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10/24/2022 08:05 PM  Tempest On Tinder_PC Current mood:  amused       Tinder_PC open_in_full arrow_back arrow_forward refresh https://www.tinder_pc.com star_outline menu Flowers Songs Credit Ser Tickleherbum Q&A 102 Q&A 101 Message location_on New Orleans, LA Swiped Right/ October 23, 2022 Ser Tickleherbum’s Bed Info. BOLD - applies always. Italic - applies sometimes. White - applies never. 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 / 𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒 : is submissive. dominant. prefers to top. prefers to bottom. likes to switch. identifies as heterosexual. identifies as homosexual. identifies as bisexual. identifies as pansexual. identifies as demisexual. identifies as asexual. enjoys sex with men. enjoys sex with women. enjoys sex with multiple people at one time. initiates. waits for partner to initiate. spits (down ur throat). swallows. prefers sex in the morning. prefers sex at night. prefers sex any time. no sex drive. low sex drive. average sex drive. high sex drive. hypersexual. 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 / 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 : small build. medium build. athletic build. muscular build. curvy build. voluptuous build. wears boxers. wears lingerie. goes ‘commando’. shaves / waxes. doesn’t shave / wax. cup size a to c. cup size d to f. 1-5" in length. 6 - 9" in length. 10" or over in length. 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐒 : is silent / makes little to no sounds. is very quiet. is very loud. grows in volume over time. bites hand / partner / pillow to muffle themselves. calls out partner’s name. curses. fakes / exaggerates. prefers a quiet partner. prefers a loud partner. is turned on by dirty talk. is turned off by dirty talk. 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 - 𝐎𝐍𝐒 / 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 : having their hands pinned. pinning their partner’s hands. having their hair pulled. pulling their partner’s hair. being watched ( by their partner ). being watched (by a third party). watching their partner. receiving oral. giving oral. calling their partner ‘daddy’. being called ‘daddy’. giving praise. receiving praise. biting/marking. being marked. spanking. being spanked. teasing. being teased. having toys used on them. using toys on their partner. giving anal. receiving anal. choking. being choked. dirty talk. being tied up. tying their partner up. being worshiped. worshiping their partner. humiliating. being humiliated. degrading. being degraded. knife play. blood play. being pegged. pegging. 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒 : in a bedroom. in a shower / bath. in a pool/ocean. in a kitchen. in a bathroom ( home ). in a bathroom (public). in a car. in a tent. in an alleyway. in a field / forest .at a school. in an empty / abandoned building. in a library. on a rooftop / terrace. in a dressing room. in an elevator. in a parking lot. at a museum. at a cemetery. at a beach. in a closet. at a hospital. IN A CHURCH CONFESSIONAL.     Hi there, my name is Ser Tickleherbum I enjoy long walks at the beach, burying treasure and the occasional plundering of booty! Follow on instagram.       0 Comments

09/23/2022 09:58 PM  Tears For The Wilting Rose.   It was happening again, but everything was so different. Tempest remembered the first time vividly. He remembered the smell of burning flesh so thick that there was nothing left to breathe. The ground had been wet, turning the raging fire into a cold silence and mixing with the ash, mud and smoke. He remembered that even though there was the sound of thunder rolling over in the distance, everything still had felt quiet around him. The quiet was the only thing that seemed to have been the same. The quiet of the room seemed deafening. It was to the point that Tempest couldn’t even hear his own hollering. He ran to her. The pale lifeless body that remained on the floor had been too weak and rotten to move. His mere presence scurried away most of the rats that were gnawing on her insides. He could still see Raid’s breathing. The rise and fall of her chest. Surely, it wasn’t the rats that had burrowed all of the way inside of her chest cavity. He moaned at the instant fear that it may have only been a mischief of rats enjoying a fresh raw feast. He came to his knees and reached inside of her stomach to pull free one large rat that couldn’t escape. Throwing it to the wall across the room as hard as he could, Tempest tried to ensure that the tiny brain would have smashed within its skull, or that the skull would crack and kill the cursed rodent upon impact. His eyes were wide as he looked at her. His face was stained with tears. Tempest was almost too afraid to touch her now; hands shaking, sweat of fear collecting from his brow. He was in a mid-panic. Tempest didn’t know what to do! He wasn’t a healer. He only knew bloodmagic, and as unstable as his current emotions had been, he was just as likely to skewer her more if his skin were to touch hers. Everything just seemed to have no importance anymore. Guilt swallowed him in the form of her decay. Why did he have to leave when he did? He could have thought of something to work things out. He could have reasoned with Alexander better. He didn’t have to act on impulse all the time. Tempest’s plans meant nothing when looking at Raid’s nearly lifeless body now. Her body covered in bruises and her stomach remained split open. Just how long had she been down here? And the baby… there was no sign of their child. His eyes only then began to register the bloodstained floor. The congealed crimson liquid of who knows what –and Tempest certainly didn’t want to think about what—had been spread across the cobble stones of the cellar. They were symbols within an alchemy circle of some kind. The were unrecognizable to him and yet his subconscious was also drawn to them. Deep down, somewhere, he knew what each symbol meant and he knew what the purpose of the alchemic circle beneath her. After a frantic search of her body, running his hands lightly down over her broken frame and scanning the skin to his shaken horror, Tempest checked in making sure that there were no more rats trapped within her. Without hesitation, he took his dagger and sliced at his wrist. It was a deep cut pouring in and the pain numbed the tendon that he sliced through in his panic. Tempest’s magic poured over him heavily and he reached down to hold her. “—Come on…” He gritted his teeth and channeled his bloodmagic in the preparation of being used. His hands reached for her head – thumbs pressing against her temples and stretching to try and prying open her dead eyes. “Come on, Raid—Come back to me!” Yet, no matter how powerful that he was…no matter how strongly that he loved her –and knew that he loved her—it just was not enough. He did not specialize in necromancy. He was not a healer. By now, her blood was too cold and too slow. There was no warmth to her skin, no breathing or even any signs that her blood still circulated. Tempest would have needed that in order for his magic to work. He simply did not have the tools or talents necessary for this task. He was a killer. A Destroyer and a Means to an End. Everything he touched eventually betrayed him or died to a horrible death and each was doomed to pave the road he walked upon. Some God that he was! Without the Book of Fadione, he was nothing but an over-glorified mage. It was foolish of him to refuse in learning to read its contents. It was even more foolish of him to hide the text in the manner that he did. In this moment, it may as well had been a million miles away from his reach. The Venatori were nothing but panicking idiots. trying to find ways to control others and save their own souls from the damnation of their ancestors. “Look at me. You have to look at me—I know you’re in there somewhere.” Tempest pleaded while tears stained his eyes. His grip tightened around her bloated head and he shook her in his grasp when he shouted. “Damn it, Raid—Look at me! Look at me!” His head fell down as he cried against her neck. “Please…?” He stayed there. The room had only been filled with his sobs against her. Everything had been brought up to this point and Tempest just felt that he could not make another step. This was the one time in his life when he had finally –finally—been able to achieve something on his own and for himself. Raid understood him and she made him happy. They may not have been able to have a life together but she always carried a piece of him with her. After meeting him and coming to know him, the only thing Tempest had ever wanted for her was happiness and the Venatori became hell-bent in taking even that away too. “When does it stop?” Tempest snarled and while his tears poured down against Raid’s porcelain neck. “…My family. …My friends…? And now this…? How much more will be taken from me?” The sound of footsteps echoed from the stairway that lead down into the dark cellar. Tempest didn’t need to raise his head and see the reflection of the individual from large specimen tanks nearby, to know that Dirthamen was approaching him. Tempest couldn’t control his anger and his wings unfurled their full girth and dark beauty. The miasma that pooled around him in a thick fog was brushed back slightly due his wings rushing back to send a blinded spray of arcane blasts. If Dirthamen had not brought a shield up to protect himself, he would have been ran through from the attack. Rather instead, the few rays of dark shadow energy bounced off his shield and collided to the stone walls behind him. It caused some collateral damage; deep enough to leave large holes into the stone, but the structure of the building still remained sound. “LEAVE ME!” His voice resonated deep with Vince’s answer to his anger. Tempest was trapped in his sorrow and his rage. Dirthamen narrowed his eyes and moved from the stairs to approach the alchemic circle. “This is exactly what the Aulkhori want, da’len—” “SHUT UP! I’m not even elvish! I HATE you! It is all YOUR fault!” Tempest scowled as he looked up and turned to see Dirthamen. The more that he sneered when he spoke, the more that the ground and the building began to shake violently. The seams of the Waking World and The Fade were starting to split due to how highly unstable that Tempest’s massive spikes of energy were becoming. It was highly uncommon for just any mage to possess such an ability, but Tempest wasn’t just any mage. He was reaching his full potential – the growth that Dirthamen had instilled in his bloodline from many; many centuries ago. If he currently had the Foci; not only would Tempest would have been able to unlock its power, he could have been able to absorb the power of the Titans and move just as fluidly as Dirthamen did between realms. But this was dangerous and there was always a risk without the Foci in place, that Tempest could short-circuit himself and the ending result would have caused rifts in time that no one could close. “If it wasn’t for you, she would have been happy! The Venatori and Aulkhori would have never existed!” Tempest snarled quickly and glared at him while his magic pulsed and building moaned from its weight being shaken. “No. It would have been another religious cult praying to another useless deity.” Dirthamen spoke calmly to the anger that confronted him. “The Aulkhori want you to be this angry, Luviar. They want you to fall victim to their prophecy and you are blindly stumbling into it as we speak.” The rage in Tempest’s eyes spoke it all. Even if it was true, he didn’t care. The world was more dark and hollow now than he had ever known it to be. Without Raid; without someone to breathe life back into him, he felt dead inside. His jaw tightened as he bared his teeth in a feral manner. “I loved her…” Tempest hissed and looked back to Raid’s corpse as his features slowly began to soften. The shaking seemed to have quieted down around them as well, to the answer of Dirthamen’s warning. The bloodmage reached to run his fingers through her hair while more tears silently fell from him. Dirthamen reluctantly sighed and looked down to Raid’s face. “I can revive some parts of her but only for a short time.” The Elven God started to say, which caused Tempest to look up at him with hope quickly. Though, just as quickly as it came, he was to have those hopes dashed. “I said for only a short time, Luviar… She has been dead for too long to receive a proper revival. And without the book, there is little else either one of us can do.” Tempest’s frown returned and he pulled Raid closer to himself. “…I …I understand.” Dirthamen nodded and lowered his arms then. He waved his hand and his magic shifted to fill the corpse. Raid’s wounds had been cleansed and healed; although, this had only been a cosmetic healing. The most that Dirthamen could do to any true benefit was to momentarily heal Raid’s vitals and awareness ---but even this was momentarily and the timing would have been short. To revive someone, the death would have needed to be more recent or it would have acquired more power from a separate specific object. Therefore, this had been the only option. It was a final goodbye; a sense of closure for both Tempest and Raid. In a shrilled gasp, Raid’s chest moved and her mouth opened. Her eyes turned in a jittery motion towards Tempest and her focus centered around his miserable face. Sparks of magic and death clung to one another like a collection of fuzzy wisps floating in the air around them. Each soft unseen tendril sent static electricity to Raid’s cheekbones and Tempest’s position stiffened from holding her. He watched in a wonder and confusion to whether or not he should have removed the wisps. After all, the sensation was placed around them for a reason and if he did anything wrong than Dirthamen’s spell would have been a huge waste. “My baby! Give me my baby!” Raid immediately spoke from pain that remained still trapped in her lungs. The last of her memories remained with the moments of the Aulkhori Venatori, surgically removing the child from her womb. She tried to raise her arms but every limb had felt like dead weight in that moment. Tempest reached for her hands to hold in both of his. Afterwards, he tried to soothe her until her eyes registered that she was looking at Tempest then. “Tempest? Our baby-” She begged and blinked with dry and crusted eyes –that would have cried if the tear ducts were not already dried out. “Where is our baby?” “Our baby is fine.” He lied smoothly with hardly even a hitch in his throat. “You've delivered a beautiful baby, my love.” Raid blinked a couple of times and her lips tried to form words at first but then seemed to fail. It was as if she knew in what little that Tempest didn’t say to her. Instead, her throat croaked and she relented to the pain. "It… It hurts…” “I know... You must stay strong for me.” Tempest continued in trying to reassure and soothe her even then. His eyes held hers as he tucked strands of her hair back behind her ear then. “I’m going to build a paradise for you. Only for you. We’ll be a family just like we’ve always wanted and we’ll stay together. I swear it, love, I’m never leaving your side after that. So, when I call for you, I will need you to come to me. Only to me. Can you do that?” Raid just stared at him in confusion and pain, for she didn’t understand. She tried to answer but her voice and confidence had only faltered. “Only if… you promise me… not to blame yourself. N-None of… of this is y-your fault, T-Tempest.” Tempest frowned to this and caressed her cheek. “Don’t speak of that—” “N-No!” She insisted and attempted to raise her voice. Her eyes narrowed to him and it was clear in her pained expression that she would be heard. “You p-promise me…” “I promise.” He answered, but only to bring her peace. With his promise forced and reassured to her, Raid attempted to smile. However, the sudden fear struck in her eyes still and she shuddered in Tempest’s grasp. “I don’t want to die.” “I don’t want you to.” Tempest agreed as he watched her vitals already beginning to fail from underneath her skin. The pulse rapidly slowed and her eyes were fluttering to a close. Tempest groaned in his anguish and traced his fingers down along her mouth lovingly. “No… No-no-no-no-no—it’s too soon… Please, don’t go.” The only response Raid could though was a long sigh while the remaining traces of her life-force had departed from her body. Tempest held his head and slowly moved towards holding Raid into his lap. He held her tightly and began to rock with her along the floor. He couldn’t dry his eyes. The coldness of the dark room began to fill him once more. Raid was gone, and there time together was up. Tempest coddled his failure with his sorrow and all motivation seemed nearly lost from him. His love was dead and so was his heart. The world could turn black and Tempest would welcome it without hesitation. All except for one thing… “The magic in this place---” Dirthamen started to say. “—I know I feel it resonating too. The child is alive.” Tempest spoke and rubbed at his red eyes in vain. He moved to hugging Raid’s body into his arms while his wings moved and shifted to help in pushing himself upwards and back upon his feet. “Don’t worry, love… I won’t let them have what’s ours.” Dirthamen hadn’t said anything while taking a step to the side and watched while Tempest walked past him and started to head for the stairs. He understood Tempest’s mourning. It was out of the question to leave Raid’s body there to be mauled and eaten by rats. However, Dirthamen came to find that Tempest didn’t want Raid’s body to have been buried by just any means, either. So, he helped in creating a casket of glass that could preserve the body. From there, Tempest took her body with him, and he embarked on a quest to allow his love some rest. Tears For The Wilting Rose. 0 Comments

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08/29/2022 08:04 PM  Possession of a Shattered Heart Possession of a Shattered Heart “I am your Savior and your Sinner!” Character: Tempest Display Name: Devious Bloodmage Verse: High Fantasy / Medieval / GOT / Dragon Age / Crossovers / Horror / Drama / Trigger Warnings Writing: Semi-Para / Multipara / Novella Description / OOC The Bloodmage loses himself in a battle of willpower against his demon. He struggles to maintain control and salvage what remains of his broken heart. But the whispers are so close and his self esteem is very low... Video: Nothing Else Matters By: Metallica (Cover by – William Joseph) Original Coding Credit: Bitchcraft (Link Broken) Possessionof a Shattered Heart The room was dark and smelled of old dreams and lost hope. You need to stop. The blade pressed against his flesh tightly. The thick black miasma coiled around him in a plume of gossamer wisps. The blood felt warm and cold at the same time. Dark blood. His blood. It ran thick down his arms; making the blade slick from every cut.   Stop it. The cuts were made in different directions. They were getting deeper and more jagged with every angle. The mage could taste the iron and salt lingering in the air. His arm felt as if it was on fire, bu his head swam with so many illusions that none of It really mattered.   You’re going to die. Stop. Stop it! A tendon was cut. He had cut that deep! He hollered more from the frustration of his hand turning limp by the actual wrist than he was from the pain that doing so had caused. Instantly, the numb tingling feeling of ice and heat surging through his veins answered to his dark and cruel actions. Tempest was breathing so fast that his lungs hurt. His grip around the blade tightened and he tried running the dagger further along an old scar beneath the flesh he had separated. It split open like a hot knife through butter. More heat. More ice. The nerves in his arm were screaming to his senses, but if he was honest with himself, it would have been more pain than pleasure.   You’re killing yourself. Over a damn woman, you’re killing yourself! Stop this! Now! Control yourself--! “I AM IN CONTROL!” He hollered to the voice stratching from the dark recesses of his mind and threw the dagger at the mirror across from him. The glass broke and he saw his flawed reflection staring back at him. His skin was leathery and red and bleeding. The face from the mirror didn’t even look recognizable. Everything had changed and worsened, except for the eyes. Tempest knew his eyes well. The demon could have been trying to reveal itself, but Tempest knew he had everything under his control. Though, it was only hanging by a thread… “I am in control. Not you! Me.” He said shaking his fist in anger. “Not! You!”   This isn’t about control, you half-brained idiot. This about survival. And you ARE killing us! “I’ve been doing this long before you ever came.” Tempest looked away and covered his injured arm with his stronger hand. “I didn’t need you then… I don’t need you now.” It was true. Tempest had been a self-cutter ever since he was a child. Whenever the stress of his family’s expectations were too much, he sought control in the only thing that he knew he could control. He could control pain. Pain was easy to twist and manipulate to however that he chose to felt it. That was what his family taught him. It’s what his peers believed in to a certain degree as well. This was a normal way to deal with his stress. But this was too much. It was more than stress. It was heartache. Tempest was heartbroken and the demon was probably correct in its attitude over a woman. Whatever his relationship had even been to Isabela, Tempest couldn’t even recall now. The only thing that scarred his memory of her was the way Lasher held her in his arms and Isabela was content. When Tempest saw this, he completely lost his head. He drew his blade against Lasher and the two would have fought then and there. However, Isabela stood in the way between them and ended everything with two words:   It’s over. That’s why Tempest wandered in a daze for a week around the Sweet Shore tavern. Why he drowned his sorrows in rum, vodka and so many women that he couldn’t even remember their faces. At long last, Vince had the longest free reign over his body to do with as he wished. The experience was mostly a blur of drinking, sex, gambling and fighting. Anyone that was with him was just there to serve his current mood and Tempest watched and felt each consequence unfold behind the eyes of the demon; due to their switched roles. He hardly could even tell from day to night anymore. Tempest felt pieces of his soul slowly being devoured and forgotten by the demon that was edging ever-more closer to ending him and living his life through Tempest’s remains. Tonight was a frantic attempt in either losing himself completely to be devoured all at once, or to end it all for the both of them. Though, how does one kill what controls you? Tempest tried to trick Vince into taking just enough lyrium to make his senses lucid. He obtained the lyrium from a Street Dustman, who had a “no ask, don’t tell” policy in regards to how he obtained the stuff. It was enough for Tempest and even despite the possibility of getting caught by templars, the bloodmage did not care. If it were Templars to find him, then he could have had an even quicker death. Tempest took that lyrium and started drinking even before he paid the man. Now, he sat in a closed off room, drunk enough rum to drown the whole crew, high off of lyrium (that continued to swim in his veins) and cutting himself to give him the sweet painful reminder that he was alive. It was a sweet and bitter Ouroboros of Bliss to Agony and then Agony back to Bliss. Visions danced in his eyes. The song of the lyrium rang in his ears and filled his head. It was all that was needed to suppress the demon just a little. Just only a little. He had control now. He was stronger and yet he was bleeding out and seeking to harm himself even more.   Clearly, you don’t need me to destroy yourself. If you insist on it, then be my guest. Look at how pathetic she’s made you. Weak. “She left because of you!” Tempest hollered blindly past his anguish and hatred.   Wrong! She left because you are rotten! A lovesick puppy dog nipping at her heels and whining for attention! Does it make you cry when you’re all alone? Go on then. Feel sorry for yourself because no one else is going to do that for you! If you really wanted to create scars then put the blade to fire. Make it mean something! Go on. You know where the fire is! But you can’t, can you? You don’t have the balls! Tempest stared back towards the mirror as his head drooped. His diluted eyes boggled while the rest of his body shook with addiction. The drool that slid from his mouth drained into a pool on the floor. “You think… You think I won’t?” The demonic voice laughed in his head while his face tightened and twisted into the oddest expression of laughter. Tempest watched in horror as his own lips began to move when he spoke. His voice carried with it the second lower octave in showing demonic possession. “I think you enjoy eating your own tail…” Tempest made a scramble across the floor. He dragged his body, fighting against muscles that threatened to disobey what he wished. The end result was similar to a turtle on its back; clawing the floorboards to stretch and move and straining muscles to pull and push himself along the floor. His left arm suddenly jerked up high into the air and punched himself in the face. Rolling across the puddles of blood and the dark miasma that welcomed him, his left arm swung again. He had lost control of his injured, bleeding arm. Another swing until his hand sank into his hair; pulling it at the root. The pull was so abruptly hard, from a demonic strength, that his scalp bled. His body lifted him nearly a foot from the ground and then slammed his skull back down against the floor. The bloodmage moaned in his pain while his body twisted itself by tightening jerks at the elbows and knee joints. Bones snapped with ease. Tempest could hear and feel as his body arched into a backbend along the floor. Flesh tore from every incorrect twisting that his bones had done. Tempest hollered in his confusion edging between agony and joy; hallucinations and reality. The Veil was so thin and the magic that pulsed through his body was incredibly high. He lost sight of who eventually had control over him anymore, and his groan wretched long and loud. He begged in the most quiet recesses of his mind for someone to come see. Let it be a sting operation. Let a planned templar come inside, ready to kill him and destroy the demon. But no templar was coming. No one was coming.   You’re tainted. Spoiled! Everyone hates you once they discover how cursed you really are! Did you really think she could bring you happiness? Did you think the darkness inside of you would just disappear within the bliss of a lover? Love is a lie! Darkness will eventually swallow it; just as it swallows all life. You have already seen it for yourself and you sought to abandon it. No! The darkness inside you will never allow it. I will never allow it! Hear this now! For I am the only thing. The ONLY thing….that matters in this world and the next. You cannot get rid of me. You were gifted to me and thus now a part of me. I am your shadow even in death. I am your Savior and your Sinner! Tempest’s body was trembling as he shook; feeling numb within the contortions that his limbs have bended against his will. He was being lifted into the air by the dark miasma that carried him. His head hung upside down, to look towards the floor. He couldn’t stop bleeding or screaming by this point. The only thing to silence him as a sudden compulsion that he could not control. His stomach felt tight as it twisted and turned into knots. Soon, he was vomiting every last drop of rum that he drank previously. He couldn’t breath; choking on his own stale and sour stomach acids as they filled his nose and choked out of his mouth. Tempest shook his head violently in a thrashing from side to side just to shake away the putrid mess out and away from him. Gasping for air just moments before the dark miasma turned in on itself and aimed for his mouth. Again, the bloodmage could not breathe as the black ichor and smoke slid within his jaws, filled his down his throat and slithered down deep into the pit of his stomach: a replacer for the alcohol and lyrium; apparently.   If you want happiness, only I can grant you happiness. I can also grant you to suffer, should you choose to suffer. Once the dark miasma had completely filled him, there was no more leverage for Tempest to have rested upon. Just as if a pillar had been pulled out from underneath his contortioned body, Tempest fell to his side and hit the floor hard enough to splatter the blood and vomit more from underneath him. He felt to heavy to lift his head, or any part of his body. There, he passed out. Devious Bloodmage © 🌱 0 Comments

08/29/2022 08:02 PM  Like a Prayer Like a Prayer "Si itov wux, aritov." Character: Tempest Display Name: Devious Bloodmage Verse: High Fantasy / Medieval / GOT / Dragon Age / Crossovers / Horror / Drama / Trigger Warnings Writing: Semi-Para / Multipara / Novella Description / OOC When Tempest falls in love, he falls hard. The romance is never very long lasting or usually with a happy ending. However, its his realization of what certain emotions are and of what meanings to words can be that make a love like his self-identified. Video: Like a Prayer By: Madonna (Cover by – Jay Smith) Original Coding Credit: Bitchcraft (Link Broken) Like a Prayer Tempest was a monster. He knew this. He was a monster long before he even understood the word and its meaning. Despite this bitter blackness that has always seeped into him, he could still see purity and goodness in others. He saw it in her and he longed for this enviously. How he desperately wanted to be like her. How he desperately wanted to protect her from himself! This strong belief that she had in him was earth shattering. The struggles that they went through together up until this point lead him to believe that he could not find another person who he wanted to become so devoted to. Not just as a lover, but as a companion, family and so much more. She brought to him a new meaning of these words and Tempest wanted to learn and reciprocate them in the understandings that she did. There was so much that he did not know or experience under these terms. Yet, Tempest could not place her upon any higher pedestal. He could not cherish or admire anything or anyone else any greater than he did her. For someone who tried to strangle dead the ideologies of religion and worship, to become an atheist and separate himself from a cultist society, Tempest finally understood the word that he once scorned. Faith. This woman had faith in him, that he was a good person and worth saving. Right from the very start of their meeting, she had always – always – believed in this. It wasn’t because of some crack-pot cultist belief or what he represented to them or anyone else. She had always looked past the many layers of his problems and personality. From the very beginning, she saw him for what he was and her faith in him never wavered; even whenever his did. Therefore, Tempest must, in return, have faith in her beliefs and in her ability to support him so that one day Tempest may be free of his shame. To forgive one’s self and to see hope in inner strength is always the most difficult. Tempest did not know how to do any of that. Devious Bloodmage © 🌱 0 Comments

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