#orkney girls

[forthegothicheroine]

Orkney Girls: The Savage Damsel

(For those new here, this is an ongoing, out of order Arthurian story with female versions of the Orkney brothers.  Sometimes this makes things better.  Sometimes this absolutely does not.)

***

Gracia wondered if the heavens were playing a colossal joke on her. Under normal circumstances, the fact that she’d killed for the first time would be something to mourn and something to celebrate at once, the loss of innocence and the achievement of glory, but that harridan accompanying her was as merciless as she was beautiful, and even the defeat of a robber knight in single combat wasn’t enough to make her soften. What the hell was she supposed to do to impress Lynette? Not even Agrippine would have harangued her own rescuer!

“I suppose now you’re going to hold that lucky blow up as if it was a real victory?” There was a desperate air to Lynette’s teasing now, but that didn’t make it any easier to put up with. “Lancelot could have hacked his head off in one strike! Don’t get all cocky and off your guard, or the Red Knight will slaughter you before you’ve even laid eyes on my sister, much less rescued her!”

Gracia ground her teeth as she removed her helmet. How was she ever supposed to impress the Round Table if she couldn’t impress one damsel? Her muscles ached after her fight, and she desperately needed a drink of water. She faded Lynette’s tirade in the background; the one good thing about her relentless negativity was that Gracia didn’t have to bother trying to keep her spirits up.

“Beaumains, that’s what they called you! Pretty little lady hands! If you won’t even give me your real name, how can I ever respect you? Do you think troubadours will sing the great deeds of pretty little lady hands?”

She’d meant to duck behind a tree to remove her armor and protect her identity. But why bother?

“No,” she said, rounding on Lynette. “They’ll sing of Princess Gracia of Orkney, and her saintly patience in putting up with you!”

Gracia shook out her hair and wiped the sweat from her eyes.

“That’s right, your mission has been entrusted to a woman! Not Lancelot, not even a tested lady knight like Gowain, a princess on her first quest! I was going to reveal all at the end, but you’ll never respect me anyway, so go ahead- say it! Say whatever you have to say, I’m ready for it! Do you like me any better now that I’m even easier to mock?”

Lynette gaped, silent for the first time on the journey through the Forest Perilous. Her lovely eyes lost their scorn in place of amazement, her rosy cheeks were more flushed than ever, and her delicate frame was on the verge of shaking. And then, just when Gracia thought she might faint, she instead threw herself into her knight’s arms.

“Much better,” Lynette said, and kissed her.

[sickfreaksirkay]

oh im sure... this is like saying the sky is blue

[docholligay]

“I mean, Sunny, it’s a port city that has struggled to reinvent itself in the day of increased air cargo and containerazation which led to the layoffs of dock workers, regeneration attempts attracting affluent tourism while leaving behind the very working-class people that made the music and art scene there possible.”

“So, fine?”

“Yeah, fine.”

[bestiarium]

The Tangi [Scottish, Shetland folklore]

There are lots of folktales about supernatural horses that live underwater and entice people into mounting them. Once the victim does so, they find themselves unable to dismount and the horse takes its prey underwater to drown them. The most famous of these creatures are the Scottish Kelpie and the Welsh Ceffyl Dŵr, though there are lots of similar aquatic horse monsters from British, Germanic and Scandinavian folktales. They are related and come from the same root story.

In the Shetland Islands, however, there are two such creatures, and while they are undeniably similar, surprisingly they are said to be two distinct kinds of beings that exist in different habitats. The Njuggel (or ‘Shoopiltee’ in Northern Shetland, among other names) resides in lakes and other fresh bodies of water, whereas the Tangi (also Tangie) is a marine monster. Keep in mind however that this distinction is not set in stone (folklore is hardly an exact science, of course) and in some places the Njuggel and the Tangi are considered to be synonyms.

In the Orkney islands of northern Scotland, the Tangie would appear either as an old human covered in seaweed (true to its name, as the name ‘Tangie’ is likely derived from ‘tang’ which is a local term for seaweed) or as an aquatic horse. This Tangie would jump out at unwary travelers, and it took a particular liking to young women, kidnapping them from the banks of the Scottish lakes and dragging them into the depths to be devoured.

In places where the two are said to be separate monsters, the following distinction is usually made: a Njuggel appears as a white or grey horse with a wheel for a tail that drowns its victims in lakes. A Tangi, on the other hand, is black or dark grey and has no wheel. Tangis are shapeshifting creatures and sometimes appear as cows, other animals, or as humans. When taking the form of a human, a Tangi usually chooses to appear as a handsome young man and seeks out girls to seduce and have sex with. Sometimes they go the extra mile and abduct a girl to marry her. Being associated with the sea, they commonly haunt shores but these creatures make their homes in seaside caverns.

Like its cousin the Njuggel, a Tangi is engulfed in a blue flame when galloping at high speed. Sailors sometimes claimed to have seen one of these creatures as a distant blue flash that raced across the shore.

One old account of these creatures also claimed that they have wings and the uncanny ability to locate any object that fell or was thrown into the ocean, regardless of depth. These claims are not backed by any other sources. However, they do have an important trait that sets them apart from Kelpies, Njuggels, Nixen and the like.

Whereas most Kelpie-like monsters are said to make people mount them and then drown their victims, the Tangi does not need to be mounted. It can cast a spell on its victims by galloping in circles around them. When under the influence of the Tangi’s magic, the victim becomes hypnotized and immediately tries to drown themselves, usually by jumping off a cliff into the ocean. Those who survive find themselves in a dazed state which lasts for a few days at most.

They are not invincible however and share the same weaknesses as the Njuggels: they are afraid of fire, can be injured with iron and lose their power if you utter their name. For example, one story tells of a man who encountered a Tangi. The black horse started running in circles around him but he managed to stab it with an iron knife. The creature ran away and disappeared. 

Sources: Teit, J. A., 1918, Water-beings in Shetlandic Folk-Lore, as Remembered by Shetlanders in British Columbia, The Journal of American Folklore, 31(120), p.180-201. Lecouteux, C., 2016, Encyclopedia of Norse and Germanic Folklore, Mythology, and Magic. Monaghan, P., 2004, The Encyclopedia of Celtic Mythology and Folklore, Facts on File Library of Religion and Mythology, 512 pp. Pérez-Lloréns et al., 2020, Seaweeds in mythology, folklore, poetry and life, Journal of Applied Phycology, 32, 3157-3182. (image source 1: orig03 on Deviantart. The image actually depicts a black Kelpie, but I figured it’s fine since the Tangi is related and similar) (image source 2: unknown, sorry)

[wildmtthyme]

Sorry, Johnny Masterlist

Main Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Marianna MacTavish (OC)

Supporting Characters: Johnny MacTavish, Brief Mentions of the rest of the 141 and other random CoD characters.

Synopsis: Johnny's gone and Simon learns that he's not the only one who's grieving his loss so deeply. In their ruthless hunt for Makarov, the hunters become the hunted and the team is driven to ground. Simon should know better but he's got nowhere else to run. Nowhere but a small white wash cottage in the Orkney Isles. Johnny'd just have to forgive him for knocking on her door. He'd have to forgive him for a lot of things.

Warnings: Canon Main Character Death, Descriptions of Canon Typical injuries, Eventual Smut, Grief/Grieving

Ending: Happy - because of course.

Goodbye, Johnny <- Posted

On the Lamb <- Posted

Nowhere Else to Run <- Posted

A Simple Life <- Posted

Bourbon & Photographs <- Posted

Nosy Cows <- Posted

Stay <- Posted

A Sweet Girl & A Desperate Man <- Posted

Dreams & Decisions <- Posted

[scotianostra]

November 7th 1861 saw the death in Stromness of Isobel Gunn.

Isobel enrolled as a man in the Hudson’s Bay Company and was the first European woman to reach western Canada. She joined the service of Hudson Bay Company (HBC) in 1806 using her father’s name, John Fubbister.

Gunn quickly distinguished herself for her bravery. Her canoe treks and expeditions through the most remote stretches of Canada saw her traveling some 1,800 miles between remote trading posts. Hugh Heney, who led one of the brigades Gunn traveled with to Pembina, wrote that she “worked at anything and well like the rest of the men.” She even earned herself a pay rise for performing her duties “willingly and well.”

Although she disguised the fact that she was female at least one man knew of her true gender for she fell pregnant. On December 29, 1807, she excused herself from work at the Pembina trading post, citing stomach pains to Alexander Henry, who was the head of the post. She begged him to let her rest in his home by the fire. Henry’s journal takes up the story…..I returned to my room, where I had not been long before he sent one of my own people, requesting the favour of speaking with me. Accordingly, I stepped down to him, and was much surprised to find him extended out upon the hearth, uttering most dreadful lamentations; he stretched out his hand towards me and in a pitiful tone of voice begg’d my assistance, and requested I would take pity upon a poor helpless abandoned wretch, who was not of the sex I had every reason to suppose. But was an unfortunate Orkney girl pregnant and actually in childbirth, in saying this she opened her jacket and display’d to my view a pair of beautiful round white breasts.”

Henry’s journal continued: “In about an hour she was safely delivered of a fine boy and that same day she was conveyed home in my cariole, where she soon recovered.”

The name Gunn registered on the birth certificate? Hudson’s Bay laborer John Scarth, who she said had forced himself upon her.

This story is plausible. There are records to show that Scarth had been with Gunn at numerous HBC postings. Some historians say Gunn was trying to cover up an affair gone wrong; others believe she likely was taken advantage of by Scarth, who could have discovered her ruse as a man, and threatened to tell their employer.

Gunn and her child were returned to Scotland on the Prince of Wales on 20 September 1809. There, she lived in poverty, working as a stocking and mitten maker until her death.

[goetiae]

𝓗𝓐𝓛𝓛𝓞𝓦𝓔𝓔𝓝 — arguably one of the most haunting festive celebrations in modern history. A holiday occassion of yet-unclear origins, it has its possible roots in old Harvest Celebrations of pre-Christian communities across European territories.

Today, our focus is Halloween as it was celebrated in the Victorian era and the larger scope of the 19th century Europe and America.

It is common to root modern Halloween to pre-Christian harvest festivals, celebrated by most if not all European peoples, though the ones most influential on the history of Victorian Halloween would be the Celts and other ancient communities of the British Isles. After the expanding Christian church repurposed old harvest celebrations into the widely spread Christian calendar, those became associated with various saints and celebrated as All Hallows' Eve, or All Saints' Eve.

Victorian Halloween in Europe retained a feeling of nostalgia for the old days. For example, in the year 1851, Coleraine Chronicle, a Northern Irish newspaper, published a series of Halloween poems. Orkney Herald and Weekly Advertiser, in the year 1863, published a peculiar article about the "old Halloween" that directly identified the holiday with the feeling of excitement and joy:

Halloween! In the days of my boyhood there was magic in the name. Long before the day arrived we hoarded up all the apples, turnips, and cabbage-stocks we could either steal or beg. It was impossible to sleep on the night preceding the auspicious eve…There was excitement on every face – mischief brewing in every heart.

While the middle of the 19th century saw the most of the public's attention being directed towards Halloween, it saw its decline towards the end of the Victorian period — a phenomenon seemingly regarded as disappointing by the contemporary writers.

As for the origins of Halloween, the publications of the 19th century seem to root it in the old traditions of pre-Christian Europe. A publication in London Evening Standard in 1878 attested a connection of Halloween with Athenian Anthesteria meanwhile an article in Newcastle Courant, year 1877, claimed that the holiday's origin is lost in the "mists of antiquity".

In The Book of Hallowe'en by Ruth Edna Kelley, published in 1919, the author connects the celebration of Samhain, attested to Old Irish customs. This book presents a viewpoint that connects Halloween to ancient celebrations of harvest and otherwise cyclic holidays across different nations. The author comments on various festival occasions focused around fire as a dispeller of bad omens, though to be connected with Haloween.

Introduction of Christianity to European lands did not quite exorcize Halloween as a celebration, having, instead, connected it to less pagan customs. Now, Halloween became associated with "matchmaking" and offered and opportunity for unmarried women to glimpse into their future using nuts, kale, apples, and other fruits of harvest. Newry Telegraph in 1892 published an article about a peculiar tradition of forecasting relationships: a girl would stick apple kernels to her cheeks, attaching a name to each; whichever fell first proclaimed infidelity of the one whose name it bore. In 1877, the same publication offered a more eerie tradition, claiming that eating an apple before looking in the mirror on All Hallows' Eve would let a young maiden see the face of her future husband.

Both Orkney Herald and Newcastle Courant equally point out a tradition of "ducking for apples" — a custom that, perhaps, lasted through centuries and became what we currently know as apple bobbing.

In American press, the word "Halloween" first appeared in April 1836, having been mentioned in the publication of The Lady's Book, also known as Godey's Magazine. This magazine was largely targeted towards women and published colorful fashion drawings and stories. The first one to mention Halloween in the United States was titled Clara Lawson; or the Rustic Toilet. Within this story, Halloween is said to be a "time of festivity, of fun and frolick, of cake-making and nut-cracking" though the author seems rather disappointed by the holiday's current state, lamenting the more festive air of the 1800s.

Various publications in American press afterwards depicted common Halloween superstitions such as one stating that a person could see a face of their future betrothed in the mirror at exactly midnight.

After its introduction to America, Halloween became commercialized rather fast. In 1897, The Dennison Manufacturing Company was founded. It offered various good used for decoration during the Halloween festivities and released its own catalogue with ideas for decor and gifts. Following alongside, various fashion magazines began publishing their own catalogues of dresses and costumes, majorly for women.

Publications around 1860s-1870s focused on the eerie air of Halloween, offering the readers to read Halloween poems (The Brooklyn Daily Eagle, October, 1865) or visit a ghostly home. Paintings depicting various witches, ghosts, and entities became rather common to see on the pages of magazines.

As stated by the book How to Amuse Yourself and Others: The American Girl's Handy Book by Lina Beard, released in 1895, it was apparently common for people of the 19th century to believe that Halloween was the best time to partake in magic. Though the writer denies any genuine power of said magical tricks, it is still implied that Halloween parties and games were quite frequent to encounter during the holiday, such as:

🕯 Melted Lead where one would pour melted metal through a handle of the key and into a pan of cold water, then deciphering its shapes to define the occupation of one's future husband.

🕯 Nutshell Boats that were used to decipher one's future by sending walnut shells filled with wax floating over a tub of water with tapers inserted into the middle and lit. It was believed that the owner of the shell that survives such a voyage unsunken would lead a happy life.

🕯 Roasting Nuts would predispose one's friendship: by burning two nuts, each to represent one person, one could predict if the connection was to be merry or unfortunate depending on how calmly the nuts burned.

🕯 The Magic Mirror was a common mirror that gained mysterious power during All Hallows' Eve. Holding it in the way that reflected the moon would help the person — usually a young girl — predict how many happy occassions avaited them before the next Halloween.

🕯 The Ghostly Fire would be one of the most peculiar ways to partake in 19th century Halloween. It was prepared by putting salt and alcohol, alongside a few raisins, in a dish, before it was set on fire. Then, the gathered crowd would do a circle dance around the table as the fire — described as greenish purple — burned. And right before it went out, everyone would snatch a hot raisin from the flames.

Alongside many other near-ritualistic occasions that this book entertains its reader with, those mentioned created a merry, festive, and rather mysterious air typical of the 19th century Halloween. In her Games for Hallow-e'en, published in 1897, Mary E. Blain adds on that rooms meant for Halloween games and celebrations are to be richly decorated with "apples, cucumbers, squash, pumpkins and such" that would be hollowed out and cut faces into. She recommends skull imagery, black cats, witches' hats, and various little decorations for the rooms — which are, of course, to be kept dark.

Halloween parties, both in Europe and America, would also become an occasion for costume showcases; it would only be a matter of time until Halloween costumes became a commonly beloved phenomenon. Often, people would dress up in exquisite gowns or themed outfits, such as witches or various creatures of the night.

In Ireland and Scotland, the tradition of dressing up for Halloween, known as guising, would be popular around the middle of the 19th century and into the Victorian era. In Scotland, the masks used for Halloween would be referred to as "false faces". The tradition of souling, asking for treats while going house to house, would be brought to the United States in the late 1930s with newly arriving Irish immigrants. Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly, Volume 40, published in 1895, refers to the custom of people, "disguised", going door to door with lanters made of carved out turnips and being rewarded with cakes and sweets. Unsurprisingly enough, "guising" often involved visiting wealthy homes, and the tradition grew all the more popular in 1920s and 1930s.

Though not particularly related to the 19th century, Halloween postcards are also a product of the craze that was the celebration of Halloween both in America and in the British lands. Largely popularized in the so-called "golden era" circa 1905-1915, these postcards present iconography very familiar to a modern person: witches, brooms, black cats, jack-o'-lanterns. The "magical" rituals described prior sometimes find their way into these visual depictions of the holiday, creating a symbolic tie with the past traditions: some postcards depict scrying, candle rituals, and various visuals of divination.

Decor sources: 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃

[screampotato]

I've never read or seen Outlander but I kind of hate it, partly because fans of it keep parking in ridiculous places and blocking public highways in order to break their necks trying to get to filming locations, but also because the name "Lallybroch" makes my eye twitch.

It's just so clearly a name created by someone who knows nothing about Scottish place names and just spent 5 seconds Googling. So what's wrong with it?

First of all, it's backwards. It's clearly trying to be a Gaelic name, and Gaelic is like French: the adjective comes after the noun. If we allow that "broch" means "tower" (I'll come back to that in a moment), and that "Lally" is either an adjective or a possessive ("Lally's Tower") then it should be Brochlally. Like Dundee or Dunsinane ("dun" means fort), Aviemore or Benmore or Newtonmore ("mòr" means big), Tobermory ("Mary's well"), and even its fictional counterpart, Balamory ("Mary's town" - the BBC does its research on this stuff!). So if this name is going to exist at all, it will not be Lallybroch, it will be Brochlally.

Then, "broch". *Sigh*. First of all, it's not even Gaelic, it's Lowland Scots, from Old Norse, but that's not the besetting sin - Scottish place names are often a mix of languages. No, the real crime here is that "broch" is not a word that appears in Scottish place names, unless those names refer specifically to a broch - a very particular type of iron-age stone roundhouse found mostly in Orkney and Shetland and the North of Scotland. One of these:

The Dun Carloway broch in Lewis, Photo by bikerhiker75

Now, it's true that "broch" comes from the same root as burg/burgh/borough, meaning a significant settlement. So if you meant that, rather than a literal broch, it would be called Lallyburgh. Like Edinburgh or Fraserburgh. It would be pronounced "lallyburra". On the other hand, if you actually wanted to refer to the fact that it was a fort or tower house, as I think the author was trying to, it would be Dunlally.

I realise all this may seem like nitpicking to fans of Outlander, but it doesn't feel that way to me. It feels like my culture being used for decoration, which is fine in itself, but being used without any care for the people whose culture it actually is. This together with that girl who wrote the dragon books and gave all the dragons Gaelic names without even bothering to find out how to pronounce them (which is easy, I promise you, Google Translate speaks Scots Gaelic pretty well) - well, I'm just a little bit fed up with it.

[doueverwonder]

The Visit

Y'all guess who's back to writing (finally); everyone say thank you to @hetagrammy for talking to me about IreNor which made me want to write again and for beta reading; she is a person of many talents.

Welcome back to world building the fics, couple of notes + human names;

Because I can I hc Faroe and Iceland as Norway & Ireland's kids; Alisdair has right to be worried he's not just an asshole.

Alisdair = Scotland Molly (or Máire) = Ireland Sigurd = Norway Ida = Faroe Islands

TW: for references to domestic/sexual abuse (character accusing another of it, nothing is actually happening)

ao3 link here

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been too long since Alisdair had seen his sister, a couple decades at least. He didn’t even know where she was living, what she was up to, if she were even alive. When you knew as many people as centuries of life could afford you it was easier to find someone though, he assumed she was living in an abbey still; which one he wasn’t sure but that was his first guess to start looking. That was the clue he had given: his sister Máire, she lived in an abbey, made her living writing manuscripts. Even threw in her goldsmithing hobby, and a rough description based off the last time he had seen her. As he was sure there were a thousand Máire’s who helped write manuscripts in Ireland alone.

This wasn’t what he expected, out of all the places in Ireland, Dublin, a viking settlement, was the last place he expected to find her. He had heard of the city, which seemed to be a rather large hub for the Scandinavians now. He couldn’t believe how many boats were in the harbor, they lined up endlessly. He remembered one of the last conversations he had with her, he had half begged her to stay away from the coasts; convinced himself the farther inland she was the safer she would be. As usual anything he, or Dylan, asked of her spurred her to do the absolute opposite. Considering this is where she was living maybe Arthur had asked her to stay away from the coasts as well, she would happily let herself get captured if it meant spiting Arthur. 

He kept his head down, not wanting to draw attention with all of them around here. Reasonably he didn’t trust these people, he had already lost Shetland, Orkney, Caithness, and Sutherland; not to mention the Isle of Mann. Four girls and a boy, all fathered by the Norse personification and promptly left behind. It wasn’t uncommon for nations to leave their children in their own land until they were older; didn’t mean he had to like how recklessly he had them; nor did it mean he couldn’t feel bad for the bairns.

He came to the house he had been told; it took far longer than he expected, and had to go through what seemed half the clergy in the country before someone knew where she was. Only finally finding out from a priest that seemed ten years too old to be alive, but here he was. It was on the outside of the city, a small house looking like it wasn’t made to be a long term shelter, there was a small area of farmland around it. He opened the gate making sure to close it behind him so the chickens that milled about wouldn’t get out. A cat sat on top of an overturned crate, gazing over him lazily. That surprised him, Molly had never been much of a cat person preferring dogs, said they were more useful. 

He dusted himself off as he stood at the door, he didn’t need Molly immediately scolding him over his appearance. He knocked heavily, she tended to daydream and not hear things too lost in whatever she was doing. He didn’t want to just walk in either lest he scare her, or he had the wrong house. The wrong Máire. He hoped not. 

The door opened, he smiled expecting his sister. Expecting for her to throw herself into his arms for a hug, they had never been apart for so long he was so excited to see her. His face fell, instead of his sister stood a man, just barely taller than him, blond with blue eyes, dressed as a northmen. The Northman, Sigurd, the source of all his troubles stood in front of him. Molly must have been here, it was too much of a coincidence there is no way he was here and she was not at some point. 

“Where is she” 

“No hello?” it infuriated him how calm the other was, Sigurd was always infuriatingly calm, even when facing Alisdair. 

“Where is my sister?” Alisdair started again, his voice firm but loud, “Where is Molly? What have you done with her, you heathen?!” he spat the word in his face. 

Sigurd looked upset, but was nowhere near losing his temper as Alisdair was, “She is fine, and I do not–” 

“She can not be fine if you are in her house I–” Alisdair stopped, a small voice, clearly inquisitive, asking something. He looked down, a child no older than four, maybe five clung to Sigurd’s leg. He was going to brush her presence off, Sigurd had plenty of bastards, all of which deserved to hear the truth about their father regardless of age. His gaze lingered on her just long enough for her to look up at him. He froze suddenly, the girl was blonde and blue eyed, just as her father was; but the shape of her face, the way the frizzy curls framed her face… that was Molly. Sigurd must have noted his new interest and he shooed her away. Alisdair’s trance broke as he watched her go. 

“Where is my sister?” he demanded again, this time peering over Sigurd’s shoulder trying to see into the house. He wanted to see the girl again, he wanted to see her closer, that had to be his sister's child. 

“I already told you” He stepped to the side to block Alisdair’s view, “She is fine, why are you looking for her?” 

“I’m not allowed to see her?” 

“I didn’t say that” 

“Then where is-” 

“Sigurd? Who’s at the door?” He froze, moments away from pushing the other man out of the doorway to get into the house. The voice was Molly's. He needed to see her, he needed to know she was okay, he needed her alone, he needed to know she wasn’t being kept with him against her will. 

Sigurd stepped to the side so Alisdair could see in the house, Molly came into view and seeing her face took some of his anxiety away knowing she was okay. Knowing she seemed unhurt. The relief was short-lived, his eyes fell on the small girl he had just seen now rested on her hip, he froze seeing her swollen stomach. 

Molly froze, she just stared at him for a moment, he tried to decide if that was a good thing or not.  “Alisdair!” the hesitation morphed into an almost forced looking smile, there was a panic in her eyes that he knew shouldn’t be there. “I thought I heard your voice, but I didn’t want to hope too much!” 

She moved as quickly as she could over to him, she handed the child to Sigurd and hugged Alisdair tightly, his eyes didn’t move from Sigurd, he put his arm around Molly not in a hug, but as if he were trying to protect her. It was impossible to not assume what he was, the stories he heard, the things he had seen, he wanted him dead. Everything played out in his head, he couldn’t touch him while he was holding her; the girl was at no fault for her fathers actions. 

Molly let go of him, though she stayed close, smiling up at him. “I swear it seems you’ve gotten older since we last saw each other, you have to tell me everything, how are you? How are Arthur and Dylan?” 

He opened his mouth to answer, but every thing that came to mind had to do with what was in front of him. Her smile wavered, she was always good at knowing what he was thinking, “Silly me, you’re probably exhausted, come in, come in, we can talk later” she hugged him again quickly, this time taking the chance to whisper “wait til Ida goes to bed” 

He tensed once she let go, swallowing heavily, he assumed Ida was the girl. He nodded, but put his gaze back on Sigurd. He couldn’t help but take note of how heavily Molly kept her grip on him as she pulled him into the house, how she kept her distance from Sigurd, how she had whispered instead of asking aloud. Every instinct screaming to get Molly and Ida away from him. But he stayed quiet as Molly took her daughter back from Sigurd. 

“Mo réaltín,” Molly held the girl up a bit to be closer to eye level with him, “meet your uncle Alisdair.” 

~~~~~~~~~

The sun had set long ago, Alisdair sat watching his sister, Molly looked exhausted, her head rested on Sigurd’s shoulder, his arm around her. It infuriated Alisdair, he hadn’t gotten an answer yet, he hadn’t been given reasons to not kill Sigurd where he stood. If he threw him in the sea, it would take him longer to come back. The only punishment Alisdair could see fit for what he had done to her. 

“She’s long asleep” Alisdair commented, hoping to spur the conversation. He had spent all day with the small girl going on about all the things she liked (playing tag with the children down the road, the pictures in the windows at church, when her father told her stories about the gods); her favorite foods (pickled fish among them); the names of all the chickens (though she noted she preferred the sheep). It was easier to talk to the niece he didn’t know existed, ignore how she had her fathers nose, and her smile was too much like the Danes’. Ignore how she spoke Norse, and stumbled over the bit of Irish she proudly tried to speak to him in. 

Molly sat up a bit, she looked over at Alisdair, “what do we need to talk about?” 

He hesitated, he knew she knew, “can we go somewhere else?” 

“I’ll leave” Sigurd said instead, “I’m not making my pregnant wife go outside at this hour” 

“Wife?” It pissed him off hearing him refer to her that way, he spoke as if Molly weren’t in the room “My sister wouldn’t marry a pagan, much less willingly carry his children.” 

“But she did, and she is, so apparently you don’t know her that well.” Sigurd didn’t move from Molly’s side, he felt he held more power over Alisdair with her in his arms. “And I don’t like what you're implying about me” 

“I’ll say whatever I want about you because I know the truth.” 

“And what is the truth?” 

“I know what you viking are like.” Alisdair stated it plainly, “You show up, and take what you want without asking. That’s what you did with her; you were tired of just trinkets, jealous of your men getting to take whoever they wanted.” 

“Alisdair, sto-” she started but before being able to get anything beyond his name out was cut off. 

“And you knew the best way to make her stay with you was to have something to hang over her head,” he threw one of his hands towards the other half of the house where Ida was asleep, before gesturing to Molly, clearly trying to accentuate her current state. “You would have a dozen children just to keep her with you” 

Sigurd’s face barely changed, but Molly could feel him tense. He sat up straighter, his jaw clenched tight enough she could hear him grinding his teeth to keep himself from saying anything, 

Molly knew Sigurd wouldn’t say anything, he wasn’t a pushover but he wouldn’t want to distress her or wake up Ida either. He would hold his tongue until morning. She stood suddenly, “Alisdair, outside. Now.” She turned to Sigurd, assuring him a small walk wouldn’t kill her. To spite her brother she took his fur with her, pulling the oversized garment over her shoulders as she followed Alisdair outside.

As soon as the door closed behind her she faced him fury in her eyes “What the fuck was that” 

“Molly you don’t have to pretend to—“ 

“I’m not pretending anything!” She huffed loudly, “He is my husband, I love him, he hasn’t done anything I didn’t give him permission to.”

Alisdair was desperate to get her to admit something, anything to prove Sigurd had done something to her, that he wasn’t just being rash. “How do I know you're not saying that because he’s still right there?” 

She huffed stalking off expecting him to follow her, he did right at her heels. Admittedly he was having a hard time keeping up with her, which was embarrassing to admit considering she was at least six months along already. 

They were well out of hearing distance when she started talking again, repeating her earlier statement: “Sigurd is my husband, I love him, he hasn’t done anything without my permission. We didn’t plan Ida, or this baby, but I love being a mother and he’s a wonderful father.” 

A silence fell over them, as they kept walking. Alisdair knew Molly had no reason to lie to him, not when he wasn’t around to hear her. But he couldn’t believe she would fall for him, he couldn’t rationalize with everything that had happened that she would be okay being with him. 

“We can wait a few weeks so he doesn’t suspect, we’ll leave in the middle of the night, I’ll carry Ida so she doesn’t wake up. He won’t know we’re gone until–” he ignored everything she said. He didn’t think she was genuine, something must be wrong. 

“Alisdair.” She stopped suddenly, turning to face him, “I’m in no condition to travel, and even if I was I wouldn’t go with you” 

“I’ll come back for you in a few months then.” 

Molly went quiet looking up at her brother, she didn’t know how to tell him what she needed to. “I’m not going to be here in a few months.” 

“You’re going back to Norway with him?” 

“No. Once summer comes, and once he’s able to go get the rest of his children we’re all leaving for Iceland.” 

“No.” he didn’t even need to think about it, he wasn’t going that far away, he wasn’t letting her go that far from home. He wouldn’t be able to check on her, he wouldn’t be able to come get her if something happened. 

She sighed, “You know that means nothing,” she turned around going back to the house, “I’m going with him, I’m sorry you don’t trust him, but you can’t throw accusations around, especially after he’s been nothing but kind to me” 

“Nothing but kind?” if Alisdair wasn’t so angry he would have laughed. “You call what his people do to you, to me, kindness?” 

Molly stopped, she looked at the ground sighing. She faced him, but didn’t move any closer, “Seventy years ago now there was a raid on the Abbey I was living in. For some reason or another they decided I wasn’t to die with everyone else and brought me here…” 

Alisdair thought he had it, he thought he had his gotcha. That Molly was finally admitting the horrible things he had done to her. 

“Sigurd paid them off and let me go back about my business, not asking anything in return. That is what I call kindness, Alisdair.” Molly sighed, “It’s been too long, because you think I’m stupid now, enough so to let a man manipulate me into things, even if he had forced Ida on me I would have found a way out for both of us. You should know that.” 

Alisdair was taken aback, he hadn’t been trying to imply Molly to not know what she was doing. His assumptions had nothing to do with her, everything to do with him. He just got here, he had only seen her for a day. He thought he would show up and Molly would still be the same as the last time he had seen her, he thought she would still be his little sister and nothing more; he supposes he wasn’t always right though. 

“I know I won’t be able to stop you; but I can’t stay around if you’re going with him.” 

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” They stopped in front of the house, “But I was hoping you would be around when the baby came.” She opened the front gate not looking at him, “you are welcome to stay for a few days, but I expect you to apologize to Sigurd if you do” 

“I’ll find somewhere else then.” 

Molly nodded, “I’ll get your things then, he may not want you in his house if you don’t plan on taking anything back.” 

“Wait.” Molly stopped looking at him, he came here to check on her. She might be insisting she was fine, but he didn’t trust Sigurd, he couldn’t start trusting him just on Molly’s word either. He couldn’t help but feel as though he was admitting defeat, but… “If I apologize you’ll let me stay?” 

“I will,” she shrugged, “But you’ll have to see what he says” 

“I’ll stay, if I’m allowed.”

[abandonedapothoecary]

Hiya, doodles of your favourite horse girl and his brothers for you. I hope I got the vibe across that The Orkneys look alike but still very different. Like, if someone were to focus on their main features first (reddish hair, square jaw, and green eyes), they wouldn't know which Orkney they saw until they focused on literally everything else.

[superconductivebean]

Trick or treat!!!! 👻👻👻👻

im so late to this one as well im so sorry. 🤧 i will answer in the similar fashion to this one; i struggled for the ship choice but ultimately decided to write a very far-off in the future drabble about imelda and my mc julia after being stuck to skellige in the witcher for a tad too long 🤧i also have a hc post about this all

===> 1.5drabble (150 words): Imelda x f!MC (Julia Wright)

Rigorous training on Orkney and Shetlands perhaps contributed more to Imelda's competitive vigour than other means of building the stamina.

She was amazing in the sky. But so atrocious she was on the ground.

When a prospect of spending a week or two on Faroe—at Julia's relatives—shone at the horizon, Imelda thought, fine. Weather was the least of her concerns. Few moments after landing on Faroe she wondered if people there were taught to fly since birth—surrounded by northern seas at all four ways, the rose of winds must've looked especially gorgeous and thus deadly for anyone unprepared.

Like Julia.

She was pale as is. The wind was to take her to beyond that. Imelda was happy to [ack few scarves—just in case, and the case presented itself as quick as the wind, sweeping verdant hills and dales, whistling through unstopped with songs whaling and high or roaring and low.

===> random hc / brainrot detail:

Julia started to learn more about her family fairly late, few years after finishing Hogwarts. At the one hand, she had already built herself a family with the girls, she had friends and not just her classmates, the Sharps were of tremendous help at times. But on the other, Julia had never felt she… belonged. She's estranged from the culture, customs are alien to her, the entire way of life proposed to her even by the wizarding society isn't something she is used to.

She grew up around ships and the sea; at some point it anchored her and swathed all her plans on just going along the current of her life.

Julia decided she wanted to find and re-establish family connections.

Long story short, she succeeded, albeit she had turmoils and caveats on the way to the familial reunification. She isn't just a lesbian, she is in marriage and with two women. Father's side of the family would've lost her again, Julia couldn't afford them another heartbreak—so she keeps her silence. However.

Another long story short, she became friends with her auntie Anny and accidentally introduced her to the wizarding world. For Anny, it was a relief: she had finally found the reason for the sheep to all too suddenly disappear as if it was the wind that swept them into the sea. For Julia, a trouble, because muggles are supposed to be obliviated.

It didn't happen because Anny was quick to learn about the McFusty clan—the dragonkeepers. She went at them to show them fury; these sheep are important for the Faroe islands. But she ended up in a very happy marriage with a McFusty man.

Of course Anny was then quick to learn about why Julia had never mentioned anything about her affairs; Julia's life is a well-known thing in the UK at this point, not many witches organise covens in her days. Suffice it to say, Anny was shocked but much like Julia, thought the wizarding world was just… queer, different, whimsical and happy enough not to care about religion—and more precisely, dying without heirs to the shepherd's crowns; hard to care for that when your life expectancy is around ~150 (provided no cauldron explodes at you).

===> a cap

[sickfreaksirkay]

girl help they're sending me to the stocks until tomorrow morn for saying unto the king that i think sir lancelot of the lake and sir gawain of orkney should just kiss already

[blairstales]

Historic Halloween: Predicting the Future

"Love charms, indeed, form an important group of wishing superstitions. To this class belong Hallow E’en rites, such as eating an apple before a mirror, and sowing hemp seed." “Folklore of Scottish Lochs and Springs” by James M MacKinlay (1893)

While it might seem strange now, predicting the future was once an important part of Halloween festivities. In fact, it was a tradition that was absolutely expected at gatherings.

"As the evening wore on, the young people gathered to one house, and an almost endless variety of games (cleasan) were resorted to, with the object in every case of divining the future lot of the company." “Witchcraft & Second Sight in The Highlands and Islands of Scotland” by John Gregorson Campbell (1902)

Some of these even carried over to America, such as the tradition of bobbing for apples (dooking for apples). While very much so also a game, the reason for it was to foretell who would have the best luck.

"Apples and a silver sixpence were put in a tub of water. The apples floated on the top, but the coin lay close to the bottom. Whoever was able to lift either in his mouth, and without using his teeth, was counted very lucky, and got the prize to himself." “Witchcraft & Second Sight in The Highlands and Islands of Scotland” by John Gregorson Campbell (1902)

Other traditions might not be recognizable now, but were done with much laughter and teasing.

"A dish of milk and meal (fuarag, Scot. crowdie), or of beat potatoes, was made, and a ring was concealed in it. Spoons were given to the company, and a vigorous attack was made on the dish. Whoever got the ring would prove to be the first married. This was an excellent way of making the taking of food part of the evening’s merriment." “Witchcraft & Second Sight in The Highlands and Islands of Scotland” by John Gregorson Campbell (1902)

There were many different customs to predict the future, and some were designed to be done with the group.

Burning the Nut:

Amongst the spells practiced inside the house was burning the nuts. As the company sat around the fireside, they named a lad or lass to each nut as it was laid on the fire, and according to the behavior of the nuts, so would the course and issue of the courtship be." “Primitive Beliefs in the North-East of Scotland” by Joseph McKenzie McPherson (1929)

While others were specifically for a girl to sneak away and perform while alone.

Sowing Lint-seed:

"When the shades of evening were falling, the maiden had to steal out quietly with a handful of lint-seed, and walk across the ridges of a field, sowing the seed, and repeating the words: “Lint-seed I saw ye, Lint-seed I saw ye; Lat him it’s to be my lad Come after me, and pu’ me.” On looking over the left shoulder she saw the apparition of him who was to be her mate crossing the ridges, as it were, in the act of pulling flax.” “Folklore of the North East of Scotland” by Walter Gregor (1881)

All in all, these “future telling” customs were a fun way to tease friends or family, or a way to (maybe) secretly see something that would make you hopeful for the future.

Historic Audio Recordings:

(link) 1974 — A Halloween divination custom.

(link) 1978 — Halloween divination; an instance when it came true.

(link) 1977 — Orkney Halloween customs, including divination; tricks at Halloween and other times

[the-merry-otter]

Fav things from this round of medieval camping:

Climbing a hill to try and get phone reception and feeling like I’m in lord of the rings because the landscape is very similar

There was a “do an impression of a bird mating dance” competition. In particular I loved watching a landed baroness compete with an eerily good budgie mating impression. Like, it was hilarious, and I’ve never been as ready to believe that a human is actually a budgie than that moment. Also me and my friends “nearly died” when a guy doing an ibis impression fell on us.

Wandering out into the wilderness at night with a friend and watching the stars (I seem to be making a habit of this).

I wandered into the surrounding wilderness with 3 other friends with only one lantern between us. On the way back, we were all talking about our scariest nightmares, and then suddenly another friend popped up out of the darkness scaring the living daylights out of us.

We went back to the same wilderness in daylight and took majestic pictures of each other, and then some very silly group selfies

A friend from interstate has a knitted Orkney hood that is dubbed the Dorkney Hood

Forming a group with two others with the plans to be a Macbeth’s witches/mean girl trio

[scotianostra]

Isobel Gunn was born on August 5th 1781 at Orphir on the Orkney Islands.

Little is known of her early life until the summer of 1806, she enrolled as a man in the Hudson's Bay Company and was the first European woman to reach western Canada, using her father's name, John Fubbister.

Gunn quickly distinguished herself for her bravery. Her canoe treks and expeditions through the most remote stretches of Canada saw her travelling some 1,800 miles between remote trading posts. Hugh Heney, who led one of the brigades Gunn travelled with to Pembina, wrote that she “worked at anything and well like the rest of the men.” She even earned herself a pay rise for performing her duties “willingly and well.”

Although she disguised the fact that she was female at least one man knew of her true gender for she fell pregnant. On December 29, 1807, she excused herself from work at the Pembina trading post, citing stomach pains to Alexander Henry, who was the head of the post. She begged him to let her rest in his home by the fire. Henry’s journal takes up the story.....I returned to my room, where I had not been long before he sent one of my own people, requesting the favour of speaking with me. Accordingly, I stepped down to him, and was much surprised to find him extended out upon the hearth, uttering most dreadful lamentations; he stretched out his hand towards me and in a pitiful tone of voice begg’d my assistance, and requested I would take pity upon a poor helpless abandoned wretch, who was not of the sex I had every reason to suppose. But was an unfortunate Orkney girl pregnant and actually in childbirth, in saying this she opened her jacket and display’d to my view a pair of beautiful round white breasts.”

Henry’s journal continued: “In about an hour she was safely delivered of a fine boy and that same day she was conveyed home in my cariole, where she soon recovered.”

The name Gunn registered on the birth certificate? Hudson’s Bay labourer John Scarth, who she said had forced himself upon her.

This story is plausible. There are records to show that Scarth had been with Gunn at numerous HBC postings. Some historians say Gunn was trying to cover up an affair gone wrong; others believe she likely was taken advantage of by Scarth, who could have discovered her ruse as a man, and threatened to tell their employer.

Gunn and her child were returned to Scotland on the ship Prince of Wales on 20th September 1809. There, she lived in poverty, working as a stocking and mitten maker until her death.

Canadian songstress Eileen McGann wrote the following song about Isobel, but called her Isobella, probably for artistic reasons....

My name it is Isabella Gunn, I'm a woman both true and strong From Orkney's rugged Isles I come, but now listen unto my song When I was young I had a lad, as I loved, so he loved me Poverty made him sell his land to travel across the sea It was in the summer of eighteen and six, my lover and I set sail To stay with him I used my wits and my courage it did not fail In men's atire I stowed away to join that jolly crew Side by side we worked each day and only my lover knew And oh how I loved those rocky cliffs and that windy and treeless shore And oh how it broke my heart to leave, but I loved my dear one more, one more But I loved my dear one more. My love was signed by the Hudson Bay for to be a Voyageur To map and explore the northern ways, to trade and to transport fur And if you think I'd be left behind, it's little you understand For on the very next line I signed for to do the work of a man And O how I loved the life we led, though my love and I worked apart But adventure delighted my very soul and the forest had healed my heart The company signed me to work three years, and well had I proved my worth But eighteen months fulfilled my fears and I found that I'd soon give birth. I hoped that the trees would give me rest but they found me where I lay With my newborn baby at my breast there was little that I could say. They sent me downriver to wash the clothes of the men I had worked beside And though I did well enough I suppose, I felt that I'd rather have died. The only thing that gave me joy, the baby grew strong and hale And I looked for the day I'd take my boy and we'd follow that northern trail Oh how I loved those rocky lakes and the stands of birch and pine And oh in the spring how my heart turned north for to search out this land of mine My name it is Isabella Gunn and it's many long miles I've roamed From Orkney's rugged Isles I come, now Canada is my home. For it's here I've come and here I'll be and Here I'll find my rest And my son's son's and daughters will follow me in the land that I love the best

[wildmtthyme]

Chapter 8: A Sweet Girl & A Desperate Man

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, 18+ Minors DNI. PnV Unprotected Sex.

Chapter Notes: Remember folks, wrap it before you tap it. Kinda long chapter but I couldn't exactly split this one up.

Synopsis: Johnny's gone and Simon learns that he's not the only one who's grieving his loss so deeply. In their ruthless hunt for Makarov, the hunters become the hunted and the team is driven to ground. Simon should know better but he's got nowhere else to run. Nowhere but a small white wash cottage in the Orkney Isles. Johnny'd just have to forgive him for knocking on her door. He'd have to forgive him for a lot of things.

<- Chapter 7 - Chapter 9 ->

Series Masterlist

He was about to tell her that he couldn’t… that she wasn’t his… when he felt that warmth bloom on his arm, just there… right above his elbow… and he felt like all the damned wind got knocked out of him. “Fuckin’ hell…” Sorry, Johnny- he thought. He breathed out in a rush before he pressed his lips against hers, a mournful sound curling up the back of his throat as he slanted his mouth over hers, as she welcomed his tongue in… as he licked into her deep, tasting every bit he could like he was a man starved.

He felt her fingers comb up into his hair and he couldn’t stand it. He turned and fell onto the couch and onto her, pressing her beneath him as his hands touched every inch he could reach of her. She was so soft, so damned comfortable… beautiful… perfect. His hand made its way up her chest, grabbing hold of one of her breasts and giving her a firm, quick squeeze before he cupped her jaw, breaking the kiss as he gasped for air… he ran his thumb over her swollen lower lip, watching her pant under him. God… how the hell did Johnny ever drag himself away from her.

He bracketed her chin with his grip, turned her face to the side as he pressed desperate, hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and against her neck. He could feel her thighs tightening around his waist, could feel her rocking her hips against him, desperate for friction, desperate for relief. His other hand shot down, grabbing onto her hip, tugging at her as he ground against her. His cock was damn near as hard as a rock, flexing wildly as he made her feel him. Made her feel all of him, ever damn inch… before he even knew it, he was moving steady, rocking in a rhythm that had her moaning so fucking beautifully for him.

“You feel what ya do t’me, sweet girl, hmm?” He breathed out against her ear, feeling her blunt nails rake down his back, the muscles bunching beneath the slight sting. He tightened his hold on her jaw, his hips snapping in a pointed move. “Want to burry m’cock deep inside ya, love… ‘till ya can’t think of anything but me.” He whispered those last words even lower, feeling the guilt punch holes in them but he kissed her neck again, anyway. His hand ran roughly around her thigh, fingers dipping beneath the hem of her Henley, the edge of her panties and further.

A noticeable shiver raced down his spine when he felt how slick she was, how much she’d already wept for him. He slipped his fingers up, following the slippery line of her body until he found what he was looking for, knowing he did the moment her back arched beneath him, her beautiful voice rising up out of her in a sweet moan, just for him.

“There she is…” He breathed out low, his cock flexing hard as he started circling her clit firmly, a steady rhythm that had her pawing at his back, pleas falling from her lips like a prayer. He kept his middle finger firmly planted, his ring finger back tracking until he slipped it into her seemingly without warning, his shoulder pitching, his entire body seeming to shove itself forward at the same time that he buried it up to his knuckle. He could feel the walls of her clench around him, flutter with warning for how untouched she’d been all these long years without this.

He pressed his lips together as his chin brushed hers, her head tilted back, his other hand threading itself into her hair and keeping her that way. His breath came heavy through his nose as he looked down at her, his gaze intense and firm… demanding in the way he plumbed her. “Come on, sweet girl…” He managed, his tenor breaking as he felt her try to rock her hips faster, her nails biting into his shoulders. Please, Simon… ah God, please!

“’M right here, love…” He watched her eyes near roll, felt her pussy try to strangle his damned finger as she came damned hard. So much so that his voice nearly whined out of him. “Fuck… ah… fuck…” He felt a tremble work its way through his body, his balls tightening as he held onto her tighter.

He pulled back, withdrew from her only enough to tear her panties off of her, quite literally. The sound of seams ripping filled the air amongst their panting breaths… he grabbed onto her, hauled her with him as he sat back down. He shoved his pants and boxers down with one hand, grabbed at her lower back with the other.

“Get on, baby… g’damn, get on…” He panted the words, his eyes locked on her… he quickly swiped the head of his cock, smearing the precum he’d wept for her, slicking himself up for her before he braced the base, aiming himself so she could settle.

And she did… he felt her slender fingers wrap around his shaft and his hips involuntarily twisted, his chest tightened and his head fell back against the couch. “Fuck… need ya, sweet girl…” He mumbled, nearly slurring his words all together. He felt her heat against him before his entire body tensed, his hands both grabbed at her hips… fingers digging in tight as she sank down onto him. She paused, gasping breaths rising out of her and his eyes returned to her.

“You c’n take me…” He slurred, his chest heaving as he pulled her down more, watching her expression twist as she moaned louder. “C’mon, love… all of it…” It’s too big… ah… she threw her head back and his eyes flicked over her body… his hands shook as he suddenly grappled with that flannel, tearing it from her and tossing it aside… he jerked her Henley up and peeled it off of her, sitting up as he did, his lips on hers the moment the shirt passed her face.

He kissed her desperately, swallowed her moan as he wrapped his arms around her entirely, his hand gripping her hip, the other threading into her hair again… he bowed his back and pulled her down onto him the rest of the way, feeling her body tense, her pussy grip him so damned tight that he swore he saw stars. She broke the kiss, her head falling back as she gasped for air.

He pressed sloppy, desperate kisses to her neck… drawing the skin in as he started to mark her… he spread his knees, feeling his clothes tense around his calves, he ignored them. He shifted his weight forward, felt her shift until her feet were flat on the couch cushions. He ran his hand down until he was gripping her ass tight, fingers digging in… and he pulled her into him, urged her to start moving… his lips sagging as soon as she started to rock into him.

The groan it pulled from him was deep and loud… and he felt her weep around him, the feeling of her tight cunt massaging his cock was making him dizzy in the best way. “Tha’s it… jus… jus like tha..” He managed, his muscles all tense, all trembling as he just held onto her, felt how she had her arms around him… her fingers in his hair… her breath panting out against him. He slid his arm further around until he was fully wrapped around her, muscles shaking as he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off the urge to come right now.

“Tha’s it, love… ride it good… m’sweet girl…” He pressed his temple against hers, his cheek brushing hers, feeling her lips against his skin as she started peppering him with sweet little kisses. He groaned low, his knees spreading further as he clawed at her as gently as he could, still leaving raised welts in his wake. “Takin’ m’so well…” He murmured, his lashes fluttering as he felt the walls of her pussy flutter around him. “S’all yours, love… all yours…”

He was babbling nonsense, he wasn’t even paying attention to the words that were falling out of his mouth. He slid a hand up suddenly, cupping the back of her head as he felt her cunt clamp down on him, her moan whine out of her as she shook astride him. “Tha’s it… gu’girl… fuck… my good fuckin’ girl…”

He felt her damn near soak him entirely… and his hips rocked up into her in response to the way her orgasm worked its way around his cock. He held her as she went still, felt the way her heart pounded heavy in her chest, listened to the sound of her breath sawing out of her… before he shifted his weight, kicking off his pants and boxers the rest of the way.

He ran his hands down and eased her legs so she’d settle more comfortably before he turned and laid down and yet turned onto his side at the same time, pinning one of her legs beneath the dip in his waist so it’d not be squished. He ran his hand down her hip, down her thigh, encouraging her to wrap her leg around him. When she did, he bent down and covered her lips, kissing her deeply.

He’d never known passion before… not really. Not like this. Now he got it… now he understood what it even meant. He kept one arm pinned beneath her, wrapped around her, bent up to cradle her head gently while the other made paces between her thigh and ass and back again. His hips rocking slow and steady, driving his cock as deep into her as he could get at this twisted yet oddly comfortable angle. He swallowed her moans, gave her his own… and lost track of all semblance of time.

He was coated in a fine layer of sweat, his hair hanging over his brow, damp and shifting with the way he moved. Her hand was holding onto his bicep tight… and he felt her clench tight around him, her cunt turning into a hot wet fist that strangled his cock as she came so damned beautifully. Simon! She whined his name, a sweeter sound he had never heard. He dipped low and kissed away the gasp before he bent away, his hand grabbing onto her thigh just above her knee, lifting her leg as he started snapping his hips faster.

He was aching, desperate… he felt needy. For the first time in his life, he was fucking needy. He felt like whining, whimpering as he raced after her. Give it to me, please, ah God, Simon, please, please, please! She was begging, pleading, grabbing onto him so desperately. “Gonna give ya all of it, sweetheart… everything… all a’me.” He breathed out haggardly, feeling his heart double-time it as his balls tightened, his cock reaching for her.

His brows pitched outward… his hands gripped and eased and gripped her again… his eyes flicked up to hers, holding her gaze with a look that was almost… worried… almost… concerned! “S’comin… fuck… s’fuckin’ comin…” The tingling sensation started around his lower back and started trickling slowly outwards, throughout his whole body before it damn near exploded and he felt like he blew the end of his fucking cock clean off!

He shouted, his eyes slammed shut as he curled in on himself, wrapping around her, hands clutching her against him as he groaned and moaned and made all kinds of damned noise! For a man who’d never made more than a few grunts in his time in the bedroom, this was… very different. “Mare… ah… s’all fer you… m’sweet girl… all f’you…” He babbled, drunk on her, drunk on them.