#Little thumbling

[adarkrainbow]

I was reading this article about French paintings of fairytales, and I decided to share some of them with you! Because while France has a long and rich history of fairytale illustrations (the peak of the iceberg being Gustave Doré's illustrations of Perrault's fairytales), it also has several famous fairytale paintings. Some of these include...

Jean-Louis Demarne's "Little Thumbling" (Petit Poucet ; Hop o' my thumb)

And Fleury François Richard's Little Red Riding Hood:

But we also have an entire series of fairytale paintings created by a same artist, Jean-Antoine Laurent. Unfortunately a lot of these fairytale paintings were lost (we know he did a "Fairy Urgèle" and a "Little Red Riding Hood" lost today) but we have preserved some. Including his "Cinderella trying the glass slipper"...

... his "Cinderella" (sometimes called "Cinderella with the cat" to differentiate it from the painting above)...

... and his "Donkey skin".

[maimoncat]

Ma da dove viene la rima dell'orco?

"Ucci, ucci,

Sento odor di cristianucci!"

Potrebbe sembrare scontato chiederselo, abbiamo sentito tutti questi versetti mostruosi dalla bocca dell'orco di Pollicino o del gigante di Jack e il fagiolo magico. Ma a pensarci bene non possono venire da queste fiabe: l'orco non ha alcuna rima nel testo originale dei Racconti di Mamma Oca, di Charles Perrault, e nelle versioni inglesi, il gigante di Jack dice una filastrocca del tutto diversa da quella italiana: "Fee-fi-fo-fum/ I smell the bones of an englishman!". Già le parole iniziali non corrispondono per nulla nei suoni, ma piuttosto che alla fede ci si riferisce alla nazionalità (se volete saperne di più riguardo alla storia di quella filastrocca, potete leggervi questo post di @adarkrainbow). Tralaltro, l'uso di "cristiano" come sinonimo di "umano" è tipico di modi di dire ed espressioni italiane, quindi se anche fosse stato un adattamento dall'inglese, il traduttore dovrà aver saputo il fatto suo sul linguaggio fiabesco italiano.

E quindi? Da dov'è che sono spuntati fuori questi versetti? Io un'idea ce l'avrei, ma non so bene come siano arrivati alle altre fiabe, come abbiano raggiunto questa fama.

Fatto sta, che nel 1885 il famoso studioso di fiabe siciliano Giuseppe Pitrè pubblica la raccolta novelle popolari toscane, tra le quali spicca per noi la n. XXIV, Il diavolo fra i frati, raccontata da Rosina Casini a Fabbriche. Per chi conoscesse le fiabe dei Grimm, questa è una versione del Diavolo dai tre capelli d'oro: un re si ammala, il suo servo fedele va alla ricerca della cura, una penna di una bestia favolosa, e sul suo cammino incontra tanti disgraziati che gli chiedono penne e consigli; questi li riesce a prendere la moglie della bestia, che, nascosto il servo dalla fame del marito, gli strappa le penne per "svegliarlo e chiederli cosa significhino i suoi sogni". Ora, la bestia, entrata a casa grida:

"Mucci mucci, /Oh che puzzo di cristianucci!/ O ce n’è, o ce n’è stati,/ O ce n’è de’ rimpiattati."

ed eccola qua, la rima orchesca! Perché anche se in altre fiabe la "bestia piumata" è qualcosa come un grifone, in questa storia ha proprio il comportamento da orco. Lo pensava anche Calvino quando inserì la novella tra le sue Fiabe Italiane cambiò il titolo in L'orco con le penne, mantenendo sempre la filastrocca:

"Mucci mucci, / Qui c'è puzza di cristianucci / O ce n'è, o ce n'è stati / O ce n'è di rimpiattati."

Anche se non tutti la conoscono, la sua raccolta ebbe una grande influenza nella conoscenza degli italiani del loro patrimonio fiabesco. La Prezzemolina di Imbriani è abbastanza conosciuta, e dalla stessa raccolta è anche tratta la fiaba che ispirò la miniserie televisiva Fantaghirò. Probabilmente è da questa raccolta di Calvino che la filastrocca è entrata nell'immaginario fiabesco generale degli orchi.

In realtà ci sono anche altri aspetti che il Pollicino che conosciamo noi possa esser stato influenzato da Calvino. Una delle prime traduzioni di Perrault, da parte di Collodi, rende il nome Petit-Poucet come Puccettino. Mentre le fiabe italiane hanno sia un Pulcino (nell'omonima fiaba pugliese, uguale per trama a quella francese) e un Pollicino (citato solo come sposo nelle rime di Gallo Cristallo).

Però per accertarsi di queste cose bisognerebbe controllarne altre edizioni di queste fiabe. Se qualcuno riesce a scovarne, ce lo faccia pure sapere!

Provo a metter 'sta roba anche in inglese, magari interessa a qualcuno:

You know that rhyme the giants in english fairy tales say? "Fee-fi-fo-fum/I smell the bones of an englishman!" Well, we have a similar one in italy: "Ucci, ucci/ sento odor di cristianucci!" "Ucci, ucci/ I smell little christians" (for the longest time "cristiano" was used as a synonym to human. It still is by some people). It gets mostly used in Perrault's Little Thumbling by the ogre or in Jack and the beanstalk by the giant. But it doesn't come from these stories. Perrault didn't use any rhymes and the verses from Jack are way too different.

So where did this come from? I might have an idea, but I'm not entirely certain how it reached national knowledge.

Point is, in 1885 the great sicilian folk tale scholar Giuseppe Pitrè published a collection of tuscan folk tales, novelle popolari toscane. Of these, n. XXIV, Il diavolo fra i frati (the devil among friars), told by Rosina Casini from Fabbriche, sticks out to us. For those of you familiar with the Grimms' tales, this is a version of the Devil with the three golden hairs: a king gets sick, his faithful servant sets out to find the cure, a feather from a magic beast, and on his way he finds many unfortunate people, asking for magic feathers and solutions as well. These are all coaxed out from the feathered beast by his helpful wife, who wakes him at night by pulling his feathers and telling him of "the weird dreams she just had!". Now, when this beast frist comes home, it says this:

"Mucci mucci, /Oh che puzzo di cristianucci!/ O ce n’è, o ce n’è stati,/ O ce n’è de’ rimpiattati." ("Mucci, mucci/ oh what stink of little christians!/ There either are, or there have been,/ or there are hidden away.")

There it is, our ogrish rhyme! Because even if this "feathered beast" is in some versions of the story a griffin, it has the same behavior of an ogre. Which is why, when Italo Calvino put this tale among his Italian folk tales, he changed the title to the feathered ogre, while keeping tge verses:

"Mucci mucci, / Qui c'è puzza di cristianucci / O ce n'è, o ce n'è stati / O ce n'è di rimpiattati."

While not everyone knows this collection, it had a big influence in italians being more in-touch with their body of fairy tales. Imbriani's Prezzemolina is fairly well known now, and the same collection also contains the fairy tale that inspired the "Cave of the golden rose" miniseries, Fantaghirò. It's probably Calvino's collection that brought a regional expression to a broader audience.

Calvino might have influenced in other ways the italian reception of little Thumbling as well: one of the first translations of this tale, by Carlo Collodi, keeps the sound of the original name (Petit Poucet) as Puccettino. The now well-known form Pollicino can be found in Calvino as a rhyming name in Crystal Rooster and in a similar form in an apulian version of Perrault's story (Pulcino, Chick).

Though, to be sure we'd need to check more editions

[eventyrforalle]

Gustave Doré (1832-1883)

Illustrasjoner til det franske folkeeventyret “Tommeliten” fra Charles Perrault.

Les eventyret på EventyrForAlle.no: https://eventyrforalle.no/charles-perrault/cp008

Illustrations for the French folk tale “Little Thumb” from Charles Perrault.

[adarkrainbow]

I was not expecting a Little Thumbling illustration to become part of a Dracula art set...

... but at the same time, the seven ogresses are said to drink blood

The Annotated Dracula, 1975 (Wilfried Sätty)

[lexa-griffins]

I love how we went full pentagram with incubus Clarke from horny to happy ending 😌 Their menace demon baby reminds me of farm Madi

See and you guys say im an angst demon when o always give you guys horny moments and happy endings 😌

The demon baby is farm Madi if you took how her lovable demeanor, grabbed Clarke's grumpiness, Lexa's no feelings attitude and then put it in a little guman with baby horns who will only smile at their moms 😌

[katealpha]

Art by Thumble_Art

In this little comic strip we find Thumble’s fan favorite character Lani waking up after being visited during her vacation to Greece. The visitor in question was so attractive and charming that Lani couldn’t help herself, and the two had some fun. Afterwards as she fell asleep, she couldn’t notice the man change into an eagle and fly away while the side effects of their one night stand began to quicken….a lot.

Now Lani stands in her bathroom mirror, feeling a bundle of demigods fighting for space within her belly, as she comes to grips with the fact that the Greek mythology she read about in school was all true, and that she was in a myth of her own now.

[jackles010378]

Eyes on me

Jensen Ackles x Y/n

Y/n is extremely bored while Jensen's on a zoom call, so she decides to try and catch his attention............

Warnings : slight smut (it's purely fluffy smut) Y/n being a tease 🤭

Y/n watched as Jensen's attention remained fixed on his Zoom call, his eyes glued to the screen as he engaged in his professional discussion. She had been trying to get his attention for the past hour, but he seemed completely absorbed in his work. He had only been home a few hours. He'd been away filming his latest project and was only home for a few days, but with a quick hug and peck to her lips Jensen left Y/n standing in the kitchen to go and attend a zoom meeting.

Frustration bubbled up inside her as she thought of how to grab his attention. She stomped upstairs to their shared bedroom slamming the door behind her. With a huff she sat on the edge of the bed. Then an idea popped into her mind. With a grin on her face she walked out the bedroom and walked straight into his office.

She tried making silly faces, mouthing "I love you," and even attempted to distract him with cute notes scribbled on paper. Nothing seemed to work. She left his office with a new determination, knowing what would catch Jensen's attention.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Y/n decided on one last attempt. She slipped into her most alluring outfit, a form-fitting lingerie set that accentuated all her curves and left little to the imagination. She walked back into Jensen's office wearing a silk robe. As she stood in front of Jensen, she prayed that this would finally catch his eye.

Jensen, engrossed in his call, glanced up briefly, noticing Y/n's presence, he looked confused as to why she had changed into a robe, he quickly returned his focus back to the screen. Y/n's heart sank for a moment, but she refused to give up. As she sauntered closer to him, she untied the robe letting it fall to the floor, ensuring he had a clear view of her ensemble.

This time, Jensen's eyes widened in surprise as he registered Y/n's attire. His jaw dropped slightly, and a faint blush and nervous smile crept up his cheeks. Y/n finally had his attention. As she walked closer to him, he held the screen with one hand trying to hide her from view as she got dangerously closer.

After a few moments of silence, and a slight adjustment in his trousers, Jensen excused himself from the call, his colleagues none the wiser about the distraction that had caused his sudden departure.

He pulled Y/n onto his lap, she straddled him as he started whispering how stunning she looked and how he couldn't believe he had been so oblivious to her attempts at getting his attention. He apologised for ignoring her and left feather light kisses on her collarbone. Y/n hummed in delight at the feeling of his lips on her body.

Just as Y/n started to gently rock into Jensens hips, Jensen stood up abruptly making Y/n yelp with surprise, his strong arms wrapped around her and her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as they kissed their way to the bedroom. He lay her gently on the bed as he crawled above her. He slowly pulled her underwear down her legs, savouring the sight of her glistening core on show just for him. Stripping out of his shirt and thumbling with the button on his jeans, Y/n giggled at his clumsiness, she sat up and helped him rid him of his clothes.

Jensen crawled his way up her body, kissing every part of exposed skin his lips could reach until he found her lips. Y/n's hands ran over his scalp, lightly scratching as deep groan came from Jensen. He knew that there was no time for foreplay tonight, he needed to be connected to her, he needed to feel her straight away.

He gazed deeply into her eyes as he entered the warmth of her entrance. As soon as he was fully inside of her, he knew he was home. Y/n's eyes rolled backwards as he settled inside her. She had missed him, she had missed his touch, his smile, his laugh. He set a slow pace, he wanted to take his time with his girl. He hadn't seen her for a while so he wanted it to last for as long as he could.

Seeing and hearing Y/n's pleasure made Jensen feel elated. He'd missed her, missed making love to her. Missed the feeling of her underneath him, writhing with pleasure as he drew out moan after moan. He had missed waking up with her in his arms and he had missed that gorgeous smile that she only had for him.

They had missed the way their bodies molded together as if they had been made for each other. Two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly and in sync with each other. If he could, he would stay in this moment with her forever. As he drew the last orgasm from her, it tipped him over the edge as he spilled into her.

Jensen stayed hovering above her for a moment taking in her flushed expression, her hair fanned out on the pillow, the look of pure bliss on her face. He caught her lips in a slow passionate kiss as he pulled out of her. He lay beside her, his arms reaching out for her, pulling her closer to him. Jensen and Y/n lay there, a tangle of body parts and bedsheets both feeling fully satisfied. Jensen was happy to be home, happy to be with his girl, hoping one day he would pluck up the courage to ask that one special question.

As for Y/n, as they lay in bed, embraced in each other's arms, she realised that sometimes a bold move was necessary to shake things up and remind the ones we love of the importance of being present in the moment. And in that moment, with Jensen's undivided attention on her, she knew their bond had only grown stronger, and hopefully one day she would be his forever.

Took me ages to finish this and I'm quite proud of it, may not make much sense, but I saw that gif and knew I needed to write something like this, I hope you guys enjoyed it 🥰

TAGLIST : @nescavaneckdaily @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @angelbabyyy99 @cheynovak @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33

[paris-writes]

Although it sometimes feels tough to be a god, to tread where mortals never trod, to be defied (when really you're a scam)...

Any normal human would bridle if they were forced to be an idol, and a normal human is exactly what I am.

(The mosquito population sinks after my deification)

You realize you should’ve done something about the spiders in your attic before they multiplied, gained intelligence and started a civilization. Recently they started worshipping you as their deity.

[an-au-blog]

Buggy accidentally detaching body parts around Shanks to be closer to him tough without him even noticing he’s doing it.

Imagining Teen Shanks getting up at night and untangling himself from his friends octopus wrap „Lemme go… I gotta piss.“ „Mnnng“. Making his way towards the bathroom and relieving himself groggily, thumbling towards the old washbasin to clean his hands off. Raises his head to look at his exhausted face in the mirror, eyes still small and full of sleep, hair mussed up on one side and the imprint of the pillow still on his face, a little cut on his face he got from his first attempt at trying to shave last week, a ghostly detached hand that clings to his shoulder, clinging harder to the fabric of his shirt as it starts to loose its grip for a second-

Shanks gets teased for waking up the entire crew with his screaming even months after that night.

Ahahaha yes! I love this concept!

Also after waking up, Buggy not wanting to get up, so Shanks is dragging his arms around, whether wrapped around him or hanging from him. It becomes a normal thing for the crew but every so often, whenever they get invaded or someone new comes on the ship it scares the shit out of them. Just some kid with a pair of dismantled limbs around his torso.

I can also see Buggy acting mad at Shanks (when he's not actually that angry) and trying to storm off but only hid upper half moves and his feet just stay there, betraying him.

This, however, could potentially be bad for him in battle when he's scared and feels frozen.

Imagine,

They're fighting someone and he's there petrified. Some guy cuts him in half through the stomach. Buggy falls down and tries to crawl away because his legs don't work. Everything is in slow motion and he can't breath. He's panicking. He doesn't know what to do, even if he did it would be too late - the guy who cut him is already swinging again. He closes his eyes and protects his face with his hands. But the blow never comes.

When he opens his eyes he sees Shanks has started fighting the guy who attacked him.

This often leads to conversations like

Buggy: I can fend for myself, you know!

Shanks: Well it didn't seem like it. I was just trying to help why are you mad at me?

Buggy: It's not like they could kill me by chopping me, remember? Plus what do you care?

Shanks: Why do I care for my best friend?

Buggy never thinking they were regular friends, not to mention best friends: ... wtf is wrong with you *storming off because he doesn't know how to genuine affection*

(his feet are still in the room and the arm Shanks was holding is also)

[writing-whump]

Sensory Overload part 2

@bellysoupset I love your tags, wanted to write this one right away 🙈 part 2 of this fic

Arnie was glaring at the clock. It was almost midnight. Which wasn't unusual for Hector on a work day, but for a day off? He didn't message him to warn him - he didn't in fact even have his phone with him.

Arnie paused the movie, not being able to concentrate, biting at his fingernails. He hated moments like these when Hector was missing, but maybe not, and even if he was, Arnie would be able to do nothing about it.

Looking at his phone, even Arnie's messages to Isaiah stayed unread. If he called, would he pick up? Isaiah usually picked up if it was one of them even 3 o'clock in the morning...but was it worth bothering him for a suspicion?

Fortunately the door opened in that moment, Arnie's heart jumping with relief.

"Took you long enough. A run of 4 hours, rea- Hex?"

The door felt shut, followed by a loud thumbling noise of something heavy against the floor. Arnie shot up to his feet.

Hector was sprawled in their entry hall, the light switched off. Staring at the ceiling like he could see the starts through it?

"Are you hurt?" Arnie said in confusion, crouching down by his older brother's side.

"Nope. Everything's fine. More than fine." His speech was a little slurred and he had...an almost victorious smile on his face. Then his jaw flexed and he gulped down.

Arnie raised an eyebrow at him. "What are you doing? Are you drunk?"

"Noooope. No way. Don' do drunk..."

"And why are you still on the floor?" Arnie got up to flip the light on.

Hector growled at that like an injured bear, curling around his side.

Arnie quickly shut the light off again. "Okay, now you are scaring me."

That had Hector lifting himself up on one arm, the other unconsciously held against his stomach. "Got a bit dizzy, 's all. Light show...stupid lights and dots kept moving..." He swallowed heavily like something got stuck in his throat.

"Light show, eh?" Arnie sank down to his knees beside him, offering an arm. "Come on. Let's get you in bed then."

Hector looked a bit confused, like Arnie had more than one arm to offer and he couldn't decide which was the right one, before taking it. Arnie helped him up.

Hector immediately swayed, crashing against the wall for support.

"Are you sure it's just that? Weren't you hurt? Poisoned? Any silver?"

Hector shook his head, then groaned and pressed his fingers against his eyes. "I'm fine. Just got a bit worse on the stairs."

Together, they stumbled their way to Hector's bedroom at snail pace. Hector kept swinging at random times, missing the walls and the door.

Arnie let out a big sight of relief when he got him to sit down on the bed. "You. Don't move." He steadied Hector with hands on his shoulders until the wolf could hold his position.

Despite Hector panting and blinking his eyes too quickly between shutting them down, there was an air...of something happy about him. The grumbly offended frustration from earlier was gone, and there was a constant small smile tugging at Hector's lips.

Arnie squinted at him. Hector was by all means and purposes, not a smily person. Smiles from him were rare and served specific purposes.

This one wasn't the shark smile of winning a fight or the teasing downright ridiculing cruel smile for enemies. Or the arrogant grin he wore for meetings to be reassuring. Or the tender smile reserved for special occasions for Isaiah or the proud one for Arnie.

This smile, Arnie didn't know.

"Are you gonna tell me what happened or just keep grinning like an idiot all night?" Arnie said in annoyance.

"That was a very good run," Hector said. The smile took on a teasing edge, then morphed back almost a wistful dreamlike quality.

Arnie rolled his eyes. "Just awesome. For your information, you are totally talking like a drunk." He got to the task of undoing Hector's sneakers.

Somewhere at the second shoe, Hector stiffened suddenly, hanging his head.

Arnie froze as well. "What is it?"

Hector held up a finger, tilting his head to the side. His throat bobbed and Arnie could see from his position on the floor how his stomach muscles contracted under his tight black shirt.

"Are you gonna be sick?"

Hector shrugged like he wasn't sure, way too unconcerned in Arnie's opinion. His whole frame heaved and Arnie jumped back to not get puked on.

A loud wet burp came up.

Arnie sighed. "Jesus."

Hector let his hands sink, fingers curling into the sheets. "Still feeling a bit-" he gagged, shoulders hitching, but it was empty. "Pukey."

"You don't say," Arnie said dryly. "You think laying down will help or make it worse?"

"Wanna try," Hector said, blinking at Arnie like he couldn't do it himself.

What's gotten into him? Arnie complied though, pushing Hector's chest down onto the bed, then lifted his legs one after the other.

"Uhmmm...you are...uuurp...really good little brother, you know that?" Hector had that silly big smile on his face again, looking up the ceiling all wide-eyed and happy.

"Yeah, yeah." Arnie stood above him, hands on his hips, torn and undecided how worried he should be.

Hector frowned, a nausous grimace taking over, rolling through his face like a wave. He closed his mouth shut but his throat jostled with another gag, stomach spasming and letting go.

Arnie croched down at his side again. "Still doing that? So weird."

Hector rubbed at his stomach through his sweaty shirt. "Uhmmm....it's upset."

Arnie hunted down a the room's trashcan in response, ready on the ground next to Hector's head. "Right here, if you need it."

Hector's back rolled with another sickly gas bubble. He rubbed at his temples, pressing against them like he wanted to claw them out. "I can still see the fucking sun erupting in my head."

"Yep, that's annoying. No light shows for you, man."

Arnie got up, his legs falling asleep. He was getting tired from the worry and the relief.

Hector stirred without opening his eyes. "Stay?"

Arnie rubbed the back of his head. It was so rare for Hector to be so mushy. "Sure. Just let me brush my teeth."

A sleep wave was pulling him as he climbed up next to Hector on the bed. He had to navigate his way through the dark since Hector moaned pitifully at any light.

Hector immediately rolled closer, a heavy overheated arm around Arnie like he wanted to secure an anchor in the stormy sea.

"'s not scared of me," Hector murmured, half-asleep.

Arnie patted the hand on his waist with a sigh. Maybe he would be able to sleep better tonight.

[adarkrainbow]

The art of Perrault (1)

I found this fascinating article on an art-and-museum website talking about the few times Charles Perrault's fairytales entered the world of art. It's entirely in French, but for those non-French speakers I thought of sharing some elements and points made by the article.

First and foremost, their talk of the Gustave Doré illustrations, THE most famous illustrations of Perrault's fairytales to this day.

A few contextual reminders. We are in the 19th century, the time of nationalism, where each country focused onto itself, explaining the boom of interest for national folktales and fairytales. The literary Romanticism had also started to enter the world of the art - in the British world it was through the Victorian "fairy painting" wave of the 1850s and 1860s. And in France, right as the business of illustrated books and precious engravings is soaring, we got the Gustave Doré illustrations for Perrault.

The book they come from is the Pierre-Jules Hetzel Contes de Perrault edition of 1861 (illustrations by Gustave Doré, preface by P.-J. Stahl). It contains the eight prose tales of Perrault, from his Histoires ou Contes du temps passé (Sleeping Beauty, Little Red Riding Hood, Bluebeard, Puss in Boots, Cinderella, Little Thumbling, Toads and Diamonds, Riquet with the tuft), plus a prose version of Donkey Skin. The book contains 40 illustrations, all based on models and drawings of Doré, though done by several engravers that were selected by both Hetzel and Doré: François Pannemaker, Héliodore and Anthelme Pisan. In 1861 the engravings themselves were shown, on their own, at the art Salon de peinture et sculpture (the huge yearly artistic event of 19th century France) - they were destined for collections, be them the personal collections of Doré and his engravers, or those of wealthy collectors.

The order of the fairytales was changed in this edition, which decided to go: Little Red Riding Hood, Little Thumbling, Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Puss in Boots, Riquet with the tuft, Donkey Skin, Diamonds and Toads, and Bluebeard at the end.

The Bibliothèque Nationale of France and the Musée d'art moderne et contemporain of Strasbourg have both preserved precious photographies which were taken (by Nadar and Michelez) of the original wood-drawings Doré made for these illustrations. Doré had them exposed at the Louis Martinet galerie, and these photos are VERY precious because they are the only trace we have of Doré's original plans for these pictures - as well as the only way we can know of what changes and modifications the engravers brought to them.

Doré's illustrations reveal many things. First and foremost, how fairytales clearly were not just for children at the time. While he tries to stay true to the letter of Perrault's stories, Doré still uses a Romantisme noir style (dark Romanticism), offering dramatic, phantasmagorical, almost oppressive visions. The complex engravings play on the lights and the shadows, on the size of the characters and those of the landscape ; they also make heavy use of the monstrous and the uncanny. In the Little Thumbling illustrations, there is an effort to convey the loneliness and anguish of the characters - the forest is endless, dark and scary, swallowing the children... The compositions are however still very detailed, with a lot of accumulations, because they are to be beautiful and aesthetically pleasing. For example, the picture of Bluebeard's wife receiving the keys shows a lot of precious cloth and a varied jewelry - and this overbearing of the decorum, mixed with the unusual appearance of Bluebeard (especially his gaze) all conveys the tragedy that is unfolding here.

By opposition to these scenes of cruelty and tragedy, Doré makes several more "peaceful" illustrations. Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella are still filled with mystery and disturbingness, but they are rather dominated by the sweetness of the two young women. Doré doesn't limit himself to strong and isolated characters, on the contrary he creates an entire "decorative universe" just to have his characters fit into a narrative. The overabundance of tiny details causes an almost unconscious reverie, making the audience almost "re-discover" Perrault texts anew.

The illustrations of Doré caused the massive success of the Hetzel edition, and very quickly these pictures became part of popular culture, influencing the way Perrault's fairytales were perceived up to this day.

[rreskk]

Hi, Trevor fingerfuck the reader until she squirts, a little overstimulation maybe... can you?

A/N: Absolutely! Thank you for the request <3

Summary: He hates being awake when you're asleep, so he does something about it.

TW: -Smut

Word count: 1680

Pairings: Fem!reader/Trevor Philips

He was lied on his bed, boredom completely frying his brain as well as the profanity of drugs he had taken the hours beforehand. You were crashed out beside him – legs tangled, clothes off; stripped naked from the nightly activities. It was early morning (6am) and he was woken up by his insufferable insomnia. Trevor just wanted to sleep peacefully. He’d glance at your exposed chest with eager eyes, but you were fast asleep. He doesn’t blame you, not at all. You experienced it rough and raw, with pleasure, and with love (from Trevor himself).

“When the fuck you gonna wake up, huh?” He’d huff at your sleepy frame, his fingers tingling for some action. His high sex drive had led you into becoming his ultimate obsession, his complete favourite person, favourite girl – His girl.

 “I’m getting’ so… Horny, baby.”

Yet you remained breathing heavily asleep. A sigh left his lips and he slumped back against the pillows. Waking up to the sight of your breasts and frame had led him no justice. He was yearning and struggling to cope with it. Too much of him is throbbing; hands, boner, lips, tongue.

God… Trevor needed to taste you. He wonders if you taste or react differently when asleep… He wonders if you’d love it as much as you were awake.

Struggling to settle back down, he clicked his tongue and stared up to the ceiling. Every time he stares at the tile patterns, there’s always something new to see. For years he’s been making shapes out of the ceilings material. He hoped to find something worth his curiosity, going through the efforts of rotating and tilting his head.

“I swear I saw an outline of tits last week…” Trevor murmured and squinted at the ceiling.

But there was too many shapes to count. His drug-fuelled brain couldn’t handle the pressure and he immediately sulked back against the mattress, in a bitter mood with himself for feeling bored and alone. You were right there, within arm reach, within hand reach… He’d shake you awake with a rough, passionate kiss – Why doesn’t he?

He observed your sleepy face and found it incredibly endearing and divine. The urge to cradle and toy with your sensitive areas was quite frankly huge. Trevor stared at your sleepiness and shuffled closer so his bare crotch was subtly buried between your ass and curves. He grunted. The warmth wasn’t enough.

“C’mon… I’m starvin’ for you, baby. Wake up, for me? Yeah?” He’d whisper against your absent ears, slowly entrancing his arms around your waist. Trevor possessively clenched your stomach – his hands greeting each other and captivating you into his embrace.

Resting his chin upon your shoulder, his eyes remained fixated on your unconscious face as his fingers slowly trickled down your stomach, thumbling under the covers and reintroducing himself with your sex. His thumb gracefully caresses your folds and aching for some more coverage. There was no response from your sleepy figure yet; a sign to carry on experimenting.

“Wakey wakey…”

Trevor added pressure to his thumb that migrated from your outer area, routing through your privacy and groaning at how warm, but also wet you were, already… He cackled, that horrific breath penetrating your earlobes as he had a natural response from your body. With the wetness seeping quickly, his thumb was able to access your sex deeper until it was fully applied – earning a breathy gasp from your departed lips.

His eyes met your closed ones. You were still asleep, cutely.

“You’re killin’ me, sugar… I miss you. Wake up, c’mon… I’ll treat you real nice,” There was desperation behind his pleads. He cradled your body, his thumb still exploring through your throbbing pussy. The Adams apple based in his neck quivered in torment – “I love you, I love your cunt, I love your fuckin’ tits, babe. Lemme love you, I want you awake.”

He acutely leaned down, biting your shoulder with this hand continuing the hard-labour under the stained sheets. Trevor’s tongue tasted the salty sweat from your skin as his teeth grazed the surface.

“Wake up…”

Your body arched into Trevor’s hips. Whether this was self-projected, he whined and panted like a loose dog. He couldn’t hold himself back. You were practically pulsing around his thumb, something told him you were crying for more. He knew you wouldn’t mind… This wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence, but it has happened before; more than once. Trevor had found himself drooling over your exhaustion (some evenings ago) and “helped” wake you up, spiritually.

This occurrence though? He was eager, almost dying for you to wake up and whisper pleads.

“I wanna make you squirt so hard…” His hands carried on smoothing your sex as he gasped for some dignity, chin dug into the nuzzle of your neck.

Adding a second finger to support his thumb, Trevor cruelly molested your clit. His wrist was circulating at great pace. He kept his sights on you, noticing slight disturbance in your peace and grinning. He loved you faster until his arm was using all it’s muscles to contract some pleasure and aggression.

“C’mon…”

Your lips would twitch and your nostrils flared.

“Wake up, [y/n].”

Your tongue slithered through your cracked lips in anticipation.

“That’s right…” Trevor watched your eyes flutter open lazily, “There’s my girl.”

The welcome invitation of his fingers groping your cunt had roused your consciousness and comprehension. You rotated your head and exhaled as he stared back at you, breathing heavily and his saliva painfully falling from the side of his monstrous mouth.

“Trevor…” You gravely moaned and opened your legs wider.

He nodded frantically; “I know, I know. Lemme love you, c’mon. Squirt for me, girl.”

You gaped your maw and your gob was silenced by the offering of his gnarly fingers that crookedly overstimulated your pussy. The beating and bashing rapidly made you gamble out his name.

“Trevor! Fuck!”

His boredom had been replaced momentarily with determination and thrill of your soft voice. He pressed soft kisses behind your ear, one hand grasping your stomach while the other perverted your cunt into proceeding blissful donations of your seeping attraction, the wetness submerging into a wider mess. It had you pivoting around your own world.

“You’re so hot,” Trevor giggled, indirectly talking, “Keep moaning, babe, keep doing it… You like this? C’mon, say it… You love this, don’t cha?”

“Yes, yes… Oh! Oh, please! I can’t…”

“You can.”

“Trevor – “

He found ultimate joy in your pretty little struggles, “You make me so fuckin’ happy, [y/n]. Keep taking in my finger with your sexy cunt, yeah? I’ll fuck your tits next, isn’t that right babe?”

Words had failed to apprehend his playful Baptism of your sex. You were left whispering inaudible cries; something along the lines of – “Please” and “Oh fuck.” But it barely made it out of your throat without the affects of his mannerism. Trevor had found his morning enjoyments with this, giddy as life, and he is never giddy about waking up.

“I love you so fuckin’ bad, you know that? You saint, you Goddess, my God…” His fingers sped up, squelching and substituting your inner warmth, “I want you… Shit, I-I need you. I can’t live without your pussy, babe. Shittt, I need to fuck you after this, hm? C’mon, you want the good old Trevor lovin’?”

“Please, p-please!”

Your back had fully arched into Trevor’s chest, grinding for some friction and warmth between the skin-to-skin contact. You were still barely awake, but it didn’t matter since he was working for it, the hard-labour and mobility behind his criminal hand making you feel so unlawfully lucky. Trevor may have killed with his hands – it only makes it more exciting and “naughty.”

He loves a bit of naughtiness;

Touching without your word.

Whining for your attention.

Tormenting your peace.

Then using his raging sex-addicted body to defuse any deprived tension.

He loved it all. And you did.

“You’re so wet.”

He fingered and fingered as you whinged and wailed his name. The continuous art of his fingers had probably caused internal bruising in your cunt for the next few days, especially after his repeated visit with his cock and tongue. The days straight of intimacy never outgrew as boring. Instead, it grew boring without having each other’s spit and semen buried within each other. It was his affection and it was your love confession.

“I’m gonna – “ You were instantly shut up when he nibbled your earlobe again. Trevor grunted and creepily traced his name with his fingertip upon your stomach. You could tell considering he was heaving out the letters. He imagined tattooing and permanently marking you with his name all over your used body, so immensely beautiful to his fantasies.

“Trevor, please…” You croaked.

“Trevor, please…” He mocked heavily before kissing your cheek and relentlessly loving your pussy.

“Mhm, no. M’no, stop. I need to cu – Baby! Please, don’t stop.”

“Almost there…”

“Trevor! TREVOR!”

He fingered through your climax. Trevor gasped in delight when you outspread your legs and a raging rampage of your fluids squirting out, wetting the mattress and duvets.

“FUCK!” Cried your tainted and shattered voice. It felt like an intense wave of relief washing over your stomach and chest. Butterflies had lilted from your heart to your throat, moaning sweet lullabies to his ears while you continued squirting out the remainder of your cum.

“That’s right, baby. That’s so fuckin’ hot.”

Trevor felt you dumbly sink into the pillows after you had managed to climax every ounce of your sexual depravity. He smothered your neck with sloppy kisses and praises.

“[y/n], fuck me, girl! That was so sexy, you fuckin’ tiger, ay?” His tone uplifted childishly.

“Trevor, fuck…”

“I know, baby, I know,” A hand caressed your collarbone and shoulder, “Still needy? Still horny for more? How ‘bout my cock, huh? You want me to fuck the life outta your tits and cunt, [y/n]?”

You nodded pathetically.

“Please, yes, yes.”

He giggled and massaged your jaw.

“Alright. Wake up, baby. Uncle T is now fuckin’ coming.”

[legacyshenanigans]

To the anon that asked for an Ominis version of "Thoughts of you" Here you go.

Thoughts of you💚

Ominis edition, Mature, Masturbation, character of age, Just a short to the point drabble of Ominis having a private moment.

Ominis and you had sat together all of potions class, you were particularly flirty and touchy with him today, which he enjoyed a little too much truth be told.

Once class had finished he quickly took himself off to one of the toilets, after making sure nobody was in there first, he entered the cubicle and locked the door behind him, leaning his back and head against it "Fuck" he whispered under his breath, thumbling with the button of his pants to release his cock, he took himself in his hand and began stroking, his clouded eye's looking up towards the ceiling as he thought about how your touch and voice made him feel. Small breathless moans escaping. He bit his bottom lip and furrowed his brows as he tugged harder, the slick sound of his eager stroking filling the cubicle, he leant forward, now with one hand on the back wall, and the other continuing to pleasure himself, his head suddenly felt hot, he could still hear your voice in his head, he was loosing it, with a final half suppressed groan it happend, he panted and rode out his release for a moment while he gathered his thoughts, If this is how potions class is going to be from now on, he'd better get use to moments like this.

[lollipencil]

High Tide: Part 3

Originally this part was going to be completly different, but then I rewatched Werewolf By Night and this popped into my head.

Enjoy and be gentle ---

From the murky corner of the tank he was being held in, Steven knew he was screwed. For two whole days, he'd watched as monsters of different sizes and shapes were dragged, kicking and wailing, from the room he was in to the set of double doors just to his left. Few came out again. And those who did were always missing something.

Clumps of feathers. Patches of skin. Teeth. Whole limbs. And based on the looks of the people who stopped in front of his tank in the last couple of hours, Steven was next.

---

When the tank was carried through the double doors, the tears finally came. Warming the water around his eyes, he sliently wept as the surgical theater was revealed to him. Blood still covered the table as the man finished screwing in the specially made straps. Steven started to unconsciously shake his head, as if that little sign of intelligence was enough to stop them. But, the men turned to him, drills replaced by cattle prods, and began to unlatch the tank's lid.

Thud!

The sound startled both the men and Steven. They turned from him, focused on the doors. Faintly, human screams could be made out along with snarls and roars. Then, for just a moment, silence.

Suddenly, a wooden table came soaring through the doors. It clonked both the men in the head, one harder than the other. Both went down like boulders. A massive green body with bright red eyes strode in with purpose toward the one man who was still awake. He scrambles on the red-slick tiles, before the creature's hand clamps down on his head. The man's screams seemed crystal-clear to Steven as he watched the man burst into flames, quickly withering to a charred husk that flopped to the floor.

If Steven had been out in the open air, his quivering breaths would have been as loud as road construction at six in the morning. He couldn't stop looking at what once was the man, until a faint sound shook him.

The lid was open. One of those great, fire-inducing hands was reaching down.

With a silent scream, Steven slammed himself against the glass as flat as his body would allow him to go. Water sloshed out of the box as the hand and Steven's movements displaced it. Then, nothing happened.

The hand sat in the tank. The water remained the same tempature. No bubbling, no touching. Just was there, fingers half curled. Waiting.

Eventually, Steven turned to look at it. It looked just like a normal human hand: if they could grow big enough to enclose around most of Steven's chest, and composed of plant matter in place of flesh. Hesitantly brushing his own scaled hand over it, a texture closer to a plant stem greeted him. As Steven gripped one finger, his scales blended in almost perfectly, and the thumb moved so slowly to gently rub the back of his hand.

Oh. This creature wasn't going to hurt him.

The knowledge hit like a truck. Steven instantly sagged in relief, not even caring when the creature held him by his hips with both hands and lifted him out. A deep soothing rumble was the first clear sound Steven had heard in over two days, emanating from the creature's chest. The smell of old blood and stagnant water had Steven gag through his first breath of air.

As if suddenly noticing where they were, the creature hummed and tucked Steven into his shoulder while walking out. All of the cages in the other room were open and human bodies littered the floor. Steven just turned his head into that broad shoulder and tried to block out the massacre.

The next time he turned to the world, it was to a large and impossibly fancy bathroom. Somehow, it didn't surprise him too much. The creature set him down into the bathtub and, after some thumbling with the controls, managed to get the shower head running. Sighing happily, Steven shoved his head under the spray and shifted. Standing was harder than usual, knees wobbling from disuse, but he did it. And the feeling of warmth on his skin almost brought tears to his eyes.

Steven was so entranced by the feeling, he completely missed the creature leaving the room. At least, until he came back.

The door closing made Steven jolt slightly, only mitigated by the prominent bulk of dark green in the corner of his eye. The creature rumbled, set a bundle of clothes on the closed toilet seat, and waved on his way back out. Turning off the shower head, Steven staggered over to the towel rail.

Once he was moderately sure that he was dry, Steven pulled everything on and left the bathroom. The creature was waiting by the door, hairdryer in hand and plugged in. Soon after, Steven's newly fluffy hair was hidden behind a knitted hat.

And, with a mutual nod, they both left.

---

Jack stirred with the usual aches after a full moon. And to a voice that was very unusual. "-yeah, just like that," the new voice softly encouraged, "They can be read from left to right, right to left, or in columns from up to down. You see the ones with faces?" Ted grumbled in agreement, and Jack relaxed and began to crawl out of his shelter. "They will always face the direction you should read it from."

The new voice was bundled in warm clothes and a gentle smile. What looked like egyptian hieroglyphs were drawn in the dirt, Ted was studying them with interest. Once Ted noticed Jack was awake, he hummed and offered him a cup of coffee. "Thanks," Jack murmered tiredly. "Good morning," their guest waved as Ted refilled his cup, "Cheers, mate." The skin of his hands briefly shifted to green and amber scales with webbed, clawed fingers, answering Jack's unspoken question.

"Rough night," Jack noted. "Yeah, got better though. I'm Steven." "Jack, hope I didn't do any upsetting last night-" "No, no, you were fine! You were already asleep anyways, got more than I did."

After that, silence settled in. Suddenly, Ted hummed a question in their direction. "Would you like to join us for breakfast?" Jack translated. "That sounds, really good," Steven admitted, "What were you guys thinking of?" "I think there's a bakery not too far from here?" "...Yeah alright."

[mask131]

Seasonal theme: Magical summer (beginning)

This summer will be a season of wonders and enchantments, of spells and wizards - a magical summer!

Here is a list of beings, entities, objects and concepts you can check out if you want to add some magic to your summer:

In the myths, legends and so-called “real” world...

In the Arthurian literature: Merlin the enchanter, most famous of all wizards, derived from the legendary Welsh figure of Myrddin. Morgan le Fay, the ever-so-ambiguous enchantress of Arthurian mythos. Excalibur, the greatest and most iconic of all magical swords.

In Greek mythology: Hecate, the goddess of magic and witches. Circe, the divine enchantress of the Odyssey. Medea, the most frightening sorceress of the Greek legends. Lamia, a Greco-Roman bogeywoman that medieval times assimilated with various monsters and witches.

In Norse mythology: seidr, the old Norse magic, and its patron goddess Freya. Loki, expert shapeshifter and trickster supreme.

Christian legends, myths and beliefs: the Malleus Maleficarum, the unfamous manual used by many witch-hunters during the great witch hunts throughout Europe - a manual which was not accepted by the Church, unlike what many people believe. The Ars Goetia, both the art of invoking demons and the grimoire containing the secrets of said art. Astaroth, a demon often associated today with witchcraft. The famous witches sabbath, that was the great terror and fantasy of devil-fearing men of the Middle-Ages and the Renaissance. The paintings of Goya, which illustrated the various superstitions and beliefs surrounding witches in Spain.

The folklore of the British Isles: the British Grimalkin, with its cousins the English King of Cats and the Celtic Cat-sith. Lugh, the Irish Celtic god that mastered all of the arts, including magic.

Vaïnämöinen, the great bard-enchanter of Finland, and one of the sorcerer-heroes of the Kalevala alongside the magical blacksmith Ilmarinen, all fighting against the evil witch-queen Louhi.

In fairytales: the fairytales of the brothers Grimm brought many of the famous fairytale witches, from the evil queen with her magic mirror in Snow-White to the witch living in a house of bread and sugar in Hansel and Gretel. In Slavic fairytales, the great and iconic witch is the dreaded Baba Yaga. The French fairytales also brought the archetype of the fairy godmother: Cinderella, Toads and Diamonds, Donkeyskin, Cunning Cinders, The Hind in the Woods/The White Doe, Prince Marcassin... And let’s not forget Carabosse, the wicked fairy of the fairytale Princess Mayblossom, that became thanks to Tchaïkovsky’s ballet the old antagonistic fairy of Sleeping Beauty. Plus: the seven-league boots, one of the most famous magical items of French fairytales, appearing in Little Thumbling or The Orange Tree and the Bee.

The world of alchemy: the famous philosopher’s stone, elixir of life, and panacea that formed the ultimate goals of alchemists. Hermes Trismegistus, the mythological patron and ancestor of all alchemists (himself a mix of the Greek god Hermes and the Egyptian god Thoth). Nicolas Flamel, the 14th century book-seller everybody believed to be the discovered of the philosopher’s stone.

Some famous grimoires of our world: The Book of Abramelin, a tome of sacred Jewish magic. The Lesser Key of Solomon, a demonology grimoire of the 17th century inspired by the older book of sacred spells known as The Key of Solomon. The very famous duo of French grimoires known as the Grand Albert and Petit Albert. The Book of Shadows, a type of grimoire originally part of the Wicca religion, and that became popularized in America media thanks to the television series Charmed.

Principles, beliefs, personalities and practices of our world (which, as you will note, frequently mix magic with religion and folk-healing): Nostradamus, the great French prophet. The magi of Persia, Zoroastrian priests and astronomers that gave birth to the concept of the “mage” as we know it today. The original mana - not the video game mechanic, but the supernatural force of Oceanian beliefs. The Celtic druids and the most famous of their sacred sites: Stonehenge. The marabout, a type of Muslim holy man from Africa to whom was attributed some magical powers in folk-belief. The shamans of Siberia, the ones from which the very principle of “shamanism” was codified in the West. The medecine people of the First Nations in Northern America. The sangomas of Southern Africa, one of the most famous types of African “witch-doctors”. The Haitian Vodou and the Louisiana/New-Orleans Voodoo, folk-religions and magic beliefs deriving from the Vodun religion of West Africa (not to be confused with their various “cousins”, such as the Vodu of Cuba, the Jejé of Brazil or the Hoodoo).

More general magic tropes and concepts: the magic potion. The flying broomstick. The magic wand, or its variation the wizard’s staff. The familiar of the witch. The trope of the wizard duel, which, despite its prominence in modern literature and contemporary folk songs, has roots in ancient mythological fights and legendary magic hunts. The tempestarii, or the belief in weather-influencing, weather-changing sorcerers.

[ofxscavengcrs]

@mischiefxmuses || Belle & Belle

.｡.:*☆ Maybe it had been a bad idea to grab more books than she could handle. No, scratch that, it surely had been a bad idea to grab more books than she could handle. But it had been a long day at the little campus library, and Belle wanted to be done with putting them back into their respective shelves soon.

But then, she lost her ballance. Belle shrieked, and all the books thumbled to the floor. Making enough noise so the whole library could hear it. Thankfully though, she was able to catch herself instead of falling down from her makeshift ladder, as well....