#engraved title page

[othmeralia]

Title page Tuesday!

This elaborate engraved title page is found in our copy of Bouquet composé des plus belles fleurs chimiques (1629) by David de Planis Campy

#title page #title page tuesday #rare books #old books #engraved title page #bibliography #materia medica #botany #othmeralia

[lindahall]

Francis Bacon – Scientist of the Day

Francis Bacon, natural philosopher, essayist, and Lord Chancellor of England, was born Jan. 22, 1561, in London. 

read more...

#Francis Bacon #engraved title pages #metaphors #scientific method #histsci #histSTM #17th century #history of science #Ashworth #Scientist of the Day

[daisygirlwrites]

Rookie Mistake

Summary: Alternative title, How You Got Your Call Sign

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, minor character death

Pairing(s): Task Force 141 x fem!Reader (Platonic)

Note: No use of (Y/N). Only description of the reader is that she’s short

a/n: hey there! first and foremost, big thanks to @einno-arko​ for editing it! please check out her page! it has been a long time since i’ve written a fanfic so do forgive me for how rough this is. it is also 3 in the morning as im typing, woops. also, would love to hear feedback so i can make improvements in future works. thank y’all!

Being short has its advantages at times. For your job as a sniper, you could be placed anywhere without being seen. During your basic and special forces training, where most people are at least a head taller than you, you were taught techniques for someone only your size can pull off. 

The man in front of you is probably the tallest person you’ve seen on the field. At least two feet taller than you and all muscle. ‘Tank’, his teammates call him. Truly matches the description.  You try not to think about how one of his hands can wrap around your neck and squeeze the life out of you.

Instead, you pull out your knife and charge towards him. He runs towards you, arms up and ready to take a swing. Expecting a punch, you lean your upper body forward, keeping your head low. On your last step, you push upwards with your foot. Tank misses you, his stance uneven and his legs still wide open.

For a millisecond, you thought about slicing the area between his thighs, making things easier for you in the long run. Instead, you stick with the training that’s been engraved into your head. Diving in the open space between his legs, you run your knife through his inner thigh, hoping it’s deep enough to at least damage the femoral artery.

Tank lets out a scream and staggers forward as you slide down on the floor. With his back to you, you push your body up and sprint towards him. The ideal situation is for you to get to him and pull his head back enough to slice his throat. But life isn’t always ideal.

To your shock, he quickly gets up onto his feet and turns around, facing you. As if his strength doubled, he knocks the knife out of your hand and, for a split second, your eyes follow the knife as it flies across the room. That was all Tank needed, grabbing both of your arms and lifting you up. Yeah, you should have just sliced his dick.

It was at this time that the rest of the team entered the room. The sight was almost comical; you being held up, legs dangling like a rag doll. Tank casts a quick glance from the corner of his eye. All four men with their rifles up, pointing towards the two of you, but it was the one with a skull mask that made his body break out into a cold sweat. Four against one are really bad odds, especially with an injured leg.

Tank still has you held out, practically using you as a human shield for the upper half of his body. But with your insistent wiggling and attempts at kicking him, it becomes more difficult for him to keep a grip on you.

He knows that he probably won’t leave this room alive, and he’d rather die than to surrender. Tank goes through his options, looking at the small soldier in his hands. ‘Should have grabbed them by the neck.’ As soon as he makes a move, the men in front of him will too.

“Just drop them mate!” A heavy Scottish accent is heard throughout the room.

Tank stays silent, eyes darting around the room, trying to find the means of escape. His train of thought became illogical. As he looks around his environment, he tries to avoid meeting the eyes of the man with the skull mask. ‘Ghost’ is his name. His dark eyes never leave Tank’s.

If he’s going to Hell, he won’t be going alone. Spotting the window to his right, his body moved before his brain could process what was happening. Tank twists his upper body and, with the last of his strength, he hurls you through the glass

During your time with the team, which was about six months when you first joined, you’ve kept quiet. Never raising your voice and only talking when you’re addressed. So, when they hear you yelp and let out a high-pitched scream as they watch your body crash through the window, they would have laughed if the circumstances were different.

As soon as your body stopped shielding him, Ghost took the shot. He watched as the large man slammed down to his knees, blood running down his face from the bullet hole on his head, before finally falling forward.

Getting thrown out the window sounds fun, besides landing on the glass and the very high chance of death. Any other person would have a couple of broken bones, but it seems like you had lady luck on your side today. For one, the warehouse is only one story high, and you’re all padded up. Without your gear and helmet, there would have been more puncture points from the shards. But the impact from hitting the ground doesn’t leave you unscathed. Something is probably broken, sprained, if not bruised. You don’t feel it now but it’s going to suck ass later. Laying on your side, you look around, trying to not move your body in the process. There are probably hundreds, maybe even thousands, of glass shards surrounding you.

“ROOKIE!” Soap comes running towards you.

You open your mouth, wanting to tell him to be careful but Ghost’s rough voice cuts you off. “Dammnit Johnny, watch out for the fuckin’ glass!”

Soap slows his movements, making calculated hops to avoid the sharp shards. “Heya lassie, how ya feeling?”

Not having the energy for a filter, you responded. “Felt like I got thrown out a window. Fuckin’ hell, Soap, what do you think?!”

Seeing his eyes widen, you immediately regret the words that came out of your mouth. “Holy shit, Soap. I am so sorry.”

He lets out a hearty laugh as he stops before you. He gives you a look over, trying to find any visibly large shards of glass embedded in your body. Seeing as there isn’t any visible, Soap sticks his hand out. Surprised to find how badly your arm is shaking, he gently grabs your forearm and pulls you up.

“You really are Ghost’s mini-me,” he chuckles.

“Huh?”

“Already picking up his humor and stealing his catchphrase.”

“Oh!” You look down, thanking your balaclava for hiding your flushed face.

With his arm under yours, you lean on him, slowly limping your way towards the rest of the team. Price took another look at you, spotting at least a dozen little glass shards that punctured your jacket and pants. “Best to have the med team take them out of you. The heli will be here in five.”

You can feel Ghost’s eyes burning holes into your head. You realize that during your next training sessions, he’s going to roast the ever living fuck out of you about what happened today. Dread begins to sink in.

—

 With your left arm bare and the interior of the heli cold, you try to minimize your shivering so that the medic can properly do their job. You guessed that the guys would at least wait until you get back to base before they made jokes, but you were very wrong.

“Rookie, you literally got yeeted out the window.” Gaz was the first to break the silence.

“Yes, Gaz, I know.”

“We should have a contest to see how far each of us can throw her.” Soap barked out, joining in on the teasing.

“I would prefer not, Soap.”

And it went on for a little while longer, and you, again, were thankful for having your balaclava on so they wouldn’t see that you’re dying on the inside.

“Probably gonna stop calling you Rookie now.” Much to everyone’s surprise, they turn to Ghost.

You tilt your head, confused, before he continues. He stares at you, the heli quiet besides the hum of the wings. A beat later he speaks up again, “I think I’ll call you Crash.”

You follow with an immediate, “Oh hell no.”

At this point, Soap and Gaz are giggling like schoolgirls. Price turns away, lips pulled tight but his shoulders shaking up and down in muffled laughter. Ghost’s eyes narrow, but you can tell he has a smug grin under his mask.

“Crash it is then!”

“Don’t encourage him, Soap!”

“Sorry lassie, it’s law now, we outrank you.” He smiles at you.

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, you let out a quiet chuckle. Lifting your head up from your hand, you quietly say, “Fine. Just don’t tell anyone about this”

You watch Soap nod and Gaz give you a thumbs up before you pull down your balaclava, giving them a smile.

#daisygirlwrites #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john price x reader #price x reader

[uwmspeccoll]

Milestone Monday

On this day, January 29, 1845, The Raven was published in The Evening Mirror marking the first time the poem was published with the name of the author, Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849). At the time of publication, Poe was working as a critic for The Evening Mirror in New York and his poem was met with instant praise and popularity, although not much financial success.  

To commemorate the day, we’re sharing The Raven published in 1927 by The Bibliophile Society out of Boston. The Bibliophile Society was founded by Charles E. Hurd in 1901 to study and promote “the arts pertaining to fine bookmaking and illustration” with the intent to publish books of useful literary purpose outside of the element of rareness. The Society’s treasurer and founding member, Henry H. Harper (1871-1953), wrote an extensive introduction and commentary for The Raven bestowing his ideals on the importance of preserving exceptional literature upon its membership readers.  

The book was printed anopisthographically on parchment paper and bound in full calfskin with gold border lines. Title page engravings by Sidney L. Smith and Arthur N. Macdonald greet readers while dry point etchings by Haydon Jones (d.1954) bookend the text. Tissue guards printed with red text mirror each etching. Special Collections copy of The Raven was a gift from our friend Jerry Buff and bears the bookplate of Charles J. Hardy. 

Read other Milestone Monday posts here! 

– Jenna, Special Collections Graduate Intern 

#milestone monday #the raven #edgar allan poe #bibliophile society #henry h. harper #haydon jones #etching #sidney l. smith #arthur n. macdonald #jerry buff #the evening mirror

[hdslibrary]

Mystic Monday: Take a Look Around

More from Lutheran mystic Jakob Böhme: Morgenröte im Aufgang, also called Aurora. This is Böhme's earliest (and perhaps his most influential) work, here in a edition produced more than 150 years after it was written. The title describes it as a work of philosophy, astrology, and theology.

The work circulated first as an unpublished manuscript, where it gained its author supporters and detractors. City officials responded by banning Böhme from further writing. (Spoiler: He didn't stop writing.)

This 1780 edition features a red and black title page, with a facing, engraved illustration depicting what appears to be a large sphere made of rows of eyes rising above or past another world.

We sigh to see the ink library stamp applied right smack in the middle of the illustration: Physical and mystical realms collide.

Böhme, Jakob. Morgenröte im Aufgang; Das ist, Die Wurtzel oder Mutter der Philosophiae, Astrologiae und Theologiae, aus rechtem Grunde... Neue Aufl. Berlin, C.U. Ringmacher, 1780.

#mystic monday #rare books #bookhistory #jakob bohme #illustrations #mysticism #christian mysticism #engravings #18th century

[idyllvcs]

WHAT A STRANGE.. NOVEL?

Ⅰ. AYATO X FEM!READER ⅠⅠ. TAGS : fluff, slight kissing, established marriage, fem! reader, uses of pet names like; my wife, dearest, darling, teasing (?idfk how to write people teasing each other) physical touch, overall ayato just teasing u for reading smut ⅠⅠⅠ. WC : 1.01k ⅠV. SYNOPSIS : ayato finds out you read smut lololol english isn’t my first language, sorry ! + and i didn’t do a spelling check V. A/N : ayato brainrot, like seriously and i haven’t written for what i hope is not more than 2.. months?

it’s not so strange for ayato to see your nose buried in whatever book you acquired from yae publishing house. for some reason, despite his qualities that you’d once described as vexing and almost mischievous, he had never pried into the light or heavy novels that occupied half your days. 

even on days when he ignores the piling mountain of his work with no hesitation to indulge in your touches and bury his face into your shoulder from behind, ayato would often let out a huff seeing how your attention span was sucked away by the novel in your hands. he’d argue he’s not the jealous type, especially over an inanimate object! yet curiosity kills the cat and he found his violet gaze scanning your bookshelf when you were away dealing with public affairs.

if there’s one thing you have learned, silence is never a good thing. perhaps in a scenario where your husband is burying himself in his paperwork or just sleeping soundlessly then maybe it is. however, after coming home, your eyes dart to his empty desk– he was not there. your mind wanders to whether he is sleeping– he does not sleep at this time. all questions were answered when you slid open the shoji door to your shared bedroom gently and were greeted with the delightful sight of ayato flipping through a novel you recently bought.

“...is that what occupies your free time, dear wife?” 

you found yourself getting flustered when your eyes glaze over the title. 

“so am i not allowed to read?” you asked with a clearing of your throat but there was a slight crack– a slight hesitation to your voice when the corner of his lips tugged into a cunning smirk. 

ayato shuts the book quickly with one hand, a gentle clap when the pages meet each other, and he places it down on a nearby surface. the rough pads of his fingertips brushes over the engraved title and he let out an amused chuckle. you, in contrast, let out a bemused one. he shook his head in response to the question. 

any pliant and naive person would feel relieved if they ever saw such answer but you are not ‘any pliant or naive person’-- you were his wife and you knew the lingering undertone in his gaze and demeanor all too well.

“you are allowed to read, i have no objections…” he trailed off and you mentally thanked the almighty shogun he didn’t flip to your marked pages, “however.. an erotica, really?” the finish of his sentence made you retract your thanks.  

“it is not an erotica.”

“your marked page says different.” 

“you have no business looking through my books–”

“--which i paid for with my allowance.” he always had won the back and forths of your banters. you were absolutely stuck in place and melting– if being frozen by both hydro and cryo slimes were difficult, you’d argue that this is much worse.

with a click of a tongue, ayato strides over to you; not failing to pick up your book and using it to raise your chin. your eyes narrowed, not in anger but in embarrassment, when you felt the paperback book brush under your chin and kept your head tilted to meet his gaze. 

“my, my... and to think this is what keeps my dear wife entertained after several hours of restless public affairs. i wasn’t aware yae publishing house has ventured into such risky taboo romantic tropes but i suppose everyone has surprises, hm?” ayato held his gaze with pride– almost a resemblance to cockiness because each and every second of this situation has done nothing but amused him.

“i– i am an adult with needs,” you barely stutter out, fingertips lacing together in an attempt to soothe your nerves. ayato didn’t fail to notice your slightly trembling voice and his free hand quickly found its way to your cheek. he lets out another chuckle, one that is slightly softer this time as he rubbed it. “and you did not think to voice your needs to me? i am more than happy to help you even if it means abandoning my work,” he responds quickly.

the statement makes you much more flustered and retracts your face from his palm, eliciting a tut from him. even in a year of marriage, you never fail to shy away from him– something which he would shamelessly admit that he liked using to his own advantage.

“it seems i’ve stunned you.” “shut up.”

“although�� do you not feel any embarrassment buying such novels in broad daylight?” he asked with a toothy grin that showed off his pearly whites. you shook your head. it was true though, you’d never be able to live anything down if you had an awkward exchange with a worker at the publishing house. which is why you’re relieved you let your court lady or even thoma to do such tasks for you. 

“no..” you answered, this time with no hesitation but with the lie seeping through your teeth, “no, i do not.” ayato shrugged at your response and dropped the book on a desk nearby. quickly, he grasps your waist to pull you in closer. his head lowered next to yours to mutter into your ears– a predicament which, in all ways, makes your knees weak.

“i suppose you do not.. considering the fact you rely on your court lady or thoma to fulfil such tasks,” he mumbles. a small gasp leaves your lips at his knowledge towards this. “dearest, it’d be slacking of me to not know what goes around in my very own estate.” each tap of his fingers against your waist makes the heat crawl up your neck more. 

ayato pulled his head back and a softer smile graced his lips when he looks at you. he leaves several pecks on your stunned face and retracts his lips to see your reaction. “i am not judging you, however.. do try not to spend all your allowance on such trivial things.”

that comment earned him a harsh smack on his chest.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin fic #genshin x reader #ayato #ayato x fem!reader #ayato x you #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato fluff

[adalricus]

Yandere God + Yandere cult members x Cult leader reader (pt 1) :

Cw: Religious themes, cult themes, gore, yandere themes, gn reader, harems

You were hurt, not critically, but still badly hurt. Your legs had cuts made from whips, bruised neck after being choked. You staggered in the forest ears ringing, vision slightly blurred.

How would you end up like this? You may ask, you had a wealthy family with quite a bit of notoriety under their belt, so you being the only child you obviously received the best life, best tutors, best experiences, best extracurriculars. You never wanted to inquire how your family received such riches. You simply wanted to continue living your luxurious life. Your family lived in a community in the countryside, your estate being near the woods. It was a peaceful night when the sounds of people screaming as well as your mother shaking you woke you up, as you and mother got essentials she explained how they were in a cult a popular yet hidden one, they got money from how much members they recruited which was a lot, but someone in the community outsmarted them and subsequently snitched on them to the whole community. The angry mob quickly got the house, much quicker than your mom expected. You two were blocked, stuck having to watch as your dad get slaughtered while trying to rationalize with the mob, stuck having to watch them flood into the house. Your mom decided to sacrifice herself to give you time to run. As you ran, some of the villagers whipped you, and one caught up beginning to choke. You two were fortunately tussling near a cliff. You decided to roll over the cliff with the person. Which is what led you here.

You staggered until you eventually were met with a temple sort of structure, which was very clearly abandoned. You limped in through the doors. You went to sit down on the old couch, scanning the room to see anything to patch yourself up with. Your eyes landed on some cloth, and you stood up to take them ,before you saw a book. It was gold, with black ink and engraved symbols, curiosity seemed to rope you in and you opened it on the first page, meeting you with a page, which had "welcoming spell" as it's title and steps as to how you could complete it. "Great a cult, another one," you thought. But even so, your life had no more purpose, so after you patched yourself up, you decided to follow the steps. And finally, the last step, which was easy to complete, you took blood from one of your cuts and made the shape that the book told you to. You waited and sighed, disappointed, but you didn't even know why you were surprised. You turned back when a glowing gold light flashed behind you brightly. You turned to see a figure, a small one with many eyes looking at you, you wereshocked to say the very least. "How long has it been since I was shackled to this prison, forgotten and left to rot. Mortal, I would reward you for freeing me, but alas, I do not have the prosperity of which I used to have." The small figure said with a voice, heavily contrasting its figure, one that deep,booming and loud. You were in utter shock, staying still until it spoke again. "But if you just help me, do something for me, I would be indebted to you." It said, you slowly nodded, curious about what it was going to propose. "Be my confidant of sorts and help me gain my power, Unfortunately, I am far too horrifying to scout members out, but you are absolutely charming. Simply follow my steps and help me regain my power. Do that for me and act as my spokesperson, my acomplise, my prophet." It spoke to reaching its hand out to make a pact with you. You reached your hand out, and as you touched, a gold glow emitted, and you saw as your body got engraved with an emblem on your thigh, completing the pact

Now, you had to help this god regain its power so you could be rewarded with prosperity.

#tw yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere x darling #male yandere x you #male yandere #yandere god

[glorianamultistan]

I do not own the image.

I will be uploading more soon; this has been in my drafts for over six months. P.S.:- you can support me by buying me a coffee; link's on my page.

Lee Know x Male Reader

Part 1

Summary: Prince Lee Know has fallen for Y/n.

It was early morning, around 4 am, when Lee Know was sure that no one was following him; he departed towards the left wing of the manor, the ones where the guest rooms were located.

Y/n felt a light knock on his door and before he could ask who it was, the prince slipped in.

'Your Royal Highness!?' y/n whispered as he got up from his bed and felt a bit embarrassed because he was not in a very presentable state.

'Ah! You are up! Great! Let's go, we need to go to the lake; it will take some time. You wanted to look at the sunrise. So let's go.' Lee Know stated as if all this was a preplanned enterprise.

'Uhm... But sir. I just said it lightly.' Y/n could not understand how his light comment made the prince be present here at such an hour with all this enthusiasm.

He saw the older flinch a bit and feel a bit out of words, so he just complied with the request and 'You took such measures so early in the morning. I apologize; let me just get ready. Oh, don't worry, I can get ready without helpers, sir. If you could please turn around.'

Lee Know stood there, his face towards the door, with a feeling of restriction in his throat as he heard y/n rustle in and out of the clothes.

Lee Know was restless the whole night. He saw y/n for the first time last year at a ball held by his cousin, where the latter was introduced to him with the sole intention of a matrimonial alliance between the l/n and Lee families, both being two of the few most powerful ones in the southern region of the kingdom.

Lee family was also a branch of the royal family, with princes and princesses ornamenting the upcoming generation of family heads. So Lee Know, or Prince Lee Know, was an heir to the titles and extravaganza, and he knew how to use them to get the work he wanted to be done.

Y/n, on the other hand, was an honorable person, not with high titles, as he was not the direct heir and had three elder siblings. But it was truth universally acknowledged that he was the best catch out of all his siblings and hence was courted by a legion of princes and dukes and marquises and all the remaining titles of the realm, even the high-ranking government officials of the other nations and royalties of other empires wanted to have him as their son-in-law.

Why? Just because he was blessed with the supreme combination of mind and grace. He was, at his current age of 23, already an established author and a formal martial artist. He was mannered like no other person, full of the right protocols and courtesies. He was the gem the crowns of all the empires lacked. And, he was utterly clumsy and naive to love approaches to the level of irritation for his suitors.

'We can leave now, sir.' Lee Know turned around to see y/n in casual wear for a walk; he was still affected too much. 'Uh, yeah, let's go, let me, yes, just okay, let's go.' 'But this is my room, sir; I should be the one closing the door.' 'But I insist.'

So, y/n stood in the hallway as the prince closed the door and walked down the few engraved steps that his room had to them, a medieval design.

'Were you comfortable in the room? I got it arranged for you, especially because you like cozier spaces.' 'It is an honour, sir, that you took such measures for me.' Yes, y/n clearly has no idea that they met last year as a probable couple; his parents never notify him of such occurrences as he gets anxious and is not able to present himself. So now, it's the prince's turn to think that y/n is not interested in him and probably thinks of this all as a once-in-a-while opportunity.

'Will you be comfortable on the same horse, or do you want a separate one? Or do you want to drive there? I can ask for the cars too if you don't like horse rides.' Lee Know asked repeated questions to ensure he asserted that he was doing it all for the younger's comfort.

'I have no complaints about sharing the horse, sir.' Y/n liked such escapist endeavours. He was surprisingly cheerful this morning to go and look at the sunrise properly. He had heard of the majestic view of the sunrise which the lake of the Lee manor had. It was sublime, in his older brother's words.

The lake was situated in the little valley formed by ancient hills now eroded to moors. Here the duo reached just a few minutes before the sun was about to emerge through the horizon, and so there was a hazy lavender-maroon sky waiting for them.

'It is indeed sublime.' Y/n whispered. 'Huh?' Lee Know looked at the boy looking over to the climbing sun. Rays shined over them softly, and a light breeze ruffling the long hair of y/n made Lee Know to realise that he might actually have fallen a bit too hard.

What was to be done now? The sun was roping up, and the firmament shone, and so did the face of the younger, watching it all with awe as the mist started to clear up. Lee Know knew he had to take them back before breakfast, but he did not have enough courage to disturb the scene in front of him.

'Uhm, we-we should head back now, we need to be present there for breakfast, or your brother would think I kidnapped you.'

'Yes sir, we must hurry. I don't want to be caught slipping out like this.' There it was again; Lee Know felt a jab at heart; was he really not going to even get a chance?

#kpop x male reader #male reader #kpopidol #kpopgay #fanfiction #gay #gaypop #male idol x male reader #kpop #bottom reader #stray kids x male reader #skz x male reader #lee know x male reader #young royals

[handfuloftime]

(A while ago @apurpledust mentioned wanting to know more about Duroc's children, so here's what information I have)

Duroc and his wife, Maria de las Nieves Martínez de Hervas, had two children, both of whom died tragically young. (Hervas left instructions that her gravestone should be engraved with "To the unhappiest of mothers".)

Their first child, Napoléon Louis Sidoine Joseph Duroc, was born on 24 February 1811 in Paris. Named for the emperor and his two grandfathers (Claude Sidoine de Michel du Roc and José Martínez de Hervas), he lived for just over fourteen months. The infant’s health was never good; Duroc wrote to Bertrand in March 1812 that “[Hervas] is doing well but her son has been and always is ill”. (As Duroc’s biographer Danielle Meyrueix notes, when writing of his wife and child he habitually referred to “her son” rather than “our son”. Perhaps not the most engaged of fathers.) Napoléon died on 6 May 1812 at Maidières in Lorraine. The architect Pierre Fontaine, noting in his journal that Hervas had asked him to design a tomb for her lost son, wrote that the child had been “a few days older than the King of Rome and destined to enjoy at that prince’s side all the favor with which the Emperor honored his father.”

Their daughter Hortense Eugénie Nieves Duroc was born on 14 May 1812, eight days after the young Napoléon’s death. (In a letter, Duroc implied that the news of the boy’s death had been kept from Hervas, who was in Paris, to avoid imperiling her health.) Named for her godmother, Hortense de Beauharnais, she was baptized in January 1813 alongside the duke of Bassano's daughter. After Duroc’s death in May 1813, Napoleon transferred the duchy of Friuli to her, writing to Hervas that Hortense would be “assured of my constant protection”. He also remembered her in his will, leaving her a large sum of money and recommending, in one last attempt at matchmaking, that she marry Bessières’s son, the duke of Istria. Hortense’s aunt wrote in 1823 that “Hortense is perfectly sweet, she’s a rare child for her spirit and intelligence, who her poor father would have been happy to see so fine in all respects”. She died of pneumonia on 24 September 1829 after three days of illness, aged seventeen.

A 1933 biography of Charles-Nicolas Fabvier (Hervas’s second husband) identifies this painting by Jeanne-Elisabeth Chaudet as a young Hortense Duroc. It was sold at an auction a few years ago with the title “Young Embroideress”, so either the sitter’s identity has been lost since then or it may never have been Hortense at all.

Duroc’s long liaison with the dancer Emilie Bigottini may also have resulted in at least one child. Felix Bouvier, writing a biographical sketch of Bigottini in 1909, claimed that “children were born of this irregular union, a daughter and a son named Odilon”. However, Odilon (full name Pierre Dominique Jean Marie Odilon Michel du Roc), born in 1801, was the son of Duroc’s cousin Géraud Pierre Michel du Roc, the marquis de Brion. On Duroc’s death, Napoleon made Odilon a page in the imperial household. (This may have given rise to Bouvier’s claim, as it seems to have confused people at the time. Caulaincourt had been tasked with sorting out Duroc’s affairs, including a substantial amount of money for Bigottini, and Duroc’s sister Jeanne implied that he had gotten the wrong impression from one of Duroc’s requests: “On the subject of the allowance for little Odilon, M. the duke of Vicenza was misled…he took a step which pained me very much”.) As for the daughter, all I’ve been able to find so far is a remark from Laure Junot that “It was known that the count Armand de Fuentès had had a daughter with Mademoiselle Bigottini, and that Duroc was in the same position”.

#duroc #maria de las nieves martinez de hervas #emilie bigottini #hortense duroc

[fuckthisshitimin]

[ID: A sketchbook page titled "Quadrupedal" filled with several ink drawings. From top left to bottom right: A dog tag reading "Daisy", a rectangle filled with abstract worm-like spiraling shapes, a view of a house in a field, something round exploding in the distance, dark like a reversed sunrise. The profile of a shepherd dog and her shadow - or, maybe, another dog sitting next to her. Text above the image reads "Good dogs". The silhouette of a man coming through a door. The man is filled with abstract lines, uncertain. A pattern of worm-like lines. A dog tag reading "Winnie". A lighter and a cigarette. The cigarette is lit, smoke rising to the top of the page. On the lighter, text is engraved: "These things'll kill you, you know. Jamie." The page is signed, Meaningless Mikhaïl. End ID.]

So maybe I listened too much of The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity and Mortality in a few days but I think S3E6 is definitely a favorite of mine. Yes, because there are dogs.

Every horror podcast should have at least one ominously engraved lighter.

#the mistholme museum of mystery morbidity and mortality #tmmmmm #the mistholme museum #mikhail draws #described #tmmommm

[othmeralia]

Tag yourself, I'm sapienza.

This engraved title page is from our copy of Nuovo, et universale theatro farmaceutico

#tag yourself #rare books #old books #17th century #italian books #pharmacy #materia medica #engraved title page #engravings #othmeralia

[yandere-chocolate]

Yandere invisible monster x Reader ~(Plamantic)~

@biribaa requested an invisible yandere.

CW/TW: kidnapping, possessive behavior, horror, fear.

You were in the old library that resided out by the hill near the small town you lived in. You had heard there of the folklore surrounding this library since you were young. Some told you it was haunted by lost souls that died in the woods before the town was built, whilst others said the library itself came alive at midnight & consumed all who entered. Whatever the case, the folklore never seemed to paint it a friendly light; which is why you’re here now. You wanted to prove these foolish tales wrong! & also the books & atmosphere in this library are simply divine.

You walked between long, full shelves; completely unaware of the nonexistent eyes burning into your soul.

You gaze at the spines, giving some a soft stroke to feel their golden letters. All the books here looked like they came straight out of a fairytale! Although some had odd titles such as:

“The cookbook for demons.”

“The bride’s spider.”

“How to kill someone beloved.”

“101 ways to eat teeth of all kinds!”

All of which had soft leather covers & gold engravings, which only made their content more bizarre.

As you were reading a book titled “the love story of butterflies” the lights flickered & you heard the sound of a book falling on the cold, hard light-auburn floor.

You slowly turned to the noise, the fear of seeing someone or something else there making your blood run cold.

But there nothing there.

Just a book the laid at the center between two book shelves. As you took a closer look the pages began flipping faster & faster until they landed on a page.

“‘Hello! What’s your name?” I ask to the lovely patron, or rather someone I hope will become a frequent visitor.”

You stared in awe at the page, a chill crawling its way up your spine. The page stayed like that before it flipped to the next one,

“‘Can you understand me?” I ask, hoping the other person can understand me & isn’t unable to read. There are unfortunately quite a few people who can’t read in the nearby town, especially after they stopped allowing me to teach people…oh, so much education; wasted. “Oh!” I acknowledge, remembering that if they can read, they can read my boring melodrama. “I’m sorry! I haven’t been to tαʅƙ ƚσ αɳყσຖē iຖ ฯēคrŞ.’” The text said, the writing near the last section becoming…different than the rest of it. But it was clear the book was talking to you. You felt a little worried, but that drained away soon enough.

“My name is…” you trailed off, only able to stare at the page. It flipped once more after about a minute,

“‘That’s okay, my friend” I say, “I will find out soon enough~”. I smile, but my newfound can’t see it, not with what happened. “Oh dear! Please, ignore that, the story sometimes just writes itself!” I tell them, gazing at them through the shelves, though they can’t see me due to my lack of physical form; outside of this book, of course!”

Although you still felt off you still talked to the book, almost all of the fear in your body had slipped away & you began learning about the strange spirit…shadow…demon…whatever.

You learned that it was a man! A man that was dedicated to learning as much as they could so that they could share that with everyone he could. He became a professor & a librarian; pleased to educate anyone who wanted to learn & when they weren’t teaching, they were learning. From what they told you, they seemed to almost have their head in a book when they were…well, they aren’t sure if they should say “alive” or “physical form” but, regardless of if they were a ghost or a being unknown to you, you felt a bit of that fear spike back up but quickly die back down.

You soon left, planning to come back despite the multiple chills you felt at the library. They were genuinely nice, albeit talkative.

He learned your name & you learned his; Vivílo.

You kept thinking about Vivílo & their magical library. Books full of spells, descriptions of other dimensions, & even some normal stuff like cookbooks & children’s fairytales.

You soon fell asleep in your warm bed, dreaming of those stories you & Vivílo read together.

——————————————————————

You had been visiting Vivílo every dusk. Reading stories, listening to him table about certain discoveries he made that he used to teach the town, but you did notice how the next would change in the books he presented himself in every time he mentioned being alone or being without a bipedal form. Or any form outside of a book, for that matter.

Unfortunately, you & Vivílo’s friendship couldn’t last. You had gotten a job elsewhere. Normally, you wouldn’t even bother, but this particular job paid quite a bit. You didn’t want to pass up this opportunity.

“‘Hey! Are you okay? You aren’t paying attention to anything my vessel is writing! I can’t speak anymore, you know?” I say to them, becoming a mix of annoyed & worried. They haven’t been reading my texts for the past 5 minutes!” You read, feeling embarrassed that you zoned out on this invisible person for 5 whole minutes. You didn’t mean to! It’s just…it breaks your heart that this is your last night together. Well, maybe. Who knows? Maybe you will find time to visit.

You told Vivílo.

“…” the page said, remaining only those three dots for what felt like forever. The ink faded away; retreating into itself & the page was left blank. You waited, but to no avail. You let out a sigh of disappointment.

You closed the book Vivílo was controlling, set it down, & headed to the door while waving goodbye.

But as soon as you reached to open the library door, they closed shut on you with so much force that you stumbled back. Confused, you tried opening the doors again, “it might just be a strong gust of wind! These door are very heavy.” You thought. But unfortunately, no matter how much you tried to push them open, they stayed closed.

You began violently shaking the doors, banging on them, but they didn’t budge.

Then, you heard the oh-so-familiar sound of a leather book falling to the floor.

You slowly turned, seeing the book about 5 meters away from you. You freeze.

Did Vivílo…?

The book open sharply, its leather cover smacking to the floor. It stayed blank for a few seconds before letters began to appear as you walked closer. It felt like a bad idea—but what was the worst that could happen? Vivílo had no form! They’re invisible!

Of course, you were wrong. Because how could things possibly be that simple for you? How could you be that lucky?

“‘I’m sorry, my dearest friend”, I say to them, “I’m afraid I have been alone far too long to let you leave forever. Do you have any idea how long I have been here? Alone? Well, I can’t tell you, because I lost count after the first hundred years.”’ The text read. He sound pissed. “‘Can you believe that?” I ask, “can you believe that after spending 378 years of my life to help these people & they repay that by leaving me to not only rot away in my library but they made folktales to deter others from coming here as well?! I-…” I pause, letting out a sigh. “That doesn’t matter. Because now I have you. &, unfortunately, you aren’t going to change that. So sorry, love.”’ The book said as thorny vines crept around the doors & locked them into place. You began shaking, completely confused. Vivílo was never able to do this before!

“‘Oh? Impressed? Well, I suppose I never told you I can control this entire library & then some~” I say” as the text appeared the candles began flickering before burning just as bright as before.

“‘Sorry, love. But I think another hundred years alone mɨɢɦȶ ɖʀɨงē ๓ē t໐ ๓คᦔꪀꫀᦓᦓ”’

#yanderecore #yandere #yandere blog #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #soft yandere

[theknightmarket]

"Deal."

In which three disagreeable deities are forced to agree. TW: cursing Pages: 28 - Words: 11,500

[Requests: OPEN]

You were a cultist. You weren’t about to hide that aspect of your life because it was no mere aspect, not anymore; you devoted your entire being to tracking down the pantheon that would mark the end of all humanity. It wasn’t out of spite or service. You had no cosmic motive behind your catastrophic actions. But it wasn’t a test either. Belief rested in your heart and calm in your mind as you traded away the lives of your friends, your family, strangers who would never know what was coming, and your own, for one little thing.

A kiss.

Everyone thought you were joking. Nobody, not even the dredges of society, would risk it all for a little physical contact. They snorted when you told them your plan, and raised an eyebrow when they thought you were carrying on the bit for too long. Oh, there went the ‘town crazy’, traipsing down to the antique shop to pick up the latest prop for their little jape. We laughed at them, for they carried the weight of the jester for our amusement.

Oh, you’d show them. If they lived long enough to recognize what was happening. If they didn’t, you’d still be better off than them.

You proudly owned up to your title of the local lunatic, although it was first given as a joke. One step into your apartment, and they might’ve realized that you weren’t joking. All the ritual memorabilia scattered along the walls, all the unholy ingredients stored in the cupboards, all the little things that contributed to the utter collapse of humanity. Well, as long as the person working the antique store wasn’t a liar.

And, chances were, he was.

But it didn’t hurt to try. And try. And try. And try. One of these days it would work. Eventually, you’d hit the nail on the head and get exactly what you wanted. 

The slam of the book on the wooden alter reverberated around the apartment, swallowed by the artifacts you’d collected. You didn’t know when that day would come, if it would ever come, but you were definitely trying. A manic grin split your face in two as you flipped through the yellowed pages. Awful corruption for a god, but you were going to use it anyway. You could always rewrite it if all you needed was the instructions. They were deities, after all, they deserved better than some dusty, half-broken tome.

You hummed to yourself while you worked. Normally, your speakers would be up and running during the hours you studied old texts, blasting the playlist you’d accumulated over the years. Sorting things was never your forté, so they were all in one place. A bit jarring, but you got used to it, and you didn’t have the time to rearrange anything right now. There was work to be done.

The circle you’d engraved in your wooden flooring – which you notably did not tell your landlord about – was surrounded by candles to make the points of a star. Classic. Reliable. Any source of light was diminished, including the overhead lights that you never turned on and the curtains that you never opened. There wasn’t anything to see anyway, and you preferred your side lamp, though you also switched that off when you had everything in place.

Finally, you rushed to the book and read through the specific instructions for the one you were going to summon first. Try to, at least. The preparations before were all commonplace, every ritual used them, but this was where it changed. You might have been drawing a different symbol or equipping a unique relic. In this case, you were to light the candles pink and inscribe all manner of curls and swirls on the floor with a similar shade of ink.

The packet of lithium was in your hand before you knew what you were doing, but you didn’t resist sprinkling it into the wax divots near the wicks. Your high school chemistry lessons finally paid off, as long as you ignored that your first thought was food dye; working with a pantheon of deities outside of your understanding of the world was undoubtably taking a toll on your mental state.

But that didn’t matter right now. The only thing that was important was the paintbrush in your hand that pooled thick lines of neon pink in the exact shape of the symbol in the book. It had to be exact. Perfect. They deserved it.

You connected the last line to the rest of the shape and sat back on your knees to marvel at your work for the brief moment of life you had left. You wouldn’t get the chance once the end of times was ushered in. It didn’t matter to you if it was a sin to be proud of the product of your years of labor. It was probably more of a sin to cause the deaths of eight billion people. What was one more drop in the bucket?

Wiping your paint-splattered face with your sleeve, you rose from the ground and hastily stumbled towards the alter again. The only thing left to do was chant.

Adrenaline rushed you as though you were being judged, chased, stalked. And you likely were. You felt the stares of a hundred gods and monsters on you, from all directions, right into your eyes. They were eager to witness the introduction of apocalypse. They followed where your pupils went. Holding sparks of anticipation, they flitted across the page to work out the pronunciations, wild birds in their cages pleading to be free from the confines of flesh. Your grip on the alter tightened, knuckles paling as all blood rushed away. Any tighter, and you’d rip splinters from it.

You knew you opened your mouth, and you knew you spoke. The chant flowed like thick oil from your throat and poured itself over the paper. You felt it – gods, did you feel the words cling to the life you gave them – but you didn’t hear it. But it was working. It was working, so you didn’t care. You didn’t matter. The ritual did.

So, it didn’t worry you when a flash of pink light, brighter than an atomic bomb, sprung from the centre of the circle at the dip of one of the paint’s arcs and blinded you. Sight and hearing gone, you relied on touch to ground you, and even that was fleeting. The alter was knocked to the floor and you followed it, landing roughly on your palms in accidental prayer. You assumed you were still looking in the vague direction of the flash. The pink had turned to white in the space of your fall. Whatever was with you now, you had no choice but to worship it. The host of the apocalypse, the bringer of the end of times, the catalyst for the collapse of humanity.

The thing that smelled sweet and clasped your hands gently. You still couldn’t see. Did you do it right? Did you summon the right one? Did you knock over a candle and accidentally burn the apartment down and this was heaven? How did you get into heaven?

Your vision was clearing up while you spiraled. Gradually, the spots of light were pulled apart by a softer tone. It wasn’t the shadow you would have expected after removing all sources of light save the candles, but it wasn’t the flashbang from before, and you would take it. You’d hate for your efforts to be for something but unable to experience it to its fullest.

Shakily, you breathed out, exhaling something akin to dust from the lining of your lungs. A few particles remained in your mouth. Sweetness, again. As though you had dipped your tongue in sugar.

“My- my God?” you mumbled. You could hear your voice this time. Words you knew and recognized. Familiar. Safe. 

Yet you still felt safe with the hands of a stranger wrapped around yours. They were warm and soft, and, blinking with the sensation of stepping into the sun for the first time, normal looking. Slowly, you turned them over, so the palms were facing up to you. They were human.

But the thing kneeling mere inches away from you was not.

“Please,” they spoke, with a smile you swore you once saw carved into marble, “call me Wilford.”

He looked kind. When the last vestiges of bright light faded, you were greeted by the pleasant sight of a handsome, if not confusing, man. Really, the pink moustache and hair, the same color as the paint and candles, was the only sign of him not being the average person on the street, besides the fact that he appeared in your ritual circle like the second coming.

When your eyes met, his grin widened. You couldn’t guess what was going through his head, you wouldn’t dare, but you had questions as to why he was guiding you to stand so tenderly. “Now, whatever did you summon me here for?”

“I-I... well, I meant to- uh, dammit, I—”

Your poor excuse for a sentence was cut off before you could make more of a fool of yourself by hushing. Of course, you quieted down, thankful for the excuse to focus on breathing instead of talking. A haze of some unknown emotion clouded your mind and heart, but whatever you were experiencing must have been obvious to the deity you stood before. He took you by the crook of your arm and coaxed you towards the couch a few steps away. Doing this ritual thing in the middle of the living room was a blessing and a curse, though the latter would only come into play if it failed. You hated rearranging furniture.

He laid you down onto the plush pillows, cooing at you softly. Was this the relationship between gods and humans? Pets to play with as they saw fit. It made sense, as much sense as infinite immortals could make. There was no argument to be on an equal playing field, but you had imagined it to be more…

Violent, maybe subservient. You didn’t expect to be pampered with a hand patting your hair and assurances muttered until you were able to function again.

“I summoned you,” you shakily spoke. It was a statement, but you couldn’t stop the uncertainty seeping into your words.

“I should hope so—” Wilford’s laugh was the same as his voice, incredibly sweet and lighthearted, despite having enough power to stop your heart with just a glance, “—I am here, after all.”

Hesitantly, you nodded. Alright. He was actually there. You had summoned him. It actually worked this time.

“Do you remember why you summoned me?” came his own question.

You definitely did, and your subconscious seized your mouth again to avoid having to say it aloud. To the people in your town, the ones you entertained with your plots and stories, it was easy to tell what your end goal was. With the actual deity face to face, it was much harder. You should have planned for this. Maybe you could buy some time to get your confidence back.

You latched onto the odd choice of words that confused you in the first place. “Do… do I remember?”

“Sometimes I forget myself, and if an eldritch god does, I’m sure humans do, too.”

Your own breathing filled the silence left behind at the admission. Wilford’s chest didn’t rise or fall, why would it, and he seemed preoccupied with carding a hand over your head anyway. His moustache twitched every time that he brushed against your actual skin, and his smile grew an unnoticeable millimeter wider. It left you frozen and staring at him, which he didn’t appear to mind.

You could do this. There was no going back now.

“Well, Wilford,” you began, barely managing to escape his touch long enough to sit up straight, “I do remember.”

“Good! How can I satiate your heart’s deepest, darkest desire?”

“I want to kiss you.”

The reaction you received was not one you expected from a god, of any shape or form. He hummed pleasantly. Nothing else, he just hummed, the sound reverberating in the small room but never seeming to fade. It died out in a flash, instead, as he placed an elbow onto the couch cushion and balanced his head in the hand of it. In the fifteen seconds that you were both completely immobile afterwards, he didn’t blink, and his smile stayed plastered where it was.

“You want to kiss me,” he repeated, tone as peppy as before you revealed yourself.

No matter how hard your heart beating against your ribcage, you didn’t dare back down. You were in it now, whether you liked it or not. So, slowly, you nodded, becoming more and more sure of yourself in the process.

Wilford stayed perfectly quiet and perfectly still for another moment. You wondered if you’d done something wrong, something so taboo that you’d broken a god – but a kiss was much easier on the mind than the murder of billions of innocents; you should have been the one to freeze, and yet there you were, waiting with bated breath for him to say anything else. But he didn’t.

Not before he lunged forward, springing to lean over you in an inclined plank and barricade his arms around you. Even without the cover of blinking, his eyes seemed to mimic the stars – flashes of planets and sparks of supernovas jumped around in his pupils and radiated light to the whites. You could barely move your head enough to make eye contact with how close his face was, pressed almost directly underneath your chin, enough that you felt his mustache ticked at the skin as his grin grew impossibly wider.

“Oh-ho, now that’s an unusual request!” he commented, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before.”

The position you were trapped in gave you no leeway. When you spoke, your breath shifted the curls of his hair. “You haven’t?”

There was silence in which Wilford tried to remember, but he came up empty; so many years and requests and people, anyone would have trouble keeping track of them all. His own established issues didn’t help him any, but that didn’t matter. After all, that was the past, or the future, or a different present that he needn’t care about. You were the one in front of him, looking awfully scared for such a simple want, and you were the one he was tending to. The strange human who just wanted a simple smooch in return for possibly giving him the entire world. It was almost unfair.

“But it is intriguing.” His head cocked to the side. “The average summoner would ask for something bigger. Riches, power, time—” Then a thought occurred to him that made his smile collapse into a sharp grimace, broken only by him spitting out, “—fame.”

You supposed it had crossed your mind once or twice that you should do something more substantial with your boundless wish, but nothing else seemed worth it, to you at least. Why would you care about being a billionaire when you wouldn’t live long enough to use the money? Power was a moot point because you didn’t care enough about any entity to want to control it, and time?

“Isn’t the world going to end anyway?”

A few stray chuckles floated up from Wilford’s mouth. “Oh, no, of course not!”

Any fear that remained from his bout of silence was traded out for doubt, surprise, and a great deal of confusion. When he brought his head back to eye level with you, there was no sign of a lie, just dim amusement as your misconception. You might have been offended had you not been preoccupied by the questions that ran through your head.

He peeled back far enough that there were a few inches between you. “What point would there be in destroying the very thing that gives you power? The cults of eldritch gods support them, in every place and time at once, and to willingly minimize your area of effect would be plain silly. We can’t just destroy dimensions willy-nilly; we have to be selective. So,” he practically purred, closing up that gap slowly, “you’ll be completely safe. The people around you, however…”

Although he trailed off, you didn’t need any more explanation. A world-ending catastrophe wasn’t your aim, anyway, what was currently happening was. The space between you was getting smaller and smaller at a leisurely pace. You couldn’t complain, physically or figuratively. Puffs of air danced across your lips, like fog rolling in from the sea, and the couch dipped as Wilford’s knee came to stabilize him at the edge. You risked prematurely closing the gap entirely when you whispered, “That’s fine.”

“Good,” his whisper came out as the final bat of a wave against the shore, “you don’t exactly have a choice anymore.”

Not that you would protest as his lips skimmed yours so lightly that you weren’t certain it was happening at all. If you were to lean less than a centimeter forward, you would connect, and the deal would be done. Internally, you were a blank canvas, mind in a haze of expectation and adrenaline. Whether this was just you or the effect an eldritch god had on you, you didn’t know, and you didn’t care. You had devoted years of your life to this pursuit, you couldn’t waste the golden opportunity on minor worries.

But it wasn’t your fault that you were interrupted.

Another flashbang blinded you with white light. Ringing in your ears that stopped you from hearing anything except the high pitch, even when you felt your mouth open. This time, instead of the complete blankness of your senses, you were overwhelmed with pain, as if you had been dunked in the river Styx. Not just the brightness of an atomic bomb, but the agony of one, too. A migraine flexed and stilled in your mind, focusing all the thoughts on the damage it must have been causing you. What this was or why it was happening were secondary to silent prayers for it all to stop.

And then, just like that, your prayers were answered. In the flap of a butterfly’s wings, you were left reeling on the couch, pushed back into the cushions and fighting against your swimming vision. It was hard to distinguish direction for a moment, even the memories of the apartment you’d lived in for years struggled to help you, but it soon cleared up. In front of you, from the couch to the wall, was the same as it always had been, and you had to wonder whether Wilford had just made a dramatic exit before anything could actually happen.

Voices from behind you made you realise not only did Wilford not leave, but someone new was in the room with you, and it wasn’t a friendly neighbor checking in about the noise.

“The least you could have done was wait until I was finished.” That one was the voice you recognised, but the tone was much more acidic than the softness you were already used to.

And then, came the one you weren’t familiar with. “What would be the point of showing up after you’d sealed the deal?”

Against the bell chime of Wilford’s voice, this one was sleeker, as if it had been artificially smoothed down to slide from the throat to the mouth and out into the air. It lacked a sweetness but made up for it in baritone words like the soft pounding of a heart in your ears. It matched your own that had dropped into your stomach as your thoughts clouded with the newcomer.

“From what I remember, you’re not one to act with much sense,” Wilford replied, a spite overtaking any of the enthusiasm he had shown you. Whoever this was, he didn’t like them.

The stranger’s sarcastic laugh punctured the air of your apartment. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“And anyways, I was here first, and, unlike you, I was actually summoned.” 

“Wilford?” You were surprised by the shake of your voice – you weren’t a meek person by nature, but you supposed being in the presence of two gods would do that to anyone. You understood that you should have been groveling at their feet, thanking them and begging for forgiveness, and yet you simply rose from the couch to finally catch a glimpse of the deity he was on the cusp of arguing with.

“Yes, darling?”

His response was thrown to the wayside as your eyes met with the unfamiliar face in your living room. Your first thought was to wonder how the second god you’d ever seen was just as gorgeous as the first. The second was that your eyes blew so wide with fear with that you were sure they were going to fall out. They were draped head to toe in a crimson that burned in the candlelight, which, now that you actually looked, was no longer the pink you had lit it to be. It was much darker, eerily the same color as the blood that flowed through your veins, but it caressed the edges of their body and face like a lover’s hand.

You swallowed before you asked, “What- what’s happening?”

Your question flipped a switch in the two’s minds. On one hand, Wilford broke out into a snarl unbecoming of the man you’d seen him to be as he groaned, “We’ve been party-crashed.”

On the other hand, the one in red started to step – glide – toward you, the robe swaying across the floorboards and creating patterns in the still wet paint that they strode across. A smirk pulled at the corner of their mouth when you were within arm’s reach.

“What Wil here failed to explain is that I am the King in Red, Heir to Carcosa.” Neither of those titles you recognised but you felt your heart drop regardless, especially as he stopped barely a few inches away from you. The sliver of Wilford that you could see did not look pleased, but he stayed where he was anyway.

“Another eldritch god,” you clarified.

His touch on your hand felt like someone had lit a flame in your palm, the veins used as routes for a wildfire to grow. Your impulse to snatch your hand back was overtaken by the need to close around the warmth. The decision was made for you as he brought your hand towards himself. “Guilty as charged.”

The kiss was better, worse, different to the flame of his contact. It was so hot that it fully circled temperature and fell into a blazing coldness against the back of your hand. You were half sure he had melted away your skin, despite the strange lack of pain, and taken your breath along with it. You didn’t speak, couldn’t find it in you to, when Mark came out of his bow and stood straight enough to meet your eyes again.

“Considering Wilford here told you his, my name is Mark.”

You didn’t know how to feel; all the awe and terror and confusion and fatigue was catching up to you, convincing you with a gentle hand to lie down and forget that there were two gods in your living room, who you now knew the names of, that you were going to play host to. Everything was crumbling around you.

Putting up your scraps of confidence, you asked desperately, “Why are you here? I didn’t, I mean, I already—”

But mortals’ crises were nothing but spilled milk to eldritch deities. Flippantly, Mark waved his hand, the sleeve of his robe peeling back, before he spoke, “Yes, yes, I know I’m not technically the one you summoned, but I couldn’t help but overhear what you were trading for the lives of your friends and family.”

“Something that doesn’t involve you, that’s for sure.” Whether you were grateful for Wilford’s intrusion or appalled by the obvious disrespect didn’t matter. Mark’s smirk sharpened, expelling all the smooth charisma.

“If you’re going to make snarky comments,” he snapped, “I suggest you find another of your cultists and make some other exchange. I know you have hundreds.” Wilford gasped indignantly, not that you knew which suggestion he took the most offence to. 

“And leave you alone with one of my followers?” His scoff cut into a growl. 

In your preparation for summoning a god, you hadn’t done much research into who you’d actually be summoning. The specifics of the character weren’t anything you cared for, considering you would use whatever you could get your hands on – pink paint and lithium were the easiest combination of materials, and some of the other rituals asked for either very difficult or very uncomfortable things to get your hands on. As such, the relationships between those deities were unknown to you. Whatever this was, an ancient rivalry or a mere spat, you hadn’t prepared for it.

Nor were you prepared to be the person they were fighting to convince.

“Darling,” Wilford started moving closer, intentionally giving Mark a wide berth, “I know I said you’re safe, and you still are, but being around him for a long period of time has proven to be deadly.”

Sarcasm bubbled up within you. You hadn’t expected it to be a safe endeavor, after all. Still, you kept your mouth shut, more out of respect than the fear.

Mark had no such qualms about backtalking, however.

“Because becoming a ditzy canvas with no memories at all is so much better than what I can offer?”

Wait, what?

“Quite frankly, yes! A lot of people would take it over becoming a husk for you to puppet on stage.”

What?

One second, you were damning the world to apocalypse. The next, you weren’t, and everybody could live their happy endings. And then the next, you were sacrificing the people in the town but saving your own skin. And then the next, you were either losing your memories and your mind or you were renting out your body as an actor.

You really wanted someone to give you the story straight, without all the fluffy words and fighting. But the fear must have showed on your face, because Mark was gesturing in your direction with a manicured hand.

“Come now, you’re scaring the poor thing. I think we can come to a better agreement, don’t you?”

You didn’t like the tone of his voice in the last half. You didn’t like it one bit. He was suddenly less like a sneaky door-to-door salesman and more like the snake in the garden of Eden.

“I mean—” Your words sounded choked out, even to yourself, “—I don’t really think I want anything else.”

“There’s no need to pretend with me, dearest, that’s my job. You must have a larger goal – and with me, you won’t be sacrificing the people around you. They get to live, and you get what you want. Isn’t that better?”

You saw what the problem was. You supposed that after so many years of humanity milling about, there’d be conflicting impressions of them, especially for gods who didn’t see things on the same level as you. The world wars and the protests and the charities muddied the waters of what humans were really like.

Mark was making the – albeit completely understandable – mistake of assuming that both you and the townsfolk were good people.

“I think you overestimate how much I care about the people in this town.”

You couldn’t help the swell of pride in your chest when you noticed the shock on his face. Hell, his back straightened, and he blinked as if he just weren’t seeing you right.

“But your family. Surely, you don’t want to be the cause of their deaths?”

And he was assuming that your family was still alive.

“No, I- uh, don’t have a family.”

His face dropped as if you’d spoiled the ending of a show. Unimpressed, bored, and vaguely disappointed. Maybe he wasn’t used to this kind of resistance, maybe he wasn’t used to getting it wrong. Presumably, that wasn’t a habit the gods made, but it happened regardless. It was happening, and Mark was having a hard time getting back onto his feet.

After a moment’s hesitation, he stilled and frowned. “You’re making this a lot harder than it has to be,” he complained, and yet he spoke with such confidence, as if the outcome couldn’t be anything but him getting what he wanted, that you almost believed it, too.

Wilford stepped around Mark, very obviously and probably meant to tease him, in order to pull you back down to the couch cushions with him. You flopped against the back of it, only secured by his arms around you, cradled like a toy that a parent threatened to take away from their child. Just as stubbornly, he spat, “It was all going smoothly before you showed up.”

“And if everyone played along, we’d be done by now.” You could hear Wilford rolling his eyes better than you could see it in response to Mark’s groaning. You weren’t doing it on purpose, or, at least, you didn’t think you were. Why would you? The man beside you definitely was, trying to get under his skin and poking and prodding, but you were just answering the questions. Were you supposed to play alongor were you supposed to tell the truth?

Wilford interrupted before you could come to a conclusion, “In this day and age, I don’t understand why you’re here.”

Mark looked you up and down. Judging. He smiled, not unpleasantly but vastly less wholesome than Wilford’s grins. It reminded you of a rose, not just the petals but the thorns as well. He wasn’t lying about the danger he brought, he just wasn’t mentioning it, in the same way that you might not recognize a rose for the pain it would cause but for the beauty it was known for. Nobody talked about the spikes, just the satiny crimson of the prettier parts. Distantly, you wondered whether that smile meant you passed inspection or something different.

“I’m just interested.”

“Go be interested in someone else.” He waved his hand, a shooing motion that lit a flame in Mark’s face, his cheeks becoming just as red as his robe. You didn’t particularly want two gods getting into a petty fight in the middle of your apartment – hell, you hadn’t planned for there to be two gods in the first place – but you still wound up the mediator.

At least, you tried. “Can’t I make a deal with both of you?”

But your proposition was shot down immediately, a combined, “No!” bouncing off the walls and down the hallway. It sounded like the thunder and the rain of a storm, like it was down the street and right next to your ear simultaneously. Their yell, their one agreement so far, could have shaken the earth in the way you had expected their arrival to, instead of the flashbang you had been met with.

You shrunk back into the embrace of the couch, pressed into it in the way that got pennies and wallets and keys lost. You couldn’t tell whether it was out of fear, worry, or the want to get disappear like those common trinkets. The feeling of regret flexed in you, growing and shrinking and growing and shrinking. This whole ordeal was more than you had bargained for. You’d expected a one-and-done kind of thing. Now, you had childish rivals tossing insults.

Speaking of.

Mark bent down to take your hand into his again, but he didn’t lean to kiss it. Instead, he drew his other hand over it, fingers dancing along the skin and prompting sparks around your knuckles. “Dearest,” his teeth were gritted together so that the words struggled out from behind the bars, “I would rather die than share a follower with him. We both know how well it worked out last time.”

A tut from your side before it merged into a laugh. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“What reason do you have?” came the venomous response, disbelieving and mocking.

“I just don’t like you.” Wilford’s smile was bright even as he insulted Mark to his face. If you were to reach out, you were half sure your hand would catch on the tension between them, and you were surprised when you were able to get up from the couch and drag yourself through the air without being stopped.

When you were a few steps away from the pair, out of the blast radius, you sighed, “It’s obvious that this isn’t working. Is there a way to end the whole summoning thing?” You weren’t keen to have to redo all your hard work, but you were even less interested in losing your apartment to a minefield. As the saying went, there were plenty of fish in the sea, and finding another god couldn’t be that difficult. You hoped.

Your eyes latched onto the sudden fear in Wilford’s eyes. It was small, but it was there. Despite that, his grin never faltered, and his voice was steady as he answered, “No—”

“Yes, there is!” Mark announced with more excitement than you had heard in your entire experience with him, and, possibly, it was the most genuine, too. His head whirled to frantically search around the room until his gaze landed on the alter.

Wilford jumped to his feet. “It’s extremely complicated and you probably don’t have the materials and it takes time—”

“They have the book, don’t they?”

What ensued was by far the most insane part about this situation; you stood next to the wall, watching with concern, while Mark dashed for the summoning book. He was barely a few inches away from grabbing it before his face met the floor, snuffing out the candles that he landed on and knocking several others onto the floor. Wilford grunted in the new position as Mark’s elbow connected with his stomach – he recovered surprisingly quickly from the tackle to the ground – and he tossed the other god onto his back. A bundle of flames licked up at them on your wooden boards, but the threat was diminished with their combined rolling away.

Before you met them, you would’ve been scared out of your wits by the thought of two eldritch beings grappling in the middle of your apartment, especially because you would have made certain assumptions – that they had demonic powers, that they could kill you accidentally with the snap of their fingers, and maybe they still could. It was only now that you realized they not much more than schoolboys fighting in the field at lunch break. You couldn’t be intimidated by that.

So, walking forward to stamp out the fire that had been growing into a few smoldering patches of ash, you grabbed the book that they had seemingly forgotten about and proceeded towards your front door. Not schoolboys. Toddlers. Thinking of them like that gave you only one course of action; wait for their tantrums to end and then pick up the pieces.

They didn’t react to the creak of the door, Wilford too preoccupied by bending Mark’s arm back and Mark too preoccupied by not getting his arm bent back, so you slipped out into the night with ease. Immediately, you felt the change in the air. There was no tension out there, covered by the coolness of late hours. They offered a comfort you would never be able to match. Never had you been so glad to be human. Sure, other people were a nightmare and getting out of that town was a dream you aspired to, but you enjoyed this little bit of the world. You wondered if ants felt the same when they looked down off a hill. In the presence of ‘dangerous’ deities, it was nice to sit back and appreciate what you did understand. At that time, you would normally have been able to see the stars twinkling distantly against the black void of the sky, but they must have been hidden by the clouds because you couldn’t see them.

Or the railing.

Or the balcony hallway itself, or, as you whirled around to run back inside, the wall of your apartment. The door stood out like an unfinished painting, bordered by the same darkness that was all around you. You felt caged. It was closing in and spreading apart at the same time, and you could only think to return to the living room. At least you knew what was in there. Out here? Glares burned into your skin from all directions and the shiver of a frigid gust of wind was more physical than your own body. You lunged for the handle to escape it and threw yourself in.

More darkness greeted you.

“Wilford?” you called out, “Mark? Is anyone there?”

You had spoken to the void, but you didn’t expect the void to speak back.

“So, you’re the one causing all of this trouble?”

Those eyes seemed to narrow. The only thing you were certain of was the rapid thud of your heart in your chest, and even then, it was inconsistent. A scream clawed at your throat, but you choked on the sound.

You managed to struggle past the blockage to ask, “Hello?”

The words reverberated around wherever you were, but it wasn’t your voice. Some of the echoes were deeper, some higher, some altogether unintelligible, as if spoken in another language. It hurt when they came back to you.

“Darling, dearest—” Something writhed in the pitch, “I’d ask how they got so attached so fast, but we both know who we’re talking about.”

“And who am I talking to?”

“You’ve been messing around with that book; I should hope you know.”

You almost jumped to your own defense before you remembered what position you were in. On one hand, you had only meant to summon Wilford, not Mark, but, on the other, it probably didn’t matter in the eyes of whoever – whatever – you were talking to.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” you started as you searched for the confidence you had started the day with, “but which one are you?”

“I have man names, many faces… you won’t be around much longer, so you may refer to me as Dark.”

Well, it was certainly fitting. As if to confirm your thoughts, a patch of the void appeared to constrict and tear through itself. Each particle fought for space, sparking with red and blue light, and collected into smaller masses. You were stuck to where you were standing while the voice continued in the background.

“Those two are tenacious.” More flecks of light joined the fray. “Neither will stop until they get what they want.” They warped the area around them in the vague shape of a person. “That just so happens to put you in a tight spot.” The color seeped out of the portrait, but it was still distinguishable from the void. “Wilford will slowly erase your memories, even though he doesn’t mean to nor is he aware of it.” A body began to coalesce where you assumed the floor of the void to be. “And Mark will take your physical form as soon as you pledge yourself to him to use in one of his plays.” It travelled up from dress shoes to black pants to the edges of a white shirt. “And you were about to choose both.” A neck appeared above the collar and those particles caressed the line of a jaw. “That…”

A face emerged.

“That is fascinating.”

Before you stood the fully formed god you now knew as Dark, and you had mixed feelings about that. For one, you had actually watched him appear. He didn’t arrive in a blaze of light, he did quite the opposite. That in and of itself dug a pit in your stomach, and his earlier comment that you wouldn’t be around much longer wasn’t helping your nerves. You felt like you were on the edge of spiraling out of control, but you also felt strangely calm, like there was a voice whispering in your ear that there was no need to get worried. Your breathing stayed steady while you looked at him. A formal black suit and ashen skin were the only notable features he sported. There was no taste in your mouth, no pain in your body, just confusion and a hint of fear.

He opened his mouth to speak, and you braced for impact, but his voice sounded normal. “What’s so important to you that you’d give up your mind and body?”

The answer was coaxed out of your mouth before you could think to say it. “A kiss.”

You had managed to shock not one, not two, but three eldritch deities. You were three for three, and you were damn proud of yourself! When you were back in your room later that night, you were going to celebrate. With what, you didn’t know yet, but you were already stewing in the feeling. It didn’t take long for Dark to recuperate, though, and you were brought back to the present by his gravelly laugh.

“Mortals,” he tutted. “You can never seem to decide whether you’re so significant that you’re the centre of the universe, or you’re so irrelevant that nothing you do matters. You’d give up yourself and the people around you for a show of affection, no doubt ingenuine?”

“Is it so hard to understand that I don’t care about the people here?”

“And your own soul?”

“I went into this thinking the entire world was going to end, so this is a preferrable outcome.”

He thought for a moment, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. You felt like you were being inspected, and maybe you were, but you must’ve passed his scrutiny because a grin crept across his face. Not sugary like Wilford’s, or sly like Mark’s, but understanding, as if you’d given him the last piece of the puzzle that he had also known from the beginning. You confirmed something in him, and he was going to use it to his full advantage.

“That settles it,” he said, bringing a hand up to snap his fingers. That sound reverberated, not unlike your original words, but without the pain. Instead of granting to a headache, it swept away the darkness like a curtain to reveal your apartment. You were standing exactly where you would have been after coming back inside, a few steps away from the centre of the ritual circle, only Dark was situated opposite you. Just to the side were Wilford and Mark, still tousling as though you had never left.

As Wilford reared back a fist to sock Mark in the jaw, he finally noticed your return, to which he shot a smile at you. A stark bruise had found a place above his eye, but that didn’t stop him from winking at you while he drew his fist further away from his target.

And then he paused, hummed, and jumped up from the floor to greet Dark with a hug and a call of his name.

Mark, meanwhile, stumbled to his feet. He didn’t look worse than Wilford, but he certainly wasn’t better; a cut dripped blood around his mouth, which he wiped away with his thumb. His expression didn’t brighten when he saw Dark, and, instead, he took the grace period to trot over to you and swing an arm around your waist.

“Couldn’t handle me on your own?” he boasted when you were well situated, “You had to call in backup.”

At the insinuation, Wilford whirled on his heel and spat back, “I’ll have you know I am perfectly capable of—”

“Can we be civil?”

Whatever relationship the three of them had, Dark seemed to be the most – if not liked – respected. The two men stopped talking immediately and looked towards the one who had spoken, whose voice somehow sounded like it brought the walls of the room closer even if the volume didn’t change. He was powerful, that much was certain, and he proved it more than Wilford or Mark had, so far.

Another demonstration was when he reached into a slightly shaded corner of your apartment and retrieved something from the inky black. For a moment, it was nothing more than vapor, like dry ice, but then he pulled it further towards him.

Even though it now had a physical form, it helped you none with what it actually was. All you saw was a piece of yellow, tarnished paper that made Dark grimace, before he shook it and the color seeped out of it. You could have assumed it was a trick of the light had that not also healed the rips and tears.

“I’m sure the little cultist didn’t summon anyone here to see a petty squabble,” he said as he reached back into the shadow to get something that made more sense to you, a pen. Not that you knew what to do with it when he stepped closer and held both items out to you.

You looked him up and down in confusion.

Dark didn’t look offended while he explained, “If you agree to these terms, you can proceed with your original plan.”

Wilford popped up over his shoulder to take a peek at the writing. His lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed but he only stated, “Dark loves a good contract.” Mark, meanwhile, tightened his grip.

Now that you were able to see the front of the paper, you could understand the words and be surprised it was in English.

To sum it up, after your eyes had skimmed over the terms, you would get what you wanted. You were ready to stop then and there, but common sense told you to keep going. Something about survival instincts or whatever boring thing your mind felt the need to involve.

The extra lines told you what would happen for the deities beside you. Wilford would get to take the memories of the entire town over the course of a couple days at a time – a similar situation to what you’d heard happened in Insmouth – but would use your apartment as a home base of sorts instead of an eroded group of rocks. You’d be there for the upkeep and taxes and, strangely, companionship. For two days after that, you would go with Mark to actively participate in his plays. At your side, he seemed to brighten when he read it. You guessed that unconscious husks weren’t the most entertaining when it came to improv. The final line stated that you would return to your apartment, alone, for the weekend, which worked for you.

But you weren’t the one it would be difficult to convince, and, what surprised you, nor was it Mark.

“Unfortunately, we have been over why a custody agreement won’t work,” Wilford piped up, leaning an arm over Dark’s shoulder. “Someone holds a very old and very useless grudge and is also the last person I would ever want to associate myself with.”

The impulse to point out that he had spent the last hour or so associating with Mark reared its head. You subtly patted it down, only noting that your confidence was coming back after the whole eldritch gods acting like petty toddler situation.

Dark spoke as though he were used to this, though, “You won’t have to make contact with the King in Red if you don’t want to. A day’s interim for handover has already been specified.”

Wilford couldn’t help but groan back, “You’re taking the fun out of this whole thing. They’re not a time-share, or a car being traded between dealers.” He went to cross his arms but was interrupted by his own gesture to the man who still had a grip on you. “And besides, Mark would never agree to it.”

“Oh, I’m fine with this arrangement.”

You blinked. Maybe you had preemptively gone insane because that void sounded like it was Mark’s but, even from your limited experience with him, he wouldn’t give up that easy. It unnerved you how casual he sounded, as it did the other two; Wilford’s eyebrows shot up, to be expected, but Dark also slightly reared back, like he had the chance of seeing the truth if he looked from another angle.

“Really?” you asked, turning your head to make eye contact.

“I’m given two days, and it’ll only take one to convert you fully to my side.” His hand left your waist and moved to pull your jaw towards him. “Contracts can be amended, can’t they?”

Damn. He was smooth. You tried to ignore the blush that flourished on your cheeks, and how your thoughts reminded you how little space there was between you and him. An inch, maybe less. It wouldn’t need much energy to move closer – in fact, it made more sense to just remove the gap altogether, right?

Until Wilford slapped his hand from your chin and stood steadfastly between you, the ideas falling out of your mind like a bucket with a hole punctured in the bottom. You hadn’t seen him move in the first place, but nobody looked shocked.

“We haven’t started yet,” he spat, and you were almost distracted by his pout.

They made faces at each other while you reread the contract. It all seemed very cut and dry. There was no point in a fine print if you were selling your soul for some kisses, because there was nothing to hide. No devils in the details for you.

Well, except…

“What’s the weekend for?” you asked. Dark didn’t seem the type to give you ‘time off’ just like that.

And you were right, in both aspects. He didn’t try to cover it up before he started explaining, “If I’m going to notarize this contract, I’m going to get something out of it.”

That got the other’s attention. Their heads snapped to look at Dark, both as confused as you were.

“Your follower here planned to trade reality as they know it for a single kiss, not even the three that we’re offering.” What? “Just imagine what else they could give for trifles like that.” What?

It took you a second to process what he said. He wasn’t looking for a one-up on another god, or entertainment, or companionship. He was looking for a gateway into the human world, and he found that gateway in you. What else you could give him. Access. Apparently, ancient beings who were witnesses to the dawn of time were also subjects to legalities. They couldn’t go invading the world whenever they wanted, they were like vampires, they had to be let in.

As Dark said, you would be the one to let him in, so that he could wreak whatever havoc that you could, or couldn’t, imagine.

That might have put other people off from making the deal. But, then again, you weren’t other people. You were you, and you had no qualms about breaking that dam and letting the flood destroy the town. You’d get what you wanted, that was all you really cared about, and it was the first line of the contract.

“Alright.” All three of the men around you looked towards you. “Deal.”

You took the pen that Dark was holding out to you, ignored the smirk that pulled at his lips, and signed your name on the dotted line.

The paper disappeared in the same puff of smoke it had appeared in. Dark’s hand was left empty, and so was yours as the pen took its own exit, but he quickly crossed his arms behind his back and took a step away from you. More than one, in fact, until he turned and started to walk towards the front door. He didn’t have to see your confused expression to understand.

“Privacy,” was all he offered before snapping his fingers and pointing at Mark.

It must have been insulting to be beckoned like a dog; he frowned and groaned and sighed and stomped all the way to where Dark stood, and then, with an upturned nose, he passed him and stalked into the exposed hallway. It only took a shared nod between Wilford and Dark for him to leave as well, following into the darkness that still stained the world outside your apartment.

You and Wilford were left alone. Right back to the start.

“Well,” he started, taking both of your hands into his, “I’m sorry about that, darling!”

“That normally doesn’t happen, right?” The warnings you’d found scratched into the first pages of books, the cryptic words from sellers, all of them foreshadowed the danger of summoning an eldritch god. None of them told you how ending up with three would turn out, so either it was a rare event, or nobody had lived to give their own advice on it.

Wilford simply nodded and answered, “Quite right.” His eyes drifted to the door that only just clicked closed. “Though, it was the actor and I last time, too, so maybe we’re exceptions to the rule.”

“Rule?”

“In theory, the followers who choose us have such different aims that we never cross paths. I have the mind, he has the body,” a laugh jumped out of his throat, “nobody’s going to Mark to forget their wife’s death. But nothing ever goes how it does on paper. We get muddled up, and then we both make deals, and then our follower’s caught between a rock and a hard place, and then—well, you’ve seen what happens.” He gestured dramatically to the apartment, that now seemed so much smaller than it did before. “You are what happens.”

But you were alive. You survived. No matter what happened from that point on, you had gotten through such an ordeal that would surely make anything else pale in comparison. You could do it.

“This is the first time Dark’s taken part,” Wilford offhandedly commented, before his spine straightened as though he was struck by lightning. You swore you could feel the leftover sparks when his hand returned to yours. “Oh, but no more about them. Party-crashers, really, are the worst of the lot. Just criminal. And not even the fun kind of criminal.” His eyes finally met yours again. “But we got there in the end.”

It was in that moment that his voice dipped from those jovial, sugar-coated words into something deeper. Not that his tone had particularly changed, there was just another layer to it, like a tree stripped back to the core of it. It befitted the god you imagined prior to summoning him. Now that you had met him, it made your heart flutter in your chest and your breathing pick up to match it. Much like how it was what seemed like years ago, except there was going to be no one popping in with a flash of light to interrupt you.

“Now, where were we?”

Standing up straight was an odd choice, but you were in an odd situation and by far more distracted by Wilford pushing forward through the thin air between you and connecting his lips with yours. The second that you were fully touching, you tasted the sugar that seemed a permanent coat for every part of him. It was incredibly soft, gentle, like he thought you’d shatter if he applied any pressure, and he did. Humans were such fragile creatures, bound by the laws you’d created for yourselves, both physically and socially. A pinprick, a papercut, a prod to the wrong part of you, and you could die, just like that. Wilford was determined that you wouldn’t go that way, but it made him far lighter than he would have liked to be.

But if this was him holding back, you couldn’t help but wonder what full force would be, because you couldn’t tell whether it was the sweetness or the man himself that was making you want for more. You forgot to breath as you focused entirely on the movement of his lips against yours. Your mind swam with thoughts, all centered on him, to the point that the last hour wiped out of your mind, and you returned to the beginning. It was addicting, to sum it up, and Wilford had to guide you apart when you started to go far too limp in his hold.

You must have looked some kind of way, maybe a certain dazed fog in your eyes, because he laughed – a sound that was so much lighter than before, if you could remember what it was like before – and tapped your nose with one of his fingers. Your barely caught Wilford’s wink in the hazy mind field you tried to pick your way through.

And then the pressure was gone, just like that, as if he’d never existed in the first place. For a moment, the impulse to agree with that flitted across your mind – it all seemed ludicrous, anyway, that was undeniable – but then the door behind you crashed against your wall, bounced back, and was eventually shut when a pair of shoes were fully inside.

You didn’t turn around, because you neither had the reason nor the time to do so. It was obvious whose hands were on your waist in a matter of milliseconds, each finger pressing into your clothes in time with the corresponding one on the other side.

“Finally,” Mark mumbled as his head came to rest in the crook of your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his fluffy hair bat against your skin, one stray lock managing to knock against your earlobe. “I thought he’d never leave. He never knows when the party’s over. Never remembers.”

If you hadn’t seen the outcome of their little sparing match or the squabble, you could have been easily convinced he was in love with the other god, going off how much he talked about him. Many of your fellow students in high school pretended to hate who they were secretly attracted to, though they didn’t have the power to smite you if you were to suggest it to them. The man currently wrapped around you proved to be a deadlier risk.

“But that doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone and we can finally make good on our deal.” 

You were shocked out of your joking assumptions by the graze of Mark’s teeth where his head was planted. A nip, and you were wondering if you were starting already, but he stopped long enough to mutter some more muffled words.

“Oh, I have so many ideas.” You barely registered one of his hands coming up to guide your jaw into looking towards him. “If we’re doing it differently,” his whispers danced across your skin before drifting up as he gently pecked up your neck, “I can’t have you doing the same old King in Red script. 

From what you’d heard, that was the pseudo-ritual to take your soul, and, as per your contract, you were supposed to be fully conscious when you were performing. You were glad he’d picked up on that, it would be annoying to go through all that hassle just to be exorcised from your own body at the last hurdle. You were sure that you would have completed it had he not brought it up, thankful that at least one of you wasn’t distracted by the current events. 

“I would offer Othello,” he continued, and you shivered at the new puff of breath, “but the bard seems too tame for your first experience. Musicals are especially rough on the vocal cords if you’re not used to it.”

Damn, Mark was a tease. Your oh-so-dutiful-cult-follower exterior was cracking the longer he dragged this on. He wasn’t doing this on purpose, he was too excited about the prospect of plays to be disingenuous about the subject, but you had half a mind to jumpstart this thing.

“Your heist movies have always interested me—” Maybe two thirds a mind, “—what’re your thoughts on space?”

In fact, a whole mind.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

That felt sacrilegious, and your immediate thought was that you were indeed going to die for your transgressions.

The next thought was how good Mark’s lips felt against yours. The sugar-coated texture was wiped off and replaced by a satin ribbon. Fear of your blasphemy was thrown out the window as you cherished the push and pull, barely noticing the ache of your neck until it disappeared with a switch of position; you were twirled around by the hand that remained on your waist and the other shifted to the back of your neck. You appreciated the stability but found you couldn’t voice it as Mark dove deeper, gripped tighter, sighed against your mouth. The kiss on the back of your hand was nothing in comparison to this. Anywhere Mark touched was completely numb. No fire, no chill, just a blanketed safety from pain when he settled into a gentle caress of your skin. And then it started to tingle. Pins and needles danced on the surface. Capsaicin.

You shivered.

“It’s unfair,” he separated far enough to whisper, “that we don’t have more time.”

Everything moved at a different pace for deities. Decades could go by in the blink of an eye, entire empires rising and falling with less effort than the waves. Most of the time, they were forced to take a back seat, if only because it all would move too fast for them to have any sort of effect. Eldritch gods found their homes in the stars, where things went more at their speed, where things felt more welcoming than the place that valued every second of the minute more than life itself.

But that begged the question; why were you, a human, so comfortable? Why did it feel right to have you in his arms? You aged and you changed, but you made the weight of time so much lighter. Somehow. In a way that such a powerful being couldn’t understand.

You might have nodded at his words. You weren’t actually aware of your actions, but you vaguely felt your head bob up and down, even if it was slight. Your eyes were still closed – you weren’t sure when you closed them – but you felt Mark bow his head to slot between your neck and shoulder again. That was where it felt like flames licking at your skin, but you didn’t back away. Why would you?

You felt him speak before you heard his words, “But have no fear. It won’t take long for the day to roll around, dearest.”

Your heart stilled in your chest.

“We just have to be patient.”

The flames were doused and feeling returned to your lips in the space of a few milliseconds. Fog lifted from your mind, and you blinked slowly to regain your sense of self.

And then there were two. 

Dark didn’t enter with a show of dramaticism like Mark had, nor did he go to find some physical contact like Wilford. Instead, he simply opened and shut the front door and let you adjust to an actual room with him alone. There was an inkling of fear in the back of your mind, the ancient part from the years of hunting buffalo and being scared of the night that yelled at you to run. You pushed down the fight or flight reflex that begged to be triggered. It hushed without challenge, leaving you strangely calm in the face of the most powerful being you had ever met.

You found that you liked his smile. It was surprisingly pleasant, and presumably rare, considering the most you had gotten out of him since Mark and Wilford were involved was a smirk when you signed the contract. This was less sly, and, instead, had the corners of your mouth perking up, too. It only felt right.

What was weirder, though, was the fact that you felt equal to him. You, a mortal with zero self-preservation skills and 206 definitely breakable bones, felt equal to a god who could snap his fingers and kill you. There were no more witnesses, and there was only so much the police could do to track down a being of myth and legend. And yet, your mind assured itself there was no need to fear because you were on an equal playing field. You were both part of that contract, neither offering more or less than they could handle.

Dark, somehow, managed to voice your thoughts before you could. “So, you state your terms, I’ll state mine, and then we’ll have a deal,” he stated.

“What kind of terms are we talking about?”

He stepped forward once, and then twice, until he was close enough to take one of your hands and pull you towards him. Middle ground.

“Let’s start with this one, alright, dove?”

Your stomach flipping, you were the one to cross no-man’s land. Being so confident in the presence of a deity was unnatural, but, then again, everything about this was – except the feeling of lips against yours was beginning to become more and more familiar. The pressure, the texture, the—

The kiss ended as quick as it began. Dark drew back an inch with an exhale of cold breath while you stayed frozen. Your eyes didn’t have the time to close in the first place, so you easily noticed the plain shock on his face. Eyes wide and shoulders down, you could only imagine that you had done something wrong.

You were sorely mistaken.

You registered being dipped when Dark’s hands came to rest at the small of your back and your neck, and then your lips connecting so harshly that you thought they might have bruised. They were definitely already swollen from the combined efforts of the last two experiences, but now? You forgot the ability to breathe and simply submitted to the tug of his teeth against your skin.

Apart from the lapse at the beginning, you had no way of knowing this was Dark’s first encounter with anyone, let alone a human. For all his suaveness and elegance, social skills weren’t something he practiced often. That left them lacking, outside of business deals, to the point that every conversation with someone turned into a trade. Information, ideas, physical assets, it didn’t matter – but this scenario, with such a nice warmth contrasting his coldness, he forgot that this was an official exchange. It almost had him wanting to disregard the terms altogether and figure something out for just the two of you.

But Dark was nothing if not formal. No matter how much he felt the impulse to go further, he had to calm himself down, and that meant he had to take a step back.

He only managed a gap worth a sheet of paper at first.

“Mortals.”

You drew back the rest of the distance, so that both of you could speak comfortably and without temptation.

“You really are fascinating creatures.”

With those closing remarks, Dark trailed the hand from your neck to your jaw to your chin. A finger pushed at your bottom lip.

“I look forward to finding out more.”

He disappeared as quiet as Wilford and Mark, while you struggled to stay upright with your knees as firm as jelly and your heart threatening to give out. 

So much had happened in the space of those two hours, at most, in your apartment. For one, this was no longer your apartment, really. You shared it with three eldritch gods, only one of which you had signed up to interact with, and even that was something you originally thought would end in the massacre of your species. Complete extinction. But there you stood, alive and well, in the middle of the living room. Nobody was dead yet, and nobody who you cared about would die.

You didn’t fight the laugh that bubbled up in your chest – it spilled out like an overflowing bathtub, you felt like you were drowning, you were drowning, but you were alive. You were alive! You’d done it! You got that kiss you wanted, and two more on top of that. A hand, probably yours, jumped to your mouth to cover the cackles that escaped you, but it did no good. It was all just so hilarious.

The laughter only died down when you bit into the palm of your hand. With your teeth lodged into flesh, you had physically tied your mouth shut like a bear trap. This way, you could think.

First, you had to find something pink to wear. Second, you had to brush up on your improvisation. And third? Well, you didn’t exactly know what Dark was going to do, but by all the eldritch gods in that book on your alter, you were excited to find out.

[Yep, I definitely went insane. My mind crumbled and this was in the rubble. I normally struggle with the kiss at the end of these kinds of things, so I kinda shot myself in the foot by giving myself three in one, but it's done now, so enjoy while I sit here and collect the pieces of my brain <3]

#theknightmarket #fanfiction #writing #markiplier egos #markiplier egos x reader #markiplier #one shots #x reader #actor mark #darkiplier #wildlife #markiplier wilford #darkiplier x reader #actor mark x reader #wilford warfstache #asshole mark #sucker for love

[uwmspeccoll]

Wood Engraving Wednesday

RICHARD SHIRLEY SMITH

English painter, illustrator, muralist, and wood engraver Richard Shirley Smith (b. 1935) produced this engraving for the title page of a collection of poems entitled The Closed Door by British writer James Reeves (1909-1978), printed by Claire Van Vliet and Susan Johanknecht at Van Vliet's Janus Press in Newark, Vermont in an edition of 240 copies, and co-published in 1977 by Twinrocker and the Janus Press, with 75 copies for Twinrocker in Brookston, Indiana and the Janus Press and 165 for the Gruffyground Press in England.

Smith studied at the Slade School of Fine Art in London and continued his studies in Italy where he became interested in classical themes and Italian architecture, as reflected in this engraving. It was in Rome during the early 1960s where he taught himself wood engraving, a medium that has brought him the most attention. He writes, "My . . . years of wood engraving has been the backbone of my reputation, such as it is."

Our copy of The Closed Door is another gift from our friend Jerry Buff.

See other posts with wood engravings by Richard Shirley Smith.

View other posts with works printed by Claire Van Vliet.

View more posts with wood engravings!

#Wood Engraving Wednesday #wood engravings #wood engravers #Richard Shirley Smith #James Reeves #Claire Van Vliet #Susan Johanknecht #Janus Press #Twinrocker #Gruffyground Press #fine press books #fine press printing #Jerry Buff

[kamesama]

— window seat: nanami kento.

— notes: meet cute? match-up trade w/ lovely @bokutosbiceps motivated me to write this. that being said, it's very self-indulgent. consider it an unnamed! fem! oc x nanami because it's not neutral enough to be an x reader. — word count: 993

nanami kento cannot recall the moment in which it became a routine to glance over his shoulder on his way to the bakery. when he set his foot on that one tile on the ground at around seven thirty in the morning, electricity shot through the newly formed neural pathway and summoned an action so easily engraved in his muscle memory collection. and whenever he fully performed that light twist of his neck, a predictable image awaited him.

sun-kissed, burnt copper strand of hair neatly tucked behind an earlobe, always and without fail standing out against black cotton, emerald silk or graphite cashmere. slender fingers, cuffed in silver, holding the sweet weight of an espresso cup. lips coated in a modest dusty rose shade and a little pursed as if in reaction to whatever plot-twist, confession or reveal occurred in the book spread open on the table. 

every morning, he would throw that glance, and every morning, she would return it, as if feeling its harmless, short-lived weight. her gaze always lasted longer, though. nanami could feel it on the nape of his neck. it followed him to the very entrance of the bakery. it was heavier than his own; as dark and as thick as the espresso she relished in.

and whenever he walked out with the beloved casse-croute in his possession, he found himself looking down at the watch on his wrist, lest his vision trailed to the periphery. 

some mornings, he wouldn’t see her. the seat would be abandoned, or taken by some old man in a worn-out brown coat or another young woman in a pencil skirt and a blouse. but it was seldom taken, as if the window seat had a sense of faithfulness and devotion at around seven thirty. those mornings were always a little odd.

some mornings, she wouldn’t look back at him. her eyes would be glued onto the several pages near the end of her read, or they’d be fixated on some faraway spot that he couldn’t see or grasp. those mornings left him with an urge to visit a bookstore. 

and one day, he did. 

on his way home, he stopped in his tracks, eyeing the store from the corner of his eye. he knew very well that whatever he found and bought would simply collect dust on his shelf for the next several months. whatever he found and bought would live with a delusional thinking that it will be given proper attention soon enough. 

but the urge was so nagging, so sweet, and his nostrils ached for that scent of a light beige paper page.

his shoulders relaxed when he walked in, and the tension in his jaw dissolved.

brown eyes trailed over titles and names. flashy softcovers with mystic details and intriguing commentary and ancient-looking hardcovers that seemed as if they wielded heavy wisdom beyond comprehension. he felt nearly bitter coming across the works he had already purchased but didn’t engage with as planned, but his guilt was short-lived. he let the book judge him quietly. it was its right.

a bright red softcover caught his attention. he recognised it; not from his shelf but from that woman at the window seat. it wasn’t thick; slightly over two-hundred pages at best. he observed it, holding it between his fingers as he read the text across its blood-coloured back.

“it’s a good one.” 

although doubting that the words were directed at him, he looked to the side. his mouth opened just slightly.

“if you like magical realism, that is.” 

it felt out of place; seeing her beside him. her hair looked darker when it wasn't basked in the first sunlight, face littered with faint freckles that he could never have seen from the distance he was used to. her voice was a little deeper than he expected, even though he could not recall ever imagining what she sounded like.

“is that so.” he pondered, “either way, it’s unlikely that i will read it. i have enough books as it is.” 

“too busy to read them?”

“you could say so.”

“same. that’s why i read in the mornings. you work somewhere near that bakery? i see you’re always in formal wear.” 

“the company just down the street.” 

“i see, i see. well, tell you what. the cafe is pretty cozy and there aren’t many people there until around ten. not that you asked, but it’s a good spot for reading if you can make time for it.” 

nanami’s eyes held a tidbit of contemplation. it earned him a raised brow, a curious look and a polite smile, all occurring in a smooth chronological order within a brief timespan.

“that was a little over the line, wasn't it?” 

“it’s alright,” nanami’s lips creased ever-so-slightly, followed by a light shake of his head. he lifted the book a little, referring to it, “so, it’s good?” 

“oh, definitely. maybe a little odd, but good,” she nodded her head, “i’ve read it… three to four times?” she couldn’t seem to remember, but she didn’t bother counting the times in her head to confirm the exact number. her smile morphed into the mischievous kind.

“but hey, what’s another book on a shelf? you’ll get to it eventually.” 

“that’s persuasive of you. do you work here?” the slightest hint of amusement found its way into nanami’s flat voice. she laughed.

“not at all. i’m just not about holding back on these things if i can afford them. oh, well. if you do buy and read it, let me know if you like it,” her voice drifts off, “if we run into each other again.”

that fits her, nanami thought. he wasn't certain if he possessed any desire to implement changes into his habitual morning stroll, but the thought was just a little tempting. smell of coffee, wood and steamed milk would provide a good shelter from overwhelming thoughts about sales, clients and money, he assumed.

"i'm sure we will."

thank you for reading!

— kamesama.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk nanami #nanami #nanami kento #nanami x reader #kamesama

[arthistoryanimalia]

For #NarionalDolphinDay 🐬:

#Dolphin Pendant, c.1600 (#Baroque)

Netherlandish (?) artist

gold, enamel, emeralds, pearls, H: 3 5/8 in. (9.2 cm)

The Walters Art Museum 44.443

“This wonderfully flamboyant design is close to the model on the title page of the second part of Hans Collaert's stunning series of pendant designs published in Antwerp in 1582: ‘Virtuosic Designs for Golden Ornaments.’ In the engraving, it is the god Apollo riding a sea monster, but the similarities remain strong.”

#animals in art #animal holiday #european art #gold #jewels #gemstones #precious stones #jewelry #jewllery #pendant #Netherlandish art #Dutch art #17th century art #Baroque art #Walters Art Museum #dolphin #National Dolphin Day