#anti mistle

[fabulousprancingtrashstallion]

No Mistle but you like Avallac'h

Probably because Avallac'h isn't a rapist. Unlike Mistle and Kayleigh, but thanks for letting me know that you were so butthurt by my personal opinion that you had to go scrolling through my blog to look for something to get angry over. I don't care if you ship Mistle and Ciri. You can go on your marry shipping way. I am literally not stopping you from doing that by posting my own opinion on my own blog. Properly tagged as anti-Mistle and all. Tumblr has made it MUCH easier to blacklist tags you don't like than it was back in the day. I suggest you do that. And before you go 'blah, blah blah forced baby blah blah' that was Auberon that wanted that baby. The king of the elves whose word is law. We are never really made aware of Avallac'h's wants or intentions one way or another. We do know however that his first action in the book is to help Geralt save his friends. He didn't HAVE to do that. He had all the reason in the world to hate humans and yet he helped Geralt's party. He was always patient, kind and considerate with Ciri... and you know... didn't rape her. Unlike Mistle. So... let's deep dive using my favorite tool... quotes directly from the book. Shall we?

First things first... Avallac'h chides her for being a brat. She's going around smashing things like a little kid. She's clearly embarrassed when he does this... so what does he do then? He 'quickly' makes an effort to comfort her. He didn't need to do that.

Again, he's blowing off the fact she broke priceless elven artifacts, so she won't feel bad. He is being considerate of her feelings. He's even 'lowered' himself by using continent Hen Ilinge instead of Ellylon. He didn't have to do that.

Avallac'h even defends her against Eredin. He didn't have to do that.

When Ciri is troubled that the King wouldn't sleep with her she runs right to Avallac'h. She clearly trusts him enough to come to him first with her problems every time. He patiently listens to her, but we can also tell something is bothering him. Maybe he doesn't like she has to do this. Maybe he's afraid he'll have to use the lab. We'll never know. But what do we know? He didn't have to hear her out or listen to her problems. He didn't have to do that.

This is the first time we actually see something other than stoic Avallac'h. 'Beware you don't know what you're risking' it isn't a threat. He's worried.

Here Ciri said really hurtful things to him if you know how much he really, truly seemed to love Lara. Even though Lara betrayed him. What does he do? Instantly forgives her and hugs her... telling her he's already forgotten it. He didn't have to do that. I would wager that for some reason... Avallac'h does care for her otherwise he wouldn't have done all these things.

Here for reference is Auberon threatening Ciri and being a total dickwad. Here we discover why Avallac'h was so keen to make sure she didn't piss off the king. Auberson doesn't just not care for humans he outright hates them and as seen later slaughtered them all. Although to be entirely fair in this regard we don't know the reason for that. Perhaps in retaliation for Lara his daughter. Yea, you read that right. Lara was his daughter so that makes Ciri his.... yeah, ew.

After her fight with Auberon Avallac'h mysteriously disappeared. Hmmm... why, oh why could that be? He's been there every other time...

Eredin is genuinely surprised so it couldn't have been him. Perhaps Avallac'h poisoned the king to protect Ciri.

Even Eredin who hates Avallac'h admits that Avallac'h has a certain code of honor.

And bonus! Avallac'h mentions helping humans/helps Geralt to save his friends. He really is a softy under it all. Now compare that to my other ask with lines with Mistle... well... the choice is obvious LINK HERE Hence... my preference. The end. Good day to you anon. Va fáill

#answered asks #Avallac'h #anti mistle #will never understand why people get so butthurt over opinions that do not align with their own #especially properly tagged ones #cirillac'h #sa mention

[vesemirsexual]

not a ciri/mistle shipper, not a ciri/mistle anti, but a secret third thing

#more like. critical development of who ciri is and becomes. #mourning for two young women who are shaped by their pasts and the actions they take because of them and who they become #and the fact that they’re doomed by the narrative. #and the mutually assured self destruction. #katie txt

[bookcalanthedaily]

for the ship bingo: Ciri x Mistle

toxicity, abuse and stockholm syndrome. no thanks. but the aesthetics of two bandit girlfriends is great. just. not these two.

#negative #anti mistle

[ghostlybelladonnas]

anyone who supports mistle or mistle x ciri pls never come near me with ur rape/sexual manipulation-supporting ass again pls do us a favor and rethink ur preferences :)))

#anti mistle #anti mistle x ciri #anti ciri x mistle #the witcher #mistle is basically khal drogo on joker steroids :)))

[firjii]

@bleedtealblood-fuckeduplol replied to your post

“lads I have an unpopular take on Mistle from the Witcher books and one...”

Well im curious, dish :3

First of all, I’m not super involved in Witcher fandom so I don’t know the general consensus or historical/current fandom takes on this. I really don’t have the time or energy to do so. I’ve read every Witcher novel with an English translation through “The Lady of the Lake” but don’t really talk to other people about the Witcher universe (except maybe the W3 game). I therefore also doubt I’m the first to say this, so consider it a reminder rather than a revelation.

Putting this under a cut because it’s triggery, but TL;DR.....

Mistle x Ciri is one of my very few NOTP’s.

Why, you ask? Not because of how they treat each other once they’ve been in a relationship for awhile – because to Mistle’s credit, she consistently and genuinely sticks up for Ciri.

But.

Here’s literally their first intimate encounter together. It happens fairly soon after Ciri joins the Rats (from The Time of Contempt, chapter 7, page 322-324 in the U.S. Orbit paperback edition):

 [Ciri] heard some quiet steps.

“Don’t be afraid.”

 It was Kayleigh.

“I won’t tell them Nilfgaard’s looking for you,” whispered the fair-haired Rat, kneeling down and leaning over her. “I won’t tell them about the bounty the prefect of Amarillo has promised for you. You saved my life in the inn. I’ll repay you for it. With something nice. Right now.”

He lay down beside her, slowly and cautiously. Ciri tried to get up, but Kayleigh pressed her down onto her bed with a strong and firm, though not rough, movement. He placed his fingers gently on her mouth. Although he needn’t have. Ciri was paralyzed with fear, and she couldn’t have uttered a cry from her tight, painfully dry throat even if she had wanted to. But she didn’t want to. The silence and darkness were better. Safer. More familiar. She was covered in terror and shame. She groaned.

“Be quiet, little one,” whispered Kayleigh, slowly unlacing her shirt. Slowly, with gentle movements, he slid the material from her shoulders, and pulled the edge of the shirt above her hips. “And don’t be afraid. You’ll see how nice it is.”

Ciri shuddered beneath the touch of the dry, hard, rough hand. She lay motionless, stiff and tense, full of an overpowering fear which took her will away, and an overwhelming sense of revulsion, which assailed her temples and cheeks with waves of heat. Kayleigh slipped his left arm beneath her head, pulled her closer to him, trying to dislodge the hand which was tightly gripping the lap of her shirt and vainly trying to pull it downwards. Ciri began to shake.

She sensed a sudden commotion in the surrounding darkness, felt a shaking, and heard the sound of a kick.

“Mistle, are you insane?” snarled Kayleigh, lifting himself up a little.

“Leave her alone, you swine.”

“Get lost. Go to bed.”

“Leave her alone, I said.”

“Am I bothering her, or something? Is she screaming or struggling? I just want to cuddle her to sleep. Don’t interfere.”

“Get out of here or I’ll cut you.”

Ciri heard the grinding of a knife in a metal sheath.

“I’m serious,” repeated Mistle, looming indistinctly in the dark above them. “Get lost and join the boys. Right now.”

Kayleigh sat up and swore under his breath. He stood up without a word and walked quickly away.

Ciri felt the tears running down her cheeks, quickly, quicker and quicker, creeping like wriggling worms among the hair by her ears. Mistle lay down beside her, and covered her tenderly with the fur.

But she didn’t pull the disheveled shirt down. She left it as it had been. Ciri began to shake again.

“Be still, Falka. It’s all right now.”

Mistle was warm, and smelled of resin and smoke. Her hand was smaller than Kayleigh’s; more delicate, softer. More pleasant. But its touch stiffened Ciri once more, once more gripped her entire body with fear and revulsion, clenched her jaw and constricted her throat. Mistle lay close to her, cradling her protectively and whispering soothingly, but at the same time, her small hand relentlessly crept like a warm, little snail, calmly, confidently, decisively. Certain of its way and its destination. Ciri felt the iron pincers of revulsion and fear relaxing, releasing their hold; she felt herself slipping from their grip and sinking downwards, downwards, deep, deeper and deeper, into a warm and wet well of resignation and helpless submissiveness. A disgusting and humiliatingly pleasant submissiveness.

Guess what? Even though standing up to Kayleigh was absolutely the right thing to do, what happens next is called duress, and I can’t totally get past it. Even Ciri’s reaction the next morning (a hint that she’s reconsidering her orientation) is questionable.

Ciri didn’t ask to be in that situation. I don’t care what your orientation is. Anyone with a shred of decency doesn’t do that kind of shit when someone’s in survival mode and borderline shock (ffs how horny on main is Mistle that she won’t or can’t consider that?).

If Mistle had left Ciri alone after that or stood guard that night to make sure no one messed with her again, it would be very different and I’d wish them all the best. But that’s not how it went down.

Ciri is a little younger than Mistle and is under pressure to keep herself alive and incognito. That makes Mistle an opportunist at best and a predator at worst, even if Ciri didn’t actively shout “no” or scramble away that night.

Fight and flight aren’t the only two possible reactions in that situation. Not saying “no” isn’t the same as saying “yes” and literally any abuse or rape survivor will confirm that.

Yeah, fine, Mistle makes a point of turning Ciri on, but y’all…it’s not that simple. There’s an oh-so-vague but unmistakable tinge of “what happens if I say no?” and that’s not cool.

I was shocked when the tone between them in later chapters pointed so clearly to a relationship (I kept waiting for a passage where Ciri snapped and took action because she was tired of being someone’s pet, but conversely it makes sense that she doesn’t because she’s desperate not only for safety but also belonging and she finds an approximation of both with the Rats).

I’ve seen plenty of people in fandom totally ignore the above and just gush about the youngest wlw couple in the series.

Um. No. Initial consent – if not outright desire – matters, even if Mistle is still a teenager. Without that element, I have trouble seeing this ship as anything other than grooming, regardless of how they’re portrayed later in the series. I don’t classify that encounter as experimentation. Experimentation tends to imply that a) all parties involved planned it, and b) are willing and able throughout the proceedings.  

Mistle x Ciri didn’t start out on equal footing and that should matter to anyone who cares about healthy ships.

#discourse #mistle critical #anti mistle #bleedtealblood-fuckeduplol #i've been sitting on this for soooo long #tw sex #tw implied rape #tw implied abuse #the witcher #ciri #mistle #ciri x mistle #meta #fandom critical #not da

[from-ib-to-asshai]

season 3 of twn is going to include mistle oh the joy i bet they totally won’t  totally butcher this complex character and cut out/minimize ciri’s queerness in any way i bet this will deliver a well written and interconnecting plot that proves appreciation of the source material 

#my heart sank so fast when i saw that #jfc #i wasnt even really planning on watching s3 and now im pretty sure of it #there is no fucking way they could handle the rats plotline well #no fucking way #either they cut it down to a 1/2 episode footnote in ciris story that will never be addressed again #or lauren tries to tackle it and make it more family friendly and digestible therefor making it unrecognizable from the source material #i dont care for either option #twn #anti twn #mistle #the witcher

[lwiamatka-gone]

.

#twn spoilers #witcher spoilers #anti twn #rape tw #abuse tw #so they cast a black woman for mistle #so they have 3 options now and all 3 are bad #they are either gonna a) make the black woman a r*pist #b) romanticise the r*pe #or c) erase the r*pe and ciri's trauma that came from it #// i’m a wild fucking mess. ooc.

[limerental]

people shitting on the mistle casting is so many layers of ?? you go on Twitter and it's half racists yelling at twn for being too woke, half anti-twn people pre-emptively shitting on twn depending on what they do with the story. people going a) if it's book accurate, it's bad and twn sucks b) if it's not book accurate, it's bad and twn sucks and doesn't understand the story. it is just so very. exhausting

[gayregis]

how do i ignore all the misogyny in the witcher books? they're much better than the netflix show storywise but there is so much gross stuff compared to what i usually read/watch

hi!! thank you for the ask, this is a very important topic to address, though i believe you are asking the wrong question. the matter is not how to ignore the misogyny in the witcher and other pieces of media, but rather how to confront it and face it head-on.

i don’t believe in making excuses for the media i consume when it has “problematic elements” to it. this isn’t meant to be taken as an excuse to “consume anything you like,” because i would not engage with something insidious in its nature (such as media that revolves around and is based upon harmful stereotypes or insensitive jokes and cannot exist without this, some examples of this are infamous things that i’ve seen discussed on this site like captive prince, cmbyn, and hazbin hotel). instead this is about when a piece of media is good overall in nature (the witcher has many anti-war, anti-violence, anti-imperialist themes and messages relating to family, childhood, friendship, and love) but has elements that are the results of the author’s personal biases.

i think before i address how to deal with the misogyny, i’ll actually define what misogyny exists within the witcher books, to be more specific about what we are talking about, and also to do the work of addressing the misogyny in the books:

how the women in the witcher are treated as characters and how they are depicted by the author.

there are a few good points in this subject. characters such as yennefer and ciri are very strong characters who receive a lot of development over the course of the series, and are main characters that are integral to the plot. they demonstrate both strengths and weaknesses, virtues and vices. they have depth and are not one-dimensional characters, especially as they become more and more complex over the course of the series.

blatant sexualization of women when it’s inappropriate or irrelevant, descriptions of female characters’ looks or bodies that male characters would not have received.

bizzare standards for what is beautiful for a woman, including body descriptions (“triss’s waist measured 22”) and extreme focus on youth and the age cusp of around 15 to 18 as being the most attractive for a woman (stated in-universe, even though this could be excused as being what is normal in the 1200s, keep in mind that this is the author’s decision to impliment this standard into their society). 

descriptions and scenarios of extreme violence towards woman that are gratuitous in nature and do not add to the story or have any relevance. (geralt being paralyzed with his knee during the stampede at the refugee camp in bof is NOT on the same level as yennefer being extremely tortured at stygga or ciri meeting “forest gramps” in lotl). some of this violence towards women is related to the male antagonists being misogynistic (such as leo bonhart) but a lot of it is just pure filler and is not necessary for the story.

majority of female characters do not get the depth they deserve, and some are pretty one-dimensional. the sorceresses are a good example of this, as the majority of them are shallow and manipulative. female characters are also just generally not given as much “page time” as male characters, for example compare how much depth and backstory regis and cahir receive to how much milva and angouleme receive. regis’ backstory is entirely irrelevant to the main plot but it’s extremely long, and angouleme’s backstory is more relevant to the main plot (she was born of cintrian nobility) yet it is extremely short. (one could make the argument that this is an effect of their characters because regis talks a lot and angouleme is still processing her trauma, but more could have been given to angouleme even if she is not extremely talkative).

the only canon lesbians in the witcher are not good people and are manipulative in nature, and the only canon f/f relationship (ciri/mistle) is representative of a turmultous, vicious time of violence, and is based upon sexual assault.

the gender non-conforming female characters who ARE good people,never have their gnc-ness treated with any depth, and it is insinuated that they are heterosexual.

male protagonists such as geralt and dandelion are both misogynistic at various times in the books, especially in the short stories. this is unlike when male antagonists are misogynistic, because it is represented as something wrong and is intended to characterize them as vile people. instead, geralt and dandelion say or do misogynistic things and it is treated like a joke or something normal, and not a flaw or something repulsive.

how to confront all of this?

the first step is to address it, just as the above list does, and discuss things that stood out to you and are definitively wrong, that the author should not have put in the story because it is useless and only serves to further misogyny in the real world. it would be a grave mistake to think of these things as “fine” and continue to view the witcher books as some kinds of perfect scripture. so many people feel that just because they enjoy something, they are not allowed to critique it and discuss parts of it that are uncomfortable or plain wrong. 

to continue with this point, i think it is important to put the witcher into context as a fantasy series written in the 1990s by a white man who did not (to my knowledge) intend this series for such a broad audience and franchise that it has become. this is not an excuse for sapkowski at all, but rather i think it’s important to understand the origins of the witcher and how it came to be in the first place. this wasn’t a series made to be inclusive and diverse, it wasn’t intended to be “for us” in the first place. 

i do not believe that there is MEANT to be any “positive representation” in the witcher because i don’t believe it is something that sapkowski was actively considering when he wrote the books. just because there isn’t good representation in the books does not mean they and everything related to them are not worth your time, but if you are someone desperately searching for good positive representation or someone who NEEDS to see representation of someone like them in every piece of media they consume, i don’t think the witcher books are necessarily a good place to start. this isn’t meant to deter you from reading or interacting with the books/book canon, but rather a fair warning about what the intentions of the books are. 

i don’t think the books are a groundshaking work of art that are meant to inspire concepts such as diversity, rather it is a very specific work that in its true nature is an argument of a critique of popular fantasy tropes with additional commentary on themes of violence and family. so this is basically meant to say ‘understand what you are getting into.’

how to move on?

the main question which i answer is “is the root of this thing (a piece of media/a character/etc) something that revolves around the bad part, or was the bad part just thrown in there and is incongruent with the rest of the thing?”

the biggest example i think of tackling the misogyny in the witcher and still managing to enjoy it is with dandelion (lol). i think it’s every day that i have to reconcile with the fact that i genuinely enjoy dandelion as a character and hold a conversation with myself about which parts from canon i enjoy and which parts i don’t. his character at its core is not a bad person, he is meant to be an inversion of the trope of the slovenly and lecherous comic relief, and sapkowski succeeds in turning the trope on its head. dandelion is very loyal and committed, he demonstrates his worth in the narrative and doesn’t act with pure selfishness and greed. he is an inversion of all of the negative traits of his trope, but sapkowski also wrote in, like, a literal rape joke for him to say in the bounds of reason. how do you get over that? personally, i just go back to “is this congruent with the rest of the character or not,” and my answer at least for dandelion is no. the rape joke in the bounds of reason seemed entirely out of place to me, it doesn’t fit in with the rest of his character.

similarly, why does geralt sleep with girls who are barely 18 within the events of the witcher? how do you get over that? well, i don’t believe that’s congruent to the rest of his character, the POINT of his character, which is to protect young girls. 

so i go back on my word of what i begun this answer with, and i tell you that i indeed DO ignore some parts about the witcher. but it is not a blind ignorance, an ignorance in which i do not consider the effects and i pretend like they do not exist at all. it’s a choice which i make and a process of logical steps that i follow, an understanding and an agreement i come to with myself and the media i interact with. i acknowledge the context surrounding the creation of the media, i acknowledge the effects that these elements had on their readers and how they relate to the real world, and how i know that these things are objectively wrong. i understand why they exist in the canon, and why i feel justified for choosing to take them out of what i regard as part of my experience.

it’s tempting to proclaim “canon is dead and we have killed the author,” but understand how the author’s personal experiences and biases have influenced the media that they created and which you now consume. you can’t take the personal biases completely out of the writing of the witcher and you have to acknowledge that they still exist in the text. even if you make up your own headcanons, it is still imperative to consider the issues that originate in canon.

what does this look like?

complaining to your friends who also like the witcher / on social media that you hate these parts of the books and explain why you hate them and why they are unnecessary

thinking about why these parts were written in and the context surrounding them

making your own rewrites / headcanons around these parts (ex: my idea for the rewrite of a little sacrifice)

making your own headcanons to establish what was not (ex: my headcanons for angouleme’s trauma and how it affects her in the present, headcanons about how the hansa becomes a family)

tldr: acknowledge why these elements exist in canon. choose to follow a process that will allow you to salvage the parts which speak to you while still understanding that these elements exist in canon and will never disappear. continue to like the canon without the parts that you understand are rotten.

edit: also the netflix show has some pretty misogynistic parts to it as well, yennefer and ciri have way less agency as characters than they do in the books. geralt literally coerces yennefer into sex in twn and treats her with absolutely no respect, and ran from fathering ciri solely because he was a dick. obviously this isn’t the point of the ask, but i think it’s important to acknowledge that twn has misogynistic elements as well and not pretend like just because twn was led in 2020 by a wealthy white woman that it’s progressive in any way.

#ask #anon #long post /

[fabulousprancingtrashstallion]

The thing about Mistle/ Ciri is that the reason I think why people are in denial about it or just don’t know how to react to it is that these type of relationships are never depicted in fiction, at least not anymore, due to things like the false belief that women can’t be perpetrators of that type of abuse, or anything other than a sunshine and rainbows depiction of a queer relationship is problematic because “ you can’t have a sapphic character be predatory, queer women have been fighting against that stereotype for years”

I can’t think of any other media that has a toxic noncon relationship between two female characters, and actually do it realistically to how the cycle of abuse works in those type of relationships and not just for fan service or shock value

Oh, aye. It is a very complicated situation. Regardless I was stunned seeing people that could read those lines and not clearly see that it was rape, but then some people still believe it can't happen to men so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at how naive people can be. I think that it was an excellent representation of a toxic relationship, and it is good to see these things from outside prospectives so that we might gain insight. Both Mistle and Ciri (hell all the rats) have been severely damaged. They both have a lot of issues and it culminated into the toxic Stockholm/codependent thing they had going on. But... that was kind of whole the point. Seeing it onscreen (If Netflix doesn't water it down and I'm torn between hoping they don't because it was important character development but hoping that they do as I don't want to be forced to see that happen to poor Ciri on screen) would probably change opinions, because reading about rape and seeing it on screen are two VERY different things. Now don't anyone take this as me hating on a ship or something along those lines. Ship and let ship. It's fiction. I don't care about all that. What annoys me is people trying to say that 'because it felt good it couldn't be rape' or 'Ciri was strong enough that she could have stopped it from happening if she didn't want it' BS going around. That is the exact kind of rhetoric that prevents so many from coming forward about their abuse.

#sa mention #sa warning #anti mistle

[bybloemencomic]

Bybloemen is back (in approximately three hours), so let’s recap!

Chapter 1 - We meet Basil and Ludwig, two enterprising devils tasked with an infernal mission: tempt the good people of Stenenbrug into sin by stoking the flames of tulip fever. En route to their first auction, they meet a number of colorful locals: a farming family considering trading turnips for tulips, two honest merchants peddling a “miracle” elixir, and a pair of self-published authors in the biblical fan-fiction genre (and anti-gout evangelists). Having gained a new familiar, a 10% stake in a small pharmaceutical company and an armful of religious tracts, the tempters make their way to the famed Goose and Mistle(toe) tavern.

Chapter 2 - Our demonic protagonists spend an afternoon at the tavern, and Basil gives Ludwig a lesson in financial speculation. In the process of bidding on bulbs, they gain two new business partners, Gertrude and Oskar Birkenbaum, and possibly a new rival, Katerina Van Haupt. They also casually ruin the day of Geert de Wit, a former farmer turned florist, and a small dog named Pieper. Oh, and Ludwig does a bit of light necromancy when Basil’s back is turned. (Not enough for anyone to notice, surely.)

In chapter 3, the beezeboys will catch up with some old friends and possibly make a few new ones...

#bybloemen #hiveworks #webcomics #devils #demons #historical fantasy #tulipmania

[exactlyenoughglitter]

Nocturne

AO3

Now let the day just slip away so the dark night may watch over you Like a child asleep, so warm and deep you will find me there, waiting for you

You don’t have to wonder why Just come and dream the night with me

She felt weightless and drowsy, despite having allowed herself to close her eyes only for a few seconds against a steel bird’s beam of light when it had come to survey the torn corpse of the giant apartment building. Ciri had stood on the elf’s feet and he had turned her away from the light, into the soft darkness that unfurled behind his tall form. Until the noise subsided, until prying eyes left them alone. White light had framed him, highlighting his contours and setting him between light and dark, where devils liked to play.

Where she had placed her feet on top of his boots, glistening red clung to earth. The Sage stood in it and held her above, away from the rivers of red.

Light and dark. Good and evil.

Ciri had closed her eyes and sunk into the night.

The music had stopped.

It was quiet, apart from the city’s ambiance and the rain. Fingertips roamed the seams on her back, moving faintly, from the tips of her hair come loose to where cotton left the skin undefended. Everything felt subdued like she was diving underwater, and with every breath she became increasingly familiar with the owner of the arms around her. Somewhere above the surface, in the back of her waking mind, she could still hear the trills of the flute playing its song of storms to the billowing green clouds that ate at the tallest of steel spires before drenching the concrete earth with dusted glass. No matter what the Knowing One played, Ciri couldn’t stop hearing the longing melody she had heard him perform once in a key-nosed boat on Easnadh; a long, long time ago, it now seemed, in the beautiful world of terrible elves.

The rain kept falling.

She felt herself losing sense of time.

Time does not matter.

Supple leather brushed against her jawline and she stirred against the momentary loss of warmth around her. Until a cool, inert wave spread across the base of her skull where long fingers had begun gently massaging, preparing her for magic that cocooned her mind in a feather blanket. It instilled calm and let the susurration of rain inside her, where always a fire or two raged. Aches and spasms too, which she hadn’t even been aware of, seemed to release their hold on her at the touch of knowing fingers. It felt incredibly soothing and unearned. At the thought of being given something for free another little fire kindled in her thoughts, but she was quickly persuaded to abandon the thought when another wave rolled across the taut muscles of her neck. A little rest, a little respite. It helped to remember that they were both drifters now; strangers at the end of the world.

In the warm, secure darkness of his shadow, Ciri barely registered when the thumbs of his hands began caressing her cheeks, pushing wisps of ashen hair out of her eyes. Carefully avoiding dipping against her scar, which often ached. Lately, he had begun suggesting he could heal it for her completely, though the woman was not sure if she should accept the offer. Looking at it reminded her of what was real.

Was it?

What was it that was more real about suffering than about happiness? Wouldn’t ridding herself of the harrowing reminder help her grow past it? Didn’t she want exactly that – to become someone else? She, who was singular and yet so often, in the abyss of space and time, no one. Ciri didn’t know; the spirit of truth often deceived her.

Whether due to the ministrations of magic or out of her own volition, or both, she felt her mind tarry at these thoughts, her muscles slackening further. It was difficult to resist the forgetfulness and dreams that tempted her when dark night could be this gentle.

Why focus on disturbing and unpleasant things now?

There was a tentative brush against her lips, a slow, circular, exploring motion. It quivered lightly, as if fearful of response. Ciri didn’t mind. Against the subdued tranquillity that had enveloped her, the touch felt distinct and singular, and she brushed her lips against its attentions. Lowering her lip, the tip of a thumb pushed forward against the wet inside, grazing her canine thoughtfully; and then made its way inside her mouth. An unexpected sweetness hit her tongue at the first slow stroke. Then again, but a little less; then less again, but it didn’t matter. If devils played here, then they were not the worst hosts.

A low sigh.

‘That’s good. That is very good, luned.’

Her eyes snapped open.

Why did she look so startled?

He had always secretly adored her like this – so candid and accepting, letting him take care of her every need. Trusting him to bear her burden with her. Who else, if not him?

But it had been so long. He didn’t know if he felt the same way anymore. Had she not abandoned him, had she not let herself be ensnared... Yet, here she was. Where had she been hiding all this time? Didn’t she know how terribly he had missed her? Last time they had seen each other, those eyes had pleaded with him, full of tears and remorse; how they had hurt each other on that day.

‘Avallac’h?’

Brilliant emeralds, blown wide in alarm and bewilderment.

You are mine. And I am yours.

He smiled bitterly.

‘What – what did you do?’

‘I gave you moon flower,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘It’s a mild anti-inflammatory and relaxant.’

Those accursed eyes widened inexorably. ‘No. No, no, this is not what I meant...’

You’re not a toad, my darling, he thought. You’re the hope of the worlds.

She had grown a lot in the time she had been on the run from them. Sadly, she still hadn’t learned how to phrase her requests so no one could take advantage of them. Oh, he couldn’t stay mad at her for his own outlandish expectations. Circumstance, both ill and fortunate, had nurtured this human girl so she had learned to focus all her efforts into her unfaltering will power and nothing else. Through that she had to carve out every new day better than the last. No matter who her sword happened to cut down, no matter the millions whose fate she irrevocably altered in the process. He was far beyond moralising. Like tonight, for example. His little, dancing Swallow.

‘Stop hiding behind your witchcraft.’

Hiding? Did she not realise –

She kissed him.

There were many ways in which Ciri could have made her life tamer, more predictable, and less overwhelming. Unfortunately, these somehow never looked like the best options in the moments before she unleashed something.

His lips were dry and fine, and unmoving.

For a heartbeat, she tasted nothing but herself and the sour fruits of her temper and clenched the front of the elf’s robes hard enough to leave tiny abrasions on the ball of her thumb. She refused – absolutely refused! – to believe she may have, once again, fallen on her own sword. She had liked how unrestrained he had been around her, his face unusually enlivened when he had circled her in dance tonight. He, too, must have felt it – that same call of possibility that had moved Ciri’s heart like strong gusts of summer wind in the steppe. Or he wouldn’t have entertained her to a look of astonishment when she’d broken through the spell of his tender darkness. He wouldn’t have...

A glacial bucket of dread washed down her back.

‘Who are you to dare abuse me with such miserable charity?’

Who was she? What was she doing?

Idiot.

Idiot!

In anger and humiliation, Ciri was about to retreat that very second, until she felt the sorcerer’s lips move against hers.

So, she stayed for a little longer.

Holding her jaw, the elf investigated her with a velvety touch. His answers, each increasingly demanding, ran a smarting hunger that sent writhing warmth pooling in her stomach as it sought satiation. Her heart raced, her frustration dissolving into cinders of surprise, whereas she had been hoping for the pleasure of vengeance. An “aerial vehicle” zoomed past in the rain, flashing bright lights and sounding its alarm. It fell on deaf ears. She felt his hands settle around her ribs, pulling her forward, again onto his feet. And up, higher, closer – from her vantage point to his.

Ciri sought air.

Small, even teeth briefly grazed the sensitive tissue, drawing her breath from her, and his taste and scent filled her mind with cotton wool. A fox from a ruthless fairy tale, whom a human girl had led in swallow circles, weaving her own notes into his music, heel and toe, spin and bow, at the end of the world. Strange, old, and powerful; and secretive. So secretive. So deceptive. Never one thing, always only who he chose to appear as from moment to moment. How could he expect this to be enough for her? Who was he to her, really? Who did she want him to be? Would he show her something real for once? When she tried him with the tip of her tongue, his arms moved more securely around her, locking her in, and Ciri sighed.

I do not get lost.

I do not!

And yet, I feel lost now.

The knowing smile an indigo-haired beauty had given her by the fires of protest and justice flashed in her mind’s eye – the heady excitement of losing herself to the blasphemy and electricity of sensation. As with Iskra, as with Mistle... in a different time and place. Because, at the end of the day that was what she liked to do, wasn’t it? In this alien time and place, a call she could not explain had drawn her away from the fires until she had found the sorcerer giving himself over to his music in the shadow of ruin, waiting. Much like he had once waited on the shore of a green lake, smooth as a mirror, underneath a bird cherry blossom. Effortless and exciting were the shadows of the Night City – one of which had waited for her to bring the moments destiny was made of to him and had proceeded to watch her lose herself in them. In secret, with only the elf’s own eyes to witness it.

Ciri felt heat rising to her cheeks.

Why do you continue to allow yourself to become ensnared, stupid?

He stepped forward on instinct when she tried pulling away, carrying her on his feet effortlessly like a doll. Ciri caught a glimpse of the look in his unusual aquamarines. It brought her to a halt. Had it been anger, mockery, or sadness, she would have understood, because she had felt and seen all of these in him. Not, however, this haunted, ardent desire – this greed – with which the elf watched her now. It made her wonder whose shoes she was walking in tonight, and if she could fill them.

And it frightened her.

‘Where are you going?’ he whispered when she finally managed to take a shaky step back.

‘Away. Or... I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, does it?’ she managed an unsure laugh, attempting to compose herself and indicating to the marred luxury of the place. ‘Or is this to be our new home, or what?’

He gave her another one of his strange looks.

Well, let him. It was all he ever did, anyway.

Ciri swallowed nervously against his taste. She needed to clear her head; this wasn’t...

Blood pounded in his ears.

In a stream of flickering neon light, Crevan saw green eyes studying him, growing ever more distant by the second. Her breath, slightly sour under the sweet notes of the physalis liqueur, lingered against his tongue and he felt very raw.

‘It’s alright!’ he called after her retreating form.

That made her stop.

He licked his lip; a small bruise. No matter. But where had all that impromptu joy disappeared to? Obstinately, she avoided looking him in the eyes when he drew near. How adorable she was, he thought; twilight lent her a beautiful sense of vulnerability that he so often chose to overlook. Uncertain, yet fierce; defiant against her own emotions to the last. Against feeling a little lost. He could understand that. Truthfully, he felt a little lost too at the moment.

It was only natural for her to feel lonely in this world – in all the worlds – despite making acquaintances easily. Acquaintances; nothing more. The worship of the unknowing could not survive when days slipped away and she had to return to the eternal night. When her hair was pulled by the stars again. How could they understand her – her story was outlandish and out of this world, and people saw her only for who she became to them. Yet, Crevan had known her longer than she had known herself. He and his people were of the same eternal night that called to her at the end of the day.

He lifted his hand to the nape of her neck, brushing her ashen hair, but the girl flinched and there was no laughter in her anymore.

Why are you hiding, little Swallow? Do you think, perhaps, that I deceived you somehow? Do you think my witchcraft has made this happen? Oh, sweet girl, if only you knew.

‘What is alright?’ she asked.

Was she scared of him? Ridiculous; she didn’t have to be afraid. He was not angry; no-no! How could he be? She had returned to him. She had found him, as destiny desired.

‘It’s alright to seek comfort,’ he repeated slowly, tasting each word as if trying them for the first time. ‘I forgive you.’

The elf witnessed her shoulders tense and a switch flick before she reversed course and cut at him with her deadly emeralds. The oscillation was so abrupt he took a full step back, noting with delay the Force that had jumped to his fingertips.

‘Have I asked for your forgiveness?’ she exploded. ‘What would I have to ask it for!? For letting you play with me? For responding? I don’t know if you are aware, but it takes two!’

His eyes narrowed and a cruel smile broke on his handsome face at the impending rupture he had invited and, somewhere deep inside his soul, pleaded for.

How we hurt each other on that day, Lara; how unforgiving and unforgivably stupid I was.

The girl leaned as close up to him as possible without touching, exuding heat and fury, crackling like ball lightning, and whispered: ‘You want me; and you cannot stand it.’

Crevan had temporarily lost track of himself in what followed.

He remembered that what she had told him she had said with such offensive bluntness, such ignorant presumption, self-importance, and arrogance as if only she had been privy to the childishly obvious, and that he, a Knowing One, a scientist, an artist, a musician and a poet, and the voice of her miserable destiny, could not have possibly understood. That at the heart of it all, everything seemed to come down to the banal matter of irrational, irresistible desire that trampled under its feet the good, the beautiful and the right, and spat on faith, hope, and love only to be sated there and then. That he wanted what he was promised, that despite everything, he wanted her, and so much more. That at wanting all this, he was as lowly as the creature due to whose selfish whims elves, futures, and worlds burned.

He remembered that he had wanted to gouge out the beautiful eyes in her face. And that he could not help seeing red.

 When Crevan came to it was to the sound of his own name. An untidy sound, but not yet the prayer he desired it to be. Not yet uttered with awareness of what she tempted him with. He looked at her from above, to monitor the swirl of emotions that coloured her features. Her unfortunate, mesmerising features that were dear to his dark heart.

We both have fantasies that hide behind our lies.

It distracted him, the look of her in his hands – he could do anything with her – and, displaying her special swiftness she used it. He felt fingers hook in his hair and deliver a maximally painful punishment. Crevan howled. How nasty, unruly, and underhanded she was: like her callous ancestor; not at all like the princess she was born to be. Zireael cried out when he squeezed her wrists in retribution, sealing them above her head with a command, and the elf greedily swallowed the sound off her lips.

Do yours play with mine? Only for tonight, let’s say?

Her chest moved against his like the tide then and, against charred wall, he held her captive. Oh, she was furious with him, and rightly so. Though she was not entirely innocent herself. Had she wished so, she could have run from him even now. But with her indulgent thoughts laid bare and her lidded eyes on the kitsch murals above, his pupil’s mouth fell open, gasping for the pittance of air he generously allowed when he focused on tearing whimpers from her as from a beloved flute – with a torment of kisses left in ashen hair, against a slender, white neck.

Is this how you imagine it? When you follow my music. When you say you hate it.

Weaving the silvery tresses around his fist, he yanked, and she bent against him like a spring branch, a cherry blossom. Young flesh tightened like a bow string and blood rushed under pale skin in red blooms, flushing where it would bruise later. Her heart beat furiously against the stroke of his tongue.

Not everything is as pretty as it looks; not everything. You wish I indulged myself. Do you know what that means?

So close, so small. So striking in her choice agony. Wanting without knowing, giving without thinking, taking everything – without mercy to him, or herself. Oh, the indestructible optimism of youth! With his palms clasped around her head, Crevan taught his baby midnight what was at the heart of him and her: however much she gave, it would never be enough for him; whatever he did for her, she would never forgive him. Was this any way to live?

Will we play together, O Swallow?

He let his hands wander under her layers, stroking and caressing taut flesh which, though roughened with scars, remained so impossibly soft and responsive he couldn't stifle a violent groan and wedged his knee in-between her legs. The girl cursed vilely and the elf kissed the tip of her nose in delight. What would it have gained the Sage to hide his perversion in this god-forsaken world? From whom exactly? Why bother? Lifting the human girl on his knee and causing sweet frictions, he offered her a chance to use him and take some more from him as he watched. Instead, she stiffened in response to his avarice and held her own admirably against the shudders his charged touch was designed to bring on. Oh, was something the matter for his lustful little dh’oine?

'Go on. Move a little.'

Gradually, he felt her starting to offer resistance to his grasp and stared at her furiously.

‘What happened to the “you”,’ she breathed, ‘from the good old days?’

The elf bit down on her neck, smothering her cry with his hand.

How can I disarm you?

‘It’s “You”, not the informal “you”,’ he reprimanded her softly in Ellylon. ‘Be polite.’

Her fingers scraped paint from the wall above.

How can I make you accept me?

‘Does my playing not please you?’ he murmured. ‘Does it not please you to know that you have my undivided attention?’

And then it was his turn.

Crevan’s breath hitched in his throat; his eyelids drooped. A small, pink tongue wandered against the inside of his palm. With strength at first, with a hint of teeth, until he gave it more leeway to wander. Then carefully and with thought behind its actions, drawing small fine lines of lightning along the creases of his palm and tasting him, circling gently against the ball of his thumb.

Bottomless green pupils stared at him defiantly. They arrested him on the crumbling edge of the pool of yearning that had been filling up drop by drop ever since insolent, intoxicated eyes had feigned apology for making a mess of things and left him, laughing, when the woman who lived inside their depths had responded to a call of happiness he could not compete with. Until he had given in what felt like centuries after the fact; until he had gone after his lady of the lake.

Avallac’h wavered on the edge, and fell in.

Impulse propelled her and need ground the grains of fear and hope to the raging of an excited heart in her throat. When the Sage’s hands had wrapped around her face with inhuman strength and her back had hit the wall, Ciri had considered leaping, as foul memories had returned: of hands like steel-pinchers, capable of both good and great evil. Yet how exactly had it been her fault this time? And now... now she tasted Power on his hands, at once bewildered by the sensation and amused at the elf’s own reaction: he trembled against her. Absolutely nothing seemed to line up tonight.

Only blasphemy and madness in the shards of broken mirrors.

Avallac’h hadn’t even noticed when the looking glass broke, but she bet it hadn’t been made 700 years ago either.

Closing her eyes as he shifted his palm so she could slide her tongue in-between his fingers, she felt his warm, uneven breath hit her cheek and wished above all for him to feel exactly how he made her feel – addicted and overwhelmed. She could not command magic like he did, but she would make it fair, damn it! Therefore, when he suddenly pulled away from her and set her back on her feet, Ciri didn’t know what to think, say, or do. Everything was changing too quickly.

The elf gave her a playful look.

‘A sorcerer’s hands, O Swallow, are their most prized property; after their mind,’ he said. ‘Through them, he becomes a bridge between Chaos and Reality – a shield or a sword, if you like, or anything else he can only imagine. They are very sensitive; I ask you to tread with care.’

‘Figures,’ she muttered, burning up at the memory of having suckled on long fingers, as if under a spell.

He raised an eyebrow, and she had to make an effort to not look like she cared.

‘Then do not use them to restrain me like this!’ she continued. ‘I do not appreciate being muzzled like a mule.’ Listing the least of his offences as if it were the worst; well, she didn’t have the entire god damn list ready anyhow.

‘You’re right. Often you say very many interesting things I would just hate to miss. Before you act in most peculiar ways.’

She stared at his mouth, its edges darkened by her teeth marks – a mouth she often wanted to punch. A mouth she wanted to press against herself.

‘I’ve found that a little bit of restraint, while sometimes simply necessary, is even more often sweet,’ he eyed her with a secret smile. ‘Perhaps you’ll learn it too one day.’

Ciri reached out, eager to continue on the path of madness until it lasted. She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifted a thigh and placed it on his hip to pull him toward her, and she saw shadows move behind his eyes at that, but in the end, the elf did not react. Only watched her, breathing deeply and evenly. The contrast to less than a minute ago was so incredible that the woman pinched her aching hand to make sure she had not fallen asleep. She grimaced, falling back on her feet, feeling rejected and confused – not a dream at all.

A circus!

He reached for her wrist which she had been shielding against her chest after the magical bindings had dissolved. Cooing softly, when she made an attempt to repel him, he lifted it against his lips and blew on it.

‘You dance beautifully,’ he said. ‘Relentlessly, you dance for the beginnings that one starts to miss long before the end.’

Ciri snorted and was about to say something acutely acidic, but the elf wasn’t done.

‘You with whom the world has so often treated cruelly. Viciously, until you yourself retaliate with equal ferocity. Without allowing a moment’s relief for discovering what brings you joy or for what keeps you awake at peaceful nights when dreams are easy to touch and feel soft as down feathers. Many in whom you’ve sought comfort, many who’ve claimed to love you, have hurt you. Without care for what brings you pleasure. And without patience to recognize how willingly you will learn and how quickly and completely you throw your lot in with good causes – if only shown kindness and understanding. A little love, Ciri.’

She did not know why her eyes had begun to prickle with tears; she just knew the tears were angry and yet, not entirely. It seemed that they couldn’t be one simple thing, however much she wished they could. And it hurt a lot more that way.

He doesn’t have the right to talk to me like this.

‘I enjoyed our dance earlier very much,’ he said quietly. ‘My child of destiny, you always prepare for the worst, yet are still ever eager to rely on moments’ fleeting blessings all the same. You desire to lose yourself in your archipelago of moments, knowing how impossible it really is for you. And so, you’ve learned to seek your freedom in the erasure of yourself, though aware of the acute loneliness that greets you every time you try. Now you will try the same with me, yet I cannot allow this to happen. Will you believe me if I say it is for your own good? Do you understand how important it is that you do not lose yourself in our dance, in the night? No matter what I do.’

Why was he saying these things to her? Why did he pull at her only to spit her back out – to... to what? Lecture? Negotiate? Ponder!?

Her gaze fell on the state of the sealed-off accommodation: the signs of an explosion and a fire, the smashed glass, the red on the floor. The red she had put there in her self-abandonment, he had waded through, and they had danced in together before the elf had held her away from it inside a mirage of peace. How simple and effective, and how stupidly she had fallen for it. Avallac’h was still himself; as if he had not contributed gallons of pain and blood in the name of saving what was dear to him.

Why did he care why she did what she did?

Shouldn’t he have been delighted to get this chance to rendezvous with his dead love? No matter that a meagre and poor copy. He would still get what he wanted – Ciri knew what it was. She had always known, somehow. After having been forced to spend so long together, after having born the weight of his strange looks and moods, the knowledge had solidified. She was aware this arrangement, this retreat, did not come for free – nothing ever did. Did he still think her stupid enough to not know that things were often not how they seemed? That Ciri could not really be happy and he could not be free, and hell, that even vice versa it held true, didn’t it? Why did he have to ruin for her the fantasy that the opposite could also be true, if only for a night?

A little love? She didn’t need love.

She wanted to see that self-forgetful, raw emotion in his eyes again and to feel him tugging at her hair until it hurt. She wanted his lips to spill the truth inside her mouth, mocking and bitter, and then take from her until her debt had been paid. She was so tired of being unable to either claim her freedom or disappear forever. More so, of being denied even a moment’s possibility to imagine.

Avallac’h drew her forward and embraced her. Ciri heard his heart beating in his chest, as fast and powerful as before, and not slowing down despite his mercurial change of manner just then. His hands, she realised, were shaking.

Her tears of wrath quickly ran dry against his robes.

‘This is not how I want you to see me. This is not who I wish to be for you. Believe me. You do not know nor want to know what I want, but one day I will tell you. I promise,’ he kissed the crown of her head softly, his voice changing. ‘Sweet girl, you deserve so much. Allow me to show you!’

Before Ciri could realise what was happening, the elf had clasped her around the waist and lifted her up like a sheaf. The world spun. She could only squeak when, in a couple of long steps, he had moved them both across the room with ease. In his arms she weighed as little as a kitten – as when she had first discovered this, it still infuriated her. Ciri thought she heard the Sage give a short laugh and glared.

He sat her down on the edge of a large round table.

Then something pale flashed in the corner of her eye; a doily? Where he had produced it from, Ciri had no idea.

‘Are you laying the table?’ she asked when he set it down behind her.

The sorcerer’s eyes widened briefly. Quaint and disorientating – perhaps that alone had been the point? Slowly and deliberately, he loosened the silver hasp of his collar and began removing his belt, indicating for her to do the same. He was in no hurry and smiled easily at her. Ciri swallowed. Her fingers clenched and her heart beat faster. If only she had not smashed that bottle earlier...

Desiring to watch and let the distance grow between herself and the woman whose shoes she had decided to wear tonight, she began only once the elf stopped half-way through, having revealed inked skin underneath the enchanted fabric. Avoiding his searching eyes, she touched him curiously, thinking, of a sudden, about everything.

A finger tipped her chin.

‘Come then.’

She sought his mouth.

Questions fled.

Throughout, he kept threading his fingers softly through her hair, discarding the pins and letting the ashen locks fall over her collarbones. Until it became all undone. She stretched her arms out over her head – the shirt fell on the floor – and caught him admiring. The work of his hands? The past? The present?

 ...me?

Why is it me?

For a moment she thought she saw infinite tenderness in his pale eyes, though it may have also been the dark, the poor lighting, or her own wishful thinking. In the shards of broken mirrors, who knew what really was and what wasn’t?

To hell with it!

Ciri pressed her lips against the elf’s chin, against his face, against the sharp curve of his ear, listening for the sharp intake of breath and enjoying the twinge it sent between her legs. She drew him onto her, letting warm palms undo the rest. What if we never leave? We could simply stay – here, at the end of the world. Then she would rather act; wrongly or rightly, may that be revealed later. Lean, yet well-built, he ran hot against her front, bending over her and spreading her thighs. She remembered having forgotten herself and having let her eyes wander over the stretch of his shoulders in a different world, when he hadn’t been aware. Or if he had, he had not minded – Ciri had discovered quickly that very little embarrassed the elf, despite his enduring, snide reproval of her manners. He had not minded enough to call me on it or... Hypocrite! Yet even so, the prospect of being able to uncover something he would rather wish to hide excited her. Everything buzzed once more and the rain could not put out the fires. Offering her belly, her ribs, her hips and her chest, she arched, letting her head fall back, and gave herself over to the cool night air.

Distant lights of the alien city blurred in her eyes.

A moment’s fleeting blessings... an archipelago of moments.

A wet kiss slipped down the side of her neck, wrapping around the beat of her heart, sucking her flesh into a hungry, waiting mouth. She felt her breast being taken into the palm of his hand, weighed and squeezed carefully and, if she hadn’t shivered uncontrollably just then, she would have thought also somewhat clinically. Ciri jerked back, pushing at his hands and pursing her lips against the desire to sigh, to make noise. Goose bumps ran along her limbs and she ignored them exactly like she defied the touch that stroked her back from top to bottom, circling the lines of her spine, waist, and hips. A touch that slipped in-between the waistband, shifting her trousers aside, and pulled her toward him – until she could feel the elf’s desire and realised once more how deceptive her perception of him could be.

Her breath soughed as fingers dipped into the heat that had flooded between her legs.

‘That's it, my dear.’ He kissed her slowly. ‘Just so.’

She fought to retain hold over the faceless and the nameless – the familiar. With her eyes closed, she managed to imagine for a moment that the shameless touch stirring her pleasure had appeared at her own beckoning. That this night would not be that different from the many nights before when she had let go. When she had succumbed to the desire to touch and be touched, to see, but above all else, to be seen, and had thus brought herself joy. Ultimately always alone in the end.

A tiny vibration passed through the sensitive tissue, inviting her to lift her hips toward the fingers that infiltrated between her lips without hindrance. A touch of magic. Her eyes flew open, her hands seeking to ground herself against the convulsion that shot through her.

‘Too much?’

Avallac’h was watching her peacefully, almost as if in a trance, the corner of his mouth tugging slightly at meeting her gaze. Probing, teasing – charting her, with practice. She could hear herself lap against his long fingers. Scraping heat rose inside her chest, flooding her neck and cheeks, mingling with fleeting irritation.

‘A little.’

Another lighter wave followed. Every charged brush seemed to attune seamlessly with the intensity of the emotion that prevailed in her imagination at the moment and gradually, he eased her into a comfortable rhythm of slow torture that nurtured her arousal on a knife’s edge.

And if he takes hold of my soul – what for?

It felt good. That was all. Closing her eyes, Ciri tried to follow the sensations inside that she knew led her somewhere familiar and safe – to a kind of home within herself. It was a fragile construction, made of star silences and ceaseless movement, of leavings and returns. It was fleeting, and every time she arrived there she re-arranged it just in case, though she loved it always – she loved living, moving, and leaving behind shards of her intoxicated heart. Perhaps somewhere, sometime, they’d take root and call her back.

He encircled her by the waist, dipping her off-balance onto white lace and she felt a single finger penetrate her; followed, shortly after, by another. Caressing adoringly.

‘You deserve so much.’

Soft laughter escaped the woman’s lips and flew off, into the night.

Crevan relished the sensation of her mouth filling with saliva, her sparkling laughter withdrawing inside her when he instructed the tide to recede once more. Tiny eruptions sprinkled the steady rise and fall of the curve of her chest, raising little hair on lambent skin and making her fingers clench around his bicep. It did strange things to his mind, witnessing her be this keen and receptive. How quickly she filled up with desirous, nervous energy that made her burn like a copper sparkler! Magic, which the girl stubbornly claimed to have forsaken, rushed under her perspiring skin, sweet and electric against his tongue. The sorcery of the Alders.

The elf decided this was not nearly enough for him. Or her.

He leaned over her breasts, kissing and biting gently and savouring the flavour that was unmistakably hers, while attempting to quell the childish disappointment that bothered him eternally – like a disgusting little horsefly. She was... different than he remembered. How so? He knew her. Perhaps he simply needed to take a closer look? Patiently, one at a time, he nudged the rise of her nipples with his tongue, smiling and stopping his fingers deep within her when she gave a drawn out moan, full of need, trembling so hard he had to press down on her for restraint.

‘Avallac’h...’

Why do you give yourself to men? Why do you love them so much? Men, who do not love you, or care about your sacrifices. Men, who defile, destroy, and forget even their own.

‘Please, will you just... help –’

The elf didn’t listen to the end of her plea, instead hearing in his head the words uttered centuries ago. Doleful, harsh, cruel words that had ended in fire. He couldn’t convince her back then. Withdrawing and ridding her of breeches entirely, he pushed himself down, leaving a trail of kisses along the honed curve of her abdomen until his hands settled on her hips and he came above her aching centre. He heard his own heart beating then and, running his hands under her hips, squeezing and lifting her toward him, he gave the Swallow a small kiss. One. On the slick softness of her flowering lips.

Will you stay this time? Will you stay forever? Will you cross the great divide? Back to us. Back to me.

She gave a stifled lament, and became very still.

Reigning in his breathing and heart, he bestowed small kisses on the insides of her thighs, tasting her core a little at a time to remind and reassure that he would not neglect her. He would be so very good to her – he would help her find her way. For a moment, his eyes lingered on the rose tattoo that looked out of place somehow, until he recalled the blond-haired girl she did not want to talk about with him, though she often remembered her – sadly, with a complicated sense of longing.

Is your poison that different from mine?

Her eyes, he saw, had opened, but she wasn’t availing him of their beauty; blinking rapidly and gazing off into distance, at the far-off lights of the world of artificers around them. Their “new home” where might had draped itself in the appearance of magic. She liked it here, of course. So ugly and fake and... at liberty – to call itself whatever it wanted. So below them both, and yet –

A lot like this rose.

He was no common butcher, bandit, or cur, yet a part of Crevan wanted to rip down the veneer of this illusion of freedom she had been building in secret and crush it under his heels alongside the artificiality this world infected her with. Part of him, however, liked to watch hope kindling in her, even if it risked dragging her away from him one day.

Into the arms of the faceless and the nameless, the unknowing, who run their tongues with banal promises of happiness that they cannot bring and that will not stay.

Who comb your beautiful hair in admiration of their own nerve and prowess after having you – once, twice, as many times as you like; when they should be kissing your feet as you pass.

Her back arched, her hands snuck into his hair, and she pulled. Brushing aside the indignation – the jealousy! – in his heart, the elf pushed inside her with his tongue: his dancing swallow, precious and sweet, the first of spring, abandoned in his hands.

Dance for me!

Hungry for her taste, he kissed her intensely and attentively, completing what his fingers had begun. Warmth rolled off her in waves as her thighs strained against his hold, her body spasming, and her voice breaking into ever tenderer whimpers. Calmly, he let her drive herself against his face, smearing him as he suckled and kept swallowing her quivers, one after another, until she fell back against lace covers on chrome, pulsing, sweaty and so very soft.

Dance, Zireael – ensnared in Time’s cold cathedral. Like taking scissors to the skies, your flight slits through fear.

Climbing onto the table he lifted her legs onto his shoulders, not caring at all to let her go yet. Continuing to caress her warm and thirsty flesh with his tongue, Crevan laughed lightly when she complained, her voice small and dissolute and cracking under the weight of her own desire. Her young and ardent body intoxicated him, and he had never denied being greedy. He wanted more of her honesty and delightful agony, and, feeling the familiar press of desire in his groin, he wanted to feel what it would be like to get inside her tonight.

If it were to end in fire, let it all burn down at once – wasn’t this her philosophy?

Again she trembled, murmuring his name in the way he liked to hear it, straining and struggling until she had finally wrung herself out of his hands. Let that be that then. He licked his lips, breathing heavily, and felt, for the first time in a long time, utterly undone. Leaning over, he looked on her heaving shape: her long ashen-hair spread around her head like a halo. His beautiful, scarred nightmare. Would you like me to show you how you appear in my dreams? A moment, Zireael. I will, in a moment. Looking for her mouth, he shifted a lock behind her ear – her round ear, hidden in ash.

Do you see this, Lara, my love?

He gathered her in his arms. Glass crunched under his boots.

What madness! Do you see what exquisite punishment fate delivers on me? On your behalf.

‘Did you like it?’ he whispered, cradling her. ‘How do you feel? Do not be shy and tell me.’

But Zireael did not appear to share in his elation, her gaze lost somewhere he could not follow. She gave a thoughtful smile, resting her arms around his neck. Not embarrassed at all at tasting herself off his lips, it seemed.

‘What is it? Hm?’ he touched her nose. ‘Talk to me.’

Small, impassioned, and alive.

Alive!

If she had asked anything of him right now...

‘Zireael?’

‘It’s nothing. I just –’

Who knows what she would have told him in the end. When he linked their minds, he almost dropped her due to witnessing the contrast between what she was thinking and what she, in fact, did - the heat of her action, the coolness of her thought.

‘– would like a rest... yet you call me irresponsible for wishing for it. Always in conflict, always between two worlds – I would like to be at peace one day. To choose a nook, make a final choice – my own...’

Running her tongue along his index finger, she sucked him into her mouth, observing him with languid, evil eyes. She didn’t like it when he read her, but to his credit he kept his violations discreet, and thus rarely dismayed her.

‘Me en'ca minne, please...’

‘What?’

‘If you insist like this –’

‘Will you come?’ her eyes narrowed enchantingly. ‘On top of me?’

Crevan may have laughed, or groaned, but then she had placed her hand against his chest and he had obeyed, lost in the boreal greens that defied time and hatred and death; that coalesced above and beyond, in the archipelago of moments, and laughed at him from beyond the grave.

Falling back onto a couch the elf pulled the girl into his lap and hugged her until she squirmed under his hands. Her lips, shameless and burnt with love, moved against his with sweet timidity, devoid of the swagger she wore on herself like a shield at all times against further hurt and abandonment. The tenderness this instilled in his heart aroused him tremendously. He imagined clasping her wrists together and tying them with a gentle, secure knot, and also finding something for her calves... silk, scarves – anything that would not intimidate, that would set her at ease with him. It had to feel as soft as herself. But he would make the bindings firm to ensure she would not fly off, that she would struggle while in his power, feeling safe and adored, until white, hot pleasure had claimed her – repeatedly. Because once would have hardly sufficed; he never taught half-heartedly.

Until you will open your wounds, and make them a garden.

Listening carefully – to her heart, his own, to time and the ghosts – he pressed her close, and penetrated her.

‘A-ah! Slower-slower...’

‘Shh-shh-shh, it’s alright.’

‘It hurts a little.’

‘It’s alright,’ he rasped, slowing, eyes dark with desire. ‘It’ll be alright. I’m sorry. I could wait no longer.’

Yet his movement elicited another contorted sob from her and it gnawed on his soul like dry ice how she sought to subdue it. Touching her soaked inner lips with his fingers, the elf rubbed softly where he'd entered her. What exquisite pain ate at him below the kidneys – she was so narrow, so wet and hot. For him and only him... Tonight and always. Isn’t that right, my beautiful girl? Only for me. For a while, he thus tried to soothe her, caressing her with his hands and tongue, despite everything in him boiling and cracking with frightful hunger. His little Swallow demanded gentleness and deserved all the care and patience he could extend her. He had given his word.

What will we do to each other? What will we become?

At the touch of his magic the girl yelped and stared.

He felt very happy.

‘After you.’

Aided along by soothing touch, the witcheress sunk on him slowly while he watched, like an artist appreciating his creation. Her tangled hair stuck to her neck, her lips parting for a wail that faded into an indulgent sigh as she allowed him inside, little by little. Dripping on him, sticky, sweet. Her thighs hugging his sides. Her fingers spreading across his chest, touching down on his heartbeat. And though he couldn’t help looking inside her thoughts out of caution and habit, he needn’t have. Every anxiety, bliss, and sensation revealed itself at once, and the elf struggled at the sight of pliant flesh stretching around his length, swallowing him and his sanity whole.

Perhaps he should have let her go, but could he really?

In daytime, nothing would have been easier – it sufficed to press on her unrefined soft spots, of which she had many, and the illusion Crevan laboured under would have instantly shattered into so many smithereens. Now? Now he wished to drive her to exhaustion, until she whimpered brokenly and begged him, until she cooed in her sleep, sweaty, found and taken care of, and wrapped tightly around him. Not once considering leaving him.

He realised the enchantment wielding its power over him. It had begun working on him long before her birth, turning into a compulsion when he had met her, and into an addiction when he had first felt acute anger pierce him over the thought of someone else’s hands touching her. So long ago it now seemed, when she had been to Tir ná Lia. He had understood nothing at the time, yet he had understood one thing that applied equally now as it had long ago: he had never been free to choose. And neither had she.

The honeyed warmth of her womb enveloped him, dragging him in a spiralling descent that dizzied and revealed. No more discomfort or regret on her face; only self-abandonment and delicious distress. He wound his fingers in her hair and tore her neck back, disrupting the pace she had chosen – more comfortable for her than him – and, when she was able, she paid him back in kind with her teeth. An animal and an angel. His black diamond who tames the night itself and makes it dance to her tune. The thought ate at his spirit, his will, his heart, and he groaned into her mouth. Greedily, her hips rolled in tandem with his, her skin gleaming with effort, until the pleading, distressed sounds gushing from her lips began losing their coherence, becoming increasingly vulnerable as she continued to sit on him.

Good girl. Trust me. Take from me. What took you so long? What kept you?

Over and over, he squeezed into the ardent body. And when exhaustion began settling in the woman’s thighs, he seized her around the waist and slid on top of her, penetrating to the end. Feeling her arch her back he regretted only that he could not keep gazing freely at the desperation building inside haunting eyes. He would have liked to linger, to take her slowly. Have her crumple the sheets in exasperation and experience the torture Crevan had felt every time she had innocuously coiled around him during their travels. Yet, he did not dare to tempt fate again.

‘My sweet child. My joy, my darling... I waited for you. So long, I waited,’ he murmured in-between thrusts. ‘How I missed you. Terribly. How I searched – now you will stay. Won’t you, my love? You will stay, for Dana help me, how I do not want to let you go... never, Ciri... never again...’

Make your final choice. Want what I want. Stay...

When he changed the angle and she moaned around the fingers between her lips, he wondered if uncovering his secret felt worth it to her yet. You cannot run away from knowledge, Swallow, once you decide to pursue it. When she attempted to stretch out her spine, away from him – in opposite to how he guided them – the sorcerer sunk on her small form and drew her tightly against himself, denying her all reprieve. It always comes – at a price.

‘Give me your word, luned. Promise me, you will stay.'

‘You’ll have to put a spell on me. Make me.’

He ground against her, desperation and anger choking him once more at her thoughtlessness. It hurt her.

Fingers gripping hair – his, hers – hot breath against the temple – his – an arm squeezing around the ribcage, leaving red welts behind on pale skin – hers.

It hurt him. Her childish flippancy. She should not invite him, tempt him. She didn't know he would pull her very soul from her to ensure she stayed.

Faintly though, he then heard the girl speak.

‘Don't lose me. Don’t leave... please. Don’t leave me alone again.’

And Crevan promised. He would see her through to the ends of her earth, where only oblivion yawned. Like a yellowed aspen leaf, he felt her writhe in distress, trying to recede into herself and away from the promise shared with her, and he refused to let her leave.

‘Look at me. Open your eyes and look at me!’

‘More.’

He bowed before her wish. Bending his back, he leaned his forehead against hers and kissed away the salty wetness beside her beautiful eyes. No pain, little one. She’ll never be alone again. He’ll fill her. He’ll make her see what he sees. She’s something more. Feeling her buck fruitlessly against his hips as she convulsed around him, he revelled in the trembling contractions that pulled him deeper into the secret warmth of her – where innocence lay. He would not allow her to fly away. He would not have time repeat itself in vicious recurrence when hope had finally bared itself on the palm of his hand.

Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive...

Her eyes, when she opened them again, were pure witch fire.

His restraint broke.

Overcome by a need that terrified him, he loosened his hold around her to move faster and deeper into warm flesh, deaf and blind, uncaring of her quivering. What he told her then was at once mellifluous and obscene. Her skin stuck to his, the smell and feel of her sucking onto his every thought, every memory like a vicious leech and he felt as if imprinting onto the face of a bold human girl with beautiful emerald eyes, intersected by a scar on her cheek. No other, just her. Just her... his Swallow, the first of spring.

He crashed on top of her, pouring into her at the end of his lust.

At some indeterminate point in time, the elf stirred – to the curious absence of the patter of rain, as it were. Shifting, he felt his seed spill out of a cooled body and Ciri gave a quiet moan, tightening around him imperceptibly. He looked at her for a long time.

Then he extracted himself from night’s embrace, gathered the woman against him, and got up.

 ---//---

 Avallac’h stirred the concoction one last time – with a straw in the shape of a giraffe, because the kitchen, to his great misfortune, had been wiped out by the fire, and thus this novelty lab had to do. He had remembered too late how asinine this half-baked alchemy was – after he had already prepared two thirds of his precious ingredients. He didn’t have to waste resources when there already were alternatives in this post-biological nightmare. It served as some amusement to him that humans in this world had taken to contraception out of sheer hedonism, yet it didn’t quite make up for the daze in which he operated this morning.

Incinerating the straw and wiping the surface of the round table, the elf pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. His gaze fell on a broken piece of simulacrum tech in the corner. Mechanical thought patterns were what stood between humans and paradise.

What he'd gotten up for had also been... mechanical.

They were on the run. The timing wasn’t right: the roots between them were still shallow, and her trust in him fragile, to be nurtured at all cost. The fabric of the fate he had foreseen was delicate, and this time he wanted to be absolutely sure.

And yet...

‘What if we never leave? We could simply stay – here, at the end of the world.’

There were many spheres, many times and places, moments through which fate branched, forked, and twisted.

Crevan covered the cup with a saucer, left it, and went to wake the Swallow, walking across the shards of a broken mirror barely a quarter of a year old. He wanted to take another look and think. Before what was meant next...

#the witcher #avallac'h #ciri #cirilla fiona elen riannon #cirillac'h #cirillach #ciri x avallac'h #the witcher fanfic #smut #psychoanalysis #aen elle #lara dorren #crevan espane aep caomhan macha

[a-pirate-my-hearties]

The Witcher? Either the books, show or games, whichever you wanna do.

I’ll go with the books then!

my favorite female character - Ciri

my favorite male character - Regis (but also Geralt, duh!)

my favorite book/season/etc - Probably “The Blood of the Elves”.

my favorite episode (if its a tv show)

my favorite cast member

my favorite ship - Geralt x Yen, Geralt x Regis

a character I’d die defending - Jaskier, obviously

a character I just can’t sympathize with - Leo Bonhart. I hate that motherfucker with burning passion.

a character I grew to love - Milva

my anti otp - Ciri x Geralt, BECAUSE IT’S FUCKING DISGUSTING. PERIOD. And also Ciri x Mistle because it started with a rape.

Thank you for the ask

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Mistletoe Threeway

Author: Easilyled & Accio_arse

Year: 2008

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Howard/Dennis

“Why are you looking at me that way, Howard?” Vince was stood behind the counter of the Nabootique, leaning on it nonchalantly and picking at the voluminous sleeve of his diaphanous, vaguely ethnic smock, as if there weren’t a ball of mistletoe floating in the air above his head. “I’m not looking at you, am I?” Howard snapped mildly. “I’m looking at the thing above your head. What’s that about?” “It’s genius, isn’t it?” Vince enthused. “Basically, it’s mistletoe specially treated with anti-hairspray. The chemicals in the treated mistletoe simultaneously attract and repel the chemicals in the hairspray – sold separately – and create a sort of powerful festive force field. They’re like two magnets, yeah? Or like the moon held in the earth’s gravitational embrace.” Vince embraced the air to demonstrate, his eyes closed and his pursed-lipped face a mask of serene bliss. Howard tried to keep his own face blank, but couldn’t quite suppress a tic of a twitch affecting the entire right side of his face. He automatically swatted at it, like a fly, making Vince assume an expression of horror, which Howard feigned not to see. “And the point of that is?” he asked. Vince took his cue from Howard and ignored his friend’s symptoms of imminent mental breakdown. “What do you mean, what’s the point? It’s to fit in as much kissing during Chrimbo as possible!” “It’s called a hat and wire.” “Where’s your Vision, Howard?” “Occupied with more important things.” “Oh yeah, like what?” “Like creating an utopic society based on the model of Stationery Village. Lester Corncrake has already agreed to join.” “Lester Corncrake is a Disembodied Head.” “And so will we all be in Stationery Republic, Vince. It’s about getting past the body. Just… moving past it. Like an undertaker in the night.” “Okay, that went in so many creepy directions, I don’t even know where to begin. Anyway, the Airborne Mistletoe is part of my line.” “Your ‘line’? You have a ‘line’ now?” “’Course I do. The Vince Noir Futuristic Traditions Line.” Howard quirked an eyebrow. “That’s pretty good, actually,” he half-muttered into his mustache. “Thought so.” “It’ll never sell though,” Howard pronounced, poking the floating mistletoe experimentally with a pencil, wearing a little tight smile of triumph that was somewhat unpleasant to see. “Easy, you off-sale Scroogist. Why not? Who doesn’t like kissing?” “That much kissing? With randoms off the street? Street-randoms? The thing’s a death-magnet.” He gave it another, more aggressive poke before Vince could duck away. “Especially at this time of year. Imagine the germs!” “You imagine the germs! And touch my line again –” “Touch your what now?” “- an’ I’ll obliviate you.” “Oh yeah? That sounds serious, sir.” “Maybe it is. So you’d better just… watch yourself. In case.” Howard shook his head, arms akimbo, eyes lit up strangely as he continued to stare at Vince’s tiny holidaytastic satellite. “It’s nothing but an invitation to pneumonia.” “Well it’s definitely not an invitation to you.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah. And your poking.” “Just don’t come crying to me, squealing like a hungry piglet – “Ooooooh, where’s Mama Sow’s sweet gushing nipple –” Vince gagged audibly, which Howard ignored. “– when your wanton, derelict kissing –” “Derelict kissing!?” “- when it lands you in the hospital, with a machine, a thing of metal and… dials, doing your breathing for you.” “Slow down there, Mama Sow! Don’t start composing me eulogy yet. This is not for me, is it? I’m just using it to demonstrate.” “To demonstrate what?” “The – product!” Secretly gleeful that Vince had meandered into his trap, Howard made a sweeping gesture with his arm indicating Vince’s form, which was clearly visible (almost audible, Howard thought) in the inadequate covering of a loose smock, as flimsy as a sigh, over his clinging silver jumpsuit. “And what exactly is the product?” The door opened then with a tingle of shop-bells, heralding the arrival of a pretty young woman with a brunette fringe, in a sunshine-yellow pea coat that made Vince forget Howard’s insinuation and brighten like a child handed a toy. “Alright?” he greeted her. Howard felt a sharp twinge of anxiety in his stomach as she instantly returned Vince’s grin. But then her smile faltered. “What’s – that over your head?” Howard grinned maniacally, waiting. But Vince didn’t miss a beat – he only smiled wider. “It’s Airborne Mistletoe. Follows you wherever you go. So you don’t have to take your chances, hoping to catch your Special Someone at the right moment.” Howard’s face fell faster than a shy soufflé as he saw that the girl was charmed. “That’s so romantic!” she cried. “Romantic!” Howard thundered before he could stop himself. “Romantic is… setting a trap! Following your beloved around! Don’t worry – I mean secretly! Learning their habits, like a predator in the wild. Deciding where to plant the mistletoe. Then waiting, lurking in the shadows, for them to walk by the spot – so you can pretend it’s a coincidence. If necessary, setting up a hammock, in case you have to wait in the spot a few days, and making a small or smallish fire, to cook your omelets. THAT, you know-nothing Camden mannequins, is ROMANTIC.” Howard paused for breath, while the girl looked at him as if deciding whether to scream. Vince watched her with concern. “Don’t mind him, yeah?” he said hurriedly, coming around the counter and taking her elbow gently. “He’s – practicing a part for a play. He’s playing a rapist stalker mentalist.” He shot Howard a look that was half-exasperated, half-pleading. “Tone down the mental, would you, Hamlet? You’re scaring the customers.” “You’re in a play?” The girl looked at Howard with new interest, and palpable relief. “You’re very good!” Howard simply snarled at her, making her jump and cling to Vince, who rolled his eyes and patted her back comfortingly. “Anyway. What do you think of my invention? It’s part of my new line – Futuristic Traditions.” Lost in the warm bubbly bath of Vince’s attention, the girl had forgotten Howard and his psychotic ranting already. She giggled and replied, “Well – I’d like to try it out first, before I commit myself.” “Huh? Oh, yeah! Sure.” Vince leaned in obligingly for the kiss. Howard watched, torn between disbelief and rage, as Vince launched himself at the girl’s face, nibbling expertly at her lips. And felt himself die slightly inside as he thought he caught Vince momentarily suck on her tongue – before the little tart slid it deep in Vince’s mouth. For months now, ever since his *coughcough* 32nd *cough* birthday, Howard had secretly been telling himself that even though the rest had been a lie, a desperate manoeuvre to keep the Head Shaman from ceremoniously decapitating him – that Vince couldn’t have sucked on his tongue that way without feeling some kind of attraction – of deep, powerful, molten attraction – for Howard. But of course – that was only the naïve impression of a virgin, wasn’t it? It was just a technique – like everything Vince did. Unique and flawless and designed to maximally please. And completely impersonal. Howard often wondered if Vince got any personal pleasure out of anything he did, or if his only pleasure consisted of pleasing others. Right now, however, he was causing Howard excruciating pain as he and the girl continued to snog endlessly, relentlessly, panting and slurping away, making Howard’s skin crawl even as his stomach contracted into a ball of angry jealousy as dense as a collapsed star. He might have lost his kissing virginity that night on the roof, but he was losing his illusions only now – those precious illusions he’d always been so afraid would go swirling down the putrid urinal of experience when the rest of it went. And then, as he continued to watch avidly as if their faces were the urinal and he was trying to catch in them the last traces of his illusions as they swirled down the dirty drain (or some such confused metaphor, Howard wasn’t thinking particularly clearly) Vince snuck a glance at him out of the corner of his eye. A glance that a neutral observer might have described as “opaque,” or perhaps, at a stretch, as seductive in its heavy-lidded haziness, but that Howard, who was far from neutral, instantly read as mischievous and mocking. And reacted, with the same instantaneousity, by charging at Vince and grabbing him by the smock, but unable to gain a purchase on that wisp of smoke, took him by the throat instead, and not only broke off the endless kiss, but shook the mistletoe creation out of its hold. It dropped to the floor with a decidedly unfestive thud, inert, and Howard shook Vince like a rag-doll while the girl shrieked, and Howard laughed, awfully. And Vince choked and stared at Howard with glassy disbelieving goggle-eyes, a squeak attempting to emerge from his throat and turn into a plea, but it was too late. “It’s too late!” Howard shouted, shattering his fantasy – and also the kiss taking place in front of him. “I’ll take it,” the girl told Vince when she’d caught her breath. “50 euros,” Vince replied, looking with concern at the stockroom, where Howard had disappeared, slamming the door behind him. He was inside giving himself discreet Chinese burns. * Howard wouldn’t come out no matter how often Vince knocked on the door during the day. Vince was left to handle the pre-Christmas rush by himself. He told Vince that he was reorganizing the stockroom to make its arrangement more logical – which was actually true, and very soothing. Vince’s sales figures were so good that Naboo let him off early. They closed up the shop and had champagne, then set off for a night on the town. Vince didn’t try to get Howard to come out again – he was angry at him by now. He didn’t know what had set Howard off that way, or what right Howard had to be upset. He’s the one who’d rejected Vince’s unspoken offer to go for the Mistletoe Threeway. Just because Howard was so fastidious was no reason to hurt his friend’s feelings that way. Everything had been crap between them, anyway, ever since The Roof. Everything they usually did suddenly turned Weird. The midnight crimping grew awkward – Howard had even suggested that they each get their own bedrooms (or more precisely, that Vince move into the cupboard). He pretended it was because Vince woke him up by always coming in late, but why weren’t the snail-shell earplugs Vince had made for him (at the cost of two snails’ homes) good enough for that anymore? And when Vince tried to bring things back to normal by suggesting a bout of satsuma-throwing in their vests and pants, Howard made excuses, saying that he needed to go round to Lester Corncrake’s and feed him. Like he was a chia pet. He’d rather spend time with a blind head than with Vince these days. “He’s right,” Vince said, biting his lip. “It’s too late.” “It only two a.m.!” Bollo replied, grooving on the dancefloor, where Vince had suddenly stopped moving. “Get with it, Vince.” And began to sing, “’But if my Daddy say I fine – No, no, no!’” He grabbed Vince by his delicate wrist and pulled him in close, grinding his generous ape-hips against Vince’s slender lady-man ones. “Show-off,” Vince thought. Back at the shop, Howard had finally gained the courage to emerge from the stockroom, and had managed to exhaust himself with obsessive-compulsive rearranging to the point where he thought he might be able to sleep. As he was stumbling his way to the stairwell, a towering figure stepped out of the shadows. Howard balked, catching the menacing glint of a sword, and the duller one of a bald head, in the softly glowing fairylights. “Howard Moon,” boomed Dennis, the Head Shaman. “Where’s your little boyfriend?” “Probably at the disco, pulling,” Howard grumbled. He was in no mood to pretend to be a gayist, or even coherent. And remembering Lester Corncrake’s fate made him burn with indignation at this disgusting bully’s presence in his shop. “What do you want, sir?” To Howard’s surprise, Dennis lowered his eyes as if confused. Was that a rosy blush creeping into his cheeks, mingling with the blue and green of the fairylights? “Is the blind mental around? I feel slightly sheepish for what I did to him.” “Lester Corncrake’s Head is at home, sir, sleeping. As you should be.” Was the bloody-minded Shaman Warrior fidgeting? “Wife threw me out,” he muttered at last. “Really?” Howard replied with heavy sarcasm. “You seemed so happy together. Is your plan to crash at Naboo’s, then? He’s out with Vince – but I suppose you can get into his flat using your magic, or sword, or however you got in here.” “They left the door unlocked.” “Oh. Fair enough.” Howard made a move towards the beaded curtain that separated the shop from the corridor, but Dennis grabbed his arm. “Wait!” Howard stiffened, and closed his eyes, waiting for the blade to fall. But Dennis released him. “I’m lonely. I need someone to talk to.” “Don’t you have any friends? Never mind,” Howard answered himself. He sighed, then fetched stools for both of them. “Got anything to drink?” Dennis asked eagerly, settling himself onto a stool. Howard knew now that he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. * Vince tried to be quiet as he entered his and Howard’s dark bedroom. The sky was lightening outside, but the blush of the sunrise hadn’t yet reached the tops of the surrounding buildings. He stripped off his jumpsuit, sweaty from the night of dancing, and tossed it on the floor with the others, then prepared to crawl into bed carefully. Howard didn’t like being touched – except sometimes, at night, he was up for a cuddle, after a long emotional bout of crimping. But lately Vince had thought it better not to risk it. Vince shrieked as his limbs unexpectedly encountered a meaty form on his side of the bed. He disentangled himself as quickly as he could, falling onto the floor. “Vince?” On the other side of the bed – Howard’s side – someone had sat up. Vince recognized Howard’s outline. “Howard! There’s someone sleeping in our bed!” “Yeah, I know that, Baby Bear.” Suddenly it dawned on Vince what was happening. He felt a perfect fool. “Howard! Did you -?” “What?” Howard shimmied to the end of the bed and climbed off. He came towards Vince. “Keep it down,” he told him. “It’s the Head Shaman.” “Howard!” Vince shrieked. Howard reflexively grabbed the back of Vince’s head and clamped a hand over his mouth. He was crouched in front of Vince – still in his clothes, which he’d worn to bed, while Vince was sprawled on the floor, legs out in front of him, propped up by his hands, naked. They always went to bed naked, but Howard hadn’t felt that was appropriate, or in fact safe, when the drunken Head Shaman had asked if he could sleep in Howard’s bed – especially after his comments about Howard’s pumpkin ass and questions about his waxing habits. Behind Howard’s hand, muffled laughter began to emerge from Vince. Howard looked severely into his friend’s bulbous eyes, which glistened with excited mischief in the dark room. “Will you be quiet now?” Howard asked, and removed his hand, rubbing it against his trousers to take the tickle away. He didn’t really want to hear anything Vince would say, but felt that staying that way looking at each other any longer involved an obscure danger. “Howard!” Vince whispered, still giggling under his breath. “You had it off with the Head Shaman?” “No!” Howard shouted. Dennis stirred on the bed and muttered in his sleep. “Methuselah – no! Not the squash racket!” “No,” Howard repeated, hissing it quietly and angrily this time. “He had an argument with his wife and came here. He got wasted and passed out.” “You mean – you’ve still not had it off then?” Vince asked, his face serious now. “Why would I let you know if I did?” Howard asked, aware that he sounded slightly sulky. “So you can put it on MySpace?” “I’d never do that, Howard.” Vince smiled at him, stroking his arm soothingly. Howard let him – it was the first time in months Howard had let him. “Really?” “Of course not. I’m on Facebook now. MySpace is for pensioners and Lily Allen fans.” But Howard could tell he was teasing, and couldn’t help smiling a little. And he didn’t push him away when Vince grasped his upper arms and pulled Howard towards him – and then they were kissing again, and Howard couldn’t believe it could be as good the second time as the first. Their mouths parted against each other, and Vince ran his tongue along the side of Howard’s – and suddenly the intrusive image of a bright yellow pea coat burst into Howard’s mind, like a blossoming migraine, and he pulled away. Vince opened his eyes, startled, and looked at Howard in bewilderment. There was light in the room now, and the pain in Howard’s eyes was so laceratingly clear Vince felt like he’d been slapped. “Go on. Why did you stop?” Vince and Howard started, and Howard turned his head. Dennis was sitting upright on the bed, facing them, arms folded, his sword resting across his lap. “Go on, I said. I want to see more of this. So you’re a virgin, are you, Moon? How… piquant. But it can’t be very easy on your boyfriend.” “He’s not my boyfriend!” Howard nearly screamed in frustration. Dennis’s silver alien eyes narrowed and flitted from Howard to Vince. “So – you’re not in love?” “I am,” Vince said quickly. “I am, but he’s not.” “How can you say that?” Howard demanded. “I’m not the one who goes around kissing everyone I meet – and in exactly the same way!” “What are you talking about, you strap-on sushi kit?” “About the fact that there’s no passion – no soul – behind anything you do, Vince!” “I try to make people happy! I try to make you happy! And the thanks I get is you accusing me of having no soul?” “I want you to try to make me happier than you make other people – happy!” “If you could tell me what to do to not make you always angry that would be a start!” “I just did tell you!” “What? I’m lost.” “Enough arguing!” Dennis stood, gripping his sword. “I liked the kissing better. Do the kissing again.” “Are you some kind of pervert?” Vince asked him. “Yes,” Dennis replied. “A pervert with a very big sword.” “Point.” Vince cast his eyes downward, distressed. There was no escape. * “I’m sure this isn’t what you wanted your first time to be,” Vince apologized to Howard, who was now naked as well, lying on the bed, on his back, with his knees bent, with Vince lying on top of him. Vince stared at the wall over Howard’s head, Howard at Vince’s small white shoulder. “Actually, I just wanted it to be a time,” Howard replied. Their eyes met briefly, and Howard attempted a reassuring smile. Instinctively, he planted an affectionate kiss on Vince’s shoulder, then lay his head back on the pillow. Vince bit his lip and his face dipped shyly, but he kept his eyes on Howard’s. “I’ll try to make it good.” “Don’t try!” Howard replied, with an edge of yearning in his voice that made Vince shiver with alertness. “That’s what I’m saying! You don’t always have to be the best and brightest with the biggest bounciest hair! Just – do what you feel, yeah?” “Start fucking!” Dennis barked. “Mate – why don’t you make yourself useful!” Vince snapped. Dennis took a step towards the bed. “Not like that! We could use a little something to – ease the process. Make a soft landing. Yeah?” “I’m not following you.” “Don’t play dumb, magic-boy. All extreme sports calendar models do anal. Everyone knows that.” “Oh! You want cooking oil!” “Exactly. Run to the kitchen, would you, love?” Dennis left the room reluctantly, watching them over his shoulder as he went. “Don’t do anything until I get back!” As soon as he was gone, Vince leapt out of the bed and locked the door, then leaned against it. Howard sat up and watched as Vince slid down the door, collapsing in front of it. When he was sat on the floor he pulled his skinny legs up to his chest and put his arms around them, his head back against the door, apparently scrutinizing the ceiling. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, Howard nevertheless got out of bed and went to him. He knelt beside Vince and waited, but when Vince made no move to acknowledge him, Howard made the first move. “Alright, little man?” he asked tentatively, daring only to brush Vince’s hair off his shoulder. “I can’t do it, Howard!” Vince groaned, shaking his head in a pique, which made the hair immediately fall back in place. Automatically, Howard brushed it away again, slightly hypnotized, this time letting his fingers drag against the smooth, soft surface of the curve of Vince’s neck. “I don’t mind, honestly. It’s probably time to get it over with, isn’t it?” “I mean I can’t perform under this pressure!” He looked at Howard wildly. “You know about me and pressure! I expect perfection of myself, and what happens? I fold like a pup tent in a strong breeze! So to speak.” He cast his eyes down between his legs ashamedly. Howard smiled dreamily, now playing with Vince’s ear, his finger tracing its whorls. “You mean like that time at school when you were cast in the play?” “I was just playing a tree! All I had to do was stand there and hold me leaves up!” “Instead you panicked because you didn’t feel like you were doing enough, and started body-popping.” “For twenty minutes! I couldn’t figure out how to get off!” “The audience loved it, though. They cheered you on. I was playing the lead, but they all forgot about me. I had to abandon the speech I’d written especially for my character at a crucial moment in his trajectory.” “You mean when he loses his hat?” “The director always undersold the psychological ramifications of that incident.” “Yeah. I never apologized for that, did I, Howard?” “No. But it doesn’t matter. I’m a shit writer.” “Howard.” Vince turned to look at Howard, and took Howard’s face in his hand. Vince’s hand was surprisingly warm. Howard smiled at him, and reached over and took up his other hand. He brought it to his mouth and bit Vince’s knuckles lightly, still smiling, and then held it under his chin. “Why so serious? It’s not like you’re killing someone. And it’s not for real, is it? It’s just some pervert’s fantasy.” “I want it to be for real,” Vince said, holding Howard’s eyes. They both wanted to look away, and neither did. The moment was held too long – and then longer. And then it started to feel not strange, but right, and Howard’s face moved closer to Vince’s, and Vince’s hand snaked around from Howard’s face through his hair to the back of his neck, which was burningly hot. The door vibrated with Dennis’s pounding. “Did I miss anything? I made popcorn!” Vince stamped his foot on the floor. “This is never going to happen!” “Don’t make me teleport in there!” Dennis warned from the other side of the door. Howard stood, sighing, wincing as his joints creaked, and returned to the bed. He resumed the devirginization position and waited. “Vince?” Several minutes had passed, and Howard was starting to wonder what was going on, as well as getting cold. “I’m right here.” Vince appeared at the side of the bed so suddenly that Howard felt unnerved instead of relieved. Before he could process that feeling, however, Vince had climbed on top of him, in a strangely business-like manner. He examined Howard’s face closely and speculatively, as if it were a foreign object whose meaning he was trying to determine. “Vince?!” Howard asked again. “Right here! You’re a remarkably handsome man, you know.” “I am!? Oh. Yeah. ‘Course I am. You don’t need to tell Howard Moon that…. I was voted Total Hottie of 2007 by the Librarians Who Like Jazz Association. What happened to the Head Shaman?” “He probably got a call on his mobile from his wife.” “Oh… that makes sense.” “Now, Howard. I should fairly inform you that I’ve never done this before.” “You haven’t?” “I never even considered it before that night on the roof. But I’ve done a lot of deflowering of virgins in my time.” “You have!?” “This ought to be doubly pleasurable, seeing as how it’ll also be a defloration of myself.” “It will!?” “My manginity. Right. Let’s do this thing.” Vince’s lips against Howard’s were brutal, pressing down, smothering him. His tongue forced its way into Howard’s mouth, apparently searching out his tonsils. Howard wanted to protest, to push him away, overwhelmed, but his cock sprang up rebelliously, hardening against Vince’s. At last Vince pulled back. He licked his lips thoughtfully. “Mmmmmm… good. You like it?” He grabbed Howard’s cock and pumped it in his hand, roughly. “Vince,” Howard panted, “I don’t mean to criticize, but… where’s the romance?” “I’ll send you flowers after, baby. If you suck my cock like a good little woman.” “NO!” Howard grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him away, onto the bed. He scrambled on top of Vince and held him down easily with his greater weight and strength, but their erections remained squished together in a hot damp mass, throbbing, as Howard tried to regain hold of his senses. Vince was laughing, his sweaty fringe in his eyes, his eyes glittering beneath, black locks splayed against the pillow. “What are you doing?” Howard demanded, trying to make it all make sense. “I don’t even know you!” Something in Howard’s tone brought Vince to calm, but a malevolent smirk soon crept onto his face, and his clearly-formed words cut deep into Howard. “But I know you. Cut the bullshit. You don’t want gentleness or tenderness. You want to be taken like a bitch. Now lie down like a good boy and let Daddy tie you up and take care of you.” Howard stared at him another moment in disbelief. Then a little whimper escaped his throat involuntarily, and slowly he nodded. “Yes, sir, Daddy, sir.” Howard lay on his back and raised his arms for Vince’s ministrations. He closed his eyes and sighed as he heard bedsheets being torn. Then felt the material, cool and strangely scratchy, against his wrists. “Tighter,” he instructed, frowning. “No more talking, dickhead,” Vince told him, and shoved a thumb up Howard’s arse, without preparation. After a moment, Howard pushed against it. It felt ridiculously painful, like someone had stuck a small fire up his bum. Wincing, he whispered, “Vince… is this it? Are we having sex?” Vince laughed back, harshly. Howard looked confused. “I just thought - since you’re inside me, and…” “Fool! Aren’t you ever going to shut up?” Using the flat of his hand, Vince slapped Howard hard across the face. At the same time, he used his thumb inside to punctuate every word with a violent motion up. At every dry stab, Howard shuddered. Vince changed tactics. With Howard’s tightness, the thumb had hardly broken through the first clench of muscles, even after several shoves. So Vince began a series of vicious twists, each time swivelling the thumb little further. It was soon wedged in far past the knuckle. Howard yelled in panic at the intrusion. His muscles went into spasm inside at the pain. He strained the bonds around his wrists – but the knots were firmly tight. His ankles were fixed down, too, bound to the bedposts – and he couldn’t even remember Vince doing that. “You virgins,” Vince snorted. “Always screaming and saying no! As if that doesn’t just heat my blood. Make me want to despoil you all the more.” Howard yelped. Every time he tried to struggle away, the thumb was just twisting and rubbing the more painfully. It was agony. Vince’s gaze flicked up and down Howard’s body, coming to rest Howard’s cock, still treacherously half-hard on his belly. Vince sneered in amusement. “Ha! You don’t fool me! I know what you really want. A man with a sword larger than a toddler’s leg. And who’s not afraid to use it.” Howard forced himself to calm. The pain wasn’t so bad if he stopped moving. He took in a shaky breath. “That’s better. Now you’ve got the right idea. Going to lie there and let Daddy get on with business?” “Vince…?” asked Howard, weakly. He searched for a grin, a cheeky look from his friend - anything to confirm this was still a game. Vince loomed silently over Howard. Behind the shadow of his fringe his eyes were dark and unknowable. Then very deliberately, Vince stuck out his tongue. In one swift motion he’d licked Howard’s face, up from the jawline across Howard’s cheek and across the red mark where Howard had been slapped. But he didn’t stop there. He continued up to Howard’s left eye socket. There he jammed in the tip of his tongue and swished it wetly around. Howard’s breath hitched. He’d shut both eyes before the tongue descended, but the exploration of his eyeball was still pretty unnerving. “Tasty,” said Vince. The tip of his tongue was just poking out as he licked it against his lips. “Very, very tasty. Virgin tears.” Howard blinked. His left eyelashes were weighed down with Vince’s spit. Vince’s face was still startlingly close. “So, you going to be a good boy for Daddy? Hmmm? Are you?” He leaned further in and whispered into Howard’s ear. His voice was strangely deep and resonant. “Because believe me, I’m not finished yet.” Howard’s eyes widened. That voice… fear chilled his skin. But this was Vince, wasn’t it? He could trust Vince. “I didn’t hear a yes,” warned Vince. He pushed his slim-hipped body onto Howard’s. Their hot cocks touched. Howard let out a moan. Before he could think, he was rocking his hips up, mashing their cocks together and working himself back to full hardness. “Y…yes… Yes sir. Please sir.” “Right decision, meathead.” Howard moaned once more – this time in pain. Vince had yanked his thumb straight out of Howard’s arse. It was even more intense than when Vince had forced the thumb in, like Howard’s innards were being dragged out backwards. “Now, first things first,“ announced Vince, sitting up straight, and starting to climb off Howard. As the emptiness in his arse throbbed to a memory, Vince’s warm body was leaving him too. Howard shivered with the loss of them both. But within seconds, something else was being shoved towards Howard, right in his face – the waving end of Vince’s cock. “Go on - suck me off, bitch.” Howard strained at his bonds, uselessly. “Vince – you know I… I’ve… never before…” “Yes, yes!” Vince replied, impatiently. “I know! Less talking, more sucking!” Vince’s cock shoved harder. It smeared moisture across Howard’s lips. “Come on! Open up!” barked Vince. Until recently, Howard had never even imagined this – sucking another man’s cock, or how it would taste and feel inside his mouth. But suddenly, it didn’t seem so wrong. Perhaps because the cock in question belonged to Vince. Ever since their kiss on the rooftop, he’d been looking at Vince in a brand new way. Stealing shameful glances at him - at the bulge Vince swung around, so obvious in those tight shiny jumpsuits. Lying in bed at night, wishing more than anything that Vince would come over and slip in for a cuddle. Vince had never needed an invite before – all it took was a couple of crimps, and he’d strip off and jump right in. Why had Vince stopped? So when Howard opened up his mouth, he didn’t question it as the erect cock slipped in quite naturally. And when he licked cautiously at the silken head and it gave a distinct leap in response, it almost felt like coming home. In fact, pride was filling his chest. Yes - he, Howard TJ Moon, had made Vince’s cock twitch with sheer sexual pleasure. Of course it had! For years he’d wasted his mighty sexual powers, his god-given magnetism. He’d frittered it away on self-abuse like throwing tadpoles in the wind. No longer would that happen – no, sir. Because now he had Vince. Howard opened wider, about to take Vince further in, right to the root. “Call that a blow job?” Vince grabbed a handful of Howard’s hair, forcing his head sharply up. Then Vince plunged aggressively, deeper into Howard’s throat. “I said suck! Not slobber like a toddler puffing into a balloon! Again!” Howard choked, gasping for air. “No! No! Not like that, either!” Howard gave a half-strangled slurp, his chest rising and falling, helpless as Vince thrust in and out. “Arrgh!” shouted Vince. “Mind the teeth!” Howard twisted away, trying desperately to escape. But Vince was holding his head in an iron grip. Eventually, after Howard had been spluttering and hacking over his cock for about a minute, Vince withdrew. He shoved Howard’s head away in disgust. “Useless! And your mouth showed such promise!” Howard flopped sideways to the pillow and exploded into a coughing fit. Saliva and a string of something stickier dribbled out the corner of his mouth, forming a wet, warm puddle underneath. Vince stood wide-legged by the bed, surveying Howard with his hands on his hips. His drool-smeared erection stuck out like a flagstaff. “Well,” he sneered, showing his teeth in a surprisingly wolfish leer. “It matters not.” He took up the Head Shaman’s sword and raised it above his head. An unearthly light glinted from its blade. The sword came down with a swish and snick. Pain shot through Howard’s legs. His tight ankle bonds had been hacked free by the sword’s blow. Howard brought his knees up and down again, stretching his legs out and revelling in the freedom. Pins and needles prickled inside his thighs. “Resume position!” barked Vince, flinging away the sword. It fell with a harsh clang against the wall. And jumping on top of Howard, Vince pinned him to the bed. As his aching limbs were forced double again, Howard felt that reality had melted and flown away. He’d always imagined sex would be a more purely physical affair – in-out-in-out, dirty fumbles and fluid spurting. Not like this. Like when Vince had been choking him with his cock. Howard had hated it, he’d been crying stupid, acrid tears of self-pity, and yet –oh God, he wanted it. It was foul, yet he knew he deserved every inch, and more. It was all too much. Howard pulled at the bindings on his wrists, wishing he could caress the forceful little body on top as it tried to stab him with his cock. Wth another pang of self-disgust, Howard realised that not being able to touch Vince was only making him all the more aroused. “Yes! Daddy’s on target!” shouted Vince, triumphantly. Howard lifted his hips and closed his eyes, trying to welcome the battering at his already-abused entrance. But the blunt head of Vince’s cock wouldn’t go in, no matter how many times Vince pushed and roared in frustration. Vince shoved a few more times, angrily. It achieved nothing except white-lipped whimpers from the tied-up man below. Throwing his head back, Vince laughed theatrically. “Aha! I knew it! Such a tight little virgin after all!” He looked around. “I believe something will be required… no, not the popcorn… perhaps for later on.” He leaned over and started rummaging on the floor by the bed. Howard looked down and was surprised to see a box of golden popcorn sitting on the ground. Next to that was a bottle of cooking oil, the very same brand that Bollo used to fry his eggs and bacon in - oh right, thought Howard. It must be the bottle from the kitchen. How had it got there? Perhaps the Head Shaman had magicked it or something before he’d gone off to answer his phone call. Vince straightened up. He unscrewed the bottle and tossed the top over his shoulder. It fell without sound into the darkness. Then stretching out his arm, Vince tipped the bottle up and poured the whole lot out in one go. It gave a noisy gurgle. Howard jumped. A stream of cold oil had hit him right on the cock and balls. The oil gushed further down and Howard arched his back. He parted his thighs wide as the coolness slid into his crack, trickling down and easing the itchy burning inside. He sighed in relief. The mattress below began to spawn two oily buttock-dimple lakes of overflow. Vince re-positioned himself. He grabbed Howard’s thighs hard. Angry marks sprung up beneath his fingers, flaring across Howard’s flesh. With the goal finally oiled and ready for piercing, Vince grit his teeth and tensed his buttocks. The head of Vince’s cock inched forward in a series of shoves. When it finally forced through the tight ring of muscles at Howard’s entrance, Vince let out a sharp breath of satisfaction. But then his cock stopped short, wedged fast. Vince gave a few short, frustrated bounces, all to no avail. “Blast to Hades’ codpiece! Out of oil!” Vince pulled out with a short, nasal grunt, took his cock in his hand, and rubbed it across Howard’s dangling balls, up and down like a chef rolling a shushi roll. Soon it was glistening with the oil trapped in Howard’s scrotal hairs. “Aha!” Vince preened. He cupped his length in his hands like a prize marrow oiled for ‘Best Novelty Vegetable’ at the local fair. He readied himself for re-entry. Howard felt the prodding at his entrance. He steeled himself again. This was it, he was going to get to have sex, to do it at least once before he died. And Vince was going to be his very first, perhaps his only... Howard thrust his hips up, trying to help the penetration. Or perhaps they’d already had sex. After all, Vince’s cock had had been inside him, if only for a second. At the thought of Vince’s cock inside him again, Howard wriggled his hips even more. His fingers strained, as if trying to touch something invisible and pull it closer. “Anything,” he panted. “Anything you want. Make me do things. Anything. I’ll do it.” Howard flushed. A memory flashed before him – of how disgusted Vince had been the first time he’d caught Howard in the cupboard, self-inducing his Chinese burns. And now this. How would he ever face Vince again? Howard turned his face to the side, and so he didn’t see the blow about to fall. Vince hit Howard’s face in exactly the same place he had the last time. The skin on Howard’s right cheekbone flared white, immediately flushing to an angry purple. “Of course you want me to use you!” shouted Vince. “I’m the best! Now keep still and let Daddy do his business!” Howard gasped – but not at the blow. The shock of the afterheat on his battered skin – it was arousing him even more. What sort of person got off on this? No wonder no one had ever wanted to have sex with him before. But Vince was already sinking his cock into Howard, deeply, and right up to the hilt. Howard had no time to do anything now but break into a slick, all-over-body sweat and scream. And with a deep, un-Vince-like roar, the man on top drew back and started to pound into Howard. Within seconds, Howard was being rammed up backwards against the wall. The crown of his head jammered each time Vince slammed in. Helplessly, Howard tried to push back against it with his tied hands. But it was useless. All he could do was try to ride it out, his arse afire with bizarre intensity. Then Vince grabbed Howard’s buttocks, lifting him higher. As the angle changed, colours pinged and exploded before Howard’s eyes. Heat prickled down the inside of his thighs. His toes curled. Howard threw his head back and stretched his mouth open wide. A thought wisped through his melting brain - this must be what pleasure feels like. Vince thrust in once more, slick and easy with oil. He hit the same spot all over again. Howard arched up, the colours behind his eyelids even brighter. He grabbed the bindings to his wrists and pulled them as if grabbing onto life. But Vince was speedily approaching his peak. He let out a growl, and began to come. * Howard could hardly believe it. Vince was really coming inside him. But there was no mistaking it – Howard’s insides were so abused by now that he felt every spasm, spurt and jolt from Vince with a dozen times sensitivity. Eventually, the last tremors from Vince’s cock pumped away to a gentle tremble. Howard wanted to hold Vince, to kiss him, to stroke him and thank him for being his first time - but Vince was sprawled on top of him, far out of reach of Howard’s bound arms. Anyway, at least one thing was for sure, thought Howard. His virginity was long gone. When another man shot his happy juice up your arse, then goodbye maidenhood. Eventually Vince’s cock started to retreat, slipping out in a mess of sperm and oil. Panting, Vince pulled himself to his knees. Howard chafed at his tightly-pulled wrists. As Vince had lifted up, his body had stroked across Howard’s still-hard cock. Howard was still so painfully hard. He was so close to coming himself. “Please, Vince,” he breathed. “Please… touch me.” But Vince was too busy examining his own genitals. There were shiny red streaks along Vince’s cock, showing neon bright in the dimness of the bedroom. With an inquiring noise, Vince reached forward and stretched Howard’s cheeks apart. He made an inspection of Howard’s anus. Howard leant into Vince’s slightest touch. “Yes,” Howard begged, waggling his erection, hoping that Vince would get the general idea. “Hmm. Less blood than for your average devirginization,“ stated Vince. “Probably not the fabled arse-hymen. Pity.” And, inspection over, Vince bunched up a corner of sheet from the end of the bed and coolly began to wipe the stains from his penis. Howard couldn’t care less what rubbish Vince gibbered. He only wanted those hands around his cock, pumping it up and down. “Vince! Stop messing about! You’re not going to leave me like this?” Vince had retrieved the box of popcorn and was sitting strangely straight-backed on the end of the bed, picking out the largest kernels in a pompous, overly fussy way. It reminded Howard of something or someone he couldn’t quite remember. But Howard had other, more urgent things on his mind. “Vince?” cried Howard, in frustration. He thrashed about, desperate to find anything to rub himself against to relieve the pressure. “Oh God, please!” “Ahhh...” Vince munched on the popcorn with obvious pleasure. “This has really been a most enjoyable encounter.” He looked over at Howard. His eyes suddenly narrowed. “You are a quite remarkably attractive man.” “Then why won’t you touch me, Vince?” howled Howard. Vince tilted his head as he considered this. He set down his popcorn. “Well - I usually have a rule about virgins - but I think I’ll make an exception for you.” Vince moved towards the bed. Howard’s hopes rose. “So you enjoyed performing as my cock-sucking little bitch?” “Just pull me off, Vince!” shouted Howard, losing all dignity. “You worked me up so that I’m close to bursting! I can’t bear it!” Vince laughed. “So eager for more! Well,” he stepped up close. Howard could feel his breath. “Stay that way. And we’ll see.” And Vince placed one last lick onto Howard’s face, pressing down hard across the colouring bruise. Then he smiled - the same eerie smile as before, which narrowed his eyes and ended in a hint of snarl. “What? We’ll see? Fuck that!” wailed Howard, pulling at his bonds. “What about now, you bastard! At least untie me so I can wank myself off!” Howard widened his eyes. “No Vince, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it – don’t go!” But Vince had hefted up the Head Shaman’s sword under one arm and, sticking the box of popcorn under his other, was making his way out the door, still totally naked. Howard was left alone in the darkness of the night, with only a hard on for company, and thinking – so that was sex. Wondering if the aching in his frustrated balls could possibly get any worse. Yes. Probably it would. The night was young. * The ache when he woke up, some time in the afternoon, was terrible – in his arms, which were still tied to the bedposts, and in his arse. His cock, however, was bobbing cheerfully at his stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Vince moving around, doing something with his clothes. Probably deciding what to wear, from the rate he was throwing them around. “Good morning?” he called shyly. Vince stopped moving. He came to the bed and stood over Howard. He met Howard’s eager expression with a look of haughty contempt, complete with flared nostrils, that Howard only knew him to wear when he was both furious and hurt. It had happened then, just as Howard had feared. He’d always known that if he ever had sex with anyone, they’d hate him for it afterwards. “Oh. You’re awake, are you, Casanova?” Vince sneered. “Vince, I’m sorry. Can we just forget it ever happened?” “Do you even know what happened?” “What do you mean?” Now that he was beginning to wake up more fully, he was becoming irritated with Vince as well. What right did he have to act this way? Hadn’t he been the one who wanted it to happen? “It wasn’t ME, you berk!” Vince cried, his voice cracking. “Now wait a minute. We were both involved. Everything was consensual. You may regret it now, but don’t pretend that you weren’t even here….” “Want to know where I was? Up there!” Vince pointed at the ceiling over the bed. “Out of me body. Just a floating consciousness. I couldn’t even get off. Just watch you and him go at it!” “Him? Who?” Fully awake now, Howard was starting to wonder if Vince had simply gone mad. “The Head Shaman, you twit! He occupied my body to get off with you! You lost your cherry to a murdering madman! And you couldn’t even tell the difference between us.” “This… is a dream. There’s something wrong here….” “Wrong!?” Vince’s voice sounded strangled. “I’ll show you wrong!” He snatched something glittery off the floor and held it up for Howard to see. “Vince!” Howard’s voice was hushed, scared. “Who did that to the mirror-ball suit?” “Your little matey, Dennis! He tore it up to tie you up! It’s in pieces now!” Vince was nearly in tears. “You can wear it that way and say it’s your new look,” Howard pointed out consolingly. “Not a bad idea actually,” Vince admitted reluctantly. “But that’s not the point, Howard!” he cried. “Look, Vince, would you just untie me, so we can talk!” “No way! You can stay that way, you dirty manwhore. I’m leaving. I’m getting me own room, elsewheres.” Vince hefted a giant trunk – Howard realized now that he’d been packing – towards the door, but soon gave up. “Oi! I’ll send for my stuff later.” “Vince… where are you going?” Howard pleaded. “Away from you!” After Vince had left, Howard waited, the blazing ache in his back and arms and shoulders and arse almost overpowering any ability to feel the loss of Vince – of their friendship or any hope of a relationship. He hoped it would also overpower his humiliation at being discovered by Naboo and Bollo when he called for their help. Which he would have to do soon, because he wouldn’t be able to take it much longer. And then, after they’d laughed at him (he figured for about an hour, depending on how much weed they’d had), he’d be fired. Out on the streets, days before Christmas. A street-random. It wasn’t nearly as bad he’d thought losing his virginity would be.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #howard moon #dennis the head shaman #howard moon/dennis #howard moon/dennis the head shaman

[incorrect-ego-quotes]

It's December 1st. Whose screaming Christmas carols, whose baking Christmas treats, whose decorating, who doesn't care, whose putting up mistletoe everywhere, whose shopping for presents every second, who forgot presents, who purposely didn't get presents and whose constantly asking for a puppy? (Sorry this so long, I just kept getting ideas!)

IM SORRY THIS IS DAYS LATE BUT I L O V E CHRISTMAS I HAVE TO DO THIS ONE. ALSO FORGIVE ME THIS IS /LONG AS FUCK/--the ipliersthe jim twins are as excited as, well, a kid on christmas morning. wearing santa hats, candy canes in their mouths, they even decorated their mic in red and green ribbon. the two practically shrieking out christmas songs -- much to everyone's annoyance "CHESTNUTS ROASTING ON AN OPEN FIRE--""jesus christ," dark snaps, "can you two knock it off?! it's only the first--""WOULD YOU LIKE A MORE MODERN SONG OF JOY." jim twin #1 asks, holding up a worn book of christmas carols -- the same one they've had since they were 4. passed on from dear old Mother Jim."no! this season is so grossly happy and joyful -- leave me to work--""I, DONT WANT A LOT FOR CHRISTMAS." jim twin #2 starts off as dark covers his ears. why did they have to be the loudest egos? why cant they see how shitty of a holiday christmas is?!"THERE IS JUST ONE THING I NEED, DONT CARE ABOUT--"dark gets an idea and smirks. knowing one way he can get them to leave him alone. "santa isn't real."the two twins share an offended and angry look, mouths open, did he just?!"christmas was a pagan festival of gifts before being appropriated by romans based on the Odin myth."the jim twins cringe, holding their dear caroling book closer -- he...he has to be lying!"who is the god of war and death."the jim twins turn away offended as all hell. jim twin #1 throwing a candy cane in dark's face and hissing. "SHUN THE NONBELIEVER, JIM.""SHUN."they then run off to go do whatever christmas activity next -- dark hoping they won't take this caroling /publicly/.******ed edgar and silver shepherd are cooking in the kitchen. ed is a surprisingly good cook -- especially around the holidays. just ask anyone who's been to his thanksgiving or christmas dinners. silver only tagged along because he was tired of dark being a joy sucker out of the season."now," ed chuckles, "we're gon' need about a store's worth of flour.""...what?! wh--ed, why do we need a store's worth.""uh, /excuse you, youngin'/," ed points at his pink and white apron. almost annoyed, "this apron calls me chef in charge 'round here. you follow, don't question.""ed. first of all, that's wilford's apron. second of all, we probably only need one bag at most for gingerbread cookies. why would we need a--""listen. i'm only making one gingerbread man fo' everybody 'round here -- i take home the rest.""how...much exactly is the rest?""350."silver shepherd sighs, taking off his mask and gloves. ed still smiling away as if his idea was normal. well, no arguing with a stubborn man like ed. he grabs his car keys from the table as ed follows him, "your limit is 50 dollars for the ingredients." he mumbles. "i knew you'd come 'round!" ed wraps an arm around silver, "we're gon' have so much fun with these lil old cookies! i even have a homemade sugar icing recipe! i'll even make a lil cape fo' yours!" he silently doubted it but hey, its a hell of a lot better than spending his free time with an angry and annoyed dark. ******bim tugged the host along, holding onto the sleeve of his trenchcoat gently as he lead him into the meeting room. the tall green christmas tree standing proudly in the corner. decorations of red and green and gold littered the meeting room's table. the smell of pine hits the host before anything -- taking him back to his own cabin in the woods long ago. the trees covering him away from the world as he...the host shook his head. he hated those memories. he hated those dark times. he hated it all."wilford put us in charge of the tree this year," bim smiled to himself, "i know its a challenge with erm...""i'm blind?""yeah, that." bim sighs, grabbing the box of lights and unrolling them gently, handing the ball to the host, who held it with a strange look on his face."w-what's poking me?""lights, silly!" bim giggles. the sound making the host blush and laugh along. any time bim was happy, he was happy. "now, i'm gonna loop around the tree. you just follow along, yeah? tell me if ya get dizzy and we can slow down.""the host nods, holding the bundle of lights close to his chest. ready for the decorations -- reminding him of his most favorite time of year."bim shakes his head and laughs, "you can't ever turn that off, can you?""the host cannot."the two start off steady and slow. the host following bim's footsteps. he could hear the jim twins playing 'i'll be home for christmas' in the next room over -- their office space. "those two can never get tired of christmas, i swear.""the host reminds bim that it's worse for him since his own office is right next door to the twins."bim giggles, "well, hope ya like christmas as much as them." it's when bim giggles does the host wish he had his sight back. what'd he give to see his smile (although, according to dark, it looks like his -- he doubt it. bim was handsome, charming, while his smile held back pain he swallowed down.)in those small moments of thinking and wishing, the host stays in place. the lights tangling as bim gets wrapped up with the host, groaning as the tree falls gently against them. the two tied chest to chest, bim's hands resting on the host's hips. "um..." bim laughs nervously, blushing away, "hostie, bud, we're tangled.""i...is that you against me?""yeah...i'll -- i'll get us out!!"the music drowns out bim's struggles as he pulls at the lights. the host's thoughts screaming at him -- tell him!! now's your chance!! confess!!"i love...i love--""hmm?" bim perks up, "sorry, wasn't listening, what do you love?""t...this song!! i, i love it, it's my favorite christmas song."he stops and hears bim laugh again, humming along, "its a good song."the host goes along with the lie, singing along as bim rests his head on the host's shoulder to get around to the lights behind him. "if only in my dreams."yeah, only in his dreams -- bim had matthias, what did he have? nothing but his dreams of what could be with the two of them. at least, for a moment, he had the courage to change that. maybe that's what he'll ask for this year; courage. ******dark crossed his arms and continued to work in his office. he could smell cookies baking, he could hear christmas songs being sung, and he could see holly being hung in the halls. how stupid -- the other egos should be /working!/ do they think they can take over mark's channel with all this fooling around?! he slams the laptop he'd been using shut and stares out his window. even the fuckin' /city/ was covered in red and green, fake reindeer and sleighs all around, snowmen (who bought fake snow to LA?!) waving in the cold breeze. he face palms himself. a headache coming on. he hated winter, he hated christmas, he hated everything about the holidays.it...brought back memories he didn't want to dwell on. memories of christmas morning...in a mansion of some sort. fuzzy memories of a woman, a man, and that damned mark -- all enjoying...hot chocolate with marshmallows. opening gifts like.../a family/."heeeeey darkidoo," wilford bursts into his office. the jim twins still throwing (sharpened to a point) candy canes at dark's door. "what do you want, wil?""geez," he shuts the door, dark's back turned towards him, "what's up with the jims? ya do something?""other than not engaging them in their childish behavior -- not, i did nothing." he sighs, "did you finish the weekly schedule for this month's programming on Markiplier TV?""gimmie another day--""damnit, wil! stop -- just stop! stop with this foolish nonsense, this holly jolly bullshit! i hate this season and i hate the way it makes everyone--" he stops as he hears wilford set down something on his desk and wrap an arm behind him. hugging him. "dark," he sighs, "just...take it easy, okay? it's december -- at least be happy the year's almost over, and be happy you still got us. hell, be happy some egos are working like doc and google." he smiles, "just...be happy we're all still here to celebrate the season. and nobody's gone."there's silence as dark hangs his head low. "i'll leave you alone for a while. i gotta confiscate the candy canes from the jims. i'll see you at home, dark."he squeezes around dark once more and moves to leave, stopping before he opens the door, "oh! i...i found that while looking for the christmas tree in the storage back home. i...i have a feeling it's yours. broke it in for ya!" he laughs as he leaves. dark turns around to see a black mug with a cursive 'D' on it. an intense emotion of...nostalgia rushing over him despite not remembering the mug. he stares out the window again as he holds the hot mug to him. he looks down to see hot chocolate and marshmallows. he smiles and sips the hot drink. this season isn't so bad after all with people like wilford in his life.--the septiceyesthis...was going to be the best surprise, marvin thought to himself. thanks to a new trick he'd learned -- he successfully figured out how to move the mistletoe to wherever he wanted, as if he had hung them everywhere. he was sure it'd be a laugh to see everyone's reactions. making anti kiss the pizza delivery guy, making dr. schneeplestein kiss whatever old patient he was seeing, maybe making robbie kiss his reflection. it'd be hilarious nonetheless. marvin, the marvelous magician, shall wow and dazzle his fellow egos!!he hid behind the couch in the lobby of their headquarters, where they hold their meetings, and waited.and waitedand waited/and waited/.growing tired as nobody walked by, had they found out about his plan? did nobody just need to come this way?he saw jackieboy man walk by and perked up, using his wand to move the mistletoe closer under him, rushing out the door to call him back as he left."j-jackie!! hey...oh shit," he looked up as he noticed he was directly under the mistletoe.jackieboy raised an eyebrow before looking up. "aha, you want to meet me here?" he smirks, catching marvin's chin in his fingers, flipping down his mask and red hoodie, soft green hair cascading down his face. a blush crossing marvin's cheek."just us two? alone here, the christmas decorations and lights lighting up your face so softly...""um, i mean--""here? under..." jackieboy looks up. suggestive. marvin not knowing if it was humanly possible to blush anymore."jackie...""THE MISTLEFOE?!""wha--" he ducked as jackieboy tackled him, wrestling him to the floor as chase and anti walked by. anti shouting as chase winced."get the magic nerd!! get the magic nerd!!" anti shouts"THE HELL IS A MISTLEFOE?!" marvin yells as he taps out with his wand from jackieboy man's headlock. ripping away his cat mask."pssh, the mistlefoe!! put two people under that," jackieboy points to the mistletoe, "and have 'em duke it out, fight and stuff. you dont know about the best winter tradition?""erm...its actually meant for the two to--" chase is cut off as marvin uses his wand to seal his lips shut, chase giving him the middle finger and pointing to his lips.marvin used his magic to burn the magic mistletoe attached to the doorframe. cringing as jackieboy man helped him up. helping him walk to dr. schneep's office"better luck next year, magic boy!!""....i hate working here," marvin coughs as he waits for the doctor. this, was going to be a very long winter. ******the doctor clocks out early, waving goodbye to the other egos....at 10 am, after working for 45 minutes."dude, ya can't just up and leave!! we need help with decorating!! and baking the cookies!!" jackieman boy yells as chase nearly stumbles carrying in the tree. "i must!!" the doctor yells, "chase, you are in charge until i get back at...well, just know you're all working late tonight!"chase gives a thumbs up, pointing at anti as he walks by, already directing them all.the drive to the mall isn't too long, he runs towards the opening, still in his doctor uniform. this time of year was perfect for his giving heart. already having a mile long list of gift ideas for every one of the egos in his pocket, his credit card with his savings from all his paychecks since last year loaded onto it -- no price limit for anyone!! and he finally healed from his injuries after black friday and cyber monday!! (hey, those internet shoppers are no joke)he practically skips into the mall with glee at the decorations. giant christmas gift boxes, fake snow, even a 'winter wonderland' with a fake santa -- wait...was that his patient bobby dressed up? bobby with the bad smoking habit?"i hope he cleaned up for the kiddies," schneep says to himself as he rushes into the first store -- a new camera for chase on the top of his list!!he gets everyone everything -- new knife collection for anti!! a new tux for marvin!! every single marvel movie for jackieboy man!! stuffed animals and candy for robbie!! a top hat for dapper jack!!and that's just for the first day of december, he plans to do this all until christmas eve, already having different wrapping for each ego's gift. until he sees it. his own personal wish. the 35 book set of medical mysteries -- all in order, and all for him.until another hand touches the set too. dr. iplier staring at him from the other side of the shelf. downright glaring. "henrik.""edward."the two stare back in spite -- no, schneep /needed this/. he worked too damn long this year to be bested by some quack doctor ego."aha," schneep laughs, obviously fake, "what are you doing here?""shopping for christmas. i was just looking at this book set i wanted for myself."fuck. schneep tugs on the set. dr. iplier's hand not going away. "oh, really?" he smiles coldly, "so. was. i."dr. iplier tugs, schneep tugs, the two turning into a tug of war before schneep pulls him against the wooden shelf in the bookstore, yelling as they fight it out. the early morning shoppers crowding around them, recording as schneep hold dr. iplier in a headlock. "THOSE BOOKS ARE MINE, YOU PRICK.""OVER MY DEAD BODY, QUACK.""OH THAT CAN BE ARRANGED, BITCH.""TRY ME, YOU ASSHOLE."schneep pulls out the scalpel he keeps in his pocket. the two fighting more, knocking displays over and taking it outside to the winter wonderland exhibit. children running and screaming as they crash into santa's sleigh. finally -- they're broken apart by santa (bobby). schneep grabbing his items from the bookstore and rushing out the mall. not wanting to deal with police or security. wiping away tears as he drives back. thankfully -- good old smoking santa (bobby), his faithful patient, was head of security at the mall. "its christmas," he later told schneep on the phone (and dr. iplier), "just...stay outta the mall for a good two days and i'll pretend not a single thing happened"schneep wiped away tears as he layer learned -- hey, the bookstore had tons of copies of the book set they were fighting over, that was just a display!he, however blushes as chase, anti, and robbie crowd around chase's phone. the video from his fight going viral online. "doc!! you're trending under #ThoseBooksAreMine!! that's awesome as hell, you'll be a meme!!" chase praises. schneep shakes his head. nursing the black eye he has. he knows it'll be worth it when he sees their laughing and happy faces on christmas day.because he knows damn well, marvin would forget presents and anti would die before he got presents for anyone else.******"a puppy!!" chase smiles as he walks into their ego headquarters with anti. heavy coats and scarves on. a smaller dog being walked by a young boy trotting on. "ew." anti drinks the starbucks chase bought him, "dogs are gross--"chase gasps, "i...am offended on behalf of all dogs, dude!!" "what? its a dirty animal that tracks mud and barely listens.""sure you're not describing yourself, dude?" chase jokes as anti rolls his eyes. "how could you want a little disgusting creature like that?""they're cute, they're playful, they cuddle up to ya when its cold, they bark!!" chase goes on and on, sitting down in the meeting room as they wait for the others, "they keep ya company, they nip at ya when they're hungry, they...they love you unconditionally...they...won't be taken away from ya," he stops, sniffling. tears forming in his eyes, memories of christmases long gone hitting him. seeing his son and daughter excitedly wake up him and stacey to open gifts. going ice skating. baking cookies.shit."...chase?"chase shakes his head and wipes a tear, "sorry, bro. i...i'm just caught up in my feelings. this time of year and, missing my kids."anti looks down into his coffee cup. damn, chase has been through a lot. he's the only ego who keeps it together -- not like him who just...glitches out at emotions. "...it's fine." anti grumbles under his scarf, "i'm sure this christmas will be...okay.""really?" "...yeah, really. even with that stacey keeping the kids, this christmas will be worthwhile. i mean, we got...decorating and shit to do today. that'll take your mind off it, right?""y-yeah, and the kids are suppose to call after school...and, and stacey's letting me come to their christmas play!! you're right, for once, anti!!" chase smiles and hugs him, anti awkwardly patting back. "okay...hug's been too long, don't push it chase.""sorry."...everyone had called chase a dumbass to give a copy of his apartment keys to anti. everyone had doubted anti would show any spirit in the season. everyone had doubted chase would get anything he really wanted for christmas, even schneeplestein.anti snuck into chase's apartment that christmas eve. chase down for the night in his bedroom. a small 4 foot christmas tree decorated in lights and ordainments in the corner of his living room. a letter from his kids (that anti skimmed through) on the table. "let's prove all those dicks back at hq wrong," he whispers to the bundle in his arms. setting it under the tree. it'd been absolute hell to get anyone to allow him to take home chase's gift. grunting as he sat on the couch and nodded off into sleep. the dalmatian puppy slept too, a red collar around it's neck, tail wagging in its sleep as it was thankful for anti for getting him out of the cold shelter. excited to meet his new master in the cold christmas morning.

[ugh-princxss]

Holistic Technique to Cancer

The alternative strategy to cancer is to improve a person's power as well as body immune system, to embrace an alkaline (as well as not acidic) diet plan, increase our intake of nourishment via food and supplements, to substantially minimize anxiety and negative thoughts and also negative attitude (due to the fact that this depletes power and harms the immune system), to make sure cells have ample oxygen (through deep breathing as well as hydration), to cut out polished sugars and also starches or even natural sugar, damaging fats as well as refined and convenience food from the diet regimen as well as to considerably reduce usage of meat and milk items. This will substantially minimize your usage of sugar- which feeds cancer cells. Cancer cells eat a low oxygen, acidic body/ph degree and also on sugar (specifically refined sugar as well as starches). So, the all natural approach is to avoid or greatly lower sugar consumption, make the body/ph degree alkaline and also improve the body's oxygen degree. Consume water with cooking soda as well as fresh lemon to earn your body extra alkaline. Participate in deep breathing and also drink a lot of pure filteringed system or sparkling water - at the very least 10, 8 ounce glasses per day. Meditate as well as enter into nature commonly to improve your oxygen level.Use an ozone maker to improve the oxygen in your water. Eat an alkaline diet plan (largely whole fresh organic as well as raw vegetables with a lot of eco-friendly, leafy veggies) and make use of ionic foot baths to earn your pH level more alkaline. The all natural strategy also supports to considerably reduce direct exposure to contaminants airborne, food as well as water, and that we use natural products as well as filter our alcohol consumption water. Contaminants harm the immune system as well as compromise its capability to prevent cancer. Iodine deficiency may arise from poisoning as well as iodine helps to de-toxify the body. So, check into iodine supplements. Likewise, check into the consumption of seaweed as well as kelp that contain iodine. De-toxify your body with the high nutrient diet below and also a great deal of filtered water with fresh lemon as well as lime along with milk thistle and dandelion supplements, clinatro as well as liver, kidney as well as colon organic clean supplements as well as water with apple cider vinegar. For detoxing, eat mostly eco-friendly leafy vegetables such as fresh natural spinach, kale and also collard greens together with fresh, chlorella, avocado, cilantro as well as parsley (beverage a tea that is soaked in a lot of clantro and parsely). Consume warm water with Himalayan salt and also lemon and take colloidal trace element supplements. Himalayan salt is totally mineralized. Minerals assist clean the cells of saved contaminants. Additionally, beverage water with a couple of tsps of bentonite clay or diotomaceous planet for de-toxification. Take activated coal supplements and also colloidal trace minerals. The holistic technique is planned to be utilized in combination with traditional medication and also not in lieu of traditional medication. With respect to any kind of disease and also its therapy, speak with a doctor. Holistic-oriented research study shows that toxins in the air, food and also water and in various other products we consume or put on our bodies as well as acidic foods harm the body' cells and also body immune system and various other bodily systems as well as permit cancer cells to multiply. It is likewise clear from the holistic research study that inadequate diet plan and nutrition as well as absence of workout damage the immune system as well. Tension as well as negativity drain pipes a person's energy and harm his/her body immune system. All this results in an ill body that could not fight the spreading of cancer cells in it. The holistic approach assists you accomplish and keep equilibrium, internal peace, comfort as well as high vibrations. The holistic technique includes everyday meditation and also petition, revealing gratitude, positive affirmations, deep breathing methods, workout extending, nutrition and astral body healing through Reiki and other kinds of power healing. The all natural technique needs you to obtain a lot of rest and rest. All this will certainly help you relax deeply and also raise your resonances at the same time- this is the state needed for healing. Quit smoking cigarettes. Quit alcohol consumption alcohol. To keep your immune system solid, remain warm and also drink cozy as well as hot water and also not cold water. Work with your oral experts to make sure there are no infections in your periodontals and teeth. If there are any kind of infections, treat them. These kinds of infections can drain your power and immune system. All-natural prescription antibiotics consist of huge doses of vitamin C, oregano oil, clove oil as well as colloidal silver Super foods such as, chlorella, spirulina, wheatgrass, ginger, garlic and also onion, in addition to reishi, shiataki, miatake, chaga, corpyceps and also other mushrooms, turmeic, aloe vera, kelp, nori, kombu as well as cannabis oil will all help increase the immune system to damage cancer cells. They can be consumed fresh or taken as supplements.The all natural strategy to cancer is to boost the immune system as well as power level so the body can fight cancer cells naturally. Holistic research shows the advantages of the complying with to desroy cancer cells: turmeric (or curcumin), soursop, pau' d arco, bitter melon, dandelion root, goji berries, acai berries, blueberries, noni, dragonfruit, laetrile (B 17, apricot kernels), essiac tea, water and aluminum free baking soda, paw paw, hydrazine sulfate, haelan, enzyme therapy, pomegranate, black cumin seeds, aloe vera, cayenne pepper, olive leaft remove, Oriental mushroom supplements, mistle toe extract as well as cbd vape juice with respect to cancer along with the topical use of frankincense, clove as well as oregano important oils (they have excellent anti inflammatory and also anti-oxidant residential or commercial properties) as well as cannabis oil in addition to intravenous high dosage Vitamin C. Holistic study likewise suggests the advantages of bromelain, coconut, quercetin, papya leaf remove, thunder god vine (bouquet gong teng) and grape seed essence and grapefruit as well as grapefruit seed extract to destroy cancer cells. Bromelain is a natural enzyme that is derived from pineapple and also is sold as a supplement. Some recommend high frequency generators and also oxygen and also ozone treatment.