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scotianostra · 8 months

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It was every medieval Knight's ambition to go on a Crusade, they saw it as a sense of duty. Robert the Bruce was no different, nor his faithful friend James Douglas, Lord of Douglas. The Bruce had been excommunicated barring him from taking the "pilgrimage" Sir James and he were rather busy as well, there was the matter of a war with England.

The English called Sir James "The Black Douglas" , the man was so frightening a wee verse has survived through the centuries that mothers used to whisper to their children when trying to get them to sleep.

Hush Ye, Hush Ye Do not fret you, The Black Douglas, Will not get you.

The Douglas must have hated the English with a passion, his father Sir William Douglas, known as "le Hardi" or "the bold" had been one of the few nobles who openly supported Sir William Wallace, he died a prisoner of Longshanks in The Tower of London around 1298, the young James had been sent to France for safety during the early years of the Wars of Independence, and was educated in Paris, it was where he met William Lamberton, Bishop of St. Andrews, who took him as a squire. He returned to Scotland with Lamberton. His lands had been seized and awarded to Robert Clifford. Lamberton presented him at the occupying English court to petition for the return of his land shortly after the capture of Stirling Castle in 1304, but when Edward I of England heard whose son he was he grew angry and Douglas was forced to depart.

James seems to have went about his business after this not causing any problems of note until The Bruce took up arms against the English in 1306, it is clear that he had been starting to feel somewhat disgruntled about his lack of inheritance and, after Bruce’s return from exile a year later, the nineteen-year old joined the Scottish camp. Not long afterward, on Palm Sunday, he launched a swift and brutal attack on his castle of Douglas (held at this point by Lord Clifford) reportedly seizing the castle while the defenders were at church and shutting the garrison up in the cellar to burn to death. After Bruce’s victory at Loudon later that year, despite Douglas momentarily getting cold feet and attempting peace negotiations, he became active in the region that his descendants would draw their main strength from- the Borders. And so it was that he fought with Bruce right through the campaign to free Scotland from Edwards tyranny. Fast forward to 1330 and it is said Sir James was called to the bedside of King Robert as he lay dying he asked his loyal friend to remove his heart after death, place it in a casket, and take them on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and bury his heart in the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. Sir James took Bruce’s heart, embalmed it then put it in a casket which he wore round his neck, and set off on the crusade to the Holy Land with a party of 25, made up of knights and noblemen, among them Sir William de Keith of Galston, Sir Robert Logan of Restalrig and his brother Sir John, Sir William de St Clair and his brother John de St Clair of Rosslyn ,Sir Alan Cathcart and Sir Symon Loccard of Lee. Having been granted a promise of safe conduct from Edward III of England, the party sailed from North Berwick and made for Luys in Flanders in the spring of 1330 remaining there for 12 days and attracting more followers from all over Europe. Their intention was to then sail to Cape Finnestere in the North West of Spain to visit Santiago de Campostella which had been ordained as a holy town by Pope Alexander lll following the discovery of the remains of the Apostle James. A pilgrimage to Santiago captured the imagination of Christian Europe on an unprecedented scale as it was the 3rd holiest site in Christendom and at the height of its popularity in the 11th and 12th century attracted over half a million pilgrims each year. However, before they could set off for Santiago word reached them that the King of Castile and Leon, Alphonso Xl , in his efforts to drive the Moors out of Granada had laid siege to the Castillo de las Estrellas(Castle of the Stars)at Teba which was occupied by the Saracen Army of Mohammed lV,Sultan of Granada. Douglas sent word that they were prepared to join forces with Alphonso and sailed immediately to help, making landfall at Seville and marching the short distance to Teba. Alphonso having heard tales of Douglas’s bravery and leadership skills gave him the right flank of the Castilian Army. On the morning of the August 25th the Saracen army had assembled below the Castillo de las Estrellas under the command of Osmyn. The Castilian trumpets sounded and Douglas, thinking it was a general advance, led his troops forward.

The Scottish contingent charged the Saracens and, although not fully supported by the rest of the army, managed to hold them, finally the Moors, unable to withstand the furious onslaught,fled.

Douglas, as was his custom, followed them until finding himself deserted, turned his horse with the intention of joining the main body.

Just then he observed Sir William St Clair surrounded by a body of Moors who had suddenly rallied. With the few knights who attended him Douglas turned hastily to attempt a rescue.

He soon found himself surrounded and, making one last charge shouting the words “A Bruce A Bruce”, took the casket containing the heart from around his neck and hurled into the enemies’ path shouting “Now go in front, as you desired and Ill follow you or die”. Douglas and a party of his followers were all slain but they had diverted enough of the enemy forces away from the main thrust to enable the Castilian army to overrun the remainder and capture the Castle.

It has been speculated that the Moors lack of knowledge of European heraldry had a part to play in the death of Douglas.

Noblemen on both sides were valued as hostages, but because Douglas did not display the red cross on his tabard that distinguished English knights, but instead had the 3 stars of the Douglas family on his harness and shield, the Moors did not recognize his status or they would probably have spared his life.

Douglas’s body was recovered from the battlefield along with the casket, his bones, the flesh boiled off them, were taken back to Scotland by Sir William Keith of Galston in Ayrshire (who had missed the battle because of a broken arm), and deposited at St Bride's Church. The Heart of The Bruce was given to Regent Moray, who interred it under the high altar of Melrose Abbey. The pics are one of Strathleven Artizans dressed as Sir James and the Memorial to Douglas at Teba.

#scotland #scottish #history #medieval history #Scottish knight #Nobility #Spain #CRUSADE

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zaranthropy · 2 months

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I've been looking at Suzumi star pages (particularly the arabic ones) and getting some Symbolism Revelations™ this evening that people may enjoy as food for thought.

Starting with the most lore-related one, Benny's name is often theorized to come from Benetnasch, the first star in the Big Dipper constellation. What nobody tells you however is that benny's star is originally called Alkaid, "the leader". Benetnasch comes from banaatunna'ash (Arabic; "بنات نعش", "the mourning maidens" lit. "Daughters of the bier") and is the arabic name of the big dipper constellation. A bier is a stand on which a corpse, coffin, or casket containing a corpse is placed to lie in state or to be carried to the grave. This relates to the original myth of Banaatunna'ash.

for the Bedouins of the Syrian desert, the Daughters of Nash accuse al-Jaday, i.e. Polaris, to have killed their father. But al-Farqadân [Ursa Minor] deem that the killer is not al-Jaday but Suhayl, and interpose between them and the North star. That is the reason why they are called al Hawâjzîn, “the Interposers”: they prevent the daughters from slaking their thirst for vengeance, and condemn them to turn indefinitely around the Pole.

From Our Arabic Heritage in the Celestial Vault.

Why this is interesting is because not only is Benny depicted to be the "leader" of the Suzumi collective– in the same constellation's naming origins (which influenced the names of Alkaid and Benetnasch), not only is Suzumi as a whole a being who seeks to sate their bloodlust for vengeance on Tsubakura, there also exists a Hamal among Alkaid's two companion stars, the other two mourning maidens.

The daughters of the bier, i.e. the mourning maidens, are the three stars of the handle of the Big Dipper, Alkaid, Mizar, and Alioth; while the four stars of the bowl, Megrez, Phecda, Merak, and Dubhe, are the bier.

From Medieval Islamic Astronomy.

Considering how Hamee often refers to themself as a maiden, this could point to a potential explanation as to why they do this.

Moving onto Hamee's star, Hamal – the current name of the star – (arabic; "حَمْل") refers to a little year-old lamb originally and not the ram as one may envision when looking at its relationship to Aries, this was an interpertation later introduced by the Greek. The star itself also is originally called "the horns of the lamb", specifically in reference to the tiny nubs you'd see on the head of a first-year fat tailed sheep, and is a similar case as with Benetnasch [name of constellation becomes the name of star because "wah arabic complicated" or something]. This exact type of sheep is also the one that would've been there for Jesus times if biblical allegories are your thing (parable of the lost sheep comes to mind). Also, in modern usage, the star is called "the headbutter/the headstrong", (Arabic; الناطح), so do with that what you will.

Arde has to have had the coolest one by far methinks, as Aldebaran is the only Suzumi star name that doesn't originally belong to a constellation and retains its original Arabic form plus it's the one with the most well-rounded mythology and cultural significance that just so happens to fit Arde well. To start, let's talk about the constellation right next to Aldebaran. Al-Thuriyya (Pleiades) has to be THE most famous constellation in Arab star mythology, being also related to Suhail (remember that guy?), and is also the reason of the name Aldebaran (Arabic; الدِبَران (full historical name; "الهادي الدِبَران")), meaning "The Follower" or "The Pursuing One", being given to the star right on its northwestern side.

According to an Arab legend from some point in the 7th century, Aldebaran was a poor and destitute person, while Al-Thuriyya was a beautiful and young girl. She impressed Aldebaran, so he decided to propose to her. He wanted someone to accompany him to the engagement ceremony, but he did not find anyone. So he went to the moon and asked him to try as much as he could to marry him to her, and the moon complied and went to her. But she refused, and after the moon pressed her, she said: “What should I do with this runt who has no money?”. The moon returned and told Aldebaran what had happened, but Aldebaran insisted on marrying her. He only owned sheep, so he took them all to Al-Thuriyya so that she would agree to marry him. The twenty sheep that Aldebaran led to the Pleiades are what came to be called “The Hyades,” which became the name of a star cluster that appears close to Aldebaran in the sky. The two stars near Aldebaran are his dogs, which he took with him and the sheep. As such, Aldebaran began to guide (follow) the Pleiades in the sky forever, along with his sheep, guiding them wherever they went. Thus, Aldebaran became a symbol of loyalty, while the Pleiades became a symbol of treachery. This loyalty was even mentioned in some Arabic proverbs: “More loyal than Al-Hadi (Al-Hadi Al-Dabran (Aldebaran)) and more treacherous than Al-Thuriyya (the Pleiades).”

Aldebaran also takes onto some mythology of its own as well, being a star whose rising is known to signal the beginning of the harshest periods of summer– Aldebaran became a star of ill omen to the Arabs of ancient times, even earning its own threatening rhymed prose;

اذا طلع الدبران, توقدت الحزان, وكرهت النيران, واستعرت الذبان, ويبست الغدران, ورمت بأنفسها حيث شاءت الصبيان.

When Aldebaran [the Follower] rises, the rugged lands abounding in jagged rocks burn, the fires are hated, the flies spread like fire, the pools of water left by torrents dry up, and the young children throw themselves wherever they desire.

From When the Follower Rises.

Seeing as Arde is the Suzumi who often keeps Hamee in check, holding them on a proverbial leash, them being "the follower" makes a lot of sense when you consider their canonical position (as one who herds sheep (Hamee) while following the leader (Benny)). They also share similarities with Benetnasch, having two lesser stars associated with them (the "dogs") and being the brightest star of their respective constellations. Hamee is the only one who only has one lesser star, poor hambone.

Tl;dr I'm just sharing my silly region-locked star lore for everyone else to enjoy 😊 hope this unlocks as much Suzumi headcanons in your brain as it did mine

#my rambles #len'en project #suzumi kuzu #arabic astrology #7th century arabs seeing arde show up in the sky second month of summer to scream BIG MISTAKE DA and bring irreparably harsh drought: ☹️

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oh-three · 6 months

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Watching WWBN in color added so much perspective to it tbh. I'm glad they decided to do a black and white and a color version- it's very much a treat, these days, for a studio to do such a thing.

Also, I totally didn't see the "this end up" on the fake casket until this rewatch, so that's a neat thing to notice Lmao. A touch of modern in something that feels almost medieval.

Note: Elsa did not join the chant before the hunt. Interesting- but not unsurprising.

Huh, the garden maze is multi-colored. Guess Elsa wearing a red jacket wasn't such a bad idea after all.

The crypt is beautiful.

I never did notice the small cut on Elsa's forehead in the black and white version.

The one guy's scar is gold 👀

The lighting in the cage room >>>>>>>

THE EYE PAINT IS RED. SHE LOOKS LIKE A PAU'AN

#werewolf by night #wwbn #wwbn in color #werewolf by night in color #mcu

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the-lady-writes-what · 6 months

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KINKTOBER 2023

Y'all remember that poll I made last month? This is for the winner of that poll: Shouta Aizawa

Dark/Medieval-ish Fantasy AU

Vampire AU. Also, he's a highwayman (robber who hung out on the roads and stole from travelers) cuz I want to

Also, also, thanks to pop culture osmosis, I have consumed a little too much Baldur's Gate III content for somebody who hasn't played the game...yet, so there's a little inspiration from Astarion throw in there. As a treat

Content: knife play, blood drinking (duh), biting (again, duh), praise, oral (giving), use of "good girl", cum play, cowgirl, missionary, "kidnapping" (except not really)

FYI, long post (sorry)

*Cutpurse: thief or pickpocket

🔞NSFW Content Below! 18+ Only! Minors DNI!🔞

The closing of summer and the beginning of the end of another yet started with drizzle. It was a cold, gray morn on the eve before All Hallows. And you, the local tavern wench, have to work into the wee hours of the morning before getting up the next day to do it all over again. You gathered coins from the bar and stuffed them into your apron. Beer flowing from the caskets they were drawn from into deep mugs. It took all of your will power not to spit into the drink of the man who made it an unhappy habit for you to squeeze your ass when you passed. Over the last several months, you learned how to dodge his sweaty, grubby hands. It took a lot less effort when he eventually, inevitably got so drunk he couldn't even recognize his own hand if he held it in front of his face.

You carried a tray of ale to the table waiting across the tavern while the bard hired for the evening played a dull tune on his lute. You walked to the table without incident, but left without a tip. You smiled but the moment your back was turned, your face turned sour like you just swallowed a lemon. 'Oh, you should be so lucky to have a job and not starve to death' or 'Be grateful' were words you heard time and time again. They were usually spoken by folks who had more coin than you did. You scrounged and saved every copper to get yourself out of this one-pony town to find better employment. A governess for the child of rich lord or a seamstress's apprentice? Anything would be better than dodging meaty paws and washing beers stains out of your aprons every other night. Reeking of ale and pipe smoke when one comes home from work was not the ideal lifestyle, certainly not yours.

As you crossed back over to the bar, you heard the local gossip. A few months ago, the hottest gossip was about the local cleric's daughter getting entangled with a cutpurse*. As of late, the news was not so bawdy.

"Drained of blood they say. Not a drop left in the horse..." Whispered one patron, not wanting to frighten the others.

"I heard that all the goats and chickens died over three weeks in the village two miles east of here," said another.

"The Dark Hand was spotted in that area about that time. Pinched a pearl choker from the duchess and left her stranded. Stole BOTH her horses from her carriage. Knocked the driver unconscious. Nobody thought the fellow would live."

The Dark Hand was a name growing more popular each night. He was much more entertaining than listening to hearing tales of bloodletting and dead goats. Nobody saw his face or knew his name. He wore a mask and cloak. Who knows who gave him the moniker, the Dark Hand, but the name stuck. The highwayman lurked on moonless nights on the highways and byways and forested roads for victims to steal from. The strange thing was that he left most of his victims alive, save for one or two foolish men who did not expect a thief to be so adept at fencing. However, he almost always stole the horse, presumably to buy him time and evade authorities.

"What you think the Dark Hand is bleeding goats and chickens when he's not stealing horses?" A patron laughed.

"I'm just sayin' it's an odd coincidence that the animals died, all drained of blood, and that's the last spot the Dark Hand was seen..."

The patron's voice faded and melted into the crowd as you walked away. You returned to the bar and washed mugs in between serving drinks. When you finally had the time, you dumped the coins that weighed your apron down into the large iron box hidden inside the bar counter.

Each passing hour slugged by. Drunkards were carried home by their comrades while others slinked off to their cots and carriages. One by one, two by two, and three by three, they stumbled, lurched, and fumbled their way out the door. The tavern became quiet like a grave as all the souls left to wander the night. With a rag, you cleaned the bar counter to the best of your abilities, but there was no removing the stains and the smells without a little bit of magic which you did not possess. The tavern keeper, the owner, sauntered downstairs from his chambers on the floor above. He played little part in the goings-on of the business he owned, choosing to coop himself up and day-drink and gamble and doddle with a prostitute. Your boss only ventured downstairs when the tavern was emptied and there was no work for him to do besides count the box's contents and pay you.

While he counted the money, you busied yourself with picking up after the patrons. You grabbed forgotten and discarded mugs from every surface. Many patrons dropped their mugs and never picked them off the floor, much to your displeasure. From the corner of your eye, you spotted the bard looking sadly into his tin cup. He packed his things and left without a goodbye. Only until you had an armload of mugs did your employer look up. He curled his finger, bidding you to come to the bar. You dumped your load into the enormous sink of dirty dishwater. When you turned to the bar, the tavern keeper gave you ten copper and a silver. You glanced at the pile of coins he began stashing into a bag.

"Where's the rest of it?" You asked.

"The rest of what?" He cinched the leather bag closed.

"My money? This can't be all that I've earned today. I've been here since noon."

"You dropped a customer's drink this afternoon. I took it outta your pay," said he.

Your jaw dropped. A single wasn't equivalent to half your pay for working ten hours. Your brows furrowed into an angry V-shape.

"I can take the silver away. I could take the copper and leave you with nothin'. Take your pay and go home. I'm tired."

"Tired? You've set foot downstairs twice all day, including right now! I spilled one drink. ONE. I'm doing the job of five people, and you're cutting my pay in half because of one drink? You weren't even here to see it. How could you have possibly known that happened?"

"I got sources." He got up close and personal. Too close and too personal. You could smell his fetid breath. "And I suggest ya keep your pretty mouth shut, missy. I can replace ya like that." He snapped his fingers.

"And where do you think that'll leave you? I'm the only one who's stuck around for longer than a few weeks. You don't even a cook anymore. Who's going to pour drinks? Who's going to wipe up the bar and tables? Who's going to mop the floors or tidy up the rooms? I need you far less than you think I do."

"Tell me where'd you go then? Hm? Take up a job at the fish market? Peddle some flowers? You got looks, I'll be honest. You could make more on your back," said he.

You grabbed your money from the bar and struck him. He was stunned for just a second. His cheek bore a red mark the size and shape of your hand. You scurried away before he could get within reach of you. The tavern keep had always been slow. You could outrun him with relative ease. You turned your head back at the last moment as you stepped onto the tavern's thresh hold.

"Don't expect me to be here tomorrow night, bastard!" You shouted.

In the whirl of emotions, you'd forgotten your one and only cloak. Oh well. You can buy a cheap one at the market. A wool blanket would do in a pinch if necessary. However, with winter fast approaching, you didn't have much time to think about those things. You needed to stay warm if this winter was going to be same as last years, cold, frozen, and wet.

You trekked alone in the dark. You tucked your fistful of coins into your apron with no other place to stash your money. Looking at you, a tavern wench without a purse or cloak, you weren't a thief's target. The wind blew at the back of your neck, causing the hair to stand on end. Candles flickered in windows until they were snuffed out. The cobblestone streets before and behind you were dark. Still, you needed to get home. Your feet and legs ached and you needed to be up in the morning to find a new job.

Alone with nothing but your arms to keep you warm, you pushed further along. Even late at night, you knew the path well enough to not even need a lantern, though having one might bring more comfort. You hugged yourself to stave off the cold, but your fingers grew numb from the biting night wind. You rushed down the cobbles in the hopes of getting home sooner where you could at least get a fire going and sleep near the hearth.

The words of the tavern patron's kept you distracted. All that talk of highwaymen and animals bled to death kept you on your toes. You looked behind you and paused to look before passing every alley. You peeked inside but found only piles of rubbish. You crossed the bleak alley.

You were so close to home now. Just a little further and you could lock yourself indoors until sunrise.

Your little hut appeared in the midst of others. The sign above the blacksmith's swung above his door. You sprinted forward, safety and warmth so very close at hand. You were going to kiss the door before you unlocked it. Your hand seized the key from around your neck and slipped it off. You carried it in your fist as you made a beeline for your hovel's door.

You did not see the outstretched hand in the alley. Your eyes were too focused on your front door. You screamed as the hand captured your arm as you walked past the dark alley by your house. A hand clapped over your mouth before the sound could alert your neighbors. A strong arm wrapped around your middle and dragged you deep into the alley. You kicked and thrashed. All your efforts did was make your captor squeeze harder. You gasped for air as you were pressed against them.

In a flash, your back hit the nearest wall. The icy-cold sting of a knife pricked at your neck. A quick glance down made your worse fear come true. Glinting in the moonlight was a knife to your throat. You looked up. Half of their face was covered in a black mask. Red eyes glared out of the holes made for the eyes. Now that you could see the features, your captor was distinctly male. The shape of him gave it away, broad shoulders, thick neck, and stubble growing beneath his mask. He wore all black. Tight in his leather gloved fist was the glinting sharp knife whose point aimed for your artery.

"Do not scream again, do you understand? If you scream or call for help, I will slit your throat. Nod if you understand me."

The timber of his voice made you shiver. You had to admit it, the sound of it made a low fire start to burn in your lower belly. You nodded.

"Good girl." The man did not lower the knife. "Where do you live?"

"T-The house over there. I was...I was just heading home. Please don't kill me. I have nothing you can steal that's worth any value."

"I know you don't, but you do have something I want. Daybreak is coming and if you allow me to hide in your cellar, no harm will come to you."

"I-I have no cellar." You lied. There was one, but you weren't about to let a man who held a knife to your throat into your house.

The tip of his knife dug into your flesh. Blood rushed to the surface from the pinprick the knife made. You whimpered as the knife dug in.

"I can smell a lie. This will all be over if you open your cellar to me. I'll be gone by sunrise anyway. I don't want to slit the throat of a pretty girl, so don't make me do it," said he.

The knife, the black clothes, the red eyes. All these things you heard before. These were the descriptions of the Dark Hand. You shivered as you took his visage in. In spite of the mask, from what you could see of his face was quite handsome.

"Alright, alright. Y-You can hide in my cellar. I don't want any trouble," you said.

"Good." He withdrew the knife. The man stepped back and gestured for you to show the way.

Your legs trembled beneath your skirts. You led the man to your house only two dozen steps away. The key in your fist turned the lock, opening the door for the both of you. Perhaps in hindsight, you could have ran inside and locked the door before he could follow behind, but for whatever reason, you didn't. The man trailed after you into your hut. One space held your kitchen, dining room, and bedroom. There was a rocking chair by the fire and a loft for storage. A chair held your washing basin and your privy was the outhouse behind the hut. The stairs to the cellar were behind a door in the corner.

The man let you lock the door behind him. You lit a candle. You stepped towards the cellar's entrance. The man moved in the corner of your eye, not to follow you, but towards the fireplace. You turned to watch him creep in the dark as if he's lived here all his life and knew where everything was. You watched him sweep ash from the hearth and stack new logs. He threw a burning phosphorus match into the fireplace and soon it crackled. The man stoked the fire until it he was assured that his absence would not cause it to snuff itself out.

"T-Thank you." It felt odd to show gratitude towards the man who held you at knife point and threatened to kill you if you didn't let him inside your house. It was equally strange for him to go out of his way to warm your hut with a new fire. He wouldn't have been able to use it to his benefit if he was hiding in the cellar.

"A little gift for your cooperation," said he.

In the glow of the fire, you saw him better. Mud-covered boots and a heavy cloak stood before the fire. His whole frame was draped in black. Even his hair was the color of coal. The pale color of his skin stood out the most against all of the darkness he wore like a hat.

"I...I know who you are." You managed to say. Your tongue cleaved to the roof of your mouth.

"Then you should know better than speak a word to anyone."

You walked a bit closer. The man did not move. Where did all this daring come from? You crept a little closer towards him. The Dark Hand's eyes followed your every step. Each time you flinched, you captured the detail in his mind. You stared at him just as he stared at you.

"You're much more handsome than the stories say," you said.

"There's a lot that the stories don't tell."

"Are you on the run?" You asked.

"Almost caught. But I will be out of your hair next sunset. Don't bother locking the cellar door and alerting the authorities by the way. I have my ways of escaping, and then the next time we meet you won't be so fortunate."

"The cellar door doesn't lock anyway. It's been busted since I moved in."

"Awfully dangerous thing to say to a stranger," said the Dark Hand.

"Awfully dangerous thing to do to let a man who had a knife to my throat stay in my house," you said.

"Are you going to stand there all evening or show me the way?"

You gestured your head towards the back door. "I trust you can see. The cellar is just beyond the door. Watch your step. The last stair is broken."

"You should sleep," said the Dark Hand.

"With a highwayman in my cellar? I don't think so. I wouldn't be able to sleep if I tried with you down there."

The Dark Hand narrowed his eyes at you. He scrutinized your face before shaking his head.

"Your dark circles are worse than mine."

"May I see?"

His indifferent eyes turned into a glare.

"Can't blame me for being curious."

"You know what they say about curiosity."

"Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back," you said.

"Oh really?"

The Dark Hand turned and flashed fangs. Not blunt human teeth. Fangs.

You gasped and stepped away from him only for the Dark Hand to saunter over to you.

"You're a vampire. T-That explains all those dead goats," you said dumbly.

"I got a little carried away." He reached up and took off his mask. "This mask is pointless now I suppose."

You stared at his face. He was handsome, but there was plenty to mar him. A scar under his right eye, dark shadows, and a thin red ring surrounding both eyes made him look sullen. If you saw him in broad daylight, you would swear he was just another haggard traveler.

"Wait, wait, before you decide to drain me, let me give you a counteroffer!"

He stopped to your surprise.

"A counteroffer?"

"You...You need a place to hide for now, right? You must also need fresh blood to survive. I can provide both and maybe more if when you leave this town, and I know you will,...take me with you."

Your heart hammered. It felt like your rib cage rattled with every thump and throb of your heart pumping blood. You felt your pulse quicken in your throat.

"You...You want to come with me? As what a servant?"

"Literally anything would be better than staying in this place. Look at all this! Do you think I'm spoiled here? I just quit my bloody job at the tavern. I want to leave this place and never look back. You need somewhere to hide and get a meal once in a while. So...So before you decide on killing me to guarantee silence, think about my offer. Please?"

The Dark Hand looked around your hut.

"It is a bit cramped and squalid. It's a wonder you have a cellar at all."

He closed the rest of the gap between you. His gloved hand cupped your chin and tilted your head. His blood-colored eyes scanned your face.

"Up close, you are easy on the eyes. I could always use an extra pair of human hands to help me in the daylight. Very well, clever human. You get to live another day."

"Do you...Do you need to feed now? Is that why your eyes are red?" You asked.

"And where do you expect to find an animal I can feed from at this time of night?"

"Animal? You don't feed from..."

"Humans? Not for the last half century. Are you offering yourself?"

"Yes."

The word burst out of your mouth without you bidding. You stared at his rugged yet handsome face. He was not the image of a perfect, well-groomed, posh vampire, but he was all the more attractive because of it. The Dark Hand stared back.

"Eager?" He quirked a dark brow.

"P-Perhaps..."

The Dark Hand leaned his head towards you. He inhaled sharply the smell of your skin from the crook of your neck. You felt his cold breath ghost across your flesh as he sighed.

"Very tempting. I can smell your excitement. I feel your blood racing to the surface, calling to me. And you have such a delicate, pretty neck. I almost hate to ruin it," said he.

"You can smell that?" You gasped.

"Yes. I also smelled the hint of arousal when I had my knife to your throat. Do you like dangerous men? If I put my hand under your skirts, will your cunt be soaking wet for me?"

"You go too far, sir!"

"Sir?" He laughed. "Nobody's called me that in a long time."

"Oh? What else have you been called?"

"Shouta," the Dark Hand Answered.

"Shouta." You tested the name on your lips.

"It's been a very long time since I last felt the touch of a person who wasn't trying to jab a stake through my chest. And judging by how fast your heart is pounding, it's been a while for you too. Shall we remedy that?"

"Please!" You whined.

Your fate was sealed when the Dark Hand Shouta sealed his lips on yours. You unfastened his cloak. It fell away and your hands were free to wander his chest and shoulders. Muscles rippled through the shirt his wore. Likewise, Shouta untied your apron. However, he was too impatient to unlace your bodice. He produced the knife from his belt and slit the ties from top to bottom. You protested but the words fell on deaf ears. His hands cut the ties to your skirt too.

"I'll buy you more." He husked against your neck.

You shivered in just your shift. Shouta kissed your cheek. His lips trailed down your throat and down to your collar bone. He pressed his lips to the top of your breast. You squealed with no small amount of delight mixed with surprise when he hefted you unto his shoulder. Shouta carried you off to the straw-filled bed. Shouta saddled himself to straddle your hips. He slowly, oh-so-slowly, removed his belt. He plucked a small leather satchel that had been hanging on his hip. Before tossing the purse away, Shouta produced a necklace of pearls.

"Are those...the duchess's pearls?" You asked. What was he going to do with those?

"Didn't fight to keep them either." Shouta closed the necklace around your throat. "They look better on you anyway."

He kissed you again, this time with more passion. Shouta let you tug at his shirt until it came loose from his doe skin breeches. He broke from the kiss only to take off his shirt and throw it somewhere in the dark. By the firelight, you marveled at his marble torso, pale and sturdy. His body was scarred. All of them old, weaving a tale of fights and battles long before he became one of the undead.

You reached down to touch him down there. You stroked his cock through his leather breeches. Shouta let out a hiss through his teeth.

"Don't fucking tease me, woman."

"Do you trust me?" You asked.

"That should be your question."

You rolled your eyes. "Just lie down for me, alright?"

Shouta kicked off his boots. He rolled over on your bed. You fiddled with the hem of his breeches before slowly pulling them down. Inch by inch. Shouta lifted his hips to help you tug them off. His cock didn't spring to life right away. You didn't expect him to since he was...you know, vampire. He twitched and then you touched him. Your hand felt so warm against his skin. You stroked his cock, slowly warming him up, in more ways than one.

You slid down his body and settled between his legs. Your tongue swept along the shaft of him. You enjoyed the slow hiss that came out of him as you did so. You teased him some more, reveling in the sounds he made before wrapping your lips around the tip. You sucked and drew him deeper into your mouth. Shouta let your head bob up and down and stroke what you couldn't fit. His body relaxed under the sensations you were providing. Shouta cradled the back of your neck.

"Fuck...Where'd you learn to do that?"

You brought him to completion and swallowed the tide of cum down your throat. You missed a droplet of cum on the corner of your lips when you released him. Shouta swiped it up with his finger and put it inside your mouth. You licked his finger clean before straddling him.

Shouta sat up and seated his cock deep within you. He kissed your cheek, making his way to your neck. His lips lingered right above your pulse point. His arms felt like timbers as he wrapped them around your waist. He held you tight as he fangs sank into your flesh.

You gasped, of course. It was not the awful maw of a beast or the deadly bite of a viper. A vampire's kiss stung all the same. It was like two icy pinpricks stabbing your neck. You felt Shouta draw the blood from your veins. A little bit of your essence flowed in him.

His cock buried to the hilt twitched. The flaccid member grew hard as Shouta sucked your blood. Pulsing life and activity returned. Soon, he was thrusting up into. Shouta pulled away from your neck. His cool tongue lapped up the drops of blood from the little puncture wounds. You felt a tingle and the puncture marks healed themselves. You touched your neck in amazement.

"What?"

"We can't have you walking around with a sign that says 'A vampire was here,' can we?" Said Shouta.

You looped your arms around his neck. You moved your hips in time with his. An ache, a need, started to fill you. You thrust your hips back at him, faster, going faster. Your tiny hut reverberated with the sounds of you fucking. It had been so long, too long. Shouta filled you up, stretched you, and played with that bundle of nerves between your legs that every other man ignored. His fingers were rough to the touch but oh-so gentle when he played with you. You kissed and you tasted your own blood on his lips.

Your wetness spread everywhere. All over your thighs and his. Shouta's face scrunched up like a hungry animal. In a flash, he had you on your back. He pushed your legs onto his shoulders as he rammed harder into your soaking cunt. His thrusts turned bestial. He was a demon of lust taking his fill of you. Silver fangs glimmered in the red-orange light of the fireplace. Shouta licked his fangs before sinking them into your breasts. He drew blood there though not enough to drain you. He bit to taste more of your flesh and blood. As his craving grew stronger, so did his fucking you.

The bed frame creaked and moaned. It threatened to break asunder beneath your bodies. Shouta fucked you into the mattress so hard that he ripped the seams. Straw spilled out the sides of your shitty mattress.

You try to reach for Shouta, touch him, drag your nails down his back. You manage to get a hold of his arms. His hard muscles twitched under your touch. Your blunt nails scratch him as he pounded into you.

"You're getting tighter." Shouta growled. "You're so close, aren't you?"

"Yes!"

"Then come. Come for me."

Shouta's eyes bore into yours. He folded your body into a mating press. His thrusts grew more erratic, desperate for release. He played with your clit faster. Your legs stretched on his shoulders, spreading out and wide. Shouta kissed you on the mouth to stifle the scream that would have woken your neighbors if they heard. You moaned into the kiss as the base of your spine tingled and exploded with pleasureful fireworks. Shouta followed behind. He buried himself deep. Rather than warmth growing in your belly, there was...nothing. Not cold or hot, just nothing. You certainly felt his cum paint your insides. Felt it seep out of you but there was no warmth, no life.

Shouta pulled away. He withdrew his cock slowly. You lay on the bed limp as a rag doll. Perhaps he played with you too rough. Shouta shoved on his breeches and walked barefoot to the other side of the hut. He grabbed a washcloth and dipped it in the tepid water in the washbasin sitting on the chair. When he returned, Shouta cleaned you up.

"You shouldn't worry. As a vampire, you won't get pregnant from this. My cum is....not viable." Shouta explained.

"Good to know," you said.

A certain tavern owner marched down the lane. He headed for a hovel a few blocks away from his business. He never thought the uppity woman would hold true to her word. Crickets chirped, owls hooted, and stars shined. Customers lined up at his tavern, but there was no one to cook the food, stoke the fires, or pour beers. He passed the blacksmith's house, the kiln cold as death.

He pounded on the woman's door. He shouted and raved in the street. Even when the neighbors poked their heads out to complain of him, he would not quit. He banged his fist on the door.

All the windows of the hut were cold and dark. Not even a candle sputtered. The tavern keep yanked on the door handle. The door opened.

It did not occur to him that entering looked more suspicious than waiting and banging on the door. The door swung open like an invitation. How could he not go in? The tavern keep crossed the threshold.

Shadows were cast all around the hut. From what he could discern, the place was left in disarray. Furniture turned over, boxes and baskets emptied and then discarded, and bed sheets torn to shreds. He checked the fireplace. Cold as ice. Nobody's touched it in hours. The candles were much the same. He lit a lantern and checked the cellar. Nothing but cobwebs and unused wine racks from the previous owner. He scowled as he couldn't even pinch a bottle as there were none to steal.

He checked the small garden. Still no one to be seen. It seemed as though something very bad happened to the tavern wench he hired. He would not suspect that she sat beside a highwayman in a covered wagon they stole and raced off into the night.

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