im moving my girl to my multi muse!

if i look back, i am lost
Not today Justin
we're not kids anymore.
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@shicldmaiden
im moving my girl to my multi muse!
omniphrenia:
NONVERBAL STARTERS // ⪻ @shicldmaiden ⪼ ↳ 👁 Wake my muse up during a nightmare … eomer waking eowyn …. uwu
he sits, a silent guard that keeps vigil for one: his sister. All I have left is Eowyn… muscles stiff from disuse, he sits, but does not move or adjust his position for comfort ; even as weariness blurs his vision, he remains with his gaze set upon her. ever watching for any sign of life stirring. ( oh, but each slight movement from her are so far and few. will she ever fully awaken? ) he does not know, but all he can do is sit and wait.
it has been but a mere handful of days since he happened upon her prone form in the Fields of Pelennor. body bent unnaturally and so, so terribly small and frail amidst the dead, he mistook her for one of their number. he had not felt breath rising and falling from her ; no, she lay still – oh, so very still. how could he not mistake her for lifeless?
and the RAGE that followed…Eomer had been OVERCOME with it. unseeing: he slew any who were not atop a horse or bore the ally colors. uncaring: for himself, what more did he have to live for?
( he was now the king of a lonely hall. the sole survivor… ) after the frenzy of his vengeance, grief crept upon him. it swallowed him ; engulfing him into its depths, dragging down into the black. so young to be a king when he was not the true heir, and so alone without his sister to share in their newfound freedom.
Ah, Uncle… I have failed us both. Eowyn lies on her very deathbed… I fear she will join you in the Great Hall… I am not fit to be King of our people if I cannot even keep my kin safe.
burning, his eyes dampen again ; however, he dare not lift a hand. he is resolute in his observance of her. he is unconcerned for any that glimpse his sorrow. all he yearns for is for his sister to open her eyes…
first, it is her fingers that twitch. second, it is her sudden inhale of breath ; it is sharp, arching her back from the pallet. then, her eyes open — though unfocused.
his limbs protest, but he surges forth: large hands reaching, grasping for her flailing arms. a shudder passes through her slight form ; firmly, he grips her wrists and draws her forward. enveloping her within his arms, he all but refuses to release her or allow any struggling movements.
lips part, his voice rough from desuetude, Eomer deigns to speak: ❝ Do you finally awaken, sistermine? ❞ he holds her against his chest, and eases back and forth – rocking her within his arms ; his cheek rests atop her golden crown, tears slipping as relief suffuses him. not wanting her to view his anguish, he distracts her with hesitant, shaking fingers gliding through her tangled mane. ❝ Tell me, Eowyn, am I no longer to be the last of the House of Eorl? ❞ Dare not shatter my hope, Eowyn…
She heard his cries in her slumber. Unable to move nor find her lungs to draw breath and breath out words of comfort. Too long had she dreamt of such a worthy end. A sword in her hand and a cry for victory, only to be stricken down by one of Sauron’s most loyal of servants.
The halls would fill of song of her name and heroism and he would remain silent upon his throne. Somber features would look out int he Golden Hall as all sang in merriment of the glory of the White Lady of Rohan. The Lady of the Shield-Arm! Slayer of the Witch King! But that day would not come to pass.
Instead she lay in the Houses of Healing, silent and unmoving. No songs of valor were song, only those of loss and impending doom as the darkness from the East threatened to swallow Middle-Earth whole.
The darkness whispers to her, pulling her down into a heavier slumber. She reaches out for him, but he does not hear nor feel her touch. He fades into the darkness You cannot hinder me. She turns, her sword in hand and her shield upon her other arm. Fear strikes her to her very core. The folly of man stood before her and she was utterly weak. Her king, her uncle, her father lay breathless beside her. Serpent’s mouth peeled open baring fangs coated in poisonous rage. Desiring nothing more than to swallow him whole.
The weight of his mace comes crashing down and she cries out in pain. Weight of boot comes crushing down upon her back only it is not Merry who saves her. It is he, last of her kin comes riding in. His cry is feral and monstrous. Eyes alight with a rage as he charges towards imminent doom.
He falls fast. Her cries fill the battlefield, the last of her line for she was certain to fall next. It lifts her by the face, tormenting her further and forcing her to stare down at the end of her family. Her body is flung and she falls into darkness.
An emptiness fills her. A loneliness she’d never felt. It is all too consuming, stealing her of what little breath remained in her lungs and she continues to fall, further and further into the darkness. There is little hope left now. No light in the darkness to guide her home but a warmth is felt nearby. One that was ever there, reaching out and calling to her.
Breath feels her lungs once more and it scorches her throat. Her eyes search the room about her, but are unseeing. Éowyn bends forth in pain, left arm brought close to her while the other scratches the air, fighting off an nonexistent foe.
He is there, steadfast as always to pull her in close. His touch so familiar she need not see his face to know he was there. ❝ Éomer, ❞ her voice is harsh from no use. Her arm slinks around him so naturally, it had been a thousand times before and brought her comfort in her loneliness.
❝ Ever dark were my dreams. I could not wake from them. His reach --- I could not save him. I could not save you --- ❞ She pulls away from him, finally seeing his face for the first time in what seemed like years. Her body shakes with the fear and anguish he too shared. The loneliness they’d both felt since they were children when their family was torn apart.
❝ Darkness still lingers in me, I fear it will never leave my side. I dare not offer you empty promises borthermine. ❞ She touches his cheek, uncertain still he was not a dream brought forth to torment her further.
alright...made my basic ass google doc rules.....
Work in progress of my tribute to Christopher Tolkien. I wanted to make something to pay my respects. Thanks so much for everything.
FANTASY FILMS…
YOUR BEST BATTLE [3/3] Eowyn vs The Witch-king Of Angmar.
catch me throwing hands with everyone who trashes my girl’s healing process and calling it a cop out. it’s genuine, sincere and her own self journey finding where that anger and sorrow came from and learning how to take that pain and turn it into a positive thing. it doesn’t mean she’s suddenly a tamed woman to f.aramir, it means she’s tamed her own spirit and has learned something deep about herself. she truly sees the darkness she was in and has begun to pull herself out of it and recreate herself.
eskwolf:
shicldmaiden replied to your post: just like eskel i too and a simple dude…
goonight
GENERAL
“Can you walk?”
“How did this happen?”
“What the hell happened?”
“I hit my head.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“Can you hear me?”
“Don’t close your eyes, stay awake!”
“Come on, stay with me!”
“No no no no no!”
“You shot me!”
“I didn’t mean to shoot you!”
“You stabbed me!”
“I didn’t mean to stab you!”
“Take the knife out!”
“Don’t take the knife out!”
“It was an accident!”
“That/this wasn’t an accident!”
“That looks broken.”
“I think my leg/arm is broken.”
“That doesn’t look good.”
“Am I going to die?”
“You’re not going to die!”
“Calm down!”
“Don’t panic!”
“I can’t help you if you don’t let me!”
BLOOD
“Are you bleeding?”
“Don’t move, you’re bleeding.”
“Is that blood?”
“Whose blood is that?”
“That’s a lot of blood.”
“Do you know how to get bloodstains out?”
“Why do you know how to get bloodstains out?”
“Damn, I got blood on my shirt.”
“Don’t move, you’re losing blood!”
“I won’t let you bleed out!”
“You have blood on your face.”
“I swear to god, if you get blood on me…”
“What’s your blood type?”
“Why in the hell would you need to know my blood type?”
WOUNDS
“That cut is nasty.”
“You have a massive gash in your arm/leg!’
“Don’t touch it!”
“Don’t move, you’ll only make it worse!”
“I’ll get some bandages.”
“You’re going to need stitches.”
“That looks infected…”
“Did you get bit by something?”
“There’s no exit wound, the bullet is still in you.”
“There’s an exit wound, the bullet went through you.”
AFTERCARE
“How are you feeling?”
“How does it feel?”
“It’s still not healed, but it’s getting there.”
“Let’s go home.”
“I just want to go home.”
“Let’s get you into the bathtub.”
“We need to change your bandages soon.”
“Get some sleep, okay?”
“You need to eat something, you’ve been through a lot today.”
“I’ll check up on you in a bit.”
“You’re going to be fine. I promise.”
And he looked at the slain, recalling their names. Then suddenly he beheld his sister Éowyn as she lay, and he knew her. He stood a moment as a man who is pierced in the midst of a cry by an arrow through the heart; and then his face went deathly white; and a cold fury rose in him, so that all speech failed him for a while. A fey mood took him.
‘Éowyn, Éowyn!’ he cried at last: ‘Éowyn, how come you here? What madness or devilry is this? Death, death, death! Death take us all!’ . The Return of the King, J. R. R. Tolkien.
Tolkien Secret Santa 2019 - Eowyn and Faramir
“And again she looked at Faramir. ‘No longer do I desire to be a queen,’ she said. Then Faramir laughed merrily. ‘That is well,’ he said; 'for I am not a king. Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes.”
Took my Andalusian for a walk to the local oval. She learnt the grass is greener on the other side haha!
What can you see on the horizon? Why do the white gulls call? Across the sea, a pale moon rises The ships have come to carry you home And all will turn to silver glass A light on the water, grey ships pass Into the West. A tribute to Christopher Tolkien. Without him, we wouldn’t have been able to grasp the true depth of Middle Earth’s history, and there would be many more stories left untold. The Silmarillion has always been a favorite, and has been a constant source of inspiration and a source of comfort, along with the other books in the legendarium. There are no words to describe how much these books mean to me, and no words to express how I’ll forever be grateful for them for their accompaniment throughout the years. It always felt like coming home, reading them, to a place you’ll forever hold dear to your heart. His and his father’s legacy will continue to live on, and I’ll forever be thankful that it has been released into the world, for the world is immensely better because of it. From the depths of my heart, thank you for everything you’ve done, Christopher Tolkien. May the Star of Eärendil guide you back Into the West, and may you find eternal peace in the Halls of Mandos.
“Wasn’t that the definition of home? Not where you are from, but where you are wanted.”
Abraham Verghese, Cutting of the Stone (via wordsnquotes)
brushes her thumb along his cheek
DARK HAVE THE DAYS BEEN ; shadows encroach, ever creeping upon the walls of the White City. oft, they reach as high and far as the Houses of Healing. despite the umbral persistence, a light dissipates their attempting grasp: it is her, the pallid beauty who is bright amidst the dim, that captures his attention. time after time, she guards the various blooms seeking the very sun she emits ; and time after time, he cannot help but watch from afar.
Such sorrow… it weighs her down ; heavy and somber, her shoulders sag beneath as he spies her lips part on a silent scream. a wild woman —no, a shieldarm— renowned for her valor and strength at slaying the Witch-King of Angmar, and yet…so horrendously pitiful. where, he cannot help but wonder, is the pride at her victory?
the gloom converges ; her former brilliance is dull, all but gone in the face of the black. unsure of what encourages him, Faramir steps forward – his curiosity demands answers ; his adoration demands acknowledgement.
________________________________
weeks pass ; the darkness that once threatened to overwhelm the lands of Middle Earth are but a shuddering memory. gone and away, with each day the sun rises in the East, any lingering shadows burn away beneath its shine.
and yet, the Steward of Gondor is pensive ; he stands alone, gray eyes cloudy with tumultuous emotion, as his gaze sweeps along the Pelennor fields. so enthralled is he with his thoughts, he is taken unawares by the simple, delicate touch along the curve of his jaw.
the storm building within his eyes sears away as he shifts to face her very radiance ; it blazes so bright. her warmth engulfs him. the beginnings of a smile curve along his lips. fingers alight upon her hand, curling about to draw her close. steadily, Faramir regards her with love —so intense, it may very well constrict each beat of his heart— but he hesitates for the briefest moments ; etiquette be damned, he places a hand at her waist.
a glance to his left and a glance to his right, he finds they are a solitary pair atop the guard post. All for the better.
gliding her hand away from his cheek, he guides her knuckles to his lips. oh so gently, he kisses her there, unspoken feeling in the brief touch.
Thanks for your work Sir, respect.
“ Roads go ever ever on Under cloud and under star, Yet feet that wandering have gone Turn at last to home afar”