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hederasgarden · 5 months ago

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Eternal Devotion (1/3)

Summary: Months after your husband's untimely death, his presence lingers, haunting you in ways you never expected. Pairing: Vampire!Friedrich Harding x Wife!Reader Word Count: 3.9K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Heavy angst and grief, period typical sexism, creepy things, mildly dubious consent, sexual content, vampirism and all the warnings that come with that (I’m diverging from canon a bit in regards to feeding). This is my attempt at Gothic Romance. A/N: The reader has always been Friedrich's wife, Anna does not exist in this AU. Big thanks to @ryebecca, @otaku-girl-ao3, @whatblogisthis216 , @eremeldanin and @caught-reading for their help with this fic. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her. -Hozier

The room is dim with the curtains drawn tight, allowing only a sliver of daylight to creep through the gap. In the distance, the soft hum of morning activity rises from the rest of the house, the gentle chatter of your two daughters layered over the quiet rustling of the servants preparing for the day ahead. You should rise and follow the rhythm of the world outside this room, but you cannot.

Friedrich has been gone nearly six months. It feels like a lifetime. The days stretch endlessly, and each one feels like an affront, a reminder that the world refuses to stop turning. How are you supposed to go on living? You know if you had died, Friedrich would have climbed into the casket beside you and his grief would have blotted out the sun.

But there was no casket for him. No body left to bury. He was swallowed by the sea, lost while fulfilling a promise you made, helping Ellen return to Thomas.

Your daughters do not yet grasp the finality of it. No matter how many times you tell them, they speak of their father like he is simply away at work, perhaps, or out on some important errand. And each morning they act as if he’s come to tuck them into bed, kiss their cheeks, and say their prayers like he did before. They look up at you with soft eyes, the very same as his and you must relive the pain of it again and again when you remind them their father is gone.

Sometimes, you wish you could believe your own dreams, the ones where Friedrich slips back into bed beside you. Yet even in those fleeting moments of illusion, something is wrong. The warmth you long for is absent. His touch is colder, harder, his presence not the way it used to be. When his lips meet your skin, it stings, sharp and unfamiliar, and the truth rises within you, pushing against the comfort of the dream.

It’s not him. And it never will be. Now and forevermore, each morning you will wake to find the sheets beside you cold. Empty.

Everyone told you the grief would abate with time but these past few weeks have drained you more thoroughly than any that came before. Each morning, it feels as though your very blood has turned to sand, your bones to lead. Even the simple act of turning onto your back, to stare up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, takes more effort than you can summon.

You remain in bed until the door creaks open, and the light sound of footsteps follows. Kerstin’s voice is no more than a whisper as she brushes your shoulder.

“Frau Harding. Your parents have arrived for breakfast. Your father wishes for you to join them.”

The sight of your maid’s pale, worried face is enough to rouse you. You let her dress and prepare you for the day. Although she’s done this a thousand times, there’s something about the way her hands hover over the buttons of your gown, the hesitation before each movement, that makes you feel like a stranger in your own skin. You see how she and the other servants watch you now. Even when they pretend to be absorbed in their tasks, their glances are sharp, laden with worry. They fear you’ll descend into the same madness as Ellen, but it is only your grief, so vast and deep, that’s reshaping you in ways you can’t even recognize.

When you enter the dining room, your daughters rush to you. You hold them close, inhaling the familiar scent of their hair. Your mother greets you next, reaching out to cup your face in her hands, her fingers trembling slightly as they linger there. There is a deep sadness in her eyes and she glances over at your father with a look halfway between pleading and resignation.

“Come, you must eat,” she encourages, guiding you to sit beside her.

Your father, sitting at the head of the table, offers no such tenderness. His presence is a commanding weight in the room and the deep set of his brow lets you know this is not merely a social visit. You glance at your mother who stares at the hands in her lap and your fingers curl around the richly upholstered arm of the dining room chair. Whatever he has come to say will not be good, you realize.

“The children are finished with their breakfast,” he announces sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a command. With a quick flick of his fingers, he gestures to the governess. “Take them to the parlor. Their mother and I have matters to discuss.”

Once they are gone, your father doesn’t wait long to speak again. “It has been six months,” he begins, his gaze unwavering. “Long enough. You must remarry, and soon.”

You blink, momentarily stunned. Six months? Six months since Friedrich was swallowed by the sea, leaving nothing but an empty, aching space behind. Six months in which you have not even been able to make sense of the grief that clings to you like a second skin. How could he even think of you remarrying so soon?

“But… Father, I…” you begin, the words faltering in your throat.

He doesn’t let you finish, his voice growing sterner. “You must think of the future, not just of your own sorrow. The children need stability, and you need a husband. You cannot manage alone, not with the wealth you inherited from your late husband.”

You shake your head, even as you know there is a kernel of truth to his words. The vast estate, the shipyard, and the assets Friedrich once managed all fall on you now. It is a burden you are not prepared to shoulder and one you have steadily ignored these past months. But even beyond all that, the thought of remarrying, of taking another man into your life is something you can’t even entertain.

"I cannot… not yet," you whisper, barely above a breath. And in the pit of your chest, a deeper thought rises unbidden: Not ever.

“I understand your reluctance,” he says firmly. “But even now, men circle you like vultures. They want your husband’s wealth and his business. We must act swiftly and secure the right match — for you, for the children, for our family’s future.”

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat refusing to pass. Your hands move to straighten the cutlery in front of you, anything to occupy them, anything to hold off the flood of emotion threatening to spill over.

And then, almost without thinking, you speak. “You never say his name.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “What?”

“Friedrich,” you whisper. “It is always my husband or your son-in-law. You do not… you do not say his name.”

There is a long pause before your father clears his throat, dismissing the uncomfortable silence. “We cannot afford to linger on sentiment,” he says. “Sentiment will not feed the children or keep the business afloat. We need to think practically.”

You stare at him, hearing nothing more than the absence of your husband's name in his voice, the not-so-subtle command that you too must move on, move past this grief, and return to the world of the living.

“You cannot make me do this.”

"Perhaps not," your father concedes, exhaling sharply. "But your husband has many cousins who would think nothing of reclaiming control over the business." He pauses, taking a deliberate sip of his water, his eyes never leaving yours. "Men who would see no value in a widow and her daughters when they have families of their own.”

His words have their desired effect, leaving you feeling small and powerless. Your shoulders slump, the strength in you draining away as your head hangs, heavy with the crushing knowledge of what awaits.

“Now, your mother has already arranged for you and the girls to have new clothes made for your return to society," he continues, his tone cool and businesslike. "We will host a small, intimate gathering. I will invite a few prospective suitors—men I consider promising options. You may, of course, choose which one you wish to pursue."

“How kind you are to offer me a say,” you murmur, the words bitter in your mouth.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I know grief has stolen your good sense but you will watch your tongue when you speak to me,” your father warns.

A surge of emotion rises within you, sharp and unwelcome, forcing its way up your throat. The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and unrestrained. “You would not speak to me this way if Friedrich were here.”

Your father shakes his head, rising from his seat to tower over you. “He is not here, my girl. He will never be here again. You are alone in a world that is unkind to women such as yourself.”

The pity in his eyes is more than you can bear. The dam breaks, and the first wave of tears crashes down, unbidden and unstoppable. A flood that drags you under. You sink back into the chair, helpless as wracking sobs tear through you, a deep, raw ache flooding every part of your being.

Distantly, you hear your mother’s voice chastising your father. Her arms slip around you, pulling you close. She whispers gentle reassurances, her shushing echoing the soothing words you’ve said a hundred times to your own girls, but it feels empty now, a hollow repetition that cannot shield you from the brutal reality.

Friedrich is gone. And with him, any hope you once held of finding happiness.

–

When you step into your father’s parlor, the weight of every gaze in the room settles on you like a tangible thing. The faces that turn toward you are mostly unfamiliar, offering you that sad, understanding smile you’ve grown so weary of. It is a smile that means nothing at all in light of their presence here. Each one of them is complicit in your father’s schemes.

“You look lovely,” your father says. He presses his lips to your cheek in an exaggerated gesture of affection, more a farce than any real expression of love. “The blue truly suits you,” he adds, his eyes dropping to take in your fine silk dress.

It’s the latest fashion from Paris, or so you’re told. Once, a dress like this would have delighted you—Friedrich always took such joy in bringing you the finest, most exquisite silks and fabrics from his travels. But now, the dress feels all wrong, too tight and too revealing, exposing more of your shoulder and décolletage than you’re comfortable with.

You smile at your father. Even though it barely touches your lips it doesn’t seem to bother him. He simply sweeps you further into the room, his hand on your arm guiding you forward as he begins the task of making introductions. It’s a performance, and you are trapped at the center of it. But you do as your father and society demand, falling into the practiced motions of politeness.

You engage in small talk, offering the kind of perfunctory responses that are expected of you, feigning interest in whatever these men have to say. Some ask after your children, while others offer their condolences for your loss. But behind their kindness lies a predatory sort of interest. It is all you can do to nod, offering your own strained smile as you stand there wondering how much longer you can keep up this charade.

When your father finally leaves you for a moment you close your eyes, exhaling.

“Oh, dearest girl.”

The unexpected voice makes you flinch. You turn, meeting a familiar pair of brown eyes of Herr Gothrim. Of all your father’s friends, he is the one you think might understand your plight the best. He lost his wife to the plague that swept the city nearly a year ago.

“It is shameful what your father is doing. Forcing you from your mourning period so soon.” He shakes his head. “Though, I confess, had I daughter like you I might be convinced to do the same.” He steps closer, his voice quieting. “You are the talk of the city and beyond.”

“They desire Friedrich’s wealth,” you reply. “Nothing more.”

Herr Gothrim stares at you for a moment before he speaks again, his words laden with something that makes your skin crawl.

“Do not sell yourself short. You are young. Beautiful. You might still bear your future husband a son or two.”

Friedrich had wanted a son. You knew that long before you ever married him. He had spoken of it often, longing to see his name carried on but he never once made you feel like an instrument to secure his legacy. More than that he loved your daughter fiercely, completely. And though it might have been a sin, he loved you even more.

“I fear you will not have the luxury of time, my dear,” Herr Gothrim warns. “Your father will push forward with his plans, and if you do not make a choice, one will be made for you. Perhaps a familiar one would be best.”

His eyes briefly flick over his shoulder, and you follow his gaze. It rests on his son, Pieter. The sight of him makes a sharp, uncomfortable feeling bubbling up from within. Once, he had petitioned your father for your hand and before Friedrich had made his offer, Pieter had been the one your father had entertained as a potential suitor.

To your dismay, Pieter seems to take your attention as an invitation, crossing the room to join the two of you. He greets you with an overly familiar kiss to your cheek that lingers, brushing against the corner of your lips. When he pulls away his hand remains on your elbow, tethering you to him.

“Frau Harding, you look well,” he says brightly. “Or should it be Fräulein now?”

His boldness stuns you but before you can gather your thoughts, he continues, oblivious to the discomfort in your silence. “I must confess, I was both surprised and pleased to receive your father’s invitation. And to see you again after so long. I am eager for a second chance to win your hand.”

It is only the thought of your daughters and the need to ensure their future is safe that keeps grief from sharpening your tongue. You force your eyes downward, focusing on a speck of dust on his lapels to avoid looking at his face. “My father was pleased you accepted his invitation. He has always been fond of you,” you reply hollowly.

Pieter smiles, seemingly unaware of how your voice thins and your words fall flat and meaningless.

“You look cold,” he observes. “Come, you should warm yourself by the fire as we reacquaint ourselves. My import business has grown greatly since we last spoke.”

His touch feels possessive, demanding even yet you are helpless to do anything more than follow him. You catch your father’s eyes when you pass him. He looks pleased and it turns your stomach.

Pieter keeps you by his side for the rest of the evening, his words a constant hum around you. Whether he’s wholly unaware of your discomfort or willfully blind to it, you can’t decide. His conversation is a relentless stream of boasts about his business, his wealth, and his success, as though he expects you to be impressed, to be eager for his attention. Each time you try to excuse yourself, your attempts are dismissed with a smile and an insistent push to stay.

It isn’t until your mother comes to collect you at the end of the night that you are finally freed from his hold. You follow her away from the gathering and into the waiting carriage, Pieter’s gaze lingering on you.

You’re so exhausted on the ride home that the muffled sound of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone streets and the rocking of the carriage nearly lulls you into sleep. You find your daughters are already in bed when you arrive at the house. Though you loathe to disturb their peaceful slumber, you find yourself drawn to them, compelled to check on them before you can rest. You make your way down the dark hallway, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet the only sound betraying your presence.

When you crack open the door to their room, a cool rush of air greets you, sending a shiver through you. You find their window unlatched, the curtains fluttering in the autumn breeze that has slipped in. Startled, you step further into the room, a wave of panic rising in your chest. You move quickly to reach the window and quietly shut it again.

Once it is secured, you turn to your girls. The sight of them, peaceful and safe in their beds, eases some of the tension in your chest. Your youngest clutches a slip of fabric in her hands, her tiny face relaxed in sleep. There is something about the cloth she holds that gives you pause. You kneel beside her, gently prying it from her grasp. At the sight of the familiar handkerchief and your own needlework, worn and fraying with time, your breath stutters in your throat.

It was one of the first gifts you ever gave Friedrich, back when he was still courting you. You had made him dozens more over the years, but still, he carried it with him, even as it began to unravel at the edges. You always assumed it was lost with him and to find it here, tucked in your daughter’s hands, feels like both a balm and a wound.

Fingers trembling, you press the fabric to your face and close your eyes. For a brief moment, you swear you can still smell Friedrich’s cologne, faint but unmistakable. You linger in that moment until your daughter shifts in her sleep and you're brought back to reality. Carefully, you tuck the handkerchief into her tiny hands and kiss her forehead before retreating from the room.

–

Your dreams are restless, an amalgam of fractured images and disjointed sensations. Pieter’s dark, unblinking eyes merge with the black fabric of your mourning gown, and then, without warning, the scene shifts, plunging you into the vast, endless depths of the sea that claimed Friedrich.

The cold water envelops you, and you gasp for air, but the water rushes in, drowning your cries. In your panic, you thrash wildly, desperate for escape. Just as you feel yourself slipping into the abyss, strong hands seize you, pulling you upward. Your eyes snap open, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. The water recedes, and in its place, Friedrich’s face fills your vision.

“I am here, I am here, my love,” he murmurs softly, pressing his forehead to yours. His hand rests lightly on your chest, guiding your breath to match his steady rhythm, coaxing the frantic pace of your heart to slow.

You stare at him as the world crystallizes around you. Then, you surge forward, your lips crashing into his with a desperation that consumes you. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, clutching him tightly like he might vanish if you let go. The kiss is a lifeline and you cling to it with a need so raw it aches.

“Friedrich,” you gasp, reveling in the familiar tickle of his mustache and his strong hands on your body.

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if this is real, if he’s truly here, or if your grief has finally unraveled, conjuring him from the depths of the ocean to haunt you. But then, as his lips press urgently against yours and the solid weight of him fills your arms, you decide you don’t care. It doesn’t matter if he is a ghost, risen from the sea’s cold embrace. Nor does it matter that death has leached the color from his cheeks and the warmth from his hands. All that matters is that he’s here.

“My love,” you cry.

“I am here,” he promises, trailing his lips down the side of your throat until his mouth seals over the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder.

He lingers there, the sting of his kiss euphoric. You bury your fingers in his thick curls, tugging gently and he all but growls against your skin. With his mouth still on you, his fingers tug at your nightgown, baring your body to his eager hands. They slip between your parted thighs, finding your wet heat, and stealing it away as they work you to the peak of pleasure. Friedrich groans and the pain in your neck flares, sharp and sudden.

When he pulls away, a wave of exhaustion crashes over you, leaving you breathless and spent. You stare up at him as your vision shifts, the world taking on a hazy hue. In the dim light, his blue eyes are dark, almost silvery, and something deep within you recoils, an instinctive fear that you can’t quite name. But then, he blinks, and just as quickly the shadow fades. The warmth of his gaze returns, and those same familiar blue eyes, the ones you’ve loved for so long, look down at you with tenderness.

Your fingers hover over his face, longing to touch him again. But a painful realization stops you.

"You are not real.” The words leave you in a rush.

“Does it matter if I am?" he asks. "Does this not bring you peace, my love?"

You shake your head, the pain of his absence still raw in your chest. You can’t resist the pull of him, the need to feel close again, even if only in this fleeting moment. Without thinking, you draw him down to kiss you, and the taste of him is sharp, unexpectedly coppery.

"It is a horrible thought," you murmur, breaking the kiss, "but I wish I would not wake when morning comes. I want to stay here with you. In this dream."

A deep frown forms between his brows, and his hand finds your cheek, his touch colder than it should be. His mouth parts slightly, and his teeth, white and sharp, glimmer faintly against his pale lips.

“You do not wish to find a new husband? To live?” he questions.

"I wish only for you," you say, voice trembling but sure. "And for our girls."

“My dearest wife,” he whispers, kissing you sweetly. “I will never leave you. I cannot.”

A soft moan slips from you, unbidden, the sound encouraging him to kiss you deeper. His lips move with a possessive tenderness that fills the hollow spaces inside you. “Nor would I ever let you go," he promises. “We are bound even in death.”

Part 2

#friedrich harding x reader #friedrich harding x you #friedrich harding #nosferatu #aaron taylor johnson

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greenwitchcrafts · 7 months ago

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December 2024 Witch Guide

New Moon: December 1st & December 30th

First Quarter: December 8th

Full moon: December 15th

Last Quarter: December 22nd

Sabbats: Yule: December 21st-January 1st

December Cold Moon

Also known as: Aerra Geola, Drift Clearing Moon, Frost Exploding Trees Moon, Heilagmanoth, Hoar Frost Moon, Little Spirit Moon, Long Night's Moon, Moon of Popping Trees, Moon Before Yule, Moon When the Dear Shed their Antlers, Oak Moon, Snow Moon, Winter Maker Moon, Wintermonat & Wolf Moon

Element: Fire

Zodiac: Sagittarius & Capricorn

Nature spirts: Snow Faeries, Storm Faeries & Winter Tree Faeries

Deities: Athena, Fates, Hades, Hathor, Hecate, Ixchel, Minerva, Neith, Norns, Osiris & Persephone

Animals: Bear, deer, horse & mouse

Birds: Robin, rook & snowy owl

Trees: Cedar, evergreen, fir, holly & pine

Herbs: Bay, cinnamon, English ivy, frankincense, mistletoe, myrrh & sage

Flowers: Chamomile & poinsettia

Scents: Cedar, cinnamon, frankincense, ginger, lilac, myrrh, nutmeg, patchouli, pine, rose geranium, rosemary, saffron, violet & evergreen

Stones: Aquamarine, bloodstone, cat's eye, garnet, jacinth, obsidian, peridot, ruby, serpentine, topaz, turquoise

Issues, intentions & powers: Dedication, devotion, love, peace, prosperity & strength

Energy: Alchemy, darkness, endurance, death&rebirth, higher education, reaching out to others, religious, spiritual paths, travel & truths

This full Moon has also been called the Long Night Moon (Mohican), as it rises during the “longest” nights of the year, near the December winter solstice. This name is doubly fitting because December’s full Moon shines above the horizon for a more extended period than most full Moons.

• This December is unique because there will be TWO new Moons. This is called a Black Moon.

A Black Moon is a special kind of New Moon, just as a Blue Moon is a special kind of Full Moon. Neither are astronomical terms; both are catch phrases for an unusual lunar calendar occurrence. For this reason, the definition of a Black Moon can vary and may refer to:

-The second new Moon in a month. This is the definition of Black Moon that’s used most often & it’s the most common. It occurs once every 29 months.

-The third new Moon in a season of four New Moons. Every season (spring, summer, fall, winter) has 3 months & 3 new Moons. However, occasionally (every 33 months), there is a season with 4 new Moons. In this case, the third New Moon is called a Black Moon.

-When there are NO new Moons in a month. This can only happen in February since it’s the only calendar month that is shorter (28 days) than the lunar month. When there is not a new Moon in February, there will be two new Moons for both January & March. It’s a rare occurrence (every 19 years or so) and the next one isn’t until 2033.

Yule

Known as: Alban Arthan & Winter Solstice

Season: Winter

Element: Earth

Symbols: Baskets of clove studded fruit, decorated evergreen trees, evergreen boughs, gifts, gold pillar candles, holly, mistletoe, poinsettias, wreaths & Yule logs

Colors: Gold, green, orange, red, silver, white & yellow

Oils/Incense: Bayberry, cedar, cinnamon, frankincense, myrrh & pine

Animals: Bear, boar, deer, pig, squirrel & tiger

Birds: Eagle, goose, kingfisher, lapwing, robin & wren

Stones: Alexandrite, bloodstone, blue topaz, cat's eye, citrine, clear quartz, diamond, emerald, garnet, green tourmaline, jet, kunzite, pearls & ruby

Angel: Auriel

Food: Caraway cakes, cookies, eggnog, fruits, gingerbread, ginger tea, nuts, pork, spiced cider, roasted boar, roasted chicken, turkey & wassail

Herbs/Plants: Bay, bayberry, blessed thistle, cedar, cinnamon, evergreen, frankincense, holly, ginger, ivy, juniper, mistletoe, moss, myrrh, oak, pine, rosemary, sage, valerian & yellow cedar

Flowers: Chamomile & yarrow

Trees: Birch, cedar, chestnut, fir, holly, juniper, oak, pine & yew

Goddesses: Alcyone, Aphrodite, Ameratasu, Bona Dea, Brighid, Cailleach Bheur, Demeter, Diana, Fortuna, Frau Holle, Frau Perchta, Frigga, Gaia, Great Mother, Kolyada, La Befana, Idunn, Isis, maat & Tiamat

Gods: Apollo, Attis, Baldur, Bragi, Devak, Dionysus, Divine Child, Green man, Janus, Hel, Helios, Holly King, Horned One, Horus, Lord of Misrule, Lugh, Mabon, Marduk, Mithras, Oak King, Odin, Ra, Saturn & Surya

Spellwork: Earth magick, happiness, harmony, love & peace

Issues, Intentions & Powers: Darkness, divination, light, messages/omens, purification, rebirth, renewal & transformation

Activities:

• Set up & decorate a Yule altar

• Clean, organize & cleanse before decorating your home

• Make witch’s balls to hang on your tree (protective & pretty!)

• Decorate & bless & Yule tree

• Stay awake until dawn to observe the cycles of nature

• Give gifts to your family & friends

• Donate your time or helpful items to charity

• Collect snow for winter/ snow magic

• Go caroling

• Hang mistletoe in your doorways

• Make Wassail

• Prepare a Yule Log

• Host a Yule feast

• Craft your own decorative wreath or garlands with oranges, cinnamon & pine

• Decorate your house with Yule colored candles

• Welcome the Sun

• Go on nature walks & leave offerings to nature

• Meditate & reflect on the passing year

“Yule” comes from Old English geol, which shares a history with the equivalent word from Old Norse, jól. Both these words referred to a midwinter festival centered around the winter solstice, which traditionally marked the halfway point of the winter season. After the solstice—the shortest day of the year—the days again begin to grow longer, so it’s thought that Yule was a celebration of the re-appearance of the Sun &the fertile land’s rebirth.

• The celebration of Yule is one of the oldest winter celebrations in the world. Ancient people were hunters & spent most of their time outdoors. The seasons & weather played a significant part in their lives. The customs & traditions associated with it vary widely. Scholars have connected the original celebrations of Yule to the Wild Hunt, the god Odin & the heathen Anglo-Saxon Mōdraniht (“Mothers’ Night”)

• Some believe it marks the rebirth of the Sun (the God) from the Earth (the Goddess) & the cold days of winter will soon begin to wane. The Goddess is seen in her virgin Maiden aspect

In towns and cities throughout Sweden during the Christmas season, large goats are constructed out of straw. It is thought that the tradition originated in ancient times, perhaps as a tribute to the god Thor, who was said to ride in a chariot pulled by goats. In Sweden the goat came to be associated with the Christmas celebration & the Yule goat is now considered by many to be a companion or counterpart to Santa Claus.

This connects to ancient proto-Slavic beliefs where the Koliada (Yule) festival honors the god of the fertile sun & the harvest. This god, Devac (also known as Dazbog or Dažbog), was represented by a white goat. Consequently the Koliada festivals always had a person dressed as a goat, often demanding offerings in the form of presents. A man-sized goat figure is known from 11th-century remembrances of Childermas, where it was led by a man dressed as Saint Nicholas, symbolizing his control over the Devil.

Related festivals:

•Christmas- December 25th:

An annual festival commemorating the birth of Jesus Christ as the son of God. For Christians, believing that God came into the world in the form of man to atone for the sins of humanity rather than knowing Jesus's exact birth date is considered to be the primary purpose of celebrating Christmas.

Hanukkah-December 25-January 2nd:

A Jewish festival commemorating the recovery of Jerusalem & subsequent rededication of the Second Temple at the beginning of the Maccabean Revolt against the Seleucid Empire in the 2nd century BCE.

Hanukkah is observed for eight nights & days, starting on the 25th day of Kislev according to the Hebrew calendar, which may occur at any time from late November to late December in the Gregorian calendar. The festival is observed by lighting the candles of a candelabrum with nine branches, commonly called a menorah or hanukkiah.

Kwanzaa-December 26th-January 1st:

An annual celebration of African-American culture, culminating in a communal feast called Karamu, usually on the sixth day. It was created by activist Maulana Karenga, based on African harvest festival traditions from various parts of West & Southeast Africa. Kwanzaa was first celebrated in 1966.

A Kwanzaa ceremony may include drumming and musical selections, libations, a reading of the African Pledge & the Principles of Blackness, reflection on the Pan-African colors, a discussion of the African principle of the day or a chapter in African history, a candle-lighting ritual, artistic performance & finally, a feast of faith (Karamu Ya Imani).

Saturnalia- December 17-23rd:

An ancient Roman festival and holiday in honour of the god Saturn, The holiday was celebrated with a sacrifice at the Temple of Saturn, in the Roman Forum & a public banquet, followed by private gift-giving, continual partying & a carnival atmosphere that overturned Roman social norms: gambling was permitted & masters provided table service for their slaves as it was seen as a time of liberty for both slaves & freedmen alike.

A common custom was the election of a “King of the Saturnalia”, who gave orders to people, which were followed & presided over the merrymaking. The gifts exchanged were usually gag gifts or small figurines made of wax or pottery known as sigillaria. The poet Catullus called it “the best of days”.

Other celebrations:

Feast of Epona- December 18th:

Eponalia is the feast day of Gaulish Goddess Epona, the Divine Mare & in the time of the Roman Empire

Epona is known to be one of a very few Gaulish deities whose names were spread to the rest of the Roman Empire. This seems to have happened because Roman cavalry units stationed in Gaul followed her & adopted her as their Patroness. This may have started because many of the cavalry troops were conscripted from Gaul as they were superb horsemen. From Gaul the Romans took Epona with them including to Rome where She was given her own feast day on the 18 December. They worshipped her as Epona Augusta or Epona Regina & invoked her on behalf of the Emperor. She even had a shrine in the barracks of the Imperial Bodyguard.

Hunting of the Wren-December 26th:

A traditional custom carried out on the Isle of Man on St. Stephen’s Day. It consists of groups of people going around villages and towns singing and dancing a traditional song and dance around a decorated wren pole.

The earliest and most common folklore story accounting for the origin of hunt the wren tells of a fairy/enchantress/witch whose beauty lures the men of the Isle of Man to harm, for which she is chased and is changed into the form of a wren. It is therefore in punishment for her actions that the wren is hunted on St. Stephen’s Day

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Encyclopedia britannica

Llewellyn 2024 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living

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maisbookstore · 2 months ago

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The Seasons With You- Born in Winter

Michael Kaiser x fem! reader

Genre: fluff

Warning: grammar mistakes, pregnancy, giving birth

Keywords: pregnancy, married couple, giving birth

A short description: Dear reader, take my hand as we take a look at how the untamable German prodigy, who has never received love in his life, gives a chance to Cupid. There are 4 seasons in a year, and Kaiser falls in love with Y/n in each one.

A quote from the fanfiction:

"In just two weeks they’re going to meet finally.

Misha’s hand gently caressed Y/n’s belly, earning a light kick from their son, luckily this didn’t wake up the woman. His lips pulled into a soft smile; Adler- his son- sure knows how to kick, maybe he’ll be a soccer player, like his Vater. The thought of teaching the kid to shoot goals, dribble, fight along monsters evoked the feeling of the moment he had learned about the new addition to the family. They were in a store, Y/n was shopping for baby items, and he was speechless. Kaiser’s first emotion was fear, but then it evolved into love, gratefulness and excitement. With her by his side, they were able to cope with whatever would come. Sleepless nights, constant screaming, dirty diapers, they were ready. He had read multiple books about raising a child, joined facebook groups- using a fake account obviously- and watched videos about different parenting types and settled for gentle but strict mode."

Christmas has always carried negative connotations in Kaiser’s life: on the 25th of December he was born into this world, only his mother to escape the mundane and chase her dreams far...far away from him. His father was a torture, who made sure to hurt his son, who reminded him of the beauty that used to bless his ugly life. Ugliness, pain, empty and broken feelings determined the childhood of the now-famous soccer player. However things started to look up as God’s Chosen Emperor carved his way towards success; and was recognized and trained by people, who appreciated his raw talent in soccer-even if his attitude and personality were things they despised.

Upon having financial stability, the blonde man had started to celebrate Christmas by attending parties, galas, events and such, masking the pain away with a cocky smile and arrogant attitude, not letting anyone see the real him; the child that used to crave love and kindness, but was met with darkness and hatred instead. He had flased a grin and people had swooned over him until...

But that was long ago, when his heart was thunder and his soul yearned, now however...

The silence that once was suffocating, felt relaxed now: Frau Kaiser was lightly snoring next to the man in their shared bed. Her belly was enormous now and sleep rarely welcomed her before midnight, due to the pain and uncomfortability, yet she carried herself with such devotion and love towards Kaiser and their unborn child, that the man couldn’t help but fell in love with Y/n each and every day over and over again. The baby was really active now- in his 38th week of living in his mother’s womb- kicking the poor woman’s belly almost non-stop...at least it felt like it, according to her.

In just two weeks they’re going to meet finally.

A silent groan took him back to the present. Y/n sat up, pain was written on her face, making her nose scrunch as if she’d smell something disgusting, but no, it was just the pain. Braxton-Hicks came and went, making the couple panic occasionally, not once Kaiser wanted to take Y/n to the hospital, despite her refusal. This time however she was the one saying that the baby might needs a check up.

-It felt different now, like a cramping, but so much stronger. Do you think...ouch – Her eyes were wide open, face scrunching in pain as her hands tried to soothe the baby in her belly. Kaiser watched the scene with sheer panic, not really knowing what to do or what to say. His wife was in pain, and he just sat there, completely helpless. She panted next to him, sweatbeads decorated her forehead, and then a splash of water escaped her body, causing more fear.

-That was my water. –Y/n stated with a voice that was barely a whisper, Misha’s eyes were like two vivid blue plates.

Of course they knew that the water breaking does not equal giving birth immediately, but this and the fact that Y/n was in serious pain kind of indicated that in the next few days little Kaiser would bless the world with his presence.

-I think we need to go to the hospital.- Kaiser said, but the words did not register fully. He stood up, got dressed, helped his wife change clothes and carried the bags which have been standing in the corner of the bedroom for quite some time.

The fifteen minute journey to the hospital seemed like an eternity. Y/n’s constractions were five minutes apart, each hit with such a pain, and Kaiser could not do anything at all to ease the torture.

The rest of it was a blur: Y/n was taken to a VIP room- they arranged it beforehand with the hospital, and was given infusion, that would quicken the birthing process. She didn’t ask for epidural, her reasoning was that she wanted to feel everything. The staff provided her a big ball, water, relaxing music and gas that made her feel dizzy.

Kaiser just sat there and watched as nurses came in and left, doctors examined and measured his wife, saying things he could not understand. The groans became louder and turned into screams, at that point Misha begged Y/n to get epidural, but she was adamant.

-I want to feel it. –She panted. –This...is scary, but I don’t care. I want to experience it.

-You’re an idiot, but if that’s what you want then fine, I support you. It’s just I don’t want to see you in pain.

-It’s a good kind of pain, Misha. Because in the end, we’ll be blessed with the world’s most amazing little creature.

Said man nodded, but still didn’t understand why his wife suffered willingly.

The morning Sun lightened the room, overpowering the artificialness of the hospital. Y/n’s constractions were one minute apart, there was hardly any time to rest in between the almost constant pain. Her eyes were tired, her hair was a mess and Kaiser mirrored her state.

Soon the doctors and nurses arrived, and the rest of it was a blur.

Kaiser hold Y/n’s hand, let her squeeze as hard as needed, whispered encouraging words into her ear, wiping the sweat. These all came automatically to the man.

After many minutes-which honestly seemed like hours- baby Adler’s powerful scream was heard and Kaiser finally felt the weight emerging off of his shoulders. This is it, this is his son, already claiming place for himself. He was pink, wrinkly and beautiful. His eyes were a darker shade of blue, but his eyecolour would change anyways. Soon Adler was placed on Y/n’s chest and the nurse explained and helped with the breastfeeding. She was still panting, a tired smile adorned her face, and Kaiser felt like he won. He won in life.

After about half an hour the family was left alone, baby Adler was peacefully sleeping on his mother’s chest, and Y/n was about to drift into sleep as well. While Kaiser sat next to her, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead, shamelessly crying, and smiling, all the emotions just poured out of him.

It was Michael Kaiser’s birthday, and Christmas day. The unopened gifts were under the tree in their shared home, yet the biggest one was peacefully sleeping in their embrace.

#bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x female reader #blue lock x female reader #kaiser x female reader #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x female reader #michael kaiser x reader

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strictpunishedhubby · 2 months ago

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Um einen Ehemann gefügig und gehorsam zu halten ist es nicht ausreichend ihn nur kindliche Unterwäsche zu erlauben, die er ständig zu tragen hat, sondern um seine Ergebenheit zu erhalten ist es erforderlich ihn für Fehlverhalten ausgiebig seinen Po zu versohlen. Wenn er während seiner Züchtigung laut schreit und weint, Einsicht zeigt, so trägt es zu seiner angemessenen Erziehung bei, denn heutzutage ist es in der Ehe der Mann der sich seine Frau unterzuordnen hat.

To keep a husband submissive and obedient, it is not enough to allow him to wear childish underwear all the time, but to maintain his devotion, it is necessary to spank him extensively for misbehavior. If he cries out loudly and weeps during his beating, showing insight, it contributes to his proper upbringing, because nowadays in marriage it is the man who has to submit his wife to him.

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rune-folk · 10 months ago

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Hei, Hei!

Welcome to my blog!

I’m a 29 year old woman living in Norway, and you can call me Runa!

This blog is about Norse Myth, Norse Aesthetic, Nature, as well as other things that simply make me happy. So, I want to share things that excite me or make me smile.

I post my own photography, ramblings about the myths, or even about my own life. If personal stuff does not interest you, I tag all that with #runarambles so you can simply block that tag!

I am in a weird spot between being an atheist and believing in the Norse Gods, it is quite complicated and I don't fully understand where I am standing myself. I am mostly devoted to Oðin, because he has intervened in my life a lot, and is basically the reason why I am where I am.

I have a slight obsession with Frigg, Frau Holle, Frau Perchta and Baba Yaga, who are four figures in Norse, Germanic, Alpine and Slavic folklore that are very interconnected. In general, I am very interested in exploring Germanic Paganism, Slavic Paganism and Alpine Folk Traditions, because these are the places my family comes from, and I want to know more about it.

In my everyday life, I am a scientist, and speak German, English and Norwegian. I am also learning Russian, as the love of my life is from Russia. I am not a native English speaker, so if something I write sounds weird, I am sorry.

I enjoy sewing and making my own clothes, am also into historical sewing and re-enactment, and love water-colour painting, and writing stories. I am engaged in historical fencing (with the Longsword, Dagger, Sword and Buckler, and Langes Messer), love history, and enjoy learning new things, going to museums and ancient places, and wandering through nature.

That is about everything, I suppose!

Profile Picture: me in the forests around the Celtic village in Schwarzenbach, Austria

Header Image: a picture I took of Borgund Stave Church, Norway

My photography sideblog is @forestruin

~~~~~~~~~~~

And an important Disclaimer at the end:

Sadly this has to be said, as the Norse community is overrun with bigots.

I strongly believe that the interest in Norse culture should be inclusive and open to everyone who resonates with it. I am a feminist, and strongly disapprove of racists, misogynists and homophobes, who appropriate the Norse symbols for their disgusting agendas. You have obviously not understood (or even read) the stories and poems, if you think that Norse believe and your bigotery are in any way compatible.

Women are amazing and not less than men, they are not your property, but multidimensional human beings worthy of dignity and respect! You are not better than anyone else, because of the colour of your skin, or the country of your birth!

Therefore:

Do NOT follow me if you are a right wing idiot, US American patriot with a gun fetish (I mean it! I will block you!), Odinist, misogynistic patriarch, hyper masculine Grimfrost-dude-bro, or any other kind of these people, who have to compensate their fragile masculinity by trying to be overly #Viking

I do check every blog that follows me and instantly block 1) the kind of people mentioned above 2) p*rn blogs and 3) empty blogs (aka no name, header, reblogs. idc if you are a real person, as a tumblr veteran this screams bot to me).

That is all!

Ha det bra! ~

#intro post #I made a new one :D #myposts

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loverdeity · 5 months ago

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A devotional drawing for Frau Holda

#pagan #heathen #germanic heathen #holda #frau holle #witch #folklore #German folklore

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artusarda · 9 months ago

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Selber Hübsche🍀… ich gebe nun auch mein letztes Mal meinen Senf hier dazu... Wir alle suchen Aufmerksamkeit. Diese von einem Gegenüber zu erfahren, erfüllt einem mit Zufriedenheit und Glück, Aufgeregtheit und Erregtheit, der Biochemie sei Dank. Das Leben ist zeitlich begrenzt. Die Geduld ist begrenzt. Das Verständnis ist begrenzt. Ein Leben in der Warteschleife, ein Leben in Defensivität, dies sind nicht die Werte nach denen ich strebe und lebe. Jeder ist seines eignem Glückes Schmied. Die einen nutzen Chancen, die anderen nicht. Die von mir legitimierte, nicht wahrgenommene Chance letzte Woche, zeigt die ganze Tragik unserer unterschiedlichen Wahrnehmungen. Man schafft sich seine Freiheit, nimmt sich was das Leben bietet, lebt ein Leben in Lust und Spannung, oder man lebt unterwürfig, devot Autoritäten und Ängsten gegenüber. Wie schon mal erwähnt, es geht einzig um Entscheidungen. Der Doktor hat sich bereits entschieden. Er lebt das Leben seiner Entscheidungen. Ausreden oder Rechtfertigungen benötigt es nicht. Manches Leben passt nicht zu manchen Wünschen und Träumen. Ich war niemals in meinen Träumen gefangen, und ich werde es auch nicht dazu kommen lassen. Meine Zeit, mein Verlangen und mein Wille sind mir zu wertvolle Güter. Ich habe gerne eine glückliche Frau an meiner Seite. Ihre Verzweiflung und ihr Zurückweisung, werden einzig durch ihre mentale Stärke, Verdrängung und ihre Persönlichkeit in Schach gehalten. Es ist bemerkenswert, wie sie mit der Situation umgeht, zeigt aber auch eine Art Verzweiflung, dadurch, dass sie dir lieber Philipp, Chance für Chance bietet, und du mit deinem anstrengendem Leben als Ausrede kommst. Dies wiederum zweifelt dir niemand an, zeigt allerdings, dass unsere Wege zum Erfolg nicht nur unterschiedliche sind, sondern diametral in der Ausführung, welches unser gemeinsames Unterfangen bis heute hat scheitern lassen. Dein letztes " wäre sehr schade" betont die defensive Haltung. Erotik, Begierde, Verlangen, Wollust und Sexualität werden nur durch ständige Präsenz am Leben erhalten. Unser gemeinsamer Wunsch ist längst vertrocknet. Einer vertrockneten Pflanze der man Wasser gibt, verfault. Ich persönlich suche jetzt wieder eine blühende Pflanze. Ich liebe Pflanzen und ich liebe es, mich um diese zu kümmern.

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sissyjanina1 · 2 years ago

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Meine Bestimmung? - Teil 2

Der vierte Punkt behandelt die Dienstbereitschaft bzw. die Serviceorientierung. Auch ich sehe mich als Sklavin und Dienerin meines zukünftigen Partners und nicht als gleichberechtigter Partner bzw. auf einer Augenhöhe mit diesem in der Beziehung. Ausschlaggebend hierfür ist meine Unterwürfigkeit und eine Eigenschaft meines Sternzeichens, welche nur glückliche und zufriedene Menschen um sich herum haben möchte. Daher sind diese zwei Punkte für mich die optimale Voraussetzung neben den beiden Grundvoraussetzungen (Treue und Vertrauen) für eine glücklich SM-Beziehung. In dieser Beziehung werde ich die devote und weibliche und mein Partner die dominante und männliche Rolle einnehmen.

Für den glücklichen Verlauf meiner zukünftigen Beziehung, werde ich in der Rolle als Partnerin (zukünftig vielleicht auch als "Lebenspartnerin") und unterwürfige Sklavin versuchen, meine Aufgaben und seine Wünsche zu seiner vollsten Zufriedenheit zu erledigen.

In meiner Natur ist nicht vorgesehen, dass meine Orgasmen im Vordergrund stehen oder ich mit einer Frau Kinder zeuge.

Meine zukünftiger Partner und Herrn wird mich permanent keusch halten, damit ich ihm immer willig zur Verfügung stehe und diese Bereitschaft nicht mit einem unerlaubten Erguss zerstöre. Dieser Käfig besitzt neben der Verhinderung störender Erektionen auch den Vorteil, dass mir im Laufe der Zeit meine Männlichkeit und die Möglichkeit zur Erektion genommen wird. Letzteres wird durch die entsprechende Bauform des Käfigs gewährleistet. Die Schlüssel werde ich - um nicht in Versuchung zu kommen - meinem Partner zur Sicherheitsverwahrung übergeben. Darüber hinaus wird er die wöchentliche Reinigung überwachen bzw. durchführen und auch zu gegebener Zeit den aktuellen durch einen neuen kleineren Käfig ersetzen.

Da nicht jeder Mensch fehlerfrei ist - auch ich nicht - und muss auch zunächst lernen, seinen Partner durch das Zusammenleben besser Kennenlernen zu können. In diesem Punkt liegt auch der gewisse Reiz, dass erzeugte Fehler oder eine unsaubere Ausführung in gewissem Maß mit entsprechenden Konsequenzen geahndet werden.

Als weiteren Aspekt wird unter diesem Punkt auch die räumliche Eingrenzung der Unterwürfigkeit angesprochen, dass diese bei den meisten nur auf das Schlafzimmer begrenzt ist. An dieser Stelle möchte ich mich nochmal auf meine natürliche Unterwürfigkeit beziehen, welche auch über die Räumlichkeit des Schlafzimmers hinaus geht und sogar auf die Öffentlichkeit ausgedehnt werden kann - falls dieses von meinem Partner gewünscht oder gefordert wird. Final möchte ich erwähnen, dass in meiner Natur die Erfüllung der Wünsche und des Vergnügens meines Partners im Vordergrund stehen und sogar Vorrang vor anderen Tätigkeit haben.

Fortsetzung folgt...

#mindfuck #schlafen #submisive sissy #alpha man

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archduchessofnowhere · 2 years ago

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Letter from Ida Ferenczy, Elisabeth of Austria's reader and close confident, to Katharina Schratt, on the death of the empress:

Schönbrunn, 16.IX.98. My dear Frau von Kiss [Katharina's married name]! Immediately after my arrival here I had a strong desire to see you and to weep with you over the immeasurably great misfortune that has befallen us! We can give mutual condolence! In her Most High Majesty you have lost the best, the kindest and noblest friend—to use her own word—your Wahlschwester [sister by adoption]. I, unhappily, have lost everything in her Majesty!!—Now we must only pray the more that Almighty God will grant strength to our Most Gracious Lord and Emperor, so sorely afflicted, that best and noblest sufferer, so that he may bear this fearful trial!— I should like to have come in person, but I feared I should not find you alone. Greeting you, dear Frau Kiss, most warmly, With broken heart! Your devoted Ida Ferenzcy.

#ida also told marie festetics she had lost everything with elisabeth's death because she had been everything to her :(#ida ferenzcy #katharina schratt #empress elisabeth of austria

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kittyblonde · 1 year ago

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Stehst du dann auf devote Männer oder wie kann man das verstehen? 🤔

Viele "devote" Männer haben einfach bestimmte Kinks, die sie befriedigt haben wollen und dafür eine x-beliebige dominante Frau suchen, darauf stehe ich nicht.

Ich steh auf Männer, die mich zu ihrer Priorität machen und die alles für mich tun würden, hauptsache sie können mich damit glücklich machen 🥰 mir geht's dabei gar nicht nur um bestimmte sexuelle Sachen, ich finde auch als dominanter Part kann ich beispielsweise receiving sein beim Sex, aber eben dann wenn ich es will.

Meine Zufriedenheit = seine Priorität. That's my type. 🥰❤️

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strictpunishedhubby · 6 months ago

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Einige hier die meinen Blog kennen und aufmerksam lesen, fragen sich warum ich meine Frau so sehr liebe, die mich ständig herumkommandiert, mich versohlt, mich in beschämende Wäsche steckt, mir Stuben- und Hausarrest auferlegt, mich wie einen kleinen, ungezogenen Rotzjungen führt, lenkt und bestraft.

Schon als Kind war ich nicht leicht zu erziehen. Ich war unordentlich, frech, ungehorsam und aufsässig. Nicht nur meiner Mama gegenüber, sondern auch gegenüber anderen Respektpersonen war ich vorlaut und stur. Oft wurde ich von meiner Mama wegen meinem deplatzierten, eigensinnigen Verhalten bestraft, meist mehrmals die Woche. Ich erwartete nicht nur strenge Bestrafungen für jedes unangepasstes Verhalten, mehr noch ich wollte dafür bestraft werden, damit ich mir beigebracht wird mich meinen inneren Drang aufsässig und frech zu sein zu beherrschen und von anderen akzeptiert und geliebt zu werden. Noch immer bin ich, wie schon als Kind, unreif und ungezogen. Ich erwarte und will um mich endlich zu verbessen von meiner Frau streng diszipliniert werden. Glücklicherweise habe ich eine Frau mit einer sehr dominanten Persönlichkeit geheiratet. Schon immer fühlte ich mich zu Frauen hingezogen, die dominant und autoritär auftreten. Als ich meine Frau kennenlernte, sie mich schon von Anfang an bevormundet und wie einen kleinen Rotzjungen behandelte, habe ich mich sofort in sie so verliebt, dass ich sie wegen ihrem gebieterischen, energischen Umgang mit mir heiraten wollte. Und ich habe mich nicht getäuscht, sie geht in ihrer Rolle als strenge Ehefrau förmlich auf. Die Konsequenz und Härte wie sie mich erzieht kommt meiner masochistischen Veranlagung voll entgegen. Ich habe naturgemäß regelmäßig Angst vor den gehörigen Prügelstrafen auf meinen nackten Po, sehe aber ein, meine Frau handelt richtig und die Züchtigungen sind immer angemessen, denn ich weiß auch aus Erfahrung, gesundheitliche Schäden entstehen nie daraus. Die Schmerzen gehören spätestens zwei Tage später der Vergangenheit an. Allerdings kommt es manchmal vor, ich werde mehrmals am Tag oder was auch nicht so selten vorkommt mehrere Tage hintereinander von ihr versohlt. Sie weiß aber zu genau was mein Po und ich vertragen kann, wenn sie mich auch oft an mein Limit bestraft. Die Züchtigungen habe ich mir ja durch mein ungezogenes Verhalten selber zuzuschreiben. Wenn sie dabei mit mir einem Tonfall spricht, als ob ein kleiner, ungezogener Bengel jetzt seine verdiente Tracht Prügel bezieht, sie mir demütigende Fragen stellt, die ich in einsichtsvoll und devot zu beantworten habe, erinnert mich das an die Zeiten, als ich von meiner Mamma, die ich auch so sehr geliebt habe, wegen schlechtem Benehmen befragt wurde, bevor sie mich verhaute.

Ich habe das große Glück eine konsequente, strenge Frau geheiratet zu haben, die mich nicht verlassen oder aufgegeben hat, sondern die unermüdlich mein schlechtes Benehmen rigoros ohne Wenn und Aber ahndet. Sie setzt die Erziehung meiner geliebten Mama fort, denn ich bin wohl noch zu oft faul, frech und ungezogen.

Und dann kommen auch noch Stunden, wenn ich artig, folgsam und fleißig war, mir meine Frau den Intimverkehr mit ihr erlaubt - die schönsten Stunden.

So betrachtet und behandelt sie mich als ihren ungezogenen Sohn, ihre freche Tochter und manchmal als ihren geliebten Ehemann, alles in einer Person. Gibt es eine schönere und intensivere Zweierbeziehung?

Some people here who know my blog and read it carefully wonder why I love my wife so much, who constantly bosses me around, spanks me, puts me in shameful underwear, puts me under house arrest and confines me to the ground,leads, controls and punishes me like a naughty little brat.

Even as a child, I was not easy to raise. I was untidy, cheeky, disobedient and rebellious. I was cheeky and stubborn, not only towards my mommy, but also towards other people I respected. I was often punished by my mommy for my inappropriate, stubborn behavior, usually several times a week. Not only did I expect severe punishments for any inappropriate behavior, I also wanted to be punished so that I could learn to control my inner urge to be rebellious and cheeky and thus be accepted and loved by others. I am still, as I was as a child, immature and naughty. I expect and want to be strictly disciplined by my wife in order to finally improve. Fortunately, I married a woman with a very dominant personality. I have always been attracted to women who appear dominant and authoritative. When I met my wife and she patronized me from the very beginning and treated me like a little brat, I immediately fell in love with her so much that I wanted to marry her because of her commanding, energetic way of dealing with me. And I was not mistaken, she absolutely thrives in her role as a strict wife. The consistency and harshness with which she educates me suits my masochistic tendencies perfectly. Naturally, I am regularly afraid of the severe beatings on my bare bottom, but I realize that my wife is doing the right thing and that the punishments are always appropriate, because I also know from experience that they never cause any damage to my health. However, sometimes she spanks me several times a day or, not infrequently, several days in a row. But she knows exactly what my bottom and I can handle, even if she often punishes me to the limit. I have to blame myself for the beatings because of my naughty behavior. When she speaks to me in a tone as if a naughty little urchin was about to receive his well-deserved beating, and asks me humiliating questions that I have to answer in an insightful and submissive manner, it reminds me of the times when my mamma, whom I also loved so much, would question me about bad behavior before she spanked me.

I am very fortunate to have married a consistent, strict wife who has not left me or given up on me, but who tirelessly punishes my bad behavior rigorously and without reservation. She continues to educate my beloved mommy, because I am still too often lazy, cheeky and naughty.

And then there are the hours when I have been well-behaved, obedient and diligent, my wife allows me to have sexual intercourse with her. And then there are the hours when I have been well-behaved, obedient and diligent and my wife allows me to have sexual intercourse with her - the most beautiful hours.

So she sees and treats me as her naughty son, her cheeky daughter and sometimes as her beloved husband, all in one person. Is there a more beautiful and intense relationship between two people?

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