#Matron

[sonsieandthematron]

[leatherlover12]

Work had the most thorough health care plan

[maestache]

Emhira watching over Ayden. Though he cannot save everyone, he will still try

For @artists-guild-of-exandria Calamity Project

[morablackbird]

card 3 the empress, wittober prompt: family

sincerely

Dove

[lovelyburninginternet]

[womenwithwhipstoo]

[snakeflower-cottage]

Now that I’ve spoken about the master, I wanted to talk about my mistress…

Nicnevin, the Gyre Carlin and Queen of the Unseelie Court

Nicnevin (or Nicneven, Nyneve, Nignivie) is a name that lingers in the damp winds of Scotland, woven into the old roads of witchcraft, faery lore, and the calls of geese at night. She is the Gyre Carlin, the great witch-mother, feared and revered in equal measure. She is no mere mortal sorceress but something older, one of the Queens of Elphame, ruler of the Unseelie Court of Autumn and Winter, mistress of wild magic.

The Whirling Hag and Her Spinning Magic

The title Gyre Carlin is more than just a name. Gyre means to whirl, to spiral, to turn, and Carlin is the Scots word for a witch or crone. She is the Spinner, the one who twists fate upon her spindle, weaving spells as fine as gossamer and binding spirits as surely as a knotted thread. Like the Cailleach, she is tied to the great cycles of time, turning the wheel of the seasons, unraveling the threads of life and death.

Witches who followed her were said to use enchanted thread in their charms—knotted cords to bind or unbind, spun flax to draw down the wind, red wool to turn away the ill ee. In some tales, Nicnevin herself would spin fate into being, crafting charms that could grant second sight or summon a lover’s spirit from across the moors.

Her role as a spinner also ties her to transformation. Just as thread changes shape beneath the fingers of the weaver, Nicnevin herself is ever-changing. In some stories, she shifts her form from a hag to a maiden, from a woman to a hare, an owl, a great black mare. She teaches her witches the same arts, how to slip from one shape to another, how to run unseen in the night, how to vanish with the turn of a cloak.

Herbal Magic and the Poisoner’s Art

Nicnevin’s witches were also known for their knowledge of herbs—both for healing and for harm. She was a patron of those who gathered in the moonlight, searching for roots and flowers with potent virtues. It was said that certain plants, when picked on her feast night, carried an extra charge of magic.

Henbane and nightshade, foxglove and yew—plants of dream and death, spirits bound in green flesh. Her followers knew which could grant visions, which could numb pain, which could send the soul flying from the body to join her spectral hunt. They brewed ointments from these herbs, rubbing them into their skin to slip between worlds, riding the wind to Elphame.

Yet she was not only a bringer of poison—Nicnevin was also a great healer, though her ways were wild and strange. In folk belief, certain illnesses were caused by fae mischief or the interference of spirits. A wise woman who called on Nicnevin might craft a charm to lift such afflictions, whispering her name over water poured through a holed stone or mixing herbs into an offering left at the crossroads.

The Unseelie Queen and Her Spirit Host

As Queen of the Unseelie Court, Nicnevin rides at the head of a fearsome procession. Unlike the gentler Seelie fae, who may grant fortune to those they favor, the Unseelie are the dark and wayward spirits—restless dead, twisted fae, and witches who did not find their peace. On stormy nights, her host sweeps over the land, their passage marked by sudden gusts of wind, the barking of unseen hounds, or the flicker of lights in the bog.

To cross her path unprotected is to risk being swept away—unless one knows the proper rites. Some folk left out offerings of milk, ale, or bread to keep her favor. Others carried rowan or iron, whispering charms if they heard hoofbeats on the wind. Those who dared to ride with her might return forever changed—if they returned at all.

Nicnevin’s Legacy

Though her name has faded from common telling, traces of Nicnevin still linger in Scotland’s folklore, in the rites of witches who spin and weave, in the gathering of herbs beneath the moon, in the whisper of wind that carries the scent of heather and something older still.

She is the Spinner, the Poisoner, the Queen who flies.

Would you know her, if she called you to join her revel?

[fieriframes]

[What they created was a family story no one will tell. It's a photo album too terrible. But the pride and the pallor continue to swell. As the matron silently prays.]

[abybweisse]

Ch205, Spoilers part 1

Despite the cover/title art, we don't get flashbacks, yet again. However, we might get some coming up pretty soon. Since Snake has a big choice to make, we might focus on his backstory more than Finny's.

So, now Snake knows that Doll is one of the "people" benefiting from the blood collections... and presumably from organs, too.

Then the two main staff ladies stand in front in a move to protect Doll, I assume.

Theo questions them and directs a lot of his anger towards Doll, it seems. Understandable.

Oliver and Mabel are still holding jars with organs from orphans inside. The head matron pulls out a gun and shoots!

Finny, sweet Finny. He lunges to save Theo and the others, and he catches a bullet to the shoulder.

EDIT: Finny throws the jars at the two ladies; that's why they try to shield themselves!

But throwing the jars hurt his shoulder even more. Poor Finny.

Other half will be posted soon.

Yeah, it's a short chapter again....

[nighhtwing]

DICK GRAYSON, HELENA BERTINELLI, and MIDNIGHTER in GRAYSON #5

[sonsieandthematron]

[leatherlover12]

What's all this noise young man. It's not enough that you're in a straightjacket . I'm going to have to gag you. I don't want to have to come back and sedate you. After all I don't want you to be groggy when you go under on the operating table . I want to see the fear in your eyes as you realise this will be the last time you feel those unnecessary male appendages between your thighs. When you wake up you'll be like a new woman ha ha ha

[i-simp-for-women]

I was supposed to be doing a drawing for the hottest writer ( @cheust ), but my stupid brain didn't let me. Anyway, heres my goddess Hera before Zeus tricked her.

(Inspired by @anniflamma 's Hera)

[karniss-bg3]

Worthy

"Kar'niss!" He snapped out of his trance, the echoing sound of his Matron bellowing his name quick to motivate him to rise. He scrambled out of his cobbled together bedding, nearly tripping over himself as he climbed the staircase so quickly he did so on all fours. His body ached, exhaustion his constant companion under the demanding nature of his keeper.

He rushed through the door of his Matron's chambers coming to the side of her lavish bed dripping in opulent dressing. Kar'niss dropped to his knees and bowed until the tip of his nose kissed the marble floor beneath him. "M-Matron, tell me your desire." Lounging in a sea of red and gold trimmed silk sheets was the lady of their noble house, Kyrzhal. Her white locks spilled over dark shoulders, scantly garbed in a sheer black night dress that did little to conceal her feminine form. Red eyes darted to peer at the cowering creature at her beside, her upper lip curling into a less than impressed sneer. "My desire? For you to be useful, just once." Her voice was melodic and alluring yet the deadly venom behind every syllable was baked in, permanent. She sat up and turned herself so her legs dangled over the bed's edge, leaning back on the palms of her hands. Despite her lithe build she towered over him upon her luxurious perch, her shadow cast over him like the looming threat she was. "I-I don't understand, mistress. I live to serve, live for you. My only purpose is to satisfy your every whim." Kar'niss's muscles tensed as he spoke, seeking to bow even lower though such was hardly possible. Kyrzhal tipped her chin upward indignantly, her thin fingers curling into the thick nest of bedding surrounding her. Her leg snapped forward in order to step on the back of his neck, applying a great deal of pressure which forced his face harder into the floor. He cried out from the sudden assault able to sense the threat of his nose breaking against the surface of the floor. "But my whims aren't satisfied!" She snarled. "Do you not understand? You continue to draw breath because of my mercy, my protection."

She applied more pressure to the back of the drow's neck causing him to claw at the floor in pain, trying to move out of instinct but finding himself held in place. "P-P--hrk! Please!" "You'll have to beg better than that if you desire my forgiveness. You'd still be shoveling rothe shit if I didn't pull you from the dung pits. Here I thought I had found a reasonable consort but instead I ended up with a sniveling child." She rolled her eyes and gave her fingers a curl until the knuckles popped one by one. "I'm ss--sorry! You're right mistress, I am l-lower than filth, unworthy!" His voice muffled against the floor, his lips now coated in the blood oozing from his impacted nose. The Matron exhaled a slow, frustrated sigh as the man begged for his life, a common occurrence in this household. Her foot soon relented the battery, lifting her leg to relinquish her hold. He jolted upright and clapped his hands over his nose, lines of crimson smeared across his lips and chin. She watched the display with a blank stare, as if annoyed by the reaction of her punishment. "The next time I tell you to make my bed properly, no lumps, no creases, no sheet out of place, I trust it'll be performed correctly the first time." Kar'niss nodded quickly while continuing to wipe the blood away now limited to breathing through his mouth, resulting in a nasally reply.

"Yes mistress, the first time. No mistakes, no creases, it will be perfect for my Matron. I promise!" "Good. Because next time you anger me, I'll remove your cock. It's likely the most useless feature you have. There are many drow men who are far superior fucks." Her eyes narrowed. "Now piss off. The mere sight of you disgusts me." Kar'niss grimaced at the threat but knew better than to argue. He'd bow to her once more and then slink free of her presence, crawling out of the room. He returned to his chamber rattled and on edge. His legs were still healing from the last time he displeased her, bound in bandages caked in dried blood. There was never a moment of reprieve, never a time he could so much as breathe without attracting her ire. He grabbed a rag to press to his nose which was now tender to the touch. He felt the biting sting of moisture collecting in his eyes threatening to escape. He bit them back despite the pain, despite the anguish, determined to be stronger than his Matron believed him to be. Retreating to a corner in his room he tucked himself away as far as he could manage, hoping the sparse darkness in the space would be enough to protect him. His luck would change one day he was certain of it. This was merely a test by Lolth, a rite of passage for him to become more than a plaything for a sadist. He had to do one thing first, the only thing that could ensure his freedom, his ascension. "Worthy. I. Will. Be. Worthy!"

[flax-en]

[lovelyburninginternet]