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elvisabutler · 1 year

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down home southern cookin'

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( fameless big daddy electrician/handyman ) x female original character word count: 3069 warnings: housewife kink. big daddy elvis. pregnant sex. minor pregnancy kink and breastfeeding kink. sex around food ( the food isn't harmed ). p in v sex ( unprotected ). minor praise kink. talk of sweat. bags thumping on floors making you feel things. author’s note: welcome to day 14 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, breastfeeding kink with spark elvis and lilly. so, hi. i've been having a rough go around on actually finishing the main fic but i have made a bit more progress after moving past the block i've had formed for a while. that being said, enjoy this little one shot in the meantime. also if you have no idea what this series/verse is, the masterlist is right here. in addition, i truly do thrive on your comments and messages and love reading them.

"Is that meatloaf 'm smellin' darlin'?"

Lilly hears the door open before she ever hears Elvis's voice but at the sound of his voice, she can feel their children inside her move about, kicking and trying to roll around. It's been getting harder and harder to bend to reach the oven but she manages well enough, free hand on her belly as she opens the oven.

Elvis's thudding steps tell Lilly that he's heading to the kitchen to investigate not entirely unlike a bloodhound and she smiles softly to herself even as the twin she has taken to calling Gladys kicks her square in the rib. Her hand rubs at the spot as she stays bent over looking into the oven when she hears Elvis's whistle, low and appreciative.

"Wasn't expectin' that sorta greetin'. Ain't complainin', though." His voice is pitched low as she hears his bag thump on the floor. The thought of moving to a standing position enters Lilly's mind and yet she's just that slight bit curious as to what Elvis plans on doing.

After all, wasn't the proof of his appreciation for her backside growing healthy and strong within her? Wasn't his appreciation for a warm meal evident by the way so many of her dresses are slightly ruined? Wasn't he her husband not just in theory but in name?

It doesn't take long for her to feel the press of his front against her behind, the warmth of his body seeping through her dress. His hand moves to cup her stomach as he guides her into a standing position, nipping at her ear as she does. "They givin' ya trouble? Gotta get a lecture from Daddy?"

Lilly's laughter is always music to Elvis's ears and today is no exception. His lips curl into a soft smile as he kisses down her neck, hands wandering across her body. She makes no move to remove them. "They only started giving me trouble when they heard you."

"That so?" Elvis hums as one of his hands settles on her breast, squeezing it just light enough that Lilly's mouth falls open in a gasp. "They just missed their daddy as much as their mama did, didn't they? Jus' wanted to say hello."

He's not wrong, Lilly reasons. Jesse is the same way, trying to come crawling at the sound of his Daddy's voice as soon as he hears it if Elvis doesn't beat the boy to it. Still, there's nothing that says she has to boost her husband's ego any more than it already is tonight. It makes it easy to just hum quietly with a small grin on her face.

"They missed daddy, I don't know if mama did." Lilly teases even as she feels Elvis's hand tighten on her breast and feels the hand that had been cupping her lower stomach move ever so slightly lower. "I had the best company all day."

A huff of his warm breath tickles the hair on the back of her neck as he starts to use his hand to pull up her dress. "Jesse asleep?"

He knows it's too early for Jesse to be asleep, knows that Lilly keeps his son up just so that he can give him a kiss goodnight and help get him ready for bed even if he ran late arriving home. Yet, he feels the need to ask, to make sure Jesse isn't crawling around underfoot in a way that gets him into trouble. Elvis knows he should be a good husband and take a shower and make it so Lilly can rest her aching little sooties. Even with them not in heels he can see them a little swollen and he's sure if he touched them they'd be pounding. Elvis knows he should be a good husband like he always is and yet he can feel his cock swelling up in his jumpsuit. Seeing Lilly- seeing his *wife* bent over making food for him all while so *full* of him does something to him. It'd do something to any man worth his salt. Maybe he'd ask Charlie or Jerry how they feel about their wives when they've been pregnant. Though, Jerry's answer is damn nearly explained with his new niece or nephew Melly's got growing inside of her.

His cock had gotten them into this mess, first with her and him against the sink and even know their twins were merely the result of his cock seeing her backside as she bathed Jesse. If he were a different man, if he were the man he was almost two years ago he'd be embarrassed, mortified that his cock's acting like it's attached to a twenty year old. And yet, right now all he can think about is how thankful he is for it. Thankful it's proven its worth to satisfy Lilly in ways he knows now she had craved during her previous marriage. Thankful it's proven its worth by providing him with a healthy gift from God of a son and hopefully healthy strong little ones in a couple of months.

"You know he's awake," Lilly murmurs, moving closer to the sink for some leverage to lean on. "Wouldn't dream of putting our baby boy to sleep without letting him say goodnight to his Daddy." She pauses and leans back against Elvis, his body heat seeping through his jumpsuit and her dress. She can feel the sweat of the day on his skin and it should be nauseating and off putting but as she inhales deeply she merely smells the unique scent of her husband. A shiver passes through her. "What are you really trying to ask, Elvis?"

An idea of what he wants is on the tip of her tongue but she doesn't want to be too forward even after a child was born that was conceived in the strangest of ways or after he pleasured her with a garden hose. No, somehow asking him point blank if he was trying to enjoy what was between her legs was too much.

"If you'd let me- If ya'd mind bendin' over again. Or if ya'd mind if I put ya between the sink and me. Mindin' the yittle ones, course."

Lilly wonders if the way Elvis talks to her and the way Elvis seems to be completely and utterly in love with every part of her is ever going to get old. If it'll ever stop making her heart race and ever stop making her lose her breath. Maybe it's just because she had gotten so used to things with Nathan that it's still novel. The twins inside her do their own separate flips as she licks her lips.

"Minding them, of course." Her voice sounds airy, like it's floating into the air as she tries to remember how to breathe. "Facing you, right?"

Not looking out the window, pleasure crossing her face at every moment as she leaned against him, her legs too shaky to support the weight of her body. Not facing the window, watching the sun go down on another day, wishing this could be her afternoons forever more. No, she'd be able to face Elvis, see his face as it scrunched up when he grunted inside of her. She'd be able to see how he works up such a sweat that it drips down on her as they fuck. It's not that she hasn't since they've been married but this is another thing entirely. This is being able to see how Elvis's face looked like when he pleasured her against the sink almost two years ago. This is a reward for a hard day's work as she cooks their little buns inside of her and cooks a hearty filling meal for him.

His hands finally reach the destination he wants them to, her underwear. A hand slides against her clothed entrance, chuckling at how drenched has already made her. The pregnancy had heightened so many things and yet somehow she surprises him even with this. With a vagina that aches and yearns for him so much it cries out every second it's not filled. He finally speaks.

"Facin' me," his voice is a murmur and a growl as he shifts her underwear to the side just enough to slide his fingers where he knows she wants them. "Maybe I'll even lift ya up on the counter."

Lilly shakes her head, not trusting her mouth's ability to form words. Another time, she figures, when she wasn't carrying these precious little buns inside her. No, she wants to be pinned just as she was that first afternoon. Her hand reaches out to grab at Elvis's wrist, her hand trailing over her swollen stomach, an action watched with rapt attention by Elvis. A quiet but noticeable squelch is heard as he pulls his fingers from her. He opens up his mouth to speak only to watch as he realized something shifted inside of Lilly when she heard that squelch of his fingers. The look she has on her face is one he's gotten to know well both through her pregnancy with Jesse and now her pregnancy with the twins. She wants him and every second that she don't have him she'll get more and more frustrated. His hands move to undo and start to unzip his jumpsuit only to have her swat them away. Lilly's hand are deft little things, suited for sewing and domestic tasks even he struggles with despite his ample skills.

The rush of the cold air against his sweaty chest has him inhaling and has his overheated body shivering just a hair. Lilly's eyes watch the action and take it to mean that she needs to hurry, needs to reach down low enough to free his already swollen cock from the confines of his underwear. Elvis opens up his mouth to speak only to have Lilly's hand finally pull his zipper down low enough to yank down his underwear, his cock bobbing out of them not entirely unlike a goddamn Jack in the Box. Lilly isn't forceful except for these times when she's needy and he's already promised to give her what she needs. How's a man supposed to talk when he sees her hand around his cock, slathering the ample precum across his length.

"Just against it, Elvis. Please," Lily begs ever so softly, though she knows she doesn't need to. Any request she makes of Elvis he does and this would be no exception. She watches as he looks down at her with such a rush of love and clenches her thighs. Her nipples brush against the fabric of her bra and she whimpers at the mere feeling of his hand against her hip as he walks her back against the sink. She needs and wants every bit of him and he's determined to give it to her.

In bed, he would take his time undressing her, watching her dress fall to the floor and watching her ample milk filled breasts spill from her bra. He would suckle at her nipples until he saw her chest heave and her body shake with release. But right now? Right now against the sink he doesn't bother to even pull down her underwear. He should, and yet he can feel how aroused she is and just how she is craving him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she's reminded this isn't proper, that she should insist he take his time and undress her and yet that voice is smothered by realizing no part of their relationship would be considered proper to her two years ago.

His actions make her happy so why should there be any shame attached to them. Her thoughts swirl in her mind with such force that she is caught off guard by Elvis removing her hand and entering her with very little preparation. A choked off sob of pleasure leaves her mouth as she looks up at him.

"Elvis," she whispers, her hands finding purchase on his chest and down his stomach. The hair on his body that rubs up against her skin every time they make love feels different in her hands in this moment, somehow softer while being just a little bit rougher. One of her hands plays with his chest, laughing breathlessly as one of his hands mirrors her, cupping her breast. "You can go— oh."

Elvis knows Lilly like he knows the back of his hand, he figures. Knows what makes his wife turn to pure putty in hands and knows how to have her pleasured in every way she had always deserved to be pleasured. It's easy to figure out just by watching her face and watching how it shifts when he thrusts just right and cups her breasts just right. "I can what, darlin'? Ya want it faster? Want your husband to move faster? Make it so ya comin' faster than anythin'?"

Lilly's eyes drift to the stove for a moment and then to the clock. She should tell him she wants him to take his time. That she wants to feel every thrust and feel his foreskin as it drags inside of her despite how aroused she is. She knows she doesn't have enough time though, knows that in about ten minutes she has to pull the meatloaf from the oven. Her vagina clenches and earns a slight curse from Elvis as he kisses her softly, waiting for an answer.

"We— the meatloaf. I don't want it to burn." As if she needs to explain why she needs him to go faster. "Tonight—If we can it can be slower."

Her skin is flushed and Elvis just takes a moment in between thrusts to marvel at the way it starts at her cheeks and how there's small splotches of it heading down to her chest. He's done that to her, not just the embarrassment she still holds on to about asking just what she would like him to do to her. His perfect wife, his lil darlin' is worried about meatloaf and can't always put into words what she desires. How had he gotten so lucky? How had God saw fit to put the nearest earthly thing to perfection in front of him? How had he found himself married with a son and young ones on the way to this woman?

"Even if 'm not. Ya— ya always know ya can get my engine revving," Elvis's voice is a murmur against Lilly's neck as he kisses and nips at it, his hips quickening their pace. "How long we got, Lil?"

"Nine," she answers, trying to buck against Elvis as best she can with her stomach and his own in the way. "I'll— I've been wanting—"

The words she wants to say are left in her head as his hand drifts down her chest and down her swollen belly to between her legs. Another time and another place she'd question what he's doing but she knows where his hand is headed. She knows before she feels the press of the calloused pads of his fingertips against her throbbing clit. It's been like that nearly all day and she knows better than to take care of it herself on days like this. Knows that what she needs is the warmth of his hands and the roughness of them to bring her to completion. So lost in her own pleasure she nearly misses the words leaving Elvis's lips.

"My perfect wife. My perfect lil darlin'. Takin' care of our yittle one and growing the other yittle buns. Could be like some of the other women and relax, sh—should be like 'em but here you are makin' me dinner and keepin' everythin' as it should be. Gonna show ya how much I love ya for this. How thankful I am for ya."

He pants it against her skin, one hand gripping at her hip while the other works against her clit as she's pinned against the skin. It should hurt, the way the counter digs into her back just a bit but any pain she feels is overtaken by the throbbing between her legs and the scrape of her nipples against her bra. Everything feels so warm and safe and loving that she feels herself starting to reach a crescendo, clawing at his chest before her hands slide to his lower back and down to his behind, pulling him somehow impossibly closer. An almost inhuman noise leaves his lips, a howl and a growl and a groan all mixed into one as he feels her clenching around him.

"That's it, Lilly. That's it my lil darlin'. God— Like a vice—" His words are lost in a haze of her orgasm and his own following closely after. Somehow both of their grips on each other get tighter as they try to catch their breath. Elvis makes sure to not lean too hard on Lilly, careful to protect their children inside of her. Time doesn't have a meaning for either of them until the shrill ring of a timer sounds signalling the fact that the meatloaf is finished.

"I— I need to get that, Elvis." Lilly whispers, still trying to remember how to breathe and walk properly. His only answer is a slow nod as he steps away. It's easy for him to watch Lilly's hips move as she walks the short distance between the sink and oven. A part of him thinks he should turn away when she starts to bend over but then he thinks of how she's leaking his release standing there and how she still likely has to finish one thing or another on the stove. He licks his lips and with a speed that surprises even him, he finds himself on his knees in front of her once she's pulled the meatloaf from the oven and set it down.

"Elvis, what are you— what are you doing?" Her voice is light and her eyes sparkle in a way they only do when she's amused at him and his antics.

In lieu of answering, his large hands grab at the edges of her dress and start to pull it up and up and up until her underwear is exposed to him. It's then and only then that he answers her, looking up through his eyelashes with a practically devilish smirk. "Felt like havin' dessert while you're doin' your work."

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @marriedtopresley, @memphis-menace, @steph-speaks, @doll-elvis, @vintageshanny, @j-v-9-2, @sexystarfish, @jessicarcates, @chirssycrumble9456789, @shantellescrivener, @yomammalolha, @honey6578, @urmom11111111111119, @myradiaz, @elvispresleyxoxo, @joegramoe, @rainblue-art, @fav-fanficssss, @misspresley, @fallinlovewithurlove, @ash-omalley, @yynneessmons if you're missing from this list, you either changed your username or tumblr is tumblr.

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x oc #elvis x lilly #big daddy elvis #big daddy and lil darlin #elvis presley x reader #spark universe #ally writes #ally's wet hot smut summer

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saintsenara · 6 months

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Wait why are you not a fan of Snape and Hermione?? 2 nerds who care a socially awkward amount about the things they care about nerding out together at levels of romance people who can be chill and normal about things can’t comprehend?? It’s not one of my fav ships but I can definitely see it!

I headcanon that Snape picks on Hermione being a muggle raised know it all thirsty to prove and lacking self awareness because he was one himself when he arrived at school and James and Sirius picked on him for it! It’s like that you’re most repulsed by the things you’re self conscious of in yourself thing to me. Or maybe a him trying to live out being the “cool” one in that dynamic thing

But when she’s a grown woman and more self possessed like he became too I feel like that same energy ness has potential for love!

Hermione is famously respectful and compassionate enough towards all beings to be more understanding than say Lily Evans of his prickly tender ego if he had another m word style outburst and such a people pleaser she’d keep coming back for more snark as long as he peppered it with the odd encouraging compliment

And I feel like a Snape in reciprocated love could absolutely veer into inventing beautiful and helpful spells to impress his lover or sending “made me think of u 😘” notes with verses of elaborate obscure poetry territory that would be frankly the level of literary and academic courtship our Herms deserves 😌

Is it cause they’d both be the highly strung worrier one and they both need someone to ground them? Or maybe too pessimistic together and one of them needs to be the cheerful one?

anon, i genuinely love this for you - i'm always thrilled to get people explaining their love for ships in the ol' inbox, especially when they're ships i don't instinctively vibe with, and i have been won round to stranger premises than this by a passionate defence of why two characters should kiss.

where i still think snamione isn't clicking for me, however, is that the way you describe both snape and hermione here doesn't align in any significant way with what i personally think would be interesting to explore about either character in a relationship and have them still feel meaningfully like their canon selves.

[i will say, though - because i always think it's worth reiterating my fandom commitment towards being neither a cop nor a priest - that i literally don't give a shit about either the age gap or the student-teacher dynamic. i know that's an objection to pairings like snarry and snamione which lots of people do express. but i will never be one of them.]

the primary reason that i don't vibe with many of the more... sapiosexual hermione ships [by which i mean not only snamione but tomione] is that they hang on the idea that hermione's intellect expresses itself in a way we never actually see in canon.

or, the idea that snape and hermione are intellectually compatible [and that they would enjoy hanging out being nerdy about stuff] is just... not true.

throughout the seven-book canon, the way that hermione shows herself to be clever is that she displays an excellent memory and an enormous capacity to rote-learn. her intelligence is overwhelmingly demonstrated - both in the classroom and during the trio's year on the run - by her being able to regurgitate swathes of information, very usually verbatim from the source she got it from.

she is clearly able to use this ability to retain information to understand the theoretical component of magic in a way neither harry nor ron ever manage, and she is able to use this understanding of theory to work out how to perform spells which are ahead of her expected level on the hogwarts curriculum.

and this is intelligence - and i want to be very clear that i'm not trying to suggest that hermione shouldn't be thought of as intellectual, or that her academic achievements should be devalued. but it isn't the way snape's intelligence manifests itself.

because hermione is never shown - at any point in canon - to be a particularly creative or experimental thinker.

she places an enormous intellectual trust in disciplinary authority - teachers and textbooks - and is frequently rattled when these are revealed to be partial or incorrect, as we see in her shock at hogwarts: a history not mentioning house elves or her anger at harry getting better results by following the modified instructions in the prince's textbook [despite knowing nothing about the theory underpinning them] than she does with the "official" ones.

she also regards the gatekeeping of inquiry which disciplinary boundaries enforce to be a positive thing and she never displays any inclination to step beyond them. she dislikes the spells in the prince's textbook because they aren't ministry-approved - and i must say that i think the idea that she'd be won over by a man creating spells for her is wishful thinking...

she is immediately mistrustful of anything she can't find something she regards as an empirical source for - notice, for example, that she only comes round to the idea that prophecies might be real once she encounters them in the ministry of magic.

even when we see her using magic on her own terms - the jinx she uses on marietta edgecombe, for example; or the protean charm on the da coins - the magic she's using is sophisticated, and is being applied in a way which wouldn't be classroom-sanctioned, but it's not magic which is being used in a way which is removed from the spell's original purpose. the protean charm on the da coins is impressive because it's a flawless execution of newt-level magic by a sixteen-year-old. it's not impressive because hermione is using it in a strange, experimental, or radical way.

[in contrast, the dark mark - which harry notes the coins mimic - is clearly a spell voldemort himself invents.]

snape, on the other hand, is an experimenter. he's someone who clearly sees magic as a creative force which he has every right to shape as he sees fit by adaptation and invention. and he's someone who evidently rejects the logic of disciplinary gatekeeping - one tension in his relationship with dumbledore prior to half-blood prince is that snape evidently retains an enormous intellectual interest in the dark arts [which, as he tells us, are an area of magic which is feared precisely because they can't be neatly contained within disciplinary boxes - they are ever-changing, unfixed, mutating...]

and it's these conflicting views of what magic is and how it should be used and thought about which is the cause of the intellectual incompatibility we see between snape and hermione in canon.

he is unequivocally in the wrong for his dismissive classroom manner towards her - because he is an adult and she is a child. but he isn't wrong in principle that hermione just repeating what she's read in the textbook and refusing to synthesise her knowledge [she always goes massively over word limits! she never gives answers in class in her own words!] isn't actually a demonstration that she understands the material. [and therefore something a good teacher would guide her through conquering... snape having no interest in doing this is his own fault.]

and - from a snamione-specific perspective - it's all the evidence snape needs that, actually, they're not going to enjoy hanging out chatting about academic pursuits. hermione values knowledge like a dragon hoards treasure. snape wants to take that treasure, melt it down, and turn it into new and weird things.

once again, i don't think this a flaw in either of their characters - it's just something which is. and i don't think it's an insurmountable obstacle to writing snamione, because i believe any ship is possible if an author has enough nerve. but it's an aspect of both characters' canon personalities [and hermione's above all] which never seems to make it into snamione fics - all of which, as far as i've encountered them, are beholden to an idea of hermione's approach to academia which is considerably more flexible than we actually see in the books.

of your other points, i'm not particularly convinced by the idea that snape sees his younger self in the teenage hermione. this isn't just for the reasons outlined above - hermione isn't trying to prove herself in the same way he was, which was by creating and experimenting in a bid to be noticed and considered impressive - but also because of the massive gulf in their respective class backgrounds.

hermione is really posh - and, while she's obviously subjected to discrimination at hogwarts on account of her blood-status, she also comes from a family with both the financial resources and the cultural language to make her familiar with the vibe of the elite muggle boarding schools hogwarts is a pastiche of.

the teen snape - in contrast - stands out from his cohort in that he is visually identifiable as working-class [which does appear to be genuinely unusual at hogwarts]. his class background is something which clearly drove a lot of the marauders' bullying of him [i'm sorry to the girlies who think james and sirius targeted him out of some righteous desire to stamp out his prejudice - it was because he was poor and uncouth] and which he still has a chip on his shoulder about as an adult.

this - again - is not an insurmountable barrier to a snamione relationship [as it's not a barrier to thousands of real-world partnerships and friendships]. but it is something an author needs to grapple with if they want to make the pairing - at least, in my opinion - seem plausible. but the standard vibe seems to be that snape would be comfortable in the grangers' home fairly quickly, and that he'd be delighted to have hermione swanning around offering suggestions for how they could do up spinner's end... instead of him resenting this as the unwelcome meddling of people who've never had to worry for money.

i'm also not particularly convinced by the idea that hermione would get over being called a mudblood - especially by an adult man. while i think it's completely plausible that she'd handle this differently than lily [although lily's reaction is entirely justified - and i don't think we should throw the baby out with the bathwater of contextualising the teenage snape and the motivating factors behind his decisions by pretending that cutting off your friend because he called you a slur is a petty, ill-thought-out, or unreasonable move], i don't think that her reaction would be automatically forgiving.

hermione is compassionate towards kreacher when he calls her a mudblood because kreacher is a slave, whose prejudicial views are inextricably bound up in the magic used to oppress him [i.e. that if he received an order to use the term, or to refuse to serve a muggleborn food, from his masters, he would have to punish himself violently if he disobeyed it]. she is not - quite rightly! - compassionate towards someone like draco malfoy when he calls her one, since he is a free person with full agency to choose not to do this.

could she forgive him - or snape - for using the term? sure! absolutely! but i don't think it's a given - and i also think she'd expect a demonstration of how sorry snape was which wouldn't necessarily align with how he'd think he'd demonstrated his regret.

i do agree that - as you say - hermione is a people-pleaser, and she definitely has a far greater tolerance for being treated cruelly by people she wants to impress [especially authority figures - including snape himself] than either harry or ron. and i think this has the potential to introduce an extremely thorny dynamic into a snamione fic - in which the power dynamic inherent in the age gap [which, to reiterate, i think is completely fine for an author to enjoy] is compounded by hermione being unwilling to anger or contradict snape [which is a vibe - as i've said in answer to an ask about harmony - we also see in her relationship with harry... it's also obviously exactly how snape's relationship with dumbledore works.]

on a couple of the more minor characterisation notes, i'm afraid that the idea of snape as a great romantic has never hit for me. it seems really bound up in the way alan rickman portrayed him in the films, which i've always found a bit toothless. i also don't like the trope of "actually snape's really hot" which seems to always accompany it - ugly, odd men to get to bone too!

[what he would be - i think - is a magpie. get ready to be handed odd stones and bits of leaves on dates.]

i also think they're highly-strung in ways which differ enough to mean they'd just annoy each other. hermione is highly-strung in that she flusters easily and is very poor under pressure, but she's actually pretty emotionally stable [and i'd dispute that she's a pessimist - this is a girl who thinks that she's successfully eradicating slavery at hogwarts by knitting hats; she's pretty robust, funny, cheerful, and idealistic]. snape is highly-strung in that he has a hair-trigger temper and is very emotionally volatile, but he's obviously an extraordinarily good liar, very quick on his feet, and very good under pressure. he'd think she panicked too much [and over insignificant things he didn't care about], she'd think he tanked the vibe of a date by taking offence at someone breathing too loudly.

where are they similar? well, they have a shared self-serving streak [hermione is appalled by behaviour from harry and ron she considers perfectly moral when she does it]; capacity for cruelty; tendency towards secrecy; tendency towards pettiness and pleasure in the misfortune of others; loathing of flying a broom; cutting sense of humour; stubbornness; resilience; clear dislike of slumming it in nature; love of puzzles; and a weakness for red hair.

i think you could make it work on the grounds that they'd probably have the time of their lives being haters together - especially, i feel, about rita skeeter.

and - y'know - because love is weird.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #snamione #hermione granger #severus snape #is this an “i'm in danger” one?#only time will tell

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touchlikethesun · 7 months

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i’ve been thinking about haikyuu name meanings again, so i thought i’d share two of the name meanings that make me smile a lot :)))

木　boku - tree 兎　to - rabbit (?) 光　kou - shining, glory, pride 太郎　tarou - “great” son or first son 赤　aka - red, communism (??) 葦　ashi - reed (?) 京　kei - ten quadrillion; other readings (kyou, tokyo), capital city 治　ji - govern, regulate

so i’ve purposefully kept the direct kanji meanings, even tho most of them are simple and/or non sensical when applied to bokuto and akaashi’s character. but i've done so to replicate my own confusion and (hopefully) eventual satisfaction when i’d worked tho the many layers of word play.

so the first character of bokuto’s name 木 (tree) i originally thought was supposed to tie him to owls, yknow bc owls are often sitting in trees, and that might be part of it, but when 木 is used in adjectival constructions (so instead of ‘tree’ it might mean more ‘wooden’) and applied to people it often carries pejorative connotations of stupidity, close to the english ‘blockheaded’ - which i have to admit. did make me chuckle. (note: i thought there might be some connection between boku and boke the insult kags is always launching at hinata but they seem to be unrelated go figure)

兎 (to) was another confusing one, since ordinarily 兎 is the character for usagi (rabit), but when read as to there didn't seem to be any real mean associated with it, which is funny because most of the names in hq!! have more thought put into them then that. i was just about to write it off, when i looked up the two kanji together on wiktionary and-

木兎　mimizuko - alt. spelling for eagle/horned owl

see above: eagle owl and bokuto koutarou for comparaison.

so basically in bokuto's name there is both a pun calling him a bit thick and a pun with the type of owl that inspired him how fucking incredible is that??? i personally love it

光太郎 (koutarou) seems to be a bit more of a traditional name, and we also have a very clear in-universe explanation for it's meaning. bokuto is the youngest of three with two older sisters, and it seems mr and mrs bokuto were very proud to finally have a son (ehhh patriarchy sucks sorry it is what it is) and wanted to give him a name that reflected their feelings. however, i do also think that 光 can also be taken to represent bokuto's presence in the series as a whole.

the first meaning of 光 being 'shining' obviously makes me think of the most bokuaka line in all of canon "we are the stars of the world" (ik some translations use protagonists in place of stars but shhh i'm being symbolic plus the vers i read used "stars"), because bokuto is such a star, he shines so brightly, and motivates so many people (the least of whom being akaashi and the rest of fukurodani). bokuto was always destined for glory and stardom in volleyball, but i think he's also just. so bright of a person. like yes, ofc he has his moods and his caprices, but that doesn't change how much he just, well, shines, brightens up a room. i don't know how much of this was intentional or accidental, but i like it.

like with bokuto's name, i ran into a bit of trouble with 赤葦 (akaashi) at first. literally, it means red reed, which didn't really seem significant. although 赤 (aka) also means 'red' as in 'communist' so now even tho it is certainly not at all the intended meaning i now and forever will headcanon akaashi as being a communist or someone at the very least well versed in communist theory. however, like with bokuto, akaashi's name is actually a reference to アカアシフクロウ (akaashi-fukuro) or アカアシモリフクロウ (akaashi-mori-fukuro), so another type of owl

i've already talked about what i find so amusing about 京治 (keiji) in this post, but to summarise here (actually maybe this counts as an expansion?), the most relevant part to akaashi's character is the second kanji 治, meaning to govern or to regulate. 治 is sometimes used on it's own, but it is also often used in compounds related to peace, healing, (and politics, my commie akaashi headcanon wins again hahaha).

i think akaashi's character evolves from what it was intended to be, and i'm not sure how accurate this meaning is by the time we reach the end of canon (or maybe i've just been reading to much bokuaka fic and it's skewing my perception of him), but akaashi started out a bit like bokuto's external emotional regulator. for someone with as insane mood swings as bokuto, mood swings that other people struggled to understand and react to, he must have had quite a hard time, and indeed we're shown that his difficulties managing his emotions seriously and negatively affects his performance on the court. enter akaashi. akaashi, who through careful observation, quickly learns to not just react to bokuto's mood swings, but to understand them, their causes, and even eventually to anticipate them, effectively giving bokuto the tools he needs to learn to control his emotions and continue giving his all like akaashi knows he can.

i think it's relevant that 治 is also used to talk about healing and peace, (and not just governing which has rather unfortunate implications of control and coercion that i don't particularly like) because that is what akaashi's presence in bokuto's life ultimately provides, as evidenced by bokuto's growth by the end of the series ("hey look guys i'm just a normal ace!" meaning he's learned to manage his emotions by himself, something that i think would have been a much longer and harder journey without akaashi's influence).

when i said i'm not sure how accurate 治 is when applied to akaashi's character by the end of the series, i mean that i think it downplays the reciprocal nature of bokuto and akaashi's relationship, because for as much as akaashi helps bokuto manage his mood swings, bokuto also provides a lot of emotional support and motivation to akaashi. and i'm not sure this was something that furudate had already taken into account when first coming up with these characters.

i think there might be smaller symbolic meaning relating to akaashi's position as a setter, but that's really only a minor detail i think...

anyways, there you have it! bokuaka kanji meanings and thoughts!! do let me know if you have different interpretations, or if i've missed something, i really really reallyyyyy like talking about things like this but for now brb i am going to go read like a dozen bokuaka oneshots xx

#i feel like their names being owl refs is common knowledge like i feel like i already knew that #and had just forgotten #so to anyone that didn't already know or needed the reminder #here it is lol #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #bokuaka #haikyuu #fukurodani

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erial-c · 1 month

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REDACTED THEORY POST !!!

possible spoilers for the balance, sovereign state, carpe deus, and hush's audios . bare with me because this is horrifically long

tagging @mokozroach hi :3

an amalgamation of theories i have regarding the plot heavy series in the redacted verse :3

so i'm gonna try to discuss 3 different things here :

1. the timeline and how i see it

2. how blake is probably hush's brother

3. what the fuck is hush

1. the timeline (specifically when the fuck hush's audios are set)

we know that when avior and starlight get back to the overworld, + when elliott escapes, the inversion just happened . with that, i think i've found a few things that can set the events in the timeline

- in "deferred judgement" and "reforming a sadism demon", hush says that closeknit's headquarters in dahlia are empty, and that the dept. "came and scared them away" or raided the building.

i assume that what happened in the newest balance audio was also a raid (blake saying the department cut the power in the building) and iirc we're still in dahlia, so this is the same building that hush says is abandoned in his recent audios.

- in "reforming a sadism demon", hush mentions he's only been alive/sentient for "a few weeks"

this wouldn't have given me anything, but if we recall in sovereign state, avior keeps hearing the same sound effect that we hear when hush tries to explain what he is to doc.

since the closest given timeline is "facing a disaster with your demon lover" (40 minutes post-inversion), and the audios after that are probably, at most, a few days after (since avior has to explain the inversion to starlight) we can probably assume that hush has been created at this point.

this would have hush's audios + the 2 most recent carpe deus audios be set a few weeks post inversion at the least.

2. blake is probably hush's brother

so we know hush has mentioned having a "brother" twice now ('there's a stranger in your apartment' and 'deferred judgement')

we can assume hush probably means that they're brothers in the sense that they were made the same way? because obviously they wouldn't actually be blood related ("i have a brother, in a manner of speaking")

- both are also instruments/tools used by the sovereigns. hush having referred to himself as an "instrumental force" many times, and blake being called an instrument by d'deridahn ('a deal with the fallen gods').

- both also "teleport" the same way (parentheses because its technically not that?). normae mentions that hush can "be anywhere" but isn't rifting, and hasn't seen anything like it before ('getting to know your mysterious stranger'). d'deridahn also says that blake can "be anywhere". both also have the same sound effect when " teleporting".

we also know that hush and his "brother" not exactly on good terms. hush's "brother" knows that hush is different, and that scares him. this person has been hunting hush down ever since he was given form, but since hush is stronger and faster, he hasn't been caught.

- blake is an empowered human being used as a vessel by a sovereign. and with hush, all we know is that there's an "echo" of the ones who created him that remain in him (e & m possibly), but he's also neither demon nor human, and has killed several demons. because of this, we can probably assume hush is more powerful than blake.

3. what the fuck is hush

hush is called an egregore by vega, and while there are many different definitions of this, i think he leans more on the concept of an independent entity created by collective thought, because he always refers to himself as an instrumental force with a linear goal.

with this, i think hush is some sort of entity created by e'laetum and min'ara's thoughts and goals becoming sentient. i also think he's going to be the entity to strengthen the meridian.

hush is actively trying to contact avior, hence why i think he's connected to e'laetum and min'ara. he could've been created by them, on purpose or not. maybe the meridian sovereigns realized a demon and a human couldn't possibly help on their own, and created hush. or were so hellbent on their goal that they accidentally gave form to hush, since he is "the silence between the notes" and has technically existed before, but was only given form recently.

hush's focus is likely to strengthen the meridian, but in order to do that he needs another sovereign. he specifically refers to freeing sovereigns trapped in their prison ('getting to know your mysterious stranger') and that applies to the drove (d'deridahn and others, excluding e & m) because they were trapped there as punishment. but i doubt the drove would want to help after being trapped for millennia, so what now?

well, in "getting to know your mysterious stranger", normae talks to doc about hush, and tries to tell them that hush is trying to take the sovereigns' powers for himself. it's possible that e'laetum and min'ara are aware that the drove won't want to help them strengthen the meridian, so they might have tasked hush to making contact with the drove to take their powers for himself, and to aid the meridian himself.

all that or hush is just a little guy wanting to fuck shit up on elegy LMAO

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harrowharks-iliac-crest · 3 months

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John 15:23

Another John chapter, so soon?

Okay, hang on, we're looking up these bible verses now.

First John chapter (20:8):

Finally the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went inside. He saw and believed.

A few things here; the disciple who had reached the tomb first - the empty tomb - seeing and believing.

John Gaius's first "disciples" were the last to see and believe?

The tomb is empty. Alecto is (sorry to homestuck reference) already here.

Anyway,

Second John chapter (5:20):

For the Father loves the Son and shows him all he does. Yes, and he will show him even greater works than these, so that you will be amazed.

I can't help but be reminded that John told Harrow that he'd be honoured to have her as his daughter. He is telling her this story, in a way - he is showing her his works, and will show her even greater works, so she will be amazed.

Alternatively, he showed the living people of Earth his work (on the cryotubes) and will show them even greater work (resurrection/necromancy) so they will be amazed (undead).

Either way, this verse makes sense for this chapter.

Now, this chapter we're about to read is John 15:23:

Whoever hates me hates my Father as well.

Short and rather ominous in the TLT context.

Let's read.

By the third day everyone believed, because of my eyes. [...] The morning after the lights went out they lightened to dark amber, then they went the colour of new lager, and on the third day they were gold. [...] He said, And all around us, those corpses refused to rot.

... *sits in mildly stunned disbelief*

... at, you know, Augustine and Mercymorn not knowing that John had Lyctored with Alecto. They clearly knew him before; they saw his eyes before.

Did he lie to them about what happened? Did they actually believe him?

Below them the waters were rising, [...] The rain would turn on and off. The clouds were strange, and in the far distance, a twister danced on the neon surface of the sea.

The waters were visibly rising? The sea neon? A twister - a tornado?

Something deeply fucked up has happened here, and it's still not really been explained exactly what.

He said: I’d been sleeping in the facility already. I refused to go home. A— and M— moved in with me, and G— set up outside; he was sleeping in his ute.

Whatever is happening to John, he's willingly subjecting his friends to his presence, which seems extremely ill-advised.

I started knowing what room they’d been stashed in even if no one told me. C— said it was psychological clues in their body language, but I wasn’t convinced. I could feel them—I could feel everyone in the building—it was like having the lights turned off. [...] It wasn’t that I hadn’t been able to hear them before, but I couldn’t separate the noises. Like hearing a chord without knowing what notes go into it.

That sounds a lot like necromancy to me. Did John just kinda... spontaneously develop necromancy as a mutation after being exposed to a bunch of radiation? As good a theory as any, at this point.

So I brought them into the room with the bodies and I was all, Let me introduce you to … Ulysses. Let me introduce you to … Titania.

... Hang on hang on those names sound familiar.

!!!!

Ulysses the First Titania Tetra, his cavalier SIXTH SAINT TO SERVE THE KING UNDYING

From Harrow the Ninth's Dramatis Personae.

These kids became a Lyctor.

He said, Well. When I said, Ulysses, I moved each of his fingers and his thumb into a fist, curled them into the palm. And when I said, This is Titania, same thing, I placed each of her fingers and her thumb into a fist. And I was laughing and laughing like I’d kicked out a chair before someone sat down. Like, good joke. But M— threw up. “Because, Harrow, I’d done it from the other side of the room.”

Puppeting the bodies -

Just like Harrow did her parents, just like Cytherea did Protesilaus.

This has extremely disturbing implications about humans post-Resurrection; are they really all just puppeted by John?

No, there must be more to this.

I wanna know more.

#nona the ninth #nona the ninth liveblog #ntn liveblog #tlt liveblog #ntn spoilers #nona the ninth spoilers #tlt spoilers #the locked tomb #the locked tomb liveblog #the locked tomb spoilers #New International Version translation for the bible verses. btw. for the record

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psalm22-6 · 5 months

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The Illustrated Review was a paper published in London in the 1870s, and in 1873 published a series called "Retrospective Glances at Foreign Literature." I'm not super familiar with the reception of Les Mis in England, but keep in mind that this is written a little over a decade after Les Mis came out. Here's some highlights:

Ten years have elapsed since Victor Hugo, after a long period of silence, broken only by a few melodious volumes of verse, astonished the land of his birth by a book which was more a challenge hurled at those who had exiled him than a novel. When "Les Misérables" appeared the glove was eagerly taken up, and a turmoil of conflicting passions was aroused. [. . .] It is not on the first perusal of "Les Misérables" that an opinion of its merits and demerits can be formed with justice or impartiality, for an ardent longing to get to the end is the only feeling experienced, the burning pages carry you along breathless and amazed, and, as before some pyrotechnic display, you remain dazzled by the sudden alternations of brilliant light and utter darkness. Victor Hugo started on a wrong theory. Embittered by his exile, blinded by his political passions, he attempted to prove that society in general and legislation in particular were responsible for the evil doings of the world, he openly took the part of the criminal against his judges, of the convict against his jailers, of the spoiler against the despoiled, and attempted to prove that crime is a far minor degradation to man than its repression by law. This dangerous sophism is developed with the power of his magic talent.

Myriel is said to be irrelevant to the plot, and particularly the episode with G is offensive:

After a lengthy and useless exposition, we come to the episode of the Conventionnel: it appears to have been inserted only to allow of a panegyric of 1793; it brings into violent and unartistic contrast the characters of the saintly Bishop Myriel and of the untamed democrat. It is neither wise nor useful to uphold with brutal energy ideas which common sense, self respect, and even history have taught us to judge and condemn, and to degrade at pleasure what in itself is venerable by unseemly comparisons such as are drawn between monarchs and ruffians.

A lot of reviews of Les Mis will include summaries of the book which I assume I don't need to share but this misrepresentation of the plot is noteworthy:

Jean Valjean, the hero of "Les Misérables," is taken up by the police for a petty theft, sent to Toulon for assaulting his warders, and condemned to a long detention for repeated attempts to escape.

From this the author concludes:

Jean Valjean is not condemned to the "Galéres" because he stole a loaf, but for contempt of the law in the person of its ministers, and if the principles so imprudently advocated by the author received their full application, they would involve the suppression of penal laws [. . .] Anarchy would at once prevail, persons and property remain unprotected; but like too many would-be reformers, M. Hugo finds it easier to pick out the flaws of a system than to suggest the remedy to a necessary evil.

So Jean Valjean's problem was apparently that he didn't respect authority? Okay.... The author also believes that Fantine would not have been dismissed for having a child out of wedlock

Life in manufacturing districts gives us, alas! too many examples of actual sin to leave us credulous about the virtuous indignation and stern morality of a factory master. Victor Hugo overshot the mark, and in taking pains to paint society as a ruthless Nemesis, he made her out a prude.

He also finds fault with Hugo's depiction of the battle of Waterloo, such as his geography of the battlefield and his poetic language:

The fastidious critic whose ideal is the purity of the classical author may well have been alarmed by the liberty of expression used by M. Hugo with such careless ease, but we are inclined to believe that his unusual but telling phraseology, his incisive, coloured, weird, fantastic, uncommon style is a new vein discovered in the rich mine of the French language, a vein which others, taught by his example, may follow, gathering the harvests, and avoiding the pitfalls which they would have had neither the genius to discover nor the courage to encounter.

However the author has to admit that he enjoyed some passages, such as those dealing with Sister Simplice or the young Cosette.

Some of the pages of “Les Misérables" emerge so white and pure from the sombre background, that we almost fancy that while he wrote them some angel's wing was fanning the author’s fevered brow. Was it the memory of a lost and adored daughter, or was it the breath of years gone by laden with their tender emotions and young illusions?

For better or for worse (worse if you are of the opinion that Les Miserables is an evil book), this book contains a little bit of everything:

You see, as in a kaleidoscope, the darkness of the convict’s cell and the sunshine of Cosette’s garden, the dictionary of ‘‘argot” and the poet’s rhapsody; Thénardier, the incarnation of vice, Cosette, the emblem of innocence; Waterloo and the barricades, Claquesous and Bishop Myriel, Eponine and Marius; while, by a prodigious metamorphosis, Jean Valjean, the low, mean, heartless thief, the man without dignity and without courage, is transformed into Jean Valjean, the hero and the martyr. Thus we progress from volume to volume to the close of the story, the latter part of which is worthy of sincere admiration, as we are initiated to the mutual love of Cosette and Marius, and witness the slow torture of Jean Valjean, the agony that wrings his paternal heart and converts his love for the child of his adoption into a crown of thorns pressing deep into his flesh, while he makes no sign—cruel and fatal position, in which the tormentor is no less innocent than the victim, and where the blow that kills is dealt by the hand that meant only to caress.

The author believes that if Victor Hugo had renounced his ideology and given up his exile, there might have been something redeeming in Les Miserables, but that instead, he has begun a "downward course."

“Les Travailleurs de la Mer,” while containing fewer beauties, magnified the errors of ‘‘ Les Misérables,” and were followed by “L'homme qui Rit,” the most deplorable mistake which a man of genius could have committed, a mistake so enormous that even should it be in his power to retrieve it, it must remain as a blot on M. Hugo’s reputation as a man of letters.

#les miserables #lm in the UK #contemporary reviews #well not really contemporary but close enough

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shyanshippingsociety · 2 months

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Hey! I was hoping you guys might have some recs for me! I'm looking for any mpreg fics (bonus points if it's pregnant Shane) absolutely adore this blog, y'all are saints of this community 💖

hello anon! we asked the server and there were a whole range of recs!! don't forget to mind the tags on some of these :)

here are the shane fics:

Ten Moons by breathtaken | E, 25k, Complete

When he feels hot breath on the nape of his neck, he freezes in pure terror, convinced that he’s about to be eaten—but the weight on his back lifts as the wolf circles around in front of him, nosing at his face with its snout, licking over the bridge of his nose. His thoughts are coming slow as the mud smeared across his face and arms, but Shane does realize that this giant beast isn’t trying to kill him and eat him. That it’s friendly. Hardly daring to speak the words aloud, he says, “Ryan…?”

Unconventional by PaperDaddy | E, 3k, Complete

...In that moment, [Shane] can’t find an elegant way to ask, “Hey, you’re exceptionally healthy, have a great personality and are well-educated. Want to be my baby’s daddy?” Or Shane and Ryan take an unconventional path to parenthood.

Acute by PhyllisDietrichson | E, 21k, Complete

“I don’t know how to say this. I’m, uh, in the family way, as they used to say.” Ryan looks at him blankly. “What does that mean?” “The rabbit died!” Shane gesticulates wildly. Now Ryan looks both confused and horrified. “There’s a bun in the oven.” Ryan’s eyes slide over to glance at the stove for a moment, then back to Shane. His eyebrows knit together. Shane tries again. “We’re expecting?” “Expecting what, Shane?” Ryan asks. Shane heaves a sigh. “I’m pregnant, Ryan.”

January by NeverAndAlways | M, 2k, Incomplete

Sort of a remix of my fic 'August' (https://archiveofourown.org/works/20502134/chapters/48654791), with Shane in place of Ryan.

You're So Fine, And You're Mine by Gilded_Quill | E, 1.5k, Complete

Shane was already having a rough morning. He did not need to deal with Ryan being weird on top of it.

and here are a few recs that aren't shane-focal! >:)

share your address by idkspookystuff | E, 4k, Complete

It’s never fun when you wake up to your head pounding out of your skull after a night you can’t remember. It’s even worse when you wake up to someone chanting “shit, shit, shit!” - when shane and ryan get a little too drunk on a weird, wonderful world shoot, they find out they got married and it's all over the internet. a few weeks later, ryan learns he's pregnant. the plan? pretend to be a married couple. easy enough to do with feelings, right?

three's company by idkspookystuff | E, <1k, Complete

A couple months into their relationship, Ryan rests his head on Sara’s stomach in bed and expresses something akin to jealousy.

i need your love by RedLlamas | E, 2k, Complete

Ryan and Shane are at Ryan's place, watching Guardians of the Galaxy, when Shane's suddenly overcome with soft feelings. As they talk about it, they get horny about it. One thing leads to another, and, well… ;)

theory 'verse by idkspookystuff | E, 4k, 2/? Works

Ryan learns a few things about his brand new partner that night. 1. Shane, despite being a million feet tall, cannot hold his liquor. He’s only a few beers in and he’s already loose-lipped, his hair a mess, and he keeps ranting about how Car Seat Headrest is a revolutionary band that Ryan really should listen to. 2. Shane, apparently, has a breeding kink.

#shyan #shyan shipping society #skeptic believer #watcher after dark #fic finds #mod rowan #mpreg

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moonshine-nightlight · 2 years

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Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Seventeen

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 17 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] Part Seventeen [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

“My lady,” you hear Grandfather say from somewhere behind you. Bracing yourself, you resist the urge to turn around and instead prepare for another uncomfortable conversation.

Grandfather has managed to invite—or find those already invited—anyone who has the remotest affiliation with the study of the Depths or herblore or spiritual matters and promptly introduced you. He then pays particularly close attention throughout the conversation to you and them. You think he’s hoping someone more versed in such things might be able to sense or notice something about you or Dale that will prove his theory about some sort of demonic influence affecting you correct.

Luckily, none have acted odd so far—that you could tell. Instead it just makes for sudden, very nerve-wracking conversations where you feel more than ever like you are on a stage, performing. You dislike galas and balls and such already—these new examinations are not helping, except that occasionally after one, the rest of the event feels far less tense than before in comparison. At least Grandfather doesn’t seem to be preparing these individuals ahead of time with his suspicions.

Also, to be fair, Grandfather seems to have pulled back with his other methods of detection. There have been no more overly spiced meals or suspicious flower arrangements—baring the first ball in Connton which had been covered in white roses. Dale thankfully continues to give no signal he knows either of you are being tested, but he’d managed to smoothly tuck a flower in your hair. Your blush at such an obvious display just to show the flowers lack of effect had hopefully helped sell it. Dale even pricked himself on a thorn to show it had no poisonous effects to himself and demonstrate his blood is still red. You think you’re the only one to notice that his bandage is removed only three days later—and that it was on the wrong finger for the last day.

You’ve gotten this far though. One more conversation won’t be the end of it all, you try to remind yourself. You turn with a polite smile on your face to see Grandfather walking towards you with a sanctif at his side. You hope your face doesn’t give away your sudden apprehension at being confronted with an actual spiritual leader. The white and red robes mark him as likely the High Sanctif for all of Connton. Also, he’s older than Grandfather, which doesn’t bode particularly well either.

While the spiritual colleges in the north in recent years have moved in a more scientific direction—away from philosophy—the more older and southern sanctifs are far more likely to preach anything associated with the Depths as inherently dangerous, rather than something to be understood.

Which is probably why Grandfather is helping this sanctif into the seat next to you.

“His Illuminance, Ellon of Connton has found the time to join us for the next course,” Grandfather says as he sits down opposite you. This particular feast has many courses, with seating on various tiered daisies each with five or so smaller tables, between which guests are encouraged to switch seats so that all may socialize—within their daisies, of course. You’ve ended up staying primarily where you are as there has been no shortage of companions, as had Dale.

However, as it is nearly time for the next course, it appears he’s staying down with the transportation officials—a pity because you had wished to talk to them as well and there is no longer enough room for all of them. Perhaps it is a good thing because you doubt this sanctif is going to have anything particularly good to say. At least Grandmother has also been pulled away by some magistrates or she would no doubt make matters worse.

You nod politely to the sanctif. “Greetings, your Illuminance. How are you doing this evening?”

“Greetings to you as well,” he replies, his voice is stronger and brisker than you expect given his age and the distracted way he has already begun searching for the wine jug.

Once his eyes land on the jug, he reaches for it, but is at a bad angle for him to pick up well, so you stand up yourself. “Please, allow me to assist you.”

“My thanks, my thanks,” he says, sitting back as you pour him a glass of wine, then one for Grandfather, since he is also new to the table. A cousin of Dale’s to your left still has half a glass and so does one of his aunts.

You start to relax when only polite small talk is made while everyone else begins to settle into their seats. You’re happy to discuss the weather and food as many times as you need to because at least you don’t feel like you’re going to say the wrong thing.

It doesn’t last though.

“So, where do you hail from, my child?” Ellon asks as he butters a roll from the ever-refilling baskets on the table, the knife making a scraping sound against the butter dish which you try not to wince at.

Swallowing down your inappropriate offer to prepare it for him yourself just so the noise will stop, you tell him, “My family fief is Portsmith and with the bay of Glittany.” Glittany is what most have heard of when it comes to your family since it is the name of the bay and the major seaport city. Most barely are aware of the name of the fief it resides in.

Ellon seems to have heard of it, but, given the skeptical huff he lets out at the name, not positively. “Those that live on the seas court death, if you ask me.” You most assuredly had not, but you didn’t think he much cared if you had. “The Depths are most clearly expressed there, below those treacherous waves. Even close to the shore, it can steal the unwary away far too easily.”

You knew there was a certain amount of superstition about the deep waters among some, but while all those who worked on the seas had a healthy respect for the sea, none blamed the Depths. Biting your tongue so you didn’t mention that the places in the world where the border was thinnest were primarily above solid ground, you merely say, “I am certainly no sailor, though I admire the bravery of those who are.”

He wags his finger, looking over his thick spectacles at you. “Mark my words, even living for so long with that salt air is dangerous. Why the great scholar and sanctif, Malarby of Airs said that those along the shore twice as likely to be taken than those who do not.”

You again refrain from saying that the scholar he speaks of had numerous critics during his own time, let alone now. At least, Grandfather seems skeptical of this claim, but it's also obvious he’s watching for your response more than anything. “My understanding is that the Glittany sacred community has procedures and safeguards in place to limit any such influences, however, I admit that I did not grow up in the city. I was not often well as a child and so grew up on our country estate, which is more than a day’s ride inland.”

“Yes,” Ellon agrees loud enough you flinch at his volume. “It is truly heartening to hear that some physicians know the healing air that can only come away from the watery death that surrounds us. Country air is not as fortifying or pure as mountain air, but I am sure that it was the best for you.” He pats your hand in what you assume he believes is a comforting manner and resist the urge to pull away. “We must find balance between keeping our family, our connections, with us in times of struggle and finding a truly blessed location where we can heal—as far from the physical negative influences as possible.”

“I do believe it was a far calmer environment to be in and my physicians were all very skilled,” you reply, not wanting to touch on his spiritual opinions. Were they more than opinions if they were from a sanctif? Regardless, you know the Glittany santifs didn’t talk like this, probably because they actually live and work next to the sea. You would pay money if this man had ever even been on a boat—or that he had and had simply immediately gotten seasick.

“I was not aware the sea was so treacherous beyond the literal dangers it presents,” Grandfather observes mildly, likely not wanting this topic to die when it is so close to where he likely wants it to go.

Unfortunately, that is all that Ellon needs as encouragement to continue in this vein. “Of course, anywhere the veil between the realms is a danger—whether man-made or natural. And while it is one folly to invite demons in yourself, it is another folly to go where they thrive. The chances of being taken in by such beings, of bringing home those who have stolen away, are far greater on the waters than on the land.”

Ellon is clearly enjoying the captive audience he has and you while you don’t believe any of this nonsense—you’d still rather he talk about the dangers of oceans than anything else related to the Depths. Without him asking, you refill his wine glass for him.

He nods his thanks with a smile and seems to really warm up to the topic, his voice growing a touch more theatrical as he says, “Beyond the threat of death from such supernatural dangers, there is the general threat of death from the natural. With that, there is the metaphysical danger which haunts these vessels. Many bodies are lost at sea, falling below those frigid waves—it is a far harder journey for the soul to ascend after death. Many no doubt, do not reach the light.”

Grandfather blinks at Ellon, clearly taken aback by this turn. “…I see.” From your observations, Grandfather does not have much interest or patience for the philosophical nor the spiritual, to your understanding, until recently. While spiritualists often warn against the Depths, Grandmother’s motivations and grudges seem to primarily come from a literal danger perspective, given the way demons and such influences have been used for violence—not hypothetical dangers to the soul.

“Are you saying that after death the soul can be held down by water?” a polite but skeptical voice interjects. You turn to see that Francesca, one of Dale’s cousins, has decided to join your conversation.

Ellon looks surprised by her question, but rallies quickly enough. “It is not the material involved but the distance, the fact that one is already below.”

“Then would not miners be similarly endangered?” she asks, raising one eyebrow up quizzically.

You know she hasn’t specifically joined the conversation to help you out, but you can’t help but feel like she has and it warms you to her. You are an adequate debater when prepared and a hesitant one when unprepared.

Ellon frowns at her argument, pursing his lips. “A miner can be brought up by his fellow workers and still cremated.”

Francesca hums, leaning back in her chair consideringly. “Is cremation truly so necessary? I know it is best practice, but I thought it was primarily for those left behind.”

“No, no,” he says, his mouth a grim line. “It is for both, the living and the deceased. The soul can be trapped if the body is not taken care of properly.”

“I see,” she replied, for all it’s very clear to you she’s still skeptical. “I was unaware that the body could become such a cage to the soul after death. I thought it was taught that death itself is what releases the soul from the body.”

That causes the sanctif to bristle. He make a show of frowning thoughtfully and drinking some more wine before grudgingly admitting, “Well, yes, that is the primary mechanism. And if there were no Depths, cremation would likely be unnecessary. However, given that there are forces working to keep a soul from ascending, we must do all we can to aid the deceased on their journey.”

“Pardon me,” you turn to see Francesca’s husband leaning towards you as well. “Are you proposing that denizens of the Depths or perhaps even the realm of the Depths itself can reach out to consume the souls of those born here based on location or method of death alone?”

“Of course not,” Ellon blusters, cheeks turning a bit red, “but the effect such things have on the soul are undeniable, beyond ill deeds weighing a soul down.”

“Actually, a recent paper from the Rokea Institute has called that into question,” Francesca says. “According to the scholars—”

“You trust one scholar over thousands of years of spiritual practice?” Ellon asks, his tone a mix of condescension and offense. “Scholars these days think they can measure and categorize and label each phenomenon they encounter and the second something cannot be so neatly sorted they fit it in where it does not belong, ignoring contradictory evidence. Rokea is among the worst for encouraging this type of thinking. Even the thinkers out of the Ha are more reliable in these modern times.”

Before anyone else could interject, he continues, “They decry hundreds of years of carefully documented experience, only relying on what they and peers they deem worthy have personally seen. They waste time questioning fact and reinventing the parts of the past they personally approve of to claim that knowledge as their own new discovery.

“Not to mention the poison seeping into the Vaomen universities.” That seems to be more what Grandfather, and you, were expecting rather than a spiritual debate about the nature of souls. “What used to be sole bastions of rational thought against their poor country’s perverse deal with the Depths has fallen to its influence rather than the reverse. They push aside safeguards and time-tested tools to allow demons full citizenship. How many times much a school, a city, a nation fall to those beasts and devils before this world learns its lessons?”

Francesca’s gaze darts to her Grandfather, likely fully aware of his and her grandmother’s opinions. As he does not look particularly upset, she cautiously says, “I’ve heard of no recent incidents at their colleges.”

Ellon scoffs. “Of course you haven’t. They are too arrogant, too proud to let such truths out into the world where they would be recriminated for their folly in front of all other accomplished and rational thinkers. They keep any word of failures and dangers to themselves unless they can be justified sufficiently. The deans of such institutions have fallen to their own pride and hubris—mark my words.”

The only good part of all this talk is that even Grandfather is beginning to look aggrieved, as though—perhaps—he might regret having sought out this specific sanctif, for all he’s certainly anti-demon. Grandfather is no believer in conspiracies, thank the light.

“I have always held that any interaction with the Depths is inherently dangerous to the soul even when my contemporaries disagreed,” Ellon puffs up as he says so, clearly proud of going against popular opinion in this and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “To see the world move so firmly in the wrong direction is disheartening, even with bastions of true spiritual stalwartness such as Northridge attempting to keep our country secure from incursions from Below.”

Both of Francesca’s eyebrows raise at that particular choice of words and she exchanges a suppressed but amused glance with her husband.

“Certainly proper precautions must be taken,” you take the time to say, hoping to move the sanctif away from more vehement proclamations. It also can’t hurt Grandfather’s impression of you to say the things you do believe. Just because matters have worked out, does not mean that they could easily not have. “Those who remove safeguards are truly foolish and we can only hope their lapses do not endanger more than themselves.”

The original Dale put his entire home in danger with whatever plans he had and you have no doubt he ignored safety measures as unnecessarily limiting, just given your assessment of his nature up to that point.

“Precisely,” Ellon nods with a smile for you. “Demonic influences are more common than anyone would like to admit and so one must be persistently wary and alert.” He punctuates this with raps on the table—luckily not nearly hard enough to knock anything over, though your hand automatically goes to your glass all the same. “The number of easy, necessary, precautions the everyman does not bother with is astounding. Of course, I must be even more careful, given my position as a person of faith and a lighthouse to others.

“Oh?” You don’t think he’ll need much more than that to continue. It's clear Francesca and her husband have lost true interest in what he has to say, writing him off as an eccentric. You can only hope their skepticism inspires Grandfather’s own. They’ve turned to talk to the companions on their other sides—unfortunately with two empty seats still on the sanctif’s and Grandfather’s other sides, there is no such easy diversion for you.

You’ve never been more relieved to see plates of fish being brought out in your life. Unfortunately, that relief is quickly dwarfed by the nerves that spring up to see Dale making his way over to you with a lady—bound for the openings still at your table.

“Yes, yes,” Ellon says, snapping your attention back to him. “Take meals for instance. I shall demonstrate as it is easily one of the times people feel most comfortable and yet are at their most vulnerable.” He begins digging in his pockets while Dale gestures the woman with him to the seat next to Grandfather.

As Dale takes the seat next to Ellon, introductions fly around—the lady is some sort of minister for Connton—and the sanctif’s is primarily distracted, but still polite. Dale gives no hint of nervousness at being introduced to a sanctif which is a good sign and—Ellon gives no indication he knows he’s just been introduced to a demon possessing a lord, so that’s good as well.

“Sanctif Ellon,” Grandfather says to the two latecomers, “would like to show us a device for…what was it again? Detecting poison or demonic influences of some kind?”

“Yes, quite right—both,” he says without looking up from his search. Dale goes a bit still at Grandfather’s words, but you think it is only because you are paying attention that you even notice it. Unfortunately, Grandfather is paying attention too. Still he’s further away from Dale so perhaps he didn’t.

“Here we are,” Ellon finally pulls whatever he has been looking for out of his robes. He seems to be brandishing a small circular glass, not unlike a monocle or other magnifying device, although it looks rather cloudy—or perhaps dirty?

“It took me years to develop and find the right minded people to help me in our research,” he seems to be turning sections of the small handle and the glass gets more opaque. “It’s still a little temperamental, a bit slow, but as I tell young people,” he wags his finger at you in particular as the youngest person near him no doubt, “life is all about patience and the determination to see something through.”

“Now, in addition to showing poisons in food,” he points to the dish of fish now before him. All have you have been served, but those in seats adjacent to Ellon have refrained from eating—even Francesca and her husband on your other side seem to be intrigued with your conversation once more. Likely because the sanctif is no longer moralizing and is instead explaining something practical. “It can also show possession in humans.”

He turns his head to look over all those around him and you feel your anticipation tighten. He ends up looking directly at you. “Pardon me, my lady, but would you mind helping me with this demonstration?”

While you are nervous at being the focus of some sort of demonstration, you realize it’s an infinitely better option than Dale. “Of course not,” you reply, your voice seemed steady enough, right?

“Now, for the resting state, the glass starts off as murky and gray,” Ellon gestures with the device, moving it around so everyone can see how gray and fogged over it is. Before he pushes some things aside and takes your hand in his free one, laying flat on the table. “But as I hold it over her hand,” he holds the glass steady over your hand. “It fades, leaving only a red-ish tinge over her hand.”

Indeed, before your eyes, the fog grows less and less thick, getting a faint red tint, like clouds lit up by a fading sunset. “This proves her to be human. The lack of color on the other objects in view shows them as non-living. Demonic influences would cause the smoke to darken from the original light gray or even blacken if held over a true demon.”

Everyone murmurs as they take a look and you make a purposeful effort not to look at Grandfather and see his reaction. Maybe this was a good thing after all, some proof he might believe. After all you truly aren’t influenced by demonic anything—beyond new Dale’s personality, you suppose.

After a moment when the effect seems to no longer intensify, he pulls away and you take your hand back, feeling more relieved than you have in days. “To reset it, you merely agitate the vapors once more.” He shakes the glass so it fills with fog again. You move to lean back in your seat, rather limp with your relief when he turns to his right, turns to Dale. All that tension is shoots right back up your spine, when he pulls the glass over Dale’s left hand, resting on the table. “After this quick refresh, it is ready to be used once more.”

Unfortunately, unlike with your hand, the fog does not lighten or dissipate. Instead it continues to swirl, perhaps from the sanctif’s motion, but also likely because of Dale himself. You can barely breathe, you refuse to look at Dale’s face, as the sanctif frowns. The fog gradually grows darker “Hm, sometimes it can get stuck so to speak. Nothing a good shake can’t fix.”

He pulls the glass away and shakes it even more vigorously than before. Your eyes can’t help but dart to Dale, who appears to be staring at his hand, but almost unfocused—like he’s concentrating on something you can’t see. You hope he knows some way to deceive this little device because otherwise…

Ellon moves the glass back over Dale’s hand. This time, the vapors slowly stop spinning and then, over what feels like ages but must only be seconds, slowly start to dissipate. Lightening and turning a mild pink, they outline his hand in an effect similar to, if not much weaker than when it was used on your own hand.

“Ah! There we are, see! On the slow side but ultimately works like a charm. The more use it sees, the weaker and slower it gets,” Ellon says with a triumphant smile before he pulls the glass away. “It needs a full day in sunlight to properly charge. So many courses means I’ve had to use it far more often this evening than usual. Forgive me for wanting to save its strength for the food yet to come.”

“Of course,” Dale replies, motioning with his right hand—not the one that was just examined. It stays where it is on the table, looking rather limp. “If you do not mind, I am rather hungry for this next course.”

“Yes, it looks delicious,” Ellon replies. “Please, please, do not let me delay our meal any longer with my sidetracks.”

“Nonsense,” Grandfather says and you finally risk a glance at him. He looks a bit shaken, but he also appears relieved. He smiles at the sanctif. “We greatly enjoyed your demonstration.”

“Good, good,” Ellon says with a proud smile as he begins to cut his fish. You shakily take up your own utensils. You hope no one notices Dale is only using his untested hand for his food.

You barely taste the food you put in your mouth, still coming down from the flash of fear from the moment Ellon turned that glass on Dale. You wonder if your heart will ever recover as it continues to spin through what might have happened if Dale hadn’t managed to subvert the device.

A cough from next to your stirs you from your thoughts. The sound loud and wracking enough that you glance over at him out of the corner of your eye. You frown, turning more fully when he drops his fork with a clatter. Ellon’s face is pinking and he starts to take deep breaths, though they don’t appear to be working if the way his breathing speeds up is any indication.

“Is something wrong, your Illuminance?” Grandfather asks, brow furrowing as the sanctif gulps down some water before pushing his chair back from the table, as if to get more space. Dale tries to help, but he can’t seem to grip Ellon’s chair well with his left hand.

“Yes,” the man's voice is much thinner than it had been, rougher despite the drink. “Need a doctor.” He coughs and then makes an urgent gesture with his hand when everyone just stares. “Now!”

“Yes!”

“Right!”

Francesca and Charles get up at once and head in opposite directions in search of a physician, while the minister tries to flag down an attendant who might find one quicker.

You hastily refill Ellon’s water glass, at a loss for what else you can do for him. What could be happening to him? Abruptly, you realize in all his demonstrating, he never actually ran the detection glass over his own food.

Grandfather puts the same facts together as you do, “Heights, have you been poisoned?”

Ellon shakes his head though, trying to look at the dish through eyes that are watering up. You don’t know what he sees, but some understanding dawns on him even as his breathing gets rougher.

“All-” he coughs, trying unsuccessfully to clear his throat, but it appears as though his airway is closing, “Al-lergi-c,” he manages to pant out.

“Oh!,” you hastily rifle through your own pockets. You only carry a handful of tonics at all times, but with your own allergy to keep in mind—this is always one of them. You pull out a small bottle and work to get the cork off hastily and explain, “Tonic of soma?”

Recognition lights up in his watery eyes and Ellon reaches towards you desperately. “Yes,” he croaks.

Once the cork is free you pass the little bottle over to him and he drinks it down as best he can, swallowing convulsively. Soma tonic is a medicine for allergic reactions, containing ephedra and other balancing herbs for opening up one’s airways. A temporary solution to be taken only when truly needed, it should buy the sanctif enough time for a doctor with proper treatments to arrive.

He drains the dose and drinks another full cup of water, before his breathing eases. “I’m sorry, I only have one dose. But it can be dangerous to take two as it is,” you find yourself saying. “It should be enough to help.” You hope that’s true as you refill his cup, your hand is shaking. You’ve never had to use the medicine more than once and that had been on yourself, not a prominent spiritual official. There’s no reason it won’t work and yet, you are scared that either it will somehow make things worse.

“Thank you,” Ellon manages to say between breaths but you don’t feel like being thanked is appropriate, not when he still seems in too fragile of a condition. Then two doctors descend on your table in a flurry of activity. You manage to communicate what you gave him, handing over the bottle with its neat label you had spent time months ago writing. The large bottle you get had been carefully dosed in several smaller ones so you could more easily have them in your pockets without weighing your skirts down oddly.

You find yourself explaining this to Dale, who had walked around to your side without you realizing. The doctor you handed it over to doesn’t seem to listen, merely reading the label, which is probably for the best. Instead, he turns to you and asks only, “Can we keep this?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” you answer automatically.

Two footmen help Ellon into a wheelchair, which they then bodily carry off the dais, with one of the doctors going with them. The other stays behind to say, “He’s going to be fine, truly. We’ll give him some proper medicine and then monitor him overnight. He has his own medication for such attacks—it appears that the sauce has some sort of nut he cannot eat in it.” Sighs of relief come from those around you and you feel your own heart finally start to slow back down.

The doctor talks with Grandfather, who also came around to your side of the table at some point. Before he leaves though, the doctor takes a moment to say to you, “Very pleased you had this on you, my lady. Do you have a similar condition?” You nod ‘yes’ and he nods in reply. “Smart thinking to carry some with you. You’ve made this a far less close call than it could have been. My gratitude.”

He leaves before you can think of a reply. Slowly, you all sit back down, trying to return to some semblance of normalcy. Your table is rather subdued and you keep getting interruptions from others who come to ask what all the fuss was about. When this course concludes, you stand up to leave the table for the first time in the night, wanting to move to another table in the hopes of regaining something of a typical mood.

When the minister Dale brought over, indicates the two of you should accompany her to her table, she asks Grandfather if he would like to come as well.

“No thank you, my lady,” he replies with a kind smile. “I’m certain my grandchildren would prefer some time with others. I have plenty more to catch up with.”

Dale laughs and so does the minister. As you walk away, trying to put your finger on what was different about Grandfather, you realize that for the first time since the hunt, he included you once more in his family.

[Part Eighteen]

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