#irish hills towers

[humanoidhistory]

Irish Hills Towers, Lenawee County, Michigan, built in 1924.

(Library of Congress)

#michigan #irish hills #irish hills towers #architecture #history #landmark

[detroitlib]

View of the Irish Hills Towers in the Irish Hills district of Michigan. Printed on front: "Twin Towers, U.S. 112, Irish Hills district, Michigan." Printed on back: "Tichnor quality views. Reg. U.S. Pat. Off. Made only by Tichnor Bros., Inc., Boston, Mass."

Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library

#irish hills towers #irish hills #michigan #twin towers #tichnor #tichnor brothers #postcards #vintage postcards #michigan history #towers #observation tower #detroit public library

[angelkarafilli]

The Irish Hills Towers are two wooden observation towers located at 8433 West U.S. Highway 12 in Cambridge Township, Lenawee County, Michigan, in the Irish Hills region. They were added to the National Register of Historic Places on May 2, 2007.

Photo By Matt Callow

#Irish Hills Towers #wooden #observation towers #Cambridge Township #Michigan #US #National Register of Historic Places #black and white #photography #spooky #1924 #old

[astronicht]

Holy shit, holy shit, I just got into Lothlorian properly and NOBODY TOLD ME that it’s like. Not “timeless” it’s literally outside time it’s an Otherworld like all those islands in Irish stories where if you try to go back to the real world you age and crumble to ash, like Immram Bran or whatever — only not, presumably, that last part. They do specify that it’s outside time tho in a kinda literal sense. But it’s also got a GROVE but it’s also got a tall hill in opposition to an evil tower, Norse witchcraft style, but it’s ALSO got a BIG TREE at the foot of which THREE PEOPLE SIT next to a WELL and then a woman tells past present and FUTURE like oh my fucking god it’s Yggdrasil. It’s an Otherworld. It’s the combination Otherworld-Yggdrasil. Reading this is like eating the best and most interesting cheese platter of your life. And then Sam Gamgee is upset.

#Astro lotr

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Weiße Frauen / White Ladies

White ladies are ghosts that are said to have haunted several castles of European noble families.

The oldest reports of the apparition date from the 15th century, but belief in the white ladies was most widespread in the 17th century. Although there are similarities to other female ghosts in European folk belief – for example the Irish and Celtic banshee – the white lady is a phenomenon that first emerged in and was typical of the high aristocratic culture of the early modern period. Belief in miracles during the Counter-Reformation turned the ghost into an attribute of class that, like coats of arms and legends of lineage, could underline the importance of a noble family. The White Lady of the Hohenzollern family is particularly well known.

The White Lady of the House Hohenzollern

The White Lady of the House Hohenzollern haunts several castles and palaces that are or used to be owned by members of this noble family.

Plassenburg

The most well-known legend about the White Lady has its origins at the Plassenburg Castle above Kulmbach and is linked to the Hohenzollern family. The castle's mistress Kunigunde, widow of Count Otto of Orlamünde, had fallen in love with Albrecht the Handsome, son of the Nuremberg burgrave Frederick IV. The latter spread the word that he would marry her if four eyes didn't stand in the way. This referred to his parents, who were against such a union. However, Kunigunde misunderstood the message and related it to her two children, a two-year-old girl and a three-year-old boy. She stabbed the children in the head with a needle, killing them.

Albrecht then renounced her. Kunigunde went on a pilgrimage to Rome and obtained forgiveness for her sins from the Pope, on the condition that she found a monastery and enter it. As penance, she slid on her knees from the Plassenburg Castle into the valley of Berneck and founded the Himmelkron Monastery, where she died as abbess. In a local version of the Himmelkron legend, the monastery already existed at the time of the murder and the two children were buried there. Kunigunde, sliding on her knees, saw the monastery on a hill between Trebgast and Himmelkron and died there of exhaustion.

From then on, the White Lady appeared at the Plassenburg to warn the Hohenzollerns of impending deaths and other impending misfortunes - a worrying but usually not violent phenomenon. According to legend, however, she behaved differently when Margrave George Frederick I, also a Hohenzollern, wanted to take possession of the Plassenburg after its destruction in 1554 during the Second Margrave War and subsequent reconstruction. The White Lady then went so far as to rattle chains, rage around, frighten ladies-in-waiting and finally strangle the Margrave's cook and quartered driver, which caused the latter to leave the Plassenburg.

Berlin City Palace

The White Lady was first seen in the Berlin City Palace on 1 January 1598. There she is said to have appeared to Johann Georg, the Hohenzollern Elector of the Margraviate of Brandenburg, eight days before his death. In this case, the ghost was seen as the spirit of Anna Sydow, the mistress of Joachim II, the Elector's father, who died in 1575 in the Julius Tower of the Spandau Citadel and whom Johann Georg had had dispossessed and imprisoned, contrary to his documented promise.

The White Lady continued to appear frequently in the Berlin City Palace. In 1619 she is said to have appeared there before the death of Johann Sigismund. In 1651, newspapers reported about great concern about the continued existance of the House Hohenzollern in the male line after the White Lady appeared. 1 years previously, Prince Wilhelm Heinrich, the only heir to the throne, had died age 1½ years, and the elector's wife had not yet become pregnant again.

In 1660, she is said to have been seen before the death of Elisabeth Charlotte, the mother of the Great Elector. She is also said to have appeared to Louise Henriette of Orange, and before the death of the Great Elector in 1688, to the court preacher Anton Brusenius. According to a report by the historian Karl Eduard Vehse, the White Lady was once quite heartily approached under the Great Elector. Konrad von Burgsdorff, a confidant of the Elector and a cold-blooded man, is said to have suddenly seen the White Lady on the steps in front of him one evening after he had put his master to bed and was about to go down a small staircase to the garden. Once he had overcome his initial shock, he called out to the figure: "You old sacramental whore, haven't you drunk enough princely blood yet, do you want more?" Apparently annoyed by this disrespectful address, the White Lady grabbed him by the collar and threw him down the stairs so that his bones cracked. Other attempts to get hold of the White Lady were not always unsuccessful: under Frederick William I, she was arrested twice. Once it was a kitchen boy who had dressed up as the White Lady and was whipped as punishment, and the other time it was a soldier.

Further apparitions occurred before the death of Frederick I in 1713 and that of Frederick William II in 1797. When the health of Frederick William III became very precarious in the winter of 1839/40, the lady-in-waiting Caroline von der Marwitz wrote a report about the appearance of the White Lady.

She also appeared – perhaps a little prematurely – before the completely unsuccessful assassination attempt by Heinrich Ludwig Tschech on Frederick William IV in 1844. On this occasion, she is said to have appeared at night in the Swiss Hall of the City Palace, wringing her hands. She also appeared in 1888 before the death of Frederick III. Even when the National Socialists were in charge of the Berlin Palace instead of the Hohenzollerns, she is said to have appeared again on the night of May 26, 1940.

It is uncertain whether the White Lady will reappear in the Humboldt Forum, the newly built partial reconstruction of the Berlin City Palace. Some superstitious people say that the reconstruction was intentionally left incomplete to stave off the White Lady of the House Hohenzollern.

Heidecksburg

In the Heidecksburg near Rudolstadt (Thuringia), the White Lady is said to have appeared to Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, also a member of the Hohenzollern family, in the Green Salon, as his adjutant Karl von Nostitz-Jänkendorf reported. The next day, 10 October 1806, the prince was killed in the Battle of Saalfeld.

Other places

The White Lady also appeared in other places in possession of the House Hohenzollern and its branch lines. Apoearances are reported from Bayreuth, Lauenstein Castle, Hohenzollern Castle, and Kuckuckstein Castle.

Places belonging to other noble families are haunted by White Ladies as well. In Friedenstein Palace in Gotha, the ghost of Dorothea Maria of Anhalt is said to moanfully wander the rooms at night. Eleonore von Dönhoff is said to haunt Kossenblatt Castle. Oftentimes, noble ladies who found a violent death are linked to White Ladies, such as Jakobe von Baden in Düsseldorf Castle.

In Aussel Manor in Batenhorst near Rheda-Wiedenbrück, the wife of a former estate owner is said to haunt the premises. She is said to have been walled in in the cellar after her husband had been away for a long time during the war and caught her with a lover. She is said to have starved to death there because her husband did not return after taking part in another military campaign.

#german mythical creatures #german folklore #white ladies

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Power

Pairing: Masema x reader (female)

Authors note: it is a very belated birthday present to @lady-targaryens-world Thank you so much for your request and I'm so sorry it took me so long to write it. I changed a bit the setting, but I still hope you will enjoy it. It appeared that writing Masema is not so easy for me, but I truly loved it. A big thank you to lovely @the-irish-girl for helping me with brainstorming, ideas and dialogues! It was so inspiring to work together with you! The idea of the other world and the stones is borrowed from the books.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, oral (f receiving), p in v sex

Word Count: 5,6 K

I have tagged people who enjoy my Sihtric fics - if you don't want to be tagged in Masema fics - please let me know

You shifted in your saddle trying to find a more comfortable position, but to no avail. Your whole body was aching and sore, your muscles feeling like they were filled with lead. The shadows were getting longer, as the sun slowly rolled behind the horizon. The evening was approaching and you longed for nothing more than to rest, to get off the horseback and curl under your blanket. With the last remnants of your strength you spurred your horse to a slight gallop, trying to align with Lord Ingtar, riding at the front of the group.  

“Aren’t we stopping for the night?” you tried to sound casual, not to betray your tiredness. 

"There, behind that hill, is a perfect spot for our camp,"  Lord Ingtar's response filled you with hope as he pointed towards the next hillock. Unconsciously, you sighed in relief. It wouldn't have surprised you if they intended to ride through the night; there was no sign of weariness on the stern faces of the Shienaran warriors following their leader. It seemed they could maintain this relentless pursuit indefinitely. 

With a knowing smirk, he added, "The horses need a rest."

Yeah, horses, you nodded inwardly and allowed your own steed to gradually slow down again.

You had to pick the lesser of two evils, as the need to escape the city had grown urgent. Fal Moran was no longer a safe haven for you, not since it had become overrun with Aes Sedai. It was only a matter of time before they discovered your well-kept secret, and you would be forced to follow them to the White Tower. You were not like them and you didn't want to be anything like them. Arrogant, cold-blooded, and heartless, they were driven by their might and a belief in their own omniscience. These cruel beings wielded too much power for their own good.

You had made up your mind to join the first party leaving the city, even if it meant travelling across the country in pursuit of the Horn of Valere. You were aware that they wouldn't readily accept you as a companion if you simply asked, but the Shienarans were known for their unwavering commitment to helping and protecting those in need. That was their way. Thus, you departed ahead of the group and waited along the road—an abandoned high-born lady, seeking assistance. A damsel in distress, to put it plainly.

Once again, you felt the unsettling sensation of someone's eyes fixated on you. Slowly and discreetly, you turned your head to meet his gaze. His stern eyes bore into you with mistrust and suspicion, tinged with a hint of resentment for reasons unknown to you.

"Have I done something wrong?" you asked, turning to face Lord Ingtar as you settled beside him near the fire.

"What do you mean, lady?" The surprise in his voice was evident.

"I have a feeling I may have upset or offended the young warrior with those peculiar mismatched eyes. I believe his name is Masema," you continued hesitantly. "I just wanted to know if I may have overstepped or said something unacceptable. I'm not accustomed to your ways, and I want to offer my apologies if..."

"Lady, you need not worry," Lord Ingtar interrupted gently. "I'm sorry to say this, but there's probably nothing you can do about it. You... I'm not quite sure how to explain it... you bear a striking resemblance to an Aiel to us. Not all of us have fought against them, but Masema has."

The awkwardness of the conversation and the embarrassment in Lord Ingtar’s voice were impossible to ignore. "Lady, you are not to blame for your appearance. Please, tell me if Masema has been rude to you or insulted you in any way. Trust me, I'll ensure a proper punishment is meted out."

"Oh, not that. He's simply avoiding me completely, and he refuses to speak to me even when I address him. Please, don't say anything to him. You've been so kind to pick me up on the road and offer your protection after my bodyguard abandoned me unfairly. I don't want to cause any inconvenience," you said, trying to mask your relief with gratitude. You were thankful that your initial fear, the creeping worry that Masema might have somehow discovered your deeply buried secret, was unfounded.

Unable to resist, you stole a furtive glance at Masema. He'd set up his blanket near one of the towering stones encircling the camp. It was an eerie sight; the magnificent stones, arranged as if by a giant hand, stood in a perfect circle. You had never seen anything like it before. Was it some kind of sacred place? Perhaps remnants of a forgotten temple? The strange ornaments engraved in the middle, just within reach, sparked a sense of familiarity you couldn't grasp. The whole setting gave you a weird feeling you couldn't quite place.

The warmth of the hot brew shared around the fireplace enveloped you, soothing your aching joints and beckoning for rest. You spread your blanket on the opposite side of the camp, as far as possible from the grim warrior that apparently hated you for just being you.

It wasn't surprising; you were accustomed to it. People had feared and hated you for as long as you could remember. You recalled being just a small girl when it first happened, playing with the other kids of the village at the foot of the nearby hill.

It was the noise that first caught your attention—a scratchy, unpleasant sound of something rubbing against itself. Then, you saw it—a large stone slowly starting to shake and then loosening from its perch at the top. You remember screaming, shouting for everyone to run, but one of the boys stumbled and fell. Time seemed to stand still for a moment; you acted on instinct, reaching out with your hand in a stupid and desperate wish to stop the stone from crashing onto your friend. And miraculously, it stopped. It remained suspended in mid-air, just above the fallen boy, as if held by a magic hand.

He scrambled to his feet and ran, and they all followed suit, casting fearful glances back at you as you lowered your hand and the stone crashed to the ground with a deafening thud. Even now, when recalling that day, you could still feel the absolute terror in their eyes. Not because they had just escaped death, no, they were terrified of you. 

That night, the elders of the village came to your parents, and by the same nightfall, they hurriedly packed all their belongings, and you left. You left your home, your village, your friends—everything. And ever since then, you've been running. There was something within you, a power you didn’t understand and never wanted to possess. It was only much later, as you became a grown woman, that you found out there were others like you - the Aes Sedai. But the way people spoke about them, the tales they told, and the fear they instilled just reinforced your conviction that your power had to remain secret, hidden until you took it with you to the grave.

You sank down onto your blanket, wrapping another around you, leaning your back against the stone behind you. Your eyes unconsciously wandered again to the stern warrior on the other side of the camp.

Why? By the light, why me? were your last conscious thoughts before sleep took over.

You were in that sweet spot between asleep and awake, still wrapped in the cosy embrace of dreams when the sounds of the outside world started creeping in, signalling the start of a new day. You kept your eyes shut, not quite ready to let go of that blissful moment just yet.

“Where are we?” came a voice, dripping with anger. It sounded oddly familiar, but you couldn't quite place it.

Masema. The name jolted through your mind, instantly dispelling the dreamy fog. You snapped awake, finding Masema towering over you. You scrambled to a sitting position, taking in your surroundings with a mix of awe and confusion.

“I-I don't know,” you stammered, just as confused as he was, if not more so.

Moments ago, you had been lying on the ground with all your companions, and now you were... wherever this place was. It was unlike anything you had ever seen before.

You were still seated among the magnificent stones, where the camp had been, but that was where the similarities ended. The place bore no resemblance to where you had fallen asleep. You vividly recalled the stones positioned in a clearing near the woods, surrounded by untouched, lush grass and the scent of nameless wildflowers lingering in the air. Now, as far as your eyes could see, there was nothing but barren, cracked soil, with withered trees sporadically dotting the landscape. The hot air and dust burned your lungs as you struggled to take a deep breath.

“This is all your fault!” Masema's words snapped you back to reality, his eyes dark with anger. “You brought us here, now bring us back!” he demanded.

“And, why would it be my fault? You’re here, too! You might be the one responsible for this, you know?” you spat at him, your words filled with venom to match his.

It was only then that the absurdity of the situation began to sink in, and panic slowly crept over you. What had happened? Where were you? And of all the people you could have ended up with, why did it have to be Masema, the Shienaran warrior who clearly despised you, stranded with you in this desolate wasteland?

"I knew from the very first sight of you that you couldn't be trusted," Masema's voice, cold and calm, sent shivers down your spine, more chilling than any insult he could hurl in anger.

“What did I do, for you to hate me so much?” you knew it was not the right time nor place for this question, there were much more pressing issues to be cleared, but you couldn’t just leave it. 

“You look just like them! You speak like them! You walk like them! Everything you do makes you look a little more like them! And sooner or later you’ll show who you really are, you cannot fool me,” he snorted.

"Like who? The Aiel? You flatter me. I would give much to be like them, to possess their strength, their ability to defend themselves against prejudice-driven fools who judge solely based on appearance," anger simmered within you.

“You don’t know me!” you finally shouted. “You did not even give me a chance to prove my worth, you just judge me straight away because you think you are better than anyone else, you think you know better than anyone else. But you know nothing about me.” The last words were punctuated by a pointed index finger jabbing into his chest, your eyebrows furrowed with anger.

Finally, you took one more step forward until you were face to face, sharing the same air. You stared him straight in the eyes, letting him see the pain his words inflicted.

“I don't deserve your hatred! You don’t know me, so stop pretending like you do!”

Without waiting for a response, you swiftly began to pack your blankets into your saddlebag.

"You know what? I'm done with all of this! We're parting ways! You go one direction, and I'll go the other! Good luck!" you hissed in frustration. The overwhelming need to escape from this place, to evade the stern, judgmental gaze of those peculiar eyes, left no room for any other thought. You didn’t give him a chance to reply; you didn’t even want one. With that, you turned your back on him, slung your saddlebag over your shoulder, and strode away, devoid of any plan or destination.

You had no idea how long you had aimlessly wandered before spotting a small stream, a mirage of life amidst the ash-grey desolation. Hastily, you uncapped your leather flask, filling it with the precious, life-giving water.

Leaving Masema behind had undoubtedly been a mistake, but there was no turning back now. You couldn't simply reappear before him and offer apologies. You couldn’t admit he was actually right.

It must have been you. There was no other explanation, no other possibility. Even though you had no inkling of what triggered this or how you managed it. Lost in your thoughts, you watched the stream bubble, abruptly pulled from your reverie by an angry roar nearby.

Your head snapped up, pupils dilating in terror at the sight of the creature looming closer. Not even your worst nightmares could conjure something like this. Towering on massive, muscular hind legs, its leonine body was covered in mottled, algae-green scales, with a broad, frog-like head boasting bulging, lidless eyes gleaming with eerie intelligence and a ring of sharp, serrated teeth.

Your hand instinctively sought the small knife hidden in your clothes, fingers clenching around its shaft until your knuckles whitened. Being intended as this creature's next meal wasn't the destiny you envisioned, but you were resolved to make your life as costly as possible.

In a heartbeat, a strong arm gripped yours, yanking you aside with incredible force as the creature lunged. Your bewildered gaze fell on Masema, wielding his sword with determined precision. It was an uneven fight, the creature dwarfing the agile warrior and its scales seemingly impenetrable to his blade.

"The eyes, they're unprotected! Aim for its eyes!" you shouted and the beast's attention momentarily  turned towards you. In that very same moment Masema seized the chance, leaping and aiming for the creature's head. The blade sliced through its left eye, eliciting a deafening howl that pierced the air.

Your chest heaved with horror as you witnessed the creature falter, collapsing onto its front paws before slumping to the ground. Unstoppable sobs wracked your body as you sank to your knees, horror consuming you, and strong arms encircled your shoulders, preventing you from collapsing to the ground.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, arms wrapped around your legs as you sat on your blanket spread by the fire Masema had made in the middle of the stone circle. "You're probably right. It's my fault we're stuck here, don't know where."

A furrowed eyebrow was the only indication that Masema was paying attention, engrossed in sharpening his sword, seemingly oblivious to your presence.

"It's not the first time strange things have happened to me," you continued, feeling like there was nothing left to lose. You knew he hated you—could he hate you even more? Did it even matter? The landscape stretched before you, empty and dusty. Having the glorious choice between death from hunger or the claws of that creature—definitely not the last of its kind—you preferred the more swift one, or better yet, the quick, soothing death by Masema’s sword seemed actually the most appealing choice. 

"There's something inside me, and it frightens me," you confessed. "It's like I have access to a pool of unlimited power, but every time I try to grasp it, it slips away. And then, sometimes, when I least expect it, I can feel it in my fingertips. It's so tangible, I could almost touch it."

"What kind of strange things?" Masema inquired nonchalantly, as if asking about your breakfast.

"I've made rocks freeze in the air, ignited things, moved objects without touching them," you said, trying to keep your voice casual, but unable to hide the tremor of anxiety. You had never spoken to anyone about it, and now you were revealing your deepest secret to someone who was almost an enemy. Yes, he had saved your life, but it hadn't seemed to change his attitude toward you.

"I never wanted it, never asked for it! It's a curse," you admitted, resting your head on your knees. Your body shivered, not from the cold, but from the anger and despair boiling within you. "And now I've cursed you too."

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't even notice Masema approaching until his hand landed on your shoulder, startling you as he sat down beside you.

"I knew you were trouble from the first moment I saw you," there was a new, unexpected tone in his voice that made you raise your head. Something in Masema's eyes caused a chill to run down your back and the flickering red light from the fire only intensified the hypnotic effect of his stern gaze.

"I didn’t mean any harm to anybody. I’m so sorry. You have every right to hate me," tears welled up in your eyes.

"Hush," Masema's rough fingers gently cupped your chin, his thumb brushing away the tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. "There is such a fire within you. I can feel it. I could see it in your eyes as you faced that creature. A spirit so daring, so brave, captured in such a small and fragile frame."

A soft gasp of surprise escaped your chest as Masema's lips pressed against yours, his palms cradling your face and drawing you close. Your mind raced, torn between eagerness and bewilderment. You placed your palm on his chest, as if to push him away, but instead, your fingers hooked into Masema's leather armour, pulling him closer.

Wasn’t this what you had yearned for all this time, tormented by his inexplicable rejection? Hadn't you dreamed of feeling these strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close? Or was it the desperation of this hopeless situation that made you cling to his broad chest, seeking the warmth of his body as confirmation that you were still alive? You didn’t care. Thrill and arousal running through your veins, you could only moan against his lips, slowly parting yours to welcome him into your mouth.

"I've been craving this since the moment I laid eyes on you. Whatever power brought us here, away from everybody, I'm grateful for it," Masema's husky voice enveloped you, sending shivers down your spine. His hand found its way to the back of your neck, holding you in place as his mouth trailed down to your neck, leaving hot, stinging marks on your sensitive skin.

You whimpered at the stirring sensation, your longing for his touch growing into a burning need, overpowering all your other senses. In the next moment, you found yourself pressed onto your back, the thick, soft blanket barely enough to shield you from the hard ground, Masema looming over you.

"You resemble the fiercest enemy I've ever faced, yet you make my blood boil with desire," your breath caught in your throat as Masema's rough fingers wrapped around your wrists, pinning your hands above your head. There was something threatening, something inexplicably alluring in the sinister darkness of his lust-drunk eyes as they locked with yours. You met his gaze head-on, your eyes wide open, chest heaving, and teeth grazing along your lower lip in anticipation of his next move.

Masema leaned in, his lips hovering over yours, “Say it, say that you want me,” his eyes scanned you intently. 

“By the light, I want you,” you breathed, rolling your hips against him like a slut and the throaty groan that left his lips upon your words, made you shiver. His mouth found yours and your breath was swept away from the sheer fury of his kiss while his hands let go of your wrists and began to work on your clothes, freeing your breasts from the confines of your corset, squeezing and kneading them, his rough fingers digging deep into your flesh. 

Your eyes were rolling back into your head from his heated touch and you arched your back against the unforgiving hard ground as Masema’s lips closed around your hardened nipples.  The small rocks beneath the blanket were digging into your shoulders and hips, but you didn’t even feel the sting, everything around you slowly fading until there was nothing apart from deep hunger for more, burning you from within.

“You think you have power? You are under my power, sweet little thing, you could be the Dragon himself, but you could do nothing against my power and I will use it to make you forget everything as you scream my name in pleasure,” the raw force, permeating Masema’s words, although whispered in hushed tones, made all the tiny hair on your skin stand on end. His hands were on your hips, pushing up your dress and pulling down your undergarments with hasty, rough movements. You drew a sharp breath, feeling the cool air on your bare dripping cunt just before Masemas hot tongue dived in between your folds, his lips closing around your pulsing clit, hands pinning your hips to the ground. 

“Light help me,” you wined, burying your fingers into the soft and plush fabric beneath you in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, but to no avail as Masema’s lips and tongue kept driving you closer to madness, lewd moans rolling over your lips.

“It can’t help you. Nothing can help you now, you’re mine and only mine,” Masema grinned against your centre, voice husky and deep, dripping with dark possessiveness that only added to the sinful sensation pulsing through your veins and bringing you closer to the edge, and you gasped loudly as he forced two fingers into you. You felt as if you were flying or maybe falling, you couldn’t tell, too lost in the feeling of your climax approaching, each lap of his tongue, each movement of his fingers amplifying the pleasure and pushing you further into oblivion.

“Say it, to whom do you belong?” Masema groaned, speeding up his movements. 

Was this what had attracted you to the stern and silent warrior from the very first day? His whole presence spoke of strength and assertiveness, of power and ownership, of being someone to take what’s his and never letting go of it, defending it with his life if needed. Tired of loneliness you craved for the soothing feeling of belonging to someone. It was intoxicating, almost addicting – that feeling of having found someone ready to claim you, to possess you, to protect you. You wanted to be his, you were his. 

“Yours, Masema, I’m yours. By the light I’m yours,” you moaned, and Masema’s satisfied growl vibrated against your centre, adding the last touch that brought you over the edge. You came on his fingers, whimpering his name, forgetting where you were or who you were as your body convulsed under the waves of pure bliss running through your veins. 

“Such a good girl, my powerful, secret Aes Sedai, my dragon,” Masema grinned, observing you carefully, as he kept fucking you with his fingers through your orgasm, “so beautiful, so tight around my fingers. I can already imagine how good you will feel around my cock.” 

Head spinning from the intensity of your orgasm, you breathed heavily, chest rising high with each inhale.  Eyes half lid you watched Masema pulling off his leathers and undoing his breeches. You had always noted Masema's well-built physique, his muscular arms hinted at beneath his armour. However, the sight of his perfectly sculpted upper body, revealed before your eyes, made you swallow hard. Even more so as your eyes landed on his thick, fully hard cock ready to claim you. You yelped as Masema grabbed you by your hips and flipped over on your stomach in one quick motion.

“I’m not done with you yet, my sweet little dragon,” he whispered into your ear, pushing your dress up your ass and pulling you to your knees. You whimpered as his large, rough palms landed on your buttock, spreading your cheeks.

“Perfect, so perfect,” Masema grunted, teasing your entrance with his finger. You moaned and pushed back into his touch. “Patience, beautiful,” he chuckled, “trust me, I know exactly what you need, and I’ll give it to you.” 

A muffled cry escaped your lips as Masema’s hand reached out, grabbing your hair, and pulled you up back flush against his chest. His left hand fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing it slightly, just enough to pull a soft whine from you.

“I’ll give it to you, if you’ll ask me nicely,” Masema’s breath hot against your neck made shivers go down your spine or were it his words and hoarse, lust drunken voice? You couldn’t tell, you didn’t care, you were unable to think straight your mind swept clear from any other thought apart from the need to have him finally inside you, to feel him use you, to fuck you into madness.

“Please,” you gasped, your breath getting more ragged with each passing moment.

“Please, what?” Masema whispered, his left hand still around your throat, the other squeezing your breast, fingers rubbing your hardened nipple.

“Please, fuck me. Take me,” a deep moan rolled over your lips as Masema pressed you down and pushed his hard length into your tightness with a loud groan. He paused for a moment, savouring the feeling of your walls squeezing around him and taking him in.

“So sweet, so bold and dearing and yet so obedient, and so fucking tight, you are a gift of the Creator himself,” Masema hummed, as he pulled out and slammed back into you, making you moan and gasp as his pace was picking up. He was not gentle, not in the way his fingers dug into your flesh, to keep you in place, not in the way his hips snapped against you, as he forced himself deeper and deeper into you with each thrust, not in the way his hand found its way to you hair again, jerking you up against his chest, making you cry out both in pain and pleasure simultaneously. 

Your eyes were rolling back into your head, breath catching in your chest, as Masema fucked you relentlessly, mercilessly, his groans filling your ears, and your body responded to his every touch, every rough thrust. Nobody had ever desired you so carnally, so intensively, his hold on you so primal and possessive, determined to bring you to the highs of pleasure you had never experienced before, driving you mad and pushing you higher and higher.

“More, by the light, Masema, I need more,” you mewled and the wild growl that ripped through Masema left you grinning as he pushed you back down to the blanket, seized your hips in an iron grip, you were sure to leave bruises and marks in your soft flesh, and fastened his pace.

You tried to muffle your moans with your hand, but Masema was quick to grab it and pull your arm behind your back.

“Don’t be shy, my sweet dragon, there is nobody who could hear you in this cursed world you’ve brought us to,” he chuckled, “I want to hear you, I want to hear how much you enjoy my cock.”

You didn’t answer, unable to make any coherent word, your voice trapped in the depths of your throat, but the wanton sounds rolling over your lips were the only response he needed as he kept pounding into you, fucking you breathless. 

You could feel Masema’s movements getting sloppier, his heavy breathing turning into hoarse, rugged panting, and you clawed your fingernails forcefully in the blanket, closing your eyes as Masema let go of your arm and reached between your thighs, his fingers rubbing your pulsing clit, giving you the last push you needed to fall again into oblivion. The climax shot through your body with the force of a lightning, your limbs trembling as you screamed Masemas name into the black void around you. You would have collapsed from the intensity of your orgasm washing over you, if not for Masema’s hands holding your hips tightly as he kept fucking you through your peak, loud groans leaving his lips as he came just moments later, his cock twitching inside you and filling you with his warm seed. 

You slumped down onto the blanket the moment Masema’s hands let go of you and he followed you crushing down beside you, both panting hard. You didn’t expect that, but Masema’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush to his chest as his lips planted tender kisses on the top of your head.

"You didn't believe me," you whispered between panting breaths. 

"Oh, I believe you. More importantly, I believe in you. You brought us here, and you'll bring us back. I have no doubts about it, my little dragon," he whispered, nuzzling against your hair.

“Wake up,” Masema rattled your shoulder, tearing you away from the sweet world of dreams.

“Just one last moment,” you muttered without opening your eyes, your arms reaching out, seeking the warmth of his body.

“There's no time. Wake up! They're approaching,” the urgency in Masema's voice jolted you from your slumber.

“Who's approaching?” you asked, your eyes fluttering wide open.

“I would rather ask what is approaching,” Masema chuckled. “Can't you hear it?”

The wild roar that tore through the air made you jump to your feet.

“What was that?” you asked, fear etched on your face.

“I think it might be some friends of our yesterday's acquaintance,” Masema chuckled, “And they are coming in company. Sweetie, it's time to go home,” his gaze slid expectantly over you.

“What? But I can’t. Masema, I have no idea how,” you sobbed.

“Listen to me. I've been thinking about what you told me. Do you know what the locals call these stones?”

“No,” you shivered, listening to the sounds of wild roars and feeling the earth trembling beneath your feet.

“Obanda stones. Obanda means 'door' in the old tongue. This must be how you got us here—through the stones. And this is how you can bring us back.”

“Masema, it's insane. I have no idea how to do that,” desperation laced your voice.

Masema's fingers brushed against your cheeks, and he cupped your chin to raise your head.

“I'm here to protect you. Whatever comes. I don't care who you are. I don't care what power you wield. I will protect you, always,” the certainty in his voice, devoid of doubt or hesitation,  sent a shiver down your spine.

"Look at me," he commanded, and as if drawn by an irresistible force, you raised your gaze to meet his eyes.

"Give me your hand," he continued, and you complied, raising your arm. You flinched as Masema's large, rough palm wrapped around your fingers, squeezing them painfully. "I'm here with you. Hold on to me. I believe in you. You brought us here, you’ll bring us back. You can do it," he reassured, his other arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you tightly against his muscular body.

"Now, I want you to put your hand on the stone," he breathed against your ear. The calmness and certainty in his voice were hypnotising, leaving no room for doubt. The howling and growling around you grew closer as the beasts encircled you. Your heart raced in your chest, as panic and fear enveloped you. 

"I can’t do it! Masema, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I never learned to use it properly. I don’t know how to do it," words tumbled from your lips in an unstoppable rush, your body shaking uncontrollably. You had brought this doom upon both of you. Your ignorance, your unwillingness to embrace the power bestowed upon you had led you here, and it would be the death of you both. "I can’t do it. I’m so sorry, Masema," tears rolled down your cheeks.

There was no point in trying, all you wanted was to turn around, to gaze into his mismatched eyes, to melt into his embrace, bury your nose into his chest, and breathe in his scent for the one last time. But Masema’s firm grip on your waist prevented you from doing so.

“I can’t,” you sobbed, leaning heavily against him as your knees grew weak and wobbly, “I just can’t do it.”

“Raise your hand,” Masema ordered, squeezing your fingers again. The pain jolted through your body, sharpening your hazy mind. There was something in his voice that brooked no disobedience. Despite your reluctance, despite having already given up and resigned yourself to the approaching death, you obeyed. You raised your quivering hand, reaching out almost to touch the cold surface. A piercing howl echoed just behind you, and you froze, your palm mere millimetres from the stone.

"Don’t look back. Close your eyes and listen to me," Masema's voice remained steady, unwavering. It washed over your senses like a waterfall—soft, low, and slightly husky, yet remarkably calm and soothing. Even his breath maintained a steady rhythm, as if he were engaged in a casual conversation over breakfast rather than standing with you in the midst of nowhere, surrounded by hungry, bloodthirsty creatures, his only hope of escape hanging by the fragile thread of a scared girl, unsure of how to wield the power she possessed.

Masema's presence enveloped you like a soft cloud, calming the tempest of your swirling thoughts. His steady heartbeat seemed to set a new, measured rhythm for your own racing heart. The world around you faded away, leaving only his firm, commanding yet gentle voice echoing in your mind.

"Touch the stone," Masema whispered into your ear, pressing you tightly against his chest. "Don’t think. Feel. I trust you."

You couldn’t recall giving your hand the command to move forward, but it did so the very moment Masema’s words left his lips. The stone felt unforgivingly cold, its polished surface so smooth that you could feel each and every cut and line of the ancient runes engraved in it. Closing your eyes, you pressed your palm more firmly against it, with Masema’s hot breath on your neck serving as the only reminder of the world around you, the sole connection grounding you as you reached out for the source of light within you and it answered your call, pulsing and growing within you.

You trembled, the power scorching through you, burning from within, seeping into every cell of your body, every corner of your mind, its radiance swallowing you. So many times had you tried to reach for that power, you knew dwelling inside you. You could sense it, an unending pool of light and warmth, retreating each time you consciously called upon it. And now it was suddenly there, flickering around your fingertips, permeating in your breath, wafting around you with the strength of a tempest, flowing in a ceaseless current, begging to be tamed and channelled. 

Now it was you, squeezing Masemas hand with all the strength you had, seeking refuge in his unwavering confidence, in his steady breath on your neck, in his rhythmic heartbeat, as with a loud cry you channelled your power into the stone.

Suddenly, it was quiet around you. No howling, no growls, no sounds of approaching paws causing the earth to tremble beneath your feet. Slowly, you opened your eyes. You were still standing in the same place, your palm pressed against the stone, Masema’s muscular arm around your waist, his other hand squeezing your left hand. You breathed in the fresh air, smelling of grass and rain. Rain! The realisation hit you like lightning.

“I did it!” a cry of triumph vibrated through your body. “Masema, I did it! We're back.”

In the next moment, you were turned around as light as a feather and pressed against the stone, with Masema towering over you.

“My little dragon, my powerful girl,” was all he said as his lips crushed against yours.

Comment or write to me if you want to be added to the tag list.

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog @thenameswinter99 @ellabellabus07 @mcbuckyyyy @kirtseinw @siimonesvensson @sigtryggrswifey

#masema #masema x reader #masema smut #masema dagar #arnas fedaravičius #arnas fedaravicius #wheel of time fanfic

[nomilkinmyteaplease]

Dating profile pics of the Terror/Erebus crew:

Francis Crozier - Holding a bottle of whiskey in every photo, with a caption “This is not gin”, promising the date a trip to the Platypus Pond, lots of room for your stuff in his wardrobe if needed.

Graham Gore- pics flexing biceps in the gym, "My eyes are as deep as the ocean..."

Cornelius Hickey - fake profile photo, lists jobs in places that don’t exist, “fluent in sarcasm”. 

Solomon Tozer - pics holding some big fish, pics doing some reps in the gym, pics mysteriously gazing into the horizon on a hill, “Looking for my Tinderella”.

Harry Goodsir - posing with a freshly finished Croquembouche tower, a tray of baklava and some macaroons, he can bake! Doesn't like monkeys.

Edward Little - Lots of pictures of him with a dog, “I wear socks that match”.

Henry Collins- Same as above, but with photos of cats.

Sir John- profile uploaded by his wife: "You can take him!"

William Pilkington - All photos have him with (the same) group of bros, so not really sure what he looks like

John Irving - lots of holiday snaps in front of Notre Dame de Paris, Sacre Cœur, Sagrada Familia, the Vatican, looking up towards La Pietà, you get the vibe.

Stephen Stanley - empty profile with a blurry photo, hoped it would help him achieve mysterious vibes.

George Hodgson- “loves reading, music and traveling”.

Thomas Jopson- lots of pics with family, pics of him volunteering, shame about the one where he hunts for hawks.

Tommy Armitage- a black and white photo melancholically walking around Irish landscape, “No hookups”

Henry Le Vestonte- a pic holding a beer in a pub, winking, "Only hookups".

Alexander Macdonald, recently turned vegan, will tell you all about it, puts 🍆 🍑 💦 in the bio thinking it means that he washes his homegrown fruit and veg

For the prompt Gin for the Fronk 227th bday nonsense

#frmcbingo #Ill actually try to do something for this one since I missed so many events #the terror #the terror amc #for the prompt “gin” #francis crozier #solomon tozer #cornelius hickey #harry goodsir #john irving #henry colins #Henry Le Vestonte #tommy armitage #thomas jopson #alexander macdonald #my stuff

[yoga-onion]

Legends and myths about trees

Celtic beliefs in trees (13)

F for Fearn (Alder) - March 18th - April 14th

“The tree of Bran the Blessed - Fourth month of the Celtic tree calendar (Ref)”

Colour: purple; Gemstone: amethyst; Gender: male; Patrons: Bran, Apollo, Aranrhod, Odin, Lug; Symbols: shield + foundation, discrimination + inner confidence, loyalty

In Celtic also Norse mythology, March was known as the 'month of lengthening days', which wakes the alder from its winter slumber.

Alder trees are found in the northern hemisphere. Although it is a broad-leaved tree, only alder bears cones, so it is easy to recognise them at a glance in winter. Alder wood can survive completely submerged in water, and never far from water, Alder trees can most often be found lining the banks of a stream, loch, or river, or in boggy wet ground and swamps.

Alder trees, which fix nitrogen around their roots, are also soil-enriching blessing trees. The alder tree, which does not rot even when in water, appeared to be a source of great mystery to the ancients. However, the main reason why the ancient Celts worshipped the alder tree was its sap turns a deep red when exposed to air, as if cutting it would cause it to bleed.

The alder month is a time when the days lengthen, the winter chill slackens and the sun gains momentum, and the ancient Celts would have been uplifted by the blossoming of the alder and its various blessings. The alder tree, which sacrifices itself to fertilise the soil, was also considered sacred. While it was also said to protect the road leading to fairyland, it was also believed that if an alder was cut down, the person's house would burn down in a fire. According to Irish legend, the first man was made from an alder tree and the first woman was made from a rowan tree.

The alder is the totemic tree of Bran the Blessed, the god. He is a giant and king of Britain in Welsh mythology. According to legend, after fighting the Irish, Bran knew he was dying and ordered his fellows to cut off his head and bring it back to London. The party spent 7 years in Harlech and 80 years in Benbrook on the way, but Bran's head remained alive and undecomposed. Bran's head was buried in the White Hill below the Tower of London. Bran's totemic bird was the raven, so 2 ravens are kept at the Tower of London, but their wings have been clipped. This is because legend has it that if the ravens abandon the Tower of London and fly away, the UK will be destroyed.

Apparently, the ravens are loved and looked after, really well by the Beefeater Guards.

木にまつわる伝説・神話

ケルト人の樹木の信仰 (13)

FはFearn (ﾊﾝﾉｷ) - 3月18日～4月14日

『祝福された人ブランの木〜 ケルトの木の暦（参照）の第4月』

色: 紫; 宝石: アメジスト; 性: 男性; 守護神: ブラン、アポロ、アランロド、オーディン、ルグ; シンボル: 楯＋基礎、識別力＋内なる自信、忠誠

ケルト神話や北欧神話では、ハンノキを冬の眠りから覚ます「日が長くなる月」として知られていた。

広葉樹でありながら球果をつけるのはハンノキだけなので、冬にはひと目で見分けることがで��る。ハンノキの木は完全に水に浸かっても生きていけるので、小川、湖、川の岸辺や、湿地帯、沼地など、水辺でよく見かけることができる。

根の周囲に窒素を固定させるハンノキは、土壌を豊かにする恵みの木でもある。水の中にあっても腐らないハンノキは、古代人にとって特別な木に見えた。昔はハンノキを切り倒して沼沢地に道を造り、クラノグ(湖上住居)も、ハンノキで立てたのだ。しかし、古代ケルト人が、ハンノキを崇拝した最大の理由は、樹液が空気に触れると深い赤色になり、まるで切ると血が出るかのようだからだ。

ハンノキの月は、日脚が延びて、冬の寒気がゆるみ、日差しが勢いを増してくる時期であり、ハンノキの花開き、さまざまな恵みに古代ケルト人たちの気持ちも昂揚していただろう。また、自分を犠牲にして土壌を肥やすハンノキは神聖なものと考えられていた。妖精の国へ導く道を守るとも言われる一方で、ハンノキを切り倒すと、その人の家が火災にあって全焼するとも信じていた。アイルランドの伝説では、最初の男性はハンノキからつくられ、女性はナナカマドからつくられたことになっている。

ハンノキは、ウェールズ神話に登場する巨人であり、ブリテンの王であるブラン神のトーテムの木である。伝説によれば、アイルランド人と戦ったのち、死期が近づいているのを悟ったブランは、自分の首を刎ね、ロンドンまで持ち帰るよう仲間たちに命じた。一行は途中ハーレックで７年、ベンブルークで80年過ごしたものの、それでもブランの首は腐敗せず生き続けた。ブランの首はロンドン塔の下に広がる白い丘に埋葬された。ブランのトーテムの鳥はワタリガラスであったので、ロンドン塔ではワタリガラスが飼われているが、翼が切られている。ワタリガラスがロンドン塔を見捨てて飛んでいってしまうと英国は滅亡するという言い伝えがあるためである。

ロンドン塔のワタリガラスたちはビーフィーター・ガードたちに愛され、本当によく世話をしてもらっているそうです。

#trees #tree legend #tree myth #legend #mythology #celtic mythology #alder #celtic tree calendar #4th month #spring #bran the blessed #ravens #nature #art #tower of london

[dispatchvampire]

Accidentally In Love (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x FemaleOC

Warnings: Potentially lethal levels of fluffiness right now, potential for smut later. A little blood, canon levels of violence potentially. Plus size female OC, body descriptions.

Rating: PG-13 (right now for language, but look for this to change)

WC: 2200-ish.

Summary: 

Echo's living a normal life in NYC, a 911 dispatcher, the most excitement she gets is from the calls she takes. And then love comes crashing in one day when she's riding her bike through Central Park.

Steve and Bucky weren't looking for anything on their daily run around the park besides fresh air and exercise. The streak of purple eye candy on a bike that lapped them pretty regularly was a nice addition but not mandatory, at least until some impromptu roughhousing results in some civilian casualties in the form of the most beautiful woman either of them had seen in a long, long time.

A/N: AU, Post CACW, Bucky’s Chill and we have always lived in the Tower. Just call this a throwback to the found family, everyone lives in Stark Tower fics.

This is supposed to be a super-fluffy love story. Still undecided if I'm gonna keep this one going but posting now for giggles and grins. It's got some CSI:NY characters crossing over because why not.

I'm just messing about and playing in my WIPs folder. Not Beta'd: we die like men! (honestly, I tried but if you catch something I missed, let me know)

Chapter 1

Five miles at a time. Everything in the early morning hours was measured five miles at a time for Echo Nerys and her trusty mountain bike. From 6:30 to 8AM give or take, she was a glittery purple streak on a circuit through Central Park from end to end that she’d measured precisely both for distance and scenic value. The moment she left her job at NYPD Central Dispatch at 6AM, she was changed and on the bike, ready to go. She even had an appropriately timed playlist on Spotify. 

She’d started as early in the spring as the weather allowed for, in her long compression pants and jacket, getting her face chapped as she and her body remembered what it felt like to be on two wheels and free. A figure in all black in the early hours of the morning fast enough to pedal past the majority of the criminal element and yet still taking hits off her asthma bong when she paused to get drinks from her backpack. 

Now, though, with the summer slowly stretching out down the coast, she’d tied up her puff pigtails and ditched her all black for the wildly purple tie-dyed bike shorts, sports bra, and tank top, all matching, because why not and her favorite pair of sunglasses that made her look like a trained killer. Even her earbuds were purple. There were some who said she didn’t really have the body for the tightly clinging gear, but fuck those people, she was going to be comfortable and safe while she worked out and they didn’t have to look if it offended them. Her body, not-toned stomach, thick thighs and semi-floppy arms, was her own and had been through many of its own wars, and she could wear what made her happy. 

She’d picked up riding the previous summer and had taken it inside for the duration of the winter, riding in the basement gym of 1PP, but she didn’t have a whole lot to show for it physically other than shaplier calves and slightly thinner thighs. She wasn’t in it for the way she looked, but how good it felt to finally move after being sick and stuck with her joint pain for so long. Now that her meds were mostly managed, she was hell on two wheels, six days a week if she could manage, five if she wanted to go easy on it, and it felt amazing.  

On her pace, she saw herself coming up on a group of joggers just cresting the hill, the tallest among them, a hottie from the Homicide Squad, Donnie Flack. All black-haired, blue-eyed Irish, he was every dispatcher’s crush and untouchable as a museum piece because of his wife in the Coroner’s Office. No one wanted to test a forensic scientist’s ability to exact revenge. It was just poor planning. And he was such a sweetheart, it was impossible not to be his friend. 

“On ya left!” she hollered out as she approached the group, powering up the hill despite the way her knees screamed and her thighs burned. It was the principle of the thing, really, as she stood on her pedals and waved as she sailed past them with a jaunty grin. Now that she’d caught up to them, she saw it was a couple other guys from Homicide and one of the guys from down in Trace Evidence. 

“Lookin’ good, E!” Danny Messer, Flack’s whip-thin, mouthy bestie from Crime Scene Investigations, hollered back with a huge grin and a wave as Donnie stuck his fingers in his mouth and wolf-whistled. Messer was good people, and his wife was a doll. Echo lived in their building a couple floors down and had babysat their kids more than a couple times. 

Once she was out of sight, she concentrated on her speed according to the handlebar speedometer and focused on her Beastie Boys as she took the path around the edge of the Jackie O Reservoir. It was so beautiful, with duck families out in force, moms with their collections of babies trailing behind. The water made the air feel a bit cooler as the wind rushed over her skin as she progressed toward the Butterfly Garden. 

Next up on her list of gorgeous sights was the two guys in front of her that she’d dubbed Hotness 1 and Hotness 2. She passed them a few times on her rides, most mornings. Hotness 1 was tall like Donnie, but broader, with muscles upon muscles. He looked like an escapee from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, if Galatea had been 6’3” and blonde with cornflower blue eyes and an ass that would have reduced Michaelangelo to abject weeping. 

Hotness 2 wasn’t any easier on the libido, with his blue-grey peepers and long dark hair he kept in a bun at his neck to go with his panty-melting smile and muscles. His bangs broke free of their confinement framing his face as they drifted over his model-perfect cheekbones and brushed against his sharp jawline. Not that she’d been ogling. Much. 

Alone, they were the kind of flawless that caused traffic jams. Both of them together was an obscenity charge waiting to happen in their running shorts and sinfully well-fitting t-shirts, and more than one jogger—both male and female—had pulled up lame, run into a tree, or tripped over their own feet watching them go by.  

“On ya left!” she called as she approached them, smiling as they waved when she flew by. If she happened to be standing on the pedals and sticking her ass out a bit more than was strictly necessary, well, could anyone blame her? Really? Besides, their smiles and waves of acknowledgement were totally worth it.  

Just past The Loch was the Glen Span Arch, which always felt like a fairy garden to Echo. A stone bridge over the asphalt path with the stream running next to it and abundant trees, it was easy to imagine falling into a rabbit hole like Alice diving into Wonderland and never coming back. With the sun dappling through the leaves, it was here she felt like she was the only person in the world and life was perfect. 

At least it was, until a grizzly bear in a blue shirt and black shorts descended into her path from down the hill. Echo hit the brakes so hard the back tire came up off the path and ditched out on the bike to keep from hitting him. She went one way and flung the bike the other, doing her best to guard her face and head from what would likely be a hard hit.

“Fuckshit!” 

It was over in a second, she was in the creek, soaked to the bone on some very hard and unforgiving rocks that were currently poking into her ribs and hip, with no idea where her bike was. Or her sunglasses. Or phone. Taking inventory from toes upward, she was happy to report that for the most part, she’d likely sustained bruises but otherwise, she’d live. At least, until she tried to push herself up and her hand slipped on the wet rocks, sending her face first into the flowing water. 

“Ah Christ! Hold on!” a deep, unfamiliar male voice hissed as he hooked his hands under her arms and bodily lifted her from the stream. Literally picked her up like a discarded toy, and like she weighed just as little, cradling her to his surprisingly firm and muscular chest. “I got you, sweetheart.” If she wasn’t so busy reeling from the hit and sputtering from the water coming out of her sinuses, his warm, rumbling voice as he brushed his lips over her temple would have definitely done the job. “I gotchu, darlin’. Are you okay?”

“I think so?” Echo took a second to compose herself after he set her on her feet with his arm protectively around her waist, scrubbing a hand down her face to deal with the water and unfortunately blood coming from sore spots on the bridge of her nose and her chin. When she looked up from her bloody hand, she wondered exactly how hard she’d been hit in the head, because in front of her was the concerned face of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, looking her over like she was the most delicate bone china and he’d just yeeted it off the dining room table. He cupped her jaw in his hand, thumb gently brushing over her cheekbone, it was familiar and more than a little terrifying. Who the hell was this guy and why the hell was he touching her? 

At her tiny, horrified squeak, his blue eyes widened, looking over his shoulder at his friend, Hotness 2, who had a cell phone pressed to his ear. “This is your fault, ya jerk. You plannin’ on helpin’ or what?” 

The grey-eyed Adonis with the long dark hair held up a strangely metal-looking finger and spoke tersely into the phone before hanging up and coming over to them with a disgruntled look on his face for his friend. “Medics inbound. Settle down, Stevie.” The moment those steel-blue eyes turned on her, though, it could have been the sole cause of global warming because damn, if she didn’t melt a little on the spot from their tenderness. “I am so sorry, dollface. I didn’t see you. Are you okay?” 

When he reached for her face to examine her bloody chin, she recoiled out of reflex, not fear, but unfortunately that was the moment that everything went to shit for the second time in ten minutes. 

“NYPD! Step away from her!” Flack had his gun out and his badge around his neck, with Danny doing the same as he cautiously approached her with the rest of the heavily armed, sweaty contingent. Apparently Tall, Dark, and Yummy wasn’t moving fast enough because then Donnie barked, “Now, asshole! Move away from her or I’ll shoot.” 

Both hands up and out to the side, 2 stepped back, eyes never leaving the gun trained on him. “You don’t wanna do this, pal.” He seemed amusingly calm, which made about as much sense to her as any of the rest of this, which was none at all. Blondie slowly straightened up further but kept an arm around her waist to hold her up.

The very fact that the man spoke seemed to incense her friend further. “You think I give a fuck about your opinion?” 

“Hey, that’s not necessary…” The man standing with her gave her a reassuring squeeze before stepping over to stand with his friend. 

With them occupied, Danny crept up next to her and moved her off to the side, surrounded by the rest of the guys from Homicide and Evidence. “She’s secure, Flack.” 

“Good.” The detective nodded before turning his attention back to his quarry. “Now what the fuck were you doing feeling up an injured woman? You get off on that?”

Hotness 1 was all calmly defiant righteousness, standing shoulder to shoulder with his buddy. “We called a medic for her, they should be here in a couple minutes. We weren’t looking and didn’t see her on the path until it was too late.” 

“This true, Echo?” Danny asked softly as he gently seated her on a nearby boulder and seemed to be checking her over for more injuries than just her face and her pride.

She went to nod but that rattled her head too much. “Yeah, Messer. I guess. It was just a regular crash. My fault as much as theirs, really. No real harm done.” 

Frowning ferociously, Flack clearly was not content with her answer. “IDs, I want ‘em. Now.” 

Blondie nodded slowly, alarmingly unperturbed about having a .40 caliber pistol pointed at his face. “Front right pocket. You wanna get it or should I?”

“Don’t get us shot, Stevie,” the longhaired man admonished his friend. From his long-suffering expression, this was apparently not the first time this type of thing had happened to either of them. 

Rolling his eyes, Flack held out his hand. “Alright, smartass, wallets now.”

While the Homicide Hottie (as they called him in Dispatch) held court with her two new acquaintances, the ambulance rolled up and the medics  began cleaning her wounds and checking her over as her worried neighbor stood guard over her. The last thing she wanted or needed was stitches and additional facial scars, but it looked like she might not get a choice in the matter. 

“Messer! Get over here!” The note of concern in the detective’s voice had her looking over immediately, only to find all the guns put away and all their postures seemed substantially less aggressive, though no less agitated. 

“Ma’am, could you hold still please?” The female medic with the gentle hands turned her face so she could clean the wounds better. 

She didn’t know if it was the movement or what, but all of a sudden, she was going down, hard. The last thing she remembered was the ground rushing up to meet her. Again.

#avengers fluff #avengers fanfiction #avengers fanfic #avengers marvel #avengers fic #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers fanfic #stevebucky #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes #beefy bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #beefy bucky #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fluff #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x bucky barnes x plus size female character #stucky #stucky x plus size reader #stucky x female reader #stucky fanfiction #steve and bucky #stucky fic

[bihinnyshipper]

Seamus' face turned quickly from surprise to laughter as what his best friend had just said. Dean chuckled along, starting to jog lightly ahead of him.

"We're gonna be late, Seamus!"

The shorter boy snorted. "Give me a reason to care." He didn't bother picking up his pace. "Just walk with me, will you?"

Dean made a show of rolling his eyes but ran back up the hill to meet his roommate. They kept walking towards the quidditch pitch, hands hanging carelessly at their sides. Seamus blushed as his pale fingers brushed those of his dark-skinned friend. not just a friend, a part of his brain tried to correct him.

But Seamus was jolted back to reality as the duo reached the bottom of the hill and a flash of red hair stepped into Dean's waiting arms. The Irish man had to look away as his roommate's lips met those of his girlfriend.

"I was wondering if you would end up showing."

"I always do." Dean stepped away.

"Just with less time to spare every day." She threw her sweaty hair in a ponytail. "Hey Seamus."

"Hey, Ginny. Good to see you." Seamus sported a weak smile. He liked the youngest Weasley, he really did, but he had a hard time not resenting her when she's got the boy he's sure he loves wrapped around her finger.

"Can we head up?" Once again, Seamus was brought back to his current position by Ginny Weasley's voice.

"Sounds good to me, Seamus you coming?" Dean grabbed his girlfriend's hand, not unnoticed by Seamus.

"Uh, no you go on ahead I'll meet you back in the tower."

Dean and Ginny exchanged a glance. "Are you sure? You're welcome to walk with us."

"Yeah, I've got something I've got to take care of, I just remembered."

"Alright mate," Dean seemed to accept his answer. "See you up there." He turned, slipping his arm around Ginny's waist, and they headed up toward the brightly lit castle.

Seamus walked the other way. He thought he'd sit in the locker rooms for a minute and just collect his thoughts. He had to get a hold of himself.

The sixth year sat down heavily on a bench right outside the pitch, staring off into the darkening sky.

"You okay?" A brighter female voice spoke this time.

Seamus looked up into the concerned eyes of Katie Bell, who's hair was thrown haphazardly into a do similar to Ginny's. "Oh yeah, I'm good. Sorry, just... enjoying the weather." The lie was awkward but Seamus hoped Katie didn't notice.

Clearly, she saw right through him, though he wasn't sure she could read what exactly he was thinking. "Well I was just about to head back up to the common room, d'you want to walk with me?"

"Sure." He stood and they began to walk. After a moment or two of heavy silence, Seamus spoke up again. "Um, Katie. This is awkward but I was wondering if you might want to go with me to the next Hogsmeade weekend."

She looked over at him, studying him for a long time without responding. He shifted.

"No."

He just stared back at her, his cheeks starting to heat.

"You're hot Seamus, sure, and I know I'm hot, but you're not interested in me."

"What? Of course I am! You're beautiful and you have nice tits and..." He trailed off, looking at the ground. "I'm sorry, I can't do this."

"Exactly. I can't be a distraction for you." Katie looked up the hill to where Dean and Ginny had reached the castle. "How long have you liked Thomas?"

Seamus looked up sharply. "What?"

Katie just rolled her eyes. "I don't know you very well, Seamus, but I can tell. You've fallen hard for Dean."

A moment of silence and Seamus sighed heavily. "So what if I have. There's nothing I can do about it."

"I'd say not asking girls out when you know you're gay would be a pretty good start."

"Noted." He glanced up at her.

"And for what it's worth, Dean and Ginny aren't going to last. You'll have your chance with him soon enough."

A foreign glimmer of hope rose in Seamus' chest. "What makes you say that?"

"I've seen Ginny at practice, she's worse off than you, pining for Harry. She'll never be happy with anyone else. That and Dean treats her too much like a lady, that's not the kind of person she needs."

"I wouldn't mind being treated like a lady." A soft grin rose on his face.

"Just give it time."

#deamus #pining #one shot #dean thomas #seamus finnigan #katie bell #ginny weasley #hinny #missing moments #hp hbp

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

( Artist credit: Tasmin Abbott )

* * * *

If ever you’d like to delve deeper into the ancestral lore of the British Isles & under stand some of its indigenous foundations, I feel it is the most directly accessible in the gateway of the spring equinox (which rings in this Wed 20th March) other wise known in Scots Gaelic as Alban Eilir, the ‘light of the earth’ when the light of the sun meets in equal hours with the night

The myths & lore are interwoven so intricately in the landscape this time of year. Here it is in a nutshell for you to absorb. But it truly is a nutshell as each part is deserving an immense investigation & study to take you further into the heart of it all:

~ TOWER HILL: The spring equinox still today is honoured by the Druids on Tower Hill in London. An ancient ancestral mound once known as ‘Bryn Gwyn’, which translates to White Mound or White Raven. It visually used to look like Silbury Hill a neolithic hill in the Avebury complex in Wiltshire, & was covered in a white chalk which reflected in the moon & sunlight & could be seen for miles. The White Mound is the sacred mound of Sovereignty of this isle, a place where our ancestors would pilgrimage to from far & wide

~ RAVEN: The raven is the bird & protector of the spirit of Sovereignty of the British Isles & has done for millennia. Raven veneration goes back very far in this country’s lore & is deeply rooted in it’s soul’s foundations. An ancient ancestor of this isle called Bran the Blessed, a Welsh King who you could say presides over this gateway because his lore is so interwoven into the landscape this time of year. Bran means ‘Raven’ in Welsh, who was seen as a seer & oracular king bridging the worlds of the gods & earth like his divine messenger feathered friends. Story goes that on his death bed in battle he asked for his head to be buried in the White Mound in London in protection of the Sovereignty of this isle. The ravens in the tower of London today, hold the lore & protective forces of Bran. The fact that the raven is the animal of sovereignty of this isle…tells you everything you need to understand about this island & it’s essence. It is one of magic & deep seership

~ SOVEREIGNTY: You see in the sovereign codes of olde in kingship, that in maintaining balance in your kingdom you married yourself to the earth in an alliance for true balance. Your sovereignty was infused with the earth (the goddess) and the minute that allegiance was severed a wasteland would take seed in the land and all hearts. For Bran to ask for his head to be buried in the White Mound even at death shows his complete allegiance to the earth and understanding of what it means to be Sovereign. The olde understanding is to be in Service to the All, in allegiance with the earth and protection of the goddess. When the Druids stand on Tower Hill, they are welcoming back the sovereign sun during the tide of the equinox but they are also invoking the ancient powers of sovereignty in the land. And of Bran.

~ BRIDGING: In one of the stories of Bran, his sister Branwen (which means ‘white raven’) is abused by her husband who is an Irish King. Bran hears of the news and crosses the Irish seas, by using his body as a bridge for his men to cross over him safely across the stormy seas to help him set his sister free. He was always seen as a king who sought to bring enemies into peaceful accord with one another, and therefore may represent the balance implicit in the equinox as well.

~ ALDER: Bran carries alder branches on his journey to rescue his sister. People recognise him by the alder that he holds. He is known as the alder king. Alder trees are indeed ‘bridging’ trees which preside over the realms of water and fire; the conscious and unconscious. The inner and outer. In the tree ogham it resides between the astrological zodiac signs of pisces and aries, emerging from the watery fluid time of Pisces and entering the fiery intensity of Aries. It is a water resistant wood which gets harder in water and was widely used to build the city of Venice. It is connected to the realms of fire, due to it’s ability to create very high quality charcoal and gun powder. It holds the ancient alchemical colours of white and red in it’s wood. It’s wood is a beautiful white colour but when cut or it’s roots exposed to the air it turns a bright red colour. The white is representative of the moon, the water, Branwen the white raven. And red, being the sun, the fire of the coals of gunpowder, Bran the solar deity king. It possesses both female and male catkins on the same branch - a tree that symbolises the balance between the masculine and the feminine, day and night.

In essence the gateway of the vernal equinox is deeply coded in the earth and lore of the land: Reminding us in order to keep balance within and without ~ true Sovereignty must be upheld, and that it is in an alliance with the earth and in service to all.

That sovereignty is restored when we act as a bridge in the world; remembering the essence of our humanity in bringing heaven to earth as bridges. Akin to the raven messengers who bring the words from the gods into the human world. And the alder trees who bridge the worlds of water and fire.

[Thank you Charlotte Pulver]

#British Isles #Equinox #symbols #Tower hill #Alder #bridging #ancestral lore #Tasmin Abbott

[scotianostra]

September 20th 1746 saw Prince Charles Edward Stuart finally escape capture by sailing to France aboard the French ship "L'Heureux."

In the aftermath of Culloden, Prince Charlie spent several months on the run hunted by troops on the ground and the Royal Navy at sea.

HMS Furnace - captained by Aberdeenshire naval officer John Ferguson - and HMS Terror were among the warships in pursuit of the prince. When the navy ships anchored close to shore, nearby homes of suspected Jacobite supporters were burned down by sailors and marines.

One of the strangest incidents saw the warships arrive at the remote archipelago of St Kilda.

The islanders ran from their homes and hid in the hills.

When the government soldiers finally tracked them down, they quickly realised that the islanders had never heard of the prince, and that he was not hiding on the islands.

The Young Pretender flitted between the west Highlands mainland, Skye and the Outer Hebrides.

Most famously, he was taken to Portree on Skye by Flora MacDonald while disguised in women's clothing and pretending to be an Irish maiden by the name of Betty Burke.

MacDonald was later arrested and sent to the Tower of London.

Eventually, at Loch nan Uamh near Arisaig, two French vessels L'Heureux and Le Prince Conti and their crews reached Prince Charlie and he was taken to France.

#scotland #scottish #history #bonnie prince charlie #jacobites #45 uprising

[swede1952]

On the Rhine River.

I took this photograph well over 20 years ago. I used my first digital camera … one that save the images to a 3.5" floppy drive. My wife and I would occasionally take a short round trip river cruise up the Rhine. We'd usually sip an Irish coffee while enjoying the scenery.

In this photograph, there are two castles. Pfalzgrafenstgein Castle by Kaub sits on an island in the river. Originally, it was a toll tower. It was built prior to 1327. - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pfalzgrafenstein_Castle#History

Gutenfels Castle sits atop the hill and was built around the year 1200. - ttps://www.rheinsteig.de/en/a-burg-gutenfels

#photo #photography #photographer #photographylovers #castle #RhineRiver

[xtruss]

Ships that stopped at Whitby Harbor (Seen here circa 1880) inspired Bram Stoker as he wrote Dracula. Photograph By Frank Meadow Sutcliffe, The Royal Photographic Society Collection/Victoria and Albert Museum, London/Getty Images

The Little-Known Shipwreck That Inspired Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’

Stoker was moved by grim details from the world around him while penning his horror masterpiece. The real fate of a ship called the Dmitry played an outsized role in his imaginings.

— By Melissa Sartore | August 18, 2023

The arrival of the Demeter in Bram Stoker's Dracula serves as a fundamental part of the titular character's story: the ship brings death himself to England.

Stoker drew inspiration for his genre-defining horror novel from his time in Whitby, and the dark 1885 fate of the real ship Dmitry on the town’s shore.

The death and tragedy around Stoker ultimately shaped the story that became one of the most famous pieces of English literature and set the stage for the next century of vampire lore.

The wreck of the Dmitry from Narva, now Estonia, aground on Tate Hill Beach in 1885, Whitby, Yorkshire, UK. Photograph By Frank Meadow Sutcliffe, Colin Waters/Alamy Stock Photo

The Dmitry Becomes the Demeter

During the summer of 1890, Irish novelist Bram Stoker vacationed at the seaside town of Whitby in northeast England. Despite spending only a month in the town, Stoker was enthralled by his surroundings: Grand Mansions and Hotels lined the West Cliff while remains of the seventh century Whitby Abbey towered over the East Cliff. Nearby, the cemetery at the Parish Church also served as inspiration as the story of Dracula came to life.

Stoker was also enchanted by the many ships making harbor here. He reportedly visited the Whitby Museum to explore the history of these vessels, as well as a local library, where he came upon William Wilkinson’s book The Accounts of Principalities of Wallachia and Moldova. Stoker marked in his notes:

DRACULA in the Wallachian language means DEVIL. The Wallachians were, at that time, as they are at present, used to give this as a surname to any person who rendered himself conspicuous either by courage, cruel actions, or cunning.

Stoker reportedly asked around the shore about shipwrecks in Whitby, notably the Dmitry, a ship that had wrecked five years earlier.

The cargo vessel Dmitry had set sail from Narva in Russia (modern-day Estonia) in 1885. On October 24, the Dmitry was one of two ships run ashore at Whitby by “a storm of great violence,” according to contemporary newspaper accounts. The other vessel, the Mary and Agnes, was stranded in the raging sea and a lifeboat was sent to rescue its crew. When the crew of the Mary and Agnes was ferried to the shore, per the Leeds Mercury, “their safe landing [was] the signal for loud huzzas by the thousands of people assembled on shore.”

Those same onlookers watched on to see what would happen with the Dmitry. As reported by the North-Eastern Daily Gazette, the crew remained on board in the hopes they would be able to dock, but “the sea beat savagely against the vessel. Her masts gave way and fell with a crash over her side, and the vessel herself began to break up.”

Though unclear exactly how they were rescued, in the end, all seven members of the Dmitry’s crew were safely brought to shore.

There were several unique aspects to the last voyage of the Dmitry that appear to have stood out to Stoker. The Demeter originated in Varna (an anagram for Narva, where the Dmitry originated), and similarly carried “ballast of silver sand, with only a small amount of cargo—a number of great wooden boxes filled with mould.”

Through conversations with fishermen in Whitby, Stoker learned of an untold number of local deaths at sea. Stoker reportedly made note of some 90 names from gravestones in Whitby for future use in his story, including the surname “Swales.” Soon after the arrival of the Demeter in Dracula, he wrote “Mr. Swales was found dead… his neck being broken.”

What Inspired Dracula’s Canine Form?

In Stoker’s novel, Dracula himself took the form of a dog to make his way from the Demeter to dry land, but there was no dog reported to have been on the Dmitry. According to Mel Ni Mhaolanfaidh and Marlon McGarry in 2021, the dog in Dracula may be an homage to the wreck of the Greyhound in 1770.

The Greyhound sailed from Whitby and sank off the coast of Ireland on December 12, 1770 (120 years prior to Stoker’s arrival in the town). Stoker’s mother, Charlotte, was from Sligo, a town in close proximity to the wreck. When the storm that sank the ship surged again, a young cabin boy was left stranded. The rescue effort failed, with only one out of the some 20 men sent to save him tragically dying in the process.

Stoker made no reference to a dog in his notes until two months after he’d departed from Whitby. On October 15, 1890, Stoker wrote, “When ship ran in to Collier's Hope, big dog jumped off bow & ran over pier - up Kiln Yard & church steps & into churchyard…Local dog found ripped open & graves torn up…” It’s not clear if Stoker learned of these details from the Dmitry wreck, another Whitby wreck, or was his own creation.

In the novel, the arrival of the Demeter was paired with a similarly remarkable incident: “The very instant the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck from below, as if shot up by the concussion, and running forward, jumped from the bow on the sand.”

The dog, a disguised Dracula, wrought bloodshed and death from that point forward. This dog resembled the barghest, a mythical monster often associated with Yorkshire. Spellings and specific forms of barghest vary but the dog-like being foretold of pain, disaster, or even death to all who saw it. The barghest also elicited howling from dogs in its vicinity, something Dracula protagonist Mina Murray reported took place soon after the arrival of the Demeter.

#Dracula #Whitby Harbor | Yorkshire | UK 🇬🇧 #Frank Meadow Sutcliffe #Bram Stoker #Shipwreck #Horror Masterpiece #Northeast England 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 #Grand Mansions | Hotels | West Cliff #Cemetery | Parish Church #Whitby Museum #William Wilkinson #The Accounts of Principalities of Wallachia and Moldova 🇲🇩 #Cargo Vessel Dmitry #Narva in Russia 🇷🇺 | Modern-Day Estonia 🇪🇪 #The Mary & Agnes #North-Eastern Daily Gazette #Mr. Swales #Mel Ni Mhaolanfaidh | Marlon McGarry #Greyhound #Charlotte | Sligo #Collier's Hope #Mina Murray | Dracula Protagonist

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

ACTOR Russell Crowe has revealed he is the distant relative of a notorious Jacobite Lord who was the last man to be executed by beheading in Britain.

The Gladiator star has been exploring his ancestry and said his research uncovered some surprising connections.

While he knew he had Scottish heritage, Crowe has recently discovered he is related to Simon Fraser, the 11th Lord Lovat – known as the Old Fox.

Known for his scheming plots and switching sides to and fro between the government and Jacobite causes, Lovat's clan was eventually among those defeated at the battle of Culloden in 1746 and he was executed the following year

Fans of the Outlander novels and TV series will recognise him as the grandfather of the lead character Jamie Fraser (below).

On X/Twitter, Crowe said he had begun by trying to trace his Italian roots, something made difficult by “folkloric family tales and misspelling”.

He discovered his great-great-grandfather Luigi Ghezzi had moved to New Zealand in 1864 after meeting Mary Ann Curtain in Cape Town.

The 59-year-old actor added: “Also something else that has recently come to light on my father's mother's side, via John (Jock) Fraser (arrived in NZ in 1841) we directly connect back to Simon Fraser. 11th Lord Lovat. Look him up.

“He’s quite the character. The Old Fox they used to call him.

“Seems his Machiavellian ways caught up to him at the age of 80, & he has a claim to infamy as the last man to have the head chopped off his living body in the Tower of London. His death even coined a phrase.

“Apparently, they set up temporary stands for the gentry to watch him die. One of these stands collapsed which resulted in the death of nine onlookers. Being told this just before he was put to death made him laugh.

He was still laughing when the blade struck his neck, thereby ‘laughing his head off’.”

Crowe also said his DNA suggested a strong Irish link, but he is currently uncertain where exactly this comes from.

The 11th Lord Lovat’s execution at Tower Hill in London drew huge crowds.

He had sided with Bonnie Prince Charlie during the 1745 Jacobite rising and was sentenced to death for treason.

Crowe has previously taken an interest in Scottish history. He is a supporter of the Clanranald Trust which has created the Duncarron fort near Denny, an authentic replica of a medieval stronghold.

The Australian actor donated a battering ram from the film Robin Hood to the fort.

In 2018, forensic experts were called in to try and identify if remains removed from a Highland crypt were those of the 11th Lord Lovat.

While official records stated he had been buried beneath the floor of a chapel in the Tower of London, his clan believed his remains had been “intercepted” and returned to Scotland.

However Professor Dame Sue Black determined the remains at Wardlaw Mausoleum were those of a woman and not the “Old Fox”.

Duncarron medieval village, in Carron Valley, was built by the Clanranald Trust for Scotland, a charity which relies heavily on donations and volunteers to help bring history to life at the site.

The medieval village site is featured in Outlander set during the American Revolution where it doubled as the location of Fort Ticonderoga.

[primordialsoundmeditation]

Is this not like a scene from Irish Folklore? Looking over the blue harebells to Classiebawn Castle on its green hill with the mighty Benbulben mountain towering up behind. If you look very closely you might see some wee folk hiding amongst the flowers 😉

Note: In Celtic mythology, harebell flowers were considered sacred and represented the connection between the physical and spiritual worlds. Additionally, these flowers are associated with fairies and are believed to be used as a portal to the fairy world.

"Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand."

from The Stolen Child by W.B. Yeats

DBreen Photography