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yanderedbh-moved · 4 years

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The Yanderes As Horror Movie Villains

Slasher-thirst Tumblr is a wild place, but I would like to thank it personally for helping to inspire this post. I realize these are all debatable, but I hope I provided adequate enough arguments to explain everyone’s placement, please enjoy!

Connor: Buffalo Bill (Silence of the Lambs)

At a cursory glance of the two, one might come to the conclusion this is a man who follows the rules, one who appears just as normal and well-adapted as any other. However, bind closed doors; in private, it is only then that they would show there is much more to them than meets the eye.

Bill is described as “He wasn’t born a killer, he was made one.” This reflects the way Connor may have been created to serve a purely functional purpose for the benefit of humans through the events of his life, as well as through his own choices, he becomes something of his own making. He becomes an individual as a result of his own free will.

As a yandere, Connor would likely experience intense frustrations over being created as an android, and he couldn’t help but act out on these frustrations, maybe even taking some of this out on you. He wants to be what he fundamentally isn’t, and it kills him.

Markus: Micheal Myers (Halloween)

While there may be a bit of hesitance for Markus to decide which path he desires to pursue. (Be that pacifism or violence.) Once he has made up his mind, he will follow through without hesitation or a second thought. Quite similar to the way Micheal devotes his life to stalking his sister and completing his “unfinished business.”

While not precisely as bloodthirsty or ruthless as some of the other killers present, Micheal is far from squeamish and is just as capable of ending the life of his victims, or really any who get in his way as any other. And given a choice, Markus is equally competent in this regard.

As a yandere, Markus would really personify Meyer's chilling stalker side. He can easily play with you without making himself visible, maybe even without you noticing anything at all at first. He’s a tricky one to figure out, and even if you do think you understand him, it’s all the more difficult to convince others to see him as dangerous as you do.

Kara: Norman Bates (Psycho)

While she may initially pride herself on her ability to look after those under her care, God only knows what she’s capable of, should one cross her, or try to challenge her by hurting those she’s close to.

It’s practically within both of their DNA to latch onto what provides them with love. She wants above all things to keep those she loves safe, to never abandon them, or in other words, to never let them get away.

The two of them share a demeanor, which would suggest they are far weaker than they actually are. Norman acts particularly secretive and shifty around strangers, and Kara will generally function with her cards close to her chest, never really proving just how strong she is without a good reason to do so.

Hank: Freddy Kruger (A Nightmare on Elm Street)

This is a little tricky to explain, but if you view the events which play out in their story as a timeline, there is a massive connection between the two. At the start of their roles in the story, they worked hard to maintain (and even uplift) a positive reputation, however, due to one dramatic change. For Freddy, it’s the discovery of what he’d done to the children of the town, and for Hank, the loss of his son. Which change their lives and reputation forever. For Freddy, this results in the city burning him alive, and for Hank, this leads to a downward spiral of alcoholism, among other self-destructive habits.

Additionally, there’s a common theme of escapism, which connects the two. The way Freddy waits until his victims are asleep, and he has the chance to kill them in their sleep, while Hank’s life is changed by his reliance on alcohol to escape the tragedy of life, and to avoid his own feelings.

Once he eventually does find his passions again, though, be it falling in love with you or managing to re-discover his enthusiasm for his job Hank will peruse these with enthusiasm and passion equal to Freddy’s.

Luther: Pinhead (Hellraiser)

Even though Luther doesn’t hold onto his initially created purpose for long in the game, that doesn’t change the fact the two of them were designed to cause harm and evil. Though admittedly through very different paths, and scales.

Both are far more intelligent than they would likely admit. It’s interesting to note Luther knew how to handle himself well enough while in his master’s home so as not to fall victim to Zlatko’s sadism, but was also competent enough to know when he had a viable means of escape.

When it comes to getting his revenge on his master for the cruelty he caused, Luther doesn’t actually need to use violence to punish Zlatko. Leaving others to handle bringing him to justice, similarly to how Pinhead doesn’t need to use force as a way to intimidate or scare his victims.

North: Damien Thorn (The Omen)

There’s a theme that connects the two. However, this yields vastly different results for each character, respectively. The two fail to really understand their own strength, though, for Damien, this is on account of him undermining his abilities. While for North, this leads to her failure to be a proper leader for Jericho.

Deep down, as a yandere, North wouldn’t actually want to hurt you or give you any reason to fear or resent her. However, she just fails to understand humans in a fundamental way, which results in her accidentally bringing you harm again and again without learning her lesson.

She doesn’t really entirely seem to grasp or take accountability for the way her recklessness and impulsiveness will put others in danger. (The way a violent route can end with Markus getting shot and losing his life.) There’s no way she saw this coming, and only did what she did because she believed the ends would justify the means.

Simon: Rose Armitage (Get Out)

Say what you will about the way Rose betrays Chris at the end of the movie, from the very start she knows precisely where her true loyalties lay, and to the end, she does not compromise this.

Like many of the other androids fighting at Jericho, Simon wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice as a fighter. However, he is willing to prove, through either dying or surviving, he is far more capable than others saw him as. Rose definitely undergoes a change of her own and is far from the person the audience thought her to be at the start of the movie.

While in many ways, Simon would be the type to downplay his own voice and opinions in the name of preserving an overall peace, when it comes to what he has to say in regards to the more significant whole conflict, only then will he say how he really feels.

Josh: Carrie White (Carrie)

There’s a kind of bittersweet parallel which connects the two of them. That being, neither of them would intentionally go out of their way to hurt anyone, Josh, in fact, using most of his screen time to convince Markus from making violent decisions. Yet still, Carrie is eternally remembered for the deaths of her classmates, which died at her hands, and if Markus chooses to peruse violence, as an android, Josh will be remembered for his leader’s cruelty.

Likewise, as a yandere, Josh would hate to cause his love any kind of harm, or even really scare you too much, yet all the same, when pushed to his breaking point, he is just as willing and capable of inflicting pain as any other.

Many would say because of this, then deep down, they really always were this cruel and violent to their core. This is entirely false, however. Deep down, Josh wants nothing more than a happy and willing partner, one who desires to provide him with the love he would give you.

Kamski: Patrick Bateman (American Psycho)

While his innovation and ambition would do well for him in terms of his career, it’s not all it would result in. Many who work closely with Kamski would take discomfort with his icy, stony outer shell, and would at the least distrust him, and at most, detest him.

The two share incredibly high standards both for themselves, as well as for those around them. Kamski will always be remembered for his “test” he forced Connor to complete, and it’s far from a stretch to imagine he would try to force you to undergo some kind of similar test to prove your loyalty to him.

And of course, this is not even to mention their obsession with their own self-image and unclockable narcissism. Elijah’s pension for self-isolation likely a result of the way he feels too caught up with himself to bother sharing company with another; he deems “unworthy.”

Chloe: Jennifer (Jennifer's Body)

She was programmed to be a companion and a servant first and foremost. She was designed to be something which completed another, with any care for her own well being or inner desires left as an afterthought.

As a yandere, it’s interesting to imagine her using this to her own benefit. As in, she would use her own charm and good looks to convince you she means no harm, and after all, how could someone who appears so innocent be up to no good?

Jennifer, as a villain, uses her own good looks and charisma to ensnare her victims, and you can bet Chloe would follow in this lead. She knows how to uses people’s outer perceptions of her against them.

Gavin: Jack Torrance (The Shinning)

There’s not really anything shown of Gavin’s life outside of work, so it’s tricky to gauge what exactly his passions are, however, what is clear is the way once Gavin becomes genuinely passionate about something at work he becomes far more animated and interested in following them through.

In The Shining, Jack balances a deeply nerving combination of both a loving father and husband, and a murderer, and you know as a yandere, Gavin would act eerily similar as well. Just as threatening as he is loving, playing equally as your lover, as well as tormentor.

What is plain to see between the two of them is their absolutely self-serving attitude in regards to themselves, as well as how this extends to others. Gavin doesn’t care who he upsets, or who he steps on to get what he wants, and there’s nothing anyone else to can do about it.

Zlatko: Jigsaw (Saw)

It’s debatable and not precisely well elaborated in the game what it is that motivated Zlatko to be so cruel and evil to androids. However, he does appear interested in testing the limits of what androids are capable of, and what they can endure, persuading a truth Zlatko himself doesn’t quite fully understand. Which in a roundabout way isn’t too far off from Jigsaw.

In his eyes, there is no such thing as a genuinely innocent being, and no one, human or android alike, is free from his pain. This absolutely would extend to you as his lover.

Furthermore, as a yandere, Zlatko would use pain and would continually put you through intense agony as a way to try and chip away at your free will. His end game here would be something like trying to slowly weaken your resolve until you were just as loyal to him as Jigsaw’s followers are to their leader.

Ralph: Annie Wilkes (Misery)

While he may not exactly have Annie’s innocent face, still, Ralph wasn’t programmed to be anything more than a farmer, and because of that, people may not see a real reason to fear him at first.

Unfortunately, he was left traumatized and fundamentally shaken from an attack long ago, which causes his violent mood swings. He can be just as pleasant and happy with you, and he can be cruel and hurtful. Again, even though he may not want to bring you harm, Ralph doesn’t really understand his own actions here and can fall victim to his own anger every now and then.

Additionally, it’s challenging for Ralph to hide any pain or anxiety he feels on the inside, and it’s near impossible for him to stop himself from hurting you during an intense emotional outburst, even if he knows deep down he’ll likely regret this later.

Daniel: The Babadook (The Babadook)

Both of them almost serve as a metaphor for the possible damage which arises from trying to hide your inner pain and feeling from the ones you love. This damage hurting both the host and those around them in the cross-fire.

There is an intense fear Daniel possesses, the fear that if he ever were to be genuinely vulnerable with you or to really show you any of his weakness, then you would just leave him and know how much he relies on you.

A part of him might actually genuinely think it’s for the best to be like this. It’s hard for him to ever really, totally grasp the way his anger and resentment hurts him, and how he doesn’t have any real reason to fear being open with you.

Nines: Hannibal Lector (Silence of the Lambs)

In the single scene, we see of Nines in the game, we know he isn’t there for any kind of a positive reason. He was created to eliminate Connor and send him away fro good. Yet still, as he stands there, Nines is perfectly poised and doesn’t show any kind of outward hostility or malice towards Connor.

His chilling reputation precedes him. Nines is deeply analytical, never failing to notice even the smallest of details, and even if you can’t stand who he is as an individual, it’s easy to see how he earned the position he currently occupies.

As a yandere, he’s all the more analytical and terrifying. Because of that, he wouldn’t feel the need to use any displays of violence to cause you to fear him, and he knows as well as any other the effect he has on you.

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easkyrah · 7 years

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Aeonian AU Series part 1

A Nessian Greek Mythology based fic and a darker twist to this ship. There will be this Aeonian series (Nessian) and an Antiscians series (Elorcan).

“Well, aren’t you a little ray of pitch black?”

Aeonian 1

“Poor Nesta,” Ianthe chided. “No longer a virgin.”

Nesta’s fingers wrapped around her fork, tightly gripping the cold metal.

“No God would want a deflowered woman,” the blond crooned. “Especially one who thinks she knows her place.”

The brown-haired woman stabbed at a piece of salad, and shoved it into her mouth. Chewing slowly on the hard leaves, she quelled the chaotic waves surging within her. She refused to give into her anger—to allow the resurfacing memories of Tomas to have the last hold on her.

“You always talked about not wanting a God.” The other female smiled, sharp as a blade. “I guess Tomas Mandray really did you a favor.”

That was the last straw for Nesta. Yes, no God would want to claim a non-virgin—which was perfectly fine with her, especially after all Feyre had been accounted for, still missing to this day—but for Ianthe to dare—have the audacity to—rub assault in her face, even from the dark times of three years ago—

The eldest Archeron sister twirled the fork in her fingers, staring hard at the dried, yellow leaves and mottled, squished fruit in front of her. It was against the law to attack a priestess, but an even greater sin to murder the village’s Head Priestess.

But no one said anything against accidents.

With a flick of her wrist, Nesta sent the fork flying out her hands and at Ianthe’s right eye.

A perfect execution. A warning that a line had been crossed. A sign that they would never see eye to eye—that Nesta’s gaze would never waver. Unblinking, and unflinching.

A loud gasp escaped from Nesta’s mouth, and she lunged forward, knocking Ianthe to the floor. The High Priestess’s shrill pierced the air, and Nesta moved quickly, digging the edge of the fork deeper, twisting the metal. Even through the metal, she could feel the edges grinding against the root, white and pink liquid swirling.

“I’m so sorry!” Nesta cried. She pretended to feebly shake the hand gripping the fork in Ianthe’s eye and slipped on a mask of horror, climbing on top of the over female so the Priestess could not escape. Nesta’s hair fell across her face, a shadowed curtain—and she allowed Ianthe to see the dark smile cutting across hers face, sharper and deeper than any mortal blade.

For three years, the darkness’ isolation had cultivated into something icier and harsher—a ghost of a phantom whirling within her. She’d shown Ianthe just a pinch.

As the High Priestess shrieked, bodyguards stormed into the diner, clad in plates of metal, faces shadowed by a thick, black masks. Nesta allowed the memories of three years ago to consume her, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Loosening her grip on the fork, she curled into herself, rocking on her heels.

The nearest guard grabbed her elbows and set her roughly onto her feet.

“What the hell happened?” he gruffly ordered, shaking her shoulders.

Ianthe let out a hiss, but Nesta’s contempt was a gaping abyss full of raw will.

The eldest Archeron sister harshly rubbed away stray tears seeping down her cheeks, and forced down the sick smile threatening to erupt across her face. “The High Priestess came out of nowhere—” Nesta hiccuped “—my reflexes spun out of control—”

“Psychopath!” Ianthe screeched. “Chain her! Whip her!”

When the guard reached out for her, Nesta collapsed onto her knees, and laid her palms against the Priestess’s heart. “Forgive me,” she loudly cried. “I meant no malice.”

She leaned in closer to Ianthe’s face, as if she were to kiss her cheeks, the fallen woman sobbing and shuddering. Nesta brushed a finger against the golden-haired woman’s forehead as an almost tender caress, and wrapped her hand around the emblem pinned to Ianthe’s robes. Pressing her lips against the High Priestess’ ear, Nesta whispered, “Now you can see half the darkness I do.”

Ianthe kicked upwards, trembling fingers grasping the hilt of the fork. Nesta rolled off of the blue-robed woman, burying her hands into her pockets and hunching her shoulders—the image of a thoroughly scared woman.

Ianthe’s throat elicited squeaks of gagging and gurgling noises, but her right eye pinned on Nesta’s form. Her mouth pinched, then hissed out, “Put her in an empty cell!”

The guard trapped Nesta’s wrists, tugging her away from the High Priestess. Two more went at her sides, caging her in. Little did they know cornering a wildcat, bred from the savageness only the true seers of society saw, would end in detrimental dysfunction.

Nesta schooled her features into a blank, empty face, struggling within the solid grip. She spared a glance towards the blue-robed woman. “The only cells missing are those in your eye.”

Stepping over the boots and knocking herself forward as she were tripping, Nesta twisted herself out of the guard’s grasp, using the falling momentum to bring him down on his back.

Plates of metal lumbered towards her, and Nesta tore out the the diner, blocking the sounds of Ianthe’s feeble cries of my eye, my eye, my eye over and over again.

Fixing her sleeve, a darker and sharper smile shot over Nesta’s face.

She didn’t even have to pay for that shit excuse of a meal.

II.

Nesta stole through the night and into the forest. Here, the darkness draped over her already black-clad frame. She knew this path at the back of her mind, weaving through thick tree trunks and sailing over high-branched roots. Slowly, the heavy clanging sounds of armor receded from her ears. Nonetheless, Nesta picked up her pace.

Ever since Feyre had been taken three years ago and Tomas had yanked her into a barn, Elain and Nesta had taken refuge in seven villages—this one included. Both Archeron sisters turned into wanderers, fleeing with the wind. Trust was reduced to bread crumbs, and even they could barely afford for the tiniest slice.

What God had taken Feyre—Nesta had no idea, but had her suspicions. It had been any other morning, Nesta serving buttermilk pancakes while Elain had went up to fetch Feyre from the drawing room. Rather than seeing their middle sister painting with her hair twisted up into a messy bun, the stench of alcohol and grapes had permeated the room.

Elain had screamed. Nesta came up running with a knife in her hand.

Feyre’s hunting clothes had been strewn all over the floor, a purplish-green scrap of fabric littering across a canvas. It was as if the their middle sister had given them a warning and a signal that she’d been claimed—by a God.

Nesta knew the rules. When Gods claimed humans, they dressed them in their ornamental colors and symbols. Yet green and purple were common colors, even found among the varying masses of minor Gods.

It was then Nesta banished all hope of desiring to be claimed by a God. She’d once dreamed, among the others, to be one with another force, to see through another set of eyes, and to ascend the mortal limits.

She’d once set apples and pears along the mantle of Athena, the one God she’d revered the most. Three years ago, she’d pray to the God of Wisdom, asking for guidance. Now all she did was pray to the minor Gods of vengeance and fear, demanding divine retribution for those who had wronged her—because it hadn’t just been her who’d been afflicted and twisted.

Nesta had watched Elain spiral into the coldness as well. The youngest Archeron no longer made honeyed offerings to Demeter, the goddess of the Earth. Instead, the roses the youngest Archeron grew turned dark and far more thorny, picking their fingers as if lines of blood served as penance.

It was as if the darkness of the demons had descended upon the Archeron sisters.

No happiness, no protection, no understanding.

A branch snagged the sleeve of her arm, and Nesta hissed. Despite the village’s soldiers pursuing her and having to move to another village, she felt oddly safe and warm, a blanket of false security coating her.

Perhaps it was because she’d stolen the golden emblem from the High Priestess, the coin tucked securely under her sleeve. The price would last them another to journey to another village.

The moon casted swirls of strange colors of white against the darkness and the green of the forest. She slowed to a walk, taking in her surroundings. The branches hunched low, creating scattered, estranged shadows curving in odd shapes. Nesta slowly angled her body and slid through a cluster of vines.

The myths had become reality a long time ago, the Gods deciding to end their supposed boredom in waiting. The beginnings of their reappearance into society was more than often bloody, spurring jealously in both claiming humans rampant and in being desired to be claimed.

Their father had worshiped Hermes, the messenger God, and named the Archeron fortune in his name. Nesta had considered it justice when a business company across the sea had sunk their father’s ship, and had stolen every commodity on board.

Their father had never returned the sail back, his reputation reduced to a merchant following the God of Thieves who saw the end, robbed of life and fortune.

The obsession with the Gods had seen the decline in family values, many children left alone or pitted against each other. Their father had been no exception, travelling to Athens, Greece, in hope of appeasing Hermes.

Death had been his answer.

While Nesta believed it to be foolish to devote a lifetime in praying for Gods, the higher beings indeed chose humans. Those taken under their wing received immortality. It could be eons before Feyre would be brought back to them willingly and unwillingly, and there was a high chance Nesta and Elain would be six feet under in a coffin or reduced to ashes by that time.

It had taken Feyre’s kidnapping for Nesta to realize that being trapped in a powerful body with no regard for lesser creatures and their emotions and past was something she did not want.

So by the fifth village that had been outcasted to, she’d stopped praying and stopped her offerings.

Elain had followed suit.

Both sisters had been shunned from their original village in consequence.

Now that Nesta had harmed Ianthe, it looked like they’d have to move again. Whisperings of rumors and fault had followed the Archeron sisters as they traveled, and it never seemed the words would never cease.

Cursed.

Yet solace stirred within her, and Nesta scowled at the feeling akin to comfort’s cost crawling within her.

Elain would be beyond worried by now. Nesta knocked away the thin branches and ducked under a canopy of large ivies she knew would reveal a large clearing only a couple of meters away from their temporary home. Soon, she’d be running in the veil of the night, holding Elain’s thin hands again.

Her head rammed into steely hardness.

She rubbed her nose and slowly backed up.

Seething, Nesta untucked a dagger hidden under her sleeve, and pushed the wall forward with her other hand.

It didn’t move.

Squinting through the darkness, Nesta realized that streaks of dark, dried red pooled down silver plates, sheer power exuding from the figure.

A soldier.

The amount of blood could only mean a dead man.

But if a soldier was here, then the chances of Elain’s safety was very low. She had to get out of here, quickly and quietly.

Cursing under her breath, she turned around back under the canopy, but a gloved hand with a huge, red jewel pulsating at the center lashed out and captured her wrist.

It was a solid grasp, almost crushing her bones.

This was not the ordinary soldier’s strength. And it was a very much alive man.

She dropped the dagger into her other hand and sliced it vertically towards the hand.

Her blade merely bounced off, falling to the ground.

With a yank, the hand jerked her back against a chest of steel and coldness. Yet Nesta felt warmth pour over every vein and crevice in her body.

The male towered over her, dark, hazel eyes cramming into her own soul, sheer strength emanating from him, broad shoulders with muscles roping around an enormous form.

A purebred, dangerous warrior.

Those piercing orbs raked over her, starting from the bottoms of her torn boots to over her clothes and under the slope of her breasts, up to her collarbone and into her own stormy eyes. Black boots, black pants, black sleeves—and if he looked close enough, he’d see a black painted heart.

A brow flicked up. “Whose funeral?”

Nesta shuddered at the low, husky voice that shot down her spine. She refused to be weak again—the last time she was in a male’s embrace three years ago. She would not be fooled again.

“Get off me,” she hissed instead, and squirmed fruitlessly in his grasp.

His dark inked hair and ruggedly shaven face rang a bell, but Nesta didn’t care, not when Elain had been alone far too alone. The predatory glint in the male’s face heightened memories of three years ago, but her body remained strangely calm and soothed.

“That’s no way to treat a God.”

Nesta realized the blood seeping from the armor was not from the male’s, but a head hanging from the canopy above, a thin river of red raining down.

Nesta arched her own brow. “I’d suggest planning his funeral soon.” She could see the outlines of the dead body strung along vines and branches, gutted and torn apart.

The male shrugged. “If you want to plan a murdering liar’s funeral, then be my guest.” The arm around her waist hitched up to rub circles across her back, almost daring her to string the body back to pieces.

Nesta didn’t find the action disturbing, but rather reassuring. Perhaps he was a minor god in infatuation or magic along those lines. The gaze no longer seemed of predatory possessiveness, but of amused affection.

A dangerous smile appeared on those rough-hewn features, as those seemingly pulsing eyes studied her. “I like women who can handle blood.”

“I like men who can respect boundaries.” Nesta damned her cover and swore if he didn’t let her go, she’d scream—even if it meant drawing the village’s soldiers here.

The male seemed to read her thoughts. “You think humans are match for a God?”

Nesta didn’t reply, and cursed her own traitorous body sinking into the comfort and warmth the male seemed to offer.

He leaned in closer, a hand stroking her hair. “A match for the God of War?”

Nesta’s eyes widened. “You lie.”

It was one thing to meet a demi-God or a minor God, but one of the Twelve Olympians?

“Now why would I lie, sweetheart?” The God leaned down and brushed his mouth against her ear. “Especially to one I want to claim?”

Another last straw for Nesta. She lashed out, but the God easily cupped her knee cap with one hand—just hovering over the V of his hips—and the other hand flattening a palm against her back.

“A cheap shot.” A grin.

Nesta went up on her toes, her hands cupping the God’s cheek. His skin was warm and sent delicious trills down her. The God leaned down as well, his eyes darkening, a low growl erupting from his throat, hands folding around her waist. Just before his lips closed on hers, Nesta’s knee collided with her aim.

It was a pity his armor covered his torso, but the God still doubled over in pain, a foul curse leaving his mouth.

Nesta didn’t wait before she sprinted around the clearing and to the house where Elain was waiting. Running past the locked front door, she hurdled over a bush into the back.

Slipping through the window and into their shared room, Nesta grabbed her bag, stuffing the nearest clothes into the brown material.

A frail figure rose from the tiny bed, and Elain rubbed her eyes. “Nesta?” she whispered, a sigh of relief escaping her chapped lips.

“Pack,” Nesta ordered. “We’ve got to move again.”

Elain immediately hauled herself out of the bed, rapidly opening all the tiny cupboards and sweeping the contents into bags. “What was it this time?”

“Ianthe, soldiers, and a God.” Nesta folded all the blankets and stuffed the pillows.

“The High Priestess?” Elain said, heading to the bathroom. When she emerged, all the toiletries had been zipped into bags and stuffed into a larger sack. “What God?”

A God of War.

One that made her feel alive instead of merely existing.

Instead, Nesta said, “Just a minor one.” She beckoned Elain to head to the kitchen so pack their last rations, the cold air seeping into their skin. She gave the guards about another hour before they found their refuge.

Locking the window shut, Nesta froze when Elain’s scream shattered the air. The oldest Archeron’s blood ran cold, the hair on her arms prickling. Not again, not again, she desperately prayed to anyone listening. She didn’t know what she would become if her another God took her other sister from her.

But that was what he was compared to them.

“Just a minor God?” the God tsked his tongue, staring at Nesta—as if Elain were invisible and as if he could consume Nesta right there and then.

“Get out of my house,” she seethed, and nudged Elain away.

Elain levelled Nesta with a clipped stare. “Really, Nesta? The God of War? Ares?”

Ares.

The name sent shivers down her spine. It made the situation too real, too risky. By no means was this some minor God, as Elain had realized, trembling.

She supposed it was the small mercies—the God allowing Elain to bolt away—that mattered.

An eyebrow cocked towards her. “It’s won’t be your house much longer will it, Nesta?” When she didn’t answer—her veins on fire—he pushed further. “Guards are searching for you and closing in. I smell all sorts of war, and the encounter will not leave either of you—” the God briefly glanced at Elain—“unharmed.”

“What do you want?”

The God rose from the chair, the darkness wavering around him. The red jewels on top of each of his gloves exuded another type of power. A set of dimples winked down on her and those deep, brown eyes stared unfathomably at her. “I want to claim you.”

Nesta swallowed. This was her last defense, her last barrier to remain free: “I’m not a virgin.”

With swiftness beyond reason, the God moved so he was in front of her. He studied her eyes and the pulse along her throat—the fury and the rage in her own eyes and the quicker, beating pulse in memory of three years ago. Seconds passed before his eyes narrowed, and he gutted out, “Who?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You resist my claim, and the guards will be here sooner than you think.”

Nesta shivered. “Then you’re just as bad as him.”

The male who had taken her away three years ago.

The God of War looked down at her, and gently reached out a hand, traced with scars and bruises. When she didn’t bat it away, his knuckles slowly caressed her cheek. “I can help you, sweetheart.”

She’d wasted enough time. “Help is just another word for control.”

“Who hurt you,” the God snarled, the red stones flaring. Lethal dark oozed from them.

A crash sounded from the other side, and Elain meekly peeked up from under the countertop. “I packed all the kitchenware.”

The God of War didn’t spare a glance in the other direction, determinedly staring into her soul—seeing the darkness. “I can help you and your sister. You’ll be safe. You won’t have to run again.”

“At what cost?”

He leaned down so that his forehead touched hers. Warmth shot through her at the contact, and in that moment, she felt safer than she’d even been in his life.

“I claim you,” he murmured, voice dark and dangerous, deep and deadly. “As mine.”

“And if I refuse?”

A glimmer of amusement in those hazel eyes. “I hear cells in this village are quite cold.”

“Threatening a mortal?”

“What can I say, sweetheart?” A cocky, dark grin, honed from insanity and lunacy in the battlefield. “All’s fair in love and war.”

#greek mythology based #acotar #acomaf #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #greek mythology #acotar au #acomaf au #acowar

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