#THE EYES OF THE SHEPHERDESS

[palaeolith-1]

#eye of shepherdess #black metal #usa #2023 #atavistic insurgence

[mysticalblizzardcolor]

Karma is a product of the mind. Our mind has myriads of impressions from this life and our previous lives. That's why we have to engage our minds as much as possible in the purifying vibrations of Krishna.

Queen Samya ✨✨✨

Anoushka Shankar•Monsoon

https://www.instagram.com/p/CsD-QY-LRzs/

#ISKCON #HARE KRISHNA #KRISHNA #BHAKTI #VEDIC #VAISHNAVA #GOPI #VRINDAVAN #SRIMATI RADHARANI #TULSI DEVI #SKA PASTORA #SALVIA DIVINORUM #THE EYES OF THE SHEPHERDESS

[sanjoongie]

All that's delicious is dipped in gold

To my lovely @daesukiii, here's a drabble I wrote in mind for you. I hope you enjoy and it brightens up your birthday 😘 thank you for being the seonghwa to my joong 😂

👑Pairing: Earl! Jung Wooyoung x Countess! Reader (f) 👑Au: Royalty Au 👑Trope: fuckboi to marriage 😆 👑Genre: smut, pwp 👑Rating: 18+, MDNI 👑Warnings: penetrative sex with no barrier (we are trying to make babies here), creampie, begging, nipple play, wooyoung just looking to take care of his new wifey 👑Word Count: 1,689 👑Summary: it's your first night with the earl and denying him only intensifies the pleasure he's about to bring to your marriage bed

You cling the luxurious sheets to your chest, your heart pounding a mile a minute. Any minute now the earl--your newly-appointed husband-- would enter this room. His domain, his rules. You needed to consummate the marriage, hopefully become pregnant with an heir. But you had married a scourge, a rogue, a lord with no honor. He was your husband now, however, and your body became his new plaything.

“I've arrived!” Wooyoung declared throwing the double doors open wide. He gulped deeply from a jeweled chalice and then threw the glass of wine against a wall, smashing it and letting out a loud noise of happiness at the beverage being consumed.

You flinched at the loud announcement and dramatics, clinging even tighter to the sheet as the footmen hastened to grab the handles of the doors and close them.

Wooyoung’s eager eyes sought out your body and he smiled slowly upon finding you naked and in his bed. “Ah, there you are, Countess.”

He strolled across the room, shrugging off his heavy jacket and throwing that to a chair before the roaring fireplace. He then pulled his flowing white shirt out of being tucked into the waist of his pants and then pulled his shirt off by grabbing the back of it and pulling it over his head. Bare-chest, Wooyoung began to crawl up the bed to you, toeing off his shoes momentarily. He got about halfway up the enormous bed until he started to pull the sheets downwards so that you would have nothing to hide behind.

“Come come, little shepherdess, I promise to not be too rough with your sheep.” Wooyoung had the audacity to grin and then run his tongue along his bottom lip.

“You're hardly a big bad wolf,” You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes.

“That's not what your nipples are saying, my love,” Wooyoung teased you.

“It's cold in here and you're taking away the blan--”

Wooyoung grabbed both your feet and pulled you bodily down the bed. You squealed as soon Wooyoung had you boxed in: hands on either side of your head and knees on either side of your hips. “Wife, we are to become one,” Wooyoung said with a roguish smile, perking up one side of his face.

“Let's be reasonable, Wooyoung it's been a long day,” You whispered.

“I agree. I should already have been tongue-deep into you and would be working myself into your tight heat. But someone has a sweet tooth and wanted another serving of dessert.” Wooyoung’s eyes followed the lines of your face, down your neck and into your bosom. “Now it's time for mine.”

“Wouldn't you rather have a deep sleep in which you could ravage me tomorrow?” You managed to squeak, feeling your breath quicken by Wooyoung and his likeness to a wolf wanting to eat you up.

“Why are you avoiding this, wife of mine?” Wooyoung gently bounced your breasts in the palms of his hands, making you moan in response.

“You're going to make me dick-drunk,” You whispered conspiratorially.

Wooyoung blinked at you several times before he finally cracked into laughter. “Are you afraid to become addicted to my lovemaking?” 

“What if you take a lover?” You wailed.

Wooyoung let out a scoff. “We just got married and you're already worried about our passion going cool?”

“I just don't want to get my hopes up,” You grumbled.

Wooyoung dropped his head to hover his lips over yours. “I won't ever let you down.”

With his lips slanted over yours, Wooyoung kissed like he always wanted to leave you wanting more. His short tongue would sweep across your lip to request entrance but when your own chased his, it went back into his mouth. He would pursue you with wanton eagerness but the minute you pushed back into his advances and he would pull back. You whimpered into his mouth and Wooyoung chuckled deeply.

“Please, Wooyoung,” You begged when he broke the kiss.

Wooyoung studied your features and he couldn't look more pleased. “I haven’t even given you what you want and you’re stupid for me.”

Wooyoung ignored the ache between your legs, and the press of his hard-on against the tightness of his pants, and paid homage to the globes of flesh on your chest that had been teasing him all night during the ball to celebrate your marriage. His red-from-wine tongue took broad licks of your nipple, eyes rolled up to your face to view it screwed up into pleasure. He left your nipples so spit-slick that they puckered in the cold air again.

Your lower half began to buck upwards in the air. “Woo-wooyoung,” You panted his name again.

“Tell me what you want from me, Countess,” Wooyoung tempted you with a playful smile.

“I need you… inside me… please!” You pleaded with a whine. 

Wooyoung sucked heavily on two fingers and then found the juncture between your thighs. He hardly needed to wet his fingers because you were almost weeping there for him. “Wife of mine, you are practically dripping for me.”

You casted an arm over your face. This was incredibly embarrassing. You knew this was going to happen. “Shut up, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung clucked his tongue at you. “That’s hardly the manner you should be addressing me, my love.”

Wooyoung began to play with your hole but only to torture you. He would push his finger only up to the first knuckle into your clenching hole and then he endlessly circled your clit but never actually brushed over your sensitive pearl. 

“Wooyoung,” You said his name through clenched teeth.

“Tell me properly what you want, Countess. I want the dirty words coming from your mouth. I want you to be improper just for me,” Wooyoung commanded, tongue caught between his teeth in anticipation. “If you can do that for me, I will fuck you straight to your orgasm.”

You whimpered and widened your legs. “Wooyoung, I need your pretty cock inside my wet hole, please, My Lord.”

The dash of manners tucked into the filthy sentence made Wooyoung’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Oh, he had lucked out by marrying you and making you his Countess. “It would be my pleasure, wife of mine.”

Wooyoung undid the ties of his pants and pulled them down his legs, only so far to free his dick and bare his ass. He played the head of his cock along the folds of your cunt, wetting up his thick cock so that he could penetrate you with ease. You swallowed in anticipation, watching as his head pushed past your wet lips and finally entered you. Your back arched as he fucked his way in; slowly making his way in with shallow thrusts that opened your tight heat to his intrusion. 

Once he was full hilt, all dogs were off to the race. His thrusts were accurate once he found the spongy area that made you gasp. He angled his thrusts so he could always rub over that place, no longer caring for his own orgasm and simply seeking out pleasure for his wife. 

“Woo--Woo,” You whimpered pitifully. At least you could still remember whose cock was inside of you.

“It’s okay, my love, I’ve got you,” Wooyoung cooed to you, pushing hair fondly from your face.

His thrusts were calculated, powerful, and you didn’t even know if you knew where you were right now. The rub of the velvet sheets under your naked body as Wooyoung coaxed an orgasm from you made you spare a moment to think, maybe, you could live the rest of your life in this bed with Wooyoung. “So good,” was all you could manage verbally.

Wooyoung was focused but he was losing his control. You were clenching around him like he was the only thing to keep you alive and that was his cock inside of you. His thrusts became sloppy and you whined at the difference of pace. Wooyoung blew some hair out of his face and mentally slapped himself. He said he would take care of you and he meant that. Did your cunt have to be so fucking good though?

“Gonna cum for me, my love?” Wooyoung said to you, searching to bring you back to him.

Your hands dug into the ample flesh of his ass, urging him deeper and harder inside of you. “Please, unload inside of me. I want you to drip out of me too.”

Well, there went all of Wooyoung’s good intentions.

His thrusts were harder, choppier, and he was gone. He needed the mental imagery out of his head and before his eyes. Wooyoung fucked you through your orgasm, single-mindedly. He didn’t miss the way you whined through the drawn-out orgasm. He didn’t miss the way your walls fluttered around him; like he needed anymore more encouragement to come inside of you. He thrusted deeply inside of you and then felt himself explode there. You had to be better than any well-trained courtesan in the realm. 

You were moaning his name, tossing your head back and forth, when Wooyoung suddenly pulled his cock from your hole. He crudely spread your cunt lips apart so he could watch your fluttering hole push his cum out. He watched with his mouth open in a small, pink ‘o’. He could get used to watching this, perhaps for the rest of his life.

“My lord…” You panted, attempting to push yourself up to meet Wooyoung’s happy grin at the sight between your legs. “That’s not going to get you heirs.”

Wooyoung made the rude noise of blowing a raspberry. “The night is still young. The first shot never matters the first time anyways.”

“The…” You blinked blearedly, “...first time?” 

Wooyoung moved his body up so that he could give your lips a quick peck. “Why, of course, wife of mine. I could hardly deny myself your body while it’s so readily available.”

You whimpered and Wooyoung laughed. “Perhaps some water first and a nice wipe down.”

Somehow you didn’t think that the wipe down was going to be as benign as he was selling it. And you found that you didn’t want it any other way.

#kvanity #kwritersworldnet #pirateeznet #cultofdionysusnet #ateez smut #jung wooyoung smut #wooyoung smut #atz smut #jung wooyoung x reader #daelight 😁 #topaz's works

[foxy-eva]

Cowboy Like Me

Summary: Spencer decides to fulfill a childhood dream

Author’s Note: This story is loosely based on the conversation Spencer and JJ have in S15E07 about parallel universes (a.k.a. Cowboy Spencer)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: none

Word count: 1.9k

Masterlist

Toy departments have always been magical for me. I clearly remember walking through them wide-eyed as a little girl, entranced by all the colorful and sparkly objects calling to me. There was nothing more exciting than to find one of them perfectly wrapped on birthdays or Christmas, waiting for me to play with it. 

Even as an adult I couldn't hide my child-like wonder as I walked along the aisles. Spencer was clearly more focussed on my reactions than on whatever toy we could pick for his godson's birthday. When my eyes landed on a particular stuffed animal, a gasp fell from my lips. 

When I reached out to hold it in my hands, Spencer chuckled, "I don't think Michael is into sheep. He's more of a dinosaur kind of boy."

I took the plushie into my hands, inspecting it thoroughly. In an instant I was taken back to childhood days, playing peacefully with a very similar one. 

"She looks just like her," I whispered. 

Spencer wasn't sure what I was talking about when he asked, "Like who?" 

"Fluffy. A sheep plushie I had as a child. I loved her so much but unfortunately I lost her when we moved."

"Awe I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe we should give this one a new home?" Spencer suggested. 

I put the toy back on the shelf and shook my head. “No, that’s okay. I’m sure it’ll make a child very happy someday.” 

Taking my hand in his, Spencer walked me to a different section of the store to find the perfect present for Michael. 

Neither of us mentioned my little anecdote again and I almost forgot about it altogether. That was until I got home from work a few days later. Spencer was waiting for me on the couch with the small sheep plushie sitting beside him. A wide smile was painted all over his face when we locked eyes. 

“What’s this?” I snickered as I took the toy in my hands to inspect it. 

“Fluffy 2.0 – or whatever you want to name it,” he said. “I had to go back to get it. You seemed so happy when you found it, so I thought it’d be nice to have it as a little reminder of your childhood.”

I found my place beside him on the couch, pressing a brief kiss on his lips to thank him. The toy not only reminded me of days long gone, it also took me back to my first ever career aspiration. 

“There’s actually more to the story,” I confessed. 

He placed his arms around my waist to bring me closer while he encouraged me to tell him about it. “I would love to hear it.”

It had always been astounding to me that even after years of knowing someone, there were still parts of their lives we had no idea about. Sometimes it made me wonder if it was even possible to know everything about our loved ones. After Spencer had surprised me with stories about his past - most of them a lot less merry than what I was about to tell him - it was my turn to let him in on this unknown side of me. 

“The reason I got Fluffy in the first place was because I was obsessed with sheep. It was all I could ever talk about. You know how most little girls want to be a nurse or a teacher or even a princess? Well, I wanted to be a shepherdess. I dreamed of living in the countryside with my flock of sheep, doing nothing all day other than walk around and pet them.”

Spencer couldn’t hide the playful tone in his voice when he chuckled, “That’s adorable.” 

I pinched his stomach, whining, “Hey, don’t make fun of me!” 

He was quick to take my hand in his, softly kissing it before telling me, “I’m not! I swear. I genuinely think that this is really sweet. So, what happened to that dream?” 

I thought about my answer for a moment until I decided to tell him the truth. “I would like to say that I grew out of it but the truth is, I still think about it sometimes.” 

Spencer seemed genuinely surprised. “You do?”

“Not about becoming a full-time shepherdess – I know that’s unrealistic for me – but I sometimes imagine us living on a little farm with a bunch of animals. Some chicken, my little flock of sheep, maybe even some alpacas,” I explained. 

I expected him to be more surprised by my confession but instead he asked, “Can I let you in on a little secret too?” 

After I nodded, he told me, “I actually like to imagine that there is a parallel universe where I’m a cowboy.” 

“A cowboy?” I giggled. “I would have never guessed that.” 

“Yeah. Maybe in this alternate reality you’d be a shepherdess and we’d fall in love after meeting at the farmer’s market,” he cooed before placing a kiss into my hair. 

I really liked this fantasy he created, I could see those alternate versions of us living a rural life. 

“I’d love that for us. We could sell milk and wool together after joining our ranches. We’d be the hottest farmers in town. The cowboy and the shepherdess.” 

Spencer laughed out loud at my words before adding, “I’m sure you’d be the hottest farmer in the whole state.”

For the following weeks we kept talking about this fantasy, adding details and creating scenarios of what we'd do in this parallel universe. It became like a nighttime routine to us to let cowboy Spencer and his wife go on adventures together. It might seem silly to anyone else but those stories became very near and dear to our hearts. 

Never had I expected that even a fraction of our fantasy world could ever come true. That was until one sunny Saturday morning when Spencer told me he had a surprise for me. It was rare for him to be the one to drive but it was even rarer for him to not tell me where we'd be going. Despite my constant pleading to let me in on his secret, he kept his lips sealed. 

I didn't recognize the roads he was taking when we left the city but I did enjoy the landscape the further we got away. After a forty-five minute drive, he pulled into the driveway of a very small but unbelievably cute ranch. There was a beautiful house with a small stable and a garden waiting to grow vegetables in it. 

Before I could wonder what we would be doing here, I took my time to take everything in. When I turned my head, I found Spencer smiling at me, curious about my reaction. I got out of the car to take a few steps towards the front door of the house. 

"What are we doing here?"

I expected him to tell me we'd spend the day here to pet some sheep and cattle. That wasn't what he had planned though. 

He was hesitant to answer me at first but when he began to explain, he did it in his usual rambling manner. "I found this little ranch for sale at a really good price. It'll need some work before we could actually live here but Morgan already offered to help us. The stable is in good shape though."

His words didn't make sense to me. I stared at him with lips agape and eyes widened. I kept looking back and forth between him and the house. 

When I finally found my voice again, I squeaked, "What? Spencer, this is crazy!"

"It's an adventure," he corrected me.

Still unsure of what to think, I breathed, "I don't know what to say."

He took my hand and gently squeezed it. "How about yes? Think about it. We're still within driving distance to both our workplaces. It's small enough to be able to take care of everything after work and who knows, maybe someday we'll actually sell our own milk and wool at the farmer's market. Just like we talked about."

Although my head was trying to come up with so many reasons why this couldn’t be a good idea, my heart screamed at me to agree with him, so I sighed, "You are very good at making compelling arguments. How could I ever say no to that?" 

"Thank god,” he groaned in relief while pointing at the stable. “I already bought two sheep." 

With a firm grip around my hand, he led me to the door where I could hear the sheep he just mentioned. 

In complete disbelief of everything that was going on, I said, "You did what? We don't even own this place yet!" 

Spencer just shrugged and mumbled, "I mean…”

"Spencer!” I reprimanded him, “You can't make big decisions like that without me! What if I had said no?"

While opening the door to the stable for me to look at the two young sheep, he said, "It was worth the risk." 

My husband must have completely lost his mind and I loved him so much for that. I stepped closer to the little creatures, reaching out my hand to make contact with their soft wool. They were very curious to get to know me, making my heart melt when they began nuzzling their little snouts against my hands. 

Spencer glanced over my face, wondering, "Are you mad at me?"

A bright smile spread across my face when I found his eyes, explaining, "I can't be mad at you for doing something so sweet. Very irrational, but sweet."

“I know it’s not a whole flock yet but it’s a start. How do you want to name them?” 

I was mesmerized by the little lambs in front of me when I cooed, “They look like little clouds.” 

“We could call them Alto and Cirro. Like the types of clouds,” he suggested.

“That’s perfect.” 

We spent the rest of the day at our future home, figuring out what exactly we wanted to do with this place. It would take at least a couple of weeks until we could move here. Even though it was impractical to have to come here every day to take care of our sheep, I was still looking forward to finally make my childhood dream to be a shepherdess come true. 

When I came home from running errands the next day, it was my turn to surprise my husband. It didn’t come close to the grand gesture of buying a ranch, but I still knew he’d appreciate it. He was reading a book about farming when I approached him in the living room, hiding a foreign object behind my back. 

With one eyebrow raised he looked at me and chuckled, “What do you have there?”

I showed him the ridiculously large cowboy hat and he broke out in laughter. 

“I know we don’t have cattle nor horses yet but I still wanted you to feel like a cowboy,” I giggled. 

When he put the hat on, my heart skipped a beat at the sight of the man in front of me. He placed a soft kiss on my lips before thanking me.

“I love it. And I love you,” he said. “How about we get going to see Alto and Cirro?” 

“I would love nothing more, cowboy.” 

If you enjoyed reading this story you should check out the other fluff fics in my SFW Masterlist!

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @spookydrreid @gspenc @justreadingficsdontmindme  @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @pauline5525mgg @sanaz1dlol @luna-novae @luredwithpretzels @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @s4r4hsblog @sebs-oxygen @reidsmilf @beepbooptoop @lovejules888 @liltimmyst @encyclo-reid-ia @lilibet261 @fandomstuffff @spencer-reid-wonderland @happymangospot @conniesanchor @jordierama @ellamaianderson @cynbx @feltonswifesworld87 @sweetannanas @dashneydanger @melifluorei-d @l-e-n-a @bitchassbecky691 @iameternallylonely @hotchandspencearedilfs @amititties @lover-of-books-and-tea @castiels-majestic-wings

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

[thenewgothictwice]

Mahmoud Darwish , “A Lover from Palestine” 1966

"Your eyes are a thorn in my heart

Inflicting pain, yet I cherish that thorn

And shield it from the wind.

I sheathe it in my flesh, I sheathe it, protecting it from night and agony,

And its wound lights the lanterns,

Its tomorrow makes my present

Dearer to me than my soul.

And soon I forget, as eye meets eye,

That once, behind the doors, there were two of us.

Your words were a song

And I tried to sing, too,

But agony encircled the lips of spring.

And like the swallow, your words took wing,

The door of our home and the autumnal threshold migrated,

To follow you wherever led by longing

Our mirrors were shattered,

And sorrow was multiplied a thousand fold.

And we gathered the splinters of sound,

Mastering only the elegy of our homeland!

Together were will plant it in the heart of a lyre,

And on the rooftops of our tragedy we’ll play it

To mutilated moons and to stones.

But I have forgotten, you of the unknown voice:

Was it your departure that rushed the lyre or was it my silence?

Yesterday I saw you in the port,

A long voyager without provisions,

Like an orphan I ran to you,

Asking the wisdom of our forefathers:

How can the ever-verdant orange grove be dragged

To prison, to exile, to a port,

And despite all her travels,

Despite the scent of salt and longing,

Remain evergreen?

I write in my diary:

I love oranges and hate the port

And I write further:

On the dock

I stood, and saw the world through Witter’s eyes

Only the orange peel is ours, and behind me lay the desert.

In the briar-covered mountains I saw you,

A shepherdess without sheep,

Pursued among the ruins.

You were my garden, and I a stranger,

Knocking at the door, my heart,

For upon my heart stand firm

The door and windows, the cement and stones.

I have seen you in casks of water, in granaries,

Broken, I have seen you a maid in night clubs,

I have seen you in the gleam of tears and in wounds.

You are the other lung in my chest;

You are the sound on my lips;

You are water; you are fire.

I saw you at the mouth of the cave, at the cavern,

Hanging your orphans’ rags on the wash line.

In the stoves, in the streets I have seen you.

In the barns and in the sun’s blood.

In the songs of the orphaned and the wretched I have seen you.

I have seen you in the salt of the sea and in the sand.

Yours was the beauty of the earth, of children and of Arabian jasmine.

And I have vowed

To fashion from my eyelashes a kerchief,

And upon it to embroider verses for your eyes,

And a name, when watered by a heart that dissolves in chanting,

Will make the sylvan arbours grow.

I shall write a phrase more precious than honey and kisses:

‘Palestinian she was and still is’.

On a night of storms, I opened the door and the window

To see the hardened moon of our nights.

I said to the night: Run out,

Beyond the darkness and the wall;

I have a promise to keep with words and light.

You are my virgin garden

As long as our songs

Are swords when we draw them.

And you are as faithful as grain

So long as our songs

Keep alive the fertile soil when we plant them.

You are like a palm tree in the mind:

Neither storm nor woodsman’s ax can fell it.

Its braids uncut

By the beasts of desert and forest

But I am the exiled one behind wall and door,

Shelter me in the warmth of your gaze.

Take me, wherever you are,

Take me, however you are.

To be restored to the warmth of face and body,

To the light of heart and eye,

To the salt of bread and song,

To the taste of earth and homeland.

Shelter me in the warmth of your gaze,

Take me, a panel of almond wood, in the cottage of sorrows,

Take me, a verse from the book of my tragedy,

Take me, a plaything or a stone from the house,

So that our next generation may recall

The path of return to our home.

Her eyes and the tattoo on her hands are Palestinian,

Her name, Palestinian,

Her dreams, and sorrow, Palestinian,

Her Kerchief, her feet and body, Palestinian,

Her words and her silence, Palestinian,

Her voice, Palestinian,

Her birth and her death, Palestinian,

I have carried you in my old notebooks

As the fire of my verses,

The sustenance for my journeys.

In your name, my voice rang in the valleys:

I have seen Byzantium’s horses

Even though the battle be different.

Beware, oh beware

The lightning struck by my song in the granite.

I am the flower of youth and the knight of knights!

I am the smasher of idols.

I plant the Levantine borders

With poems that set eagles free.

And in your name I have shouted at the enemy:

Worms, feed on my flesh if ever I slumber,

For the eggs of ants cannot hatch eagles,

And the shell of the adder’s egg

Holds but a snake!

I have seen Byzantium’s horses,

And before it all, I know

That I am the flower of youth and the knight of knights!"

#mahmoud darwish #palestinian poetry #palestinian art #palestine #free palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free

[midchelle]

OSSIE INVENTS SUMMER… PATTI WEARS IT British Vogue | June 1969 @ David Bailey

Look at summer through new eyes. Ossie Clark sees you in shepherdess smocks of voile, in long crepe dresses, reed-thin red or printed by Celia Birtwell. Pattie Boyd looks at it her way. All at Quorum.

#post 4 the last day of summer #pattie boyd #ossie clark #celia birtwell #david bailey #vogue #quorum #editorials #articles #fashion editorials #1960s #not my scan #pattie #1969 #art #ephemera #midposts #I am going to have to rb this on main also #fashionposting

[leadpoisioning]

Hellfire Club in Action pg 98

Eddie Munson x Fem!Yearbook!Reader

SMUT (18+) ((teasing, fingering, squirting, throne sex, fucking you dumb, cockwarming))

Word Count: 1,867

It’s time for yearbook club to take pictures of the other clubs, and you get assigned to sit in on a Hellfire meeting- giving Eddie the perfect opportunity to fulfill a fantasy of his.

“And next up is (Y/N)!” Nancy announces, finding your name on the list. Currently, everyone was awaiting their club assignments, to take pictures of them for the yearbook. You await, not really having any preference so she drew a club from a bowl. “Hellfire Club!” She grins, writing it down. You remember hearing that name in the hallway, sometimes being spat by Jason Carver, other times eccentrically shouted by Eddie Munson. Though you’d never outwardly admit it, you preferred hearing the latter. You’ve only conversed with the metal head a few times, but every one was pleasant. He was a nice guy, you didn’t understand why no one else thought so. The bell rings and you’re dismissed for lunch, where you were aiming to talk to Eddie about tagging along to a Hellfire meeting for pictures.

You wave at Robin from across the hallway and motion that you’ll be a minute before joining her for lunch. She understands and you stroll over to the table Eddie stands upon- conducting a rant of some sort. You shove your hands into your pockets and stare up at him, he catches your gaze and grins.

“(Y/N)! What brings you to these depths of the lunchroom?” He crouches down to match your height.

“I got assigned to take pictures of Hellfire for the yearbook.” He tilts his head, awaiting more information. “When’s your next campaign? I’ll be there.” He widens his eyes in surprise, but you were just doing your assigned task- it wasn’t like you were coming to Hellfire because he intrigued you. But he did, you already knew he’d be the centerfold majority of your pictures.

“Tonight.” He tugs at his Hellfire shirt. “Room one forty three.” You notice his cheeks redden ever so slightly.

“See you then.” Grinning, you poke the devil figure on his shirt before turning and heading towards Robin.

Eddie jumps off the table after your departure. He’s stunned to say the least. But at that moment he knew he had to have you. He didn’t know what it was about you, normally he would hate the thought of an outsider coming into Hellfire and not play, but it was okay- because it was you. You, who let him retake his yearbook photo to get his curly mullet just right. You, who slid him the test answers. You, who he heard nothing but kind things from his friends about. That was the dealbreaker. You were nice to his sheep? God, be his shepherdess.

After the last bell rung you walked down the hall, navigating through the masses in the opposite direction from the gym. Your camera swung by your side until you stopped outside of the door, having the perfect picture opportunity. Eddie, sat comfortably on a throne prop leftover from a theater production. The rest of the group listens to what he’s saying intently. A true story teller he must be. You snap the picture and then push the door open, heads snapping in your direction.

“(Y/N) the Illuminator! We’ve been awaiting your arrival!” He announces, making your heart swell and skip.

The first picture you take with them knowing, you crouch at the other end of the table, getting everyone in frame as well as the game pieces littered in the shot. Eddie was indeed your main focus. However, you were fair and included many solo shots of the others as not to arise suspicion. Oh, but Eddie was suspicious. He noticed the subtle zoom ins that happened to be in the direction of his hands, hair, tattoos peeking out from the sleeves of his Hellfire shirt- anywhere near him really. His eyes flickered from your camera to you often throughout the campaign, wondering how many times you clicked when he didn’t notice. How many photos you’d keep for yourself and hide from the yearbook committee. He stifles a groan when he feels his pants tighten under the table.

Meanwhile, you had to cross your thighs under the table to keep you satisfied until you at least had the privacy of your own car. You tried your best to listen along to the story, but Eddie’s words fell upon your ears- that only happened to be taking in the octaves and imagining them whispering dirty things into your ear. In the midst of your daydream, something exciting happens and Eddie slams his hands down onto the table.

“That’s,” His hair swings messily, “A,” He lunges forward, “Miss!” The table groans and the others stand to talk away from the dungeon masters ears. You snap a shot of them huddled around before turning back to Eddie. You swallow thickly. He lays back, midriff rising showcasing a tatted v line, legs cockily spread, ring clad fingers gripping the armrest- the other being used to twist a strand of hair. He winks at you, mouthing, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You quickly make sure the group is still faced the other way before snapping a photo, immediately after he composes himself, leaning forward with elbows on his knees.

You think the group won at the end- but you were too busy looking for crumbs of what Eddie flashed at you minutes prior. The group files out, going home with designated drivers, none happening to be carpooling with the dungeon master. He lingers behind while you gather your camera and film.

“So what’d you think?” He murmurs, sitting back once more.

“It’s definitely interesting, it’s a cool concept for a game.” You nod.

“I meant my pose for you.” Your cheeks get hot.

“Oh? I liked it. Could use a little work though.” You shrug, being honest despite your mildly flustered state. He hums.

“How so?” He waits, watching as you approach and slide yourself onto his lap. His breath shakes and his hands ghost over your hips. “Can I touch you?” He breathily whispers the query into your ear.

“Of course.”

He wastes no time in kissing your neck, groping your tits and sliding his hands into your pants. You sigh in relief at the rough contact with your pussy and move your ass against the tent in his pants. You drink up his moans and rest your head back on his shoulder.

“Let’s get these off of you,” He pulls at your waistband. Lifting your hips, he shoves them down, leaving you to kick them off along with your underwear. He marvels at the sight of your chest heaving- realizing it could get better if he peeled your shirt off, being able to stare at the round pillows of your breasts bounce as he pleases you. He starts off slow, hovering over your shoulder to watch his hand caress the split of your legs. Your thigh erupts in goosebumps and he smirks as you shudder under his touch.

“Eddie…” You hum, gripping his sleeve tightly. “Please.” And with that, he goes to work.

Eddie has always had a fantasy of sorts. Deep down, in the back of his mind- mostly whenever he was alone in the campaign room or with his eyes closed back at his trailer. He longed to have a girl sit in his lap the way you were, his fingers shoved deep in your dripping cunt, frantically working away. He wanted you to finish alright- but even more he wanted you to squirt. He wanted to see your juices leave a sheen layer over the game pieces, the board, his dungeon master equipment. He wanted to hear the breathy whines of your apologies for ruining his stuff even though you really just made it ten times better.

You watch as Eddie’s fingers disappear into your sopping entrance, jumping every time the cold band of his rings touches your clit. He kisses your cheek when you throw your head back, clenching around his digits when he adds another one to your cunt. His other hand, holding and groping your tit moves slyly down your body, finally ending up on your clit. He multitasks, pumping his fingers deep inside while the others work your clit just right. It’s all too much, and your mind blanks, eyes screwed shut. One hand grips the armrest of his throne while the other threads into his hair.

“You like that don’t you, pretty girl?” He mutters into your neck, keeping his eyes on the space between your cunt and the table, waiting- rather impatiently. But, his words make your stomach flip, and then begin to tighten, and you know what’s coming. Eddie bucks his clothed hips up into your ass upon hearing your whimpers and breathy moans, his cock straining was getting too much to bear but he had to live out his fantasy before thinking about pleasing himself.

“Eddie please-“ You babble, focusing on the brush of his fingers against your walls, and his other hand pulling and flicking at your clit frantically. “I’m so close-“ You whimper, piquing more of his interest. He moves his hands impossibly quicker, desperation coursing through him as your moans increase on volume and frequency. Turning, you hide your face in his neck, feeling your cunt tighten one more time, before releasing your pent up juices. Eddie quickly removes his fingers from inside of you and rubs your clit as he watches, starstruck, as you squirt out onto the table, heaving into his hair, gripping onto him tightly. Once you realize what you’ve done, like his predictions, you’re quick to babble and whine out breathy apologies and pleads of forgiveness out of embarrassment. But he doesn’t care, marveling at the sight of the now glossier board.

“You’re perfect,” He smooches the side of your head, shutting you up, before picking you up and sitting you in the chair.

The prop rocks back and forth in time with Eddie’s deep thrusts into your cunt. He holds your hands above your head, his guitar pick necklace swinging in your face. Your legs tighten around his waist, and you lean forward, catching the plastic between your teeth and tugging. His hair falls down around his face as he gazes down at you, your half lidded eyes silently pleading with him to kiss you. He drops down and you release the necklace as he presses his lips to yours. You murmur something he can’t quite understand as he continues to sloppily kiss you, feeling his cock slide in and out of you with ease due to your slick cunt. He finds himself drowning in you, his dreams coming true with each slap of his skin against your own. He draws closer to his release as you approach your second. Your stomach feels heavy and you groan lowly, in effort to warn him. He ignores it and keeps going, chasing his finish, and stilling his hips close to yours- emptying himself deep in your cunt while you gush around him.

“Do you need anymore pictures for the night?” He asks, breathing heavily, his cock still sitting inside of you. You can’t help but laugh.

“No, I think I got enough for the night… but maybe we can do another photo session this weekend?” You offer, holding his hands shyly.

“I’d like that,” He decides, giving your hands a squeeze, kissing your forehead.

#stranger things #st s4 #stranger things season four #x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things x reader #stranger things x reader smut

[koniku]

Flower

Fyodor×reader | smut | nsfw

tw: nsfw, dark themes, unhealthy relationships, jealousy, exhibitionism, mentions of torture

summary: jealous sex with fyodor in front of nikolai and another man to assert dominance idk

a/n: so, I'm back with a new fic, yk I've been wanting to write for Fyodor for the longest of times, I just had to finish the cafe series first. Anyways have fun

_______________________________________

"You're a flower" he says, "a lone standing white lily in a green field, so outstanding and marvelous, beautiful and pure, innocent and untainted" he continues as he puts his hands on your shoulders, leaning down so that his lips are right next to your ears, "My dear, you're irreplaceable, you do not deserve to be an ewe amongst the flock, your seat is here, with me. I am the shepherd and you, my shepherdess" he lowers his head even more, so that his lips are right next to yours, "I've given you so much, is it not enough?" you shake your head, yet that doesn't seem to be enough for him. He walks around you to stand directly in front of you, with lithe fingers, he tilts your chin up, "I want you to answer with your words, you're a big girl now, aren't you?" upon hearing those words, you open your mouth to speak despite the dry feeling in your throat that makes it seem impossible to even let out a squeak, "I'm sorry" you manage to say, though it comes out as a whisper. "Sorry? Well yes, I suppose you should be" he says, hands now traveling down to the sides of your body, slowly going lower and lower, "I've taken such good care of you, haven't I?" His hands now rests on the fat of your ass, giving it a light squeeze, "I've taken such good care of you, only for another lamb to undress you with it's filthy eyes" he retreats his hands and places it around your waist, "that calls for a punishment, misbehaved lambs needs to know their places"

The pained cries of the tortured man rings in your ears, though you can't see him blindfolded, the metallic smell of blood is enough to tell you all you need to know. Fyodor is a cruel man, he has you on his lap, cock nestled deep in your dripping cunt as he orders Nikolai to continue his abuse on the victim. "You're kind and forgiving, I am not. Feel not pity for the lowly fool who attempt to harm you" he lifts you up by the waist "Do remember to scream out my name" and he drops you onto his dick, it's head hitting your cervix forming a bulge on your lower abdomen. You scream out his name as your eyes roll to the back of your head, back arching into him. "Let us put on a good show for them" he sets a quick pace, his hands moving from your waist to the back of your thighs to hold them up, your glistening cunt out in the open for all to see. His continues his abuse on your cunt, hips thrusting up half way to meet yours as you cry out his name in a series of chants like a prayer, forgetting all but the man who made you feel the utmost pleasure. You cum with a few more jerks of his hips as your head tilted back onto Fyodor's shoulder yet his pace falters not one bit. Overstimulation started to take over but that didn't stop him, only when he shoots his load into you does he cease his movements. He removes his hands from your thighs and lays one hand on your waist while the other wraps around your nape as he pushes you onto your hands and knees. "Don't fall asleep on me now love, we're only getting started"

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungou stray dogs fanfic #bungou stray dogs smut #bungou stray dogs fyodor #bungou stray dogs fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fanfic #bsd smut #bsd fyodor #bsd fyodof dostoevsky #bsd nikolai gogol #fanfic #smut #fyodor fanfic #fyodor smut #fyodor bsd #nikolai bsd #bsd nikolai

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Aiden sighed as he settled back in the grass, basking in the midday sun whilst his horse grazed nearby. After almost a week of camping, he was pretty sure he only had a day, two at most before the Dyn Marv Caravan passed close enough for him to join the clowder for the winter. It was a trick all Cat’s picked up after a couple of years on the path and missed opportunities to go home because you were restless. Pick a stretch of road and hunker down until you hear the calls. They still liked to remind Schrödinger of the year he missed them because he got distracted by a pretty shepherdess and was helping her ‘tend her flock’, as it were.

He smiled to himself as he closed his eyes and started idly listing off the various birds he could hear. Something he’d always found calming. Wood pigeon; obviously. A blue jay, a couple of crows making a din about something further into the trees, a linnet.

He tensed when his sensitive ears picked up a distinctly human call. Somebody somewhere in the woods was singing. Aiden relaxed when it didn’t sound like they were getting any closer (further away if anything) before frowning. He couldn’t make out the words but from tone of voice alone it was apparent his mystery serenader was pissed. He winced in sympathy for whoever or whatever had earned such ire. His musings were interrupted by the sharp crack of wood breaking, followed by the singing rapidly turning into a shriek. He whistled 'stay' at his horse, hoping the flick of an ear was acknowledgment and not a fly before leaping to his feet and grabbing his swords before sprinting in the direction the noise had come from.

The groans of pain and multiple (very creative) curses were both a blessing and a curse. It was providing him with pretty clear directions but who knew what else they’d attract. It wasn’t long before he found their source though. A pit trap, the branches and bracken laid over the top destroyed. He made sure to make his footfalls louder as he approached.

“Hello, is somebody there? Oh Gods, if there is, please be an actual person and not some sort of liche or something.” The voice only sounded slightly shaky, which could just as easily be down to the scent of pain as well as that of fear.

“No Liche around these woods. None I’ve seen anyway.” Aiden said as he peered over the edge. It was deep, and the earthen sides were totally smooth, with not even a decent sized tree root visible, whoever had dug this wasn’t taking any chances.

A young man sat on the pit floor, blinking up at him with wide, blue eyes. A light pack on his back and a lute laying next to him, his hands grasping his left ankle. His gaze fixed on Aiden’s swords from where they peeked over his shoulder, “Wait. Armour, two swords…Witcher?”

Aiden nodded, mentally preparing himself for having to convince him to accept help from him.

“Oh, thank fuck.” The man’s shoulders sagged as he gave a relieved sounding laugh, “For a minute there I thought I was in trouble. Jaskier the Bard.” He inclined his head and Aiden got the impression it would be a full bow if he were standing, “Be a dear and help me out?” Aiden blinked down at him. Shit, he was definitely concussed.

After Jaskier had assured him that no, he hadn’t hit his head, but he had buggered up his ankle somewhat, they came up with a system. Jaskier passed his lute and pack up to Aiden, the Witcher feeling guilt spring up at the flash of pure hurt in the human’s eyes when he half-jokingly asked “’How do you know I won’t just leave you there?” He held his tongue as he hung as far over the edge as he dared and offered Jaskier his hand so he could haul himself out with Aiden’s help. He looked anywhere but at Aiden as he sat and tried to wipe the dust and mud off his bright red doublet. He immediately reminded the Witcher of a cardinal bird.

Aiden cleared his throat awkwardly, “Your ankle, think you can walk on it? I can help you back to your camp or horse if not.”

Jaskier shook his head, “Don’t have either I’m afraid. I’ve been travelling incredibly light as of late, I don’t know if you’ve tried it, but it’s been surprisingly freeing not being weighed down by useless stuff, you know.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call a bedroll useless.”

Jaskier waved a hand, “Debatable. I-fuck!” Aiden caught him by the arm as his ankle immediately buckled underneath him when he tried to stand, “No, walking’s not happening. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologise for. Lean on me.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Good fucking question, actually.

Aiden really didn’t have time for this. He couldn’t leave a defenceless human hobbling around on an injured leg, but he couldn’t exactly risk an outsider encountering the Caravan either. There was a reason they stayed off the main roads after all. He tried to sketch a basic map in his head: This should be just about manageable.

“My camp. We’ll use my horse to get you to the nearest town and you can make your own way from there yeah? Unless you know of anywhere else nearby, where were you heading?” The nearest town was about a days ride away, if he rode through the night after dropping Jaskier off he should hopefully be back in time to catch the Caravan.

“I…no,” and there was that hurt again, “I have nowhere to be and nowhere to go. Such is the life of travelling Bard.”

“Easy, Sparrow.” Aiden cooed as he helped Jaskier up on the saddle, the Bard holding his lute in his lap and muttering something about how it must be some unspoken Witcher tradition to name your horse after another animal.

“Know many Witchers then?” Aiden asked

“Just the one, we travelled together on and off for a time, he’s a Wolf.” Aiden felt ice go down his spine. Fuck. A certain, tolerable raven head being the exception, if he was going to end up with some possessive fleabag accusing him of kidnapping, Aiden was cutting ties now.

“Where are they now?” Aiden tried to keep his tone light. If Lambert had lost another brother, he wouldn't know until he made it back to his own home for the winter and the thought that Aiden would know before the poor sods family momentarily settled heavily in his chest.

“I don’t actually know. We had a bit of a disagreement a while back. Which school are you by the way, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Aiden fished the snarling cat head from out of his tunic, which was met with raised eyebrows and an “…Ah.”

“Still happy with our plan?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jaskier sounded genuinely confused.

“I can guess what your Wolf told you about my lot. If you’d rather take your chances, I can leave you with some basic supplies.”

“Dear, if I paid attention to every single thing I got told about Witchers, my life would have taken a very different direction. You’ve given me no reason not to trust you so far. So, hop up and let’s go.”

“Self-preservation isn’t a phrase you know very well, is it?”

“We’ve a passing acquaintance at best. Speaking of, may I know the name of my rescuer and escort? Unless you don’t mind me calling you Dear for the entire trip.”

“I’m Aiden.”

Read the rest on my A03!

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden centric #witcher aiden #aiden/jaskier friendship #witcher jaskier #jaskier #jaskier whump #dyn marv #cat witchers

[palaeolith-1]

#eye of shepherdess #black metal #usa #2019 #batilda #Atavistic Insurgence

[mimilind]

Stranger of the Falls - Part 1

Pairing: Boromir x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2400

Parts: [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

※※※

1. The Stranger

The Eastemnet was unnaturally empty and it felt eerie to drive along the narrow road, the reins in one hand and a long dagger in the other. The shepherdesses had seen a band of orcs in the vale that night. You knew those monsters were afraid of daylight but had brought the weapon just in case; better safe than sorry.

Soon a familiar rumbling sound began, steadily growing louder, until you rounded a corner and saw the mighty waterfall ahead. You would never get tired of the sight. A fine mist lay perpetually in the air and when you got closer a vibrant rainbow formed across it.

But you had no time to stop and admire the beauty of the Rauros Falls; just below them was your favorite bog moss patch and after the long winter you thoroughly needed to restock your supply of the absorbent material.

You had nearly filled your cart when a movement from above drew your eyes. Realizing what it was, you sharply drew in your breath. A boat? What idiot was riding a boat down that sheer drop?

That was all you had time to think before the boat crashed down, throwing the man it carried into the shallow part of the river while the rest of the vessel continued unperturbed.

You darted forward, catching him before the water sucked him down, and with all your strength you managed to haul him ashore. 

Frowning in concentration you swiftly examined the man. At first you thought he was dead, but then your experienced fingers found a pulse; weak, barely perceptible, but there. He must be within an inch of his life. His face was pallid and he had a long, ragged gash over his forehead where he had hit the rocks of the river bed, and from his chest and stomach several cruel, black arrows protruded, one of them broken. 

“Orcs,” you hissed between your teeth, nervously glancing around you, but thankfully the plains were empty. He must have been assaulted somewhere above the Falls.

You were grateful there was no safe way down the sheer cliff on this side of the river.

You returned your attention to the stranger. His wounds smelled oddly chemical. Some sort of poison you surmised, something that had petrified him, for as far as you could tell the arrows hadn’t pierced any vital organs. That meant he might live if you could get them out fast enough.

Knowing it would be a close call, you still never hesitated. You were a healer, and a patient was a patient, even if it was a stupid stranger who had tried to ride a boat through a swarm of orcs and down the world’s tallest waterfall. 

The man was big; tall and broad shouldered, and there was no way you could lift him into the cart by yourself, but with the help of the horse you finally managed to pull him on top of the soft, damp pile of moss. You wiped the sweat off your forehead and hurriedly drove home.

Back in the village, the palisade guards helped you lift the man into your house and put him down on your combined kitchen- and examination table. 

“Must be a rich fellow,” said Torsten. “Look at that golden belt and the embroidery on his tunic sleeves!”

“If you heal him, he gets to pay the belt,” Vidar decided, ogling it greedily. “And if he dies we get it anyway, obviously. For trying.” 

“Leave,” you ordered. You needed peace and quiet around you.

As soon as the door closed behind them you began working. You slid off the man’s long surcote and cut apart the tunic and shirt he wore underneath, wincing as you ruined the beautiful garments but there was nothing for it. Perhaps they could be mended later.

Then you started with the arrows, pulling them out one by one, thankful he was unconscious and unable to feel the pain. The broken one was a bit trickier to extract and you hoped you got all the splinters out.

You cleaned the nasty injuries with strong mead, adding a thick paste of honey, yarrow and other herbs to stop the bleeding and prevent infection. You covered them with wads of dried bog moss, the last of your old supply, and finished by wrapping his torso with snug linen bandages.

After working with such concentration you almost felt lightheaded when you paused to catch your breath, but there was no time to rest. You still had a lot to do if the stranger would survive. 

You took a quick detour to the kitchen, downed a cup of mead and put a slice of hard bread in your mouth. Then you continued, chewing on the dry food as you started on his head. 

A huge bump had formed and the entire area was red and swollen. You could not do much more than smear yarrow paste on it, hoping he hadn’t hurt his brain in the fall.

You checked his vitals again. By now, a little color had returned to the man’s face and the pulse was stronger. Whatever poison that had been on the arrow heads must have stopped affecting him as you got them out. 

His erratic breathing indicated he was on the verge of waking up. 

You returned to the kitchen, preparing a potion of poppy seed tincture, and willow bark for the pain, and mixed it with a nourishing broth. The man had lost a lot of blood; he needed his strength back. You also brought more mead.

Back at the table, the man’s left eyelash fluttered and opened. Immediately his whole side began to tremble as he struggled to move, and he slurred in an unknown language with his mouth twisted in a crooked grimace.

You knew from the frantic pulse on his neck that he was panicking, and no wonder. First nearly killed by orcs, then sent down the Falls, now unable to move. 

You tried to calm him, patting his quivering hand while mumbling in a soothing voice until he became still. Then you coaxed a spoonful of potion into his mouth; with luck, it would put him to sleep. 

But he had a hard time swallowing it.

That was not a good sign. You recalled old Ulf who used to be the village blacksmith; he had become crippled for life from a horse hoof in his face while shoeing it. Afterwards he was only able to move half of his face and body, and struggled to speak and swallow, and though he got slightly better with time he never fully recovered.  

If this stranger survived, it was possible he would end up the same way. 

You slipped more potion down his throat and followed it up with mead. He had stilled somewhat and his only open eye was beginning to roll back into his head. Then he went limp as the effect of the herbs and alcohol kicked in, and fell asleep.

The worst was over; now all you could do was wait and see. If the wounds did not fester he might make it.

You stretched your aching limbs. You could use some rest too, but duty called. 

Vidar was still lingering outside. “Did he die?” He sounded imprudently hopeful.

“Not yet. Get Torsten; we need to move him to the bed.”

The guards helped you carry the man to the only bed in the room, which happened to be yours. Normally patients would be brought to their own home after being treated, but this one obviously had nowhere else to go. You did not mind; you had a comfortable chair by the fireplace where you often slept.

The stranger stirred in his sleep and his left eye twitched. Again he mumbled something incomprehensible through his lopsided mouth.

“Is he a foreigner?” asked Vidar.

“Of course he is, you fool,” Torsten retorted. “Who in this land has dark hair like that?”

You regarded the man. It was true, he did not look Rohirrim. Was he from the north? You were not good at geography and did not know much about what kingdoms there were up there. He had costly clothes and his high boots, which you had removed to make him more comfortable, were of excellent quality. Though his palms were calloused, those marks must come from weapon use rather than labor, and his strong build was an indication as well; his wide shoulders and bulging arm muscles could have had ‘swordsman’ written on them. Was he a prince perhaps, or a high lord? 

But there was no time to idly wonder about the stranger’s origin, you still had a wagonload of bog moss that needed to be taken care of. “No rest for the wicked,” you told Vidar. “Will you help me unload my moss?”

When you were finally done it had grown late. Your stomach was growling but you were too tired to prepare a meal, instead you slumped into the chair and immediately fell asleep.

※

You woke early as was your habit and turned your head to look at the patient. Had he survived the night?

He had. Both his eyes were open now, albeit the right one just barely. He was moving the fingers of his left hand with an air of concentration, as if to test his limits. Despite his efforts he only managed a tiny wiggle and his features grew increasingly frustrated and desperate.

You felt sorry for him and what he must go through; it must be extra hard for a warrior to become paralyzed.

Your stomach growled and the sound drew his attention. You were surprised by the intensity in that one-eyed gaze. Yesterday he had been in shock, and later drugged, but he was perfectly clear headed and aware now.

His eye had an unusual gray color, in stark contrast with his dark brown hair and beard. The same color as the Falls where you found him.

He moved the good half of his mouth to speak. You still could not make out any words, but his voice was pleasant, deep and mellow. 

Upon hearing himself a faint blush crept up his cheeks and he immediately silenced. 

You went over to the bed, checking his forehead for a fever and whether his bandages needed changing. They did; dull red spots were blooming on the linen both on his head and chest.

“You were gravely hurt, my lord.” You told him where you found him, what injuries he had and how you’d treated them. If a patient knew what had happened to them, that could often ease their stress. This man had been near death. Coming to terms with such a thing wasn’t easy. 

The man did not reply and shifted his gaze away from you. 

“Do you understand?” you asked. You were using the common language but perhaps he did not speak it. Or maybe he just did not want to slur again and embarrass himself. 

You continued speaking, whether he understood or not. It was a bit like soothing a wounded animal; they did not know the words but the tone calmed them. “I am going to change your bandages now.” You did so, explaining everything you did, and apologizing for the pain. 

He uttered not so much as a grunt when you changed the bloodied bog moss and rebandaged his arrow wounds. Did he not feel it, or was he just stoic? If the former, that was worrisome; loss of sensation often meant the paralysis would last.

Then you saw a growing damp patch on his pants. 

He had noticed it too and blushed furiously, an expression of deep mortification passing over his features. He squeezed both eyes shut and turned his face to the wall.

You took it as a good sign. He obviously could not control his bladder yet, but since he knew what had happened he must feel it, and that gave you hope he would regain more mobility in time. 

You pulled the blanket higher, and under its cover you peeled off his soiled garments and cleaned him. While working, you told him what you had been thinking, partly to take his mind off the uncomfortable situation. “You see, my lord, someone who hurts their head and cannot feel a thing afterwards, they will often not get better. But I believe your senses are intact which means you are not so ill-fated. Even if you will never be completely healed, you might very well be able to learn to walk again – perhaps with a cane.” You put a bedpan strategically between his legs. “There, all done. Worry not about this, my lord; I have been a healer nearly all my life and there is not much I have not seen.”

Your stomach reminded you that you still hadn’t had breakfast. “Time to prepare something to eat.” You made gruel for both of you, but topped off your patient’s share with more poppy tincture and willow bark. As you brought it back you explained its contents and the calming, painkilling effect. 

“Swallow this,” you bid, holding a spoon to his lips.

He closed them into a thin line.

“Come on,” you goaded. “It tastes a little bitter but you can wash it down with mead.”

He did not obey. Instead he looked at you. Both his eyes were open now, but only the left one fully. 

His gaze was the most dejected you had ever seen. Filled with bottomless darkness and despair, as if everything, absolutely everything, was lost to him. He had given up. 

You read death in his eyes.

It frightened you a little. What had happened to this man to make him abandon all hope? Well, apart from nearly getting killed, obviously.

His hopelessness filled you with sympathy, and somehow he must have sensed that for his forehead suddenly creased and he turned away again. He did not want your pity, that much was clear.

With a sigh you left him alone. With time his hunger and thirst would make him weak and his pain become unbearable. Then he would hopefully accept the relief you offered.

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A/N:

This fic is dedicated to Scyllas_Revenge who made me realize what an interesting character Boromir is. But I also wrote it for me. :) I have a thing for hurt, silent, stoic warriors…

Feedback is much appreciated!

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Parts: [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#boromir #boromir x reader #boromir x you #boromir x oc #boromir fanfiction #lotr #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #boromir lives au #hurt/comfort #healing #heroism #reader insert #lord of the rings #Stranger of the Falls

[jortschronicles]

The Malevolent Sheep

Embroidered Livestock Who Hate Everyone, But Me Most of All For Bringing Them Into This World

By Doña Ashildr inn Harfagri, 2023

Presented at Castellan

Purpose

The purpose of this paper is not to document a perfect and period reproduction, but to document my thought process and learning process as I attempt to add to an impression of a 14th century English peasant designed for the casual eye.

I play an English shepherdess in 1360 in the fictional town of Avalon for the Medieval Fair of Norman. Due to the timing of this event, weather can be unpredictable, and occasionally very cold and wet. I am in possession of a wool hood from Hobbitronics featuring the crossed trumpets badge of heralds. While this is a delightful hood and definitely one of my warmest pieces, the costuming director and myself have determined the crossed trumpets are not appropriate for the character of Margery Arkewright and more importantly, do not add to the air of perceived authenticity for the visiting patrons. An important note is that certain concessions of historicity are made in order to create a more coherent and easily understandable experience for the patrons of the fair. For example, we restrict all uses of true (not rusty) red to the King and his immediate family to add visual cohesion and allow patrons to more easily identify King Edward III, Queen Philippa, their children, and their children’s spouses. 

With that in mind, I began to research decorative motifs and patterns appropriate to the time. Two documents referenced early on were The Luttrell Psalter (approx 1320-1340) and the 

Belleville Breviary, a prayer book owned by Captain Jeanne de Clisson, Lioness of Brittany. The latter was particularly intriguing as an inspiration, as the Captain is portrayed as a cast member though she had died in 1359. However, both of these resources are ink on parchment, rather than decoration on fabric. Lady Asa in Blindi pointed out that though aesthetics may be similar, motifs likely differ. 

Thus, the Bayeux Tapestry was chosen for inspiration. Though the date of the Tapestry’s completion is murky with the earliest written reference to it dating to a 1476 inventory of the Bayeux Cathedral, it was likely completed in the 11th century, three centuries prior to the date of the Norman Medieval Fair. However, the popularity of the Bayeux Tapestry in online meme culture with an apparent peak around 2018 (Know Your Meme) in conjunction with the popularity of “bardcore” remixes of popular modern songs starting around 2020 with album art featuring images from the Bayeux Tapestry is hoped to have made the imagery of the tapestry more familiar to the average person. For this reason, even though the tapestry predates the target period by approximately three centuries, the design was based on that of the tapestry.

The sheep were designed to mimic the style of animals portrayed in the Bayeux Tapestry and other contemporary pieces, particularly with the near-heraldic postures in what should otherwise be normal scenes. 

Below the sheep is a straight line and added grass hillocks inspired by Scene 51, as seen below. Above the sheep is another decorative strip, with a straight line in the same color again, above which there are two pairs of diagonal bars leaning towards each other as seen in Scene 35 (also below) of the tapestry. On either side of these diagonal bars are the 10 point mullets of Ansteorra and between them are two bendwise, stylized shepherds crooks leaning towards each other. Though there is no evidence in the tapestry of either mullets of 5 lesser and 5 greater points or shepherds crooks, they were selected for recognizability and for keeping in theme. Margery Arkewright is recognizable as “The Sheep Lady” of the Fair, so the shepherds crooks were chosen.

The sheep have been lovingly nicknamed “Bonald the Devourer” (left) and “John Wick” (right) through the course of the design.

Materials

Approx 11”x9” dark brown linen, pre washed 

J&P Coats cotton embroidery floss, various colors

Chalk Pencil

Concessions of authenticity in materials are made due to supply availability and cost restrictions. I frankly do not have the money to make and dye embroidery floss, yarn, or linen fabric for an experimental piece I expect to see a lot of wear. The actual Bayeux Tapestry is embroidered onto a base fabric of a tabby-woven linen that appears to be undyed, and is embroidered with wool yarn dyed in various colors. In my Bayeux Tapestry themed patch for this hood, I used a commercially dyed brown linen in a tabby weave, and performed the embroidery with embroidery floss also in various commercially dyed colors.

Methods

First the design was sketched out on scratch paper. The fabric then selected was a scrap of dark brown linen. This was chosen because in part earth tones read to the casual audience as “medieval,” “rustic,” and “peasant,” and because in the target decade green and brown were taking off as the most fashionable colors a person could wear. Rather than using modern pattern transfer methods, the design was transferred to the fabric by gridding, using a piece of string as the straight edge and measure. The sheep are outlined in stem stitch as are most of the figures in the tapestry, though they are embroidered in black for visibility on the dark brown fabric.

Then the laid stitch found throughout the tapestry was first tested on the head of Bonald (left sheep) before being applied to the rest of the body. The laid stitch consists of first setting down satin stitch across an area, then applying slightly more spaced out stitches covering the full length of the area perpendicular to the satin stitches, which are then tacked down as seen below. After first application, I compared again to the laid work of the tapestry and added several more columns to better reflect the density seen in the Bayeux Tapestry. The same direction was maintained for the satin stitch across almost the entire body of this sheep aside from the tail, belly tufts, and ears. On the next sheep I experimented with a little more directionality and texture which is also found in the tapestry, which prevented me from having to make a single satin stitch cover quite as much area. Upon trying both methods, I can see the appeal of the variety of directions reducing the overall length of any one satin stitch, which can become unwieldy and tangle or pull the piece taut.

On the horns of each sheep, I experimented using surface couching, which was used in the 14th century. I chose to do this because at first pass, surface couching and laid work appear very similar, and at least to have similar results. At this time, I had finished the first sheep and not started the body on the second, so I was dissatisfied with the density of stitches in the white body of the sheep and was investigating new ways to increase my coverage. Upon finishing the horns, I determined that surface couching produces a very different overall effect to laid work, with denser stitches, but a much less economical use of thread.

After the horns and bodies were done, I added detail to the sheep in stem stitch to better define the fluffy wool. The folds in the fabric on several figures in the tapestry were done in what appears to be stem stitch and act as break points in many cases for the direction of the laid work. Due to the clarity of the folds and details, I had assumed they were applied after the fill color, but after having finished my piece I believe the internal details were applied prior to the fill color.

Following the completion of the sheep, I began embroidering the borders of the top section, the bottom line, and the borders of the diagonals in a soft orange color that reminded me of madder-dyed wool. This also seemed a close match to the color used on said borders in various sections of the tapestry. It was when I started working on the diagonals that I realized I was not, in fact, sewing a stem stitch as I’d thought, but sewing a split stitch. This realization explained several discrepancies I’d noticed in the visual texture of my linework and the linework in the tapestry. The diagonals are sewn in a stem stitch.

The next stage I sewed was the Ansteorran stars, with much wailing and gnashing of teeth. As my chalk lines kept rubbing off before I could get to the stars, I free handed the stars themselves. The first attempt to outline then fill the star like the sheep went sideways as the star did not come out with 5 even points. I eventually settled on sewing the 5 greater points with laid work and the 5 lesser points with satin stitch.

What would I change?

If I were to do this again, I would seek out a more densely woven linen and use either wool yarn as was used in the tapestry itself or the full 6 strands of my embroidery floss for visual density. I believe the fullness and volume of wool yarn will better mimic the appearance of the period piece. I would add more internal detail to break up the longer sections of satin stitch, and I would lay down the detail before adding the fill color. This seems to be the method used in the tapestry, shown in the detail from Scene 51 below.

In the transition from the neck to the spaces of the neck between sections of mane, and in the crook of the horse’s shoulder, the direction and angles of the laid work change. This seems to indicate that the internal detail (horse’s shoulder) was applied before the fill color, and that the particular direction of the laid work can be broken up to better fill a space.

Overall, I believe this project was a success. The goal was not perfect periodicity or reproduction, but to better make a useful piece of garb fit the ambiance designed for the casual (non-medievalist) patron. The patch covers the obtrusively modern machine embroidery and in doing so, helps create the Magic and the Dream for those visiting the Medieval Fair of Norman. I learned a new stitch that I have gone on to use in other hand embroidery projects for the security and economy of materials. I made several mistakes that gave me a better firsthand understanding of this historical piece and have improved and expanded my embroidery skills. 

Navigate Bayeux Tapestry scene by scene https://www.bayeuxmuseum.com/en/the-bayeux-tapestry/discover-the-bayeux-tapestry/explore-online/ 

Bayeux Tapestry Meme Generator https://htck.github.io/bayeux/#!/

Bardcore https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bardcore

Hobbitronics Hood Listing - https://www.hobbitronics.com/hoods.html

Referenced https://cottesimple.com/articles/medieval-embroidery-on-clothing/ for stitching methods

History of Medieval Tapestry Memes https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/medieval-tapestry-edits

Appendix

#sca #a&s #arts & sciences #society for creative anachronism #submitted A&S entry #A&S paper

[999lcf]

Aleister Crowley

Hymn to Pan

Aleister Crowley

You tremble with sweet ardor in the light,

Man! My man!

Rush out of the night

Di Pan, Iò Pan!

I Pan! I Pan! Come across the sea

From Sicily and Arcadia!

Wandering like Bacchus, with the fauns

And leopards and nymphs and satyrs for guards

Come on the milk-colored donkey

To me, to me!

Come together with Apollo in wedding attire

(Shepherdess and Pythoness)!

Come together with Artemis, silky clod,

And wash your white thigh, O God

Beautiful, in the moon of the woods and above the mountain

Of marble, in the dawn of the amber source!

The purple of passionate prayer

Immerse your scarlet in the shrine,

In the crimson trap,

The soul that leaps upon opening its eyes

To see you filter through the tangle

Of the bushes, and with the twisted trunk

Of the living tree, soul and spirit,

Body and brain... Come across the sea

(Iò Pan! Iò Pan!)

Devil or god, to me, to me,

My man! my man!

Come with high-pitched trumpets

On the hill!

Come with the drums rolling darkly

From the fountain!

Come with the flute and the bagpipe!

Am I not mature?

I, who wait and who tremble and who fight

With the air that offers no green branches

Like a nest for my body

Tired of empty hugs,

Strong like a lion and like an asp

Snappy, come, oh, come!

I'm stunned

From solitary lust

Of the demonic.

You cut the hard stumps with your sword,

Devourer of everything and everything

Procreator: give me the sign

Of the Open Eye,

And the erect pledge of the hard thigh,

And the word of madness and mystery,

O Pan, I Pan!

I Pan! I'm Pan Pan! Pan Pan! Pan,

I'm a man.

Do what you will, as a god can do,

O Pan, I Pan!

I Pan! I'm Pan Pan! I'm awake

In the grip of the serpent.

The Eagle torments with claws and beak;

And the gods withdraw:

The great beasts are coming, Iò Pan! I was born

To die on the horn

Of the Unicorn.

I am Pan, I am Pan! I'm Pan Pan! Pan!

I am your partner and your man,

The goat of your flock, and gold and god,

Flesh on your bones, and flower

Of your rod. With steel hooves

I've been running on rocks since the solstice

Stubborn

At the equinox.

And I'm delirious, I rape and tear and rage

Eternally, world without end,

Mannequin, girl, nymph, man

In the strength of Pan,

I Pan! I'm Pan Pan! Pan! I Pan!

#witch #witchcraft #witches #occult art #occultism #pagan witch #paganesimo #paganism #neopaganism #witchblr #esoterism #esoteric #left hand path #satanism #satanist #pagan #brujas #mitology #ancient mystery #ancient greek mythology #ancient greece #ancient history #ancient rome #ritual magic #ritual #invocation #witch spells #dark art #darkmagician #luciferian witch

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Story time with Lucile Desmoulins compilation

The Violet It was the first day of spring, and I walked out, descending into a valley filled with willows, which, alas! were not yet green. I turned away my eyes from the sight of those melancholy trees denuded of their leaves, and thought only of seeking amid the fresh-springing grass for the first flower of the fairest season. I walked a long time without finding anything, but at length, as far off as my sight could reach, I perceived a violet, one single violet! Oh, how beautiful it was! I flew to the spot, and was about to pick it, when, (what was my surprise!) the humble flower stirred, and seemed to endeavour to extricate itself from beneath my fingers! Fearing to deceive myself, I stretched out my hand. Then a voice, as sweet as its perfume, made itself heard, ”What are you doing, Lucile,” it said to me; ”why would you tear me from the earth? Alas! suffer me to live yet awhile; no one here treads me underfoot; you will soon find thousands more beautiful than I; in a bouquet I should be lost, mixed up with others, and I should add nothing to its size; let me end my days here.” Touched by such affecting language, I replied: ”Fear nothing, gentile flower, I would never be so cruel as to destroy you; let me only inhale your breath.” Then she lifted her odorous head, and her leaves unfolded themselves. Moved to tears, I allowed one to fall into her calix. She said to me: ”Your tears recruit my strength; I shall live longer than my fellows.” Then I said, ”I will come every day and moisten your leaves with sweet pure water.” ”Come,” she replied, ”but come always alone.” I promised her this, and every day I went to tend her, and to inhale her delicious perfume. Alas! I shall never see my friend again! My charming violet — one evening — in vain I sustained her bending stem, in vain slightly sprinkled her with water drops to revive her; her last hour had come. I shall visit that valley no more, but I shall ever think of my sweet violet.

First cited in Camille Desmoulins and his wife: passage from the history of the dantonists by Jules Claretie (1876) page 128-129

What I would do if I were in her place If destiny had placed me on the throne, if I was queen, and, having brought pain to my subjects, a just death for my crimes had been prepared for me, I wouldn’t wait for the moment when an unrestrained population came to tear me from my palace to drag me unworthily to the foot of the scaffold, I would prevent their blows, I say, and would like by dying to impose them on the entire universe. I would have a large enclosure prepared in a public place, I would have a stake erected there and barriers surrounding it, and three days before my death I would let the people know my intentions. At the back of the enclosure and opposite the stake I would erect an altar. During these three days I would go to the foot of this altar to pray to the great master of the universe, on the third day I would like all my mourning family to accompany me to the stake, this ceremony would take place at midnight by light torches.

First cited in Les Autographes et le goûts des autographes en France et à l’entranger (1865) page 301-302

The Aviary Cloé had only seen the revolution of the twelve months of the year twelve times. Her only occupation, her only amusement during this happy period of her life, was to look for nests in the woods and to see these young broods growing under her eyes and by her care. The little birds had grown big, she didn't have the courage to get rid of them; she kept them all and fed them as best she could. Her parents, who were not wealthy, were forced to interfere with their daughter's innocent pleasures. The aviary had become considerable and required a fairly large quantity of grain, which the young shepherdess obtained only with great difficulty. She had even had to steal more than once. One morning the young Cloé had gone out to find some new broods. What a sight awaited her on her return! She arrives very happy, in her hands a pretty nest of warblers. She runs to her aviary: the door to it was wide open, and not a bird inside... The merry finches, the bullfinches, the frank sparrows, the goldfinches, the tender warbler, the nightingale... and you too, faithful pigeon, all had taken their flight: not a single one had awaited the return of their poor master! How to paint Cloé's despair? At first she remains motionless and mute. A moment later, rage seizes her, she tears out her blond hair, she is flooded with tears; then she overturns and breaks the cage under her feet; she goes, comes, walks out and returns almost immediately. Several times one sees her following the birds in the air with her eyes, hoping to distinguish some of those in her aviary. She can no longer eat, and throws away all the objects that could remind her of too dear memories. At twenty, she was no more distressed when she learned of the infidelity of her beloved shepherd. One hears her exclaim: “Ah! Alas! They gave up their beneficence… Even though nothing was missing. These ingrates! What had they to desire? I shared with them the bread that was given to me for myself alone. I made them eat it out of my hand. How many times didn’t I go to the garden to pick up for them the fruit that had fallen from the tree! I spent whole hours looking for new worms for them that they love so much! How many times have I exposed myself for them to the reproaches and threats of my parents! Every morning, every evening I took care of them, as a mother takes care of her little children. I caressed them in turn; I warmed them in my bosom. How many times have I disturbed my sleep to go discover some companions for them at dawn, through brambles and thorns! They were all my pleasures. Near them I forgot the hour of the dance. They even recognized me and returned my caresses. During the winter, when the snow covers the fields, where will they take refuge? They will die of cold and hunger… if the bird-catcher does not trap them to give them to cruel children, or else the inhuman hunter… O my poor little birds, how I pity you! Alas! You miss me. Cruel parents, it is you who cause us all these evils!”

An elderly shepherdess, her neighbour, had heard the lamentations of the young Cloé. Touched by her good heart, she came up and said to her, embracing her: 

”Console yourself, beloved child, do not cry over the fate of your lost birds; all your care did not make them happier... 

”My dear, what more did they need? I could have given it to them.”

”Liberty, my dear daughter: it is the greatest of goods. For her, we face the rigor of the seasons, the traps of the bird catcher, the gun of the hunter. For her we forget her benefactress, and the benefactress has no right to call ungrateful those who prefer only liberty to her.”

”So you mean that, free, they can be even happier than they were with me?”

”Yes, Cloé.”

”You assure me, my dear?”

”Yes, beloved child.”

”Well, if it is as you tell me, I am willing to forgive them.”

First cited in Paris en 1794 et en 1795: histoire de la rue, du club, de la famine, composée d’après des documents inédits, particulièrement les rapports de police et les registres du Comité de salut public, avec une introduction par C-A Dauban (1869) by Charles-Aimé Dauban, page 335-337.

#i like how the first and last sound like lucile thought: #”if one day i get condemned and executed for something i didn’t even do i better leave behind a story #that sounds like it could only have been written by a person with a completely pure and innocent heart!” #and then there’s the ”i hope you kill yourself in an excruciating painful way marie!!!” story… #lucile desmoulins #desmoulins #marie antoinette #i wonder if max liked or disliked the bird story… #what! you’re anti aviary lucile! #if i had a nickle for everytime a frev woman told a depressing story about a pigeon i’d have two nickles #frev compilation

[cosmoglass]

Guillermo Del Toro was inspired by Ico and Shadow of the Colossus when he made El Laberinto del Fauno (Pan's Labyrinth).

It’s well known that Guillermo Del Toro is a huge fan of Ico and Shadow of the Colossus. The second game came out around the time filming of Pan’s Labyrinth was concluding, but I think it’s quite likely that del Toro would have watched trailers for it. His film is often described as a fairy tale for adults, and it occurred to me how well that describes Ico. Shadow of the Colossus is more like a Greek myth. The first shot of the movie shows Princess Moanna leaving her kingdom through ruins that are very reminiscent of the castle in Ico. Ofelia speaks to the faun in a place with a spiral staircase that's reminiscent of where Yorda is suspended in her cage. Both we and Ofelia are told that she is in fact Princess Moanna, Moanna's soul having returned in her body. When she finally escapes her fascist captor, she glows like Yorda and is reunited with her family as the princess in an afterlife kingdom.

I wrote a post here about Le Roi et l’Oiseau (The King and the Mockingbird) as a source of inspiration for Fumito Ueda. It's an adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen's The Shepherdess and the Chimney Sweep, which features a faun/satyr, the same creature with the hind legs of a goat and horns (like Ico) that we see in Pan’s Labyrinth. The ending music, which is also the lullaby that Mercedes hums to Ofelia, sounds a bit like ‘La Bergere et le Ramoneur’ from The King and the Mockingbird which I have previously suggested could be an inspiration for 'Castle in the Mist'.

The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time - Ofelia is guided by fairies. Two fairies are effectively ‘used up’, saving her from being killed. The Great Deku tree. The monster sitting at the table looks like a ReDead and when he places his eyes into his hands, it reminded me of Bongo Bongo, the Shadow Temple boss.

Various movie influences - A girl rescuing her baby brother in a labyrinth is like Labyrinth. Doors created by drawing an outline with chalk is from Beetlejuice. Ofelia wears a pair of red shoes like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. Alice in Wonderland.

Pan's Labyrinth feels very like a video game and as much like a Greek myth as like a fairy tale. It's something I feel I should have thought of before, how much the quests you go on in action-adventure and RPG games are like those in classical mythology. Think of how Ofelia has to complete three tasks, face three monsters and is rewarded with special items. Her first task, for example, is to get three stones into the mouth of a giant toad for which she is rewarded with a special key. It's amazing how Guillermo del Toro manages to thread this fantasy world together with a real world situation of Ofelia being held captive by a sadistic military officer in Franco's Spain.

#pan's labyrinth #el laberinto del fauno #guillermo del toro #greek mythology #fairy tale #persephone #ico #shadow of the colossus #fumito ueda #shrine of worship #wander and mono #legend of zelda #ocarina of time #deku tree #shadow temple #labyrinth 1986 #beetlejuice #wizard of oz #alice in wonderland #the shepherdess and the chimney sweep #le roi et l'oiseau #the king and the mockingbird #castle in the mist #yorda #princess moanna #hans christian andersen #faun #satyr

[queenlucythevaliant]

rush together with their hands held out

Lucy found Marjorie Preston having a panic attack in the lavatory one day and told her to be brave. This was how their friendship began.

Lucy wrapped her arms tight around a girl she barely knew and whispered, “Deep breaths” into her hair. She inhaled deep, held it, breathed out slowly, slowly, and eventually Marjorie began to do the same.  

After a long time, Lucy stepped away from Marjorie, who was no longer shaking. Yet her face was still pale and stricken, so Lucy took off the bracelet she wore on which a lion-shaped charm was hung. She gripped Marjorie’s hand and released it, then clasped the bracelet around Marjorie’s wrist.

“There,” said Lucy. “Do you feel braver now?”

Marjorie returned just the faintest hint of a smile. “A little,” she replied.

Marjorie was a year older than Lucy, but to look at them side by side no one would have guessed it. Lucy was tall for her age, held her head like a hero, and laughed with a practiced ease; Marjorie was small and slight and her smiles always seemed as though they might shatter at any moment. It wasn’t hard to understand why. Lucy’s father had fought in France, but Marjorie’s father and two brothers were never coming home.

A few nights after giving her the bracelet, Lucy invited Marjorie to come watch a meteor shower with her. They snuck out of their dormitories and got in terrible trouble for it the next day, but that night the moon was new and the sky dusted with stars. Glittering, the meteors fell through space and the two girls exclaimed for joy at the sight of them. They stretched out on the grass and Lucy told fairytales and Marjorie smiled stronger than she had in years.

The next day, they started eating breakfast together. Soon, Lucy counted Marjorie Preston among her dearest friends.

.

In the pages of the magician’s book, Lucy saw Marjorie riding a train beside Anne Featherstone. Anne had been Marjorie’s friend before the war, but hadn’t wanted her wan and grieving. Lucy had wanted her though, and now Marjorie smiled for real again.

“Shall I see anything of you this term?” Anne was asking, “or are you still going to be all taken up with Lucy Pevensie?”

Marjorie tilted her head just a fraction. “Don’t know what you mean by taken up” she replied.

“Oh yes, you do. You were crazy about her last term.”

“No I wasn’t. I’ve got more sense than that. Not a bad little kid in her way. But I was getting pretty tired of her before the end of term.”

As she spoke, Marjorie fidgeted with something on her wrist. She still wore the lion charm bracelet.

The lightning-rage that came down on Lucy’s head was swift and violent. She seethed at Marjorie's betrayal until she read the next spell and her spirit was refreshed.

.

“I don’t think I’d ever be able to forget what I heard her say,” Lucy told Aslan. She was pressed against his golden side for comfort and for courage.

“No, you won’t.”

“Oh dear,” whispered Lucy. “Have I spoiled everything? Do you mean we would have gone on being friends if it hadn’t been for this—and been really great friends—all our lives perhaps?” She looked up into Aslan’s eyes now, stern in reproach yet infinitely kind. “—And now we never shall?”

“Child,” said the Lion, “did I not explain to you once before that no one is ever told what would have happened?”

It was neither a yes nor a no. Lucy’s valiant heart trembled at the thought.

.

She was dreading what would happen when she returned to school the next term, when she saw Marjorie again. Marjorie, of course, did not know that Lucy had overheard what she said to Anne, but Lucy knew, and Marjorie had still spoken the words. The prospect of no longer being friends and that of continuing on as though nothing had happened were equally dismal.

Yet when Lucy had finished unpacking her things and was headed downstairs for supper, she caught sight of Marjorie and was suddenly shaken to a stop. Looking up at her from the landing was not Marjorie Preston, but the Sea Shepherdess she had glimpsed from the Dawn Treader’s rail.

The quiet, lonely look on her face was just as Lucy remembered it. Her dark hair was an iridescent violet in the light, her skin a lovely olive, and her dress pooled around her ankles as though pulled by the current. For that instant, Lucy felt sure that Marjorie did not only resemble the Sea Shepherdess; she was the Sea Shepherdess, plucked from the crystal waters of Narnia's last sea to stand on the steps of a British girls' school.

“Lucy! I’ve missed you,” Marjorie called from the landing. The smile on her face was small and quiet, but no less strong for being so.

At once, Lucy felt her legs move beneath her, and then she was rushing down the stairs two at a time to throw her arms around her friend.  

#inspired by the end of Pyranesi #'i wanted to sieze hold of him and say: in another world you are a king noble and good! i have seen it!' #dear darling heart-daughter of aslan #into light #narnia #pontifications and creations #leah stories #Pyrenesi