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urhoneycombwitch · 3 months

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shrine of your lights

🍯 honey flavour: edibles and a church wedding to attend. what could go wrong with Eddie as your plus one?

🐝 the bees: FWB!Eddie x reader

wc: 4.8k

content warnings: a smidge of Catholic blasphemy, weed usage, friends w/ benefits Eddie, R is a bit of a love (and relationship) skeptic and Eddie is lovesick, R+E are in their 20’s, pining, public sex (no one but them observes tho), R has hair long enough to tuck behind ears, R gets a hickey but skin tone/color is not described, R has breasts and a V, softdom Eddie, marking kink (?)

foreword: I listened to Say You Love Me by Fleetwood Mac for this. LOL. kind of AU bc it’s a few years after ssn 4 and everyone is alive and just fine (lovesick but oh well can’t b helped) based on this anon thank u for inspiring me!!!!

The stained glass window in front of you looms tall, afternoon light streaming through and casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the polished wood flooring. You stretch out a hand into the warm beam of sun, admiring the way the colors catch and bounce off your dainty star-chain bracelet.

When Eddie had suggested you two eat some weed brownies as a precursor to your (very distant, very Catholic) cousin’s wedding, you hadn’t quite expected to get as stoned as you are now. Since Eddie hasn’t attended any major life functions sober since 1981, and seeing as how you refuse to step foot inside a church space without some sort of social lubricant, the weed wasn’t a hard sell at all.

To be fair, Eddie had warned you of their potency, and you had snuck another quarter of a brownie when his back was turned: but christ, your tolerance must be crazy low or something, ‘cuz a window has no right to be this mesmerizing.

You’ve been staring at it for the past five minutes, in your own little world while a steady stream of wedding guests file in through the big oak doors and mill about before the ceremony. The warm, still air of the church is heady with the smell of fresh florals and incense, and a line of votive candles flicker and wink against the windowsill.

Casting a glance over your shoulder, you see Eddie’s still speaking in gentle tones with an elderly woman (whom you’re likely related to, hard to say) near the foyer, all charming smile and sincere hand pressed to the slip of bare chest his button-down displays. You’ve got to hand it to the guy, he’s really great at endearing himself to total strangers; he’s been a natural shoe-in for any plus-one you’ve needed over the past few years.

While Eddie is perfectly in his element, holding what looks to be an engaging conversation while stoned to all hell, your focus is drawn back to the window. You should probably be on the arm of your guest, seeing as how it’s your family wedding after all, but the swirling lights and colors are too alluring to pull yourself away from.

“Beautiful piece of art, isn’t it?”

The voice behind you is unfamiliar, and proper social graces here would call for an introduction, perhaps a firm handshake, but your limbs and tongue feel so loose and the reply is out of your mouth before you can think twice- “God, yeah. S’fucking gorgeous. I want one for my house.”

There’s a light cough, and when you turn on your low-heeled Mary Janes it’s under the amused eye of a priest- in full priest-garb. Green velvet robes and little hat and everything.

You realize your error- swearing and taking the Lord’s name in vain- but the brief stint in Catholic school from when you were 6 is unfortunately not recalled in time to stop the scramble of swears mixed with apologies that come tumbling out.

“Oh shit- I mean- fuck. Oh god. Sorry, Father, I didn’t mean-”

The priest- old as hell but thankfully with sense of humor still intact- smiles kindly at you and takes your hand in both of his, patting graciously. “No apologies are necessary, my dear. The beauty of God can be overwhelming and awe-inducing.”

You nod jerkily, grabbing on to his excuse- “Yes, yep. That’s exactly what happened. Struck down by the awe.”

The priest nods to you, and then to Eddie (who’s appeared at your side like a guard dog that sensed trouble), then wanders off down a row of pews to greet other guests.

You’re nearly doubled over with the effort it takes to conceal your laughter, Eddie stroking a calming hand down your back and chuckling with you under his breath.

“Struck down by the awe, huh?” he echoes as you straighten back up and dab at the tears gathering against your lashline. “You really are somethin’.”

“That was so embarrassing but guess what-” here you lean in, voice a conspiratorial whisper as Eddie raises his eyebrows to look down his nose at you- “I don’t give a fuck ‘cuz I’m hi-igh.”

This last word is sung with a two-note lilt, and you turn back to the comfort of the sunny window as Eddie steps in beside you, shaking his head. “I told you to start with a lower dose, ya goose. Did you take more when I wasn’t looking?”

You shrug a shoulder, the soft linen of your cardigan brushing up against the hard leather of Eddie’s jacket. “Maybe. Couldn’t say. You gonna steal this window for me or what?”

He blows out a breath, pretending to appraise the size and heft, rapping his ringed knuckles against the sill- “Well normally I’d say ‘anything for my girl’, but we’d need a shrink ray for this type’a heist.”

“Maybe Dustin has one we can borrow.”

He sucks his front teeth, playing along, shaking his head in faux-disappointment. “Nah, little shit’s only got a ham radio. Useless when it comes to religious robbery.”

Eddie looks overly pleased when you giggle, but some of the humor in his face falls to concern as he reaches out to squeeze your upper arms. “Hey. You doin’ okay? If you’re too stoned to sit through the ceremony, I can find us a little spot to hole up in. I’m good at finding those.”

“I know you are,” you reply, waving away his worry. “I’m fine, honest. Do I look high?”

He holds you at arm’s length, giving you a contemplative once-over. “Nope. You look beautiful.”

You roll your eyes, affectionately, then smooth your palms over the front of your black slip dress and pull the scalloped sleeves of your cardigan into place. “Well, of that I am aware.”

Eddie winks, and you really wish you were sober enough that the warmth of his hands and the smell of his cologne would have less of an effect but high as you are, you want nothing more than to burrow into his neck and taste the salt of his skin.

“Do I look high?” he asks, pulling away to do a little spin so you can appraise his appearance.

Eddie Munson, as it turns out, cleans up very well for family functions: smart black boots, maroon button-down tucked into a pair of flare-legged trousers, worn but well-kept leather jacket to top the outfit off. And in signature Eddie fashion, little glints of silver highlight the ensemble- his usual chunky rings, stacked layers of thin chain necklaces, metal buckles on his coat and at his waist, even a set of tiny hoops (courtesy of your jewelry drawer) in his ears.

The dryness in your mouth has nothing to do with your intoxication as you blink back to the present and give Eddie a once-over. “Uhm. Nope. You look sober. And very hot.”

He grins at you, wolfish, but then a bright chord of organ music signals the start of the ceremony. With a steady hand on your back, he leads you to a pew near the last row; when you’re both seated, his hand runs smoothly down to rest on your thigh, drumming a lazy beat with his thumb against you as the processional starts.

Your cousin Marion looks lovely swathed in white tulle, contrasted with her groom in a black tux. Her mother, your aunt- Karen? Karina? can’t recall- dabs at her tears with a delicate lace handkerchief in the front pew as the couple exchanges vows, promising eternal and ineffable love until their ultimate demise, etcetera.

You’re not someone who’s ever fallen prone to the gushy emotions that love seems to create in so many of your peers. While Nancy and Robin will dole out tissues to each other during some cheesy romcom, you’ll get ribbed for being so stoic. None of your breakups have ever ended in giant blowouts or dramatics from your side- hard to fight for something when you hadn’t really cared about it in the first place.

That’s why you consider yourself so lucky, when it comes to Eddie. After the two of you ended your high school fling due to graduation, you’d come back to Hawkins after a few years of college and found yourself sneaking out like a teenager again to hang out with Eddie Munson.

He told you he doesn’t want anything serious, either, and that he’s just fine being friends who sleep around and go to all of each other’s parties.

You almost believe him.

He’s been to every one of your nephew’s hockey games this past season, and you’ve spent two cozy Christmases so far at the trailer with him and Wayne; every party in between has ended with Eddie driving you home, or (more frequently) back to his place. Your collective relatives and friends haven’t asked about your relationship status in years, and it’s all thanks to Eddie’s presence in your life: if the two of you aren’t technically dating, it’s really no one’s business.

The old priest from earlier is droning on about some bible verse; uncomfortable on the hard bench and feeling restless, you shift your hips, and Eddie digs his fingers into the meat of your thigh.

“Quit. Squirming,” he murmurs, lips at your ear. When you shiver and still, he pats your leg and straightens again, eyes fixed to the front altar.

You and Eddie make it through the ceremony with minimal damage, only getting one dirty look from an older man in the pew ahead when you’d snickered at a dirty joke (courtesy of your benchmate). Marion and her new husband greet their guests one by one as everyone filters outside, and you coast easily through the interaction, kissing your cousin on both cheeks and fawning over her dress and giving just the right amount of congrats before Eddie plucks at your elbow to subtly redirect your attention.

“Let’s get some food in you,” he says, linking your arms together as you follow the receiving line outdoors.

The reception is held just next to the church building in a surprisingly lovely courtyard. Sunlight filters through the willow trees at the edge of a grass yard, where a picnic basket awaits on each spread quilt. People are kicking off their dress shoes, unwinding with the lure of nature, kids chasing each other through the paths between blankets as adults wiggle their toes into the grass and dig into the luncheon.

Possibly, you’re high and over-romanticizing, but you can tell by the look on Eddie’s face he’s there with you, taking it all in from your blanket in a quiet corner of the yard.

There are finger sandwiches in the basket, along with some fresh fruit and plastic utensils and plates to eat off of; Eddie fixes you a plate and you dig in happily, sock feet tucked under yourself, yours and Eddie’s shoes in a jumble nearby.

“Could eat anything when I’m high,” you muse, then bite into a sandwich that has the perfect cream-cheese-to-cucumber ratio with a contented sigh. “Food is so good.”

Eddie snaps a baby carrot with his back teeth, then snorts at you before reaching out to tuck one side of your hair behind your ear before it gets eaten along with your food. “I know you can eat anything when you’re high. I once saw you scooping up apple pie with potato chips.”

You give him a sidelong frown, mouth full of bread and veg as you defend yourself- “Yeah, and it was great. Dee-licious. Would do it again if-”

Your name is being called, and you swivel to see a young man about your age weaving along the spaces between blankets towards yours and Eddie’s spot.

“Tony!” In a neat bit of multitasking, you manage to swallow your food and rise to your feet (albeit unsteadily, with Eddie’s hand snapping out to support your efforts), then hold your arms out to envelop the boy in a hug. “Oh my god, it’s been ages.”

Anthony Townsend has grown up in the time you’ve spent away- the last recollection you have of your former childhood neighbor is his mop of red hair bouncing with the trampoline his parents bought him in 6th grade. He grew into his looks, for sure- the awkwardness of pre-teen ears and too-big front teeth have settled into a very kind and handsome face.

He looks genuinely pleased to see you, returning your hug with a squeeze, pulling back to hold both your hands and ask about where you’ve been. You breeze through a highlighted version of the last few years, leaving out all the interdimensional monster bullshit and focusing the questions back on him.

Tony’s telling you about his father’s veterinary practice that’s still running smoothly when you feel Eddie at your back, and Tony falters, dropping your hands.

Social cues come a tad slow to you, under the influence, and you think Tony’s stumbling because you haven’t introduced him yet (how were you supposed to know Eddie’s been glaring daggers at the poor kid ever since you’d hugged him?), and you attempt to remedy your mistake with a casual remark- “You know, Eddie here has been feeding the stray cats at our place every night, a whole colony of them- there’s gotta be, what, ten of ‘em now?”

You turn to Eddie for confirmation, reeling a little at the dark scowl he’s still sporting as he nods. “Yup. Somethin’ like.”

Tony scratches at the back of his neck, freckled cheeks pink as he begins to back away- “Um, yeah. Cool. Well it was great to see you! I gotta…”

With a vague gesture, he turns and tails it back to his blanket on the other side of the yard. You whirl on Eddie, his face smoothing back into relaxed indifference, even as you hiss, “What the hell was that?”

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t know what you mean, princess.”

“That,” you repeat, waving an arm in the air for emphasis. “I know I’m not sober but you were being weird, even by my standards.”

There’s this look that Eddie gets, sometimes, when one of you bumps against the walls of your loosely-defined relationship- a brief flash of pain and sadness before it gets hidden away behind his comfortable mask of bravado.

He’s got it now- a small pinch in his eyebrows, doey eyes swimming with emotion, and you put a hand on his leather-clad arm as the pieces fall into place. “Were you… are you jealous?”

In the span of a blink, the mask is back up, and with a dry laugh that’s so unlike him, Eddie shakes his head. “Nah. What do I have to be jealous of, huh? ‘S not like we belong to each other.”

Maybe on a different day, with half the weed in your system, you’d be able to let this comment slide. But there’s something deeply hurtful about it, sinking and twisting in your stomach like a stone. Your grip tightens on Eddie’s arm, tears stinging hot at your eyes, voice a watery, desperate thing- “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

Eddie is quick to comfort you, once he realizes you’re close to crying- “Shit, sweetheart. Okay. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to think…” Your voice is still shaky with emotion as Eddie lets you hold on to him, gently shushing you even though there’s no one near enough to hear. “You’re important to me, Eddie. I never wanna make you mad, or upset, or-”

“I’m not.” Eddie cuts smoothly into your rambling, placing his hands on either side of your neck as you cling to him, cool rings kissing into your skin. “I’m not mad, promise. I was just being an asshole for no reason, okay? Could never be mad at you.”

His thumb strokes at the column of your throat, your breath and heart rate lulled to normal under his touch, his expression returning to the gentle fondness you’re used to seeing.

“Let’s finish up lunch, hm?” Eddie says, and with a final soft squeeze he pulls away from you, taking with him the warmth of his palms.

It’s always like this, with him, at least in front of your respective families- any PDA is kept to a strict minimum, nothing too intimate or drawn out so as not to attract attention. You’d implemented this rule from the beginning, and Eddie has been nothing but respectful of it, your peace of mind over not wanting a label pacified.

But right now? The lack of Eddie’s arms around you or his lips on yours was starting to make you ache.

You both settle into the blanket again, conversation flowing around mouthfuls of food as you catch Eddie up with the latest family gossip, laughing when he bats your pointer finger out of the air (as if anyone is really paying attention to you two giggling loons).

Someone’s brought a radio and has it dialed to a soft rock station; you gasp and shove at Eddie (sprawled out like a house cat after a full meal in the sun), exclaiming “It’s Fleetwood Mac and you love Fleetwood Mac!”

“I so don’t,” he grumbles, but rises easily when you tug at him to stand sock-to-sock feet with you in the grass.

You both fall into a smooth rhythm, Eddie’s hands staying (respectably) on your hips, yours looped around his neck, doing a slow little rotation. He gazes at you as you sway back and forth in each other’s arms, the scrutiny making you titter and fidget.

“What?”

“Thought I told you to quit squirmin’,' ' comes his answer, hands tightening into the meat of your waist. “Let me look at you a minute.”

So you let him look.

While his chocolate eyes roam your face, you trail a hand up to curl a lock of his hair around your finger. Eddie leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut, giving you room to do some staring of your own at those long, dark lashes.

After another slow circle, Eddie inhales and draws himself back, clearing his throat. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, sweetheart, but we’re gonna start getting looks if you don’t quit using me as your personal stress toy.”

You snort. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“All good,” he replies, dimples springing into his cheeks, teasing again- “When we get home later you can pet me like a dog, if you want. Just gotta tone you down ‘cuz you get touchy when you’re high.”

Eddie’s being a perfect gentleman. He’s sticking to your rules and looking out for you.

So why is it making you so sad?

You realize, with a stunning clarity, that you don’t want to wait until you’re back at the trailer to touch Eddie. That you’re starting to crave him when he leaves, whether it’s for a day or an hour or just out of bed to get a snack.

Fuck it, you think, and bend to scoop up your shoes.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you tell Eddie, slipping on your shoes then starting towards the building. When you realize he’s not following, you pause, giving him a look over your shoulder- “Aren’t you coming?”

Eddie blinks, wondering if you’re insinuating what he thinks you’re insinuating or if he’s just really, really high. “Um. Uh…”

You don’t leave room for the shock to sink in, turning on your heel and smirking when you hear him swear under his breath and scramble to catch up.

In a narrow hallway lined with portraits of long-dead saints, you push Eddie against the wall, mouth sealing over his and hands roaming hungrily over his body.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, in between kisses, your fingers tugging at the root of his hair, near the nape of his neck where it stings the best- “what’s got you so worked up, princess?”

“You.” The answer is an honest one. You slip your tongue between Eddie’s teeth and the boy moans, melting into you.

Peppering kisses down Eddie’s face, your lips settle into the hollow just under his jaw, then part to give room to your teeth. Eddie stiffens as you bite down, sensitive skin pierced by your mouth; it’s his turn to be the squirmy one as you suck a bruise into that soft spot.

His cock is filling out, as proved by the steadily-growing bulge behind his zipper. You give a mean little wiggle of your hips and Eddie jolts so hard you lose your spot on his neck, popping off him with a wet smack.

“Angel, you have to stop.” Eddie sounds absolutely wrecked as he tries to maintain some distance, head tipped back to stare at the popcorn ceiling. “M’not gonna last if you keep doing that. Let me take you home, we can-”

“Shhh.” You quiet him with a pointer finger smooshed against his lips, your other hand tilted to your ear. “You hear that?”

Eddie strains to hear distant cheers and hip hip hoorays from the festivities a few corridors away; when he nods, you whisper, “That’s the cake cutting. We have a good ten minutes before anyone thinks to come back here.”

At first, Eddie thinks he’s off the hook when you release him completely, walking swiftly towards the main sanctuary. But then, because you’re a temptress, you beckon him with an impatient wave.

And because he’s so easy for you, he follows.

It’s like that window has a magnetic pull- you’re back under the prismatic glow of the stained glass, brushing a hand across the wide sill to dust it before hopping up to perch there. You fit neatly between the split row of votive candles (all snuffed out by now), enough room for your knees to part and for Eddie to fill the space.

You cross your arms around his neck, drawing him in with another deep kiss as his hands find your waist.

“Want you to mark me up,” you murmur, and when Eddie draws back, wary, you let your chin tip up. The crown of your head knocks into the window, exposing your throat. “Show them I’m yours, Eds.”

Only have to tell him twice, apparently, ‘cuz his teeth sink into your stretch of soft skin without further qualms. The feeling of his tongue soothing over the sore spot makes you jump, hips bucking forward into his hand that you didn’t even notice had trailed up the inside of your dress.

His long fingers pet at the wet patch that’s seeping through your underwear, catching at your clit on an upstroke, your gasp a harsh noise in the otherwise silent sanctuary.

Eddie begins to rub at you through the fabric in earnest now, tight circles with his thumb even as he pulls his mouth from your neck to assess his handiwork. “Yeah, fuck, sweetheart, that’s gonna leave a mark. You want everyone to know who you belong to, huh?”

Your bundle of nerves throbs under Eddie’s touch and you curse, hands weaving tight into his hair again. “Shit, Eddie, yeah- just like that…”

He dips back into the well of your neck with his teeth, keeps just the right amount of pressure on your clit, and that tension coiling in your lower stomach is just about to snap before you stop him with a hand around his wrist.

“Sorry,” you pant through the apology, forehead crushed to Eddie’s collarbone as you try and catch your breath. “Was about to come and I want you inside of me for that.”

“Jesus fucking christ.”

Eddie fumbles with his belt buckles as you giggle, chastising- “Hush and mind your manners, Munson. That’s blaspheming and we’re about to fuck in a church.”

“I’ll show you manners.” Eddie has his pants and briefs shoved to mid-thigh before you can draw breath to tell him off; one hand smears precum down the shaft of his ruddy cock as the other pushes your dress up and hooks your panties to the side.

You’re wet and worked up enough that he slides into the heat of you with ease, breath punching out with the way his cock completely fills you. When Eddie pulls out and sinks back in, you let out a keening whine and scrabble for purchase on his leather jacket.

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it-” his voice is a dark rumble, each word punctuated with a snap of his hips, the squelch of your slick walls responding. “So wet for me. That’s my good girl. You like gettin’ off to being mine, huh, angel?”

You nod, head lolling against the window, and Eddie grins wicked even though you can’t see it. “Come on. Show me whose pussy this is.”

When his hand snakes between your bodies to press against your clit with his thumb, you come with a long, strained whimper, ankles crossing at the small of Eddie’s back to draw him closer while the velvet walls of your cunt spasm.

Eddie’s free hand shoots out to the supporting wood arch of the window for stability as he angles his hips up, longing for that glossy honey-eyed look you get sometimes: and there it is, your eyes half-lidded and brow pinched in pleasure as his cock hits against that gummy spot, the tremble of your thighs locked around his waist as your orgasm peaks.

Once he’s fucked you through the height of it, Eddie dips to bite at the taut muscle where your neck and shoulder meet, clamping down on the words threatening to flood out as his hips stutter. He comes hard, deep groan muffled into your neck, curses and praises spilling out in mindless babbling: “Fuck fuck, angel, that’s it, honey, shit, you’re so wet. All for me, huh, baby? Doin’ so good…”

He sags into your arms, pinning you to the window, chests heaving in tandem as you both catch your breath. You stroke a hand down his back, towards his ass, and then to the edge of his pants.

When he realizes that you’re trying to tuck him back into his clothes he whines at you, but you’re quick to shush him. “We’re cuttin’ it close with timing already, Eds. Help me out?”

Reluctantly, Eddie pulls away from the wet warmth of you to re-dress. Once his belt is in place he attends to you, helping shift the hem of your dress back down, rubbing his finger lightly under the skin of your eye where some mascara had smudged.

“I’ll double back for the keys and we’ll go home, ‘kay?” Eddie says, nose nudging into your cheek. “Wait here. You got some wicked marks and everyone will know we just fucked.”

“Pfft. No they won’t. Who would actually fuck in a church?” You push Eddie back playfully, hopping down from the sill with a wink. “You’ve gotta be sick to do that. Good thing my family believes you to be a perfect goody-two-shoes.”

Eddie stares as you make for the doors back to the courtyard, shrugging off his incredulity- “Eddie. It’s fine. So they’ll think we made out a bit. Who cares? Not me. And plus…” here you trail off and point, mischievous, Eddie’s eye’s following the line to his sock feet- “...you kinda have a no-shoes situation goin’ on. Gotta fix that.”

When you disappear through the doors, Eddie slams a palm to his chest, in awe- then feels the outline of the lighter in his inner pocket. With a practiced twist, he has it out and lit in a second, holding the flame to the wick of a votive candle.

“I don’t know how these candles work, exactly, or if atheists are allowed to…” Eddie clears his throat, glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re still out of earshot, then whispers above the flickering light: “Please let this be real life and not just some high-fueled fantasy because this is kind of huge for me. Okay thanks. Amen, or whatever.”

Eddie blows out the candle like it’s a birthday wish then hurries to catch up with you, sock feet silent against the wood floor as he calls out your name- “Slow down and have a heart, babe, I’ve got no grip!”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #weed mention #tw weed

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pettyprocrastination · 11 months

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The Deathly Devout

Pairing: Executioner!König x Nun!Reader (Medieval au)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Religious themes and settings, talk of death, religious guilt, nothing much this is pretty tame. I have very little knowledge of how catholic confessionals actually go especially in a medieval setting forgive me. probably many spelling errors im sorry.

Author’s Note: was talking to @thesadvampire about @hffhifjou fucking amazing art of the 141 as knights and now we have Executioner!König. This is mostly just a word burst from this morning but I really like this concept and wanted to share with you all

Tagging some mutuals I think might enjoy this: @sprout-fics @humanransome-note @moondirti @fnny-bnny @yeehaw-djarin @captainsamwlsn

_______________--

It was quite amusing to see the executioner in the confessional booth.

That isn’t to say that he doesn’t visit often, no. If anything it’s the exact opposite, Father Montomgery sees him more than any pious banker or self-hating gambler in the city. But the man was monstrous, broad in his shoulders with thick arms and legs to match, resulting in him having to twist and fold his body to properly fit into the little wooden booth. He could see the silhouette of the poor man’s shoulders hunched in and head tucked low.

It almost made up for how absolutely aggravating he was to listen to.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned.”

“May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you know your sins and trust in his mercy.”

König swallows.

“I killed a man this week.”

The priest, knowing this voice better than others and the hulking silhouette it belongs to, sighs.

“The thief, then?” He asks, voice dripping with indifference. “The little painter who was caught stealing?”

“Yes father.”

The “little thief” has been a blossoming apprentice under a most respected artist within the city, only for the truth to come out that he had been stealing funds from his mentor for months on end. The king had suggested König simply cut off the painter’s hands and let him live out the rest of his days in poverty. “What better punishment for an artist than a life where he cannot create?”

But the end ruling was for the artist to lose his head in the town-square and König’s hands delivered the blade to his neck.

“That was simply an act of your work, my child.”

“But-”

There is a deep sigh from the opposite side of the booth and König falls silent, like a scolded child.

The irony isn't lost on the priest, that a man who must associate himself with the macabre so often is incredibly devout in his worship. But the humor was drowned out by how astonishingly self-loathing the poor bastard was.

“My child, do you believe our king is the one true king?”

“Of course father.”

“And do you believe our God is the one, true, God?”

There’s a garbled noise that comes from the larger man, an incredulous sputtering at how the priest would ever assume he would say otherwise.

It makes the man chuckle.

“Of course father!”

“Then acting out the King’s law is acting out God’s law, is it not?”

There’s a pause, the priest can see the man shrink down into his seat even further, if that was even possible with how he contorted the bulk of his body to squeeze into the wooden booth.

“I’m not saying you cannot feel-” He waves his hand in the air, despite the fact that König cannot truly see him. “-conflicted, about your career. It’s not one that comes easily, I’m sure. But it is not one that makes you a monster, despite how many people would try to have you believe that.”

“Yes father.”

The man’s voice is a shred of what it should be- all but a trembling whisper that makes even the exhausted priest frown.

“Being an executioner isn’t an easy job. But it’s one that is needed nonetheless.”

König says something softly to himself, but the priest cannot be bothered to ask what.

“For your sins I-”

“Actually, father-” the wooden step creaked under his weight as he shifted on his knees. “There’s something else.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been having impure thoughts about a woman.”

“Oh.”

The priest blinks. He had never heard the man speak of any sin aside from the violence he acted out on the King’s word. Truth be told he had begun to think the lad was so devout such a concept was all but foreign to him.

But this?

“I’m listening, my child.”

This was far more interesting than listening to him bemoan about a town square beheading.

“She is-” König chews on the inside of his cheek, chipped teeth digging into the formed scars he has had since childhood from the nervous habit. “Promised to somebody else.”

The priest hides a snicker behind a well placed cough.

“Married?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“I haven’t…acted upon them.” The man who has killed week after week fiddles with his hands, face turning bright red as simply speaking of his attraction toward the woman. The priest couldn't help but wonder who she was. Whether it be a kind tavern girl who ignored his gaze each day he walked by or a local prostitute that urged on his affection as long as he could afford her time.

It’s no secret that few women would concern themselves with the local executioner, if not even look him in the eyes.

“She’s a good woman of proper virtue, I would not sully her name in such a way.”

This poor bastard.

“Is she beautiful?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The woman you speak of, do you find her attractive?”

König swallows. “Yes, incredibly. Her smile rivals that of the sun and-”

“That’s more than enough.” The priest grins into his hand as the airy tone the executioner’s voice took on, like a poet reciting his latest venture. The man was properly lovesick, how charming. “I do not believe you have committed any sin in appreciating a woman’s beauty.”

“I haven’t?”

“Admiring a woman’s beauty is like admiring a piece of art, is it not?” The priest offers. “You are simply taking in the art that God has created with his own hands, my child.”

Before König has a chance to respond, through the lattice he sees a flash of white through the corner of his eye. A soft voice humming a tune fills the air, echoing through the church hall like a well-respected hymn. In a panic, König begins to stand his full height before he is halted in his tracks as the top of his head slams into the confessional roof.

“My son?”

“Ah, apologies father! But I have to leave because of-”

The priest nods. “Yes, yes of course.You are absolved of your sins, give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.”

The final word is drowned out by the slam of the confessional door opening the man’s thundering footsteps receding from the booth.

The executioner stands to his full height as he exits the church. He shields his eyes as he steps outside, suddenly overwhelmed by the burst of sunlight.

In his haste, he did not see the figure at his side.

“Good morning to you, König.”

The man jumps, twisting around to face you where you stand at the bottom church steps, broom in hand and a smile on your face.

“Ah! Yes! Good morning to you as well, sister.”

“A lovely day, is it not?”

Heat creeps up the back of his neck and he struggles to find the words he wished to speak to you. But you, ever patient and kind, wait without judgment.

“Yes, quite lovely.”

As König stares down at you, his heart beating as he watches the sun shine on your figure and your smile, he finds himself thinking of the Holy Father’s words.

“You are simply taking in the art that God has created with his own hands”

What beautiful art indeed.

#executioner!König #könig x reader #König x you #König x female reader #the priest is like. super chill because König comes in EVERY WEEK and hes like YES i KNOW YOU KILLED SOMEBODY WHATEVER MAN #but also said priest is most likely corrupt and gambles and takes bribes and shit. so he doesnt really give a fuck #but anyways. konig big soft for nun gal #konig x reader #konig x you #konig x female reader

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larkingame · 19 days

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as you might have seen, I dropped the official announcement that there are going to be five new romances throughout larkin. three of which you already kind of knew about, but i wanted to officially introduce them to you tonight! while there is art in the process of being made for all of them, i used my very limited mood board making skills to put together little pieces to give you an idea of what each character looks like/their aesthetic/their vibes.

photo one // miss ethel jackson (bisexual) (she/her) (faceclaims for art purposes: ayo edibiri)

a one-eyed sharpshooter from texas, ethel jackson is the second in command of the notorious ward gang, an advisor to the gang's leader Cassidy, a mother to her son Arthur, and an ex-lover to one Miss Rose Holloway. she is working hard to fill the vacancy left in the gang by the late Miss Caroline Ward--she wants to help her best friend Cas recover from the loss of his sister--but she also wants to do what's best for the gang (and she's not so sure Cassidy continuing to lead is exactly that.)

photo two // adam (straight) (he/him) (faceclaims for art purposes: matthew mconaughey as rustin cohle in true detective)

believing himself to be the First Vampire, the mirrored man described in the Abrams Family Bible, Adam has aligned himself with the Rateliff Fellowship, leading the cult from the shadows in the canyons of Nevada. Thousands of years old, he's walked the earth long in search of his Eve, ready to reclaim his rightful spot in the garden.

photo three // cassidy alan ward (bisexual) (he/him) (face claims for art purposes: alan ritchson)

leader and founder of the notorious band of outlaws, the Ward Gang, Cassidy has brought his people through hard times and even harder times, but with the murder of his twin sister Caroline, he's camped the gang just outside of Larkin, determined to wage a war on the people he believes murdered her: The House Sokolov.

photo four // reyes (bisexual) (she/they) (face claims for art purposes: alexa demie as maddie perez in euphoria)

the resident vampire of the ward gang, reyes is essentially their tank. no one has ever walked a way alive from a fight with her--part of the reason the Wards have survived as long as they have is because of Reyes' presence among their ranks. but they're harboring a secret--one they frequently pray over in their long held tradition of catholic guilt.

photo five // montero moreau (bisexual) (he/she/they) (no fcs at the moment but if you have any suggestions I'd love to hear them :))

you've hunted down and killed Montero's coven in Saint Laurent. You've made them look like a fool. They want you dead. And they'll go to the ends of the earth to make sure that happens, all in order to get back within the good graces of their coven's matriarch (and Mont's (sometimes) ex-lover) Daphné Moreau.

#miss ethel jackson #cassidy alan ward #larkin adam #larkin reyes #montero moreau #larkin game #larkin ros

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royalthorned · 3 days

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Counter reformation priest Evan and heretic, perverse Barty AU

Barty is a nepo baby Italian with family connections to the Blacks (imagine sforza-esque power) on trial for sodomy (he was at a hippy-art orgy, he poses for cheap scum painters). So the church brings in their most "humane" priest to investigate and question him. Father Rosier.

And Evan is this village freak, born a twin with blank eyes and lopsided shoulders, who snuck into the forrest with Pandora and came back splattered in blood. And he is unnervingly pious, he gives every stray who comes to his monastery medical treatment and he does so with a blank face. He always volunteers to handle the dead bodies.

And Barty is tied up in some catholic rural church and Evan walks in, fully decked out in the decadence of counter reformation catholic uniforms. White billowing robes that fall over his hands because he's undernourished and frail. And Evan has deep set eye bags, slanted hips, a malnourished heart shape face with creamy skin and bright pink lips and Barty he loses it. He's flirting and giggling, he's biting his lip and making ridiculously suggestive faces (imagine carravagio's early paintings) He's slipping his linen shirt off his shoulders. And Evan is just so unmoved by the whole scene outwardly.

The torture method that Evan is ecstatic to try is sticking a wooden pole up someone's .... So Evan sets it up, all rigid and un-emotive. Barty sucks on it and looks up at Evan with the biggest, most pitiful sex eyes, this obviously leads to perverted, power imbalanced sex.

Cut to Barty being a free innocent man and living with Evan in his hometown of rural France in some undeveloped catholic parish where all the locals see Evan, the deformed, amoral, religious twin and a deranged, perverted Italian frolicking around and dissecting animals.

And the live happily ever after the end :)

this is a copy paste of my deranged rambling to Lune, thank you for listening to me bb <3 @sommerregenjuniluft

#counter reformation AU my beloved #im salivating for frail brittle Evan walking around with a god complex #and Barty lapping up his twisted back and ego problems #evan rosier #barty crouch junior #bcj #mauraders #rosekiller #regulus black #I love them so much they have plagued me #hedonists and heretics

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hello-is-anyone-there · 9 months

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Vague Guide to Gothic Academia

Lebanon Hanover (totally not because they're my favorite to write to nooo)

Franz Gordon has some really beautiful piano pieces I highly recommend if you want more classical goth music

Danse Macabre

Hannibal Lector (NBC included)

Criminology

Law in general actually

Religious studies

Come on guys the catholic aesthetics are pulling through here

Victorian collars

Leather gloves

Menthols (this one is just a personal preference, don't smoke)

As much as I hate to say it, Schopenhauer and Roubiczek

I really dislike dark philosophy but it just lines up so well >:[

Moving on to something I like far more: Taxidermy

I'm thinking mostly bones or wet specimens

Normal taxidermy works too but I think it'd clash with dorm space

Leather, silk, and velvet are good staple textures in my opinion

Which does make this harder to style in the summer but tbf dark linens have such a nice flow

The moon, obviously

Astrophysics in general. The stars and the vast existentialism of space are such a good niche. Also I don't see as much STEM majors in these things as I'd like

I'm an arts man for sure, fucked up over literature and philosophy sure, but SCIENCE BRO

That shit is so dark especially going into death studies or psychology

Honestly being a doctor in general can fuck you up

Always smelling like a cadaver (perfume or otherwise...)

Long coats, heavy boots, ties, chains, trad and victorian goth gear both work here

I do like to lean more into dark academia visually with gothic academia, just because my wardrobe would have too much of the same shit going on

Dark sweaters, waist coats and corsets, well fitting suit pants, a well structured light colored blouse usually help balance out

Gothic academia in my opinion is balance between structure and loose chaos

Makeup can also be important for a look so I suggest, strong sharp contor, white accents and dark liner. A red/maroon lip is a good choice for dark makeup in general.

I got distracted by the visual elements woops

A lot of the staple dark academia books work really well

A good murder plot always helps

The Divine Comedies - Dante

The Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux

Carmilla - Sheridan Le Fanu

NIGHT CLASSES!!!

I can't believe I forgot that one

Getting drunk on Absinthe and red wine like a damn vampire

#okay im gonna end this here #maybe part 1 idk depends how much more i can come up with #gothic academia #dark academia #academic #light academia #dark academic #literature #dark academia aesthetic #darkest academia #transmasc #the secret history #romantic academia #gothic #gothic literature #goth music #vague guide to #goth aesthetic #goth

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mumblingsage · 2 months

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With all that said, I am submitting, for your edification and enjoyment, but also with full faith that you'll have the good sense to accept and publish it, a rather longish short story called “A.I., Captain.” I know my story is not technically appropriate for your publication, but I really want to be published on your highly trafficked website, and I think once you read all nine-thousand four-hundred thirty-seven words of my story you'll be grateful that I brazenly ignored your carefully crafted submission guidelines. I respect your time and your guidelines, I really do, but I also don’t have time to be constrained by arbitrary bullshit rules. I’m a creative. The world needs my art! OK, I know your website says that for the current reading period you’re only interested in Firefly fanfiction from a Catholic-Anarchist perspective, but that's only because you haven't read my story yet. It's a surrealist science fiction fantasy parable set in a world similar to ours yet different, called Eastworld. Most of the action takes place on the high seas. I guess I could be biased, but it's basically the best thing since Gravity's Rainbow. Think of it sort of as Infinite Jest but more like Pirates of the Caribbean and with robots. Your purported word limit is one thousand words, but I'm assuming that's either a typo or a suggestion. I've never cared for word limits. I like to think of myself as beyond limits. I’m just not into labels, boxes, or word limits. And don’t even get me started on your requested font. Times New Roman is for bitches.

-"I Read Your Guidelines, But I'm Submitting This Piece That Clearly Isn't a Fit for Your Publication Because, Well, Just Read It and You'll See Why" at Points in Case

#oh hey This Guy submits to Points in Case too #Tumblr why did you not add the link when I formatted this post as a lInk?

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eternal-echoes · 3 months

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“In designing his stupendous structure, the Gothic architect was thus profoundly influenced by Catholic thought. "As the worshippers' eyes rose toward heaven," writes a modern student of the subject, "God's grace, in the form of sunlight, was imagined to stream down in benediction, encouraging exaltation. Sinners could be led to repent and strive for perfection by envisioning the world of spiritual perfection where God resided—a world suggested by the geometric regularity of cathedrals."1 Indeed, everything about the Gothic cathedral revealed its supernatural inspiration. "While the predominantly horizontal lines of Greco-Roman temples symbolized a nature-bound religious experience," writes one scholar, "Gothic spires symbolized the upward reach of a distinctly supernatural vision."2 These great structures also convey to us something of the age in which they were conceived and built. No period of history that could have produced such magnificent works of architecture could have been utterly stagnant or dark, as the entirety of the Middle Ages has all too often been portrayed. The light that streamed into the Gothic cathedral symbolized the light of the thirteenth century, an age characterized as much by its universities, learning, and scholarship as by the religious fervor and heroism of Saint Francis of Assisi.”

- Thomas E. Woods Jr., Ph.D., “Art, Architecture, and the Church,” How the Catholic Church Built Western Civilization

—

1. Robert A. Scott, The Gothic Enterprise (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 132.

2. Stanley L. Jaki, "Medieval Creativity in Science and Technology." in Patterns or Principles and Other Essays (Bryn Mawr, Pa.: Intercollegiate Studies Institute, 1995), 75.

#Catholic #Christianity #quotes #Thomas E. Woods #Western Civilization #Cathedrals

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blueratgrmln · 3 months

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🌟OPEN DISCUSSION about the 2020's era of shipping culture, Sonadow in the Sonic Fandom, and how well-intended activism can circle back to the language and violence of oppressors 🌟 (Broken down into PARTS for the sake of readability and my own attention span lol. >>>FULL ESSAY HERE<<<) (>>>PREVIOUS PART HERE<<<)

PART 5

LANGUAGE AND VIOLENCE OF OPPRESSORS

Now is where I will delve into the connection between Sonadow shipping (and overall shipping) debates and how well-intentioned activism loops back into mimicking oppressors. Thinking about how Sonadow is historically important to the Sonic Franchise, the Sonic Fandom, LGBTQ+ Sonic Fans, and maybe even video game history as a whole, I feel major discomfort and even dread when I see so many people (particularly those that are young) throwing around very serious accusations at (fellow) Sonic Fans and (fellow) Sonic shippers. Accusations supporting pedophilia or pedophilia itself is one of the most egregious. I've seen it thrown at Sonadow shippers, Vector x Espio shippers because Vector is 20 and Espio is 16 (despite it being another extremely popular LGBTQ+ headcanon-ed ship due to lack of representation), and even Knuckles x Rouge because Rouge is 18 and Knuckles is 16. It strikes me as counterintuitive and unnecessary at least, and actively dangerous at most/worst, seeing fellow Queer people utilizing the morality-policing, fear tactics, surveillance methods, censorship mindset, and rhetoric/language of our oppressors and using those things against the people in their own communities. Realizing that long-time Sonadow fans who felt inspired to come out and be unapologetically Queer because of that specific ship have been facing harassment and slander from fellow Queer people (who are likely younger than them), getting called "pedos" or "dangerous" or "suspicious" or "unethical" over the mere act of creating representation and Queer Joy with fictional characters and seeking some sense of comfort while surviving homophobic environments...bluntly, my stomach is churned and my blood is boiled. The last thing we need in this rapidly backwards-turning world is more in-fighting within the broader LGBTQ+ community that distracts our thoughts, emotions, time, energy, organizing, education, community-building, and activism away from the oppressors who are causing us real-world tangible harm, suffering, and death.

A random teenager on the internet drawing fanart of Sonic and Shadow holding hands, or even random adults on the internet drawing suggestive art or outright porn of these characters, is NOT going to be the catalyst that rapidly or gradually normalizes pedophilia or inspires worldwide support for unethical relationships. And yes, this includes content about the "weirdo/unethical/dark" ships that are found in the shadowy fringes of the internet and Fandom spaces. I am uncomfortable with a lot of it myself. But those ships and the people that engage with them ALSO can't have the same level of impact and reach (key words: Same Level) that real life oppressive systems have to cause widespread suffering. The key difference that makes widespread abuse possible is that the real life oppressive systems are disguised as wholesome safe environments that develop trust and closeness with community members. Those oppressive systems and the harmful people that support them are usually NOT on the freaky/dark/weird fringes of society, they don't outwardly appear that way, and they demonize the "degenerates", not associate with any such label. The Catholic church institution is a big example, the institution covering up uncountable cases of their clergy members abusing minors while those clergy members are positioned as a pure, trusted facet of society that people actively look to for guidance, safety, and belonging.

At NO point am I ever going to say that everyone online is perfectly pure and that we should ignore everyone's behavior online. When we do encounter legitimate creeps causing harm to real people (not watered-down definitions of what being a creep means) we absolutely need to call them out and keep each other safe. HOWEVER, by pitting fellow Sonic Fans, fellow Queer people, fellow shippers against each other with this blanket "us vs them" mentality that overshadows the real life patterns and signs of how widespread oppression and real world harm happens, we end up accomplishing a lot of what our oppressors want anyway: divisions, distractions, and outright mimicking the violent language and behaviors that they display toward us at ourselves. This is the point where well-intentioned activism goes wrong and circles back around to oppression without meaning to.

Many people are super-duper-sure that they have dismantled all of their -isms and -phobias and now identify with labels and movements that are on the right side of history. But all of us STILL need to be aware of the fact that our thought patterns, behaviors, logic, and emotional responses can be tied to previously held beliefs and mindsets, and they can sometimes carry over and linger in our minds even after significant "character development". This is true even if we don't immediately realize it and think that we are a "safe person" within our own marginalized communities and for other marginalized communities. It can be really hard to identify if/when that is happening sometimes, but it is pertinent that we are actively checking in with ourselves, listening to constructive criticism, and cross-analyzing whether we are unintentionally mimicking the language, behaviors, and violence of our oppressors, and what effects that can have on the people in our shared communities and the people we care about.

PART 6 HERE

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art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament · 9 months

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SET SEVEN - ROUND ONE - MATCH SEVEN

"Painting 1946" (1946 - Francis Bacon) / "In The Grip Of Winter" (2017 - Rachel Wright)

PAINTING 1946: It’s a little spooky. A great portion of his art reflects the identity struggles he had as an Irish Catholic who was also gay ( I didn’t intend for all of my suggestions to relevant to queer issues but my subconscious knows ig). His art also involves a lot of similarity to those pictures where everything seems familiar but you can’t recognize anything, which is disorienting and yet draws you in. Painting 1946 was his reaction to WWII and a reflection on the brutality of war. The flesh shown is ambiguous and could be seen as farm animal or human. The man pictured invokes Neville Chamberlain, who promised peace by appeasing Hitler, but we know how that turned out. The butcher environment represents the metaphorical “consumption” of people in war, such as the young men sent to fight. (@weeweewhirlwind)

IN THE GRIP OF WINTER: [no additional commentary] (anonymous)

("Painting 1946" is an oil on linen painting by Francis Bacon. It measures 198 cm × 132 cm and is located at the Museum of Modern Art, in New York.

"In the Grip of Winter" is textile art created by Rachel Wright. It was posted to her instagram in 2017.)

#art that fucks you up tournament #polls #atfyu polls #id in alt text #cw gore #cw horror

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realcatalina · 11 months

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Random saints by Sittow or Catherine of Aragon's parents?

Read further if you wish to know what my theory is.

I first found this photo with mention it is by Sittow and at first I thought it is another portrait of Catherine. But quickly I realised this woman looks older and the features are not exactly the same.

The nose is much narrower. And I started to wonder...we know that Sittow painted at least one portrait of Queen Isabella I of Castile.

And she had such nose. I could exclude possibility some of Catherine's sisters looked like this too, but women in that family tended to be very young-looking for really long.

So the age of sitter already is suggesting that it could be based upon Isabella towards end of her life. And it is also odd for depiction of Virgin Mary to depict woman who is not young...it is point in Isabella's favour.

While many claim Sittow painted Isabella in 1485, he was only born in 1468/1469 and didn't even become indipended master until at least 1488. He is first recorded working in Toledo in 1492. So he'd always be only able to depict Isabella over age of 40. And tbh, if this is her..then she looks great for somebody over 40!

But where is this image? It took me while to track down.

It's detail from wings of theThe Passion Altarpiece (Tallinn), its middle part is from c.1515-1520(with some 17th century additions) by different artist.

But I am not so sure how accurate is the dating of the outer wings by Sittow(1518-1525) which are in very different style, and might have originally belong to different altar middle.

If it is indeed 1518-1525 dating, then imo they are posthumous depictions based upon earlier sketches done from life. Sittow reusing those old sketches, using them as inspiration for his later work.

Link to photos only. Left pannel: https://artsandculture.google.com/asset/the-passion-altarpiece-outer-wing-with-the-virgin-mary-and-apostle-james-the-greater-paintings-of-the-outer-side-of-the-wings-by-michel-sittow-and-his-workshop/BwFnRG1v6gRqmQ

Right pannel: https://arthive.com/artists/75951~Michel_Sittow/works/526786~Saint_Adrian_and_Saint_Anthony

As to where they are located?

-Niguliste Museum(housed in former St. Nicholas' Church), which is part of Art Museum of Estonia(which combines collections from 3 other buildings+ this church). Hence in Tallin, Estonia but be aware there is over 3 km distance in between the church and other buildings.

But if anybody could go there and get us some pictures it'd be great (if it is allowed). Currently Niguliste Museum has exhibition about Sittow:

But back to the pannels. The left one depicts Madonna(Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus) and St. James the Great(apostle and patron saint of Spain:

And please note that Tudor rose is combination of red and white rose and not always it was depicted as inner rose white, outer red. Sometimes they were halfed, with inner rose sometiems also switched.

Of course it could be some foreign coat of arms or later alteration.

Right pannel:

Here the coat of arms looks much newer and is probably altered(and if pomegranate turned out to be beneath it, I'd just die...)

The right pannel is depicting two male saints. On right is St Anthony the Great...was father of monasticism(of monastic life)...thus very important saint in christianity...

and on left St. Adrian of Nicomedia(2nd most popular military saint after St. George), and imo that's probably King Ferdinand II of Aragon:

It's not great likeness(brows not arched enough, looks bit slimmer, alla of nose not as defined), but overall it's enough of resemblence to not be able to exclude the possibility.

But if this is indeed done years after Sittow was in Spain...and he is reusing his old sketches of catholic monarchs to create this new religious scene(perhaps initially intended for them too, but never made into finished work before), then it is also possible that sketch done in pencil has partially rubbed off...and thus the differences in face of this male.

I think that if this was done while in Spain, such big differences are not very likely to occur. Not that pencil could not rub off, but I think Sittow would have noticed and cared about getting absolutely righ(to please his patrons) and thus would have corrected it.

Ehm, this kitty is supposed to be a lion:

But you must be wondering, if Isabella indeed had this most vivid golden hair colour I always go on and on about, why does she have red hair here?

Several options to pick from: Pigments going wrong, Isabella's hair possibly turning to more reddish hues towards end of her life, or simply discoloured pinkish varnish which was very oddly applied...and on baby's skin you can see where somebody applied only one layer and where they went with brush for 2nd time.

If entire pannel has this varnish on, then it'd affect the hair, turning it more red. Why would such varnish not be removed? Sometimes money is tight and museums have multiple paintings to care for and those paintings in fairly good condition have to wait longer.

And sometimes it is not possible to remove discoloured varnish without harming the painting beneath.

Also worth of nothing is that Virgin Mary's dress is typically not teal, but vividly blue, the very best most expensive most vivid blue pigments were very often reserved for depicting the Virgin Mary:

Sometimes due to budget cost cheaper substitues were used, and those tend to fade.

Hence imo the colours originally might have been intended to be more like this(yes, I photoshopped it):

(I didn't change damn thing about male figure, just brightened it. But tbh I played with the woman's dress, skin and hair for while.)

I mean if it looked like this now, fans of catholic monarchs would probably be all over it already.

But people overlook these dark slightly pinkish images located all the way in Estonia, even though it is atributed to Sittow himself!

(I don't mean people in Estonia, I mean people who search for Isabella's lost portrait by Sittow and stubbornly stuck to their favourite which is not even by Sittow!)

I honestly thought that people searching for lost portrait of Isabella by Sittow would have by now checked all his work, to see if perhaps she is there somewhere! Just doesn't look teen or young adult.

So I want you to be aware, if you're on quest of finding Isabella by Sittow's in that portrait with emerald necklace that this is imo the face you're looking for :

Possibly with hair bit more golden and skin more fair:

And it doesn't matter she doesn't look 20! She is still very beautiful.

Hence imo, these are Catherine of Aragon's parents, depicted in disguise of saints:

But I think they were likely painted years after Sittow left Spain, and his old sketches of them have been reused to create these pannels. I hope the experts will one day look more into this possibility.

I hope you've enjoyed this, and tell me what you think. Am I onto something or am I chasing shadows?

#historical portraits #isabella of castile #ferdinand of aragon #Isabella I of Castile #Ferdinand II of Aragon #sittow

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pinto-bean-writes · 26 days

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Welcome Y'all :)

My name is Pinto! Some of you may know me as @sydaney-foxay, my personal blog! I'm a silly little author, I usually write original works in the genres of Dark Fantasy and Realistic FIction with hints of fluffy-angsty Romance sprinkled within! Though I do occassionally write Fanfiction and do take requests, but more on that later on!

Name: Pinto Bean Age: Minor Pronouns: She/Her Sexuality: Heteromantic & Ace Socials: Wattpad, AO3, Neobook Race/Ethnicity: Half Filipino, Half British Religion: Catholic ✝

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Any type of hate, racism, homophobia, transphobia, body shaming, abelism ect, are PROHIBITED and will NOT BE TOLERATED.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ No NSFW/Explicit asks or images/videos in the Ask or Submissions box. They will immediately be DELETED.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Anybody younger than 13 reading/engaging with this blog WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. (Mutuals are an exception to this rule.)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Any asks or submissions about politics are PROHIBITED and will be DELETED.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ People older than 30 reading/engaging with this blog WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. (Family members, mutuals, and people granted personal permission are an exception to this rule.)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ If any work is marked "16+" please do take it upon yourself to make a responsible decision on wether to consume the piece of media or not.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ All trigger warnings will be mentioned, please do read those first and mind then when reading through a piece.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Anyone younger than 13. (Mutuals and family members are exempt from this rule)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Anyone older than 30. (Mutuals and family members are exempt from this rule)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ AI Art supporters.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Proshippers.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Homophobic, transphobic and fatphobic individuals.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ People who have public ownership of explicit/18+ media blogs.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ This silly shart sniffer /silly

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ People who showcase harmful/toxic behaviors and excuse it with religion (I.E: Toxic Christians, toxic Catholics)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Bots.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ People who spread religious hate.

If any of these describe you I highly suggest getting off my blog and to not interact with it.

..............................Fanfiction............................

As I mentioned before, I do take requests! Now I do wanna start this off by saying:

I consider myself an ORIGINAL AUTHOR. I mostly write ORIGINAL WORKS. Though those take quite a long time to come out and sometimes I want to write but not focus on larger, original projects- so I take REQUESTS and write MY OWN fanfictions, but those are LOW on the priority list. I spend the majority of my time writing WORKING ON ORIGINAL WORK, so I do want to say FANFICTION REQUESTS MAY TAKE A WHILE TO GET SENT OUT. Due to this, I want to thank you all in advance for your patience and support!

Now; onto the fun stuff!

Fanfiction requests will usually take about 1 week to come out, due to my focus on original work and the fact my writing is usually very long and detailed. I write for a plethora of fandoms and even though fanfiction is not my main focus, I try to put as much love and care into my fanfics as I do my original work!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Hazbin Hotel 🔥

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Helluva Boss 👿

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Cuphead 🥤

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Camp Camp 🌲

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ The Ghost and Molly McGee 👻

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Miss Peregrines Peculiar Children 🐣 (I have read all 6 books + watched the movie)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Stardew Valley 👩‍🌾

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sexy Brutale 🛌

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Court x Mort Saga 📚

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I DO WRITE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Character x Character ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Character x Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Platonic Character x Character ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Platonic Character x Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sibling Character x Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sick comfort ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Period/Menstruation comfort ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sibling comfort ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Headcanons ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Alternate timelines ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Alternate universes ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Alternate situations ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Hurt comfort ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ MILDLY suggestive fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I DON'T WRITE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sexually explicit NSFW (OF ANY AGES) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Incest ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Pedophelia ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Underage use of drugs and alcohol ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ SA scenes ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ The brutal murder of children ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Suicide ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Zoophilia

Side note:

My boundaries when writing fanfiction will not always align with my boundaries when writing original fiction. I want to respect the original piece of media and the creatives behind it- so I refrain from writing anything particularly heavy, intense, or mature that has not happened in the original piece or anything incredibly off-canon. I also know the large majority of those who read/request fanfiction are minors, and I want to be able to give them a place to read lots of fics without worrying about coming across anything particularly disturbing. Though with my original work, do expect much heavier topics to be referenced.

..........................Original Fiction........................

As I've stated before, I am an original author and I do plan on sharing my work here on this blog among other socials! My original work will usually take longer to release than fanfictions, so feel free to pop in aks about characters, plots, and things revealed through spoiler posts! The genres I write in are usually dark fantasy, realistic fiction, dark humor (if that counts), psychological thriller, psychological horror, dystopia, dark romance, and political fiction.

My original work may contain these things/topics: (Of course specialized Trigger Warnings will be placed on each piece according to the content of the writing)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Swearing ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Mental/Emotional/Physical Neglect ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Mental/Emotional/Physical Abuse ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Generally traumatic events ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Intense descriptions of blood, gore, and violence ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ The use of drugs and alcohol ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Underage use of alcohol ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Toxic romantic relationships ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ The mentions of sexual harassment/assault (The actual acts of assault are never described or written out. Only suggested.) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Cults/Cult-like organizations ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Death ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Violence ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Vomiting ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ MILDLY suggestiveness (MILD, meaning all characters are fully clothed, and there is never sexually intimate touching) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Vulnerable character (I.E: being drunk) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Child death ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Human cruelty ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ References made to specific types of drugs, alcohols, weapons, ect,

Another reminder:

All pieces of writing will have specific trigger warnings placed on them depending on the content of the piece. Not all of my original works will contain these specific topics if any at all- please read trigger warnings before consuming.

.......................Socials...................... ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Wattpad ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ AO3 ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neobook

Thank Ya'll :)

...to everyone who read through this and I do hope you stick around and follow to see what crazy shit I can whip up for y'all with nothing more than a Google Document and an ink cartridge filled with dreams!

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