does not fit in. He can't hide this, no matter how hard he tries. He is not charming or suave. He also internalizes the "broken" label and recognizes that he's rejected for a reason, and it hurts him. It's only later in his childhood that he realizes being different=/=being broken. He has a specific hatred of lying. If we compare him to Billy, the narrative anti-hero who acts as both parallel and foil to him, we can see artificial charm in action. Billy lies and uses acting to get his way. Repeatedly (see: his interactions with Karen). Billy represents GM behaviors in action. Little Henry is, then, in direct conflict with GM traits.

Daring-Impulsive: ❌ Henry only lashes out with violence when he perceives himself as being in imminent danger. He is shown as and later described as being afraid. The only fearlessness we see is in regard to spiders, and that fearlessness can be traced back to his empathy for the spiders as disliked/socially rejected creatures. Again, Billy. Billy and his erratic driving with Max in ST2 and his attempted fling with Karen are both classic displays of DI traits. Little Henry, in contrast, does not display DI traits.

Callous-Unemotional: ❌ Henry displays a range of genuine emotions. He also displays empathy, sympathy, and compassion. He's described as a sensitive child, for heaven's sake. Billy, as a contrast, does not display empathy, sympathy, or compassion. He's unnecessarily cruel and violent for his own entertainment (the car scene) or to maintain control (Max), and he does not display remorse for it. Little Henry does not meet the criteria for CU traits.

Conduct Disorder:

Aggression/Destruction: ❌ Henry is often hiding, he's reclusive, his father describes him as "sensitive", and he's gentle with the spiders. Even his later visions aren't particularly aggressive. It's spiders crawling out of a drain, a cradle in a fireplace. Disturbing, yes, but not aggressive. Henry is shown killing a rabbit, but his reaction is distinctly unhappy and we're only conclusively shown him doing so once. Due to differences in killing style between his singular kill and the other dead animals his family finds on the property and the fact that there are animals that show up mutilated on the Creel property which Henry wouldn't reasonably have access to (see: chickens)...It's not a concrete pattern of behavior. He's not an aggressive child, especially if compared to Billy. Billy is openly violent and aggressive, and he seeks out opportunities to physically hurt others. Henry does not do this. He only lashes out when cornered, which is what happened in 1959 (if we take canon at face value).

Theft: ❌ We are not shown any instances of or inclination towards theft.

Low guilt/remorse: Inconclusive Henry is shown (supposedly) practicing his powers on a rabbit, but he looks distinctly disturbed while doing so. Henry lashes out at his mother with his powers and displays little remorse, but that was self-defense, which muddies the remorse waters. Compare him to Billy, who is clearly enjoying tormenting kids whenever he can (see: the fatshaming at the pool, Max in the car, Lucas at the Byers house). Generally, Henry doesn't meet this criterion, but it remains inconclusive.

Low Empathy: ❌ Henry visibly and verbally displays empathy for the spiders (A similar trait in autism: more empathy for creatures than humans)

Low Affiliative Behaviors: Inconclusive He has issues with regulating eye-contact (it seems like he tends to stare), and he doesn't seem to seek people out. He's reclusive and quiet. However, these are also shared traits with autism...or just being an introvert, and we do see him display warmth/happiness on multiple occasions. We also know he has interest in connection with others due to his later bitterness over the lack of connection he experienced as a child.

Deceitfulness: ❌ Henry hates lying and dishonesty. That's his whole thing.

Fearlessness: ❌ Henry visibly and verbally displays fear on many occasions.

Henry Creel, age 12, is not meeting the markers for conduct disorder/precursors for psychopathy.

Next time point.

Henry Creel, age 32: Orderly

He's good with kids. He soothes El's anxiety, calmly engages with her anger surrounding her mother, sits on the floor beside her to be on her level, takes her concerns seriously, and tries to help her succeed against her struggles in the lab.

He's relatively social. He's the only orderly who interacts with the children willingly/actively seeks out social connection with the children. He's shown wandering around the room observing them, and he seeks El out as company (this will come back later).

He's not harsh with the children. In ST1, we see El being carries around by her arms and thrown around by orderlies. We see Henry being dragged by his arms by orderlies after his electrocution scene. Henry, even when given the authority of an orderly, doesn't engage in this kind of disregard for a) personal space, b) autonomy, and c) wellbeing. The worst we see from him is his reprimand of 002 when 002 is bullying El, and even that's just a quick verbal reprimand.

He empathizes and sympathizes with the children. Henry is openly disturbed by 002's electrocution, even when no one is watching him except the audience. El isn't watching, Brenner isn't watching. Henry empathizes with 002, given that his own electrocution scene just happened in the previous episode. We're being shown genuine empathy and sympathy coming from Henry.

He's still quiet, gentle, and reclusive. He often hunches in on himself when he's not being watched by Brenner. He's consistently soft-spoken and unassuming. His likability comes from his lack of stereotypical superficial charm/suaveness. He comes off as the guy who was bullied to hell and back as a kid, not like a politician (which is what psychopathic charm is most likened to).

When he isn't being like that, it's an act...and an unconvincing one at that. Henry looks distinctly uncomfortable and out of place when he's trying to play the straight-backed, unfeeling orderly. We get tons of side-eye from him directed at Brenner. He doesn't enjoy being on display like that.

Henry tries to help El and then acknowledges that it didn't work/made things worse.

Henry tries to help El escape with no request for anything in return. Her escape was not transactional. Soteria's removal only happened when El reached out about Henry not coming with her, and even then he never asks her to remove it. He gives her information, and then he lets her make her own choices. She wants him to come with, he did not ask her to set him free. All this, despite the fact that he easily could have asked her to remove it as repayment for letting her loose without any red flags being raised on El's part.

Henry displays concern for El's wellbeing He takes her with him when the guards come running after Soteria, even though it would have been a good distraction/would have given him a head start if he'd left her. He defends her and himself from the guards who clearly want to hurt them. He hides her in the store room and tells her he's going to find them a way out.

Let's tally him up.

Grandiose-Manipulative: ❌ Henry still lacks the "classic" psychopathic charm. He's still a bit kooky, definitely not suave. A touch of narcissism might come into play with his desire to "save" El, but that's leaning into pathological altruism. He doesn't display himself as powerful, even after Soteria is removed. He's still soft-spoken and curled in on himself. Of course, we could argue that he's doing all this to manipulate El. Sure...but he never asks for anything in return even when it would be logical and understandable to do so. Getting El to remove Soteria would be like taking candy from a baby. All he'd have to do is say "If you take Soteria out, then I can help you escape. I can only help you if you take it out, though", and she'd do it. She's a lab-raised 8 year old. It would be a far safer gamble for him to flex his authority than to...what? Not mention it and hope she says something? Hope she chooses to do something? Okay. Hell, if we take the show at face value, no timelines or anything...Henry has already leveraged his authority with El before. "If you want to escape, you must do exactly as I say", he tells her in the chess scene...and then he just straight up never mentions Soteria. No matter how you slice it...that wasn't manipulation. It was altruism.

Daring-Impulsive: ❌ Henry does display risk-taking behaviors, but we need to apply context. He's been locked and abused in this lab for 20 years, El's been there for 8 years under similar conditions...there's no chance at escape for either of them unless someone takes a risk. Even so, it's not the type of risk that's associated with thrill-seeking. He's not doing it for the thrill, he's doing it to get out.

Callous-Unfeeling: ❌ It's a bit more difficult to say that it's not an act here because he's usually being watched by El, however...in the times when he's not being watched, he displays empathy, sympathy, and compassion, and those displays are paired with distinction emotional expressions. This is where the escape scene comes into play. Henry once again only attacks once he's cornered and in danger (not to mention that this time he has a dependent to worry about). His plan is to run. He's not inclined towards violence until he's left with no other choice, and when he does lash out he doesn't actually use his powers to kill until that final guard (who seemed to take great pleasure in the prospect of getting to shocked both him and El). He throws the other soldiers around, but he doesn't give them that menacing, sadistic look. That's reserved for that specific guard. It's sadism borne of a personal grudge due to prolonged mistreatment. It's revenge, not sadism for the sake of sadism.

Orderly Henry Creel, age 32, definitely has something going on up there (likely a whopping dose of cPTSD). He sure is a Guy in a Situation. However, he does not meet the criteria for psychopathy.

And now, my favorite and most controversial section:

Vecna-Henry (ages 32-38)

First and foremost: I need you all to read this with the understanding that I am explaining behaviors, not excusing them. Nothing that happened was right or justified, based on a normal person's frame of mind. However, in order to even come close to psychoanalyzing someone, you have to get inside their head. It's their thoughts and motivations that matter here, not what outsiders judge them to be. That's why it takes months of talking and testing to pin down diagnoses.

We need to be able to look at things from Henry's point of view and piece it together in his frame of mind. You feel me? Good.

I'm abandoning the checklist format for this section because it requires more nuance than just "yes" or "no", but I'm still going to list off some key traits about Vecna:

He chooses his victims carefully. Our 4 victims are not chosen willy-nilly. This isn't "I want to kill for fun", or we'd have Art the Clown instead. He personally kills exactly as many as he needs to open the Rifts, no more. He doesn't kill for killing's sake.

Each victim is chosen with a specific backstory in mind. I've spoken about this before, but if you know anything about serial killers it's that they're almost always going after victims that tie into their own trauma (i.e. killers with mommy issues going after women who look like their mothers, etc). Stranger Things, of course, is a touch more intricate. The order and specific stories of the victims tells a meta narrative. Chrissy and her horrible mother with the rotting food that's a direct link to the custom-made painting in the Creel dining room during the dinner scene. Fred and being a murderer, even though it was a negligent accident. Max and Billy, whose story is so complex and so inverse of Henry's that it fits perfectly with a song about swapping places to feel how the other feels. Again, a death outside of the victim's control, but this time tinged with the relief that an abuser had died after years of wishing for it to happen. Patrick and his abusive father, his abusive Papa, if you will. They tell us a story, just like almost every other serial killer. We know Virginia was a bad mother based on the situation Henry finds himself in at age 12, but we're never shown the extent of that conflict because we never see them interact. It wasn't physically possible for Henry to have killed Alice. How could Henry, who was near-fainting after having "killed" Virginia, find the strength to trance Victor and kill Alice? How could he do that, when we don't even see Vecna do that, when he's so much more powerful? He's not capable of multitasking. ST4 made that very clear. Thus, negligent death. Billy and Max vs the Creel murders are essentially just an inverse situation. Older abuser dies, the young victim wished for it to happen and is now Feeling Things about the situation. Lost a sibling in the process. And last but not least, Patrick, who shares a name with a lab guard in ST1 and has an abusive father. That's a Brenner link. It's a story by proxy. Vecna uses that shared trauma to connect with his victims. (That's the real deal: Shared Trauma). It's weaponized empathy.

He talks over and over again about honesty and ending suffering. Those are his two huge Things in his kills. He holds up a mirror to what the victim perceives to be the worst part of them, and then he turns around and all but tells them he'll make it end. After all...everyone is just waiting, waiting for it all to be over. He's got a fixation on making sure his victim knows that a) this was their fault, and b) he's being the Good Guy by relieving their suffering.

He has no reason left to pretend to have a Good Moral Justification for his kills, and yet he still talks to his victims like he's justifying their deaths.

That's...a lot, but let's dive right in.

Henry and his funky morality complex is endlessly fascinating to me, because what he seems to be doing is self-soothing about it all. Psychopaths, in contrast, are aware of moral compasses, of good and bad, but they aren't typically beholden to the concept. A psychopath likely wouldn't feel the need to self-soothe about their actions by telling themselves and others that they're doing what they're doing to relieve suffering...which is coincidentally exactly what Henry, as Vecna, does the whole time.

At this stage in the story, Henry would have no reason to keep up that kind of savior charade when his audience is just himself and his victim. There's no one there to manipulate by falsifying morality. The only other person listening is going to die imminently. The interesting part comes in when we understand that Henry doesn't have to play the angel at all in ST4. He's certain he's already succeeded by the time we realize what he's up to. He doesn't have anything to gain by lying about his perceived morality. Psychopaths, generally speaking, don't care enough to put the effort into lying if it isn't useful. That means that the last time he would have actually needed to play the angel was during his 1979 monologue. However, we see the same phrases about suffering and the associated release that we hear in 1979 continuing to return as far in as 1986, when Henry no longer has any reason to lie, even if he were okay with lying in the first place (which he's not)! They're all genuine lines. They're a core part of his character.

Vecna wants to be in the right, in the clear, morally. He can't accept that what he's doing is abusive; he has to frame it specifically so that he is doing what's right, that he's freeing people and solving problems.

He's doing his damndest to actualize his "predator, but for good" line from 1979.

This does not smack of psychopathy.

This smells like a savior complex.

Even as far back as 1979, Henry has been obsessed with saving things from their problems ("Tricked you? No. I saved you"). He "saves" spiders from the vents of his house and gives them new homes, he "saves" El from the lab's brainwashing, he "saves" the ST4 victims from their suffering...and dare I say it...he "saves" the lab children in 1979 from their suffering as part of Brenner's lab, the only true escape from which is death (And if it was a 2-birds-1-stone situation with absorbing abilities...well. That's just a bonus).

Granted, the morality surrounding the manifestation of Henry's savior complex has been warped by massive psychic alteration and 20 years of unimaginable abuse with no feasible escape, so yeah. It's a little fucked up. He's a little fucked up. Obviously.

However, at it's core: Everything Henry has ever done has (in his mind) been Right, Good, and Necessary, despite the fact that he's now actively doing more harm than good.

This reeks of pathological altruism.

Here's what that can look like, clinically:

Source

Well damn, doesn't that sound familiar? (I'm staring directly at Henry's spider hoarding versus the above image)

"Saving" spiders, but condemning them to death in jars after his kidnapping. "Saving" El from the lab, but traumatizing her and ultimately condemning her to his own fate: being the sole focus of Brenner's attention. "Saving" the ST4 victims from their suffering, but hurting them in an attempt to kill two birds with one stone: free himself, and eliminate their suffering as a nice morality bonus.

Pathological Altruism. Savior Complex.

Jamie himself has said that, based on what has been shown to us, Henry truly believes that what he's doing is right and beneficial (which fits with his Catholic-God coding (here) so well).

All this to say, and I cannot stress this enough: This is not psychopathy. What Henry displays is not psychopathy. This is pathological altruism. Psychopaths, particularly those who go on to commit violent crimes, largely do not have savior complexes. A psychopathic serial killer would not care, and would not hide that they don't care if there isn't anything to gain from it.

Henry also has this incredible fixation on truth and right vs wrong, and yes, he weaponizes that, but again he does so while self-soothing with padded morality phrasing. He monologues for ages about how terrible it is that everyone is lying to themselves and others, and how everyone is suffering but no one wants to admit it. His main goal is remaking the world with a "better" version of society that's less oppressive (which happens to be one where a rule-bound society is entirely done away with). Henry then swings way past "Good, Right, Necessary" into villain territory but going so far as to force his victims into facing the truth of what's going on inside their heads, forcing them to stop lying about their own mental states, only to then use the "worst" thing about themselves to judge them. He's quite literally playing God based on his use of right and wrong to maintain control/power while holding a moral high ground. (He's doing a pretty good job, too. He sounds just like the Catholic God.)

This is not psychopathic behavior.

His behavior seems more like black/white judgmental thinking:

A misguided and overwhelmingly strong sense of justice:

Source

and a killer superiority complex fueled by chronically low self-esteem:

Source

A psychopathic serial killer would have little attachment to truth or right and wrong.

A psychopathic serial killer would not care.

Source

The thing is: Henry's whole issue is that he cares entirely too much. His problem is that everything matters, everything can and should be sorted into good and evil, right and wrong (and obviously he is in the right here), save and destroy. It's judgement and warped justice and the need to believe he's special, that it all happened for a reason, that the world deserves to burn for what it did to people like him, that he can fix the world if he destroys it first.

This also happens to be why Henry cannot be considered a nihilist, which is another term I'm putting up on a shelf. Henry sees the world as inherently having value, that life has value, that there's something worth rebuilding (so long as he gets to dictate what the rules are...so long as he never gets hurt again). If he didn't care so much, he wouldn't be so damn upset about it all. He's a mess. He legitimately cares too much, the hurt is too deep.

That, in combination with the perspective warping from not only his absorptive quality but also 20 years of MKULTRA/Hawkins National Lab Fuckery, has created the mentality we see in ST4 and the actions it has manifested in (again, ignoring timelines).

Vecna is a violent, lab-made hypocrite with a touch of trauma-borne misanthropy, for sure, but he's not a psychopath.

tl; dr: Psychopathy is not synonymous with "villainous man disorder". Henry Creel is not a psychopath, though as it stands he is technically our villain.

#breaking: media fans told that psychopathy is NOT just ''evil man'' disorder #[squirts fans with a water bottle] AHT. AHT. PUT THE LABEL DOWN.#henry was a good kid. a good young man even. and i'm standing by it #henry creel analysis #henry/vecna/001 #psychoanalyzing henry creel #st character analysis #stranger things

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your-divine-ribs · 15 days

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Forbidden Part 31

Words: 3.8k

Y/N gets a glimpse of a different side to Prof Van 🖤

Forbidden Masterlist Main Masterlist

You don't breathe a word as Van carries you up the stairs. You just let him, fingers tangling in his hair where it curls at his shirt collar, your coy gaze meeting his from under your lashes as you look up at him, feeling more shy and uncertain than you've ever felt around him before.

"Don't think I've ever seen you this quiet," he muses, the smile he's wearing stirring warmth inside you. It's a different kind of heat to normal. It pools in your belly and your chest like the sweetest ache and you try to concentrate on that rather than the way that your mind is taunting you, your rarely-seen cautious side surfacing and filling you with doubts.

Is he taking you to THEIR bed? The one he lies on every night with Kathleen? What if she comes home early? What if the trip's been cut short for some reason? What will you do if she walks in and discovers you here?

Maybe you should go. Make an excuse and call a cab and leave before something bad happens. You know you should do it. But you don't.

"I am kinda nervous," you admit, glancing around to see that you've reached the first floor landing. "It just seems strange being here with you... in your house. I really shouldn't be here. What if Kath..."

The look in Van's eyes cuts your words dead. It's quite obvious that particular topic of discussion is off the table and as wary and anxious as you feel you swallow it all back down with frustrated obedience. No matter how deep your worries and your doubts run your desire to please Van runs deeper.

"Don't talk like that, I want you here and I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. It's just you and me, okay? You don't have to think about anything else just for one night."

That's easy for him to say. As you enter a room off the hallway you can't help but glance around, curious eyes flicking over the decor and the furnishings, searching for any sign of her. You quickly scour the dressing table and the bedside cabinets, the wardrobe with one door slightly ajar. There's no obviously feminine touch that you can see, no accessories, no framed photos, no cosmetics or items of clothing that don't appear to be his. If you didn't know any better you'd think he lived alone from what you've seen so far but you suppose you've only seen a limited part of the large house.

He steps over to the bed and stoops to lay you down on the soft sheets. Fuck... that feels good. You hadn't realised quite how exhausted you were. When he said he was going to wreck you he wasn't kidding. Everything burns, your muscles tight and sore, the stinging throb between your legs insistent as you curve your body inwards, feeling vulnerable as he hovers over you.

"That was really something huh?" He smirks down on you, eyes lingering over your curves, a hand reaching up to gently brush your hair back from your face. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck!" You can't help but grin and he laughs. "But in a totally good way," you add quickly. "I'm certainly not complaining about it. I loved it. I loved every minute of it."

He caresses your cheek, a thumb trailing over your lips, first the top then the bottom until you stop him, your lips parting to catch the very tip of his thumb, sucking gently. Half innocent, half seductive.

"You're one of a kind, that's for sure," he says softly, his voice almost unrecognisable from the harsh dominating tone that he'd used on you just moments ago downstairs. "I've never met anyone quite like you before."

"Ditto," you whisper against his thumb, smiling soft and alluring up at him.

He hesitates and you find that you're holding your breath, willing him to sink down on to the bed right there next to you and take you into his arms. You want him to tell you that you're all his again just like he did in the heat of the moment, but to your dismay his touch falls away as he straightens up.

"I'll be right back," he promises as he steps away, pausing as he crosses the room to look back at you with a playful grin. "Don't you go anywhere now."

"I won't."

You fix a smile that melts into a quiet sigh as you watch him turn to disappear into an adjoining room which appears to be an en-suite bathroom from the gleaming white tiles you glimpse as he flicks on the light. You know full well that you're torturing yourself by daring to believe that this softer side to him indicates that he might start developing feelings for you. You're nothing but an easy, filthy lay to him, an outlet for all the disgusting and depraved things that his fiancée's too good for. That thought might have thrilled you once and it still does, except now it's accompanied by an unwelcome acidic jealousy that eats away at your fanciful dreams like a bitter poison.

Stop thinking about her Y/N! You're here and she's not! Just try and enjoy the moment for god's sake.

You reach for the sheets to draw them over your naked frame but your fingers catch on another piece of fabric and you stretch it out to reveal a t-shirt emblazoned with the band name The Strokes. You smile to yourself... this man has great taste... and in a rush of boldness you're sitting up in bed and pulling the shirt on over your head.

He said he wanted you here didn't he? Well, you may as well make yourself at home.

You imagine lazy days spent lounging around his house wearing his clothing, cosying up on the sofa in one of his over-sized hoodies, seducing him when he comes home from work wearing nothing but one of his shirts...

"Oh... very cute... looks good on you."

Your head snaps up quickly at the sound of his voice, caught unawares by his unexpected praise. You grasp the hem of the shirt to stretch it down over your thighs, cheeks glowing, preening as he leans on the door frame to admire you.

"Cute?" You giggle quietly, your legs crossed in your lap as you sit up straight to give him a better view of the goods. "Is that even a word in your vocabulary? You've called me lots of things before but I never heard that one!"

He regards you for a moment with an amused kind of thoughtfulness before he's moving back towards the bed and perching on the edge next to you.

"You do realise that the things I say to you... the things I do to you when we're... together in that way... it's not a true reflection of how I really feel, don't you?"

Oh...

"Of course I do Sir."

It just slips out, the honorific term sounding misplaced now you're not down on your knees begging for a taste of his cock or bent over the nearest surface getting your ass spanked raw. It draws a genuine laugh from you both and you raise a hand up to cover your mouth.

"And I don't think I need to tell you that you don't need to call me that when we're not fucking!"

"It's just a habit, I can't help it," you grin. You love the way that he's looking at you right now, a fondness that could easily make you feel like you were the only girl in the world if you could just let yourself go.

And he keeps on looking, intently scanning your face as he raises up a hand and that's when you note he's holding a dampened wash-cloth which he presses lightly to your cheek, dabbing at your ruined make-up.

"I can do that," you tell him, the nurturing action exacerbating the shyness that's afflicting you in the most uncharacteristic way. "I'm sure half my make-up's already slid off my face anyway. I can't even imagine how bad I must look right now, I must look a right state."

You reach up for the cloth but he stops you. "I can assure you that's not true. Here... let me. I know you're quite capable but I wanna do it for you." He runs the cloth under your eyes, cleaning away the tracks of mascara that stain your skin, moving down to rub around your lips, working methodically and with a surprising gentleness that sets off flurries of a nervous kind of exhilaration inside you.

"You know, you really don't need to wear all this make-up. You're plenty pretty enough without it. Gorgeous in fact. Beautiful."

You simper, feeling strangely delicate and vulnerable with his attention on you the way that it is. The brashly confident sex-hungry woman who's always so self-assured seems to have temporarily gone into hiding.

Something's changed. You realise that you hadn't really contemplated how the night would play out, focussed mainly on the sex as you were, but this turn of events is unexpectedly refreshing and very welcome. One moment you're being fucked to within an inch of your life and the next you're being treated with all the softness and care of an intimate lover. It doesn't feel like just a casual hook-up anymore. Every moment you spend alone with Van you're sinking further and further into something that you know you'll struggle to pull yourself out of. You know it's dangerous but you can't bring yourself to heed the warning signs.

So you let him take care of you and clean away the mess that he's made, the smears of make-up and the drool and the sweat, the evidence of your sordid fuck. After he's finished with your face and neck he lays you back down on the bed and you don't resist, even when you feel self-conscious as he raises the hem of the shirt and starts to drag the cloth softly up your inner thighs. Everything still feels like a wet, sore mess and you flinch as he nudges your legs gently apart.

"Aww are you sore love? I'm very sorry."

His tone's soft and apologetic but you can distinctly hear the edge of playful mischief in it, you catch it twinkling in his eyes as you raise your head to address him with a smirk. "No you're not! You're not bloody sorry at all!"

"You got me!" He chuckles, an eyebrow raised up. "But I did warn you didn't I? And besides… I reckon you got exactly what you wanted... am I right?"

"Uh-huh..." your satisfied little smiles tells him all he needs to know and his voice drops low, a teasing tone that makes your belly flip.

"In fact I think maybe I went too easy on you... Next time you won't be so lucky!"

Next time...

You laugh, laying your head back down on the pillow whilst he carefully cleans up the sticky mess between your thighs, your hot bruised skin soothed by the coolness of the damp cloth. You wince as he does it but you love that you can feel where he's been, your tender flesh still smarting from his brutal handiwork. You're pretty sure you're going to feel him for days and that thought delights you.

"There ya go baby... all nice and clean and good as new. Perfect."

He scatters a few soft kisses around your navel and then over your hips and your thighs. You giggle at the ticklish sensation, a warm tingling buzz sparking which you try to hide the effects of by biting down on your lip to stem a gasp. You can fully imagine him being keen to go several more rounds on you with barely any encouragement and you're not sure your body can take it and besides, you're enjoying this softer version of him far too much to let it go just yet.

"Thank you... for taking care of me," you murmur.

The kisses continue as he drapes the t-shirt back over your thighs. He presses them to your belly and chest over the shirt and your jaw as he travels upwards until he reaches your neck. He burrows his face there, muttering so quietly against your skin that you're not sure if you mishear him when he speaks.

"I was just thinking earlier... remembering the first day I ever noticed you. It was my first day on campus."

This shocks you. "There's no way you can remember me from way back then. You arrived before the semester even started didn't you? I never had any classes with you for at least a month after that."

You're loathe for his lips to leave your neck but your intrigue is sparked by this revelation and you need to know more. He doesn't disappoint, breaking away and sliding his body next to yours on the bed, propping himself up on an elbow close enough so that your bodies are touching.

"Of course I remember you. You're a very memorable girl.” He pauses, his words melting your insides which are now teaming with butterflies. "Professor Stevens was showing me around and there you were, sprinting up the corridor ahead of us, not looking where you were going and colliding full-on face-first into some unsuspecting lad just as he rounded the corner." He chuckles at the memory. "Textbooks went flying, there was paperwork everywhere... and you just stood there with the biggest smirk on your face whilst this poor lad scrabbled around on his hands and knees picking up all your stuff! It was pretty obvious from your insincere apology that you had no intention of clearing up your own mess."

"I remember that!" You recall, laughing. "Well, he did offer and I was already running late for class..."

"For a change," he cuts in pointedly, more teasing than exasperated. "Became a bit of a theme from then on. I quickly realised that you seemed to think the usual rules didn't apply to you. You were late to the options day presentations too. That was the second time you caught my eye." He shifts on the bed, sinking down to get comfier, a hand snaking around your waist to gently rest there. "I distinctly remember you trying to sneak in without anyone noticing, except you were wearing the skimpiest little dress that ensured that the whole lecture room was paying more attention to you than the presentation Johnny was giving."

"Maybe you shouldn't have been looking Sir!"

This time it's not a mistake calling him that. His smile widens. That damn smile. You're sure it's going to be the end of you.

"You don't have to tell me that! Fucking hell, do you know how hard I tried to be professional? I tried to think of you as just another student but as soon as my module choices got finalised I scoured the list for your name, hoping to see you were in my class."

You can't stop grinning. Your cheeks are actually hurting you're smiling so much.

"Well seeing as we're confessing stuff I didn't just choose your module for the content," you admit, remembering how quickly Van's classes got oversubscribed.

You want to reach up and rest a hand on his hip, reciprocate his touch but you daren't. You feel like you're in a little dreamworld, a blissful bubble that might burst at any moment if you make the slightest wrong move...

"Do you ever take your studies seriously?" He says, and this time there's definitely a hint of exasperation even though he looks outwardly content. You're just about to answer, try and distract him with more flirtation but he sighs, sinking down to lie fully beside you, eyes fixed upwards as he begins to speak.

"There's always talk in the faculty about the individual students. The staff love to discuss the ones with a bright future, the ones who truly shine, but they also talk about the ones who think the sole point of going to university is to party. The ones who don't really want to be in lectures or don't show up at all. The time wasters."

Your heart sinks like a stone. This isn't going the way you envisaged. He should be pulling you closer in his arms right now, leaning in for a lingering kiss. Your bodies are still tightly pressed together but it feels like he's drifting away.

"You don't have to tell me which category I fall into," you say glumly. "I do try, it's just..."

You trail off. Just what? There's not a lot you can say to justify your poor attitude. He's described you perfectly.

"As soon as I told Professor Stevens you were in my class he assured me that you were destined to fail. He said it was a waste of good resources trying to teach a student like you who obviously didn't give a damn." His tone is serious now and you cringe inwardly, waiting for him to deliver the lecture you're sure he's gearing up to. "But I disagreed... emphatically."

Oh? This is more like it. You glance over to see he's studying the ceiling and you study him, the contours of his perfect profile.

"I've always liked to make up my own mind, see. I don't like to be led by others. I wanted to give you a chance." He tips his head to the side, your eyes meeting.

"And...?" You ask hesitantly, not sure whether you're off the hook or not when a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"Well... day one of the semester you proved him right. Nothing says biblical hangover like turning up thirty minutes late to my very first lecture sporting shades indoors on the most overcast day of the year!”

A tiny giggle bursts forth even though you try to suppress it. You know you're a no-hoper but at least you do it in style. Van continues, his expression hard to read.

"But everyone deserves a second chance right? I know I'm a little strict but I don't like to write students off too quick... so I threw you a curveball. I asked you a tricky question that wasn't in the class notes. You'd have only known the answer if you'd done the wider reading that was recommended. You remember that?"

A blush instantly stains your cheeks. Of course you remember. You'd been checking out your hot new professor's arse at the time, admiring the way the tight denim clung to his hips. When you'd heard your name called out you'd practically jumped out of your seat. Most of your lecturers had long given up on inviting you to contribute to class discussions. They knew you well enough to surmise that it was a complete waste of time. You'd stuttered and spluttered, sitting bolt upright whilst you'd nervously asked Van to repeat the question, blurting out a wordy and meandering less-than-satisfactory response whilst he'd regarded you with those cool blue eyes of his, not giving anything away. He'd nodded with a curt "thank you Miss Y/L/N" when you'd finished, leaving you red-faced and unusually rattled afterwards, sinking back down into your chair like you could melt into it.

"You caught me off-guard. I wasn't really listening," you concede meekly, hating the way that you loathe to disappoint him, wondering if your university experience might have been a lot different if he'd been there right from your very first day.

"No shit," he laughs in a warm rush, shaking his head. "It was pretty obvious you weren't paying the slightest bit of attention..."

"That's not strictly true," you interject which earns you a frown which shuts you up pretty quick.

"I'm talking about the lecture content," he says dryly. "But you did give me a very interesting response... one I wasn't expecting."

You facepalm dramatically, embarrassed. "Oh great, it was even more shit than I can remember then. Way to make a good impression, huh?"

"Actually it was very insightful."

"What... really?"

Is he fucking with you? He looks sincere.

"Uh-huh," he nods. "I mean you didn't really answer my question, not fully anyway, and you completely went off on a tangent, but there was something there. I don't know what you'd call it... unpolished brilliance maybe..."

"Brilliance?" You echo, full of disbelief. "You're taking the piss now aren't you?"

You're expecting him to start laughing, the joke on you but he doesn't. He just looks at you with that warmth again, the hand resting on your waist moving up to cup your jaw. He tilts his body to press more firmly against yours.

"Believe me, I only give praise where praise is due. You might not have realised it but you impressed me that day, but it was more than just that. You intrigued me. I knew right there and then that I had to see more of you, find out all about you, get closer to you somehow. Even though I knew damn well it was a terrible idea and I should keep my distance I just couldn't help myself. I... umm... I might have pulled a few strings to ensure that you were on my personal tutees list."

He looks mildly embarrassed and you feel your eyes widen. All that time you were lusting after Van in secret before you propositioned him and he'd already set his sights on you. "You really did that... to get closer to me?"

"Yeah," he smiles. "Turns out you're a very hard girl to stay away from... and I gotta admit I didn't even try. You've not just got a beautiful body, you have a beautiful mind too…”

He shifts again where he lays, an arm reaching up over your head, his other hand patting his chest. "C'mon, lie right here, we can talk more in the morning. You must be tired. You should rest."

You don't need asking twice, scooting as close to him as you can, practically purring as you nestle into his chest. The warmth of him and the cool scent of his cologne and the steady thump of his heartbeat fills your senses. You feel a hand on your hair as he strokes it soothingly, a gentle kiss pressed to the top of your head as you hear him mutter quietly. "I like you Y/N... if you must know I really like you..." He lets out a soft sigh like an afterthought "...much more than I should."

This must be what heaven feels like. You close your eyes.

#forbidden #van mcann fanfic #au fanfic #vanfic

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mrs-monaghan · 1 year

Note

It doesn't mean JK doesn't trust Jimin

Proceeds to write an essay which only means JK doesn't trust Jimin with RM at all. Oh and should I remind you RM and Jimin and living in same apartment complex???? While JK is living in whole another place ???

Tbh IF jkk are a couple I can die on a hill to prove Jimin will never be unfaithful to JK but things you all write these days are just not it. For any reader it strikes as JK is too insecure about Minimoni's relationship. All while it's obvious RM is someone Jimin respects deeply and RM is always ready to help Jimin with anything. Their bond is strong because both are very mature people who mutually respect each other.

People like you who lack reading comprehension skills really do my head in. If you don't understand something come and ask me. I am MORE than happy to explain and clarify.

First of all, anyone with eyes can tell JK has never truly settled in Brunnen. People make jokes about him living like a frat boy because of how empty the place looks. It's coz that's not his home. His home is where Jimin is. Them fighting on that run episode was not for naught. First the lamp

then the couch and TV

That seemed way too natural. Like they've done that many times before. Jimin knew they would have different opinions coz its happened b4. And JK has great taste btw. Him and Jhope are the neatest members so I expect his actual home looks very stylish and very well furnished. Nine-one is their shared home so Minimoni being neighbours is irrelevant.

When exactly did I say Jimin has ever been or would ever be unfaithful to JK??? I see its come for Shaz day, today. I have said over a million times Jikook have been with each other and only each other since day one. I have also said many times all members not just Minimoni love and respect each other. But I guess u didn't see those posts, huh? How convinient.

My post was about one particular topic and that topic was the only one that I addressed. It had nothing to do with how Minimoni are outside of Jikook.

You saying that post was about how JK doesn't trust Jimin is fucking bull. JK being possessive and territorial over Jimin has nothing to do with trust. I've said it before, but if Jikook were not hiding, if they were public, JK wouldn't act the way that he does. He wouldn't need to claim Jimin.

things you write these days are just not it.

Nigga no one is forcing you to be here. Unfollow or block, you don't gotta see my shit! You're coming off like you don't believe that JK gets bothered or annoyed which is just lies Jikookers tell themselves for what reason, idk.

This man used the wrong fucking entrance just so he would be the one sitting next to Jimin and not Suga. Riddle me why he would do that? Please.

I'm guessing you also ignore the tongue in cheek thing he used to do when bothered or annoyed? Well then explain to me why he does it here when he hears that Jimin, V and Jin went hiking together.

Last but not least this anti Minimoni moment where JK touches RM but when Jimin reaches for him JK prevents that from happening. It's very subtle and easy to miss but it's been kindly zoomed in for us here with dramatic music to boot

(Watch V watching JK's hands and see for yourself that that really happened. V sees everything) Here is the original thanks to @chim-chim1310 as always 😘😘 It makes sense that JK did that since everyone was just praising RM in that moment. 🤭🤭

But my point is this is just a JK thing that has nothing to do with him not trusting Jimin. From what I've gathered its actually normal in SK for men to be this territorial about their other halves.

I know it's taboo among Jikookers to talk about this side of Jikook. But just because I came along and I ain't afraid to bring up this sensitive topic doesn't mean u can come for me and call me a liar. You don't like me, block me. You wanna stick around then bloody get used to it.

Normalise discussing Jimin and JK being bothered by certain things when it comes to eo.

Oh! And should I remind you RM and Jimin and living in the same apartment complex????

With 4 question marks. Bitch please! As if we don't all know about this account that sells beds and only follows Jikook.

Jikook were rumoured to be seen walking into a furniture store only for this account to follow them not long after. Now they're only following Jimin but that's because Mr. Rebel deleted his IG. Jikook live together anon, so don't talk to me about Minimoni being neighbours. It means fuck all in relation to the topic at hand.

Next time fix your tone when you need clarification from me or keep your damn reservations to yourself.

#ask shaz #bts ask #jikook #bts #jimin and jungkook #jimin #kookmin #jungkook #minkook #park jimin #jeon jungkook #we don't talk about yoonmin #jikook is real #if jikook isn't real then neither am i #run jikook #jikook theories #jikook theory #jikook bothered #jikook analysis

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whencyclopedia · 3 months

Photo

Henry Knox

Henry Knox (1750-1806) was a Boston-born bookseller who became a general of the Continental Army during the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783) and served as the army's Chief Artillery Officer. After the conflict, he was appointed the first Secretary of War of the United States, serving from 1789 to 1794 in the Washington administration.

Knox first distinguished himself in January 1776, when he guided his 'Noble Artillery Train' of 58 artillery pieces on a harrowing 300-mile trek across the snowy and mountainous terrain of New York State and Massachusetts; this effort helped the Continental Army win one of its first major victories at the Siege of Boston. Henry Knox commanded the Continental artillery for most of the American Revolution and was one of George Washington's most trusted subordinates. When Washington became President of the United States in 1789, Henry Knox was put in charge of the War Department. In this capacity, he sought to strengthen the military and helped create the Legion of the United States, a standing army of professional soldiers, while simultaneously overseeing the Northwest Indian War. In 1795, he retired to his estate in Thomaston, Maine, where he died in October 1806, at the age of 56. Today, many American towns, cities, counties, and military bases are named in his honor, including Knoxville, Tennessee, and Fort Knox in Kentucky.

Early Life

Henry Knox was born on 25 July 1750 in Boston, Massachusetts. He was the seventh of ten children born to William Knox and Mary Campbell, both of whom were Scotch-Irish Presbyterians who had emigrated to Boston in 1729. William Knox was a shipbuilder who, in 1759, was spurred on by financial troubles to abandon his family and move to Sint Eustatius in the West Indies to start a new life; his new life would not last long, however, as he died three years later of unknown causes. Henry, who was only nine years old when he was abandoned by his father, was now responsible for caring for his mother and younger siblings, and he eventually found a steady job as a clerk in a Boston bookstore.

The shopkeeper, Nicholas Bowes, became something of a father figure to Knox, encouraging the young clerk to take home books from the shop's extensive library to furnish his self-education. Knox soon became a voracious reader; with the help of the books in Bowes' shop, he educated himself in the topics of philosophy, mathematics, and even French, and spent his free time reading the works of classical literature. Yet Knox also took a special interest in military theory, reading everything he could get his hands on about tactics and military engineering. When he came of age in 1771, Knox opened a bookstore of his own called the London Book Store, which boasted a "large and very elegant assortment" of the newest books and magazines from London (McCullough, 58). Since Henry Knox's store offered a large selection of fashionable English products, it soon became a popular "morning lounge" for the Boston elite; the store, and Knox himself, soon became well-known throughout the city.

#History #HenryKnox #AmericanRevolution #FortKnox

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ihni · 2 years

Text

Wanna stay for (a microwave) dinner?

For Billy's Birthday Bonanza (@harringroveweek) day 3, prompt "Microwave Dinner" and "18 years old" (+ the set daily wordcount of 1234 words)

(Read on AO3)

~~~

Steve swore under his breath as he lugged the heavy box up three flights of stairs. When he got to the top he found himself outside a wooden door, and as his hands were full he kicked at it with his shoe instead of knocking.

It swung open, and revealed Billy Hargrove. A dirty, sweaty Billy Hargrove who had … was that cobwebs in his hair?

“Delivery for you,” Steve deadpanned and shouldered past him, stepping into the apartment while looking for somewhere he could set down the box. The place was sparsely furnished, to say the least – just a rickety table and three chairs, two of which were laden with boxes. On the table were piles of books and tapes, and a record player with speakers. From where Steve was standing, he could see into a kitchen which – by the look of things – was barely bigger than Steve’s closet at home. What little he could see of the counter was full of groceries and cleaning items.

Steve had just opened his mouth to ask where he could put the box when Billy simply grabbed it from his grip and set it down on the floor right there in the middle of the room. Their fingers briefly touched when Billy took it from him, and Steve discreetly shook his hands out to get rid of the sudden tingles. Billy, his back to Steve, immediately sunk to his knees and started opening the box. When he got it open, his face split in a grin.

“This is perfect, Harrington, thanks.” He picked up the microwave oven that had been in the box and carried it over to the small island of furniture in the middle of the room, setting it down on the only unoccupied chair and taking a step back to admire it. “How much do I owe you?”

Steve’s parents had been remodeling the kitchen, and the new microwave they’d put in had cost around 300 dollars. When Steve had mentioned the remodeling to the Party, Max had said that her brother was moving out and that he was surely in need of a few things if the Harrington’s wanted to get rid of some stuff. Steve had planned on charging around 100 bucks for this thing – it was a few years old and he hadn’t cleaned it before packing it up, but it was in working condition and he did drive all the way here and carried it to Billy’s doorstep …

But now, glancing around the barren apartment – with its too low ceiling and peeling wallpaper – he found that he didn’t have the heart to charge that much. It looked like Billy would need his money for other things.

Like a couch, or a functioning ceiling lamp.

So, “Thirty bucks,” Steve said, trying to sound casual about it.

Billy narrowed his eyes at him. “Max said a hundred.”

“That’s what it cost new,” Steve lied and changed the topic. “Why do you need a microwave anyway?”

“Because I like my food warm,” Billy said. When Steve leveled him with an unimpressed look, his face split in a grin and he added, “And because this place is a shithole, and the stove doesn’t work.”

Looking at the boxes that were stacked along one wall, Steve asked, “Did you move in recently, or …?”

“Today!” was the reply. “The previous tenant didn’t clean it before moving out, but that gave me a discount on the first month’s rent, so …” Billy walked to the kitchen and waited until Steve had followed before he motioned to the kitchen cupboards, which were all open and in various stages of being cleaned-out.

Well, that explained the cobwebs at least.

“Cool,” Steve said, without meaning it. Like Billy had said, this place was a shithole. Steve wasn’t about to repeat it, though; Billy obviously knew it already, and didn’t seem to care.

“So, uh,” Billy started, shrugging at the random groceries on the counter. “I’d offer you a drink but I literally turned the refrigerator on half an hour ago, so nothing's cold yet. And as for snacks …” He dragged a hand through his hair, messing it up even worse than before. “I’ve only had time to get the basics so far, but … I have cereal, or …?” He made a face as if he regretted speaking before the whole sentence was out of his mouth, but didn’t take it back.

Steve looked closer at the groceries. Cereal, various canned goods, crackers. Bread, pasta and rice. A bag of flour. Eggs.

Just when Steve was about to say a polite ‘thanks but no thanks’ and ‘I should get going’, he spotted something else. Taped to the fridge was a colorful card, with a dog on a surfboard, proclaiming ‘Happy 18th birthday dude!’ The card stood out in that it looked like it was the only unpacked thing in the apartment that wasn't a necessity.

Steve couldn’t help himself. “Eighteen, huh? Recently?” He hadn’t thought about it, but he’d figured that Billy had been eighteen for a while, what with him showing up to school with a tattoo and all.

Billy smiled again, wide and happy. “As of today, pretty boy!”

“Today?” Steve parroted. He looked around the little kitchen, then out in the small living room. He would have thought that Billy Hargrove would celebrate his 18th birthday loudly and obnoxiously, at a party somewhere where everyone got shitfaced and chanted his name. “And … this is how you celebrate?” Unsaid: in a shitty apartment, in a run-down building, in the bad part of town; cleaning a kitchen.

He looked at the groceries again. “Dude, have you even had dinner?”

“Not yet,” Billy answered. “I was gonna go to the store and splurge on a microwave dinner, but I kinda needed the microwave first, and the freezer wasn’t cold enough yet anyway.”

‘Splurge’. Yeah, no. While Steve and Billy weren't exactly friends, they hadn’t really been enemies since Billy apologized before Christmas break, either. So this simply wouldn’t do. Steve would not stand for it.

So, “Stay here,” he said and stalked out of the kitchen. Before he went out the front door, he added, “I’ll be right back.”

And he was. Twenty minutes or so later, he was back at Billy’s door, carrying two bags of groceries of his own. Billy had put his own food away, leaving the counter free for Steve to unload on. Without a word, he stacked up six frozen microwave dinners on the counter, next to four frozen pizzas (which were, apparently, microwavable), a six-pack of beer and two bags of chips. Billy was watching him suspiciously, until Steve brought up his last item from the bag; a mushy chocolate cake in a plastic container.

It was a shitty little cake that had been half off because the expiration date was tomorrow, but it had been the only one he could get at the grocery store. Now, he turned to Billy and motioned to the cake (and the food, and the beer) and said, “Uh, happy birthday, I guess.”

The suspicion on Billy’s face slowly melted away, and was replaced by something else. Something warmer. He reached out for the top two boxes of microwave dinners.

“I guess I should make sure the microwave works,” he said. “Customer satisfaction and all that.”

“You probably should, yeah.”

Billy was smiling now. “Wanna stay for dinner, Harrington?”

#harringroveweek #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ihni writes

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henry-adderley · 1 month

Text

Dr. Henry Adderley is a general practitioner from England. He is a specialist in his profession, and therefore his services are in demand. One day, he is lucky enough to go to America for work, but when he is ready to agree to the initial conditions, they are suddenly changed. His new acquaintance offers him another opportunity to show himself and do a lot of useful things for people. What will Henry's kindness turn out to be?

This is a story about inevitability. Each person is initially destined for their own fate, which they cannot change.

Delay the inevitable? Yes.

Prevent it? No.

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Rock of Destiny, Part 1

August 19, 20...year

I am Henry Adderley, an English doctor. In two days I am flying to North America, where I will stay for a couple of weeks. The trip there will be long, because the plane ride will take more than seven hours. I started keeping a diary so that I could later tell everything in detail to my dear Lucille, who would remain in England and would be waiting for me at home. I live with my sister because I haven’t found a wife. My profession leaves almost no time for myself and my family; not every woman will agree to endure this for the rest of her life. And even after thirty years, work takes first place. Well, I'm going off topic. Just two days and I will leave this house. After so many years I could have gotten used to it, but every time I worry like the first time that nothing bad happens in my absence. I'm sure Lucille will cope without me. She may no longer be a little sister who needs to be taken care of, but I still worry about her just as much.

It is now a dark and gloomy night outside. The eyes close. Of course, I need to get some sleep before a long journey, but insomnia has been tormenting me for several years now. I know that this won’t lead to anything good, but I can’t force myself again, in almost pitch darkness, mindlessly looking at a slightly shabby wooden wall, in a vain attempt to sleep, I can’t and absolutely don’t want to. My sister will be angry again if she suddenly wakes up and realizes that I’m not sleeping, but that’s okay, she’ll quarrel a little and calm down, as always.

The black round lamp on my desk flickered, plunging the room into darkness for a second. I tiredly rubbed the bridge of my nose, took off my glasses, carefully placed them on the table and turned off the yellow light, which was unpleasant for my tired eyes. The small space of my modestly furnished room was now illuminated only by rare glimpses of lights coming from cars passing by the house and lonely lanterns standing by the road, which sadly bowed their “heads” over the roadway, creating an even more dull atmosphere and completely spoiling my mood. With the saddest and most depressing thoughts, I still forced myself to get up from the table - while the old chair creaked unpleasantly, cutting through the cozy silence of the night - and lie down on the soft bed, lowering my head on the pillow. To my surprise, I almost immediately felt myself falling into sleep. Apparently, keeping a diary did me good, and specifically, it helped me sort out my thoughts and calm my agitated mind.

21 August.

All things are collected in a suitcase, which stands motionless by the door in the hallway and waits until I deign to leave my room, say goodbye to Lucille, take it and leave for the airport. Maybe I’m unnecessarily annoying myself with empty speculation, but I’m gnawed at from the inside by a very, very bad feeling. I'll come back to the diary later when I have some free time.

So, I took in more air into my lungs, trying to calm down, and still left the room. Lucille was already humbly waiting for me on the porch, smiling sweetly. As I approached, she threw my favorite brown coat, which I have been wearing for years, over my shoulders. I kissed her on the cheek, took a heavy black suitcase and got into the car. I’m lucky that I live close enough that I can get to the airport in about ten minutes by taxi.

I boarded the plane exactly at the appointed time, took my seat by the window, behind which it was beginning to get dark, took off my heavy coat, because it was warm in the cabin without it, and put my suitcase at my feet, and then took out a book from it. It was “A Study in Scarlet” by Arthur Conan Doyle, which I re-read over and over again, sincerely enjoying the exciting plot. Immersed in my favorite story, I did not immediately notice that a young couple sat down next to me. The girl looked about twenty-five years old, and her boyfriend was about thirty, it seemed to me. They were excitedly discussing something, if I understood correctly, they were talking about the upcoming wedding. Her voice was slightly squealing, unlike her partner’s, from which I concluded that the girl was much more worried about this than her future husband. I involuntarily smiled at her cheerful behavior, she looked very happy. The thought occurred to me that maybe everything wasn’t so bad and I was worrying in vain? But as soon as I relaxed and put the book down, the plane made a sharp maneuver to the side, and a glass bottle with a dark brown liquid, which a minute earlier the man had placed on the table, overturned right onto my coat, which lay peacefully on my lap. My fellow travelers instantly fell silent, the girl covered her mouth with her hands in fear. I sighed. Well, of course, everything couldn’t go without incident! I slowly got up from my seat and, without saying a word to them, went to the restroom. The stain was quite large, but I decided that I still had a lot of time and I could wash it off. By the way, I spent at least half an hour on this activity, and when I returned to my seat, I had to listen to numerous apologies from my fellow traveler. Of course, I am very grateful to her for the attention she received, but I was not in the mood at all, so I calmly assured her that nothing bad had happened and that I was not angry with them at all. I didn’t hear a word from the man.

I slept for the last hour of the flight, holding my almost dry raincoat to the glass.

August 22.

Now that I have the opportunity to continue, I will write down how this day went. New York greeted me with the noise of passing cars and the beauty of high-rise buildings. Every coffee shop exuded coziness. Lively streets, people scurrying everywhere. This is a city of hustle and bustle. It charmed with its unique atmosphere: it managed to delight with its grandeur, beauty and at the same time surprise with the comfort of stay, the kindness of the locals. Yes, the society here turned out to be very diverse, but the hospitality of all the people was a pleasant surprise. In a couple of hours I checked into the hotel and walked around the neighborhood. Well, as neighborhoods... I managed to make the acquaintance of a pretty nice girl while I was buying coffee. I decided that from now on I would only come here, because Emma turned out to be a good conversationalist and an excellent barista, and the cafe where she worked was located not far from the hotel where I checked in. My favorite latte macchiato was as amazing as always. I walked aimlessly along one of the alleys. Frankly, the row of trees and clean paths make a good impression. I think I should definitely go back there again. I even envy a little people who can afford to walk there with their dogs every day. Watching these cute and frisky animals run is a real pleasure! Having already gotten up from the bench to go further, I suddenly felt a light touch on my shoulder and turned around. Blue eyes, hair with a reddish tint. We froze opposite each other, not believing our eyes. I did not expect to meet him here...

— Henry! How I felt it was you! We haven't seen each other since graduation!

I remembered that Matt was always very emotional, so I was not surprised that he was all glowing with joy. I patted him on the back, greeting him, and smiled too. After all, we were friends. Our friendship was cooled by seven years of separation. He left London then, we rarely wrote to each other, and both were more concerned with their careers than maintaining communication. I didn’t know who he had become in the end, and this was a good opportunity to ask interesting questions.

— Nice to meet you. Do you live here or are you just stopping by for work?

Matt’s face changed a little, apparently he didn’t expect me to start with this, but he answered simply and clearly:

— I do. England with its frequent rains seemed too gray to me.

I generally agreed with him, but I still wasn’t going to move. London reminded me of my childhood, when my parents were still alive, and I played football with the neighborhood kids.

— You’re passing through, right? — Matt asks to keep the conversation going.

I nod:

— Work. By the way, would you like to walk me home? This is my first day here, I haven't had a chance to see the city yet.

He agrees, somewhat confused, and I give him the address.

The asphalt under my feet seems unusually clean for a big city. Not yet withered, recently mown bright green grass grows along the edges and goes somewhere deep into the park. A silence hangs between me and my friend, which, unfortunately, I can't call comfortable, but it doesn't bother me either. Matt seemed to have gotten into the atmosphere of this place and didn't mind my prolonged silence. Beginning to realize my unreasonable coldness towards him, I find myself momentarily seized by the desire to maintain communication with this person close to me, but this mood is quickly knocked down by the understanding that over so many years we have both changed. Me for sure. He — maybe.

— I have had a different phone number for several years now. Maybe you can write it down? — Matt suggests, and I don’t refuse. — I’ll wait for you to tell me later what kind of job you have.

He smiles so sincerely and radiantly, like in the old days, and I even feel sad that we haven’t talked for so long. How I’ve missed him.

The main building of the central hospital greets me with coolness from the fans and bright lighting. The girl at the reception shows me the way, after I explain who I need to see.

Mr. Hill is a man of average height with short brown hair and a forced smile. When talking, he actively gestures with his hands and often raises his voice to a screech. This man is responsible for my stay here. I can’t call him a boss, because I work for myself, but he is responsible for my accommodation and arrangements. So to speak, one word from him — and almost all roads are open to me. This is certainly useful, but I am not thrilled with his company. Our conversation quickly gets down to business. My presence here is necessary because there is a war going on, which has sent most of the citizens to the front, including professional doctors. Due to the shortage of people, I will have a busy schedule, but this is compensated by a decent salary and the fact that there is no need to pay for a hotel rented for me, it is not my concern. Mr. Hill is listing some of the clients who want to see me, mainly those with serious mechanical injuries requiring surgical intervention, when his speech is interrupted by a phone call. His face twists in disgust when he hears what his interlocutor is saying.

— Reschedule the meeting with her. Say anything, just to make her go away! - there are hysterical notes in his voice, - No, now is not the right time, I'm busy, very busy. The one who came to us... But... — his eyes widen, and his expression becomes like a pitiful one. — Got it.

He hangs up the call and slams the phone down on the glass table. Without explaining the scene that I involuntarily witnessed, Mr. Hill abruptly and unexpectedly changes the subject:

— Nelson will be glad to see you in this same office tomorrow at one o'clock. Something has changed, - he sighs. — He will tell you himself. That's all.

I politely say goodbye, surprised by this turn of events, and leave the office. Well, I think the above-mentioned person should give me the answers to my questions.

August 23.

It was unusual to wake up without an alarm clock on a weekday. The thin curtains easily let in the sunlight, while the noise from the cars penetrated even through the closed windows. This day promises a lot. The wristwatch showed almost exactly eleven o'clock. Two hours to spare... Not bad. Coffee first, I decided. A few minutes on the road and I was already making an order, then smilingly discussing the news with Emma.

— Can you imagine, — she exclaims enthusiastically, waving her hands. — And I got into the university I’ve been dreaming about since school!

— Congratulations! — I smile, sincerely happy for her, but find it a surprise for me that she’s still studying.

— What’s wrong?— Emma asks in bewilderment, and her outstretched hands with coffee and a packaged donut freeze in front of me.

Is my surprise that obvious?

— So you’re still studying…

— Well, yes, — she smiles as if there was a small, silly child in front of her, and I really feel like one.

— You look just like an adult, — I answer quietly, switching my attention to the cup and bag clutched in her fingers.

— I’ll take that as a compliment.

I nod, take my order and leave the cafe. The next destination is a bench in that very park. I was going to have breakfast in a quiet atmosphere.

Closer to the appointed time, I approach the right office and decide to just wait the remaining ten minutes, but almost immediately the door opens and a man of about fifty looks out of the doorway.

— I saw you through the window, — he smiles good-naturedly and gestures for me to come in. — Thank you for your visit.

— Nice to meet you too, mister…

I sit down on a soft armchair. He places a chair not far from me and sits down, crossing his legs.

— You can just call me Nelson. I can call you by your first name, right? - asks the new acquaintance and after my consent he immediately becomes more serious, — Circumstances have changed a little, Henry. You must know what is happening in the world. Things are not easy for all of us now, and troubles continue to pour out like from a cornucopia. I hope you will not be offended by this turn of events, but you are needed outside the city, in one of the nearby villages. The journey will take several hours, it is a remote area, but there is a sparse population. God-forsaken place... — he throws a somewhat sympathetic glance at me. — Of course, I have no right to force you, but you seem to me a kind person and not spoiled by fame.

— What prompted such thoughts? — I ask, catching on to the last sentence.

A smile spreads across his face again, but this time I can’t interpret it in any way.

— Anyone else would thank me and would undoubtedly confirm these words for their own benefit. Henry, — Nelson continues, returning to the point. — I need your help. I could find someone else, but something tells me that you will not refuse due to your sweet nature.

I was confused by his confidence, because it is impossible to fully understand a person when you are in the same room with him for ten minutes at most, but this time I did not try to refute anything. Perhaps he is bluffing to get what he wants, but his whole honest, open image, the small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, his sincere smile and the barely noticeable gray hair at his temples inspire confidence. I guess I can compare this man to an old wolf, who may have been clever and scary before, but is now tired of his past, has taken up his usual routine, and instead of hunting rabbits, gives them tours of his domain.

— What do you say? — his voice suddenly sounds very close, and I discover with shame that I missed everything he told me.

Nelson, I am sure, noticed this, but did not show any negative emotions, still smiling at me as if I were his friend, and began again:

— I have not yet told you why exactly you are needed there. It is clear that you will simply be a doctor, but there is something else. I have already said that we are going through difficult times. Before you, one of the servants of the law worked in that village, but then he resigned. It seems for family reasons. I decided to take you myself because I need to meet him. His name will not mean anything to you, and you will meet later. He was in charge of the case there until he gave it all up. You know, — he prolonged the pause, apparently unintentionally. — I would like you to know what I am dragging you into. Just listen. I decided not to interrupt, concentrating on the words.

— This is serious. Something happened; I don’t know all the details, because I haven’t seen anything myself yet. People started disappearing. Lots of victims. The authorities blame it on wild animals, but this explanation never had a chance of being true. I have a personal request for you, Henry.

He moves his chair closer to me and instantly becomes serious.

— I ask you to find a man named Narell and find out from him what’s going on. Because something tells me he’ll send me away as soon as I approach.

— Is this someone you know?

— A former friend.

I nod understandingly.

— Thank you. You will be very helpful. Well, I think that's all for now. You don't have to worry about the payment, the amount will suit everyone, we can discuss it later over the phone. Please forgive me, but there is a meeting in five minutes and I can't miss it.

He pats me on the shoulder a couple of times, we say goodbye, and I leave, left, I must admit, under the impression.

The rest of the day passes as calmly as possible. In the evening, as agreed, I called Nelson. An amazing and unusually pleasant person. Despite the occasional sly notes, he speaks directly and clearly, immediately devoting himself to all the details and explaining where questions may arise. We agree on the same time as today. All that remains for me to do is repack my things in bags and mentally prepare myself for another trip.

August 24.

It's time to say goodbye to the comfortable hotel. Well, I agreed myself. Yesterday I bought everything I needed, walking around a couple of local stores. I don't know how long I'll stay like this. According to the contract, I have 14 days. Not that long, and it's not known how long I'll be stuck in that wilderness. Maybe I'll even like it. Nature, after all.

We met Nelson again at a less businesslike stop in that cafe.

— It's nice to know that someone shares my taste preferences, — he told me when we almost accidentally bumped into each other.

— I'm glad to see you too, — I admitted honestly, even encouraged by such a meeting.

— We're on first-name terms, Henry.

There was still half an hour left before the appointed time, but that didn't bother either of us.

— I decided to come here to have a cup of coffee before you arrived, but you're no slouch either, you surprised me, — Nelson stirred the sugar evenly, not taking his eyes off me.

— Is it surprising that I also like coffee?

— I dared to assume that you liked tea better. I even thought it was green. I'm usually not wrong.

My eyebrows rose, and a slight smile played on my lips.

— Everyone loses sometimes, — I had to hide my chuckle behind a paper cup, taking a sip.

— Got you. I see that the morning has started off well. I hope I didn't ruin your time with my company.

— I don't mind at all, — I responded cheerfully.

— If it's convenient for you, we can leave earlier. By the way, would you mind if we went in my car? I'd also like to see what's going on there.

— As you say. I have my things packed.

— Lots?

— Not very.

— That's good, — he said thoughtfully.

Nelson finished his coffee and threw away his empty cup; I followed his example. We went up to my room together, I took my suitcase, he offered to carry my bag. At the guard station, I handed him the keys and went outside, while Nelson put my bag in the car and waited for me, leaning against his Volkswagen Passat and twirling the keys between his fingers, on which hung a metal keychain in the shape of... a star? Well, that's funny.

As I had already understood, he was not averse to showing off sometimes, so he watched my reaction to his car with a smug smile. And his choice of clothes spoke only the best for him. Not devoid of boastfulness, but moderately proud, Nelson was confident and knew his own worth. My respect.

— Have a good trip! — he said with a smile when I also settled into the seats. — Do you have any preferences in music?

— No.

— I'll take you at your word. Then don't complain if you don't like something.

The songs on the radio were playing randomly. I looked out the window and didn't really remember where we were going. Maybe I should have. For a long time, the apartment buildings gave way to smaller houses; then they disappeared altogether - they were replaced by trees, bushes, and signs warning about moose. About halfway there, I fell asleep, leaning against the glass. Through my sleep, I heard Nelson turn down the music.

He woke me up when we arrived. Opening my eyes, I didn't immediately realize where I was. This place didn't look much like the promised village. Tall grass, not a soul around.

— Let's go further, we won't be able to drive through, — Nelson explained.

Not knowing anything about this area, I obediently followed him along a slightly overgrown, unpaved road. Soon we came to a clearing where several two-story houses were visible. Nelson walked confidently behind them along a barely noticeable path, so much so that I could barely keep up with him.

— Where are we going? — I asked, noticing that we were moving further and further away from the original place.

— Remember, I was talking about one person?

Soon we came to a hill, where a fire was lit in the clearing ahead, and a little further by the water there was a tall man, and, as far as I understood, he was fishing. Nelson pushed me in the back, and I went down to the water. But before I could even say hello, Narell himself began the conversation:

— Are you the doctor who voluntarily, out of the kindness of his heart, — he grinned. — Decided to come to this backwater?

— That’s right, — I was a little taken aback by such straightforwardness.

— Welcome, — undiluted sarcasm.

The man didn’t even turn in my direction — he was so sure of his rightness. And then he turned to Nelson, who instantly tensed up:

— And why did you bring him to me?

— You’ll die here completely if I sit here with my hands folded.

— Why do I need him, I ask?

Narell finally turned around and looked at me as if I was the cause of all his troubles.

— I have everything under control and I don’t want anyone else poking their nose into our affairs.

That was pretty rude.

— I understand why you react to me like that, but I doubt that you have “everything under control”, because you definitely don’t! A lot has happened here in the last month, especially bad things, and I, like Mr. Nelson, cannot ignore it, — I said firmly.

— Are you a doctor or an investigator? Your job is to treat people, I’ll take care of the rest.

Narell sighed and continued, not taking his eyes off me:

— Since I can’t send you both away, tomorrow we’ll need to go to the victims. Any other questions?

— If you can handle everything yourself, as you’re trying to convince us, then why can’t you solve this problem too?

— Shut your mouth.

I was taken aback for a second by this, and even Nelson didn’t interfere, although he was clearly unhappy with how the conversation went.

— I’m afraid to ask, — I began carefully, but was interrupted.

— Then don’t ask, doctor, — he emphasized the last word with his voice, as if indicating my place.

Not intending to tolerate this, I left this place without saying another word to him. I don’t know where exactly I was going, I didn’t even turn around when Nelson called out. Tomorrow after lunch. Okay. Let it be as he says. I’ll finish this and never see him again.

Later Nelson found me by the car. He apologized for what happened, helped me move my things to my new place of residence and left.

It’s getting on with the evening. Now I’m in what I must admit is a rather cozy house in the middle of the forest. In this place, each building is separated from the others by at least one hundred and fifty meters. The house that was given to me includes one room and a fairly spacious kitchen. Fortunately, it was very clean and dry inside, with the exception of the stairs to the second floor, which, like the steps at the threshold of the house, were a little rotten, and moss was visible on the walls at the back of the house. Otherwise, I have nothing to complain about. The nature here was, as I had imagined, magnificent. To begin with, I strolled out of the house and sat down on a bench worn by time. It seemed to have scratches from someone's claws on it. Probably the previous owners had a dog or some other animal. Tearing myself away from the boring examination of the wood, I looked up at the view that opened up to me. I am not exaggerating at all when I say that the flora here is charming. Broadleaf trees of a rich green color grew along the entire perimeter. At almost any time of the day you could hear the singing of birds, of which there were many different species in the area. Before dark, I managed to walk around the vast territory to unwind, and this helped a lot.

August 25.

The wall clock showed 04:16. The phone lay alone on the wooden nightstand by the bed.

I tiredly rubbed my eyes with my hand. Usually I used a flashlight so as not to make my way around the house in the evening by touch, trying not to bump into anything. I didn’t want to turn on the light. The instant coffee in the mug with a funny white cat had long since cooled down and now stood sadly, completely forgotten by me. For the last ten minutes, the book lying on my lap remained motionless. I stubbornly tried to read the text on the page that was in front of my eyes, but my brain simply refused to perceive the information, constantly returning my thoughts to that dialogue. The fact that something was fishy here was clear even without my guesses and conjectures. I took a deep breath, calming down. The main thing for me now is not to lose face in front of Narell, so I must be unperturbed and, as he said, do my job well. And I will deal with the rest without his knowledge and control. And what could he do to me? Really, and what was I afraid of? I need to rest until about ten o'clock so as not to look too bad. I returned to the second floor, leaving everything as it was. The penultimate step creaked ominously, which sent a chill down my spine and I hurried to hide in the room. It was eleven o'clock when I opened my eyes again and immediately screwed them up from the bright light that was pouring in a continuous stream from the window. I overslept a little, but nothing terrible. Getting up from the soft bed, I felt a pleasant lightness in my whole body, which I hadn't felt for a long time. I slept well! Great news. I think the day promises to be good. After water procedures, I got dressed and went down to the kitchen. In a couple of sips, I finished the bitter coffee, because it was a pity to spill it, and quickly prepared hot sandwiches with sausage and egg.

In fact, I had just finished my meal, turned off the gas stove and washed the dishes when my guest appeared on the path leading out of the village. He greeted me dryly and shook my hand. I noted to myself that he spoke calmly and clearly, and that his voice was deep and a little hoarse. Now that I had the chance to meet him face to face in a calm environment, I can say that he was very attractive in appearance for his age. A man of about thirty-seven with dark, straight, shoulder-length hair that was very tangled in some places, dressed in a simple white shirt, the first three buttons of which were casually unbuttoned, and loose black trousers. If I were to describe his face, it is worth noting that he had dark green eyes, a nose with a slight hump and thin lips that had never stretched into a smile in my presence. His hands were rough, from which I concluded that he often did hard work. Perhaps he has a family here that he is worried about. This picture made my chest warm. Maybe I was wrong to slander him, and Narell is not so bad. But with his next phrase he dashed all my hopes for friendship with him:

— Stop smiling, it looks terrible! — he said with feigned disgust.

An intolerable person, and a rude one at that. Apparently, my thoughts were clearly reflected on my face, because then Narell condescendingly patted me on the shoulder and told me not to sulk.

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