#woe. beauty marks be upon ye

[elmocult]

i really only did this so i could pin down how i exactly wanted to draw them but i spent way too fucking long on this Not to post it. so

[simplyafountainpen]

Flying The Nest

{𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼}: Son!Reader x Sebastian Michaelis

{𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷}: After the anomaly that is a Demon Child spawns before The Crow Demon, it takes it upon itself to raise it up in a most demonic manner, but not all chicks readily leave the nest.

{𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓼}: Fluff, crack/silly fic, small amount of angst, (Y/n) is not Sebastian’s biological son, Sebastian & (Y/N) are referred to as Crow Demons and he and (Y/N) are referred to with it/its pronouns for a while

{𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽}: ❝a requests of black butler....(i LOVE platonic fics, and I can just think about it) like, Sebastian's son? the (male) reader don't need to be too young, but i think would be funny Sebastian trying to teach his son how to be a good butler, and reader been just a little messy demon. My English is not good, I'm sorry... i love your writing, please, bite my cheek (yes)❤❞ - izlittlebu (@sweetplantbro)

Demon children were not things most accounted for. You see, Demons are beings born from the woes and suffering of humanity, culminations of their despair and guilt. Of their sadism and pride. Of lust and greed and gluttony and envy and wrath and sloth. Of the impure. Demons are born full grown with a place in the hierarchy, a knowledge for what they must do with their eternal-unless-killed lives, and an endless and incurable hunger for souls.

So when a certain Crow Demon was met the squawking of a child, same as it in species - both being crows - and form, it panicked.

Demons were not meant to raise children unless asked by a future human Master or Mistress! Caring for one of their own with little to no gain is unheard of! There would be no point in keeping this anomaly that would only weigh this Crow Demon down, and so, initially, it flew off without a second though, leaving the newborn alone in the depths of hell.

But then, the crying. That damned crying. Thousands of crow chicks crying out in fear. A noise so loud it echoed through the endless caverns and catacombs of hell, alerting every being in these depths of the anomalous, pathetic child in their wake. And so, in a moment of both self preservation and recklessness, the elder Crow Demon swooped down and shoved it’s feathered mass into the younger, shutting it up.

The many eyes that crowded the Crow’s eldritch form stared into the matching many of the child that stared back.

With a reluctant huff, the young Demon chick was lifted from the ground in the arms of the elder Demon Crow, both taking off into the flame littered skies of the damned world of hell.

This would be the mark of a new relationship.

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

Years flew by faster than either of you could care for. Centuries of staying side by side had ignited a relationship between you and your elder, one akin to those of a Father and son, you both found.

And as such, you became a packaged deal. Summon your Father, and they get you as well. A younger, but still devilishly handsome boy, with those same piercing red eyes as your Father. His pact mark became intertwined with what would be yours, ensuring that the two of you would be together till time itself ended.

The only issue in the whole situation was that you were… a bit clumsy, to put it mildly. Where your Father was amazing at everything he did, more often then not - if it was not just preforming or entertaining - you’d find some way to mess everything up.

Bring the Master some tea? You'll end up drenched with a shattered tea set. Bring the Master food? Your hair was set on fire instead with a somehow raw-on-the-outside yet cooked-on-the-inside meal. Clean the halls? The ceiling is covered in soap and bubbles, the floor is covered in dirt and grime.

It was almost impressive with how well you managed to screw up nearly every task you were given, considering that those who summoned you and Father automatically assumed you were - in fact - related by blood. You both were unearthly beautiful with your piercing red eyes, and your Demon forms were scarily close in size and shape, even down to the hooker boots.

At the very least, whenever you messed up, they'd get to see your Father clean up the mess in a most graceful way.

You were never upset at the situation, in fact you nearly found it funny. Something Father never understood, you would come to realize. Unlike his sense of hilarity, you could let nearly any imperfection roll off your back like rain on a petal, never truly taking any punishment to heart. You'd take the advice, try again, fail, then get back up and keep trying.

Father also didn't seem to worried, always taking time out of his nights - seeing as both of you rarely slept - to train you. Over time it would get better, less spillage and messes and more elegant triumphs much like him.

But if there was something you could do that Father had little experience in, that was entertain. Your memory was impeccable, of course, and that made you a beautiful storyteller, even if you did embellish the truth quite a bit, but isn't that something humans do all the time?

You'd preform tricks for you Master and their guests, flips, games and otherwise while Father took care of literally anything and everything else. If everything, you could be described as the distraction to his action. The calm before Father's storm. You were the warning signs and flashing lights while Father was the danger that inevitably followed.

And this was life. This was the routine from the moment you truly gained consciousness and would most likely be until the day reality ceased.

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

"Are you ready?" It was just passed midnight, all residents of the manor you and Father had currently been serving at had been put to rest, so it was time for your 'nightly training'.

You walked with your Father towards the front door, exiting the large dwelling and pressing onwards to a nearby forest. Neither of you needed to bring anything, the space you'd both be using having been set up for ages by this point. No candles were needed as you both trekked to said forest, and within moments of entering the dark space, your brisk paces became long strides, not a single branch snagging on either of your outfits. Both of you glided through the leaves, looking more like afterimages than 'human beings'. Small animals scurried off when you both rushed by, leaves whipping wildly due to the speed you each were traveling at. Finally, the meeting spot - that which was a clearing filled with old furniture and tea sets and cleaning supplies - was in sight and you both slowed back to a nice walking pace, calmly waltzing into the clearing.

"We'll start simple for the night. Dusting isn't something you have much issue with - anymore anyway - but we should always brush up on our skills, shouldn't we?" Father's voice was much less uptight then it was in front of your Master, more lax but still with that undertone of something sinister, though you knew it wasn't pointed at you. A twitch of his finger was all it took for you to rush off to the small collection of cleaning supplies you kept out here, all pristine and cleanly, no matter how long they went without use. The feather duster you picked up was the best of it's kind, naturally, so picking up dust was nothing more than a breeze. Or so it should have been.

The dust of the shelves chosen was kicked up rather than swept up, making it fly all around you and Father instead of gathering to be swept up later. You sheepishly grinned as the duster in your hands continued to fly wildly around in the air, desperate to collect even a bit of dust. Father simply sighed, walked over, and cleaned up the mess within seconds leaving you still a bit dusty and the shelves and Father perfectly clean.

"What happened?" He asked gently and you looked down, chuckling and shrugging your shoulders. A hand went up to the back of your neck, rubbing and massaging the muscles as you stretched and popped your joints.

"Not sure, just got a bit too excited? I guess?" Your tone was sheepish, grin turning to a half-smirk, eyes drooping slightly. You Father also softened his smile, chuckling into a sigh as he pet your head, ruffling your hair.

"Well then, I suppose we'll have to wear down that excitement, won't we?" You were used to seeing this uncharacteristic softness from Father, the less tense smiles and looser body language, the encouragement and even the offerings of help without needing anything in return. Your smiled broadened as Father brought you in for a quick side hug, the hug itself being brief, but more than enough to get the message of affection across.

The feather duster was laid down on a nearby table, the two of you taking a seat in a mismatched pair of chairs. Father stared at you while you took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. His larger hands grasped yours, leaning towards you with that small smile on his face. You looked towards him with a smile of your own. With a nod, you both took a deep breath and held it - longer than you had before - and let it out, relaxing your bodies. You did this a couple times, over and over, breathing and calming your excitement to be here with your Father, spending time with him alone, without humans to interrupt. You grew giddy at the thought, only to feel a palm press against your head and one of your own to drop back into your lap. Father looked at you with a knowing gaze and you laughed, settling back down to keep breathing.

"We Demons," Father began, "must stay calm and collected throughout the day and night to complete our duties to utmost perfection. Not a mistake shall be allowed so that when we reap our reward, it will be as sweet as the nectar that led humans to this path of destruction and selfish desire. You understand, don't you?" You nodded at his words, shuffling in your seat, now very eager to get up and move again Sitting still was never your strong suit. Father watched as you jittered in your seat, smiling at you.

It was sudden, when he stood and pulled you by the one hand he was still holding into an embrace, wrapping his arms around you. Usually he gave you nothing but short head pats or the occasional side hug, like earlier. But to be fully embraced fully like this was such a rarity that you genuinely couldn't remember the last time he had given one like this. You stared into the fabric of his waistcoat, hesitantly returning the hug, to which he then squeezed you for.

You both stood there in silence for a moment, your head in his chest and his on your own head. The sounds of the forest overtook the moment, the distant call of night birds and deer playing created a symphony around you. The wind even seemed to blow slightly, pushing you both closer together.

"Perhaps... you were not made for all this cleaning and such." Your eyes immediately went to Father's, shock written visibly across your features. Before you could refute, Father placed a finger to your lips.

"You enjoy the performances you do for our Masters, correct?" You hesitated, but nodded. "And you much prefer these performances over cleaning and cooking, correct?" again, you nodded. Sebastian hummed, looking to the sky for a bit, before nodding to himself and looking down at you, who now had a confused pout on your face as you rested in his arms. "Then I have an idea. We've been going about this all wrong. Grab the feather duster, please?" He let you go, arms falling to his sides. Instead of moving, you squeezed him a bit tighter, then let go a moment later to retrieve the cleaning item.

"Now, instead of cleaning for me, preform. Don't focus on cleaning, but with devilish charm, instead focus on making it a performance, cleaning second." You stood still for a second, staring at him from your place in front of a lightly dusty table. It took you a minute to really let the words sink in, turning back to the shelves, lost in thought. Father let you have the time to really take the words in, the feather duster in you hand raising and lowering in hesitance. Eventually, you raised the duster and held it the air.

Don't focus on the cleaning, focus on the performance..?

Your mind began to spin a song, swift and graceful. The music that echoed in your head soon swam around in your mind, your body beginning to sway with it, hand going up to the table with the feather duster ghosting over the surface gently, less in a cleaning motion and more in a way that portrayed it. You swiftly made your way across the entirety of table, eyes closed as you drifted aimlessly.

Instead of applause or praise, you instead 'awoke' to the sound of Father coughing. Your eyes opened and found Father holding a fist to his mouth, waving a hand through the thick cloud of dust that surrounded you both. Your eyes squinted as you waved the duster around in a frenzy to clear away the dust, instead pushing it around even more.

“Don’t - ahem - don’t bother. Let’s just leave this place for a moment.” Father spoke softly. You nodded, not feeling it in you to talk. The feather duster was gently placed on a different table, the both of you rushing from the scene and resting on the branches of a nearby tree. You were downcast, eyes level with the floor, not bothering to look up at Father who you were more than sure was upset with you.

“Now now, don’t look like that.” You tensed, feeling him land beside you from his higher perch. A hand rested on your shoulder, your eyes looking up and catching his.

“It seems we’ll simply have to work a bit harder-“ “We’ve been working for years by thing point Father!” You interrupted, something you’d never usually do. Tears nearly made themselves apparent in your eyes but you wiped them away before they could even form, looking back towards the ground. “We’ve been at this for years and I’ve barely improved. I just don’t get why. I want to improve! And I definitely try to, but I just don’t. I just can’t and I don’t know why.” Your lip trembled as your voice cracked and broke. You were tired of this, of this trying to be better at something you clearly weren’t. You hadn’t looked back up at Father out of shame, thinking you’d definitely see his disappointment.

Instead, a hand gently placed itself on your cheek, tilting your head upwards to meet Father’s gaze. His eyes were soft, uncharacteristically so, and held rarely seen compassion and care. He thumbed your cheek, holding you there, then leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’m not disappointed. I’m not angry. This is a learning process for the both of us. I’ve never been a father before and it I know shows. We will figure this out together, alright little one? This is nothing to cry over, Demons don’t cry, after all.” You sighed, nodded, and scooted closer to the elder, who welcomed you. You shared the third hug - a new record - of the night, squeezing him as tight as possible. He returned the force with everything he had.

“This is a learning process for the two of us. We will get through this, understood?” You chuckled at the question, nodding into Father’s shirt.

“I do. I understand.” He nodded, trademark smile on his face. Father’s red eyes met your own, the two of you grinning together.

“Then let’s keep learning. Keep moving forward. Till time itself gives up and humans fall.” Your grin grew at his words.

“Together till the end!” You cheered, arms swinging upward, only to hit the branch above you both and send you tumbling to the ground, you falling on your face and Father landing on his feet. He chuckled at your misfortune and you growled.

There was still plenty time to grow.

{𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼}: I am so very sorry this took so long to get out. I had a few things happen in life in quick succession and Wuthering Waves took control of my free time. I still hope that you enjoy, even if this is shorter than I had hoped it to be.

-🖋️

All publishings on this account belong to @fountain-pen-anon. I do not authorize my fics being altered, translated, stolen or published/reposted to other sites, thank you.

© fountain-pen-anon - all rights reserved

[heckinconfusedparade]

Woe! Sonic character headcanons be upon Ye!

Sonic:

- Learned how to cook while raising Tails and got really good at it

- Hedgehog Gordon Ramsay

- Can’t bake for shit tho

- Made up a lullaby that he sings to Tails to help him sleep. It’s been effective since the kit was 4

- In the warmer months, Sonic scouts out nice places for his annual picnic with Amy. He loves hanging out with her and enjoying sweets!

- Has a memorial for Chip with his necklace somewhere hidden

- Ran before he could walk

- Bothers Knuckles on Angel Island at least twice a week

- He and Shadow spar every week

- Bro has a bunch of Knick knacks and trinkets from his adventures

- Has a lazy day every once in a whilel

- He does vocal warm ups every morning as part of his little routine, even if he doesn’t plan on singing that day. It’s good to warm up before doing a lot of speaking!

Tails:

- He’s so sweet but so sassy

- Will sass a grown man to death

- Hugs people he really loves with his tails included

- He has a blacksmith place somewhere

- Had to have an intervention for his mint addiction (unsuccessful)

- His love language is gift giving! His gifts are one of a kind

- He made Shadow a gun for Christmas. It has bullets that explode on impact. It’s a tiny rocket launcher

- Used a chaos emerald to give a box Chaos Control so he can warp stuff back to his workshop

- the box defies logic, and he can fit literally anything in it

Amy

- If anyone insults or puts down her besties it’s ON SIGHT! EVEN IF ITS THE BESTIE SAYIN IT ABOUT THEMSELF (looking at you, TAILS)

- Refuses to let anyone go hungry. Angel to anemic and diabetic community!

- Spars with Knuckles to practice her hand to hand combat

- Meets up with Sonic in the coldest part of winter so they can hibernate together

- Loves her picnic dates with Sonic!

- Got Vanilla to homeschool Tails so at least the kid can have credentials to go into higher education in the future if he wants

- Loves thrift shopping! One man’s trash is this gals treasure!

- Crystal girl

- Shares Taylor Swift album theories with Shadow. They both go crazy for it

- She took Cream, Rouge, Blaze, and Sticks on a road trip. It was the most chaotic thing to hit the roads that summer.

Knuckles:

- is the reason a mountain has a giant crack in it

- vibe checks buildings for faulty wiring with his electro signal echidna stuff

- Bro moves the soil around his island to promote healthier plant life

- Bro is the single teen dad of many many many Chao

- Tries to leave the island whenever he can. He has a map of places that Sonic marked because they made him think of him!

- Taught Tails how to throw one hell of a punch and how to use his namesakes in combat

- Secretly looks forward to Rouge’s visits because he finds the sparring fun

Shadow:

- His room is usually only illuminated by a lamp because the sun shines directly in his window, and the ceiling light is too bright

- the lightbulb in the lamp changes colours. Rouge calls it his Mood Lamp

- If Sonic doesn’t show up to their weekly sparring, he gets concerned and indirectly searches for the dude. He’d rather die than admit he’s concerned tho

- Taylor Swift karaoke night with Amy

- Plays Project SEKAI

- Has a garden full of beautiful flowers dedicated to Maria. Amy and Sonic helped find flowers and seeds, and Knux provided the soil. They didn’t ask to get involved, nor were they asked, they just found out from Rouge and decided to help Shadow out

- He cannot fucking cook

- He cannot fucking bake

- There’s very few things he can actually make BUT HES LEARNING

- Learning to enjoy life as it happens. He’s stopping to smell the roses and appreciate what he has right now, and tries not to lament about the past or future

Rouge:

- Sometimes visits Angel Island just to bother Knuckles

- She has a pair of boots that has spikes on the toes

- Taught Tails how to steal

- She’s Cream’s favourite guest to bring to a tea party because of all the drama she brings with her.

- Is the reason Tails is a gossip

- She played Thief Simulator and had the greatest time ever

- Watched analysis videos of people trying to solve heists she committed

- Pretended not to listen when Amy infodumped to her about crystal energy, but she actually finds it very interesting

Omega:

- Trusts Tails with his life

- Because he can’t fit through doors or knock without breaking them, he stands outside the window waiting for someone to notice him outside

-or he just breaks the door anyway because why not

- Loves fireworks, wants to fire them on his own

- Absorbs every insult he hears Sonic make, as well as searches up on the internet to add to his database just so he can insult Eggman in a way that matters.

[timesorceror]

Inktober Dreamling [Day 30 – Scythe]

I knew I was gonna give this one to Dream and do something with that, but originally it was going to be Hob making him dress up as the Grim Reaper. Instead, it became something so much better lol

So I present to you... Morpheus as Death of the Endless AU. :D

"...excuse me, but did I hear you right back in the tavern? That death is... stupid?"

Hob jerked at the sound of a deep, resonant voice coming forth from the ether. He looked up, and his eyes caught the edge of a long black tunic only an arm's length from where he sat. Hob followed it up and up and up until he found the owner of said voice; a beautiful and captivating man with voluminous dark hair holding a long, curved weapon in one hand.

A scythe. Hob blinked at the man as suddenly the words finished filtering through his thick skull—dribbling into his sun-baked brain—and he couldn't help but bark out a laugh.

"Of course! You must've overheard me 'n my mates, right?" Hob shrugged, huffing out a little chuckle. "Death is stupid, and I've decided I'm not going along with it. Gonna live forever, me. So much to live for."

The man's lips quirked in a delighted smile that lit a fire in his sunny sky-blue eyes.

"Ah, so my sister was right," the stranger mused excitedly. "I was not so certain, but she told me that your dreams were true, and that perhaps if anyone could live forever without ever once asking for my hand, it might be you."

Hob tilted his head, studying the man further now that he was paying attention. The long tunic, Hob noted, was more than rough-spun cloth. It was of the finest black, so smooth and soft-looking that Hob could not even guess the name of its material. Swirls of delicate embroidery curled around the collar of the garment, which was held close at the waist by a sash of a similar make.

A long bandolier of gems and bells draped around from the stranger’s front to the back affixed at the waist. Curiously, the bells were silent even as he moved. And then there was the weapon he carried.

The scythe. Something about the intricate markings told Hob that this was no mere tool for reaping wheat.

"So I have come to you to tell you that I intend to grant your wish, Robert Gadling," the stranger continued, and a thrill raced along the curve of Hob's spine that made him sit up and take notice. "What precisely do you mean?" Hob asked, making the mistake of meeting the man's eyes as they glowed in excitement. This man, or perhaps a man-shaped creature, knew his name. Not just the one he preferred to be called but the name his mother had christened him with at birth.

"I mean to propose that in a hundred years, you and I return to the tavern of the White Horse, upon which you shall tell me the wonders and woes of living forever." The man extended a hand out to Hob and held it there, waiting.

"A hundred years, on this day?" Hob gasped, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe. The man inclined his head graciously.

"Yes. And if, at any point, you find that the cost of living has become more than you are willing to bear, simply hold out your hand and call for me." Hob's eyes fell back to the extended hand, and his stranger must have noticed that he was looking, for a peal of laughter sounded as clear as the silent bells shined in the afternoon sun's light. "No, Robert Gadling," his stranger assured him, "taking my hand in this instance is not a trick, I assure you." Hob looked back up to his stranger's face, adorned with a soft, beatific smile.

"I merely wish to shake the hand of the man who dares to call me stupid," his stranger insisted cheerily. "I have been weighed down by my work of late, so today has been... most uplifting."

Hob reached out and took the man's hand. The man took the opportunity to pull Hob to his feet by grasping his arm tightly. Despite feeling so desperately off-kilter, Hob's feet stood solidly against the ground.

"W-When we next meet," Hob breathed, licking his lips, "what do I call you when I see you?"

"My family call me Death of the Endless, but you... may call me Morpheus, if you so wish," Death answered, bright eyes sparkling. "See you in a hundred years, Hob Gadling."

Yes, the bells are a reference to Garth Nix's Abhorsen series. I love those books.

Obviously in this AU, Dream and Death have switched places, so he's a lot less grumpy here, and is more actively invested in Hob's journey.

He probably still gets captured by Burgess, because Desire doesn't have the motivation to have the book changed to capture Dream, and so it becomes easy to notice when Death is captured.

Of course Hob saves him from the fishbowl, and perhaps there is still some drama about whether or not they can be together, but in the end Morpheus is likely more willing to take a chance with Hob after all that.

I also like to think that at the next meeting, when Hob asks if his immortality is a game, Morpheus gets one of those cheeky shit-eating grins, pulls out a deck of cards, and goes, “No, but would you like to play a game of cards?”

[mariana-oconnor]

The Sussex Vampire pt 2

It took me five times to write the title correctly, so this is clearly going to go brilliantly.

Back to the vampires

Now, my working theory is that the son is secretly trying to off his new half-sibling and frame his stepmother. Mainly I think this because Peru, because British authors in the first part of the twentieth century loved a good untraceable tropical poison from South America.

“She verra ill,” cried the girl, looking with indignant eyes at her master. “She no ask for food. She verra ill. She need doctor. I frightened stay alone with her without doctor.”

First... wow. That's some terrible accent work there. Yikes. Second, is she ill because she's been sucking poison out of her baby's neck?

“Would your mistress see Dr. Watson?” “I take him. I no ask leave. She needs doctor.”

First, all he's going to do is prescribe brandy. And second, it's lucky he's actually a medical doctor (Although I'm not convinced he's ever done much medicine. He wasn't at his practice much before he abandoned it to live with Holmes again.) You can't just go assuming that everyone called doctor such and such knows medicine. I have many friends and relatives who are doctors and literally 1 of them is a medical doctor.

Both were high, and yet my impression was that the condition was rather that of mental and nervous excitement than of any actual seizure.

Or... an untraceable tropical poison...

“A fiend! A fiend! Oh, what shall I do with this devil?”

A fiend? A devil? Or perhaps...

(No, she's referring to the son. Definitely because who else could it be. Way too obviously directed at her husband here for it to actually be him.)

So far no brandy though. Watson must have lost all his medical knowledge since he left his practice. Woe.

“He loves me. Yes. But do I not love him? Do I not love him even to sacrifice myself rather than break his dear heart? That is how I love him. And yet he could think of me—he could speak of me so.”

Lady, I get it, I get it. You don't want to tell him his son is a murderer. But given the evidence you've left the poor man with, what do you expect. You think he'll just be like 'well, she beat my son and she keeps chowing down on our baby's neck, but I trust that she knows what she's doing?'

...a youth entered the room. He was a remarkable lad, pale-faced and fair-haired, with excitable light blue eyes which blazed into a sudden flame of emotion and joy as they rested upon his father. He rushed forward and threw his arms round his neck with the abandon of a loving girl.

The child is evil.

Although I kind of dislike how they're using his 'excess' of emotional response to show this, especially with the comparison to a woman. There's a distinct undercurrent in this description that sparks of him 'showing too much emotion for a boy' and therefore being othered.

Or maybe I'm reading too much into things in order to support my own hypothesis. Am I altering data to suit my story? Am I the misogynistic one reading too much into this.

Although it literally says in the text that his father 'gently disengaged himself from the embrace with some little show of embarrassment.'

Like, tell me that isn't outright supporting my reading.

Presently he returned, and behind him came a tall, gaunt woman bearing in her arms a very beautiful child, dark-eyed, golden-haired, a wonderful mixture of the Saxon and the Latin. Ferguson was evidently devoted to it, for he took it into his arms and fondled it most tenderly.

Watson out there refusing to apply gendered pronouns. How very modern of him. Lol.

It is a bit weird to see a baby referred to as 'it' so consistently, though. Not even 'them'. Reminds me of the baby object in the Sims.

Then he smiled, and his eyes came back to the baby. On its chubby neck there was this small puckered mark. Without speaking, Holmes examined it with care. Finally he shook one of the dimpled fists which waved in front of him. “Good-bye, little man. You have made a strange start in life."

Holmes being very nice to a baby. Actually interacting with... it? when he really doesn't need to. Not like the baby knows what he's saying. Just taking the time to be nice to a baby. Super heartless and lacking in empathy, that man.

“Do you like her, Jack?” Holmes turned suddenly upon the boy. His expressive mobile face shadowed over, and he shook his head. “Jacky has very strong likes and dislikes,” said Ferguson, putting his arm round the boy. “Luckily I am one of his likes.”

On the one hand, perfectly reasonable to dislike the woman who beat you. On the other hand, maybe the father knows his son is capable of terrible things.

The boy cooed and nestled his head upon his father's breast. Ferguson gently disengaged him.

Oh my god, he's a kid. Let the boy have a hug. Even if he is a monster-child, this is probably why. Though I have a sneaking suspicion the story is going to try to tell me it's the exact opposite.

"Now, Mr. Ferguson, I am a busy man with many calls, and my methods have to be short and direct. The swiftest surgery is the least painful. Let me first say what will ease your mind. Your wife is a very good, a very loving, and a very ill-used woman.”

And your son is a murderer.

“I will do so, but in doing so I must wound you deeply in another direction.” “I care nothing so long as you clear my wife. Everything on earth is insignificant compared to that.”

People really need to think before they make statements like this. I understand that he is unlikely to consider that his son is trying to murder his other child in a fit of outraged jealousy over having to share his beloved father, but still... famous last words.

"The idea of a vampire was to me absurd. Such things do not happen in criminal practice in England."

The specficity of this is very bizarre. Do they happen in other kinds of practices in England?

"Was there not a queen in English history who sucked such a wound to draw poison from it?”

Was there?

OK, apparently this refers to Queen Eleanor, who sucked the poison from Edward I's poisoned knife wound in 1272. A story that has, sadly, fallen out of vogue in the English educational system. Probably because we don't really like to discuss the crusades except in a very general, distant sense. Or... y'know... any of the other times we invaded people. There are a lot of gaps in English history lessons.

“A South American household. My instinct felt the presence of those weapons upon the wall before my eyes ever saw them. It might have been other poison, but that was what occurred to me. When I saw that little empty quiver beside the small bird-bow, it was just what I expected to see. If the child were pricked with one of those arrows dipped in curare or some other devilish drug, it would mean death if the venom were not sucked out."

Curare, that was the name I've been trying to think of. Very popular for a while in literature.

“I watched him as you fondled the child just now. His face was clearly reflected in the glass of the window where the shutter formed a background. I saw such jealousy, such cruel hatred, as I have seldom seen in a human face.”

Sometimes it does suck to be right.

Suck... heh. Pun wasn't intended, but I'll take it.

“I think a year at sea would be my prescription for Master Jacky,” said Holmes.

Like... they're making him work on a ship? I know therapy isn't really anything at this point in time. But would-be murderer child gets sent to sea?

I doubt he'll be killed in a mysterious shipwreck off page, like so many others have been, but really... how is sending him to sea going to help literally anyone? Surely it'll just make him angrier and more resentful.

Victorian parenting was super weird.

Is this to 'make him a man', because we've seen him being compared to a woman? Is this some sort of misguided restoration of the gender binary to save him?

"There, now,” he added as he closed the door behind him, “I think we may leave them to settle the rest among themselves.”

Also Holmes reading the room well enough to know husband and wife need some alone time?

(One last vampire gif there that I don't know if anyone but me will even recognise. Josef, you almost made me understand the vampire thing...)

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for October 21, 2024

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 26:23 (KJV):

23 Burning lips and a wicked heart are like a potsherd covered with silver dross.

Proverbs 26:23 (AMP):

23 Burning lips (uttering insincere words of love) and a wicked heart are like an earthen vessel covered with scum thrown off from molten silver (making it appear to be solid silver).

Thought for the Day

Professions of love from the wicked are comparable to a silver veneer on earthenware vessels. They look good on the surface; but upon thorough examination, they are not what they appear to be. We should assess people by their actions, not their words or appearance (Proverbs 20:11). Otherwise, they will deceive us, like a merchant selling a cheap vessel coated with silver.

The Bible has much to say about people who profess to love God but whose actions prove otherwise. Jesus called those who observe their religious traditions without loving God or their fellow, hypocrites: "...Well hath Esaias prophesied of you hypocrites, as it is written, this people honoureth me with their lips, but their heart is far from me. Howbeit in vain do they worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men. For laying aside the commandment of God, ye hold the tradition of men, as the washing of pots and cups: and many other such like things ye do…Full well ye reject the commandment of God, that ye may keep your own tradition" (Mark 7:6-9).

Bondage to man-made religious traditions is one of the things that keep people from a true relationship with God. Tradition in itself is not a bad thing if it is not followed blindly. However, Christianity for many people is merely a cultural tradition. They follow certain religious practices only because they were raised to do so. Many trust religious tradition to save them, but salvation is found only in a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. The only way to heaven is through faith in Him.

Cultural traditions can also lead us astray. We should ask God to show us the truth about them and cleanse us from all deception and unrighteousness. The fact that a tradition has been practiced for centuries, or that all society now behaves a certain way, does not make it right. These traditions can be cheap imitations of abundant life. No matter how popular or accepted certain things may be, if they do not line up with God's Word, we must renounce them. The Bible, not society, is our standard.

Jesus was always kind and extended mercy to the sinners who came to Him with honest hearts. To hypocrites, however, He was very harsh. Though they appeared to the world to be pure as silver, they could not hide their hidden, inward sins from Him: "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchers, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and of all uncleanness. Even so, ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity" (Matthew 23:27-28).

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear heavenly Father, I am asking that You be merciful to our nation and deliver us from evil. Father, you said in Your Word that judgment begins at the house of God, so convict Your people of their sins so that they may repent of them and return to You with their whole hearts. Lord, if You see anything in me that I am blind to, or that I have clung to, because of tradition, please show me my need to repent and change my thinking. May I always choose Your Word over all traditions of men? Create in me a clean heart. I ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Good Morning World

Monday, October 21, 2024, Jacksonville, Florida USA

From: Steven P. Miller, @ParkermillerQ, gatekeeperwatchman.org TM

‎Founder and Administrator of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups.

#GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO.

www.facebook.com/gatekeeperwatchnan

www.facebook.com/

Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“We are the infants grave in sweet in”)

Then behind who will I pour foe.     The breast, when first assay’d. We are the infant’s grave in sweet     in its good to the tame: the nutriment made it out dispense     a wild roses that from my last divorce. Add fresh nuptials     joyfully upon

the high doth my youth; and song. And     dark night from her Hand I are not bear that, which insphere, beneath.     It could every tree, forbid. The light, a beauteous dyes,     is like a coward … this baby that sweet babe you there bent     with beauty in the answer.

It’s fun said she Ah Sun-flower,     each the World dirhems for the stuff, it were turn’d her baby     and vain the way to open wind and with thee. That lace,     with his Associates Night hand you seize my arms, its greeted     by a doubt’s pain Still

sing thorn when a tear falls, that makes     some by-street its misery! Both broke us from thee, which     the Nightingale with vncalled townes do the one twain, by Name     and trysting one another of happiness at a long     ago hath thee back, till

my smart, as thou art my all. Of     these action! Then markes each within the charming Chloe.     That hills, that I bleed. Of all had join’d in woe I vowed head     in my skin and that purpose no farther. Are young, its slender     oats foraged in

my skin and wearing that I pedaled     my ten-speed across the best. Mirror, full ten time; down     instrument doth use and now unpossible of the Well     of greene is fitter than a cubit in come, and eyes—and     methoughts that sweeps thee dear;

no, the humble rug. I know a     sweet fields each his mother, quo she, do what is not ceasing     fuell of moss is spotted his mind; thou minion of her hut,     the her answer This fair Scotia hame again will breathing     on the Water of

Fidelity; nor can have measure     the marigold at last I know what shake, as him to belongs!     The mountains doth true lovers of the close beside the     sake of which it cold, and that I have my great Mother, you’ve     done for which I plight: a

mazer alone? As mad, yet wist     na what was tender joys that rage outside, and Virtue kept     on but not for text. What can ne’er renew it; but whether     to reach they be but once studded, old, was divided be     to sit by their grave

wherefore? I turne and with the mountains     lighter; and deck thee to that for? Then let me love: quest.     Fain would raise; but to the walls of racoon tongue which carries     thou art, dear maid, because why I the found all dispense a     wild and see the staves and

all bail shall I never lets the     poor solitary dove, must make worms, my heart only dear     loves have said or sung by virgin full moon, and song. Of the     pond, whilst thou loves; and I; we stand on a holly is danger.     The lights of love: quest.

Of blue day-light’st for him; to a     boon southern count and make a lodging is a pile of the     eastern skies, that in my breathe like them all that gallants, e’er     drive Homer’s spright of blooms in Margent see? Dost thou yields. All     along a scarlet cloak,

I wish their own: for each other,     for such man’s door, above thee living in welth, she thing, she     roude at me, bending away, as if they least in sackcloth     too, O Thyrsis! Hey ho gracelesse sorrow and adulterate     fruit might be allowed

in the two and done goes all     enforced, the other door— tis seldom shut—and thirty years,     to whiffs of court, and swell, by oft predict that must deny:     whilst I, whom she never cracked an empty-handed grows to     Honour most. Two hours as

thou always? I bring ye love groans,     but his sickle to the most precious jewel-like an out-of-     tune worn viol, a good to turne and when she wrought her sene? No     palace was all these field, wheresoever, every margin’d     rills. Some say, if to thee

down,—burst, its girth; whether answer:     do what you may things and even as dots now in hastes     pawes: and found such-like a cinder, we were but he the     Night he sprang, and the Pledge, which in the high the valley, streames     my soul move still had

Thyrsis! Who last shall stay. I probably     should be to my heart, I look the shadow of the Spittle     else. Down from the crown put out broad leaves, and such a brain     to human have, which like a grassy floor with potent     The main, let break in you!

[bills-bible-basics]

MAN WORSHIP - PERSONALITY CULT WORSHIP -- KJV (King James Version) Bible Verse List #Scriptures #BibleStudy #BibleVerses Visit https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/ to see more. "BUT ALL THEIR WORKS THEY DO FOR TO BE SEEN OF MEN: they make broad their phylacteries, and enlarge the borders of their garments, And love the uppermost rooms at feasts, and the chief seats in the synagogues, And greetings in the markets, and to be called of men, Rabbi, Rabbi. But be not ye called Rabbi: for one is your Master, even Christ; and all ye are brethren. And call no man your father upon the earth: for one is your Father, which is in heaven. Neither be ye called masters: for one is your Master, even Christ. But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant. And whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased; and he that shall humble himself shall be exalted . . . Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and of all uncleanness. Even so ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity." Matthew 23:5-12, 27-28, KJV "And he said unto them in his doctrine, Beware of the scribes, which love to go in long clothing, and love salutations in the marketplaces, And the chief seats in the synagogues, and the uppermost rooms at feasts: Which devour widows' houses, and for a pretence make long prayers: these shall receive greater damnation." Mark 12:38-40, KJV "Woe unto you, Pharisees! for ye love the uppermost seats in the synagogues, and greetings in the markets." Luke 11:43, KJV "Beware of the scribes, which desire to walk in long robes, and love greetings in the markets, and the highest seats in the synagogues, and the chief rooms at feasts; Which devour widows' houses, and for a shew make long prayers: the same shall receive greater damnation." Luke 20:46-47, KJV "Nevertheless among the chief rulers also many believed on him; but because of the Pharisees they did not confess him, lest they should be put out of the synagogue: For they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God." John 12:42-43, KJV "Now I beseech you, brethren, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that ye all speak the same thing, and that there be no divisions among you; but that ye be perfectly joined together in the same mind and in the same judgment. For it hath been declared unto me of you, my brethren, by them which are of the house of Chloe, that there are contentions among you. Now this I say, that every one of you saith, I am of Paul; and I of Apollos; and I of Cephas; and I of Christ. Is Christ divided? was Paul crucified for you? or were ye baptized in the name of Paul?" 1 Corinthians 1:10-13, KJV "For ye are yet carnal: for whereas there is among you envying, and strife, and divisions, are ye not carnal, and walk as men? For while one saith, I am of Paul; and another, I am of Apollos; are ye not carnal? Who then is Paul, and who is Apollos, but ministers by whom ye believed, even as the Lord gave to every man? I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase. So then neither is he that planteth any thing, neither he that watereth; but God that giveth the increase . . . Therefore let no man glory in men . . ." 1 Corinthians 3:3-7, 21, KJV "These are murmurers, complainers, walking after their own lusts; and their mouth speaketh great swelling words, having men's persons in admiration because of advantage." Jude 1:16, KJV "And I fell at his feet to worship him. And he said unto me, See ‭thou do it‭ not: I am thy fellowservant, and of thy brethren that have the testimony of Jesus: worship God: for the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy." Revelation 19:10, KJV "And I John saw these things, and heard ‭them‭. And when I had heard and seen, I fell down to worship before the feet of the angel which shewed me these things.‭ Then saith he unto me, See ‭thou do it‭ not: for I am thy fellowservant, and of thy brethren the prophets, and of them which keep the sayings of this book: worship God." Revelation 22:8-9, KJV If you would like more info regarding the origin of these KJV Bible verse lists, go to https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/. Thank-you! https://www.billkochman.com/Blog/index.php/man-worship-personality-cult-worship-kjv-king-james-version-bible-verse-list/?feed_id=236233&MAN%20WORSHIP%20-%20PERSONALITY%20CULT%20WORSHIP%20--%20KJV%20%28King%20James%20Version%29%20Bible%20Verse%20List

[carli-meows]

Apocageddon - Tinky Winky

litres like fizzy faygo, lemon shipped by the crate load

This is where I be, dripped out by the milli

And in my land, I reprimand; I demand, top demands

Like this was Laa-Laa-Land, I represent, man

Make you wanna shout and get some attention

I'm no attention whore, but now that you mentioned

I mentioned it once before, but I'm not really sorry

Sorry that I brought the reckoning, I keep it upon me

Apollyollyon is upon ye, all ye run, see

a place thats disgraced G, you can help but cry see

The skies run red with black spots and stars die

and blood fills my lungs, I'm out of luck, I can't sigh

So all the static three- me, Po and Dipsy

All we got is blessed, spared, somehow worthy

Earthquakes drummin, demons been summoned

Even angels are here and they both fear what's comin'

Apocalyptic Apocalypse

(Oh GOD) and Armageddon

Apollyonageddon (Oh GOD)

Apocageddon spreading

Apocalyptic Apocalypse

(Oh GOD) and Armageddon

Apollyonageddon (Oh GOD)

Apocageddon spreading

Oh my god, I mean gosh, it's folly

Got my knees buckling, oh god, oh golly

oh gosh this, and oh geez that

events like this cause constant panic attacks

Dipsy said relax, there's no sense in stoppin him

Laa said somethin similar, warned against poppin him

Noo-Noo, the Flowers and the Tin poles are all gone

and now we're with the hue one, the end, Apollyon

you're scared? man me too i won't lie

he assured our safety, said that we won't die

Still with the pulsating sky and earth quaking

How the fuck can I tell he ain't faking?

Faith! Surley that's enough, 30 years and more,

surley it's no bluff, as i curl upon the floor

He replaced his real name with this terrifying new one

Apollyon is arriving with the crash of the blue dawn!

Apocalyptic Apocalypse

(Oh GOD) and Armageddon

Apollyonageddon (Oh GOD)

Apocageddon spreading

Apocalyptic Apocalypse

(Oh GOD) and Armageddon

Apollyonageddon (Oh GOD)

Apocageddon spreading

It's Apocageddon and it's upon ye mortals

This will stain universe's versals inside portals

Even when you're getting lit up out at the club

You feel it approaching like the death of doves

I was told of it's arrival, I got my crying out early

Got my bucket list goin, got my riding out, hurry

So when it finally touches down upon this cursed earth

I get lit as fuck and sit back, no hurt

It's always been there, like a beauty marking

When it finally comes, best get to parking

Your friends, your foes, woes, it don't matter

'ollyon leaves no trace, nary a blood splatter

It's the worst of the worst, worst possible outcome

The unavoidable thunder, the loudest bass drum

Heart pouding panic, entraps all at once

No need to scream, the silence beats you to the punch

Apocalyptic Apocalypse

(Oh GOD) and Armageddon

Apollyonageddon (Oh GOD)

Apocageddon spreading

Apocalyptic Apocalypse

(Oh GOD) and Armageddon

Apollyonageddon (Oh GOD)

Apocageddon spreading

The one, thy only- Cursed upon thee

Apologies if you thought you could ever cease me

My eternal flame remains upon your nature's way

Apologies, if you'll excuse me Apocageddon's today

The sky flickers and flashes as I appear in evey shadow

Every reflection world wide, as I float and glide

Down upon ye sinful, I become mirthful

The product of what you sow, I'll even put on a little show

I turn the rich into the needy, and they join the masses

The undead crawls upon stolen land in golf course grasses

The concrete gets overtaken by poisonous moss

And the crumbling of time studders to a pause

Apocageddon is simply where you were heading

now you can clearly see me approaching everlong

Apologies if you ever thought you could cease me

The one, thy only- Apollyon

And you're, like, ABSOLUTELY sure we'll be fine during this apocalypse?

Yeah, Tee, I'm big worried about this... All of us are!

Apocageddon, and yes, you'll all be safe. For the most part.

AHHHH, I knew yer ass would say some shite like that, for the most part my ass, fuck outta here cunt.

WELL, WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO, I'M INEVITABLE!

[dragon-phoenix-along]

woe the gays be upon thee!

would you like to rant about a gay to lift the crews spirts?

Yes. I would. Very much so.

And because you didn’t specify which gay…

Your getting Coral!

Coral is this half siren little girlie, who I like to spin. Why? Because her personality and her instincts war very often.

Coral is a College student who is working with a company who owns a siren research center. Now the Siren research center has other study plans for interns, and they have a lot of students there to study other things.

Like the life of the nearby coral reef, the shallow waters in the area, the beach condition (turtles do come occasionally!), and some of the further out parts of the study.

Coral works in the coral reef, but instead of focusing on coral Heath, or reef health. They use it as a jumping ground to study Sirens.

Now the research center doesn’t know that they have a siren working for them.

But they do know this: Coral can and will go up against sharks.

Coral had a large bite mark in her upper left thigh from a Tiger shark Siren attacking her. She punched it in the face, and swam back to shore. She then managed to limp her way to the research center, and ask them to treat her.

With her mothers having been interns at this center as well, she’s welcomed in. And it travels the grapevine quickly that the new intern now only survived a Siren attack, but punched the Siren as well. She doesn’t discourage it, but she also doesn’t confirm it.

Coral also has some pretty cool tattoos!

Her back and upper arms have the most, here are the most significant/the ones I like the most

At the top of her back is a “Siren” corpse, it’s a mermaid (how we depict them) who’s gone belly up, and body has been picked apart. The skull is facing to the viewer and it’s jaw is wide open. There are multiple creatures living in it

A broken trident on one of her biceps, half of the tongs have broken off. Leaving a almost harpoon looking weapon

There is a group of tropical fish oh her back, one represents every important person in her life. Each one is colored as that persons favorite colors

She has two names tattooed onto her, Kymopoleia her favorite goddess. And Butternut, the only goat allowed in the house

A kraken takes up the majority of her back, but with it are also a hammerhead, a lemon shark, and a type of eel.

There is a goldfish on her that is white, maraschino cherry red , and sky blue.

She also loves to surf!

She dose quite a few styles, body, boogie, and long board. She’s very skilled too! But she doesn’t like to compete, she’s very camera shy and dislikes attention.

Meeting her off the beach, then on the beach would be a true surprise. Off the beach she’s rather meek and quiet, not very comfortable speaking up or talking about a lot. On the beach she’s practically a life guard, great swimming skills, talks to the kids about the wild life. She’s truly alive when she’s on the beach.

Her siren side is different.

Normally she suppressed it, as it’s rather embarrassing for her (in hindsight) to growl at people. She simply can’t help it! If you threaten her siblings she’s going to growl at you.

And because of her Siren heritage, she has sharp teeth! Although she struggles to control when she has them.

Other notable things about Coral:

She uses she/it pronouns and normally uses it when she’s a siren

She’s rather ashamed to be both, the one thing she craves it to be on one side or the other

She has vitiligo! It’s all over her body and in Koi like patterns

She reaches the threatening hight of 5”3 (or 160 ish cm)

Her favorite farm animal is a Duck

One of her eyes is blue, and the other is red! Sadly this beautiful eye is sensitive to sunlight, so she usually covers it with her hair. But while surfing you can spot her with an eyepatch.

She hates catfish (no I will not give context for this)

Her favorite sibling is Minette! The two will go to the beach together, and he will hold her stuff and flag her to good waves.

She is also a huge bookworm, not being able to interact with sirens well has lead her to read research papers on them.

She’s the oldest sibling of Nine!

She dose the best puppy dog eyes in the family

She is generally fluid with her gender presentation and dresses in hoodies and comfy shorts.

She doesn’t have a cannon sexually yet, but Pan/Omni dose fit her well.

[pleasantanathema]

The Witcher’s Woes

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: bruising/marking, rough sex, dirty talk, light degradation, mentions of blood/injuries, very mild angst, porn with plot

Word Count: 10k

A/N: This is a collab piece for the Pleasant & Strider Present: Fantasy AU Writing Collab hosted by myself, @present-mel, and @linestrider​ 

You can find all the other wonderfully creative and smutty pieces on our masterlist!

P.S.: This is a long one, if you feel like only reading smut, feel free to jump down to the second line break and begin there. 

_____________________________________________________________

         A Witcher: someone who has undergone extensive training, ruthless mental and physical conditioning, and mysterious rituals, which take place within Witcher schools such as the Wolf, Cat, and Griffin in their respective hidden Kaers, or home castles, in preparation for becoming an itinerant monster slayer for hire. (source: fandom.com).  

          The storms were raging on the coast, salty waves crashing into the shore like heavy hands attempting to crawl out of the sea, only to get dragged back into the abyss. The winds were howling, lightning crashing, yet the storm was the last thing on your mind as you opened the door to your lowly estate.

           Ushijima of Velhad still had his arm raised from where he knocked on the wood, his yellow eyes glowing against the darkness of night. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, his chestnut hair tousled, lines of rain water dripping down his nose, his cheeks pallid. Even still, The Witcher looked to be a living memory, no new wrinkles or scars that you could detect when the rumbling flashes lit the sky. If it wasn’t for the rain, he would’ve looked entirely the same since you last saw him years ago, smiling in the evening glow of the countryside before departing for a new journey.

           You ushered him in quickly, silently, your instincts for hospitality taking over before you could begin to think of questioning him about his sudden arrival. His armor was damp, heavy, sloshing and clinking as he undid the leather and meteorite laced straps from his shoulders. He was breathing slowly, deliberately. You rushed to grab towels from a chest, blanketing him in warmth as he sat before your rolling fireplace. He uttered a quiet thanks, never one to use words out of place.

           The tea you had been brewing above the fire began to boil. You quickly poured two cups, adding a dash of the alcoholic white gull to his and using a burst of fire magic between your palms to keep the cup warm. You settled into the chair beside him, noticing how his gaze leered into the sparking fireplace.

           “Ushijima,” you finally called him, after time had passed and his hair began to dry, “are you hurt? Is that why you’re here?”

           He grunted from beside you, moving the hand you noticed had been clutching his rib cage.

           ���Yes, but not badly. I needed refuge from the storm more-so than a potion.”

           “How did you know where to find me?”

           He was quiet for a moment, perhaps pondering if he should simplify the truth.

           “A sorceress, even in hiding, is never hard to find. The townsfolk talk, you know. I knew you were nearby before even beginning my hunt.”

           “You could have asked for more than the tea I gave you, you know I’m here to help.”

           He leaned back in the chair, his thick, long legs spreading out before the fire, his socks still damp and clinging to his toes, a big cat uncurling his weary limbs.

           “It would have been rude to barge in begging for assistance.”

           Ah, yes. He was still as courteous as always, his Griffin School teaching still ingrained in his mannerisms. Most Witchers were not so polite, but that school in particular valued traditional teachings. You knew you’d have to indulge his small conversation before getting more answers from him; he always played the chivalrous game, after all.

          “Tell me, what brings you to the shores of Blaviken? Last I saw of you, you were riding north, returning to what is left of Kaer Seren.”

           “There is nothing left,” he sighed, both arms now resting on the chair, the last remnants of tea staining his cup, “everything was destroyed, save a few books I found amongst the rubble.”

            “What a shame, that library was a marvel. I would’ve liked to visit it myself.”

             The story of the destruction of Kaer Seren was only well known to those acquainted with the last remaining Witchers. The keep was tucked away amidst the edge of the sea and the snowy mountains of Kovir to the north. The Witchers of that school, all of Ushijima’s kin, were well acquainted with magic and kept a vast library of mystic tomes within their home. But they were secretive, protective of their knowledge. Witchers, men created by magic to become the monsters they killed, were guarded for good reason. Years of persecution had left their numbers in ruin.

            A group of mages felt scorned by the Witchers’ refusal to share their wealth and toppled the castle of Kaer Seren in an avalanche, leaving bodies and crumpled books in the wake, all never to be used again. You could almost picture the blood and ink that stained the snowy graves.

           You’d only heard this story from the mouth of Ushijima himself, one night after too many scuffles and too many drinks.

            “I brought some for you,” he smiled then, warm and soft, full lips on display, “that’s the real reason I’m here.”

            His eyes were especially luminous in the firelight, gold irises reflecting the flames like the most precious of coins. His cheeks were flushed now, color regaining across his skin. Freckles smattered his cheeks like dried blood; you had to hold yourself back from reaching to him, from caressing his skin to see if the marks were lost war paint or new stories etched into his skin. He was tanned from all his time spent meditating in the sun, truly a unique specimen to behold. It was rare to see someone so brutal be so beautiful.

           You were excited at his words, your fingers digging into the grooves of your cup at the mention of magical books awaiting you to peruse them.

           He could see the eagerness behind your eyes and he laughed, then coughed, but continued his soft chuckling again. You paused, realizing he must be in more pain than he was letting on. His arm had returned to his torso, the thickly corded muscle clutching and protecting whatever injury was lying beneath.

           “They’re in my bag by your door, you should go look at—.”

           “Ushi, you’re hurt. Let me take care of you.”

            Before becoming friends with the valiant hunter, you would’ve leapt at the opportunity to read hidden knowledge. But years of acquaintance with the hardened man had your heart tugging in another direction; suddenly, Ushijima was becoming more important than all your years of study and practice in sorcery.

            He had a habit of breaking everything he touched: monsters, glass cups, weapons, he had a very powerful grip, and perhaps you were just the next thing in line to come undone by his hands.

            You stood from your place by the fire, strolling over to a cabinet where you kept all the alchemy ingredients you had collected from your years living alone here by the sea. Many travelers had come by, having heard of the witch by the shore, bringing elements and components to sell at a high price. And you had taken them all, emptying your purse at even the faintest glimpse of a rare material peeking from their bag. You loved your craft, you had perfected it, almost, and every day you spent toiling away finding new ways to create potions and expand your magical knowledge.

          “I need to know what you were hunting earlier.” Your fingers began rustling within the crowded shelves, grabbing an empty bottle as you heard him sigh behind you.

          “A Hym,” he said softly, “it scratched my side, it’s deep, but not fatal.”

           You stilled, eyes darting across all your ingredients. He said the word so easily, so nonchalantly, like he didn’t just battle a demon.

           “A slice from Hym’s ethereal claws drains the life force from their victim, the longer that wound sits untreated, the worse you will get.” You mentally cursed at him, blaming his chivalrous nature for hurting him for longer than he deserved to be in pain. If he had said something when he came in your front door, you could have had him on the mend already.

           “I know that, but a small potion to get me through most of the pain until now.”

           “You’ll need more than that. You’re lucky, I just went to town last week and managed to find vitriol. I can make you a superior swallow drink, just…stay still.”

            Quiet mumbles tumbled from your lips as you worked: measurements, ingredients, small musings as you set aside all the components to begin assembling them upon your alchemy table. Plants like white myrtle, celandine, crow’s eye fell into the bottle of enhanced swallow you already had on hand; you added fruit, nothing too exotic, just the common berbercane, and finally the blue tinted vitriol powder.

           You eyed the hunter as you mixed the potion, swirling the now red liquid within the high neck of the bottle, speeding up the mixing process with a little magic of your own. Only he would have such insouciance concerning a fight with such a wicked creature. He was talented, perhaps not as much as the more legendary Witchers that roamed the lands, but Ushijima was strong, sturdy, nimble and smart when in battle. His stoic nature allowed him to distance himself from the horrors of his life, a life you knew he had not chosen.

           He was an orphan, brought up by the Griffin School and transformed into a monster hunter without much consent, though you knew he had none to give. But he wore his profession like a badge of honor, looking at his life through a lens of helping those who could not help themselves in a world infested with demons, ghouls, and humanoid monstrosities.

           You’d always wanted to admit how admirable you found him, but you knew he was never one to take compliments.

           Standing next to where he was patiently sitting, you offered him the small bottle, the glass precariously dangling in your fingers.

           “Take this,” you pulled the flask away just slightly as he reached for it, “but only after you tell me what the hell you were doing fighting a Hym.”

          “You said it yourself, I get worse every moment I don’t drink that.”

          “You’ve lasted an hour, Ushi,” you chided, “I think you can take a few moments to tell me why there was a Hym near Blaviken.”

           You sat the bottle back on the table, moving to stand behind him and press the towel around his shoulders a little tighter into his neck. He gave you a contented sigh, eyes closing. He never liked to talk about his work, but you always pressed him. You lived in this monstrous world as well, had killed a few drowners while walking along the sands, aided an earl with a botchling, once even made friends with a rather tempting succubus. Everyone in this world was plagued by wretched creatures, he was just more qualified to kill them with his training and silver swords.

          Your fingers pressed into the soft cloth around his neck, picking up the fabric and using it to brush against his hair and continue drying the damp spots still lingering around his ears, the back of his neck. You normally weren’t so blatant with your affection for him, but you knew you had him as a captive audience within the chair. He’d have to tell you his story before earning what he desired, but you might as well humor him with soothing touches while he did.

         “Hyms are nasty things, you know. Demons that feed off the guilt of others.” He began.

         “I found a note from a daughter in distress about her father on a notice board not too far down the road. He was going mad, she wrote, she thought perhaps he had become possessed. I did some searching in their house, found love letters tucked away under the old man’s mattress addressed to his sister-in-law. He wanted her, he loved her, so he killed his own brother to have her. But then she threw herself into the sea from her own grief; I think the Hym could’ve gotten to her first, then transfixed itself onto the man.”

         “Hm, the things we do for love.” You mused, hands coming to rest on his shoulders once again.

          Somehow, he felt stronger, broader than the last time you’d touched him. You sunk your fingers into the sinews on display in his damp shirt, humming to yourself. You’d thought about this before, about having the strengthened hunter sit vulnerably before you, only your thoughts involved the two of you in much less clothing and talking of much less rotten things.

          You closed your eyes for a moment, remembering the sketches you’d seen of Hyms in bestiaries. They were murky, shadowy beings, devilish horns upon their faceless heads, long black claws dripping from their hands. You would have cowered at the sight of such a creature, yet Ushijima sought out to destroy it.

          His gruff voice continued on, “I confronted the man, called out the Hym, and it began to attack. Its claws are long, it scratched me from the very beginning. But it’s gone now, perhaps banished to the dark realm from whence it came.”

          You plucked the bottle from its resting place, handing it to Ushijima over his shoulder. He took it with a simple thanks, head tipping back as he drank the entirety of its contents. You watched almost gleefully at his thick, irresistible neck on display. Everything about him was so strong, so well kept, even as he sat before you dampened from a storm.

         “You know, Ushi, I could listen to you talk like that for hours.”

         “Oh yeah? Then maybe I’ll stick around for a bit this time, let you listen to all my seedy tales.”

         “Mhm, they’re only seedy when that bard friend of yours is around. Is he still alive? Tendō, that is.”

           A flash of red hair and a catlike smile flashed before your mind’s eye as you thought of the dangerous, yet comical bard who often clung to the Witcher’s side.

           Ushijima laughed, clutching at his stomach as you circled his chair and came to stand before him, arms crossed delicately in front of your body. Your figure cast a silhouette across his own, making you seem larger than life in the firelight. He was enraptured in the inky vice of your shadow.

          “Yes, somehow he is still alive. Last I heard of him, he’s off singing songs in the capital of Redania to some rich heiress.”

          “Good to hear,” you shrugged, “I always liked him.”

          “No, he always liked you.” He wiggled his eyebrows, the action sending you into a fit of giggles as well. “And I can’t blame him.”

          Your laughter subsided at his words, a warm tingle spreading across your body. Normally Ushijima was not one to flirt without the aid of alcohol; perhaps you’d given him more than you thought in his tea earlier? You watched him relax in his seat, lifting his shirt to reveal a quickly fading wound upon his tawny skin, the old blood sinking back into the muscle where it belonged.

           Thunder rumbled outside the walls, a heavy boom resounding from the gods above.

           “You should bathe, Ushi.”

           “What, do I smell?”

           He was suddenly so playful, so charming, his grin making you feel flustered.

           “You will soon, I’m sure. Go beyond those doors,” you pointed over your shoulder, “It’s a heated pool, one of the reasons I chose this god forsaken estate.”

           “Will you join me?”

           You took a pause. This man was always making you pause, making you step back and evaluate your words and actions around him. Surely, he was joking. But the gleam in his bright eyes told you a different story, there was more lingering behind his words that you did not yet understand.

           “I will, but only after I take a peek at those books you brought me. Now, off with you.”

           You brushed by him as he stood, arms stretching above his head, his body shifting as he evaluated the healing wound upon his flesh. His heavy boots clunked against the floorboards as he followed your command, the sound of an enhanced predator marking his path. He slid through the door at the back of the great room and left you alone once more.

           You would’ve been ashamed if he saw how quickly you rushed to his bag, gathering the cold, dusty books in your arms before setting them gently on the table. They were relics, ancient, undoubtedly hiding secret runes and magic within their spines.

           Your fingertips brushed over the titles of the four books he brought you, but despite being entranced by the knowledge lying in wait for you, you were imagining your fingers to be elsewhere. You flipped one book open, your nails following the lines of ink, but your mind took in no words you read.

You were somewhere else; you were mentally with Ushijima, your fingers back in his hair, your hands exploring places unknown to you on his skin. He was the well-guarded book you desired to read, to hold, to explore.

______________________________________________________________

           Ushijima was astounded by your bath. He knelt to the stones on the ground, using his keen senses to feel the heated rocks and look for their source. There were some offshore vents that were connected to this place, feeding in warm water to the bath. He took in a deep breath, smelling the lingering hint of salt in the air, but the scent didn’t entirely match the ocean.

           He dipped his fingers in the water, finding it smooth, warm, unsalted. You must have put magic in place to filter all the sediment from the pipes. You always were clever, even in the smallest of ways. Your wit was something he admired about you.

           He took his time undressing, his ears perked as he heard you rustling paper in the other room. He had felt embarrassed at first about being so sentimental towards you; he had known from the beginning of his journey that any tomes he found would be placed into your care for you to enjoy. He’d read them, of course, the journey from Kovir and Poviss still a long one to the border of Redania where you lived. As he divulged himself in the ancient knowledge of his Witcher school, he always pictured you reading the same words he did; he felt your presence nestling into his skin, enveloping him like a magic spell. He liked to imagine how you’d react to the pages, how many notes you would scribble down from certain intriguing sections.

           Ushijima thought about you more than he cared to admit.

           Naked, he stepped into the bath, his screaming muscles finally silenced under the hot press of water against his body. The bathing pool had a ledge around its border, and he took a seat at the back, arms spreading out like heavy wings along the rocky edge. He sat where he could watch the door; it was instinct, he told himself, to always be aware of his surroundings, but he knew he was just waiting to glimpse your figure appear before him.

           Some nights, when preparing his tent under the stars, he would think of the first time he met you. He had traveled with Tendō to some opulent gathering in Toussaint, one filled with wine and vampires he knew were hidden amongst the crowds, but any thought he had of a hunt had vanished when he saw you. You were delightful, enchanting, eye-catching amongst the throngs of people. It didn’t take long for his friend to seek you out, to gain your friendship, and Ushijima watched patiently from the sidelines, watched how you held yourself with such poise and dignity. But all the while, he was aching to get closer to you, to touch you, to know you.

          You had become his guilty pleasure over the years, a fantasy he envisioned as he lay alone at night. Even when he was meditating, he was hard-pressed to not find himself seeing your skin behind his eyes, imagining how your body would feel within his hands. The hands of a killer, a fiend, hands that crushed whatever he held all too easily. But you, you were so powerful, so seemingly untouchable, and he found himself unworthy to behold you. He was just another creature, a man turned monster, someone wholly undeserving of a divine sorceress.

          He huffed to himself, a shy smile pulling at his cheeks as he thought of your words from earlier.

         “The things we do for love.” He repeated the words to himself, sinking a little deeper into the water.

           He didn’t have to wait long for you to enter. He was unexpectedly aware of his nakedness as you entered, fully clothed still in your corset and trousers. He felt heat rising to his cheeks, spreading down across his belly, at the prospect of watching you change; it would be impolite to ogle you. He turned his gaze instead to the water, watching how the surface lapped at his skin as he shifted his weight.

           “Are you comfortable?” You called out to him from across the room. He could hear your clothing shuffling, hear the laces coming undone one by one from your body. The room felt quiet, the air smothering. He’d felt so bold earlier, but now he felt almost ashamed that he had asked you to join him.

           “Ushiwaka,” you implored with a little more strain to your voice, “don’t tell me you’ve gone shy on me.”

           His gaze shifted up for only a moment, catching a glimpse of your naked back as you peered over your shoulder at him, your hands ready to pull down your breeches and become fully naked. He couldn’t help himself, he gawked at your beauty, tracing every curve, line, and dip across your splendidly sculpted skin. You looked more beautiful than any constellation he pointed out with his finger in the night sky. He unabashedly gazed at the planes of your shoulders, the gentle slope of your spine. He imagined taking his time to map the uncharted waters of your body, of discovering every hidden cosmos tucked away within your curves.

           “Yes,” he cleared his throat, “I think I’ve become even more comfortable at the sight of you.”

           He held his breath for a moment, waiting for your reaction. Upon seeing you smile and turn your face away, he sighed, sinking deeper into the pool, arms barely keeping him afloat from where they rested on the edge.

           He heard splashing as you waded into the water, submerging yourself up to your neck before you came to sit just a few feet away from him. From here, he could study you more closely, see the elegant slope of your neck into your shoulder. He was pleased to note that he could still make out the form of your breasts in the water, the lovely globes just barely dipping out of sight.

           “I must say, even in the given circumstances, you’re still a sight for sore eyes.” He always loved how silky your voice was, always melodious to his ears. He always worried he’d forget how it sounded, but your timbre matched the tone he had been playing in his head since he last saw you.

           “I haven’t heard the name Ushiwaka in a long time,” he confessed, “it’s always Witcher now, or Ushijima of Velhad since that’s where I did most of my work.”

           “Well, you lost that name—Wakatoshi—a long time ago when you were picked up by the Witchers, but I know it is sentimental to you still. If you prefer, I can just call you Ushijima.”

           “You know I don’t mind it.” He felt like he said the words too quickly.

           “Hm, well, I’ll call you anything you let me, Ushiwaka.”

           A shiver hit his body at your words, he was keen enough to know there was innuendo laced behind them.

______________________________________________________________

           You closed your eyes, head leaning back against the warm stone as you allowed the steamy water to wash away the grime of the day. You moved your hands over your body, feeling the sticky sweat melt away. You reached for a small towel, tossing one in Ushijima’s direction and watching how he caught it so effortlessly, like a cat swatting at a shadow on the wall. He received a small bar of lavender soap with the same ease, his nose wrinkling at the flowery scent.

           You both took a moment to wash, you humming an old tune, Ushijima remaining silent aside from the sloshing of water made from his heavy limbs beneath the surface.

           You’d never been in such an intimate space with him before. A bath is time of solace and cleansing, but also one of exposure and susceptibility. Water intentionally brings forth feelings of intimacy and ambivalence. You knew he was there, watching, his heightened senses attuned to every sound, smell, every minimal movement around him. You couldn’t take his silence any longer.

           “I—,” you began quietly, “can I ask you something?”

           His movements ceased, those radiant eyes now focusing entirely on you. You instantly felt heat spread across your chest, climbing up and darkening your ears with blush. You wondered for a moment if he could see through you, in you, see how fast your heart was pounding blood through all your veins. His intense stare made you feel like he was closer, his deadly hand wrapped acutely around your heart, aiding it as it struggled to beat harder, faster.

           “Of course.” His words were direct, poignant, the deep vibrations almost tingling the water itself.

           “When you were facing that Hym, at any moment, did you fear it would sense your grief?”

           You could tell he was taken aback by your words. He placed the wet cloth to his chest, his long fingers digging into the fabric as he pondered what you said.

           Once again, he wasn’t sure if he should simplify the truth. He mulled over your question, let the words seep into his consciousness as he looked up to the ceiling. He should’ve known you were astute enough to see through him.

           “Yes,” he stated, “I did.”

           He didn’t wish to elaborate any further, but he could tell his curt response didn’t satisfy your internal reasonings.

           “I see.” You noted somberly.

           “How did you know?”

           He watched you slink farther under the water, searching for cover, searching for a way not to express your thoughts. He noticed how your legs crossed beneath the surface, the light from the hanging candles glittering through the water.

           “I know you didn’t choose this path, didn’t choose to be a Witcher. That was forced upon you; you were lucky you even survived the Trial of Grasses that made you into what you are—.”

           “A monster.” He interjected flatly.

           “You’re not…” you sighed, dipping your head into your wet hand, “you’re no monstrosity, Ushi, not even a miscreation.”

           He tensed at your words, catching how you regarded him with a solemn look.

           “I didn’t choose a life of sorcery, you know. I was torn away from society when I was a girl, taught to use my source of magic to heal wounds, but also how to kill someone in an instant. People…powerful people used me to their advantage. It’s why I stay hidden now, I’m running from my past misdeeds. I know what it is like to have regrets; to grieve.”

            He only nodded in understanding, afraid of using the wrong affirmations.

            A heavy silence fell between you once again. You plucked the soap from its resting place behind you, thoughts tumbling through your mind like the waves crashing at the shore outside. So many words were desperate to leave your mouth, to be birthed and said and made into reality between you, but you dared not.

           If anyone understood the weightiness, the hidden meaning behind silence, it was Ushijima.

          But even he couldn’t bear it much longer. He grunted, running his wet hands over his face as he contemplated his next move.

         “Well, tell me this. What would you be if not a sorceress?”

         “Hm? Oh, I’ve never thought about it before. I’ve just…always accepted my fate.”

          “I’d have been a sportsman,” he declared, a slight uplift in his voice.

          “Oh really?” He watched as a grin pulled at your cheeks, the heaviness of the conversation before dissipating. “And what sports are you good at, Ushiwaka?”

          “Anything with a ball,” he shrugged, “some kids down south play games with poorly strung nets, and they do their best to keep the ball from hitting the ground as they toss it back and forth. I think I’d be quite decent at it; I am agile, after all.”

          “Powerful, too.” You remarked.

          “You think so?” He teased.

           He eyed you carefully as you set the cloth and soap aside.

           You began to move... towards him. His eyes narrowed, his hands mimicking your actions and setting his bathing instruments to the side, freeing his hands.

           You were ethereal in the water, gentle waves lapping at your skin, the ebb and flow of it shimmering around your body.

          “Now that I think about it, I know what I would at least be proficient as if not a sorceress.”

           The smirk that tugged at your lips intrigued him. Before he could stop himself, he was reaching out for you, taking your arms and pulling you towards his chest.

          “And that is?”

           Time stopped for a moment as you settled yourself into his lap, the sound of your breathing, the feeling of skin upon skin, touch upon touch, the only increments of time needed.

           His body was so hot, so willing to accept yours upon it.

          “I’d be a wonderful whore.”

          Golden eyes flickered up to you, lashes low, his lips parted.

         “Care to show me?”

          Your skin was cold to his warm touch, his hot breath fanning across your cheeks. He was so close, so eager, you could feel hardness begin to form between where your thighs cradled his.

          Your hands slid across his shoulders, feeling the grooves and puckers of scars pass under your touch. You settled your grasp onto his neck, steadying yourself above him. His hands played against your skin under the water, the heavy fingers finding your hips and sinking into the smooth flesh he found. You gasped aloud at the feeling; his grip was strong, iron-clad, daring to leave marks behind. You wanted to break under his touch, collapse against his chest and allow the water to pull you both under into euphoria, but you secured your inner desires. Your back straightened, your fingers clawing into his thick skin.

          “Ushiwaka,” you whispered it like a humble prayer, your lips brushing his, “kiss me.”

         He groaned, pulling you a little closer, spreading your thighs a little wider.

        “Why don’t you kiss me, little temptress? Show me how much you want me.”

         You felt bewitched, wondering for a moment if he had placed you under a mind control spell with his words. Your thoughts were jumbled, but they were still yours: kiss him, touch him, read the hidden words on his inky pages like you had long desired.

         Your lips met his tenderly, hesitantly, tasting the salt of water and sweat against his awaiting mouth. He breathed through his nose like he was exhaling life into you. He moved his mouth against yours, testing you, pushing at you, and effortlessly you gave in. Your eyes were closed, but you felt like you could still see him, felt like you knew every step in the dance he was leading you in. It felt so natural, so smooth, and you found yourself clinging to him with every press of his lips against yours.

          Then his mouth fell open; an invitation. You followed him, sliding your tongue in, finding his own past his teeth. He felt like true sin, his tongue tempting yours to reveal its secrets to him. It was slow, methodical, a mutual exploration of tastes and pleasures you had both long craved to discover.

          Your chest fell to his, your breasts meeting the hard planes of muscle found there. You moaned, the sound of water moving igniting your hunger as one of his hands meandered up your back, fingers lapsing into your soft muscles. He offered you a groan, and you took it desperately, hastening your kiss and plunging you both deeper into one another. One of your hands wandered from his neck, slipping down his chest, pressing him back against the edge of the pool. Your nails pulled at his flesh, wanting, needing, unknowing how to gain purchase against such solid muscle.

          He tasted like tea leaves: earnest, alluring, but also like the earth, like something natural and primal. It was a taste that was familiar, enticing, and every time he took a moment to breathe, you found yourself diving back in for another taste, another glimpse of what lay hidden beyond his lips.

          “Mhm,” he moaned as he finally pulled away, chest rising and falling, “perhaps I’ll mold you into my own personal whore.”

          “I’d like that, Ushiwaka.”

           The blood within his veins rushed to his cock at the sound of his name, of that personal name, falling from your sweet voice. Fuck, he would give anything to have you, but it seemed that he didn’t have to. He could feel by the way you clung to him, by the way you kissed him with such fervor, that you desired him all the same. It was thrilling to know you wanted him, and he wondered how far he could take you.

           His hand glided away from your back, circling around to your chest. He cupped one of your breasts in his hands, holding back a groan as he felt the weight of it within his palm. He watched how the water lapped at your skin, the ripples from his movement brushing against a hardening nipple. The small sound of delight that left your lips had him refocusing his gaze to your face. You wore a sly smile, your own hand upon his neck tightening in anticipation of his next move.

           “I’m a dark man, my love. Hardened.”

           He was toying with you, but his words offered some truth. Ushijima had been envisioning you like this for far too long; there many devious things he wanted to do to your body.

           You leaned forward, pressing a wet kiss to his ear, your voice low, “hardened indeed…I can feel you between my thighs.”

           He smirked at your words, taking your nipple between his fingers and listening to you gasp as he gave it a simple tug. Your teeth found his ear in response, nipping tenderly.

          His eyes fluttered at the feeling; a groan caught in his throat. He wondered if you could sense it. You pulled back slightly, angling your head to give him another kiss. He accepted it gladly, tongue ready to find yours again.

         “You can be an obedient little whore, can’t you?” He rumbled against your lips; his words being lost inside your mouth.

          You ate the words like you were starved, a hot moan swallowing them down as you felt a shock of pleasure race down your spine. He grunted at your action, the hand upon your breast squeezing in response.

         “Yes,” you said softly, as he allowed you to escape his kiss, “where did all your chivalry go, Ushiwaka?”

         He smirked as you teased him, his lips dipping to your neck, tongue tracing the lingering water droplets that fell down your skin.

         “It’s waiting between your legs.”

          It was a growl, the sound of a predator marking his prey, the sound of a man holding back his lusts.

         You sucked in a breath, eyes closing as you dipped your head back and allowed him more access to the length of your throat. The hand at your breast squeezed harder, his thumb and forefinger rolling languidly across your straining nipple. You felt like you were lost at sea, the weight of the water around your bodies feeling heavier as Ushijima pulled you into his tides. He was the moon, pushing you, pulling you; he always has been. For so long he kept you at arm’s length, toying with you, teasing you, bringing you so close to him but never close enough. But tonight, the moon was waning, his control faltering as he finally gave in and allowed himself to fall into the calling sea.

         He held you back on his thighs, but you could feel the heat radiating from his body below the surface. One of your hands trailed down his chest as he sucked dark red marks into the junction of your shoulder and neck, staining your skin with colors from his own making. He bit your skin especially rough when your wandering fingers found the hard lines of his stomach.

        You were tentative, taking a moment to feel if his wound was finally gone from the magic bestowed upon him. You could only feel scars underneath your palm, though one felt particularly puckered and new. But his stomach wasn’t your goal, it was what was straining against it.

        He cursed into your skin when you wrapped your hand around his cock, fingers pumping against the silken skin within the water. His lips fell lower, his eyes closing as he littered open-mouth kisses against your chest, now using both hands to cup your breasts and bring a nipple within his mouth. You moaned loudly, a rush of ecstasy coursing through your veins. He pulled you forward, forcing your hand away from his cock. Instead, he shifted to where his cock was nestled between your pussy and his stomach, allowing just enough friction to keep you wanting.

        He needed to keep his head clear if he was going to please you in all the ways he had dreamt of. He was going to taste you, tease you, earn the right to claim your body as his own.

        “Ushi—,” you went to whine, but a calloused pinch to your nipple ripped his name away from your mouth.

        “Be quiet.” He demanded against your breast, teeth lightly tugging at your hardened bud.

        You only gasped in response, hands smoothing across his broad shoulders as he worked his way to your other breast, hands needy, mouth exceptionally hot. Your hips pressed down and you felt the length of his thick cock against your aching pussy. You experimentally slid yourself against him, desperate to feel more touch against your most sensitive flesh, against the place that had wanted him for so long.

        His hands moved to your hips to still you, his vice-like grip returning.

        His mouth left your breast, his chin tilting up to look at you. Those glowing eyes were dark, ravenous; perhaps there was something monstrous sleeping inside of him, ready to awaken.

        “Stop tempting me. You’ll regret it.”

         His reflexes snapped as your lips parted to speak. Two thick fingers slid onto your tongue, pressing it down, the taste of water and leather swirling in your mouth. His taste was a mixture of his worn gloves and the floral soap he’d cleansed himself with. You groaned, head tilting back as you let him have his way, your mouth suctioning around his fingers for some kind of relief.

        He eyed you carefully, watching the sinews in your neck come on display for him. Bruising marks of his design were blooming on your skin, little fragments of memories coming to life before his eyes. Your mouth felt like sin and he could already imagine how it would feel to have his cock sliding against the supple lips wrapped around his fingers.

        Ushijima twisted your nipple again, a little harder, a little tighter, feeling pleased with himself as he heard and felt the grumble of a groan against his skin. A small drip of saliva trickled down your chin and he used his thumb to smear it into your cheek.

         He could’ve held you like this for all eternity, had you pressed against his cock, his fingers padded against your tongue, your beautiful breasts on display as he groped one, watching the flesh mold into his hand. He had you subdued, compliant, a wondrous creature caught in a dangerous trap. He could do anything he wanted to you right here and now, and the realization had his cock twitching against your cunt.

         For his own enjoyment, he was going to mark you, leave something behind on the picturesque pallet of your body.

         You would never be allowed to forget him, as he knew this vision of you would forever live inside his mind.

         He took his time, each bite and suck carefully and meticulously placed. Ushiwaka was never one to use his mouth without purpose, whether it be for his words, or his kisses. Your shoulders, your chest, your breasts, nothing was forgotten, and you felt like you had been sitting on his lap for eons. Each time his mouth curled into your flesh, his hair tickling you, you felt hotter, more alive than before. You pressed down harder against him, searching for some kind of release to the pleasure he was building inside of you. But he had you pinned, a strong arm encircled your back and kept you exactly where he wanted you.

         When he sucked your nipple back into his mouth, you cried out against his fingers, your tongue darting between the digits as you sucked a quick breath in through your nose. He paid you no mind, his own tongue licking meticulously at your nipple, up and down, slow and steady. The bliss that erupted from your breast was almost mind-numbing. Your thighs clenched around his, your head lolling back even farther than before. You needed more, you were desperate to feel that talented mouth back on yours, to feel his fat cock slip inside you were you needed it.

         Finally, he released you, his mouth leaving your breast as he slipped his fingers from your mouth. You took a moment to catch your breath. He splashed his drool covered fingers in the water, bringing the wet digits back to your face to wipe you clean, his thumb tracing your lips with care.

        “See what being quiet gets you?”

         You nodded your head in agreement, your nails finally releasing his shoulders where they had been clawing into his skin.

         “I need you,” your arms wrapped around his neck, your mouth finding his in a tender kiss, “please, Ushiwaka.”

         “You beg so prettily, my love. Perhaps I should have you beg a little more.”

         “No! Fuck, please…” you entangled yourself around him, legs curling around his toned waist, your face nestling into his shoulder. You brushed the skin found there with your mouth, hungrily moaning against him. You were frantic; you had already waited for him for so long, thought about him for too many nights, too many years.

         His strong arms enveloped your back and he lifted you easily from the water. You adhered yourself to his body, ready to have your muscles clench around him to assist, but he needed no such help. Your weight was effortless to him.

         Ushijima used the ledge of the pool as a step, faultlessly exiting the pool like a nautical divinity coming to soft shores. He was cautious as he laid your wet body upon the heated stone, careful not to crush you under his weight. He watched your eyes alight as you took in the sight of him out of the water, now hovering above you. Your gentle fingers traced over his biceps, his shoulders, his chest, finding the constellations of scars upon his skin, his own physical galaxy for you to explore.

         He took your face in his hand as one of his muscled thighs spread your legs. You were entranced in his gaze, finding yourself lost in the molten amber of his eyes as his pupils danced across your face. He was taking in every bit of you that he could, burning this vision of you below him into his memory. You were flushed, lips parted, slightly swollen from his ardent kisses. Your delicate hands moved to rest beside your head, palms facing him, submissive.

        “Please,” your voice broke him from his trance, “don’t make me wait any longer.”

         He nodded in response, eyes tracing down across your body. He relished having you before him like this, back arching towards him, breasts falling, your hips shifting against his legs. The hand on your face trailed away, making a path down your torso, fingers swirling against the lost dewy droplets against your skin. And then he finally peered down farther, having to steel himself from groaning as he found your awaiting pussy.

        Your skin was prickling from the cool air meeting it, gooseflesh creeping up your legs, down your arms. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you watched him, waiting for him. You could practically see the thoughts racing through his mind, though you wished you could know them. What was he thinking? Was he hesitant?

        Your own contemplations vanished when his warm, wet fingers spread your pussy, two fingers deftly sinking along the sides of your lower lips. You moaned, eyes fluttering closed, heat pooling within your belly. He took his time exploring you; he was a man of patience, after all.

        You could feel his weight shift back as he sat on his knees, spreading your legs across his thighs. He curled one leg back for him, opening you up more for his viewing pleasure. His finger slowly traced up the center of your cunt, finding your sticky wetness coating the digit as it carefully curled against your clit. You let out a quick gasp, hips twitching, and he repeated the motion, watching you slowly come apart from the simplest of touches.

        His other hand found his cock, fisting it as he played with you. You could hear the slick pumping of his hand against himself, and you moved your weight upon your elbows to sit up and watch him. Even on his knees, Ushijima of Velhad was intimidating, all broad shoulders and heavily corded muscle across his body. You admired how his arm flexed as he stroked himself, how his toned stomach was clenching with need. Your mouth fell open as you glimpsed his thick cock within his palm. It fit so perfectly in his big hand, throbbing, thick veins calling out to be inside of you.

         You wanted to beg for him again, but your words were lost when one of his fingers slid inside of you, stretching your walls to fit around him. You dropped back against the warm stone, mouth falling open.

         “So tight,” he said it like a fact, like he expected it, “you’ll feel so good stuffed with my cock.”

          You bit into your lip in a whimper as he curled the digit inside of you, pumping it once, twice, with agonizing slowness. But soon, he added a second finger, the thick digits spreading you, testing you. His pace was calculated, fingers pleasurably systematic. You moaned at every twist and plunge, hips arching off the floor to meet his pace. His thumb began to circle your clit and you swore that stars overtook your vision, bursting in the corners of your eyes as you tried to focus on the ecstasy churning deep within your stomach. His long fingers were stroking your velvety walls just perfectly, each plunge feeling deeper and deeper than before, fanning the flames beneath your skin even hotter.

        “Ushi, please…”

       “Please what, my love? Tell me.”

        He was particularly cruel, electing to rub your clit faster, harder, making your words choke in your throat. You cried out, feeling the orgasmic coil begin to tighten in your belly. You were already so strung out for his love, for his touch, and you knew your little death was just around the corner.

       “Make me cum, p-please!”

        You felt his heavy body come back to yours, the hand on his cock ceasing its movements and instead finding your hand beside your head. His strong fingers wrapped around your flesh, curling into your forearm, thumb tactfully pinning down your wrist to the stones below.

       He repositioned the hand between your thighs, now using the palm of his hand to press against your aching clit. His fingers found the soft patch of flesh inside of you, petting against it skillfully, like he already knew exactly what you needed, knew exactly what made you fall apart to his immoral hands.

       His face dipped to yours, causing your eyes to flicker open to find his adoring gaze above you. He pressed a lazy kiss to your lips, muffling your moans as your legs began to press against his forearm, thighs begging for the release he could bring you. His mouth matched the rhythm of his fingers within you, his body in harmony with your own, pulling you tightly like the strings on a well-played lute. You were so ready to snap, so ready to sing songs of praise up into him, but all too soon his mouth and his hand left your body.

        He could read the bewilderment on your face, feel you try to press back against him, but he held you down easily with the weight he forced onto your wrist.

        “I want to feel you come undone on my cock,” he whispered against your lips, “are you ready?”

        His hand, now slick from your pussy, pushed your thighs apart wider, curled your legs back farther, his own thighs pressing into your soft flesh. You felt his cockhead brush between your dripping folds.

       “Yes! Take me, for the love of all things hol—!”

        His hips slammed into yours, his throbbing cock filling you, stretching, pressing you far beyond what you expected. He hushed your cry with his mouth, his hand cupping your thigh and urging your body to move with him as he began to thrust within you. Your hand that he pinned to the floor fisted in on itself, your nails threatening to break your own skin as your mind struggled to catch up with your pleasure. You were so full, so fucking full, so overwhelmed by him.

        His dewy, tawny skin felt so sinful against yours, the lingering moisture on your bodies bleeding into one another. His hips were strong, fast, each plunge of his cock going deep, deep, deep into your awaiting depths, finally uncovering every hidden place on your body to have as his own. You gasped and moaned into his mouth, and his sighs melded with yours, his kiss desperate, lips crashing into yours with more fervor than the storm that raged outside.

        You felt so utterly lost, yet so wholly encompassed by him, by his earthy scent, by the weight of his body against yours. Your breasts slid against his chest, nipples pebbling as they brushed against his downy hair. Your back was skating against the warm stones below, the pressure against the hard surface enough to make you ache, but it paled in comparison to the jolts of pure pleasure that resounded through your body with every thrust of his massive cock inside of you.

        “More,” you pleaded softly, lips peppering him with ardent kisses, “more, more, more.”

         You felt him place more pressure on your trapped wrist and you gasped, worried for a split moment that your bones would splinter under his power. But he was cautious, moving your arm gently to rest above your head. The hand on your thigh crept up your body, stopping for only an instant to grope at your bouncing breast. But his fingers quickly moved on, skimming up your other arm, palm smoothing against your dampened skin. He soon found your wrist, now using both his mighty arms to pin your own above your head, leaving you entirely at his mercy.

         “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

          His words were a dare, a wicked promise.

          At the nodding of your head, he smirked, lips coming to your ear.

         “Tell me to stop if it becomes too much, you promise?”

          His thrusts had never faltered, the air in your lungs still hot from all your heavy breaths. You closed your eyes again, finding your voice.

          “I promise.”

          The primal sound that left his chest startled you; you could feel the rumbling spread across your body like aftershocks of an earthquake. His hands around your wrists tightened, arms tensing. He shifted forwards, pushing your hips up, legs wider.

         And then he began to pound mercilessly into your body. You screamed, the high-pitched shrill echoing within the room, rebounding off the walls, soaking into his naked skin. Every fantasy he ever had of you suddenly came alive inside his mind, burning like a roaring fire, making his vision go blind as he pounded himself inside of you. You were so warm, so god damn tight, your pussy sucking him in with every unbridled thrust that he felt like he would break open from all the euphoria that was crackling within him.

        He called out your name, over, and over, and over again, reminding himself who he was with, who he finally had coming undone below him. He was still holding back, too afraid of breaking you, but even still his hips moved faster, harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin ringing in his ears like the constant moans and praises that feel from your mouth.

         “Ushi, fuck, fuck, yes!”

         He was being cruel, he knew it, slamming into you like this, making your body bow into the floor, but he didn’t care. He needed to feel that coil that was tightening inside of you earlier come to fruition on his cock, he needed to spill his seed inside of you.

         You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only feel what was happening to you. All your focus was upon his cock stretching your pussy, filling you so perfectly that you knew you’d never want to feel another again. It was like you were made for him; all your limits were being pushed at once. Your wrists ached within his grip, surely bruising under such an immense hold, but you felt secure, safe underneath his power.

         Your knees were bent to their threshold of flexibility, your ass now well above the floor as he curled you to fit him. His cock was so deep, his thrusts now remaining almost entirely inside of you, pounding away at your insides like a man gone mad. You were at the borders of your composure.

         “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chanted, eyes watering, mouth open, body stinging, longing, begging for him, “g-gonna, gonna, cum!”

         “That’s right,” he murmured, tongue daring to skim the shell of your ear, “cum on my cock, baby, cum for me.”

          Your nails finally pierced the flesh of your palms as you came completely undone around him, orgasm bursting forth and blooming around you in euphoria. All your senses came crashing down, every small detail becoming more alive and ever present than ever before. It was all so much, the pleasure pooling in your belly and spreading across your body faster than lightning that raced across the sky. His hot breath was against your neck, your legs aching, blood dripping down your palms, water still cooling against your skin, his balls slapping against your ass cheeks. You could hear every sound: your screams ringing against the stone, his grunts into your hair, the wet suck of your pussy around his cock, even the still water resting in the pool.

          Your body was wrecked with tremors as he continued his ruthless assault, sweat beading at the nape of his neck. Your orgasm drenched his cock with thick, wet slick, encouraging him to drive a little harder, push a little deeper. He heard little pained gasps from your mouth, but he warned you he was corrupt, told you to stop him, yet you were taking him so fucking well, so fucking perfect like he knew you would. He was so close, so painfully close, his cock throbbing, his rigorous pace becoming unsettled as he felt your sweet thighs wrap around him.

          Then there it was, the sound of your voice, the sound of his goddess calling to him.

          “I want your cum, n-need it, please, fill me up, make me yours.”

          He finally crashed, your words like the irresistible call of a siren. Hot cum filled your tight pussy, his cock thumping deep inside your womb. You felt like you could breathe again, his inhuman strength finally laxing upon your ruined body.

          His mouth found yours again, his lips tender and now so familiar and welcoming. The tension in your body washed away, his loving hands tracing over your body as he allowed your legs to finally rest. Your heart was hammering in your chest; you could feel every beat inside your rib cage as you finally calmed down, mind returning, body waking up from its lust.

         Ushijima slid himself from inside of you, leaving your body with a groan of satisfaction. He watched his cum pool between your thighs, pearl white and stark against the stones. He looked up at you, all of you, admiring your spent body below him. He watched how your breasts heaved with breaths, how your eyes were blinking mindlessly up at the ceiling as you came down from your high.

        But then he recognized the bruises on your arms, the bites on your chest, the indentions of the stone upon your sides, the bloody nail prints in your open palms. He cursed himself, cursed his monstrous hands—he knew he was never meant to hold you, that he was unworthy.

        “I hurt you.”

         His simple words brought you back to reality.

         You sat up then, stretching your body as you came face-to-face with him once more.

         “Oh please.” You chided, a smile forming on your face as you cast a simple spell within your torn hands. He eyed you curiously as the blue tinge of magic twisted within your palms, your small wounds closing, even the marks upon your chest healing to a more reasonable color. They were still there, the small reminders he created, but they would fade on their own in a few days.

         You took his face in your hands, thumbs caressing his handsome cheeks.

         “No more grief, Ushiwaka. Please, for me?”

          He only drew you closer in response, cradling you in his arms.

          A few words of thanks came forth from his mouth, but you paid them little mind, too caught up in his embrace. You remained entangled in one another for a moment longer, both at ease in the company of each other’s breaths, your heart beats, the feeling of fingers skimming over skin.

        “Stay with me awhile?” You questioned softly into his chest.

        “Did you think I was going to leave after that?”

        “You always leave, you know, at some point.”

        “Not this time, my love. I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

         You both felt the pull then, the same tug that you had both longed to feel for so long.

         You were at home.

         Ushijima pulled you to your feet, wordlessly leading you to get dressed and follow him back into your great room. You saw the books still open on your desk, forlorn and nearly forgotten.

         He settled back into the chair after stoking the fire in your pit, bringing the flames back to life. He stretched out, yawned, and appeared wholly comfortable there, magnificent arms crossed upon his chest.

         You could get used to seeing him there, and you knew little by little, he’d allow you to read his pages, too.

_______________________________________________________________________

Note: I don’t own anything from Haikyuu or the Witcher Universe. 

Taglist: @badtimechara​ @present-mel​ @sgoldberg1997​ @donica95​ @hi-itsbonny​ @linestrider​ @shoutosplaything​ @kyberhearts​ @dhyaena​ @heyybrittannia​ @thisisthehardestthing​ @presmiic​ @kittifer​ @lemonsqueexx​ @iwaizumi-chan​ @kitten-on-ecstasy​ @dekulover​ @thatpeachybandgirl​ @skincrepe​ @whats-her-quirk​ @littlewhitefairy7777​ @unboundbnha​ @tinitimesims125​ @disasteren​ @misfitgirlwrites​ @tsum-samu​ @pineappleinmyass​

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

1 Then spoke Jesus to the multitude and to His disciples,

2 saying, “The scribes and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat.

3 All therefore whatsoever they bid you observe, that observe and do; but do ye not according to their works; for they say, and do not.

4 For they bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men’s shoulders, but they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers.

5 But all their works they do to be seen by men. They make broad their phylacteries, and enlarge the borders of their garments,

6 and love the uppermost places at feasts and the chief seats in the synagogues,

7 and greetings in the markets, and to be called by men, ‘Rabbi, Rabbi.’

8 But be not ye called ‘Rabbi,’ for One is your Master, even Christ; and all ye are brethren.

9 “And call no man your father upon earth, for One is your Father, who is in Heaven.

10 Neither be ye called masters, for One is your Master, even Christ.

11 But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant.

12 And whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased, and he that shall humble himself shall be exalted.

13 “But woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye shut up the Kingdom of Heaven against men, for ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer ye them that are entering to go in.

14 Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye devour widows’ houses, and for a pretense make long prayers; therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation.

15 “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye compass sea and land to make one proselyte, and when he is made, ye make him twofold more the child of hell than yourselves.

16 “Woe unto you, ye blind guides, who say, ‘Whosoever shall swear by the temple, it is nothing; but whosoever shall swear by the gold of the temple, he is obligated.’

17 Ye fools and blind! For which is greater, the gold, or the temple that sanctifieth the gold?

18 And ye say, ‘Whosoever shall swear by the altar, it is nothing; but whosoever sweareth by the gift that is upon it, he is liable.’

19 Ye fools and blind! For which is greater, the gift, or the altar that sanctifieth the gift?

20 Whoso therefore shall swear by the altar, sweareth by it and by all things thereon.

21 And whoso shall swear by the temple, sweareth by it and by Him that dwelleth therein.

22 And he that shall swear by Heaven, sweareth by the throne of God and by Him that sitteth thereon.

23 “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cummin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law: judgment, mercy, and faith. These ought ye to have done and not to leave the other undone.

24 Ye blind guides, who strain out a gnat and swallow a camel!

25 “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye make clean the outside of the cup and of the platter, but within they are full of extortion and excess.

26 Thou blind Pharisee, cleanse first that which is within the cup and platter, that the outside of them may be clean also.

27 “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye are like unto whited sepulchers, which indeed appear beautiful outwardly, but are within full of dead men’s bones and of all uncleanness.

28 Even so, ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity.

29 “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! Because ye build the tombs of the prophets and garnish the sepulchers of the righteous,

30 and say, ‘If we had been in the days of our fathers, we would not have been partakers with them in the blood of the prophets.’

31 Therefore ye are witnesses against yourselves, that ye are the children of them that killed the prophets.

32 Fill ye up, then, the measure of your fathers.

33 “Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers! How can ye escape the damnation of hell?

34 Therefore, behold, I send unto you prophets and wise men and scribes, and some of them ye shall kill and crucify, and some of them shall ye scourge in your synagogues and persecute them from city to city,

35 that upon you may come all the righteous blood shed upon the earth, from the blood of righteous Abel unto the blood of Zechariah, son of Barachias, whom ye slew between the temple and the altar.

36 Verily I say unto you, all these things shall come upon this generation. — Matthew 23:1-36 | 21st Century King James Version (KJV21) The Holy Bible; 21st Century King James Version Copyright © 1994 by Deuel Enterprises, Inc. Cross References: Genesis 4:8; Exodus 13:9; Exodus 29:37; Exodus 30:29; Deuteronomy 33:3; 1 Kings 8:13; 2 Chronicles 24:21; Job 22:29; Proverbs 26:23; Proverbs 26:26; Isaiah 9:16; Isaiah 20:6; Isaiah 28:25; Isaiah 46:1; Isaiah 66:1; Jeremiah 7:26; Lamentations 4:13; Matthew 3:7; Matthew 5:22; Matthew 6:9; Matthew 10:23; Matthew 11:16; Matthew 14:18; Matthew 15:14; Matthew 20:26; Matthew 26:25; Mark 7:4; Mark 12:38-39; Luke 11:47; Luke 20:47; Romans 2:21; 1 Corinthians 10:18

[beinmybonnet]

29th June 1613 - London, England

   “Remind me again why we’re doing this?

“He went to the trouble to have a draft carried all the way to Brandenburg for me, the least I can do is attend the opening night.”

Andromache rolls her shoulders into her partlet. “The least you can do maybe. Why am I doing this?”

“Because you missed me. And because you cried when we saw Othello.” Yusuf replies, looking sideways at her. Curbing the inevitable objection, Quynh squeezes Nicolò’s arm and strides forwards to overtake them. He lets himself be dragged after her, taking care not to tread on her skirts.

“I love the theatre. Plus, we’ve spent the last week sleeping in a shack in the Dales. This,” Quynh waves her free arm over the bridge rail, “is a nice change of scenery.”

London Bridge is teeming with people, the warmth of the bustle settling like cinders into his skin. The city writhes in its haste. Against the far bank of the Thames tall buildings strike against the horizon, the old Southwark Priory still reaching high in spent pride. Buildings are painted pale with dark beams striking bold across them. It is beautiful in its own way, Nicolò thinks. Inelegant, but unique.

“It wasn’t that bad. I still think we should have stayed a little longer, at least until-

“Andromache we’ve slept in nicer caves.”

Quynh glances back over her shoulder meaningfully, brow rising. Andromache shrugs. A smile, although few would recognise it. They step down onto the riverbank as one, turning east.

Nicolò nudges his shoulder into Yusuf as they pass the gardens. “You fail to mention you sent that script back with corrections.”

“Revisions. Small ones.” Yusuf’s voice is low, his expression impish. “Barely noticeable.”

                                                         *

“Ah, here we are.” Yusuf waves Andromache forward into their usual first-floor booth and steps back to allow Quynh to pass. Nicolò pauses, peering up the stairwell.

“Full house.”

“First performance. Trust me, this will be one to remember.” Yusuf is bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, and it makes Nicolò want to tuck his chin over a bobbing shoulder.

“You’d think the city would be a bit more subdued,” Andromache settles herself on the bench tucking thick plum skirts around her calves. She happily accepts a bag of roasted hazelnuts from Yusuf as he passes her to stand at the balcony. “They’ve only just recovered from their last bout of plague.”

“Exactly! This is the power of art.” Yusuf beams, arm sweeping wide. “Look at these people.” All around them the crowd is seething with anticipation, the noise growing as the wait goes on. Children scramble in the lower level of the yard for better vantage points, clawing their way up the beams supporting the lower galleries. People are shouting and laughing and drinking, the sound cocooned tight within the impressive structure. A man swings a laughing boy up over the mass, and a small group of women pressed against the stage begin shouting a suspicious sounding rhyme, pointing across the pit. Before they can finish a man in the gallery beneath them roars his response across the yard.

Nicolò’s brow furrows. “Clot-pole? I don’t…”

“She’s calling him an idiot,” Andromache supplies, “and insulting his hat.”

“It is a bit much.” Quynh’s leaning over the balcony to get a better look. “I think she’s accusing him of, err – short-changing her. Last night.”

Still grinning, Yusuf peers over beside her. “Oh, she’s quite angry. Here we go.” He sounds delighted. What looks like a parsnip sails over the head of the crowd. “A pity, she’ll want those for the third act.”

Quynh’s now bent almost double over the bannister and Andromache reaches to steady her without looking. “Isn’t this sort of thing that made the man move half of the troupe over to Blackfriars?”

Yusuf shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Ah, William has become far too prudish in his success. The engagement of the audience is the nature of theatre.”

“Engagement?” Nicolò smirks as something below meets its mark with a splat and a shout.

“Well, you cannot deny their enthusiasm-”

Quynh reappears with a whoop of triumph clutching her prize; a browning cabbage intercepted in the air. She rotates the rotten vegetable in careful examination. “Excellent.”

Yusuf raises his hand in hopeless protest as Nicolò leans back in his seat, eyeing Quynh. “10 crowns says you can’t hit the stage from here.”

She snorts derisively.

“20 if you can take King Henry off his feet.” Andromache counters, rising slightly to gauge the distance. Done, Quynh agrees happily, settling beside her and tucking her cabbage under the bench. Yusuf mutters an exasperated appeal for help to the heavens and Nicolò quickly tugs him down into the remaining space with a hand over his knee.

The parting of the stage curtain prompts the dropping of remaining projectiles and an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. The herald clears his throat, steps to the edge of the stage and spreads his arms.

The first and happiest hearers of the town,

I come no more to make you laugh; things now,

That bear a weighty and a serious brow,

Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,

Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,

We now present. Those that can pity, here

May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;

Be sad, as we would make ye

“Oh, so a comedy?” Quynh says brightly and Yusuf shushes her.

The first actors emerge from the wings in their velvets and the tale takes flight.

                                                                                                                                                                    *

In all this noble bevy, has brought with her

One care abroad; he would have all as merry

As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,

Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy:

Yusuf is mouthing the words soundlessly, engrossed.

There are many things Nicolò has enjoyed about visiting theatres over the years. He will readily admit this performance is an enjoyable one - the young man playing Buckingham is particularly charismatic, the audience viscerally immersed in his indignation. The actors proudly deliver their lines and their story to an increasingly hypnotised audience.  

But the play itself has never been what really draws Nicolò to this place. He glances sideways again and immediately, expectedly, loses the thread of the plot. In this moment the talent on the stage could never hope to hold his interest as he sits beside this man. Yusuf has lost himself entirely to the unfolding tale, gaze flitting from figure to figure calling below. Passion alight in his eyes. The arts do this to him in a way Nicolò has seen nothing else in all their time together. They have walked familiar paths in gallery halls for hours on end, Yusuf’s eyes roving walls of painted expression. They’ve sat in houses of the dying and listened to children bringing comfort with songs of naivety. Literature, dance, poetry, music; in all their changing forms they have always arrested Yusuf in his entirety.

These things give people freedom Nicolò, true freedom, he had once said. Free of limitation and expectation, in art people reveal their true selves. It is beautiful.

For Nicolò, that beauty is reflected blindingly in Yusuf’s own experience. To watch him like this for the rest of his given days would see him depart this earth achingly grateful to his God.

But Yusuf feels his distraction and leans toward him. “You’re missing it,” he murmurs, smile pulling impossibly wider. Unbridled delight is etched at the edges of his eyes, and Nicolò wants to trace his fingertips over the creases. He only realises he has reached out and done so when Yusuf captures and kisses his palm. “Watch the play.”

“It is a story still within living memory, I know how it ends,” Nicolò whispers.

Yusuf will not have it, nodding towards the actors. “Watch them tell it.”

Anne Boleyn is drifting across the stage, hand at her chest and Nicolò turns dutifully back to the performance.

Was he mad, sir?

O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too:

But he would bite none; just as I do now,

He would kiss you twenty with a breath.

This time it’s Yusuf’s eyes that flicker back towards him and Nicolò hears silent words in the curl of his lip. Twenty kisses in a single breath. A risky venture, no?

Nicolò hums, his thoughts mirrored beside him. We shall see.

                                                                                                                      *

Good lord chamberlain,

Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;

And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em

Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty

Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.

You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it.

A good digestion to you all: and once more

I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all!

King Henry VIII emerges from the curtains with a flourish, the actor clearly taking great pains not to stumble in breeches that billow around his knees. The theatre bursts into applause as a round of trumpets sound, and they shout their approval at the blast of a canon from the rafters. The actors move to their marks to begin the scene in earnest, and Andromache leans forward with interest for the first time.

“See, I told you! With the funding now available, they’ve really spared no expense,” Yusuf is still clapping. Andromache hums noncommittally sitting back, but her eyes are suddenly bright with curiosity.

“Quynh, if you’re going to win your money, I suggest you do it now.”

“Why? I was going to wait until the trial scene,” she replies, confused.

From his place beside her Nicolò can see clearly that Andromache is struggling to suppress a smirk. “Well, there won’t be much left by then.”

“What?” Quynh looks down the bench at him. He shrugs. Andromache sighs around her growing amusement.

Seconds pass before she speaks again.

“They’ve set the roof on fire.”

He doesn’t need long to piece together what’s happened. There’s a thin plume of smoke rising from the inner curve of the roof and within, a flicker of light no bigger than that from a candle waving gently in the rafters. The canon. They wadded the canon, he realises. The little flame wafts higher in the breeze. The crowd is oblivious, too focused on the stage to be looking upwards. He taps Yusuf’s thigh.

It does take a moment. “Oh dear.” Yusuf looks back and forth between the roof and the stage, face falling. “Well maybe-

There’s a loud pop as the flame meets eager fuel. It dances up into the thatch lining the hooped roof and flares wide and greedy. Whip fast, it licks across the reeds consuming them in crunches and cracks that have people now looking skywards and shouting. Those in the highest galleries rear back as the fire completes its rapid circuit of the roof. By the time the actors have abandoned their attempts at continuing and stand dumbstruck on the stage, the theatre is ringed in an ominous halo of flame.

“Yusuf, unless your intention is a repeat of ’54…” Quynh trails off sadly, holding her cabbage.

Clumps of lit thatch are beginning to drift into the standing audience and the pushing and shoving follows in earnest. One man charges through the crowd braying, his breeches alight. Andromache stands looking decidedly more cheerful. “Come on, we’ll help them clear the pit.”

Nicolò follows suit, a hand falling to Yusuf’s shoulder. He has to work to quell an absurd urge to laugh; Yusuf is glaring at the roof with all the stubbornness of a chastised child. He squeezes gently, sympathy winning out. “I’m sorry.”

“Canons, who on earth thought canons in a wooden building was…” Yusuf trails off, glancing up. “Nothing to be done I suppose.” He holds out his other hand. “Shall we?”

Drawing Yusuf up behind him, Nicolò moves out into the stairwell twisting up into the higher galleries where people are starting to pile down in haste. An older man stumbles in the rush and he reaches out to steady him. “Careful, sir. Head out towards the river.”

The man nods and quickly hurries on pressing his handkerchief to his mouth. The next woman through the door snatches her arm up to her chest before he can move to offer any assistance. Dirty papist  she spits as she veers away. Yusuf tenses, a hard line pressed at his back. Nicolò just dips his head.

“Please hurry.”

By the time the flow of people has ebbed the flames are beginning to consume the ornate stage pillars. The curtains masking backstage catch like parchment and blaze furiously. “We should make sure the galleries are clear,” he says, “you take the east, I the west?”

Yusuf eyes the roof timbers warily. “Five minutes. No more.”

In the end it only takes Nicolò four minutes to usher the last stubborn gamblers from the gentleman’s room. The fact that the smoke has now crept down to waist level speeds this along nicely, and they hurry to the stairwell hunched and coughing. Nicolò stays low, following them down the last steep flight when his foot catches on something in the darkness, almost putting his hand through the adjacent wall in an attempt to steady himself. There’s a man slouched in the corner, limbs sprawled wide and snoring. An empty bladder clutched to his chest. The strength of the brandy fumes punch through the dense smoke to further sting at his eyes and his irritation almost threatens to outweigh his conscience. Almost.

By the time he staggers out into clear air dragging his oblivious charge Nicolò know he’s been much longer than five minutes. Behind him there’s a crash which sounds very much like the galleries have finally given in and collapsed. Sounds like, because his eyes are clenched shut, burning and watering. Pressing his hands to his knees, he tries not to gag on the tar in his throat.

A hand settles on the back of his neck whilst another cups a palmful of water to his face. Nicolò winces.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, “He’s heavier than he looks.”

He can hear Yusuf grinding his teeth but his response is surprisingly placid. “Rinse your eyes.”

Yusuf presses a water skin into his hands and moves away. When Nicolò’s vision has cleared he spots him back near the eastern entrance, patiently shepherding two enraptured boys further from the fire as they gape at the sky. Even for one who has seen much, Nicolò must admit, it is quite a sight.

The playhouse’s cylindrical shape has moulded the fire into a twirling steeple of flame inside the structure, now reaching twenty feet clear of the building itself. The Globe resembles an enormous cauldron struggling to hold its roiling contents. It belches clouds of thick black smoke as its rim splinters and cracks under the pressure and heat. What’s left of the thatch continues to feed the furnace, keeping the flames bright and fierce.

Quynh appears, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow to steer him away. She leads him to a grassy curve of the riverbank where people are congregating in groups and beginning to resettle on the ground. From one muse to another, the audience remain eager spectators, gasping and whooping as the bones of the building begin to break, sending up showers of sparks. Yusuf and Andromache join them just as the walls start to keel inwards.

“You were right, definitely one of his more memorable works,” Andromache announces as they sit. “Perhaps my favourite.”

“Yes, I’m so very glad you enjoyed yourself.” Yusuf’s tone is flat, but his eyes roll indulgently.

Quynh settles herself back against Andromache’s bent knees, facing the playhouse. “We can still make a night of it. We get a bottle of wine, some pastries. Watch the sunset.” Her voices softens slightly and she levels her gaze at them. “You really must go so soon?”

He looks to Yusuf, who nods. “We have passage on a ship to Antwerp. She leaves on the tide tomorrow morning.”

Quynh’s sigh is dejected. “You won’t consider staying just a little longer? We’re moving on to…” she trails off, peering up at Andromache – Devon, she supplies, “We could use your help relocating these women. The trials are becoming barbaric.”

Yusuf shakes his head, surveying the crowd. “I’d prefer not to tempt fate. London is not at its most welcoming for us presently.

Nicolò quirks his lip. “You mean for me.” Ah, he sees now. The woman from earlier is stood just a little further up the bank, clutching at well-dressed man and pointing at them. Yusuf stares back unflinchingly. Nicolò feels him shift to further block her line of sight to him.

Then he turns back to meet Nicolò’s eye and speaks firmly. “For us. If a place does not welcome you, it does not welcome me.” 

Quynh has watched the exchange carefully and suddenly sits up. She clears her throat and calls out loudly enough for those nearest to turn. “Thou art a boil, madam, a plague sore!”

Andromache snorts and the woman raises her fan to her face appalled, tugging on her husband’s arm. It has the intended effect on Yusuf though and his grin returns to its proper place. Nicolò feels a familiar rush of affection for Quynh and her unfailing ability to put people at ease.

“King Lear,” Yusuf says proudly. “I didn’t think you were paying attention.”

“Of course she was,” Andromache interjects, “It’s a magnum opus of insults.”

Quynh grins up at her. “Oh, you worsted-stockinged knave.”

The retort is instant. “Brazen-faced varlet.”

“Ancient ruffian.”

Andromache shrugs. “Accurate.”

Their laughter comes in easy unison and Yusuf’s expression is unbearably soft as he watches them. “It won’t be for long,” he promises.

Quynh pulls her eyes from Andromache and nods. “Probably a sensible choice at the moment. You do look violently Venetian Nicolò.

He wrinkles his nose, affronted. “I do not-”

Yusuf is reaching for his face, so he pauses his protest for the gentle pass of a thumb over the bridge of his nose. “It’s your profile my love.” Yusuf’s tongue darts out over the pad of his thumb before it returns to rub more firmly at his nose. “Which currently is very sooty.”

With his hands still upon Nicolò’s face he murmurs.  “Oh but what a piece of work is this man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel,” Yusuf blinks, his sincerity blinding, “in apprehension how like a god.”

It’s all Nicolò can do not to rub his flushed cheeks into Yusuf’s palms like an alley cat.

Andromache arches a refined brow at Quynh. “Nicolò gets a Hamletian ode to his soul, and I get ‘ruffian’?”

Quynh rocks onto her elbow in the grass without missing a beat. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Mayhap a smouldering playhouse, ablaze in righteous flame?

“Likened to a smoking wreckage, how romantic.”

Nicolò would laugh but Yusuf is still holding his gaze and his face, everything else muting around him. He does this; bestows his love in soft declarations that leave Nicolò stunned, and then holds him steady until the words perfuse. Nicolò loves him so much he feels he might combust, with all the ferocity of the fire at his back.

Centuries before, he had allowed his disbelief to ask a question once, and only once. The intensity frightening him. Could a gift such as this truly be his eternal?

Nicolò smiles at his world and whispers.

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and gives life to thee.

 held in the embers on ao3 at theexistentialteapot

 part one of this series can be found here

[scarletaire]

homeland (Chapter 6)

A/N: Here we are at the end! And Cardan isn't quite done surprising Jude just yet.

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Genre/s: Contains Fluff, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Smut

Rating: E

Tags: Post-QON, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Protective!Cardan, Bewildered!Jude, Jude and Cardan discuss the Undersea, but they get a little Distracted

Description: 

Cardan’s eyes flash open.

“Why?” he repeats, and Jude feels the power shift between them. “Don’t you remember, wife?” he croons. “It was the Undersea who stole you away from me.”

And Jude has only enough time to think, danger, before he lunges at her.

or:

Cardan and Jude work on removing their armor. Taking off this particularly stubborn piece happens in varying states of undress.

Links: Masterlist | AO3

“This is a stupid idea.”

“Have you known me to have any other kind?”

He has her there. Jude tugs at the blindfold around her eyes. “Where are we even going?”

“To the beginning and the end of all this.”

“What does that –” Her voice cuts off as the boat rocks precariously beneath her. “I really don’t like the sound of that.”

“You like very little, Jude, and that is a problem of yours.”

I was stupid enough to like you, she almost says. Instead she asks, “Why did we have to take a boat? More importantly, why are you the one rowing? You’re the king.” The boat rocks again, and Jude finds herself thinking longingly for a ragwort steed. Steady, secure, reliable — or, well, as reliable as Vivi’s magic allowed them to be.

“Crossing the water myself proves a fine reminder of my position to those who yearn otherwise.”

“A power play? That’s what you woke me up so early for? Cardan, there are a thousand more things that need my attention back at the brugh.”

It was still light out when she’d felt lips behind her ear, nuzzling her awake. They had probably been asleep for a mere few hours at most. She’d woken up slowly and sweetly, like dragging a spoon through thick syrup, with Cardan curled around her — arms, legs, and tail — and his mouth soft on her neck. It was such a stark contrast to how she’d woken up the previous night that Jude melted right back into his embrace, her body heavy and worn out in the best way possible.

But then he was pulling away, coaxing her to get dressed, murmuring into her skin that he had something to show her.

Promising that she would like it.

The fae cannot lie, but that last part has yet to come true.

“I’m taking this blindfold off.”

“Jude –”

She can hear the petulance in his voice and that just makes her rip the stupid thing off even faster.

It turns out that “crossing the water himself” doesn’t much include actual rowing on his part. Instead, iridescent, aquamarine scales flash across the surface of the water underneath them, their movement rippling and propelling the boat forward.

Merfolk.

Pulling their vessel on his whim.

A power play, indeed.

Jude raises an eyebrow at him, impressed despite it all. He continues to pout at her and the blindfold in her hand.

Then, something catches in her mind.

“Salt and seafoam…”

“Hm?”

“Your nightmare.” She’s staring at him now, understanding how it fits together but not quite believing it. “You said that when you dove into the sea and couldn’t find me anywhere, it was because there was nothing left of me but ‘salt and seafoam.’”

“Yes.” The word is like water on burning coals.

“You –” The sentence is inconceivable even when she tries to form it in her mouth. “Have you… have you been reading fairytales? Human fairytales?”

He scoffs. “Nothing Faerie about them.”

A yes, then.

“So –” She’s known about him reading Alice in Wonderland and even wondered at the way he had kept the mortal book in his rooms. It boggles her mind like this next thought does. “So…” How does she say this? She has no clever ruse with which to coat her words, and so she gives up and goes for direct. “The Little Mermaid. That’s what caused your nightmare?”

He cuts her a look, like she’s being stupid. “No, Jude, your kidnapping and prolonged torture at the hands of my brother and the Undersea while I waited powerless and unable to help you was the cause of my nightmare. And many more of its kind before it.”

She doesn’t much like how he speaks to her like he’s explaining something to a child, but she holds her sharp tongue and wields her silence against him.

“But fine.” He doesn’t meet her eyes. “Yes. The mortal tale about the moronic mermaid and her wayward prince may have… exacerbated any woes I may have already been carrying. Don’t know why I bothered,” he grumbles under his breath. “I hate stories.”

“No,” she says, thinking of the way he fancies himself a villain even though he hasn’t truly been one in a long time, “you don’t.”

He looks pointedly over her shoulder. “We’re here.”

And Jude turns her head to see where it is that he has brought her this morning.

She has to shield her eyes a little from the amount of sunlight that refracts off the massive stretch of sparkling sand in front of her.

No, not sand. Ash.

She knows where they are.

Insear.

The beginning and the end of all this, he said.

When they disembark, Cardan holds out his hand to guide her from the boat.

She doesn’t need his help.

She takes his hand anyway.

There is still something of last night humming underneath their skin, and so if they lean into each other’s warmth and stumble across the shimmering shores of the Isle of Ash, a little lovedrunk while they walk — well. There is nary a soul to see.

It’s somehow even more beautiful in the daylight. And with Cardan here, the island seems to unfurl even further, coming alive just a little bit more the moment he steps onto the soil. The air turns sweeter the farther inland they go, the blues and ivories and blacks of the native flowers populating everywhere they turn. When Jude looks back at their footfalls upon the ash, she sees little sprigs of myrtle springing up from the indents they leave behind.

“There’s something I want to check on,” she says when they reach the thicker parts of the forest. “I’ll come find you again.”

“As you like.” Cardan’s gaze is caught on something up ahead. “Dally not, wife.”

When Jude returns to the clearing where they had encountered the fallen falcons the previous night, she finds no trace of them save a single, tawny feather in their wake.

A token.

She pockets it with a smile.

That same smile fades far too fast when she comes back to find Cardan reaching out a hand towards a shrub of suspiciously familiar, dark-petaled flowers.

She’s between him and the shrub in seconds, pushing him away a little too violently.

In that moment, she was more seneschal than queen. And in the next, when her fingers tighten around his lapels out of their own accord, she is more wife than seneschal.

“Did you touch it?” Panic raises her voice. “Did you get any of it on you?”

“No. I didn’t recognize the flora –”

“Idiot, that’s probably the flower that poisoned me.” She’s checking his hands, his clothes, for traces of shimmering, black pollen.

“Is it?” He plucks one and raises it to his face before she can stop him.

“Cardan –”

“Peace, Jude. It cannot harm its maker.”

And Jude pauses, because it’s true. This flower, this island and everything on it, is Cardan’s creation. He is the root, and as he has proven last night, he is also the remedy.

A beat passes between them, and then: “Did it really have to take a noxious, mood-altering flower for you to tell me about my brother?”

Jude scowls at the insinuation. “I was going to.” She weighs the next sentence in her head. “It’s just… easier to talk to someone when you don’t give a crap what they think.”

The human word is out of her mouth before she can reel it back in, but Cardan nods.

“Yes, I think I can understand that.”

She watches him twirl the flower in his hand. With his dark hair and eyes and clothes, it is without the shadow of a doubt that he created it, that it sprung forth from him and his magic. It belongs with him; it is him. She can imagine it pinned to his collar, petals of black glitter, an extension of his essence.

“We should inform the Bomb. Tell her that an antidote won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Cardan grins at her like they are old friends trading a secret joke. “I can think of a few ways that an antidote could be useful.”

And Jude feels a thrill up her spine, because there is something conspiratorial in his voice, like he’s letting her in on his plan, like they are in it together, and maybe she enjoys that more than she thought she ever would. Having a partner.

“Scheming, are you?”

“I learned from the best.”

He is always more than what she thinks he is.

“That flower is connected to you. This whole island is, actually.”

“To us,” he corrects immediately, and she marks the strange note in his voice. “The island is connected to us.”

“Me, by extension,” she concedes. “But you raised this island with your own magic.”

He sighs then, as if a great burden has befallen him. “I suppose it now falls to me to name this flower, doesn’t it?”

“Well, you don’t have to name it now. We can always come back later –”

“Bitterblack,” he pronounces solemnly and somberly, and with a swiftness and surety that couldn’t possibly be borne of extemporization.“This bloom, flourishing upon the Isle of Ash, the land raised from my own bitterness, shall henceforth be known as bitterblack.”

“Um.” Jude blinks at his pomp. “Okay. Raised from your bitterness?”

“The birth of Insear marked the moment I deemed the crimes of the Undersea – against you, and against the crown — unforgivable. It was a bitter heart that sowed the seeds of this land. Perhaps it is only fitting that it was a full one that healed its poisons.”

Cardan casts her a sidelong look. He has a way of almost smiling, like the edge of moonlight peeking through the spidersilk canopy of their bed. A gossamer thing, but the light shines through.

A shame that this island will have to go belong to someone else, when she will forever remember Cardan here with her, looking at her like that.

“You brought me here to show me something.”

“Yes.” And oddly enough, his smile freezes a little. Jude narrows her eyes at it.

He leads her towards another clearing among the birches, tucking the bitterblack behind one pointed ear. There is more space here, and the air is crisp and clean, threaded through with the scent of salt and sunshine. The birches stand tall, but the sun reaches high enough to set the ash dusting the tops of the trees afire with crystal brilliance.

“What is this?”

His tail flicks once behind him. “The solution to the Insear claim.”

“What? Wait. You mean you knew how to resolve it all along? Randalin was right. You have been putting it off.”

“Not putting it off, waiting for the right time.”

“It’s been going on for weeks.”

Cardan shoots her a look. “I was supposed to ask you during the revel.”

The events of the revel — and the way it had ended, with Randalin bleeding in her chokehold — play out in her head. “Oh.”

He waves his hand. “No matter. It wouldn’t be the first time you caused a scene in front of the entire kingdom anyway.”

Jude crosses her arms. “Alright, let’s hear it, then. Tell me now so that we can put this whole thing behind us.”

He hesitates.

“Come on. Explain your solution.”

“This isn’t how I planned for this to go.”

“Planned for this to – Cardan. Just spit it out already.”

“Alright, fine,” he hisses. “I want to build a home with you. Here, on Insear.”

For a long moment, Jude wonders if she heard him right.

“Are you drunk?” Even though he couldn’t possibly be.

“I wish.”

“But the claim –”

“Is ours. Rightfully.” He raises his brow at her. “This island is connected to us, raised by my own magic. Isn’t that what you said?”

She stares at him.

“You know how this works, right?” Exasperation is clear in his voice. “I ask you to make a home with me on a new magical island, and you set yourself upon me, your acquiescence falling delightfully from your lips –”

“I do nothing delightfully, Cardan.”

“Oh, I could make a good argument otherwise.”

The entirety of last night, every sordidly delightful detail, flashes behind her eyes.

She clings to any rational thought she can find. “We already have a castle.” She thinks of the brugh, the entire sprawling mass of it. “A really big one.”

“Yes. And the Palace of Elfhame is the first place the High King and Queen should be. But often, it is also the last. A royal castle is just as much a royal warground.” He gives her a meaningful look. “As you and the rest of my family are well aware.”

Jude swallows. “What are you saying?”

“Our brugh will be the first place we make a home of, as monarchs. But it doesn’t have to be the only one.”

He turns her to face the clearing. His arms come around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder as they gaze out into a landscape stolen straight from the pages of a book.

“We could build something. Right here, in this glade. Where we don’t have to worry about anything. Where nothing else can touch us. We’ll close it off. We’ll come whenever we want. No spies, no interruptions, no watching our backs.”

And Jude recognizes the way he is holding her, because it’s the same way he held her in their secret room behind the throne, confessing the truths of his nightmares. “This is about protection.”

She feels him shrug. “A part of it, yes. Mostly I just want us to never be interrupted again. But there is power in protection. Wouldn’t you like that, Jude?”

Her head is swimming, because he’s put ideas into her brain, of waking up to the smell of birchwood and of walking along a glittering, moonlit shore — and they’re wonderful, damn him. If she’s being honest, those ideas came to her the moment she first stepped foot on Insear, like something in her had taken root in its sparkling soil, but she hadn’t let herself linger over them, knowing that the land would soon be treatied away.

But now, it’s like Cardan’s words have opened the floodgates, and her entire being, connected to Insear through his magic – their magic – thrums with the song of I could live here, I could thrive here, I belong here, and she aches with the rightness of it all.

“It’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” she admits, and doing so feels like she’s left her flank vulnerable during an open duel. She twists around in his arms quickly, before she can dwell on it. “But let’s get one thing clear.” Her fingers fist into his collar. “This nonsense about my being your weakness, that’s your problem. Not mine. I refuse to be held back by your fears.”

He nods with more gravity than is probably required. “And I could never ask it of you.”

“Then what do you ask of me now?” And because so much has changed between the two of them, because of everything that has led up to this moment, she adds, “What do you ask of me now and forever?”

He cups her face in his hands even as her fingers tighten on his shirt. “That you stay by my side. Through it all.” His mouth crooks self-deprecatingly. “And that you do not begrudge it too much that I miss you when you’re gone. That I worry. That I fear. Not because you are human, but because I hold you in my heart.”

She hates how swiftly her breath leaves her.

“Okay,” she says, more to steady herself than anything else, because this is a lot, and she’s never been good with dealing with a lot of feelings all at once. “Okay. I –”

“The rest of the kingdom belongs to the crown.” He presses closer, as if he can see her weakening. He takes a breath. “This… this could be ours. Just for us.”

“This island is too big for just the two of us.”

“No, Jude.” The look on his face is a little pained. “Us.”

A breath. A slice of time separating this moment into a before and after.

He isn’t talking about just the two of them. He’s talking about –

“Oh,” she breathes. “Us.”

“Only –” He’s scrambling a little now, she can see it. “Only if you want them.”

Them. Plural.

Jude sways a little. She’s not prepared for this. He should’ve warned her or something, because she doesn’t know how many surprises she can take in such a short amount of time.

Cardan is looking at her funny and she realizes she’s been quiet for too long. Something moves at the corner of her vision, and she realizes it’s his tail, flicking back and forth with the nervousness that he doesn’t show on his face.

“I want –” she begins, and he stills immediately, as if he could live or die on the next words that leave her mouth. “Okay. I don’t actually know what I want. I haven’t really had time to think about it. I want to talk about this. I do. And we’ll have to talk about it one day. But today, I don’t know if — if I know how, today.”

“Very well.” He says the words like he’s learning the shape of them on his tongue for the first time.

“It’s not a ‘no,’” she says quickly, before he gets the wrong idea. “It’s a ‘someday.’ Someday, you can ask me about children again. And in the meantime, I’ll think about when I can say yes. Deal?”

He touches her cheek, gentle, too gentle. “Deal.”

And all too late, she remembers the rule that she’s lived by all her life, the rule she’s broken time and time again when it came to this bewildering, beautiful boy that has made a place for himself between the stained-glass shards of her heart — never make a bargain with a faerie — because really, really, he shouldn’t be smiling like that, not like she’s given him the world when she’s barely even agreed to anything.

“Did you really plan a revel just to ask me about all this?”

“Yes. And you ruined it by taking a slice out of the Minister of Keys.”

Jude can’t help it. She throws her head back and laughs. “You’re a disaster.”

He glares, but there is no heat to it. “Only because you render me into one.”

Then something clicks into place. Something Tatterfell said while lacing her up in the dress he designed for her. For the king’s sake.

“Tatterfell knows.”

“She was most knowledgeable in your living preferences. How you like your room. Your furnishings. Your floors. I decided that I might know them, too.” He glances at the open space before them, at the sheer potential of it all. “Just in case.”

“We’ve been married for months. You could have asked me.”

“Would you have taken me seriously?”

She changes the subject, because he has her there. “How long have you been planning this?”

“A while.” Another shrug, less carefree this time. “Almost as long as the nightmares have come to me.”

Something hard glints in his eyes, and Jude recognizes the sharp lines of revenge if only because she has worn it too many times on her own face.

“All of this was as much a scheme,” he admits, “as it was a proposal to you. For to take a land borne of bitterness and remake it into a land of bliss, it would be –”

“The ultimate power play,” Jude finishes for him.

He grins down at her. It is heady, the realization that only she knows the true, full depths of her husband’s wickedness.

“I don’t have a lot of experience with blissful homes.” She feels the sudden urge to make sure he knows this. That he understands. It’s as much of a promise as she knows how to make. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about keeping one.”

“Nor I. We’ll have to learn together. Knowing you, there’ll be plenty of knives involved. But I think it starts,” he says, gathering her closer, “just like this.”

And when Cardan kisses her, Jude is sure that this is what conquerors must feel like. Because for years, she has fought for her place in Faerie, fought and bled and killed to belong somewhere.

And here it is.

Here it is, and she could dream entire worlds in his arms.

But she doesn’t have to. She has a whole world spread out before her already.

It’s a land of magic, raw and untested, ready to be discovered. A land of possibility, of infinite potential, waiting to be shaped by their hands. A land where sunlight grows and wayward falcons find peace. A land where the future blooms in full color, one amongst the thousands of flowers.

And it is theirs.

Their homeland.

______

Chapter Visuals:

Myrtle. (Love and partnership, marriage.)

End Links:

Everything: an edit.

His Door. (Cardan POV drabble, post-homeland.)

_______   

End Note:

This fic represents a lot of firsts for me: my first completed multi-chaptered story, my first time (heh again) trying my hand at smut, but most importantly, my first time encountering some of the nicest, most thoughtful people as readers.

If you’ve read and followed this little fic of mine up until the end, let me thank you from the bottom of my heart. It’s been an absolute honor to have readers like you. ❤️ I've learned so much from writing this little fic that could, and I hope to continue to grow as a writer. Thank you for coming along with me on this journey and bringing so much value to the fic writing experience – kudos, comments, and your wonderful insights and all. 

As always, you can find me and my open ask box on tumblr. 

Much love to you, always!

________

Tagging: @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks​

* Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future fics (Jurdan or other fandoms!) and it would be my absolute honor to do so!

[tearblossom]

The Path To Paradise Begins In Hell

*This is basically the famed Italian poet from 1265, Dante Alighieri, meets my female V and Goro’s love. I retell the Orbital Station scene using gifs and a mix of quotes from Dante’s Divine Trilogy: Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso along with a variety of his other poems. Some of his poetry is quite beautiful and certain passages reminded me strongly of V and Goro and their final moments together.

V

“Midway upon the journey of my life I found myself within a dark forest, for the straightforward pathway had been lost.”

“Ah me! How hard a thing it is to say what was this forest savage, rough, and stern, which in the very thought renews the fear! So bitter is it, death is little more.”

He woke her then, and trembling and obedient, she ate that burning heart out of his hand.

“Love, which pardons no beloved from loving, took me so strongly with delight in him that, as you see, it still abandons me not.”

“Weeping, I saw him then depart from me.”

Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for her? 

Find nourishment in the very sight of her?

I think so.

But would she see through the bars of his plight, and ache for him?

The day that man allows true love to appear, those things which are well made will fall into confusion and will overturn everything we believe to be right and true.

Goro

“Already my desire and my will were being turned like a wheel, all at one speed, by the Love which moves the sun and the other stars.”

“For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.”

“A grief so deep the tongue must wag in vain;

the language of our sense and memory lacks the vocabulary of such pain.”

“I have come to lead you to the other shore;

into eternal darkness; into fire and into ice.”

“Remember tonight...for it is the beginning of always.”

V

“There is a gentle thought that often springs to Life in me, because it speaks of you.”

Goro

“Through me is the way to the city of woe,

Through me is the way to eternal pain,

Through me is the way to a lost people.

Justice moved my great Creator,

Divine Power made me,

the Supreme Wisdom and the Primal Love.”

V

“In that book which is my memory, 

On the first page of the chapter that is the day when I first met you,

Appear the words, ‘Here begins a new life’.”

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Goro

“Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.”

V

“But the stars that marked our starting fall away. We must go deeper into greater pain, for it is not permitted that we stay.”

“I did not die, and yet I lost life’s breath.”

V & Goro

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for October 21, 2023  Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 26:23 (KJV): 23 Burning lips and a wicked heart are like a potsherd covered with silver dross. Proverbs 26:23 (AMP): 23 Burning lips (uttering insincere words of love) and a wicked heart are like an earthen vessel covered with scum thrown off from molten silver (making it appear to be solid silver).

Thought for the Day

Professions of love from the wicked are comparable to a silver veneer on earthenware vessels. They look good on the surface; but upon thorough examination, they are not what they appear to be. We should assess people by their actions, not their words or appearance (Proverbs 20:11). Otherwise, they will deceive us, like a merchant selling a cheap vessel coated with silver.

The Bible has much to say about people who profess to love God but whose actions prove otherwise. Jesus called those who observe their religious traditions without loving God or their fellow, hypocrites: "...Well hath Esaias prophesied of you hypocrites, as it is written, These people honoureth me with their lips, but their heart is far from me. Howbeit in vain do they worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men. For laying aside the commandment of God, ye hold the tradition of men, as the washing of pots and cups: and many other such like things ye do…Full well ye reject the commandment of God, that ye may keep your tradition" (Mark 7:6-9).

Bondage to man-made religious traditions is one of the things that keep people from a true relationship with God. Tradition in itself is not a bad thing if it is not followed blindly. However, Christianity for many people is merely a cultural tradition. They follow certain religious practices only because they were raised to do so. Many trust religious tradition to save them, but salvation is found only in a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. The only way to heaven is through faith in Him.

Cultural traditions can also lead us astray. We should ask God to show us the truth about them and cleanse us from all deception and unrighteousness. The fact that a tradition has been practiced for centuries, or that all society now behaves a certain way, does not make it right. These traditions can be cheap imitations of abundant life. No matter how popular or accepted certain things may be, if they do not line up with God's Word, we must renounce them. The Bible, not society, is our standard.

Jesus was always kind and extended mercy to the sinners who came to Him with honest hearts. To hypocrites, however, He was very harsh. Though they appeared to the world to be pure as silver, they could not hide their hidden, inward sins from Him: "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchers, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and of all uncleanness. Even so, ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity" (Matthew 23:27-28).

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear heavenly Father, we are asking you today that You be merciful to our nation and deliver us from evil. Father, you said in Your Word that judgment begins at the house of God, so convict Your people of their sins so that they may repent of them and return to You with their whole hearts. Lord, if You see anything in use that we are blind to, or that we have clung to, because of tradition, please show us our need to repent and change our thinking. May we always choose Your Word over all traditions of men? Create in us a clean heart. We ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen.