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takami-takami · 8 months

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For His Pleasure.

kinktober day 1: love bites.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut.

warnings— gn!reader. keigo is such a good boy. slight masochism. marking.

More often than not, a canvas takes the form of the flesh when it comes to Keigo Takami.

Your breath fogs back against your lips when you're this close to the piercable skin of his neck. You dip down, fangs bared, and he cranes his neck so far back it could just about snap. A carnivorous, masochistic ringing in his mind won't let him forget how he wants nothing more than to expose the entire surface to you— to only you, vulnerable and ripe to be marked like a nametag signed into the flesh.

Panting below you is a man who tends to hold little back. You've come to expect him in the raw. Frankly, you prefer it that way. It's advantageous to your relationship in every sense, pulling you closer together as you weave through challenges with ease, armed with communication as the hot knife that slices through the thick of conflict.

But in the bedroom, that communicative nature of his translates quite nicely into behavior that is oh so responsive.

With his hands propped behind him to keep his body stable, you straddle him and mark his skin; and Keigo has never sounded as pliable as he does now.

"This here," you whisper, tracing a finger from the center of his chin down his bobbing Adam's apple. "This is mine, baby."

It is. You swear you catch the sweetest coo of agreement bubbling in his throat as you work on his flesh, his nape bared further by the way he lets his head fall back slack. Golden tufts are splayed against bare shoulders, cascading over the curvature of muscles formed to carry fierce wings. It brushes against his bare skin with each labored breath, and his head dips back like a strawberry in melted chocolate, decadent in its indulgence.

Inside, he invites you, and you're willing to crawl.

Sticking up in wild tufts, you could count the mussed strands of hair poking in every direction atop his head. Memories depicting how you played with and pulled them flash in your mind's eye, reminding you of how the soft texture felt running like water through the valleys between your fingers.

You discovered it pretty early on in your relationship: the pretty boy likes his hair pulled. It's an activity that soothes him, the controlled sparks of pain pulling a lopsided smile as he spills the prettiest moans.

"More— Harder,” he begs. “Please, angel, gimme more."

Keigo doesn't want to look perfect. He wants to look taken. He wants to look loved.

Most nights, he studies your work like a ritual. He stands before the bathroom mirror after you've finished each masterpiece, admiring the blooming bruises that burst forth in shades of red and violet for longer than he probably should. Barely suppressing a giddy smile, Keigo simply walks past the comb on the counter without a second thought, opting to keep the mess that is his hair intact before he returns to bed— before he returns to you.

Yeah, he definitely prefers this look to the one suggested by his hairstylist.

For as selfless as Hawks is at his core, gluttony is a language Keigo speaks fluently when he allows himself to; when it's safe to, when it doesn't affect his work, when he can sink his teeth into the concentrated comfort and moan like a goddamn whore once it bursts in his mouth.

Concentrated methods of comfort... It's an amicable way to describe a vice.

It keeps him sane.

You noticed it first with food; with the way he glues his eyes shut and sighs, chewing agonizingly slow with his eyes rolled back, letting the flavors burst atop his palette. He only allows the delicacy to be swallowed down his throat after every bit of pleasure has been milked to the fullest.

It's even more apparent in his slouch when he sinks into the scalding burn that fills his porcelain tub after work. You’ve taken the pleasure of watching him sink alongside you, submerged down to the nose as the heat melts the crackling neurons that sing in his brain. It's evident in the way he throws his head back and sucks his teeth at the patter of the showerhead against his back, how his breathing slows to panting groans the moment he turns the knob as hot as it will go.

And here in the sanctity of your bed, Keigo sits poised, the picture of blissed out debauchery. His eyes haven't peeked open in some time; if that and the labored rise and fall of his chest is any indication, he's fallen too far down to pleasure to be reasoned with.

Good.

You like a man you can bend.

"You're so good to me." Another moan slips out at a nip against his jaw. His pleasure-drunk smile never wavers, even when he raises one hand to paw at the bend of your hips. Like this, he can slide his calloused hands along the divots imprinted by his teeth, ghosting against each bruise with a glint of conquest in his eyes.

With each mark sucked into his skin, a plethora of sounds grace your ears: hisses, whimpers, outright and unabashed moans.

"Gonna show me off, baby?" The ghost of his stolen air creaks when he speaks. His word choice is an attempt to sound cocky, you’re sure, but an unmistakable whine laces that breathless tone.

Still running his mouth even as he squirms, you appraise. You roll your eyes; but you can't find it in you to judge when he sounds this happy.

Rosy cheeks and a toothy grin; this is what Keigo wears when he's experiencing true happiness. In the solace of your bed, his customer service façade drops to the floor alongside his clothes to reveal his innermost sunshine you've come to adore.

"Mark me up and show 'em. All of this s'yours."

He arches his back, bowing off the bed in a manner more reminiscent of a feline than a bird; and you can’t help but dive into him, feeding off his indulgence once more.

…

There's a pep in his step when he swipes his ID card with a flourish at the front desk this morning.

Keigo flips a kick and a stutter with the rhythm of his walk, coat flaring with his little spin as he swings open his office door. When the people around him snap their necks to gawk, their head-turning stares are simply met with a dopey smile and a wave.

Your relationship going public was the best thing to ever happen to him.

Some commission executive glares down her nose at his neck, glasses glinting a reflection of the light in Keigo’s eyes.

I know, right, he wants to say, lovesick and claimed at last.

#title is actually a reference to a tiamat song that inspired this actually! listen while reading for the full effect actually #i want him to be able to drop that image of what other people want him to be SOOOO bad #he deserves to be himself and not hide anything and be authentic. so I wrote this #🖋 writing #🌶 spice #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha thirst #smut #x reader #bnha thirst

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therdjspectrum · 4 months

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In a maroon suit with a low-cut tank top that gives us a glimpse of his tattoo, and another pair of red-bottomed heels, a very slutty thotty daddy Rawbert is clearly on a mission to kill us all this awards season. We are totally okay with that. 💯👀 || February 9, 2024

Robert Downey Jr. accepts the Maltin Modern Master Award at the Santa Barbara Film Festival, with speeches from Rob Lowe and Cillian Murphy

#yes rawbert is a subset of robert #yes this pays tribute to my very old rawbertdowneyjr page where all i did was thirst #rawbert is the more casual version of a bobfather #it inspires Thoughts #robert downey jr #rdj #rdjedit #cillian murphy #rob lowe #mancandykings #the rdj spectrum #robert #rawbert #2024

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saltyb0ba · 26 days

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a deep blood moon, a starless night

dark enough to see the light

#something something he has the title of prince yet is treated like a commoner #callum holds a prestigious ranking due to his mother's marriage yet he is not the hier to the throne #im sure canonically he literally cannot care less specifically #but i like to think it factors into his struggles with finding himself #and his purpose in the world #this is a “we love ezran” household #but i cant help feeling callum has the vibes of a middle child despite being the oldest #while ezran is both oldest and youngest. burden of the crown yet still a child #the title of high mage gives callum his own kind of recognition #but it doesn't separate him from the title of prince #he's the first human mage to do primal magic yet only his inner circle recognizes how big of a feat that is #something something having a strong mind and heart with an untapped thirst for knowledge #everyone forgets about him so it gives him time to research all he needs #this was originally inspired by the vibes of “red moon” by will wood #puts my callum would listen to will wood if he existed in xadia badge #probs ¡Akido! (Neurotic / Erotic)#Williard!#Against the Kitchen Floor #and White Noise #in case i make it is a callum album overall tbh #late night ramblings #tdp #callum tdp #tdp fanart #the dragon prince fanart #the dragon prince callum fanart #the dragon prince #my fanart #my art #bobasalt

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navybrat817 · 11 months

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Vacation with Bucky?

#navy's thirsty #sebastian stan #romanian menace #i love him your honor #my ❤️ and my 😻#bucky barnes #metal arm husband #summer vibes #vacation #the rings #please sir #navy's muse inspiration #thirst with me #you know you wanna #are you reading my tags?#go drink some water #stay hydrated my friends

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lair-of-asmodeus · 2 months

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Happy Birthday Vil 👑

“What do you mean by that, potato?!”

He crossed his arms and furrowed his eyebrows in anger, amethyst eyes glaring daggers at you... You were laying down on the bed, curled up with your knees on your chest, with your back turned to him and you were at the verge of tears. Still, you looked at him in the eye and started talking.

“I mean... I hate how I look... Here you are with beautiful hair, eyes, lashes, porcelain skin, glossy lips... But when I look at myself, I feel a little.. ugly...”

He remained silent, but the hand that was on your shoulder before was gone. You heard the bed rustle and the next thing you knew was him pulling you close. You looked back, but his expression was unreadable; you couldn’t figure out what he was feeling... His hand went to your chest, then he lowered it to your leg.

“Liebling...” He whispered in your ear and kissed your neck, then trailed his hand and lips down to your back. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Mm..?”

“I love you just the way you are...”

You reluctantly turned to face him.

“...”

“And don’t you ever forget that, okay?”

His hands were now on your wrists, pinning them while you’re beneath him with your ass up in the air. With how his cock moved in and out of you, with how some parts of your body was covered in purple lipstick marks and with how much the slicky sounds coming from your poor, abused hole, you couldn’t help but scream every time his cock drew out a moan from you. You tried so hard to bite your lips, but the next second Vil entered in your mouth with his tongue and started kissing you while he fucked you senselessly. When he broke off the kiss, he put a hand on your chin to make you look at him in the eye.

“(Y/N)...”

He gently called out your name in contrast to his relentless pace.

“Look at me, (Y/N)...”

You looked away in shame, but his tone was stern.

“I want you to look at me, (Y/N)..!”

You shut your eyes tightly, but he stops for a moment to gaze at your figure; your slightly twitching body, your flushed cheeks, your eyebrows, your (e/c) eyes... Then he places a sweaty kiss on your forehead and keeps thrusting, causing you to subconsciously scream out his name.

“Vil~!”

He leans in again and kisses your temple.

“Look at you, my sweet potato... You are more beautiful like this.. with a sight only I’M allowed to see... Do you understand~?”

You nod as he kisses your neck and grabs your hips, thrusting one last time before emptying his load into you which makes you scream out his name for the nth time.

#twisted wonderland smut #twst smut #vil schoenheit thirst #vil schoenheit smut #Again this was short :'(#Sorry-#I think I’m starting to lack inspiration for fics...

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alexisntedgy · 5 months

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classic bi boomer behaviour

#inspired by my bi bio father #who literally said this #i made a ghostly tweet about that one scene #the one where he accidentally thirsts over a man doin his bike tires #idk if I’ll post it #maybe in a bigger post with other ones i deem slightly less funny #bbc ghosts #ghosts #julian fawcett #bisexual julian fawcett #thomas thorne #ghostly tweets

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aetherean-alchemist · 4 months

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QSMP February drawing of the day

Day 7: Mr. Rabbit

Meet the new manager of Quesadilla Island! You'll have so much fun, you'll never want to leave! :)

#qsmp #qsmp federation #qsmp federation workers #qsmp mr bunny #qsmp bunny #qsmp art #qsmp fanart #ITS NOT A THIRST TRAP I SWEAR #I JUST FELT INSPIRED THATS ALL--

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kissingrhi · 6 months

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half awake and thinking about making roman roy ride a pillow in front of you as punishment 😵‍💫

it was roughly 2 am when he’d waltzed into your suite, drunk and needy. he didn’t have to say a word. you could tell by the twinkle in his eye and the throbbing vein that was practically popping out of his forehead. shamelessly stealing a drink from your mini fridge, drinking it as if it would ease the heat pooling in his stomach.

you were already pissy at him (which he loved) due to some interesting words that he threw at you during a meeting, and an important one at that. something along the lines of, “yeah, no, let the fuckin’ she-demon take the reigns. see how far that takes you.” he was glaring eager daggers into you the entire time, scoffing when you merely swallowed the bitter urge to bite back at him. he definitely didn’t get turned on at the way your voice twinged and cracked with frustration each time he’d cut you off. or by how you blatantly ignored him. no way.

“what do you want, romulus?” you groaned, spitting out the name. you knew it would make him wince. “oh, i’m sorry. can i not visit daddy’s favorite assistant?” he drew out the words just to watch you clench your jaw. you hated when he called you that. you made it your number one priority to avoid logan as much as possible. “you weren’t complaining about my glorious surprises last week.” he added slyly, a saccharine grin gracing his mouth. “last week” referencing when he’d snuck into your room and sloppily lapped at your cunt until he was rutting into your silk sheets and you were sure your hands were soaked in his hair gel from tugging on his locks so much.

“dick.” you replied, half-joking, getting up to walk closer to him nonetheless. “oh yeah?” he responded, snarkily as ever, just to watch your nostrils flare. he peered up at you through his eyelashes, a desperate, tempting slime puppy seated in an odd position on your bed. his legs spread instinctually as he sat on the corner of the bedframe, leaning back onto his hands, smirking when you stood between his meaty thighs. so convinced he had you wrapped around his finger.

“we can’t do this anymore. i’m worried your father will find out.” you deadpanned, watching pure betrayal wash over his face. god, was he sulking? “are you fucking kidding me?” he whined, with zero regard to the time of night; throwing his head back grandiosely, practically pouting. wordlessly, you reached out to cup his jaw, the pad of your thumb running over his bottom lip. “maybe you’d like that, though.” your voice fell to a whisper that made him flinch, and suddenly he was holding his breath. “nasty fuck that you are.” the words fell in a righteous laugh, a laugh that screamed: “we both know i’m right.” you peeked down to the forming semi under his pajama pants, clicking your tongue in amusement.

“is that it?” you cooed. “want everyone to hear what disgusting shit you’re into?” you forced his chin up, the uncomfortable crane in his neck making him flush. he was exposed, unintentionally barring his neck to you. you took the opportunity to suck on the pale flesh above his collarbone, working your way up to his ear. “answer me.” you pressed a knee to his growing cock. his response was a pathetic “yeah” and a furrow in his brow, to which you scoffed and pulled away at.

“yeah?” you mocked, watching his eyes squeeze shut in embarrassment. he got harder. you grabbed a pillow from behind him, purposefully pressing it down to his lap. “why don’t you give me a show, rome?” you pulled away completely, grabbing a chair and sliding it up to the bed. his eyes widened once again as if he’d been betrayed, when in reality he was just a spoiled little thing.

when he hesitated to move, you groaned in annoyance: “i don’t have all night. are you that stupid already?” he rolled his eyes, situating the pillow between his clothed legs. you stopped him. “you know i want to see you.” you crooned, watching his face flush even darker. “let me see your pretty little cock.” the dirty praise made look down at his trembling hands, grumbling a “shut up.” still, he obeyed, freeing his dick from the confines of his luxurious pajama pants. you couldn’t help yourself, letting out an “aw” at how eager he was. he groaned in embarrassment once more.

“don’t be too loud. or do. i don’t really care.” you chuckled. when he looked at you with utter humiliation in his eyes, you signaled for him to hurry up with your finger. “what, you think i’m joking? you dumb boy.” you spat out the word like a curse, and his hips stuttered helplessly. “oh, that’s what gets you going, right? being told how worthless you are?” it was odd how naturally the words fell from your mouth, and sent electricity shooting through his body.

he shakily, messily pistoned his hips against the pillow, the flushed pink tip of his cock a beautiful contrast to the cool white pillow. “no wonder you don’t know how to fuck.” you muttered under your breath, watching him fall forward with an especially hard thrust at the claim. the prettiest whines and curses escaped his throat, messy agreements to your words littered throughout. the way his hips rolled and stuttered made you grin, and heat pooled in your stomach with each new level of depravity he reached.

“you’re just such a shameless bitch, aren’t you, roman?” you hummed, leaning in a little, admiring him. he could feel your eyes burning holes into his back. he gripped at the pillow beneath him. “fucking that thing like your life depends on it. it’s pathetic, you know?” he gasped, his eyes falling shut once more: “i know- i know.” his voice didn’t even sound like his own, all high-pitched and wanton. his cock twitched when he heard himself. his thrusts got even messier, forcing himself to keep going through the tingling stimulation on his drooling cock. he hissed, his head falling back to reveal his adam’s apple covered in your drying saliva. you bit the inside of your cheek at the sight, a predatory glimmer in your eyes.

“depraved little shit.” you practically laughed out, watching him so focused on reaching his orgasm. his eyes were glued to his cock, trying so desperately to get there by himself. “can’t make yourself finish?” you teased, watching his eyes prickle with tears in frustration. “that’s just too bad, huh? it’ll be nice to watch you actually work for something for a change.” he whined again at your words

it was going to be a long night.

#back from hibernation #inspired by me and koe’s constant roman thirsting #i need to ruin him #this is kinda ass #sawry!#degradation on 10000% with this one #but like #come on it’s literally roman what #HAIIII :3 #roman roy #roman roy x reader #succession #succession x reader #got lazy lol!

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kraro-school-life · 1 month

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You probably get this a lot but:

How do you have this motivation?

I love your work ethic btw!!!!

Thank you so much!! And I actually dont't get this often at all, thank you for the ask <33

I think about this quite a lot. To me, being good in school (studying) is something I have always tried to do. And I didn't know for a long time. Like, why am I even doing all this? But I realised some things:

I think a big part of it lies in the type of person you are. A lot of my motivation is rather subconcious, f.e.

I like doing school work. I genuinly enjoy doing assignments, participating in class and good (prefect haha) grades.

I absolutely CANNOT go into an exam without the feeling that I´m going to crush it. I physically cannot do it, I would rather die than be unprepared. And I feel similar about generally staying on top of all the material in class.

I think the main point is, that I see school as a hobby. A hobby that I realised to enjoy and one I want to be really good at, because it gives me satisfaction. That's also why I started this blog!

Of course, it is not every day that I feel like that, sometimes school fucking sucks. But what's essential is to be aware of the reason why you want to/ should be doing anything, really, but especially in education. It just so happens that I want to be the best I can haha

In the words of my german teacher: "You seem to really enjoy it, right?" - that basically sums it up. My motivation comes from just the fact that I (normally) don't have to actually force myself to do it (study). But how I do it then, is a whole other question.

(I hope this doesn't sound stuck up or anything. If you were asking about what you can do to find sustainable motivation, then I would recommend

find a reason why you should put in the effort you want to and remind yourself of it

try to enjoy the process, or try to make it as enjoyable as possible)

#I thirst over academic validation I fear #studyblr #study motivation #study blog #studying #study inspiration #student life #school #high school #study tips #academic weapon #academic validation #karoanswers #karoriginal

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accidentally-in-fictional-love · 1 month

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After Dark - A David Dastmalchian Thirst Trap

Chorus Loop Version

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izvmimi · 1 year

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ok but imagine getting stretched full at 9am by your still sleepy fave who’s trying to brush his teeth but just needs to feel your cunt to fuel him for a 16 hour shift so now you’re cockwarming him while he’s mumbling something unintelligible trying to wake up

#inspired by the drabble i reblogged earlier #ifjckfkfkg #mimi thirsts

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queenlucythevaliant · 3 months

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Northern Lights

I heard a voice that cried, “Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!”

Who knows what to call the lonely exhilaration of gazing out into a bright Northern sky? Who can name it?

Jill could.

It was the same feeling that came to her at the teetering edge of a cliff at the end of the world. The same feeling as when she said her goodbyes to Puddleglum and Scrubb before they freed the prince. It was the same feeling that engulfed her now, sitting in the professor’s library with a volume of poetry before her.

The wild northern wastes were well named: utterly wild, perfectly desolate, and terribly Northern.

It was lonely there and often cold, but the sky was an endless whorl of gales and gray clouds. The stones were indigo under the pale winter sunlight, and at sunset they glowed a soft gold, as though lit from within. The gorges and moors lay before her, and Jill loved them for their vastness and their distance. Little grew in that country, but that which did was full of vigor. The grass was short and coarse. Every tree was victorious.

On a still, deep breathing winter night, Jill lay on her back beneath a covering sky. It seemed beautiful to her, rich and strong and glorious. Her eyes drank in the breadth of it until her tears began to blind her. Yet even then, she still couldn’t look away.

She felt bigger here in the wastes, like the landscape. Stronger, wider. The further she walked, the more she felt herself stretch out. One of these days, maybe, she would catch hold of herself at the edge and tug, and Jill Pole would open up clear as the Northern sky.

And through the misty air passed the mournful cry of sunward sailing cranes.

The thing that surprised Jill most about the battle with the serpent was this: there wasn’t any yelling. Always, it seemed, whenever she read stories about people fighting with swords, the combatants would let loose some guttural yell before their blows fell. They would scream and writhe in pain as they died. They would shout instructions to their fellows, “Look out!” or “Hit him there!” But the whole affair with the serpent passed with very little noise.

The poison-green coil constricted around the prince; he raised his arms and got clear, struck the serpent hard, and then Scrubb and Puddleglum dispatched the creature with heavy, hacking blows. The monster died writhing, but not screaming. And then it was over.

The thing that surprised Jill most about the moments before battle was, of course, the noise. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t stop listening to her own breathing. Every footstep rang out like a gong, and any words exchanged rang with a kind of finality that made them sound louder than anything.

“You are of high courage,” Rilian told her when it was over.

Yet the thing in Jill’s chest just then didn’t feel like courage. It was a deep breath, a plunge, and a release. It was loud and quiet all at once, till she was standing, blinking in the night air as snowballs whizzed round her, and maybe that was something like courage after all.

And now, there was a stirring in her chest as she reread the words on the page. Sing no more / O ye bards of the North / Of Vikings and of Jarls! / Of the days of the Eld / preserve the freedom only / nor the deeds of blood!

She thought of grief. Of freedom.

The lonely ache in her belly grew stronger. She felt herself uplifted into the huge regions of sky that were just beyond those cliffs, weightless as the breath beneath her buoyed her up, further, further…

When she saw Caspian up close, Jill thought that he looked like the sort of person who was meant to live in a castle. A silly thought, perhaps, since she knew he was a king– only she wasn’t thinking of Cair Paravel. No, Jill was picturing the ruins of an old British castle she’d visited once on holiday. She still remembered how the stonework had loomed over her, all towering arches and crumbling walls. That was where Caspian seemed to belong. He had an air of ancient tragedy about him.

When Rilian disappeared, all things had wept but one. The serpent coiled beneath the earth and flicked its forked tongue, spewing poison.

Now, the king half rose to bless his son. He whispered a few words as he caressed Rilian’s cheek, words meant only for those beloved ears. Jill saw Caspian’s lips move and wondered what a man like that could possibly say, when time ran so short.

They laid him in his ship, with horse and harness, as on a funeral pyre. Odin placed a ring upon his finger, and whispered in his ear.

Jill furtively took Myths of the Northmen and held it up to the professor with a question in her eyes. She was still shy around him and Miss Plummer, though she wished she wasn’t.

“Would you like to take that with you?”

“...Please.”

It takes a certain kind of person to be exhilarated by the heights. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling.

They walked to the train station with an autumn wind blowing hard, and though Jill couldn’t fathom why, she turned and saw Lucy grinning, fierce and joyful– grinning and reaching a hand out towards her friend.

Jill reached back and grabbed it. “What will you do, once we’re back in Narnia?” she asked.

The wind blew harder. The feeling of anticipation grew and grew, until it felt so big that she couldn’t dream of containing it. And there was Lucy, holding Jill’s hand and laughing like it was easy.

Preserve the freedom only, not the deeds of blood!

The second time Jill went to Narnia, she found herself not at its edge, but at its end.

The thing about the Norse apocalypse is: it feels believable. It doesn’t reach beyond earth’s horizon to pull down hope beyond hope. It’s only the kind of courage that hopeless humans have: you are going to die, so you might as well die bravely.

They found the last king of Narnia bound to a tree. His eyes were faintly red from crying, and his wrists and ankles red from the coarseness of his fetters.

In the Norse myths, Loki broke free of his fetters at the end of the world. He escaped to the helm of a ship made from the fingernails of the dead.

The last king of Narnia fell forward onto the ground when Eustace cut his bonds. Jill crouched down beside him and watched as he rubbed feeling back into his legs. He wasn’t so much older than her, she thought. Jill was sixteen years old; the last king of Narnia could not be older than twenty-two.

In the myths, the gods were ancient, hewn from the bodies of giants old as the earth.

Jill put out a hand and helped the last king of Narnia to his feet. Not for the last time, she shivered. Something deep inside her (deeper than her chest, than her heart, than the marrow of her bones, deep as her soul, deeper) was singing an elegy and she didn’t know why, or how, or where it had come from. The king clutching her hand, who could have been her older brother, would have no heir.

Yet when he asked, “Will you come with me?” Jill could only smile.

“Of course,” she said. “It’s you we’ve come to help.”

And the voice forever cried, "Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!"

“This really is Narnia at last,” murmured Jill. The springtime wood had little in common with the wintry lands she had traveled the last time she was here– but it awakened the same feelings of Northernness in her chest.

Their party may as well have been the only people in the world, for how isolated their little wooden path seemed. Yet it wasn’t lonely, really, cocooned in all that green with the wind in the leaves and the primroses nodding and blue of the sky peeking through above.

Jewel told stories about what ordinary life was like when there was peace here. As he spoke, Jill could almost hear the trees' voices speaking out of the living past, whispering, stay, stay. She was caught up to a great height, looking down across a rich, lovely plain full of woods and waters and cornfields, which spread away and away till it got thin and misty from distance.

“Oh Jewel–” Jill said with a dreamy sigh, “wouldn’t it be lovely if Narnia just went on and on– like what you say it has been?”

She needn’t be a queen, as Susan and Lucy had been, but Jill would’ve liked to stay. She would've liked it all to stay, if it could. She might have been a woodmaid in a place like this: with the turn of the seasons, the swaying trees, swords into plowshares. Oh, if only she could stay!

Ahead, the last king of Narnia was softly singing a marching song. Jill tilted her head back and let warm shafts of sun caress her face.

I saw the pallid corpse of the dead sun borne through the Northern sky.

“So,” said the last king of Narnia, “Narnia is no more.”

He tried to send them back. Jill shook her head. It was very loud and very quiet. “No, no, no, we won’t. I don’t care what you say. We’re going to stick by you whatever happens, aren’t we Eustace?”

They couldn’t go back anyway. Neither would they flee, not south across the mountains nor North into the great wide wastes. No, they would stay. They slept in a holly grove on the edge of ruin, waiting for the bonfires to light.

Jill slept fitfully, but in between she dreamed. She was high up in the air, buffeted by clouds and pierced by shafts of silver sunlight.

They all died, in the myths. Jill knew that. It seemed beautiful and brave when she read it in her book, tucked away safe in the Professor’s library. It was terrifying now– and yet it was beautiful and brave still.

The dogs came bounding up, every one of them, running up to the king and his men with their tails wagging. One of them leapt at Jill and licked her face, tongue roughly lapping up the sweat and tears that had dried on her cheeks.

“Show us how to help, show us how, how, how!” the dogs were barking, almost ebullient in their enthusiasm. Jill bit back a sob. How lovely, she thought. How terribly beautiful. How dreadfully brave.

So perish the old Gods!

The white rock gleamed like a moon in the darkness when Jill finally reached it. She ran back to it alone, her hands shaking, while her friends stayed forward with their gleaming swords and Jewel’s indigo horn.

The while rock gleamed like the moon. Jill’s first shot flew wide and landed in the soft grass. But she had another arrow on her string the next instant. It was speed that mattered, not aim. Speed, and turning aside when she cried, so as not to drip tears on her bowstring.

The white rock gleamed. In the myths, a wolf devoured the moon. Peter’s wolf, slain many thousand years ago in this world, opened his jaw wide and darkness fell over everything.

Her next arrow found its mark. After that, she lost track. She pulled, and she prayed that her hands kept still another minute.

The unique thing–maybe the appealing thing–about the Norse myths, was that they told men to serve gods who were admittedly fighting with their backs to the wall and would certainly be defeated in the end. Jill let loose another arrow, felt the white rock at her back, and she knew that the clawing fear–beauty–bravery deep in her gut was the same feeling that she felt on the heights. The same feeling, but a different face. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling.

“I feel in my bones,” said Poggin, “that we shall all, one by one, pass through that dark door before morning. I can think of a hundred deaths that I would rather have died.”

“It is indeed a grim door,” said Tirian. “It is more like a mouth.”

“Oh, can’t we do anything to stop it,” said Jill. Better to be dashed to the ground than it was to be devoured.

“Nay, fair friend,” said Jewel. “It may be for us the door to Aslan’s country and we sup at his table tonight.”

A hand tangled itself in her hair and started to pull. Jill braced herself hard, for a moment, until her strength gave out. She was standing on the edge of a high, Northern cliff. She took another step, and fell.

Perhaps when the moment comes, our bite will prove better than our howls. If not, we shall have to confess that two millennia of Christianity have not yet brought us to the level of the Stoics and Vikings. For the worst (according to the flesh) that a Christian need face is to die in Christ and rise in Christ; some were content to die, and not to rise, with Father Odin.

The world inside the stable was beautiful. It made Jill’s chest ache in all the loveliest ways.

Build it again, O ye bards, fairer than before!

#okayyyy so #i've been down the tolkien/lewis/norse mythology rabbit hole lately #it's a lot #but i've been picking at this piece in my head for a while now #which is more a rhapsody than anything else #but another for my narnia/classic lit sequence of pieces #the quotes are mostly pulled from Longfellow's Tegners Drapa translation #which Jack discusses in Surprised by Joy as one of the works that inspired feelings of joy and 'Northernness' in his boyhood #there's also a Weight of Glory quote in there #(paraphrased)#and one from the intro to Joy Gresham's book on the 10 Commandments that Jack wrote #(that's that last passage in italics)#i'm not really sure i was trying to make a point with this so much as just. explore that feeling of northernness #bc really northernness is two things #it's joy and exhileration brought on by beauty #and it's that beautiful hopeless courage when faced with unwinnable battles #and i love how intertwined those two things are for lewis #and let's be honest for me too #so that's what this is #hope it holds together okay #narnia #chapter one #night under narnia #dying of thirst #pontifications and creations #leah stories

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