#hallmark by knight

[bluemoonperegrine]

One Giant Leap - Part I

This is a silly yet angsty one-shot in the Hallmark by Knight universe that combines an idea @vicarious-rebel and I had kicked around with Jake being the one to finally tell Jack about the system's DID. This isn't how it will go down in HbK canon. It's an AU to the AU, if you will.

Translations of the handful of Spanish phrases are at the end.

Jack frowned on his perch atop the Giant Dipper, the old wooden rollercoaster he hadn’t ridden since the whole family had visited Belmont Park when he and Lissa were teenagers. Mostly to distract from his urge to help Marc, he said through his balaclava to the mic clipped on his T-shirt, “Bebé, this isn’t natural.” 

The spiky creature the size of a tractor trailer got its webbed feet under itself as Moon Knight, grass-stained and soaked from fighting in Bonita Cove, flew straight at it. A Bluetooth earpiece carried Marc’s reply. “YA THINK?!?” 

Marc slammed into the beast, sending both of them into the miniature windmill of an already mostly trashed mini-golf course. Authorities had evacuated the area an hour earlier, when the monster had lumbered out of the Pacific. One of Marc’s contacts had alerted him, which immediately changed their plans for the day.

“Frogs can’t tolerate salt water,” Jack informed his partner, who probably wasn’t listening because the giant frog had wrapped its long tongue around him. “Bebé! Let me—”

“No!” Marc cried as he took to the air again despite his pinned arms. The tongue pulled taut but held, pulling a thrashing Moon Knight toward its gaping maw. “Stay safe!”

Finally! Jack thought, half sliding and half climbing down the ladder he’d used to get to the rollercoaster’s peak. “Stay safe” had a lot more wiggle room than “Stay there.” Although Khonshu would bring Marc back from death, Jack wasn’t about to stand back and watch his partner die if he could intervene.

The earpiece carried increasingly frantic cries as Jack neared the bottom of the ladder with his back turned to the fight in progress. With twenty feet left to go, Jack pushed off the ladder, twisting around in mid-air and hoping to find Marc breaking free.

The monster’s wide mouth snapped shut on white cape as Jack’s feet hit the ground. Wet, stomach-turning noises replaced Marc’s screams. 

Jack's wolf side roused, furious and lethal, and he found himself at a dead run aimed at the predator. His halves had reached an unspoken agreement: his human mind was needed to save his mate. If that was unsuccessful, he’d bite and slash and kill as the wolf.

With forty feet between him and his target, Jack jumped a custodian’s cart, grabbing a broom along the way. The broom head was useless, but the handle could skewer the monster’s eyes.

Twenty feet.

The huge amphibian turned and trudged east, toward the cove’s sandy shore.

Holding the broom overhead, Jack leaped while roaring as best he could with human vocal cords. A similar cry sounded in his ear—one he hadn’t heard since the Tecate mission—as the wooden pole pierced a tire-sized eyeball. Then the frog’s enormous webbed foot lashed out and Jack was hurtling backwards. He hit the ground hard and rolled.

With the gory sounds of a brawl straight out of a horror movie in his ear, Jack looked up to find the frog writhing from something within. 

The sound of blood rushing in his ears nearly swamped out what he heard from the earpiece. He murmured, “Bebé?”

The frog’s mouth opened and poured out blood.

“Más o menos,” Marc gasped.

Half of a gold crescent blade jabbed through the creature’s flesh and slashed a wide arc. The frog bellowed as blood and bile flowed, then collapsed.

The wireless earpiece carried Marc’s panting and swearing in Spanish as he pushed through the cut he’d made through the monster.

Beaming, Jack rushed up to him, wishing he could take off his balaclava and Marc could remove his bloody cowl and mask. Although no people were around, surveillance cameras surely were, not to mention the helicopters and drones overhead.

“Corazón,” Jack sighed as he wrapped his arms around his partner despite the ichor. Marc’s hug seemed hesitant; he must be injured. 

Jack let go and took a step back, noticing how the suit’s mask and some of the linen wrappings were now black instead of their usual white. Chuckling, he said, “Being swallowed by a giant frog inspired a new look?”

------------

[ This isn't a scene break. I need to get some work done, is all. I was inspired, so I banged this out. ]

bebé = baby Más o menos = More or less corazón = darling, dear (literally "heart")

[bluemoonperegrine]

😂 @vicarious-rebel and I are mostly evil when it comes to everything Hallmark by Knight. Most of it starts off in tumblr DMs that we then save in our brains and in the text editors of our choice.

Vi is able to keep a lot of it straight by referring to her notes. I took it to the next level and created a wiki-like thing with Nuclino, and I still goof stuff up occasionally!

Reblog and put in the tags which one you see

Where do you store your OC’s info chart made by this person

[kernom]

so an update on the fangamer merch…

holy hell this pin is so cool…

idk how i'm gonna have the radiance with me at all times to keep it glowing like this tho

speaking of pins, i couldn't find any evidence that they had securements on the back so i ordered the silver pin pack, but they already had rubber backings included 😅 guess i have back ups now?? (ft. sneaky peak at the PLUSHIES but they're out of frame!!)

i also got this cool af poster looking card of japanese pizza tower art! apparently it's a collection of things in there… this looks freakin awesome but i have no idea where to place it! <:S

HERE THEY ARE HOLY SHIT

my BIBISSS!!!!! the THEYYYYYYYYYYY, the

so pumped they're here now… ;sjfioa;jow;ejfio;dji

(peppino looks a bit off but he already has enough issues already-- i don't need to bully him further XD)

(the knight… so glad yuor home you scrunky eldritch bug(?) thing… the nail is super awesome that it can separate but i kind of worry in the future it could get lost somewhere… AH WELL)

unfortunately i can't add more videos on a post so i'm gonna keep another post -> for it as well as a bonus image :3c

[bettyweir]

Matthew Knight in The Good Witch's Family (2011)

[writerfae]

I am here to fully encourage the Christmas movie au

The third act breakup happens. Tis the damn season by Taylor Swift starts playing

Also it needs a lot of cheese hollydays cliches like snow angles and hot chocho or something

Just so you know, I am now more obsessed with this au than ever and it’s entirely your and @deadlycupid ‘s fault (saying that very affectionately but also how dare you)

Anyways.

First off, I’m really here for the Taylor Swift song playing. Actually, another song of hers, Christmas Tree Farm, would be perfect for this au and you’ll see why.

(I’m still working on plot details and making everything make sense, but the basic storyline is set.)

So Talon is our typical business man from a big city, working for his father’s company. Also, his family is literally rich.

And Talon for some business reasons gets send to one of those small towns that are very much obsessed with Christmas. And he’s not happy about it.

It’s cold, it’s in the middle of nowhere and he’s not really the Christmas type of guy anymore, since he and his dad are always busy with the business.

So at first he’s not really thrilled and he keeps complaining to Halea (who here is his best friend) over the phone all the time. And then he (quite literally) runs into Aiden.

Aiden is a true small town boy and works at - you guessed it - the local Christmas tree farm, which is the pride of the city. (He most likely even owns this place, idk yet.) He’s very helpful and pretty beloved by the people.

Him and Talon do not have a good start though, their meeting ends with them bickering and Talon being as annoyed as ever.

The next day Talon seeks out a Café. Coincidentally, Aiden is also there. He helps out at the Café that belongs to his best friend (Maya) whenever things get busy around Christmas.

Nice guy that he is he apologizes to Talon about the day before by giving him a free drink and the two settle on starting anew.

That’s when the whole plot line of getting to know each other starts. Aiden shows him around town and Talon visits the farm and the two get closer.

Aiden is set on showing Talon how wonderful Christmas can be and Talon starts to grow pretty fond of it - and pretty fond of Aiden too.

Which already leads to obstacle number one: Talon (with a little help of Halea) realizes he has a crush on Aiden, but he is convinced that Aiden is dating Maya (even though he’s obviously not).

This misunderstanding gets solved after a while though and the two kiss. And things go great from there on. Until we reach obstacle number two.

Now this is not completely worked out yet, but I had the following idea (that just needs to be molded a bit):

So I was thinking that maybe Aiden’s family (or his boss if they wouldn’t own the farm) is at risk of losing their farm land, be it cause of a lack of money/some debt or just someone wanting to bully them off of the land.

And Talon’s family company is involved in that. Actually, Talon was send there specifically to get Aiden’s family to sell the property, one way or another.

And one day shortly before Christmas Aiden finds out about it and thinks Talon only used him, so that’s when the third act breakup you mentioned happens.

Aiden doesn’t want to see him anymore and so Talon (almost?) leaves. But something holds him back and he decided to chase after Aiden, convincing him that he wasn’t using him.

They make up but there’s still the problem with Aiden losing the farm. So Talon steps in, helping him out. In the end he ends up buying the farm himself, so that Aiden can stay. Aiden wants to pay him back eventually and Talon agrees to that to not hurt his pride (it ends up not being a problem anymore though cause years after he story they get married anyway)

And then they can celebrate Christmas on the farm and everyone is happy! And Talon of course has to come visit from time to time to be with his boyfriend “check if Aiden is looking after the farm correctly”

THE END (not the end of this ask tho cause I have more ideas to share)

Cute and cheesy Christmas movie/romance movie ideas for the story (in no particular order):

Aiden playing in the snow with children from the town

him and Talon getting dragged into/having a snowball fight

little Christmas market in the town and at the Christmas tree farm

drinking hot cider/hot chocolate like all the time

baking cookies escalating into a flour battle

feeding each other chocolate

talking about how they used to celebrate Christmas with their family and getting sad about things but being like they used to

Talon running into Aiden and Maya being overly affectionate or comforting one another and thinking “oh they definitely date”

Talon seeing Aiden chop wood and running straight into a Christmas tree

Aiden helping a little kid finding their ideal tree for Christmas being all sweet to them

Aiden showing Talon around town

it’s starting to snow in a very romantic coded moment

Talon getting talked into singing for some people from the village after they find out he’s got musical talent

of course decorating the Christmas tree

also at least one mistletoe scene I bet

“fairy lights make you look even more pretty”

One of them slipping on snow or something and the other catching him

ice skating maybe?

Christmas dinner. Also Aiden cooking for Talon cause he’s a godly cook

Feel free to add on if you want xD

But yeah that’s it do far. Already pretty cliche and cheesy but that’s how I intend it to be. Absolutely in love with this.

[bluemoonperegrine]

"so how's that fictional man of yours doing?"

"Thanks for asking, but... not so great."

"Why's that?"

"I put him in the torment nexus."

"Again?"

"Well, yeah."

"He's there a lot."

🤷

"You ever think about giving the guy a break?"

"Of course! That's what fluff fics are for."

"You really ought to put him in more of those."

"Probably."

...

...

"Will you?"

"...no. The torment nexus is much more entertaining!"

There should be an equivalent to asking "how's the wife and kids?" that's like "so how's that fictional man of yours doing?"

[secrettreestuffidk]

ok but idea: @card-of-the-day

https://card-of-the-day.tumblr.com/ random

click link three times for a tarot reading

[bluemoonperegrine]

Work on the "Layla comes to town" fic begins... now.

@vicarious-rebel and I have the broad strokes of the plot. Now I'm figuring out exactly where it's set because that helps me write. It's like the outside edges of a sandbox. Loose guidelines, some of which spark inspiration.

Camping in a wooded area northeast of San Diego looks likely. Robin and Bri put the kabosh on the desert highlands. "It's where we live and work. Let's go somewhere with, you know, moisture."

Layla: Pfft. Weaklings. *exaggerated wink*

Additional silliness because I feel like it:

I voted 26 - 50% because I want to see how others are voting. I honestly don't know if Jack's going to cry or not. Vi always encourages making him miserable, but she's not the boss of me* so I don't have to vote 100%. * much 😂

[wolfisheart]

@softersinned said, “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.. And I don’t care what it takes.“

never in a million years did hale ever think he would be here. well, not specifically here in london but here, on the cusp of the perfect fairytale wedding with the most perfect bride in the world. on top of that, all being put together by the perfect best friend. just thinking about it threatened to bring tears to his eyes.

two soulmates. one lifetime. how did he get this lucky? the better question was what he did to deserve any of that love.

this was not the time to ponder that question, though. this was the time to be as supportive as he could be to those two people. whatever they needed or whatever they wanted was right at his fingertips. all they needed to do was ask. or, well, not ask in the case of the blonde brit that waltzed right into his life a few days prior. one arthur pruit who, apparently, had been a pen pal of astoria's when they were younger.

scandalous. deliciously so.

" babe, " hale leaned forward in his seat to gently take one of her hands between both of his. lips press lightly to knuckles. i know that. trust me, i fucking know that. everything with you and alix and this wedding. i can't wrap my head around planning one let alone planning one in an entirely different country. yet, here we are because you are utter magic. "

a smile and a heartbeat later, hale lets his best friend's hand go to lean back. cold glass touches his fingertips and earthy ale slides down his throat. " so, the venue is fucked. who cares. we'll figure it out, right? there's gotta be a few more places on the list that alix wanted when you guys were talking all this out. there's still a couple days 'til the wedding. is there something i can do to help? i feel bad just sitting on my hands, here. "

[bluemoonperegrine]

🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣

See below for fanfic-related babbling

Since the moon doofs will adopt more than a few kids during their long lives together, this book NEEDS to make an appearance.

Jack will spontaneously make it up when reading Goodnight, Moon to a kid. Eventually someone will draw the cover.

There he is, busting through the window like the old days.

[kernom]

<- previous post

so it won't let me reblog another video file

so here is the pizza charm display!

lovely little fellow that flops around the place... this will do wonders for my stimming and it sounds pretty...

and here's are the sillies!

(+ plus kinger, who i got a while back and i'm not tagging his source because he's literally just here for the indie group up photo :0)

looks like a murder happened… D: what happened while i was getting the video uploaded?!!

(so yeahh, i also got an okami amaratsu sticker as well but i don't have a good idea where to place it… i'll just keep it where i found it then)

[bettyweir]

Matthew Knight & Rhys Ward The Good Witch's Family (2011)

[bluemoonperegrine]

Yet another way the DID reveal could go

This is more Hallmark by Knight silliness that @vicarious-rebel and I cooked up.

Marc when he's down: Why would anyone want a mess like me?

Jack, trying to help: Have you looked in a mirror???

Marc: You just want me for my body. 😢

Jack: Yes!

Marc: 😭

Jack: And your mind and your heart! The whole package!

Marc: There's two other guys in here with me.

Jack: Wait, what?

[swordgrace]

𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ gwayne hightower x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: After your husband returns from Rook’s Rest, mostly unscathed, you are quick to indulge him to make up for lost time.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 5.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), first time writing for gwayne, please be gentle, gwayne is very cunt-struck in this fic, sub-ish gwayne, armor removal descriptions, mild wound tending, making out, both of them are desperate, unprotected sex, p in v sex, bathtub sex, riding (fem on top), handjob, oral sex (fem!rec), hair pulling kink, choking, breast play, cockwarming at the end

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I absolutely adore Gwayne and I felt like this was a really good way to warm up and get used to writing for him! I’m really glad that I’m seeing more Gwayne requests, this was ridiculously fun to write! ❤️ Thank you all so much for your love & continued support, it means more to me than you realize!

At the precipice of the gates of the Red Keep, emerald banners flew, embellished with the golden sigil of a dragon — the King’s dragon, laying half-deceased in the Dragonpit and the King himself, ripped apart and scorched beyond recognition.

A horrible thing, to be sure — your sister-by-law had become miserable and despondent when the news of her son’s maiming reached her. Whatever comfort you attempted to offer had been dismissed, but it was commonplace, not that you minded. You understood her desire to be left alone.

It was a cloudy, dismal day, marked by the overcast of gray and gloom, a dour portrait that only seemed furthered by the King’s potential demise. Rook’s Rest was outwardly displayed as some great victory, a vanquishing of Queen Rhaenyra’s forces and her allies.

Yet, the countenance of your Knight Hightower told a different tale altogether.

Becoming betrothed and wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower had been the hallmark of your family’s importance, a union of prosperity to further your standing in the realm, but it meant more to you than that. Gwayne had grown on you with the passage of time, witty and sharp-tongued, a proficient fighter with a calm rationality.

As the gates swung open to welcome those survivors of Rook’s Rest home, you desperately searched for the velveteen tabard and copper mane, wringing your hands together beside the Queen Dowager.

His armor glistened beneath the sheen of clouds, dingy and speckled with cruor and mud, his visage stained in dried crimson and soot. He was so comely and debonair, yet he seemed rather sour when he dismounted from his gelding, swiftly tugging his helmet aside.

Your feet moved before you could summon any logical thought, rushing to him across the Keep’s courtyard and into his expectant embrace. Plate-clad arms held you close as he inhaled a gust of your scent, marigold and honey, just as saccharine as he remembered. “My love.” He sighed, loud enough for only you to hear.

Before you could cage him within your own embrace, he let out a strenuous grunt, attempting to be subtle with the painful noise. “Husband,” It delighted you to see his face again — it had been weeks. “Are you hurt?” You fussed, brows knitting together as you inspected him for any critical wounds.

Gwayne bore the scars of battle beneath, save for the cut upon his lip and bruising around his cheek. His body was undeniably sore, riddled in bruises from falling, muscles aching from wielding a blade and weeks on the road. “You needn’t worry yourself into a stupor, dearest. I will survive.” He sighed.

“You do understand that it will only prompt me to worry more, instead of less.” Begrudgingly, Gwayne decided to let you dote over him — he quite enjoyed the attention whenever you did. “Perhaps we shall draw you a bath, and a proper meal to accompany it.”

Relief settled within his features, knowing that he would be well cared-for. He counted on you to ensure that he was pampered after every conflict — it was a habit you had developed. Despite the dull throbbing that consumed his body, he offered his forearm to you, delighted to have you at his side again.

He was rather captivating in his armor, shimmering and broad, a true Knight of the realm. Despite the tarnish and wear of his plate, he still seemed flawless, as if he were incapable of possessing any imperfections.

The Red Keep loomed overhead as many soldiers fought to lick their wounds, much of it from the angry bite of dragonfire. Gwayne was fortunate to remain mostly unscathed, aside from his pride. He could not stomach another day with Criston Cole, whose overconfidence often felt like a burden.

The sight of men being obliterated into nothing more than ash and bone was a harrowing sight, one that he desperately attempted to purge from his memory. It was good to be here with you, holding you again, giving him a worthwhile distraction.

Gwayne sought the solace and sanctity of your shared chambers within the Keep, but he missed Oldtown above all. Your marital quarters there far outweighed those here in the capital in terms of lavishness and comfort, but whatever lodgings offered to him now, he wouldn’t refuse. A feathered bed and pillow seemed heavenly after weeks of sleeping on rock and coarse rags.

Pale cerulean hues appraised you with a subtle hunger, finding the supple curves of your physique through the sage silk of your gown. Once you were in private corridors, he made his desire known, manifesting it into reality. “I must say, you look rather fetching, my dear.” Gwayne hummed. “Did you know of my return?”

“Perhaps,” Countering his flirtation with a teasing smile of your own, you gently nudged past the set of heavy oaken doors, making your way into your chambers. The servants there acted at your beck and call as you had them prepare a bath. “Perhaps I simply prefer to wear lavish silks each day.”

With a bemused scoff, Gwayne ogled you through half-lidded eyes, and as soon as the doors slammed shut behind you, he coaxed you in for a kiss. His mouth tasted like the bitter sting of copper coupled with brimstone and woodland musk, but you didn’t care in the slightest.

He cared little for prying eyes, desiring to claim your mouth for himself — it had been far too long. Passion and want were interlaced into each stroke of his lips, and you matched his caliber of desire, palms seeking to perch themselves atop his chest.

Gwayne exhaled, savoring your saccharine taste, the insatiable warmth of your pliant mouth. “I missed your mouth, wife,” He groaned, pearlescent teeth greedily capturing your lower lip as he caged you in against him. His blood ran hot even still, the adrenaline of war still lingering, yet you spurred him on. “Perfect as ever.”

“Gwayne,” His eagerness surprised you, but it wasn’t unwelcome, not in the slightest. “What about the servants?” You mumbled, skin crawling with heat as he insistently tugged you closer, auburn brows furrowing together.

A twinge of desperation followed from your Knight-husband, watching as he palmed at the swell of your hips. “What of them?” He murmured, caring little for the wandering eyes of handmaidens. They were like a flock of hens, squabbling after any scrap of gossip. “Surely, you would not deny your husband a kiss.”

“I would, if my husband vexed me.” You were able to both get a rise out of Gwayne and charm him all in the same turn, turning your head at the last moment. His mouth fell against your cheek instead, much to his disgruntlement. You would make it up to him.

Once the servants finished pouring a bath for your husband and preparing a hearty meal that transcended field rations, Gwayne felt as if he could relax, the tension in his shoulders unfurling. He stepped toward the washroom, unceremoniously falling against one of the velvet-cushioned chairs.

The wooden frame groaned in protest, rickety and barely able to bear the weight of his armor. He tossed his head back, finally able to breathe and relax within the sanctuary of his own quarters. No muddied tent above his head or the swaying of trees, no rancorous men, and no Dornishmen to tell him what to do.

With a steady exhale, he began to unfasten the innumerable amount of buckles and straps upon his armor, beginning with his gauntlets and vambraces. His brow remained creased with concentration, strands of copper stresses glued to his temples, lip curled with inklings of mild irritation.

“Would you like help?” You inquired, knowing that Gwayne would be too stubborn to accept it, but you were pleasantly surprised when he became subservient. With an indignant huff, he sat back, sluggishly offering you his body with a low hum.

“If you feel that you must toil over my armor, I suppose you can lend your assistance,” Gwayne prattled on, though his breath hitched slightly when you neared him, standing in between his legs as you went about freeing him. Cerulean hues traced over your form, desperate to see your naked flesh. “Hm.”

His quick tongue and eloquent speech once irked you, but now, it was simply him. You rather enjoyed when he regaled you with his flowery words and streak of arrogance, a haughtiness that seemed to run predominantly within his family.

As you set yourself to the task of unburdening your husband from his armor, Gwayne busied himself with ogling your bosom, jaw tense and tight. A warm coil formed within his stomach, the onset of arousal as he carefully admired you, his enchanting paramour.

Unclasping his cloak, Gwayne shifted enough for you to remove it, neatly folding it into a rectangle as you draped it over the arm of the lounge. “I missed you,” You confessed, knowing that his ego would momentarily swell tenfold — it was simply in his nature. “These past few weeks were rather tense, wrought with strife.”

“Allow me to guess,” Gwayne guffawed, a smirk toying at either corner of his mouth. “Something to do with my nephews, or perhaps my sister.” Admittedly, you were lonely without him — the capital didn’t suit you, nor did any of its hostile inhabitants.

A soft huff of amusement escaped you, but you happened to shake your head, lifting a wet cloth to his lips as you dabbed at the dried blood. “One would think,” With an amiable smile, you rid your husband’s stunning visage of cruor. “I yearned to have my husband by my side, that is all.”

Gwayne’s gaze became soft in your presence, fluttering across your captivating features and gentle smile. Knowing that you missed him happened to evoke some semblance of delight, filling him with a familiar warmth that eased his aching bones.

“I am here now,” He assured, reaching for your hand as he cradled it within his own. Rough lips pressed themselves against your knuckles. “You shall have your husband for as long as you please.”

Stepping inward, your lips moved to bury themselves into his disheveled tresses, presenting him with a kiss. You always feared Gwayne riding off to fight in a war, coming to terms with the painful idea of never seeing him again. “As long as I please? That is forever, then. Cole cannot take you from me again.”

You were an excellent wife, perhaps the best — he had gotten incredibly lucky with you, a rare jewel, resplendent and glittering all for him, something to covet. He watched as you unfastened the leather straps with haste, placing each piece down atop the footlocker at your side.

Gwayne winced when you happened to tug just a touch too hard, body wracked with aches and pains, pale flesh flourishing with the wounds of war. “Gently, wife. I am still needed in one piece.” A low grunt tore past his lips, one that happened to come across as a suppression of mild agony.

Perplexed, you reached for the collar of his gorget, attempting to be as gentle as possible in its removal. It was difficult, given how much he wore — plate and chainmail weren’t exactly comfortable to wear. The relief he felt was visible, scrawled into his handsome features as he reclined into the cushions.

Broad-shouldered and corded with taut muscle, you often found Gwayne to be beautiful in some ways, painfully handsome to behold. When you’d gotten rid of his upper armor, you noticed the battlefield of flourishing bruises littered across his flesh.

The somber, softened stare you’d given him happened to temper his tongue, copper brows beginning to slack, visage contorting into more of a concerned expression. “They do not feel as horrid as they look,” He assured, smoothing his palm across the swell of your hip. “Such is the nature of battle.”

With a tender hand, you lightly traced your fingertips over each bruise, some angered and dark, others lighter in complexion. Gwayne shuddered at your delicate embrace, bluish hues glued to where your hand traveled — over his throat, toward his collarbone, and then cascading across his chest.

“Where does it hurt, my love?” The silky resonance of your voice stroked his mind in a perfect way, one that brought him to heel. Your doting attention happened to subdue him, cock stirring in the confines of his linen breeches.

He often pondered what went on in that beautiful head of yours, the way your mind operated. You were an intelligent woman, thoughtful and poised with a comely grace, becoming of a maiden. Gwayne swallowed the growing lump within his throat, feeling your palm smooth across the plate of his cuisse.

“Here,” He briefly motioned to the series of marks tangled along his collarbone — he was fortunate that it hadn’t been shattered. You stooped inward, mouth carefully hovering above the ugly bruises dotted along his collar, and kissed the injured flesh. “Hm — here.” Gwayne tapped his right pectoral.

You kissed where his hand gestured to, pliant lips akin to a gentle caress as you showered him in your sensual affections. Enraptured, Gwayne watched you, hunger swelling within him, a ravenous gnawing that he felt for you. It burned his loins, filling him with the ache of desire.

If it weren’t for his damned tasses and greaves, he would’ve had you slotted in his lap. Gwayne’s hands tightened around the back of the settee, digits curling into the wooden embellishments. “That’s all?” You murmured, gingerly caressing along his chest, watching as he immediately straightened.

Gwayne grit his teeth together, motioning toward his bruised bicep. “Here,” The soothing softness of your mouth soon followed, filling him with a warm rush of dull ecstasy. You kissed his bicep, peppering your lips upward until they landed atop his shoulder. “Here.” At last, he motioned to his mouth, marred by a cut.

“Here?” With a gentle hum, you smoothed the pad of your thumb against his lower lip, carefully avoiding the cut and any bruising. Gwayne kissed your fingertips, hand still poised against your hip, groping into your pliant curves and soft physique.

“Damnable vixen.” Gwayne muttered, though his cerulean hues oozed with warmth and ardor, a gallant love reserved only for you. It was a loving jab, and he immediately hauled you closer, bringing your mouth to his for a fiery kiss. The honey-sweet embrace of your lips were ambrosial, making his head spin around.

You reached for his auburn tresses, raking your fingers through his mane, kissing him hard and without an ounce of hesitation. His hands lowered themselves to your derrière, sinking into your supple flesh, treating you to the fervor of his hold. A low moan emerged from your throat when he nipped at your lower lip.

Gwayne relented, tongue seeking entrance into the warmth of your mouth, forcing you to part your lips. In a hurried clash, you kissed him again, open-mouthed and deliciously hot. Your stomach began to churn, arousal seeping from your core, slick between your thighs.

“Gwayne,” You whimpered, attempting to catch your breath as he parted from you, licking at his lower lip. “We needn’t carry on if you are hurt.” You insisted, but he scoffed at the notion, gazing at you with bewilderment and a clear dismissal of your concerns.

“Nonsense,” Gwayne countered, clearly feeling his blood sing with lust, bitten by desire. It was a fire that you had so diligently stoked, and now, it needed to be extinguished. “I would suffer through torture unimaginable if it meant I could have you properly.”

With a bemused huff, you pressed your lips against his bruised brow, watching as he stood up, chest bumping into you. The closeness only seemed to intensify, tension crackling between the both of you. “Are you still in-need of assistance?” You hummed, tone indicative of your lascivious wants.

Gwayne’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smirk, catlike and salacious as he released an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose,” Truthfully, he basked in your affections, even if it was all playful, a steady buildup to more lewd proclivities. He allowed you to do it all as you unfastened his cuisses and tasses, placing them aside. “Perhaps I should take you along to the next conflict. I will have need of your skilled hands, sweet wife.”

Seeing your striking husband in nothing more than his linen smallclothes made you itch with ardor, desire beginning to fester within your heart. His necklace, adorned with his mother’s ring and yours, hung around his throat, relics resting against his sternum.

A battle was certainly no place for a lady, but you digressed, lowering one hand toward the slight bulge in the front of Gwayne’s trousers. “Is that so? I’ve become quite proficient, husband.” A silky purr escaped your lips as you kneaded one hand against his erection.

Seven Hells, you would be his undoing.

With a sharp exhale, Gwayne let out a husky groan near the shell of your ear, hands steadfast atop your hips as you caressed him over his clothes. “Quite proficient, indeed.” He uttered, teeth grazing along your neck as you let your hand slither beneath the coarse linen. The warmth of his cock met your palm, and he shivered.

A breathy sigh escaped you as you bared your neck to him, palm encircled around the base as you dragged your hand from bottom to tip. The pad of your thumb stroked along the head of his cock, causing him to jerk forward into your embrace.

He had sorely missed your touch, the smell of your skin, the plush feeling of your body beneath his capable hands. Gods, if you kept touching him like that, he felt as if he would explode — and so quickly, too. Gwayne refused to resign himself to such a thing.

“I would be delighted if you’d join me,” Gwayne murmured into your neck, lips suckling just beside your jugular. The mark he left flourished, soothed by the lap of his tongue. “Only after I’ve ravished your sweet cunt, of course.” Even crude words sounded so pretty upon his tongue, and you felt your skin crawl with warmth.

A sharp inhale escaped you, anticipation churning within the pit of your stomach as Gwayne found the laces of your gown. You nodded several times over, lips parted as you sought his mouth for a blazing kiss. With dextrous fingers, he tugged on the silken ties, loosening the garment with ease.

The fabric pooled around your feet in a heap, and you hastily kicked it aside, standing in nothing more than a sheer slip. It was nearly translucent, made of a shimmering gossamer that left little to the imagination. Transfixed, Gwayne allowed his hands to travel along your body, kneading and caressing wherever he pleased.

He coaxed you toward the settee he’d been situated in minutes prior, allowing you to sit as he stood above you, hand slipping against your thigh. “Gods, you are divine.” Gwayne sighed, roughened fingertips stroking at your silky skin, like warm velvet. “Lift your skirts for me, dearest.”

Kneeling as a sacrilegious individual would, as if begging for forgiveness within the boughs of a sept, Gwayne sought his peace between your thighs. He observed in quiet rapture as you brought your slip to your hips, revealing your body to him.

Broad shoulders bullied their way between your legs, hands more than happy to have their fill of your haunches. “Gwayne,” You whimpered, feeling him adjust your hips to a proper angle, cunny glistening with a thin sheen of your arousal. “Please, I need your mouth!” Hapless at the talons of your husband, you pleaded with him to taste you.

There was nothing he wanted more in this world than to oblige you, lips pressing all along your legs, mouth steadily finding the apex of your thighs. Gwayne took care in spreading you apart, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt, your taste ambrosial.

A stirring fire of lust roused him, cock twitching within his breeches as he delved deeper into your core. His mouth was a thing of beauty, tongue sluggishly tasting you from your clit to your entrance. Your chest heaved with wanton pants, hands gliding toward his tresses.

Tangled within his copper mane, you coaxed him closer, digits digging at the base of his skull. Gwayne released a groan into your core, hands clamping down on your thighs with an ironclad grasp. Your nectar fell heavy upon his tongue, the sweetest of honey.

Gwayne thoroughly reveled in the feeling of your hands within his hair, hips occasionally stuttering and bucking forward, desperately seeking his mouth. He was attentive, lapping at your cunt with a fervor, allowing his mouth to drift to your clit.

Silk bunched up around your belly, thighs quivering like leaves as you continued to move inward. Most of your writhing was done unconsciously, pleasure continuing to wrack your body whole. Arousal pooled between your legs, spilling onto your husband’s tongue — and he consumed every drop.

Gwayne found his place between your thighs, as any devoted husband would. Every sound that he evoked from you, every shudder of your body, the slick of your arousal, he knew that it all belonged to him. Your needy moans filled your chambers, reverberating off of the walls.

“Gods, Gwayne!” You huffed, countenance screwed into a look of complete and utter bliss, lips agape and eyes fluttered shut. Without shame, you rode your husband’s face as best as you could, wrestling with his auburn locks as your knees squeezed at his head.

Perfect — it couldn’t have gotten any better than this.

His calloused palms ran along your thighs before finding their purchase against the swell of your hips, drunk and delirious from your cunt alone. He was positively whipped, a notion that he rarely admitted aloud, let alone shared with himself. The way you took his mouth with glee filled him with pride.

Another deliberate barrage of licks assailed your clit, causing you to shiver and moan, the sounds tapering off into a series of breathy pants. “Sweetling,” Gwayne crooned, timbre shifting into a delicious husk as he called you by that affectionate nickname. “You are incomparable.” He mumbled, nose brushing along the hood of your clit.

A pang of delight rippled through you as you preened beneath his desire-ridden compliment. Gwayne had a way with words, especially if he found himself in the mood to regale you with lewd whispers. The moment wasn’t now, but you hoped that it would be, soon enough.

That familiar coil of tenuous heat festered within the pit of your stomach, signaling the encroachment of your release. Gwayne buried himself into your cunt, spreading you apart, tongue greedily lapping at your core. His cock was desperate to be inside of you, slick with precum, straining against his trousers.

You chased after your release with reckless abandon, a low wine tearing past your lips as you tugged on Gwayne’s tresses with a sense of urgency. His lips found themselves pursed around the pearl of your cunt, suckling on that sensitive bud until you cried out.

It was an undeniable surge of utter bliss, an amalgamation of pleasure that made your thighs twitch and tremble. You threw your head back against the velveteen lounge, moaning your husband’s name as if it were the only word you knew.

Between the deliberate, timed strokes of his tongue and the stimulation of your clit, you could hold out no longer, digits curling inward, stomach sloshing with a molten warmth. “I— Gwayne!” You mewled, the sound deliciously innocuous as you approached your release.

It slammed into you with the force of a tidal wave, sending spasmodic shivers all along your body, making your skin undeniably hot. Gwayne groaned into your cunt, finding great pleasure in cleaning you up, reveling at the taste of your nectar, like a fine stout.

His cock throbbed with a pleading ache, wanting nothing more than to be inside of you. He was patient, but he could wait no longer, face appearing from between your thighs as he huffed. “I cannot continue to wait,” Gwayne murmured, voice laced with desperation. “I must have you, sweet wife.”

Still trapped within the white-hot throes of your release, you nodded, wanting more from him just as he did you. “I am yours completely.” You breathed, watching as he made for the bathtub. The water inside had gone from steaming to warm, not that he cared.

It was like a race, an eager clamoring to see who could get themselves into the basin first. Gwayne hastily unlaced his breeches, leaving them behind along the stone floor before he sank into the water, muscles unfurling almost instantaneously.

You stood, legs quivering from the might of your peak as you attempted to rid yourself of the silken slip, but Gwayne didn’t have time to watch you fiddle with your gown. “In,” With a sharp timbre interwoven with lust, you seemed surprised, but obeyed his command. “Come here.” He hissed.

Without delay, you stepped into the bathtub, still clad in your silken slip, which Gwayne paid little mind to. Eager, strong hands gripped your hips, dragging you closer until you were in his lap. Auburn tresses were slick with water, visage upturned into a look of sheer delight.

The gossamer silk stuck to your body, hitched around your hips, the wet garment clinging to your flesh. Gwayne lowered you enough to let his cock nudge against your folds, burying his face into the hollow of your throat. He pressed strings of needy kisses there, feeling you grind yourself against him.

Tugging at the thin, lace-woven straps of your slip, you revealed your breasts to him, fabric sagging along your midsection. You listened to the audible hitch of Gwayne’s breath, continuing to slide his cock along the length of your slit. “Sit,” He commanded, hands firm atop the swell of your hips. As you lowered yourself onto his length, he shivered, jaw tensing. “That’s it.”

His cock filled you perfectly — nothing of indomitable size or girth, but it was pretty, just like the rest of him. You gasped, palms moving to perch themselves atop his freckled shoulders. Gwayne groaned, slumping back against the slick, metallic wall of the tub, keeping one hand steady against your hip.

What sweet torment, Gwayne thought, tantalized and entranced by the way you began to ride him, sluggishly through the constant sloshing of water. He assisted you somewhat, guiding you along, occasionally lifting his hips to buck into you, but the efforts primarily rested with you.

“Seven Hells,” Gwayne huffed, cerulean hues drinking in the sight of you, disheveled and damp, countenance contorted into a look of pure bliss. “I missed that cunt of yours, wife. There is nothing like it.” A low grunt tapered off into a breathy sigh as you came down harshly, nails digging into his pale flesh.

Instead of cajoling him with sultry praises of your own, you kept quiet, one hand slinking toward the base of his throat. The newfound sensation left Gwayne visibly perplexed, but he enjoyed your little domineering streak, mouth curling into the ghost of a smirk.

His palm moved to cup your breast, toying with your nipple, slick from water, beginning to pebble with the cooler air. “Gwayne,” You moaned, bouncing upon his cock with all of the eagerness of a brothel whore. Enraptured, he observed you through a greedy, half-lidded stare. “You feel incredible.”

Before his cockiness and ego could come swinging into the fray, you lightly squeezed at his throat, evoking a sonorous groan from him. It was effective at silencing him, but his gaze burned for you, burned with something incendiary as he gently tweaked your breast, kneading at the soft mound.

You were divine, a goddess incarnate, made for him to worship at your feet. He simply couldn’t get enough of you, savoring the way in which his cock continued to bury itself within your tight walls, over and over again. That tenuous coil of warmth tightened within his belly, a rush of heat soon to follow.

His hips jolted again, bucking up into you until he hit that perfect spot inside of you. You gasped, mouth agape as your nails dug angry-red crescents into his shoulder. Gwayne’s own sounds of pleasure caressed your ear, feeling him lean in enough to press a string of kisses all over your breasts.

The hold you had upon his throat began to slack, thighs burning with a dull ache as you rocked yourself upon his cock, continuing to ride him. His cock bottomed out before you lifted yourself up again, only to fall right back down, letting him bury himself until he could go no further.

He looked gorgeous, crown of copper tresses lolled back against the tub, visage one of pleasure, hands continuing to grope and caress along your body. It was only when his length began to pulse and throb within you that he grit his teeth, bracing himself for his release.

A low, subtle ‘fuck’ tore past his mouth, goosebumps coalescing along the length of your spine. You didn’t relent, continuing to rock yourself upon his cock until he was bursting at the seams. With a noisy groan, Gwayne’s hips stuttered, filling you with ropes of hot seed.

Even the ache of war and sex could not spend him entirely, and if it were up to him, he would’ve had you on your back the second you stepped out of the tub. With a sigh of relief, he stroked your hip, watching as you came down with him.

“I will never tire of that,” Gwayne confessed, hand repositioning to stroke at your brow, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Will you stay and help bathe your husband?” He inquired, tone jocular and somewhat playful, but he seemed serious.

“Perhaps,” You mused, reaching for a bar of herb-laden soap, attempting to move off of him. Gwayne tutted, clicking his tongue with mild disdain as he pulled you right back down onto his cock. “Gwayne.” Issuing a soft-spoken warning, you gasped, brows furrowing together.

With a debonair smirk, he pressed a kiss against the hollow of your throat, lounging back within the tub, either arm perched along the sides. “You can stay just like that, dearest. You are well within arm’s reach.” That lascivious purr of him stoked yet another fire, and you relented, staying slotted atop him.

“You’re insufferable.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not translate my work onto other platforms, copy, or steal my work and claim it as your own.

[blasphemousclaw]

I’ve been seeing a lot of people argue that Radahn would never agree to Miquella’s plans because he loves the Golden Order and would never want to replace it… but I think there are some nuances about the current state of the Golden Order that call that assumption into question?

The first thing to know about Radahn is that he’s defined by his idealization of Godfrey and his reign as Elden Lord. His lion armor is an explicit tribute to him, and he tries to emulate the “Lord of the Battlefield’s” martial prowess and heroic, honorable nature. When looking at the iconography associated with Radahn, it is always directly tied to Godfrey alone.

But Godfrey isn’t here anymore, he was banished… and the current state of the Golden Order is now extremely culturally different than it had been under his rule. The crucible and those associated with it gradually became less and less accepted, and more and more “disdained as an impurity as civilization advanced.” Godfrey’s crucible knights used to be heroes, and it’s even implied that they were the very face of the colosseums’ ritual combat… the Ritual Sword Talisman is “patterned after swords used in ritual combat held to honor the Erdtree,” and it’s the exact same design as Crucible Knight Ordovis’s sword:

so there’s this connection between the colosseums under Godfrey’s reign and the crucible.

But, in the present day, both the crucible knights and the colosseums have fallen by the wayside: “In time, the strength shown by these knights, and even their appearance, was seen as chaotic and deserving of scorn,” and regarding ritual combat, “the practice had died out by the age of King Consort Radagon.”

We do in fact see these hallmarks of Godfrey’s reign in association with Radahn as well — from Freyja’s backstory, we know that Radahn first met her by watching her fight as a gladiator at the colosseum (probably the one in Caelid!). And there’s a boss fight at Redmane castle with a Crucible Knight and a (red-haired!) Leonine Misbegotten! It’s also worth nothing that Godfrey, his crucible knights, and Consort Radahn all share the same earth-stomp move! Another interesting point is that Godfrey is associated with lions (Beast-Regent Serosh), and of course Radahn wears lion armor inspired by this, but there is also a Lion Guardian enemy at Redmane castle that has horns:

the old crucible society of the Hornsent revered the horned lion above all…

and Radahn, the “Lord of the Battlefield’s lion,” gains horns after being resurrected in Mohg’s body… literally becoming a horned lion!

I think it means something that Radahn is associated again and again with these symbols of the OLD Golden Order and the crucible… the time when Godfrey ruled, the crucible still flourished, and glorious combat reigned supreme. Yes, Radahn is absolutely defined by nostalgia and trying to recapture the glory of an old age… but I think this is actually a reason for him to OPPOSE the current Order, because now all the things he loved and admired about it are GONE! Indeed, there’s no evidence that Radahn made any attempt to preserve the current Order during the Shattering, and Morgott considers him to be a “willful traitor” with the rest of his siblings!

Does this mean that I think Radahn planned to be where he is with Miquella at the end of the dlc? Not necessarily, and I personally am really skeptical that where he ended up was entirely of his own choosing… I just think that the logic of assuming Radahn would want to preserve the Order in its current state is flawed, because the differences between Godfrey’s reign and Radagon’s reign are quite significant!

[bluemoonperegrine]

Noted. ✅

I've wondered if anyone listened to my playlists! Yay!

I'm just lowkey music evangelizing here. ✌️

If you take @bluemoonperegrine 's playlist for Those Who Wander plus all of Gael's songs from the Coco soundtrack plus all of Diego's songs from the Book of Life soundtrack (including the Spanish versions) they precisely match the time it takes to drive between Portsmouth and London.

There is probably some cosmic significance to this fact.