#crow hunter badge

[paranormal-potatoes]

EARLY BIRTHDAY PRESENT FELLAS

#i also desperately want the saw hunter badge and crow hunter badge but they didn't sell those anymore 🥲 #BUT FUCK YEAH OLD HUNTER BADGE #potato talks #potato plays bloodborne #well. not really. but its related

[katyahina]

Burial Blade and Blade of Mercy are made out of meteorite, but WHY? Inspiration and context behind them (+ the source of snake infestation)

This one is a reply on ask from @bobbyzombiegg that I decided to put here because I really keep forgetting to use THIS blog for lore and not my personal/shitposts one...

I know, and this is such a good observation! I am glad that you've noticed what else connects Burial Blade and Blade of Mercy! Even better - whereas Burial Blade severs the ties of a person with the Dream, Blade of Mercy, in a way, helps to create it!

The interesting thing about these blades is that, of course, they must have been created before the conception of the Hunter's Dream! It makes it oddly coincidental that both weapons are useful for the cycle of Dream and Hunt, doesn't it? Blade of Mercy is at least believed to contribute to this as of now; the more we hunt the more messengers get added in the Hunter's Dream, so, perhaps, Blade of Mercy is not necessary! My personal interpretation of this is as Paleblood Hunter, our character has the privilege otherwise special for these weapons! Regardless of which weapon they use, they can send those they killed to be messengers (or add them in the cycle of the hunt, like how Henryk or Yamamura will become summonable after we kill them)!

Still, it starts to look like too much was planned ahead? Blade of Mercy said to be made in an old workshop would imply Old Hunters, likely created by Gehrman himself, from the same material as his own weapon! But I think the answer here is that Messengers, something akin to Hunter's Dream and similar weapons existed since Pthumerian times!

Starting with the weapons observation here! Pthumerian Descendant, interestingly, displays the similar style of transforming their blade into two same as how Blade of Mercy does it! Meanwhile, Gehrman's blade is fashioned similarly to Mergo's Wet Nurse's blades! In isolation, I would not think this means anything.. but crows, according to Hunters of Hunters lore, ARE connected with taking the souls and passing them into Dream realm, which is also Nightmare realm!

(Link to my other post explaining why Vilebloods descend from Pthumerians ( x ) in case someone who doesn't know already finds this post)

Wet Nurse herself is very bird-like (crow-like, specifically), and very coincidentally, Baneful Chanters pray to those who "have no blood" as those who'd have enough power to curse the hunters (which is to ensure they go in the Nightmare realm). Wet Nurse not only coincidentally fuels at least one section of Nightmare by nurturing Mergo, the center of it, but also, Nightmare realm has Winter Lanterns whose heads are made of Messengers!

So we have: Wet Nurse already being quite Pthumerian with her accessories and fighting style, Pthumerians and their descendants (down to Cainhurst!) honoring symbolism of crows, Yharnam (a city named after Queen Yharnam, after all) having depiction of BIRD-like Messenger in its oldest part, superstition about crows taking souls of the murdered in Hunter's Dream, people praying to "bloodless ones" to take the souls into Nightmare instead + evidence of it happening with Winter Lanterns.. In my opinion it is fair to assume that the weapons Gehrman created had a pre-existing inspiration and their similarity to pre-existing Pthumerian weapons is not coincidental!

Alright, first - I want a Bloodborne prequel where I could make a Pthumerian Paleblood Hunter. Second, as you can see, concept of the Messengers, the "Hunter" symbol/rune (depiction of the hanged man of course), and even the MOONLIGHT Sword were a thing since Pthumerian times! (It is safe to assume Ludwig found this sword somewhere in the Dungeons, as obtaining Radiant Sword Hunter badge is what lets you buy Tomb Prospector set!)

^ The note already mentioning Laurence associating with Moon Presence, THE Great One of the Hunt and the Dream, is found in Byrgenwerth already! Basically? Without maybe predicting that he would be trapped in the Hunter's Dream one day, Gehrman already knew what he was doing with the weapons.

Conclusion: there was the clear idea in mind! Blade of Mercy, intended to kill people from the start, immortalises the hunters as the HUNTERS and brings them in "Heaven" of Moon Presence, before they turned into beasts, whereas Burial Blade, initially intended for hunting everyone that was no longer human (for example, poor Fish People), ensures they, on the contrary, never go to "Heaven". What later serves to sever a Hunter from the Hunter's Dream initially intended to sever non-humans from it, in a way sentensing them to "Hell". :) Gehrman is a fun person.

+ Also some bonus observations regarding the topic of Yharnamites still continuing Pthumerian traditions, likely brought back because of Byrgenwerth, and then Healing Church, diving into dungeons:

(Context for those that didn't play Bloodborne because Sony hates you and you in particular: both this trap in the dungeons and this bath in Yahar'gul warp you in another area, connected by the circle of candles)

Forbidden Woods, surrounding Byrgenwerth, are full of formations that resemble the Tonsil Stone very much! However, when you examine the woods, you will see that sometimes there are body parts near these "heads"! This could be another case of petrification upon strong arcane impact, similarly to petrified body of Rom near Ebrietas, to petrified bodies of other Kin in Upper Cathedrals covered by fabric, bodies of victims in Yahar'gul, all that!

Were they people living in the woods that started to turn into Kin (like Garden of Eyes that are also found in Byrgenwerth) but didn't live until petrification, or were they baby Great Ones born only to instantly die? I am not sure. Both can work.

But, snakes are an interesting clue here. Besides Forbidden Woods, they are only also found in Hintertombs - a dumping ground for corpses of Pthumeru Ihyll that became venomous! Forgotten Madman, who is a former Choir member as he uses A Call Beyond, is found in these dungeons + getting Cosmic Watcher Badge is what lets you buy Poisonous Knife. Doesn't it look strange for Choir members to pick so much interest in this? Snake infestation might be a strange result of burying cosmic Kin in the ground, a corruption of what would normally be a process of multiple parasites/phantasms settling in a corpse of a cosmic being, OR someone affiliated with one! We do have precedents:

Cosmic creatures, "downgraded" and "filthied", becoming something eartly instead, such as snakes! One of them was able to raise human children (Madaras twins), so sure they are unusual!

So, what I am trying to say is, it is possible that Tonsil Stone is a result of burial of a dead (and rapidly petrifying) cosmic Kin, one that was yet not rotted like what we see in Forbidden Woods! Maybe even more directly so, it is a petrified skull of a cosmic Kin, most likely of Amygdala's kind, and a "meteorite" in the sense of them coming from space! So, creating weapons both of which are connected with burial ritual from the buried Kin is appropriate! This or similar technology maybe also was discovered by Pthumerians long ago, so examining Hintertombs was a great help with figuring what material to use for Burial Blade and Blade of Mercy!

^ These disturbing dead cosmic Kin fetuses are found in Byrgenwerth in two forms: one depicts a petrified corpse, something we already knows happens with Kin, such as Rom and eldrich creatures in Upper Cathedral. Another is dead, rotting, showing horns, and has multiple tiny skulls on its head! The latter one gets my point about corpses of Kin, or maybe anyone touched by Kin, sprouting smaller life forms from within. People infected by snake virus sprout several snakes from their heads, rather than turning into a snake or something!

It is entirely possible that Byrgenwerth used to bury creatures like this in the grounds around the college, and that those gigantic graves in Forbidden Woods were for much larger Great Ones: "Hunt the Great Ones. Hunt the Great Ones." note is found in Byrgenwerth as well! They might have been able to resist the full rotting that results into snakes due to their size and development, hence their graves still show sluggish phantasms. Burying other ones, on the other hand, was a big mistake. Or, should I say.... a GRAVE mista- *gets sniped*

_________________________________

These are my thoughts on the topic! You kinda got two theories at the price of one here, but snake infestation was somewhat relevant in the context of burial and my idea of what IS this "meteorite"! Thank you so much for prompting me to tie this theory together at last!!

#bloodborne #bloodborne theory #gehrman the first hunter #pthumerians #long post #not art #text post #bloodborne reference #screenshots #damn two years later I've found a proper answer on snake infestation situation... #too bad that an ex mutual will never see it now they sent me an ask about it and back then my answer was unsatisfying #why I figure this obvious shit so late..... sigh

[fantomette22]

This morning, while i was daydreaming in the cold while snow falls outside an idea came to me concerning Bloody Crow.

What about an AU where Bloody Crow and Eileen don’t freaking loose it and don’t try to kill each other !!!

The hunter gives him the summon or lead him directly to Cainhurst while explaining what they discovered in the castle 👀 This lead him reconnecting with his roots and meeting Annalise once again after a lot of time.

Along the way, the hunter gave to Crow a cainhurst badge as well as a certain ring 💍

Anyway Crow managed to break the mask curse Annalise was on. They gonna rebuilt Cainhurst and live happy ever after!

The end.

Don’t ask me what came to my mind ok?! I needed to do something about them well there it is

Have a big WIP 👀 (here’s the final version)

It’s literally 1am you understand i can’t finish it now but i’m really proud of it so far!

All of this really started from my imagination and literally those lil pencil sketches this morning…

You can thanks my friend for making me like the character a lot now. And the ship too

#bloodborne #bloodborne au #bloody crow of cainhurst #crownalise #queen annalise #annalise queen of the vilebloods #eileen the crow #paleblood hunter #the good hunter #lucen venator #miss heraldofcrow this is your fault too thank you! don’t die because it overwhelms you please xD #my art #fantomette22art #annalise x bloody crow

[bobbyzombiegg]

Gilbert is still your boi yeah? <3

2. Did you always like this character?

12. If you could write effortlessly and as much as you wanted, what story (s) would you write for this character?

Indubitably, Gilbert is still my boi.

I did always like him. He's the only friendly face in central yharnam for a long time, up until you meet Gascoigne's daughter. Plus, I always thought his voice was cool. Daniel Fine did a fine job there.

2. I've always had a headcanon that he was became a powderkeg in order to pay for his treatment due to the flamesprayer, placement of the Oto badge and Beastial hunter in the nightmare, along with what he turns into. I'd like to write a story during that time. Maybe he was involved with the burning of old yharnam, since that was the most recent point that he could've encountered ashen blood, and he does sound kinda young to me. I'm definitely gonna write that someday, I just need to get some practice in first, and work on other ideas I have.

Thanks for the ask Crow!

#bloodborne #gilbert bloodborne #gilbert the outsider #asks #ah #gilbert my beloved #thank you so much for the ask!

[heraldofcrow]

Favorite Bloodborne Headcanons: Part One

Some of these are my own completely self-indulgent ideas and some are popular HCs I’ve heard from others in the BB fandom, especially here on Tumblr recently. Some are based off of canon and others are purely just for fun. I’m making this list for writing reasons :)

—

1. The Good Hunter loved to encourage the Doll’s independence and individuality as a living being within the dream. He would offer to give her a name and gave her gifts that could possibly help her discover new ideas and interests. They bonded through this, in a sort of classic human/sentient A.I. kind of way. 

2. Willem founded Byrgenwerth alongside Caryll, a woman from Hemwick that had shared his fascination with the unseen world and the labyrinth below Yharnam. 

3. Gehrman and Maria shared a father-daughter type of bond and Gehrman only crafted the Doll after Maria’s death in honor of her memory. However, he wasn’t satisfied and asked Laurence to help him beckon the Moon in an attempt to resurrect the real Maria. Yet this wish was deliberately contorted by the Moon when it trapped Gehrman in the Hunter’s Dream and brought the doll to life instead, thereby creating a “surrogate” for him. Gehrman was torn up with guilt over this and ignored the Doll out of shame.

4. Old Hunter Henriett was a descendent of Simple Gratia and inherited her profound strength. 

5. Henryk was the father of Viola and father-in-law to Gascoine. 

6. Iosefka and Fausefka were twin sisters from Cainhurst that fled to Yharnam after the Vileblood genocide. They reacted to this violence in opposite ways, with Iosefka dedicating her life to helping others in peace and Fausefka becoming obsessed with the idea of “fixing” humanity and their horrific flaws via ascension and scientific experimentation. 

7. Djura and Eileen were comrades and had both lived far longer than what could be considered natural. Their camaraderie was founded in shared loneliness due to their chosen professions. 

8. Ludwig and Lady Maria were good friends and bonded over their similar moral values in combat. They were famously the two most chivalrous hunters in Yharnam before everything fell apart. 

9. The Bloody Crow of Cainhurst was a relative of Lady Maria and an apprentice to Eileen. He went mad and never succeeded her, which is why Eileen still remains in her work at such an old age and why she’s initially hesitant to pass the mantle to the Good Hunter. It’s only after the Bloody Crow’s death that Eileen feels secure enough to allow herself to pass on her badge to a younger hunter. 

10. Arianna was the illegitimate half-sister of Queen Annalise and was cast out by her family for that very reason. She made her living giving away her blood on the streets to commoners, hence why they called her a lady of the evening. Women who sold their blood without any connection to the Healing Church were considered heretics in Yharnam. 

11. Yurie was called the Last Scholar because she returned to Byrgenwerth to seek Willem’s tutelage despite having been a member of the Choir for quite some time. When she found Willem sitting rather lifelessly, she decided to stay at the school and defend it, waiting for Willem to one day return to his former state.

12. The first Hunter of Hunters wove their crowfeather garb from the wings of slaughtered Carrion Crows that they had killed and each successor did the same as a rite of passage. 

13. Old Yharnam could have been saved if many of the old Hunters hadn’t been  lost to bloodlust and taken to the nightmare, or slaughtered by the Bloody Crow of Cainhurst during that red-moon night. 

14. Micolash and Rom were Master Willem’s notoriously obsessive and intelligent children. They left Byrgenwerth when Laurence did and went on to form the Choir and the School of Mensis, sharing secrets like the Auger of Ebrietas and the Call Beyond. Rom was the head of the Choir and formed a bond with Ebrietas. However, everything eventually got out of control when Rom ascended and Micolash went insane trying to catch up to his sister. His methods turned cruel and he ended up trapping himself in a nightmare along with his students. All the while, unknown to him, Rom helped to conceal his shenanigans from another plane of consciousness. However, the alliance between the Choir and the School was broken, with their common members becoming enemies. 

15. The Choir was called so because they were originally sent by the church to sing to Ebrietas as a way to make contact. It was believed for a time that Great Ones responded to human voices that sounded somewhat as loud and powerful as their own. A vast multitude of people speaking or singing in unison captured this sense of divinity quite well, and the School of Mensis adopted the method to sing to the Amygdala later on as well. This is why chanting can be heard in the Unseen Village. 

16. Caryll was blind and only could read Braille (or whatever Yharnam’s equivalent would be), which is why she was more perceptive to divine voices and what they “looked like” inside one’s mind. Willem was inspired by this, hence why he donned the eye-cap. 

17. Lady Maria had been training to be a Cainhurst Knight before she joined the hunters. 

18. Logarius was originally the king’s executioner at Cainhurst, but betrayed his people and led the aptly-named Executioners against them later on. 

19. The Bloody Crow was the deadliest hunter alive in the waking world for many years and was the reason there were not more sane hunters roaming the streets by the time the Good Hunter arrived. 

20. Edgar regretted all of his life choices the moment he met Micolash.

21. Archibald was basically Micolash’s lieutenant when it came to carrying out physical experiments and rituals. He commanded the hunters of Yahargul, the Snatchers, and harnessed the Darkbeast as a weapon. He was a terrifying and ruthless individual. 

22. Queen Annalise gave birth to her child of blood during one of the first blood moons, but it was killed during the Executioner’s raid along with the king of Cainhurst. This is the reason her hair is white. 

23. The great tree in the Hunter’s Dream is an ash tree and therefore a reference to Yggdrasil, the mythological tree that linked the worlds of gods and men together. 

24. Annalise was not the first queen of Cainhurst, but she was the first undead queen. 

25. The Moon Presence often sang a very mournful song in the Hunter’s Dream (Moonlit Melody), but only the Doll and hunters with extremely high insight could hear it. 

26. The Hunter’s Bone belonged to Lady Maria, who had practiced quickening all of her life, even as a knight at Cainhurst, and later inspired many other old hunters to do the same. 

27. Alfred was a an extremely young child when Cainhurst was attacked and was orphaned by the event. Nevertheless, he was among the very few residents that managed to flee, and was abandoned to grow up under the Healing Church’s influence in Yharnam. He believed that he was “pure-blooded” with parents that had been murdered by Vilebloods and that Martyr Logarius saved the entire city of Yharnam from Cainhurst. 

28. Gehrman was directly responsible for the Orphan of Kos’ death and was punished for it by the Moon Presence. This is why he was trapped in the dream with a mock surrogate for his own daughter-like figure.

29.  The Bloody Crow was the one to set up Viola’s death in order to send Gascoigne and Henryk both mad. He did this to wear down and isolate Eileen so that she would finally face him after years of reluctance.

30. Brador was the one to kill Laurence. 

—End of Part One—

#notes #i just love these #some really only make sense in my head but that’s okay #big thanks to the genius blogs i follow for sharing the lore theories that inspired a bunch of these #you guys rock #bloodborne #bloodborne headcanons

[steeltraptrainer]

Djura told him to get the two new... visitors. Two hunters who are frankly too young for the job, if you asked him. But he wasn't asked, so he shut up. They're standing in front of the entrance when he gets there, kind of dazed, and a bit too translucent for his tastes. They better not be ghosts. He doesn't need a haunting in Old Yharnam. None of them do. They're too light, and it feels a bit like holding mist when he picks them up. He shivers. Best bring them to Djura as fast as possible, and then he'll go back to his corner of Old Yharnam and drink himself under the table with his moonshine.

---

When they blink to awareness, they're not where they were last. They're carefully propped up against the balustrade of Djura's tower, the hunter in question sitting nearby on a rickety stool.

"Ah. You're back." A single, world-weary eye glances at them.

"The Dream has a strong grasp on you two."

"Hnnng..." Ferro presses his eyes shut.

"This is new. Usually... usually time doesn't pass."

"How... How did we get here?" Giacomo still feels a little woozy, like he was disassociating for a while.

"Had someone bring you up here. This is a new development then?" Djura hums, closing his eye. Concerning. Very concerning.

"Where did you go?"

"Back home. We... we woke up in Yharnam, about... two weeks ago." Ferro rubs his hands over his face.

"And now we're... just forced here, night after night. Days we spend home, but nights we wake up here, and can go into the Dream." His hand unconsciously clenches over his shoulder.

"Wounds carry over. Healed, but they carried over." Silence reigns for a bit.

"You two are in quite the dilemma, aren't you?" Djura shakes his head.

"Dangerous one, too. Tell me, how much did you fight?"

"Ten nights. Haven't engaged with the Huntsmen yet. We... Where we are from, killing doesn't happen. Not really. It feels wrong. Repulsive." Giacomo shudders.

"When Gascoigne went off the rails, we knocked him out and got him into the Dream. More or less did the same for Henryk, when the Crow went to hunt him." There's a creak of leather as he pulls his legs in.

"... How old are you two?" Djura dreads the answer.

"I'm 17. He's 16." Ah. Well fuck.

"Don't know who in their right mind would have conscripted you. There are age limits. Too late to worry about it now. When you did your... disassociation trick, I could practically taste the Dream again. You are in deep trouble, you two. Trouble that will only get deeper as the time goes on. The night is long, and the hunt rarely leaves you." He crosses his arms.

"Rest here a bit. I can't give you much, but I will see that you can get some new weaponry. Maybe you will find a way out with it." He reaches into his coat, pulls out a necklace with a twisted, gnarled design on it, and hands it over.

"Here. The messengers will know what to do."

---

They stay with Djura for a bit. Long enough to get their bearings. Long enough that they eventually have the energy to continue. It's daunting. With the powder keg badge, the beasts of Old Yharnam should stay quiet, they know the smell. Neither of them trusts the tentative peace, and they hurry out of the town part regardless. There are people they could save. A Bloodstarved Beast near a chalice. They don't know. They truly, truly don't know. Eventually, they decide on the people. They weave through streets they don't quite understand, try to make people go to the chapel. Not to Iosefka. She is gone. Long gone. Too late. At one point they pass the window of Gilbert. A soft-spoken man with a fate he doesn't deserve. A flamethrower comes with them, and a reassurance that Gilbert... doesn't mind his fate overmuch. Even so, they tell him to go to Old Yharnam if he thinks that it becomes too much. They don't know if he will follow the advice.

---

"I see you had some visitors tonight, Powder Keg." Djura always startles so wonderfully, Eileen muses. A full-body twitch, reflexive usage of the Stake Driver. It's amusing her to no end. Their game, really. She, who tries to approach without alerting him, and he, who is always on the lookout for her. Two wrecks, older than they should be, still here. Two wrecks who died more often than any man had right to. They both still stink of the Moon.

"One day you will send me over yonder, and it will not be with your blades, Crow." Djura shakes his head.

"You jest. You know as well as I do that that will not happen. One day you will look around and notice your corpse bending over that monstrous gun of yours, and then continue your work as a specter." Eileen can't quite contain her giggle.

"So you say, Crow, so you say." Djura huffs.

"What did you think of them?" It's unnecessary to say who she means.

"They're young. Too young. And in danger. The Dream is doing something with them, and it leaves them as ghosts here. Barely corporeal. They didn't know about it. A new development, they said." That is news to her.

"Is that so? Dire news, that. It seems our youngest colleagues have the world out to get them. The night will be long indeed." Eileen settles in, practically perching on the architecture. This would be a longer talk.

---

They hem and haw about getting people to the chapel. Some follow. Some don't. They skirt around the big issue, around Gascoigne, around Henryk, around the next cleric beast. They would need help for it. But both men had just gotten their ass summarily kicked to hell and back, and would need recovery time. They don't get to decide this night. They can feel the onset of morning. They just about find a place to stash themselves before

T h e y

W a k e

U p

#rotomblr #pokemon irl #pokeblogging #dreams of hunting arc

[katyspersonal]

Is Crow of Cainhurst’s hair actually grey?

I pointed this out before, but a very easy detail to miss is that Crow’s “hair” probably isn’t his - it is decor element in the Guardian Helmet!

Unlike how Knight’s Wig (male) adjusts to player’s hair data (at least tries to), this “hair” remains silver in any case! The player from the screenshot is mine and has black hair! We might not know what Crow’s real hair is, maybe it coincidentally matches, but this is a decor.

I have a few of versions!

1) The set Crow’s helmet is from is known as guardian set, it is for the hunters that protect the Queen and bring her blood dregs from the hunt, and you do not find it but buy it after you got Cainhurst Badge from Annalise:

It is interesting that symbol of Cainhurst looks like... two animalistic creatures, apparently. Whatever the symbolism is, but maybe these creatures have silver fur, so guards add this decor in their helmets as sort of lucky charm to connect to this creature.

2) Maybe it is a scalp from someone a guard kills for the first time - be it some sort of really old person, or a beast with bright fur, or whatever? Like you can imagine some sort of ritual to get accepted as a guard that might include slaughtering someone whom you can take flock of silver hair from! At least it was initial tradition for it, now they maybe just imitate it?

3) Considering we get the Cainhurst Badge (and thus, can get guardian set) only after accepting Vilebloods oath (and thus, consuming Annalise’s blood), there is an implication that AFTER this our hair do turn silver, whatever initial color is! But since it is all a dream, the color doesn’t change permanently and effect is only present when hunter “dreams” about being a guardian of the Queen! You get the idea. Male Knight’s Wig is just tying your hair with a cool ribbon you found, no need to receive vampire blood! (Would have been interesting if they bothered to slide our hair data to silver when Corruption rune is equipped, though...)

So yeah, there might be LORE opportunities!

#bloodborne #crow of cainhurst #bloodborne theory #if you believe vampires do not age and that pretty bishie from portrait IS Crow like i do? yeah his hair might still be brown underneath xd #but yeah that'd be easy fix if they slid the color to white when we use Corruption rune #they already bothered to model unique look with Beast's Embrace and Milkweed so why not?

[zegoldensombrero]

♠️ Envelope Art ♠️

The “Crow Hunter Badge” {item from BLOODBORNE} for a recent order 🍻⚔️

SHOP

#illustration #drawing #ze golden sombrero #art #zegoldensombrero #draw #artist #artists on tumblr #ink #pen and ink #envelope art #fan art #bloodborne #dark souls #from software #soulsborne

[katyahina]

Points of interest about Micolash

● He uses A Call Beyond that is a secret weapon of the Choir! So either 1) He used to be in the Choir and left it to make School of Mensis or 2) Choir simply owes him this one, since A Call Beyond is stated to be product of failed Healing Church experiments.

● Research Hall as we know it from Hunter’s Nightmare predates Choir and School of Mensis + focuses on getting eyes through listening to the “ocean” rather than the blood, so Micolash could have been one of the doctors there!

(Using retranslations from LP’s document ( x ))

● He and Damian are the only known members of School of Mensis to have seven bars tall Mensis Cages! Other members have shorter four bars tall cages. Both versions miss a single bar precisely at the eyes level - which is an interesting symbolic parallel to how Choir has their eyes covered with blindfolds.

● “Other members” actually might not even be 'scholars' per say - they appear to be wearing rugs rather than uniforms so it is more likely they were brainwashed kidnapped victims, or prisoners.

● “Other members” are also possibly now Brain of Mensis. Lost in translation as Japanese implies the Brain appeared upon ascending in the Nightmare, not ‘retrieved’ from it. Plus it does look like many bodies melted together... :’) Not a biggie seeing how Winter Lanterns’ heads are also many bodies melted together (except messengers instead of people).

● Micolash consistently uses ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ - again, lost in translation but in original Japanese he doesn’t even switch to ‘I’ even upon dying. In retranslation document there is ‘I’ mentioned, but in actual Japanese there are ways to say a sentence without ‘I’ but keep it implied from the context, which... is what happens with his dialogue there! Might be royal we because of his vanity, or fracturing sense of self, or whatever. Either way, it is consistent!

● Everything connecting to Archibald is in School of Mensis! Darkbeast Paarl dropping his badge, both of his weapons found in Yahar’gul, the only NPCs using his weapons being Yahar’gul hunters... Basically, Micolash was affiliated with Archibald one way or another.

● He can not only run through the mirrors, but also puff into a smoke if you catch up with him while he runs, don’t forget! (So, literal smoke and mirrors, haha)

● His hair is black and very wavey, both in hunter’s model and in cutscene model. However his hunter model has dark brown eyes, whereas cutscene model has pale blue eyes. I don’t know what it means - could be devs deciding hunter model looked too weird with pale eyes, or could mean brown eyes are his natural color but they went blue upon his ‘enlightenment’ since in lore Arcane is associated with pale blue color!

(face datas here ( x ))

(cutscene model here ( x ))

● There are other corpses in cages on the road to Wet Nurse, which feels redundant seeing that Brain of Mensis implication, so maybe Micolash was terrorising wayward people all along (if not somehow kidnapping them from the waking world into his Nightmare. My lucky bet would be his mirrors magic - for example, Hypogean Gaol is full of mirrors. Mirrors were also in Research Hall? Starts to feel like his trademark).

● The Choir Member found dead in Yahar’gul is not tied to the chair at all (hard thing to miss by devs, seeing how for example, dead person in Hemwick or Research Hall patients are obviously striped to the chairs). Their cage is also locked from within. Might imply Micolash’s brainwashing is so powerful that he convinced them to lock themselves inside and not budge from their place.

● By the way, some corpses in Yahar'gul are obviously children!

● He only laughs mockingly before saying ‘Oh, majestic!’ if player’s Hunter is male. If you play as a female Hunter, there is no laugher. It is just straight cut to ‘Oh, majestic!’. What a character of ALL people to respect women...

● He can do necromancy, nuff said. Like, he uses corpses as marionettes to defend him.

● The crow-dogs and dog-crows are only found in Nightmare of Mensis, not in Yahar'gul, so maybe this is something he's been doing here alone. Too bored without human victims? :P

● There is a focus on how his shoelaces aren't tied, nuff said.

● Lost in translation (yeah I know) but in original his phrase is ‘Submerged in mud, the lake is no longer visible’. In beta version, he used to jump into the Lake to teleport into Lecture Hall. In game, it says Byrgenwerth scholars are still waiting for Willem and that Byrgenwerth is now stuck between reality and Nightmare. This phrase about the lake being kept in his rambling might serve as base for the idea that the lake Rom guards used to be a working portal in the rest of Byrgenwerth, and Micolash (or Kos?) is somehow involved in locking this passageway. Hence why we simply walk on the lake like a floor even though that’s not how water works you know-

● There is Iosefka’s Blood Vial in Nightmare of Mensis. Iosefka and Fauxsefka share a model (which is further confirmed by their official depictions looking the same, give or take holding weapon) so odds are, they are twins. And since Fauxsefka is in the Choir it is possibly not accidental. My two guesses are either 1) Iosefka initially left with Micolash but got away and tries to forget or 2) she gave Edgar a vial upon departing (we do find Choir Bell and Eye Rune in Nightmare of Mensis too, so maybe he did just drop all his things lol!)

● Damian has Loch Shield that initially was used in Research Hall and then given to prospectors of Isz; he also helps to fight Ebrietas in both Altar of Grief and in Isz. Odds are, he was Isz prospector, which further implies Micolash departed from Choir.

● Lyrics in Ebrietas’ theme mention - ‘A winged God, a voice, a terror will come’ + ‘Cord of the newborn was stolen’ + ‘The abominable winner has made himself unstoppable’ ( x ), guess that refers to Micolash and Mensis ritual!

● Lyrics in Hail the Nightmare have something along the lines of ‘We are infected by the curse and silverwater blood’ ( x ). Cosmic Kin that do in fact seem to bleed grey liquid are associated with the Choir and reaching the stars overall - like celestial emissaries, Ebrietas, Fluorescent Flowers, all that. Amygdalas don’t do that, they bleed red! Seeing how School of Mensis considers “silverwater” a ‘curse’, further implies why Micolash and the idiots decided to depart.

● Overall reaching for the stars implies seeking salvation (like with Living Failures) and Choir people + Willem blind themselves (so, allow Great Ones guide them). School of Mensis seems to seek autonomy instead - Mensis Cages have eyes open, they are said to give power to face ‘objective reality’ and Micolash does ask for eyes, not for “letting pray for his sins” (another line in Ebrietas’ lyrics). That opens up an interesting (and sympathetic) philosophy, even too bad he screwed it up and only saught this autonomy for himself, right?

● There is a random mention of brother and sister in the Brain Fluid that you collect from one of the just-head patients:

It is possible this could be refering to Micolash and Rom since Research Hall patiens were listening to the sea. This Brain Fluid is collected from a head guarded by a Black Church doctor, but these are not quite the experimentalists; that is said to be for White Doctors (like Fauxsefka for example) so it isn't likely the description refers to him and this head! However, according to Micolash, Rom was blessed by Kos + hostile just-head patients protrude tentacles (not unlike Rom's tails) + Ebrietas does weep who seems to be Rom's mortal body. Yeah yeah I know,

Just saying it is possible!

● 5/7 out of Yahar'gul Hunters are not white! Might be a hint to Loran heritage (Yahar'gul is affiliated with Pthumerians and if Henryk and Afflicted Beggar are of any indication, Loran people were brown ok?). However there are also repressions against foreigners in Yharnam and seeing overall whiteness of the place, they are easily foreigners! And some of Yahar'gul Hunters appear to have Healing Church weapons, so it is possible Micolash simply "picked what Church dropped" and gave them a chance.

● There are plenty of Hemwick Gravewomen and Eye Collectors (who are just Witches of Hemwick but without eyes all over their clothes) in Yahar'gul! Not really surprised Micolash would be friends with these people, seeing how both sides are very interested in doing terrible things to corpses!

● Nightmare Apostles are abundant in Nightmare of Mensis; Bloodborne Patches is also the one and he seems to be friends with THE Amygdala that dwells in the chapel that leads to Yahar'gul and transports people in Lecture Hall (that now connects to Nightmare of Mensis). Rom in fact seems to be one as well - as a spider, and her kids have 12 legs like them (she seems to have holes above her tiny legs too, about 6 from each side). Basically Micolash might have been friends with them too, and Rom becoming a spider might have to do with it. At this rate seems like he was friends with everyone but Choir lmao

#bloodborne #micolash host of the nightmare #not art #bloodborne theory #bloodborne headcanons #this is the last post like this i promise #no more throwing everything i noticed about character together! #i just felt the need to #jeez he is scary

[bloodborne-on-pc]

Blllooooodborne updaaate~

So! First of all I actually asked one of my friends whose played Bloodborne before about the runes. He kindly directed me towards Hemwick Charnel Lane, saying it had an "easy-ass boss" and that I could use runes after beating the area. Personally, the adjective I'd use is "annoying" - especially that damn paralysis beam - but I managed to beat the Witches of Hemwick. First time I've beaten a Bloodborne boss the same session I met it. And now I can equip those handy runes! I even found a second one while traveling through Hemwick so now I've got two of 'em buffing me.

Next item on the agenda was Vicar Amelia. I was gonna do a bit more grinding to increase my stats first. But, I was feeling a little impatient, and had gotten my stats to a pretty good spot just going through Hemwick and beating the Witches. Plus I had updated my bloodgems. I was feeling pretty darn good. So I only levelled up one more time before throwing aside that plan and went straight to Amelia.

And.

I beat her. I didn't even die! I didn't even NEED those Numbing Mists!

So that's TWO bosses in one session. Another first for Bloodborne!

But. I was not done. I was feeling real bold. I knew exactly where I wanted to go and who my new target was: Machine Gun Mike in Old Yharnam.

So I head over there. I got slow poisoned once or twice, but it wasn't a big deal - that poison is very much slow. The beasts really don't seem all that strong here so I felt confident enough, at least when behind sufficient cover. Then I met Machine Gun Mike's friend and we began duking it out. I was doing very well until I got jumped by some crows, who interrupted me dodging machine gun fire, and the hunter finished me off. I was prepared for round two, though, and soon came out on top, proving myself the superior Saw Spear wielder. Unfortunately I lost track of my bloodstain - I took out the crows but they didn't drop it and I couldn't see it anywhere - TBH the bloodstain in this game is much harder to see in general than in previous Fromsoft games, it's almost a bit annoying. So I gave up since it wasn't anything special and found the ladder up the clocktower. I began my ascent, prepared for this final confrontation, face-to-face, at last, with Machine Gun Mike.

I don't think I lasted more than twenty seconds. Probably less than that quite frankly. He was so strong. But, as I lay dying, I noticed I couldn't see him on the rooftop. I thought maybe my angle was weird. But as I made my way back to the clocktower, I was not assaulted with a steady stream of bullets. And then I climbed back up. He was gone. There was a treasure by the gun: a badge. The Powder Keg Badge.

This dumb bastard. Killed me and then somehow fell off and died.

I mean, I guess I don't have to deal with him anymore? But I would've liked getting payback on him.

Anyway, I have a nice new selection of goodies in the Hunter's Dream shop and the rest of Old Yharnam to explore. That'll be for next time.

#my bloodborne journal #bloodborne

[fantomette22]

8. Crow Hunter Badge

Badge of a hunter of hunters, who hunts those who have become addled with blood.

The badge of the Hunter of Hunters is quietly passed down from generation to generation, usually to an outsider from the hinterlands.

To be entrusted with this cursed badge, one must be strong, resilient to the seduction of blood, and gracious when taking a comrade's life.

#bloodborne #my art #fantomette22art #my inktober #inktober #inktober 2023 #drawtober #eileen the crow

[zanthiakhalaplace]

“A hunter must hunt.” Eileen the Crow; hunter of hunters.

Come check my designs and products anytime here!

http://www.redbubble.com/es/people/juditangelo

https://society6.com/juditangelozk

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/juditangelo_zk/

#Eileen the crow #Eileen #Bloodborn #crow #crow hunter badge #art nouveau #digital #yharnam #feathers #blades of mercy #Fromsoftware

[heraldofcrow]

Hey friend! What ideas do you have on the very first Hunter of Hunters, and also the one who passed their status to Eileen? From what we know of lore, there were at least several hunters of this type before the crow mom, so I am interested in this! How do you think the previous HoH quit?

AAGAAHAGSJHSSJ HI YES I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS

—

I’m so sorry, I am working on my response to you about the Caryll Choir member thing too, I promise. My answer just got longer than I thought 😅

But anyway for the crows, I have so many ideas and I have this post in progress for all of their profiles. I will tag you in it when it’s done because I have to credit you with certain theme ideas. I will also draw them all at some point!

For now, I can hint or sum up the basic idea for them because they are all really clear in my head.

—

So, here’s a little joke tag post I did recently where I revealed their names (there are five), and hints about their characters.

The first HOH was the Aether Crow, who was basically this sorceress/witch from that very obviously Tibetan-coded land. She’s the one that found the ancient meteorite mercy blades hidden and buried in a coffin within an old Pthumerian labyrinth.

The blades in my headcanon were actually crafted hundreds of years prior, but were modified later in the Hunter’s Workshop, hence why it’s one of the oldest weapons. This all ties into the headcanon that crow assassins were actually the counterpart to shadows and keepers in the ancient cultures of Pthumeru and Loran. (I have adopted your headcanon that Mergo’s Wet Nurse is related to the Pthumerian crows).

Basically there were always warriors and knights that fought off beasts in those days, and plenty were lost to blood-drunkeness, so the concept of a crow/raven mercy killer was actually an extremely old one, and the first HOH simply adopted the practice with the added twist of sky burial, because that was apart of her own culture. She merely continued a line of generational warriors in a more modern age.

I think she passed her blades to another foreign successor (This one is Brandon to me), and then he passed his down to Eileen’s mentor, aka the nephew of the first HOH. That’s how it plays out in my timeline anyway. Eileen’s mentor passed the mantle to her sometime before the Fishing Hamlet and Byrgenwerth’s official split, and so Eileen was mostly situated in Yharnam during the glory days of Gehrman’s workshop and Ludwig’s spartans.

That’s when the blades were modified to be a trick weapon too. Eileen’s mentor stayed with her and they hunted together regularly, albeit in the shadows, with Eileen strictly being the one to eliminate drunken hunters.

She would spend the next 55 years there in Yharnam, holding the mantle longer than any other crow. I imagine her to have been in her mid 20s when she received the badge, so she’s literally in her 70s when we meet her. It was never meant to be, and ideally she would have been succeeded when she was much younger, but everything fell apart with a certain problematic someone. Her mentor also died around the time of the Cainhurst genocide, so she was entirely alone for years.

I don’t want to give away too much yet, because I want my masterpost to cover it all in depth, but here are my titles for the five crows that came before the Good Hunter.

Aether/Star Crow (first HOH)

Dragon/Copper Crow (Second HOH)

Scarecrow/Blue Crow (Third HOH)

Mother/Pathologic Crow (Fourth HOH)

Cainhurst/Bloodshed Crow (Fifth HOH)

And then the Hunter is the sixth. Each of the former have their common names and legacy names, with their legacy names being put first in that list. Basically Eileen is just called “the Crow” for us as the protagonist, but I imagine she would have been known by something specific to others in that area. All crows had very unique identities and reputations.

It’s like looking at their in-game names and internal data names.

The “Aether Crow” was the one to establish sky burial and preach on the importance of the heavens/aether, but she was commonly called the star crow because of her blades and silvery mask.

The “Dragon Crow” wreathed his surroundings in fire before he died, but had red hair and an orangish tint to his feathers, hence the copper moniker.

The “Scarecrow” was a terror among even his own faction, and would not hesitate to put another crow down if they lost themselves to madness, yet his blue feather ornaments earned him the latter title.

The “Mother Crow” lasted for generations in her position and was known for having raised her apprentice from his youth, but her history as a plague doctor made her known to people as the Pathologic Crow, or the healer crow.

The “Cainhurst Crow” notoriously transformed into a Vileblood that fought for Queen Annalise, but his extremely violent tendencies when dispatching enemies in his youthful training days brought about the “bloodshed/bloody” crow nickname. His feathers were never clean.

—

When I make the masterpost, I will reveal designs, backstories, characteristics, succession stories, and identities for each of these lovely birds. I want it for fic reference, but also for general headcanon reference. For now though, I hope you like this little tidbit of info!! I promise I’ll share more details in the future.

As you can probably tell, the Crows are very important to me, and I’m still working on that key points post for Eileen/Bloody Crow. I WILL develop these birds even if it kills me :)))

#sorry this is so short #i hope to make up for it #but i thought maybe you would like to hear some snippets!! #you know i’m always down to talk about this :D #so tysm for asking!! #le crows #eileen the crow #bloody crow #bloodborne #bloodborne headcanons #asks #mutuals

[pleasantanathema]

The Witcher’s Woes

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit

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

Word Count: 10k

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

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

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

_____________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

           “How did you know where to find me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

           “You should bathe, Ushi.”

           “What, do I smell?”

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

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

           “Will you join me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

______________________________________________________________

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

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

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

           Ushijima thought about you more than he cared to admit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

           “Yes,” he stated, “I did.”

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

           “I see.” You noted somberly.

           “How did you know?”

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

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

           “A monster.” He interjected flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          “Powerful, too.” You remarked.

          “You think so?” He teased.

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

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

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

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

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

          “And that is?”

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

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

          “I’d be a wonderful whore.”

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

         “Care to show me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          “I’d like that, Ushiwaka.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

         “It’s waiting between your legs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        “See what being quiet gets you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        “Ushi, please…”

       “Please what, my love? Tell me.”

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

       “Make me cum, p-please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          His words were a dare, a wicked promise.

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

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

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

          “I promise.”

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

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

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

         “Ushi, fuck, fuck, yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        “I hurt you.”

         His simple words brought you back to reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

         You were at home.

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

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

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

_______________________________________________________________________

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

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#ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x you #ushijima x y/n #haikyuu fanfiction #hq fanfiction #fantasy au #witcher universe #the witcher #ushijima headcanons #ushijima wakastoshi fanfic #the smut pile collab #server collab

[katyspersonal]

Really sad that the girls that ambush you before you can enter Research Hall never had real internal names. And some others.

Like, we have shit like 'Yurie the last scholar', 'Edgar Choir intelligencer', 'Djura's Ally' 'Bloody Crow of Cainhurst' - all are hostile NPCs that do not have any dialogue and any lore besides name/title and what items they are equipped with but them being tagged like this allows for way more active headcanoning and fan-content, they attract more attention by the fans

But the girls are just... 'White Church Hunter' and 'Black Church Hunter' that doesn't really say anything? Sad, since they have unique face data with clearly and effort put in them, and white one even has unique voice acting to give EXTRA fat pointer that she isn't Amelia. Imagine how much easier it'd be to do stuff for them if they had real names or at least titles that tell us something?

There are also Church Doctor, Hunter of Despair 1 and 2 and like 6 nameless Yahar'gul hunters ;-; Also Beastial Hunter that drops Oto Workshop badge + hostile NPC known as Izzy's Admirer. I just feel like the church girls had the most potential to be The Characters in fandom's eyes if it was not for the devs to tag them as like... nothing. After they gave them such unique faces. White one has cute mole near her mouth, guys. Devs why

#bloodborne #bloodborne obscure npcs #white one is the one i call vasylissa i doodled her a few times #but dammit a better tag than 'white church hunter' woulda been good #or dropping unique item that says something #like how djuras apprentice drops a gun unique to him that tells us lore #(that he is the youngest of his friends)