#I picked this candle to burn because it smells like the inside of a church AND THAT'S ALL THE INFO YOU'RE GETTIN OUTTA ME

[goatsandgangsters]

freshly decluttered desk, gin + apple cider cocktail, nice candle

ch 1 of super long fic I've been writing since May 2021 COMING SOON to an ao3 near you

[emmafrostdefender]

a fine line between god and animal | logan howlett x fem reader

prologue - that which cannot be held in your hand | masterlist

your mother was a god-fearing woman. but she feared you much more. some part of you was wrong, at least in the eyes of god, but you answered to something much bigger. and so did he.

hi friends, this was written when i was struck with inspiration by the one and only ethel cain. of course, the inspiration was paired with my recent renewed interest in wolverine and x-men. some of the characters are more like how they are in the comics because the movie writers did them dirty! like jean slays in the comics okay! anyways, i wanted to write about wolverine and it be sexy in an ethel cain way. do we get the vibe? i hope so. also, i, in fact, do not have religious trauma but if you do this might be the story for you. enjoy.

warnings: cursing, religion, religious trauma (will pick up), lowkey a lot of blasphemy, people be bad sometimes, reader's mother was not chill, a ton of exposition (sorry!), i’m writing this mainly for practice (especially regarding dialogue, so that’s why some of it might be kinda choppy), definitely won't be canon compliant, 4k words

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By the grace of some unholy god were you created.

The priest with silver hair expelled the demons from you; those crawling, crushing, wriggling, squirming demons that lived within you. Those demons that whispered in your ears, caressing your skull with a language lost to time. They pushed to be revealed. Today, your mother shoved you to your knees before the altar of your true Mother, the Mother of all. “Holy Mother, bless this rotten soul,” she whispered by your side, eyes clenched shut. You watched her. There were no tears, not for your lost soul. Your rotten soul. As if your morality was like an apple. Something that could shrivel up and die if left too long in the scorching sun.

Your skin crawled under the light that beat down on you through the skylights of the church. The air was thick with incense and smoke from the ever-burning candles. The stench filled your nose. Your mother grasped your hand in hers, forcing you to focus on her words. She spoke so quietly, so quickly, you’d think she was chanting some spell. Something to save you from your fate.

“Heavenly Father, take the Devil’s spirit from her body; take this ugly, horrid wickedness from her.”

You closed your eyes, not in prayer, but to lend your ears elsewhere. To the birds chirping outside. The wind whistling through the trees. 

You were connected to nature. In some primal, peaceful way.

Before your father died, he would take you into the woods and you would wander together. Sometimes you would pack supplies for overnight trips, sometimes you would bring nothing but your spirit with you. Now, you thought he knew that something was different about you before you did. When you were a stumbling child, he knew. There were days he would force you to lead the both of you back to safety after getting you lost in the middle of the woods. Force you to reveal yourself to him. The part of you that God shunned.

And you did.

Your spirit became one with the natural world around you. You could hear and smell and see. For what felt like the first time. It was a beautiful thing that came over you.

The trees spoke to you, in their ancient language lost to humanity. And you spoke back. Using sounds that had never before emerged from your lips. 

And they led you home.

Never once did your father ostracize you for your gift. That’s what he called it. A gift.

When you turned sixteen, your gift shifted. You fought back as it reared its ugly head at you. It pushed and pulled at your insides, begging to be released fully. The day your father died, lying still in a sterile hospital bed, it burst out of you. The monotonous tone that rang out death filled your ears as you lay beside him on the thin sheets. He wasn’t supposed to die like this. Not here. The thought blared in your brain. He should’ve been somewhere he could see the sky, the trees, the clouds, not the plastered ceiling of a hospital room.

In your memory, nothing changed. But your mother, eyes blurry with tears, watched as something inside you morphed. You became still, grasping your father’s hand, and whispered something that sounded to her like sin. The tongue of some animal, some demon. She watched as her daughter became something unholy. Your eyes went pitch black, your skin glowing with a soft light. And suddenly, vines were creeping into the room from all around.

Through the window, the door, from the cracks in the ceiling. Crawling to the thrumming in your veins. The winds answered your call, blasting open the window, broken glass scattering across the linoleum floor. Your mother screamed at the sound. 

As vines wrapped around your ankles, around your father’s bed, your mother watched as you continued your senseless muttering. She couldn’t move to stop you. She began to chant a prayer of protection. For herself, for her husband’s lifeless body, for your soul. 

Anger filled your spirit, the anger of a thousand year old mother. Tar filled your veins, smoke filled your lungs, oil in your eyes. The drilling, the pounding, the burning, the slaughtering. It all pushed into your brain as the vines choked your soul. And you screamed.

Your mother grabbed the metal tray from your father’s final meal and slammed it against your head.

And she continued to pray. Gripping your hand until it hurt. And you let her. Let her expel the demon from you. 

Your bare skin bathes in the moonlight shining through the early autumn foliage as you sit on your knees before a different altar. 

You cringe at the memory of your bruised knees and that crushing hold on your hand. Begging God to turn you into a flower, while your mother begged for your mortal soul.

You shake your head to clear the memory. That was ten years ago now. Seventeen and terrified of who you were, what you were. She was wrong about you and you were wrong about you. 

The day the priest came to perform another exorcism of sorts, something that had no effect on you whatsoever, a new man had entered your bedroom. A man in a wheelchair. Professor Charles Xavier. He saved you. 

Made your mother forget who you were.

And you came to live on a beautiful estate in upstate New York with people like you. Mutants. A word used in such a way you had never heard before in extremely rural Oklahoma. “What do you mean, mutant?” You asked, not sure if you should feel insulted.

Professor X looked at you from across the plasticky diner table, studying your features. You studied his right back. Soft eyes and a kind smile. Such a stark contrast from your mother’s severe gaze and thin-lipped grimace. “Mutants are like regular people, only with a mutated gene that gives them special abilities. I’ve been studying mutants and their mutations for decades. Each mutant I meet is unique and you are no exception.”

Your eyebrow raised ever-so-slightly as you sipped on a strawberry milkshake. “How many are there?”

And so began your relationship with Charles Xavier. He became your mentor, someone to go to for guidance. He assisted you in harnessing your abilities, treating them like a muscle to train rather than a burden to bear. And yet, every night you prayed to God that you could be rid of it. That you could go back home and live a normal life. 

In your years at the mansion, friendships blossomed all around you. You never made friends easily back home, but here they came quickly and firmly.

And you felt complete. You are complete. You remind yourself.

Something deep inside of you grumbles in response.

You ignore it and stretch your arms to the sky, cupping the moon in your hands. The moon is slightly out of your jurisdiction, but she controls the tide, which controls the winds. It all works in harmony, you’ve learned. When another girl with similar mutant abilities arrived at the mansion a few years after yourself, you became close partners. Storm, Ororo by birth, was your closest companion. She had striking white hair and a piercing gaze and a personality to match. In combat, she is your most trusted partner. 

You spin your arms in a practiced circle, beginning to feel the thrumming of power in your veins. Every full moon, Charles would send you out into the woods of the estate to become one with your abilities. He says the most dangerous mutant is a mutant that severs all connection to their powers. One that has no real idea what they are capable of. “They could destroy a whole city and not understand why,” he replied when you first asked him the meaning of these exercises. “You must be in tune with yourself if you ever want to feel some semblance of control.”

Control. The word forced a shiver down your spine. Mother Nature revolts at it.

And yet, you managed to tame the primal part of yourself. The part that screamed to be let loose. 

The world pulses around you as your eyes flutter shut. This is your favorite part of the night. When you merge with the natural world. When you feel and hear and see everything around you. The flapping of an owl’s wings. The beat of a young doe’s heart. The smell of the moss and the dirt and the stream miles away. You feel another heartbeat. This one is firmer. More distinct. It reminds you of the steady thumping of your father’s heart when you would lay on his chest as a small child. You can’t pinpoint its location. It seems to come from everywhere at once. A sense of serenity washes over you. 

And you simply listen.

You spread your fingers on the plush grass below you, feeling that heartbeat skitter along your skin and wash itself in the blood that pulses through your veins. You hear the sound of drifting snow, feel its cold sting before it melts against warm skin. Your eyes scrunch up as you focus. The thought of even wondering what you’re tuning into never crosses your mind. You just want to keep feeling and hearing. Your gluttony for the senses takes over and you taste the sheen of melted snow on this stranger’s skin as if you licked it yourself. Salt and something man. You hum. And then you smell something so distinctly like smoke that you are thrown from your reverie. Your body repulses against itself and you cough. Being connected to Earth has its disadvantages. 

Desire to return to that state of complete contentment fills your mind, but you stand. Your nude form basks in the moonlight for not a minute longer. You shrug a pretty little silk robe on and make your way back to the mansion. Although it is early October and New York has not yet succumbed to the winter weather, you still feel the keen chill of snow. 

As you slowly walk back to the mansion, the new thrum of energy courses through you. It spreads down your legs to the pads of your feet, which leave trails of newborn flowers. As quickly as they are born, they die. The circle of life and death. Darkness and light.

The exact breadth of your powers is still unknown to you and your fellow mutants. Before being taken in by Professor X, you thought they were limited to simply being one with nature. The memory of your father’s death and the events that quickly followed were hazy, but being far away from your mother and her religious zeal allowed you to connect to that piece of your past. To your chagrin, Charles refused to go into your mind to help you remember. It took you two months to fully remember the events. Memories came in dreams, waves of disconnected images all straining in your mind. The first night Charles sent you into the woods to “figure it out,” the pieces fell into place.

And you finally knew yourself again.

Now, you’ve chalked your abilities up to being a reincarnation of Mother Nature, a realization that pulls at the small cross that rests in the hollow of your neck. Despite the trauma incurred by your mother in the name of the righteous God, that part of yourself hasn’t been severed. You remember your father knelt in the church, clasping the chain around your neck, thereby forever bonding you to your faith. You’ve never feared any man you’ve gone against in combat, but you fear the one waiting to judge you.

If He’d even bestow that luxury upon you.

You look up at the sky as you step through the woods, drawing lines between the stars like the ancients. Stringing stories and myths and legends. You wonder if the monsters of olde were simply mutants, like you. Misunderstood and begging to be believed.

The soft glow of the mansion enters your vision. The weight of sleep hits you in the shoulders and you slouch to the back entrance. All the young mutants are asleep at this time, but you hear the skittering of a few rebels in the halls. The mansion never fails to awe you, with its tall wooden walls and bright windows. A far cry from your small rancher of a childhood home. You pass the main entrance and make your way up the stairs that lead to your bedroom on the third floor. This floor is for the older mutants, the X-Men.

Originally, you declined Charles’ offer to be a part of the mutant bad-guy-fighting team. A lack of confidence in yourself, you realized later on. The belief that something was still too wrong with you to even have the ability to help anyone. That belief changed rather quickly. 

When you realized there wasn’t much of a place for mutants in this world, you accepted his offer. You took on the name Proserpina, the Roman goddess of spring, at the behest of your teammates. Despite your initial disdain towards the alias, you soon grew fond of the name.

Your ears perk up at the sound of whispering voices down the hall.

Coming from Jean’s room.

Jean Grey is another member of the X-Men and another close friend of yours. You were one of the first people she met when she arrived at the mansion a few years ago. You were the first to confront her about her obvious feelings for Scott Summers, who is something of a brother to you, before she even recognized them herself. You are the first person she goes to whenever she feels out of control, which seems to be more frequently as of late. “He wants you and Storm to track them down,” she says in a soft voice.

“Just the two of us?” Scott asks.

You assume she nods.

You raise your eyebrow. Track who down?

Deciding to enter the conversation, you continue to her room and open the cracked door fully. “What, so Charles doesn’t want me tracking anymore?” You question with a hand on your hip.

They both stand in the center of the room and turn their heads to look at you. Jean rubs at the space between her eyebrows. “Not necessarily. He just isn’t sure you should go on this one.”

“Why? Is it because we’d be fighting Captain Capitalism or something?”

Scott quirks a smile. “He’s found another prospect for the X-Men.”

“And how does that impact my ability to find them?”

Jean approaches you slowly. “Don’t be offended, honey, but sometimes you come off a bit…”

“Bitchy,” Scott finishes with his arms folded across his chest. 

Your mouth drops open and you move to slap him or punch him or kick him, but Jean puts her hand on your sternum. “I meant to say, you can come off a bit guarded. And that isn’t always helpful with new recruits.”

“But no one is better at tracking than me,” you say with a pout. “Besides the obvious.”

“Sorry, babe, Charles isn't letting you come on this one,” Scott says with a grin. “Too bad.”

You flick him in the forehead and he flinches. “Asshole.”

“You can stay here and help me with my exercises. Charles is trying to get me to move a car,” Jean suggests. “I know,” she says in response to your eyebrow raise. 

“You can barely move a book without it flying at your face. Or, in most cases, my face.”

She shrugs. “Out of the frying pan and into the fryer, I guess.”

“Fine. I’ll be nice.” You turn to leave and toss a dismissive hand up behind you at Scott. “Good luck tracking without me, bitch.”

He hums. “Goodnight.”

As you shut the door he throws out, “Can’t wait to bring them back in record time tomorrow!”

Them. So it’s multiple. Interesting.

That night, your dreams are filled with images of your old church. The windows stain everything around you a blood red. 

You are on your knees before the altar of Mary. But today, her hands are folded away from you. She scorns you with a downwards glance of repulsion. You know this isn’t real. It’s not real.

Yet, your body burns in her gaze. Your skin is on fire and no one is there to quell it. You are chained to the floor by your hands, you feel your chest being cracked open to onlookers. Your heart is yanked from your ribs, your impure blood oozing from gray hands. Roaming hands belonging to a wisp of smoke pull at your bones, branding them in silver. Bugs crawl out of the cavity in your chest, maggots and cockroaches. You scream and the onlookers laugh. Your body vibrates with fear and disgust. And you scream. 

You wake with hands pinned to the bed by your own force, your necklace set between your teeth. 

Your nightgown is soaked in sweat, sticking to your skin. Your heartbeat pumps hard and fast in your ears, an almost unbearable sensation. Not the way you hoped the night would go.

Despite appearances, you are used to the nightmares that plague you whenever there is a full moon. With the resurgence of your power, comes a resurgence of memories. 

You spit the cross out of your mouth and slam your head against your pillow. 

Dawn has skipped across the sky, bringing streaks of hazy light into the darkness. You stare at the ceiling, allowing your heart to return to its usual rate.

It seems like the dreams are only getting worse with time. You thought they would subdue after a few years, but they’ve been building steadily. And you would never tell Charles that, lest he pry into your brain and see for himself. You couldn’t let him, or anyone, see that part of you. The part you worked so hard to tamp down. It would only make things harder.

Therapy for one?

You laugh in self-pity and sit up, your muscles tense. You stretch out your arms, moving them in circular motions as you control your breathing. The last thing the team needs is something else to worry about. Magneto, your main opposition, has been pushing harder and harder toward his goal of world-domination and mutant-superiority. Charles doesn’t need another burden. You crack your neck and stand. 

Your room has floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the gardens and the woods. A special request you made the first time you moved in. You can just barely see the sun beginning to peak over the horizon, glimmering off the dewy leaves. 

Someone knocks on your door. “Yes?” you ask, turning to face the entrant.

The only other person ever up this early is Storm. She stands before you in her leather suit, stark white hair hanging by her shoulders. “Put some clothes on, Charles wants to speak with you.”

“You don’t think he’d appreciate this?” You gesture to your sweat-stained dress.

“Bad dream?”

You shrug. “I was actually having very passionate sex with Christian Bale.”

“Slut!” She smiles, but her eyes see right through your lie.

You wink. “Always.”

Ororo is the only person you’ve let see the terrified side of you. The side that you keep locked away. And it makes your skin crawl when she sees straight through you. As if she’s the one that can read minds.

When you’ve changed into a sweater and jeans, you follow Ororo downstairs to the professor’s study. The sun has fully risen by now, along with many of the students. You dodge sleepy children and annoyed teenagers as you make your way to the study. 

“I’ll wait out here for you,” Ororo says softly as you open the study door. 

“I feel like I’m about to be scolded for something.”

She laughs.

You shut the door behind you and see Charles sitting at his desk. “Good morning, Professor.”

“Take a seat.”

You grin as you make your way to the plush seats in front of his desk. “Am I in trouble?”

He smiles back. “No, you’re not in trouble. But I did need to speak with you.”

You nod, allowing him to continue.

“I understand that you already know about the retrieval mission Scott and Ororo are to be sent on today?”

“Yes, I overheard Jean mention it to Scott last night.”

He hums. “How was your night besides?”

He’s referring to your monthly ritual. You smile. “It went well.”

“Anything interesting occur?” he asks with a quirk of his brow.

You narrow your eyes slightly. Is he asking about the dreams? You pivot. “Not really. I seemed to connect to someone far away, though. That hasn’t really happened before.”

He nods, a glint in his eye. He knows you’re omitting something. But he lets you get away with it by switching the topic. “I suppose you might be wondering why I’m not sending you on this particular retrieval?”

You shrug, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “I mean, it crossed my mind. But it’s your decision.”

“I’m not sending you not because you aren’t useful, you must understand. Or because of you’re 'attitude,' which I must admit, I disagree with. You are truly the best tracker we have. And you are fairly good at calming new people down. However, I have recently been made aware of a plot by Lehnsherr to somehow use you to further his plans,” he says with a straight look on his face.

Before you register the second part of his statement, you feel smug pride at the fact that you were right and Scott was wrong. “Wait, he wants me?”

Charles nods. “Yes, it seems he believes your mutation would be useful to him. But I am not aware of how exactly.”

“How were you able to read his mind?”

“We were both at a speech given by Senator Robert Kelly a few days ago. I found his mind in my scan of the room. His is much different from everyone else.”

The unspoken part: We are connected.

The professor never seems to fully admit the strong connection he has to Erik Lehnsherr, but you sensed it the same way you sensed Jean and Scott. It might be different, it might be the same, but the history they share has never fully dissolved.

You wonder if a part of your mutation is sensing innate connections between people. That invisible force that pulls some together, while pulling others apart. That which cannot be held in your hand. You suppose it is something only nature could define.

He continues. “He believes that your connection to nature could be used in conjunction with his control over metal. How? I’m not sure. I’m not sure even he knows.”

You consider this, bringing your hands together. “So you’re nervous I wouldn’t be able to hold my own against his goons?”

“Not necessarily. But if you were abducted, we might not be able to reach you. It’s safer if you stay here with all the protections this mansion affords.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Are you sure that’s the only reason?”

“It’s the only reason I need.” He looks at you with such care that your annoyance pauses. “If not sending you on a monotonous tracking mission means keeping you from uneccessary harm, then I will do it. Even if it upsets you.”

You break his gaze and sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

He leans back in his chair and smiles.

“I just hate seeing Scott’s ‘I-did-better-than-you’ face. He’s so smug,” you whine.

“You two have that in common, I see.”

The grin that spreads across your lips is impossible to fight.

Scott and Ororo board the jet after an hour of briefing from the professor about where the mutants are most likely located. Somewhere in Canada. Far, far north.

Before they head off, Scott ruffles your hair. “Hey, don’t look so disappointed. You can stay here and grow some flowers or something.”

You shove his hand away from you. “Shut up.”

“Save that fire for when we get back. You never know what these mutants are going to be like. They could be gearing up for a fight.”

“I think I’ll just let you handle that, since you’re so confident you’ll even be able to find them properly without me.”

“It’s not just confidence. It’s a guarantee,” he says with a grin.

“Whatever. Be safe.”

“Always am. Keep Jean company.” 

“Mhm. ‘Bye now!” You say with a wave of your hand.

Jean exits the jet where she was speaking to Ororo and comes to stand next to you. Ororo gives you a thumbs up and she and Scott exit your line of sight. Although you would never admit it, you like going on these missions to keep your teammates safe. And not being able to protect them itches at your skin. Before you go crazy pacing in the hangar of the jet after it takes off, just waiting for them to get back, Jean reminds you of her own practice.

“Time to move that car!” You say with gusto, hooking your arm with hers. 

You fight the urge to glance behind you. Your other hand comes up to worry the cross at your neck. They’ll be fine. 

ugh i know i know she didn't meet him this chapter aw man....

[shivunin]

🙤 Unusual OC Associations 🙧

Tagged by @greypetrel---thanks for the tag! This is so cool :) I also might do this for all of them gradually---I enjoy this unique way of thinking about these characters. I added Arianwen under the break here, and I'll likely make a separate post for my bounty of Lavellans. (Also--I'm just putting this out there--I'm adding a Tarot section for mine because I kept thinking about cards for them as I was writing these, but it wasn't part of the original list c: )

Maria Hawke

Seasoning: Something warm and sharp, like ginger or cinnamon. The kind of thing you can add to a hot drink when it's cold outside.

Weather: Snow that falls in big, puffy flakes that make you feel grateful to be inside and warm. Not a storm, but snow that makes everything feel a bit closer than it was before.

Colour: The crimson of heart's-blood, vivid and unmistakable

Sky: When it's very cold and clear outside and there are ice crystals shining in the air. You can only see them when they catch the light, but they're there nonetheless, like clouds scattered at ground level

Magic power: Fire that soothes and sears: a healing heat that is like knocking back a finger of whiskey in the bitter cold, or a blush on a first date.  The agonizing pain of reaching for a pot too fresh from the fire or overlooking the burning candle you've just tipped over in your negligence. 

House plant: Aloe vera: you can forget about it, it can withstand too much sun or rain for a time, and as long as it’s cared for every so often it’ll keep taking out the sting of your hurts

Weapon: A staff made of dark wood and bronze, polished to a gloss by decades of use and her father’s hands. 

Subject: History—but mostly the salacious or embarrassing bits. Hawke loves a good story, and she definitely tells the bawdy ones when she’s tipsy.

Social media: Despises it. Has a hard time reading tone on the internet. Probably runs a personal blog about her life Kirkwall that she never updates, and rarely responds to comments; she’s too impatient to work to understand a format or website culture. 

Make-up product: An anise oil treatment she rubs into her hair before she sleeps at night to keep it glossy and tangle-free

Candy: Chocolate-covered roasted almonds; a study in contrasts, with the sweet, melt-in-your mouth richness of chocolate and the crunchy, faintly bitter and salty almonds. 

Fear: Failure; that it was actually her fault that Malcolm and Bethany died, and that it will happen again if she isn’t quick/clever/good enough

Ice cube shape: Perfectly square, rattles nicely when you shake it in a glass

Method of long distance travel: Carriage; she can nap, read, and take in the sights exactly as much as she’d like to. 

Art style: Impressionism; trying to capture the fleeting through the suggestion of detail, but ultimately only capturing the impression of what it once was. The finished result is still beautiful, if full of nostalgia. 

Mythological creature: A church grim; guardian of its domain and foreteller of death. 

Piece of stationery: Handmade paper with pieces of dried rose petal or herbs pressed into the paper itself; slightly ragged around the edges but thick and sweet-smelling. 

3 emojis: 👀 💅🏽 😶

Celestial body: The harvest moon on the horizon, golden and full and looking impossibly close despite the distance

Tarot Card: The Hanged Man; Intuition, trials, and self-sacrifice

Tagging: @star--nymph @zenstrike

(and really, anyone who wants to do this--I know these things have the power to make one feel like the kid picked last for dodgeball, but I feel like I'm overstepping if we've never really interacted. Tell me if you want to do these things and I will tag you forever. Really.)

(I put Wen under the break, insert "nobody puts Baby in the corner" joke)

Arianwen Tabris

Seasoning: Oh, salt, hands-down. No elaboration.

Weather: Gathering cumulonimbus on the horizon, with that especially purple-grey tinge to the bottom that tells you it’s going to be a really brutal storm. There are streaks of lightning every now and then, and you can see the streaks where rain has already begun to fall in the distance. (It leaves destruction behind, but come back in a season or a year---the fallen trees grow moss now, and house animals, and the fields have grown back all the greener for the rain)

Colour: Gunmetal grey; dull at first glance but lustrous and brutal nonetheless. 

Sky: Red at first light

Magic power: Reopening hidden hurts and forgotten wounds

House plant: Cactus in a terracotta pot. Sometimes you wonder why you’ve still got it on the shelf there, when all it does is poke you and look menacing. But then you look at it after a multiweek depression fog and it’s still there, unwilted, kicking ass. 

Weapon: a throwing knife, painted matte-black, all but invisible at night until it hits you

Subject: Applied physics; she likes the practical reality of numbers, and the application of an object in motion can really only benefit her. 

Social media: Has a private Youtube account where she saves all her favorite Lockpicking Lawyer videos. If anyone posts a picture or video with her in the background, she hunts them for sport. 

Make-up product: Cover up/foundation; if all your scars and tattoos are covered, it’s more difficult for people to identify you

Candy: Rebanaditas (watermelon chili powder candy) (and hey, this is how I found out that lucas powder contained high levels of lead and that’s why it was discontinued?? If you ate a bunch of it like I used to, just a heads-up.)

Fear: Loving someone as much as her father loved her mother (as much as she loved her mother) and losing them anyway.

Ice cube shape: Circle K ice (the little crunchy ones people like to chew on)

Method of long distance travel: Foot. No chance she’ll have to climb off or down from something and get taken by surprise. 

Art style: Charcoal sketches; they seem straightforward, even simplistic at first glance, but are capable of unexpected depth and dimension

Mythological creature: Cŵn Annwn; a hound of the Wild Hunt in Welsh lore. Their howls were a death portent that grew quieter rather than louder as they approached. Sometimes regarded as guides to the afterlife.

Piece of stationery: Scrap of paper torn off a larger text for convenience

3 emojis: 🔪 🤨 🐺

Celestial body: Mars

Tarot Card: The Tower; a symbol of abrupt and violent change, for better or worse

[mrs-dr-reid]

My Personal Matt Murdock Headcanons

Part 1/?

(And yes. I have discussed a handful of these with my beloved moot @leossmoonn before)

Due to his enhanced senses, he knows the perfect time to flip a pancake, never burns anything, always makes the most perfect toast, and he always kills flies on the first try

As much as he pretends to hate it because it’s kinda blasphemous, one of his favorite songs is Take Me To Church by Hozier. He also really likes Devil’s Advocate by The Neighborhood and (don’t tell anybody) Paper Rings by Taylor Swift

He’s really good with kids. Like, unnaturally good. Like, you’ll walk into a room and see him regaling your nephews with stories of Battlin’ Jack Murdock, or all of your nieces doing their best to put his hair in ponytails or “forcing” him to sing Disney songs with them (and melting when he actually gets really into it)

The most chivalrous little shit on earth. Always opening doors for you, pulling your chair out for you when you go out to eat, helping you out of taxis, kissing the back of your hand, shit like that. Simply because he loves hearing the heat rush to your cheeks

He’s annoyingly good at hide and seek, at least from a seeking standpoint because of his super weirdness. He can’t hide worth a damn, because he’s almost six feet tall and not that flexible, so he ends up trying to hide behind the big plant in your living room and you can just barely see the tiniest bit of his fluffy hair peeking out over the top of it

He’s a complete pansy when it comes to spicy food or strong flavors. The only spicy things he can kind of handle are Hot Cheetos or Takis, and even after those he has to chug like half a gallon of milk

He’s surprisingly good with animals. Like, say you’re at a petting zoo for a younger relative’s birthday party. You’ll end up finding him in some obscure corner of the animal pen with a baby goat fast asleep in his arms. Or if you’re at a family member’s house for a holiday and they happen to have a dog or a cat, you can bet the second he sits down that animal is going to make themselves at home on his lap or around his shoulders. It’s even funnier if the dog that picks him as their dog bed is huge, like you just walk into the living room to find him being borderline smothered by a very self-satisfied fully grown Great Pyrenees

His favorite times of year are the beginning of spring when all the flowers and trees are blooming, and the holidays because of all the yummy baked treats you’re constantly making that make the whole apartment smell like a real deal bakery

He can’t bring himself to go within 50 feet of a Bath and Bodywork’s or a Yankee Candle because of all the competing robust aromas, so he’ll just tell you what candle or bath product he’d like, because he physically can’t go near either of those stores without getting a wicked headache

After a particularly rough night out on patrol, you’ll most likely find him on the couch cocooned inside a weighted blanket with his expensive noise cancelling headphones over his ears, because sometimes the only way he can get calm enough to meditate is if he can’t hear anything and he doesn’t have any outside stimulation

He loves audio books, especially the ones where the narrator uses different voices to distinguish what character is speaking. Knowing this, you buy him the Harry Potter audiobooks, and it’s safe to say they quickly become his favorite because Stephen Fry is the MVP of character voices

Because his senses are so refined, you, Foggy, and Karen come up with a game where you give him five of the same thing but from different places or brands (like four black coffees from four different coffee joints and one homemade or five pints of vanilla ice cream from five different brands) to see if he can tell the difference between them. Annoyingly enough, he can, and it pisses you guys off to no end

He memorizes the heartbeats and walking patterns of the people he cares about (aka you, Foggy, and Karen), so he can pick you guys out of a crowd of thousands and instantly tell when there’s something wrong be it your heart rate is slightly irregular, your walking pace is accelerated, or god forbid you have a slight limp

Much like Anakin Skywalker, he can’t really handle the texture of sand (of course you quote that one scene whenever he mentions it just to mess with him), so he’s not the biggest fan of the beach. Then one year for a vacation you take him to your relative’s condo in Coquina Beach, Florida, and the second he feels how soft the sand is, he changes his mind about beaches, and you two decide to try and find the beach with the softest sand in the world

He loves it when you wear his clothes, especially his old Columbia sweatshirts or tees. Once when he came home, you were wearing one of his white work button ups and no pants, and he just about lost his remaining five marbles

He unironically loves VeggieTales, especially the Silly Songs with Larry. You’ve caught him humming “Oh Where is My Hairbrush?” to himself while he’s getting ready for work too many times for it to be a coincidence

He has a really good singing voice, but he only ever busts it out at a karaoke bar after a few too many whiskeys, and yet he still sounds coherent when you drunkenly usher him onto the stage. Once he sang “Hold Me While You Wait” by Lewis Capaldi, and the entire female population within the bar (and a couple of dudes, tbh) basically melted into the floor, because he has no business having the voice of an angel when he’s drunk off his ass

He likes going to museums with you that specialize in your niche interests just to hear you infodump to him about the stuff you already know and the new stuff you learn while you’re there, because he loves listening to your voice in any context

[nanamins-kitten]

First kiss

note: I've been thinking about this for daaaaaaaaaays and I finally procrastinated studying to do it

no warning, just soft core Nanami lover

Being dragged to church in itself sucked. Being dragged to church for multiple hours sucked even more. Being dragged to church for multiple hours at night sucked dick and balls.

At least the service was over, after like 2 hours of keeping yourself occupied with watching your candle burn and the wax travel down until there was no more string to keep the light alive, and the church was surrounded by nature, lots of trees and a whole row of blossoming magnolia trees.

But it was still after midnight. And it was slightly chilly.

And it started raining.

You grumpled. You had no umbrella and no hood on your white overcoat and stopping somewhere would just take more time to get home. Swearing inside your head, you continued your walk along the magnolia trees.

'Excuse me...'

Suddenly no water was hitting your head anymore. Looking up, and towards the voice that came behind you, a umbrella was now shielding you from the falling water, held by a young guy with blonde hair and bangs falling into one side of his face. You slightly compared it to those of the emo guys that were all over quotev and wattpad covers when you were still active on there, but it was suiting him and his slightly tired, yet defined, face. He seemed to be wearing some sort of uniform, a school uniform.

'You, um, seemed not prepared for the weather.' he said once you two locked eyes.

'Yeah, I made the mistake to not check the weather forecast' you laughed nervously, a little shy at talking with a stranger and slightly intimidated by him. He was tall, very tall, and he was really pretty, and very close to you, sitting under the same umbrella. But he seemed a little shy, or stand off-ish, unsure in his movements, like an awkward teenager. That comforted you.

He looked away for a second, seemingly thinking, pondering something, before looking ahead the magnolia trees again. 'There is a bit of a walk till the gate. Let me walk you there.'

'Oh, thank you! You shouldn't have, but thank you.' Starting to walk on the road again, at a comfortable pace, you continued to look at him and smiled genuinely. 'You're really nice to do that.'

That seemed to make the boy blush a bit, making you smile more, keeping a giggle inside. He was really cute, wasn't he?

'I think that you also look very nice.'

Now it was your turn to blush. It was nice to be complimented by someone you were attracted to.

'Thank you.'

He hummed and the two of you continued to walk quietly. It was actually nice now that you were covered. The smell of rain and spring flowers in the air, the soft nightlights and no busy noise around felt actually close to a date, a perfect date. Step by step, you observed the boy had slowly gotten closer and closer to you, enough that he was in your personal space now, not uncomfortably so, but just enough like someone that you are close to. His hand with the umbrella was between the two of you, his upper arm touching yours. You liked the closeness and tried to swiftly bump your shoulder into his (which was pretty hard, since he was so tall and you could only touch his arm with your shoulder) and it was nice. It felt warmer, even if it had actually gotten slightly windy, but the silence in his presence was actually comforting, and he didn't mind when you lowly hummed a tune.

Finally, the gate was reached.

You turn towards the boy, smiling softly. The rain is much gentler now, but the wind started picking up. 'Thank you again for being so nice.' The gate was right there, a few steps ahead. But you felt the need to do something. So you stepped on your toes and leaned to peck his right cheek, on the spot that wasn't covered by his hair. It was closer to the corner of his mouth than you had planned, which made you blush and bite your lip nervously when you pulled back and were to continue to walk away.

Until he caught your hand.

His face was adorned by a rosy pink and his face was scrunched in some kind of confusion. Was it because you kissed you him? Was it because he didn't know how to react?

Stepping again closer to him, so his arm dropped, but his hand still in yours, you looked him in the eye and waited for him to make the next move. To see what idea is in his mind, what is he planning.

He locked his eyes with yours. He looked determined, a little intimidating, but there was no feeling of fear around you, he didn't want to hurt you. So you didn't move. His head leaned closer to yours and his hand, the one that one second ago was grabbing your hand, reached for your cheek, his knuckles caressing blushed skin. When your noses touched each other, he stopped in his tracks, unsure if to continue or not, if you changed your mind or not. You could feel his anxiety cascading out of him.

So you moved your head forward, your noses rubbing onto his this time, as consent to go ahead. It was a soft peck on the lips, just as gentle as the kiss you left on his cheek. His lips were slightly chapped and felt salty, like he just ate something very recent, but it melted your knees from how gentle it was when he cupped your face with the one hand.

You felt a sudden weight on you, looming, and you opened your eyes in shock to see him stumbling over you.

The wind had picked up suddenly and powerful and stole the umbrella away, exposing the two of you to the rain again. You broke apart to take the image of the umbrella flying away at big speed in, but then your vision went black as a piece of cloth went over your face and a yelp escaped your lips. Turning back to the boy, you understood he took his uniform jacket off and put it over your head to protect you from the rain, while he was completely exposed to the water droplets carried aggressively by the wind. His face was flushed more and more, and he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

'I don't want you to get wet.'

You weren't sure why that sentence hit you in the guts as hard as it did. Was it the gentle way he was holding the jacket so he could still see your face? Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world and was afraid of accidentally bruising you?

Maybe it was all of it that made you smile cutely, cup his face with both hands and tug him down, where you kissed him lovingly, like he was the love of your life. He was surprised, shocked, but his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you there.

You felt something soft under your hands, but it was not his face, it was softer and lighter, easily to grab and squeeze.

You woke up, eyes slowly fluttering to the morning sun. There were no more rain, no more night, no more church, magnolias, and the boy disappeared completely. Just you naked under the duvet.

Two arms squeezed your waist and a pair of lips left a kiss on your cheek, and then the face all those limbs belonged to nuzzled against yours. "Did you have a good sleep, darling?"

He didn't disappear.

He just grew up.

"Kento," you whined in your sleepy voice, turning in his arms to face him, "I had such a beautiful dream. And you were there too?"

His eyes were still closed, but he hummed as a sign that he was listening. "Is that so?"

"Yes, but actually it wasn't you... it were you when you were still a student, like I saw in the pictures when Gojo showed me."

Nanami groaned. "Please don't mention him first thing in the morning, kitten."

You giggled a bit. "Sorry, sweetheart. Will not happen again." You kissed his nose in apology. "And I was a student too, I think, and we met one silent, rainy night and you walked me with an umbrella and then we kissed."

He squeezed you closer to his chest at your words, kissing your forehead. "I like your dream, kitten."

"Me too." A dreamy sigh left your lips as your fingers were leaving circular patterns on his shoulder. "You know, if that would have been reality, you would have been my first kiss."

"Was I a good first kiss?"

Looking up to him, his eyes were still closed. You continued with your skin patterns, pointedly ignoring his question.

Immediately, his eyes opened and he lowered his head to look at you. You continued with your silly little task, trying not to smile when he moved to ask you again. "I believe I asked you something, kitten."

Damn him and his sexy morning voice, even deeper than usual, and his strong arms grabbing your naked skin so expertly.

"I mean..." you knew teasing Nanami had its limits, but it was way too fun sometimes. Like right now. "It was as good as a kiss as a dream kiss could be. You were really cute and shy then, all blushy and hesitant." Finally, you left a giggle out, remembering how cute he was, you wanted to squeeze him to your chest.

The Nanami you had with you then and there, however, was nowhere near the shy awkward teenager from you dream. He easily flipped you on your back, hands softly pinned on each side of your head, the duvet uncovering your body as he loomed over you.

Going for your right ear, he trailed kisses down to your neck, biting the skin near the shoulder. You moaned and bit your lip, embarrassed by the sound, even after so much time of dating Nanami.

"Aren't you the shy one now?" the whisper in your ear sent shivers down your spine, and warmth shooting through the whole body.

"Kento..." you started, intertwining you fingers with his while he held you down, staring you down.

"What is it, kitten?"

Your eyes travelled to his lips and stayed there for a few seconds, not saying anything.

"I need words, kitten."

Locking eyes with him again, you whispered "Kiss me like it's the first and last time, please."

[mommymooze]

Lack of Vision

Reader x Black Eagles

The smell of ancient vellum, leather, ink, paper and polished wood fills your nose before you enter the room. Some of the students have begun to clear out having finished the bookwork assigned by their professors. You prefer the library to be nearly void of others, their whispered conversations disturbing your concentration and you can feel their eyes upon you as they watch you reading and looking for the proper materials for class. You come from a well-respected family in the Empire, not a noble, however your family works with them and high level healers and mages.

None of that matters here at Garreg Mach. Teenagers are cruel creatures, judging everyone by their superficial standards. The more aesthetically appealing, the higher the regard given to the student. You are nearly invisible to most of the students, nothing of importance about you. There are thick eyeglasses on your face that warps your appearance into something strange and difficult to look at. You attract no attention, nor do you draw attention to yourself. The only person that notices you for any reason is Hubert. He took interest in you for a short period of time to confirm that you are no danger to his Lady, once cleared he ignores you like the rest.

The Professor is extremely hesitant to allow you to accompany the group into any battle. Your primary focus is Faith magic and healing, however you do cast reason spells. Targeting enemies at a distance is, extremely difficult for you. As far as healing, Linhardt keeps his fellow students alive long enough for the group to make it back to the monastery, Dorothea being his backup. When the student is brought back to the infirmary, that is where your magic becomes the most useful. Your healing skills quickly rival Manuela. Not being distracted by sparring, fighting and traipsing around the campus flirting, fighting or pranking like most of the students, you immerse yourself completely into your studies.

You constantly write home requesting additional and more advanced healing tomes and books about magical theory. Even Professor Hanneman is jealous of some of the people you correspond with regularly, discussing points of rune manipulation and theory. Professor Byleth is surprised that you pass the Gremory test before the ball. You would be upset if you had not passed, perfecting your magic skill is your obsession.

Eyeglasses are the worst in every weather. They fog in winter, get drippy with spring rain. Summer they slip and slide from sweat. Fall it is back to rain. At the academy, there is just enough space between the buildings that your glasses quickly get acclimated to the cooler temperature outside, then as soon as you step inside, they fog up immediately, rendering them useless. Useless for you means near blindness. You can tell that things moving around are other people. There is no depth perception, stairs are terrifying. As soon as you make your way inside a building you seek a wall to put your back against as you wait for the fog to clear.

Once Ferdinand had found you just inside the building containing the library. He grabbed your hand and started to drag you to the stairs. You had to stop and explain to him why you were so intimidated and refused to go with him.

He should offer his arm so that you can hold on and if anything bothers you or you do not feel comfortable you could let go and keep your balance and composure. He then starts to march forward at his normal pace, which is great if you are tall and long legged such as he is, however your height is more in the category of Edelgard’s and you would have to nearly run to keep up with him.

“Pretend you are carrying a teacup filled to the brim with hot tea. How quickly would you move with that in your hand? Do you want to spill it all over yourself and possibly burn your hand?” You ask.

“Goodness no!” Ferdinand responds. “What a terrible waste of tea!” Ferdinand thusly takes his time and you arrive at the library unscathed.

Time passes, Emperor Edelgard declares war. You join her side without hesitation. The church is indeed corrupt. The noble system is useless and only sustains power to those that should never have been entrusted to it in the first place. The Emperor also announces the Black Eagle Strike Force. Not long after this announcement you approach her, Hubert always alongside of his liege.

You reach forward placing a handful of necklaces with a Black Eagle medallion on them. “I wish to distribute these to the members of the Strike Force with your permission.”

Hubert immediately notices that the necklaces are enchanted. “What is this?” He demands an answer.

“As you know, my sight distance is limited. This will expand my abilities greatly. Should someone undergo severe injuries or become surrounded by enemies I can remove them from the situation or cast physic on them. It does not have to be visible on their person, they can wear it under their armor.” You answer.

“How do you know one from another?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Once everyone has worn them for a few days I will be able to tell the difference, who has which necklace and once in battle I will have no issue identifying the correct person to assist.”

“Hmmm.” Hubert is hesitant to agree.

“I think it is a wonderful idea. We have a long difficult road ahead of us. If it provides the opportunity to save an ally, I cannot see how this would be an issue.” Emperor Edelgard smiles.

Leaving a necklace for the two on the table, you seek out the remainder of the Strike Force handing them their necklaces, giving them instructions to try to wear it at all times, always wearing it during a battle. You then find Linhardt and discuss the intricacies of the spell with him. He is quite impressed, not impressed enough with needing to learn anything further, lest it cause him more missed naps.

Unfortunately, you are not able to give Professor Byleth theirs before the attack on Garreg Mach.

Without being amid the battle itself, you greatly aid your allies. Two clerics with minor healing skills and perfect eyes describe the battle as it unfolds. They both speak at the same time describing everything they see. You have been training them for weeks. They keep you appraised of nearly everyone on the battlefield. You cast physic and fortify on several allies, healing them, allowing them to keep fighting. Nobody must be rescued as a result, however it is always an option.

The weary warriors return to camp, the injured head to the infirmary. Once you heal all wounded there, you quietly make your way around camp. Stopping at the entrance to a tent you announce yourself.

“You are injured. Let me attend you.” You whisper to the canvas entrance flap.

“I have seen too much blood today. Let me sleep.” Linhardt moans.

You enter the tent, shuffling forward until you touch his cot. “You’ll sleep better if you are healed. Assist me if you want this completed quickly. Fight if you want this to take longer.”

“Very well.” The sleepy man turns on his side, tugging at his robes to show his right leg and the gash in his calf.

You need little light to work, most of what you do is by touch. Cleansing the wound, folding and refolding the cloth to have the clean portion removing the debris and dried blood. Healing the wound, finally rubbing the scar with light soft touches of magic until nothing is left but smooth and slightly pink skin.

You leave, heading for the next tent. It is easy to tell who is injured. Sometimes the smell of blood alerts you. Whimpers of pain, cursing, stuttered breathing, all of them involuntary tells that they are hiding their wounds. No amount of chastising them has worked thus far. You must seek them out and find them before they fall face first in the dirt, fevers burning because of infection that quickly settles in their neglected wounds.

You can tell this tent belongs to Ferdinand. He makes the smallest high pitched squeak when he moves an injured muscle the wrong way.

“Ferdie, I’m coming in.” You give him ten seconds before you enter.

“S-Sorry. I should’ve…” The redhead begins to apologize.

“Shh. Guide me to the worst first.” You instruct him. You’ve been through this many times before. You recall back at the monastery you would drag him back to the infirmary after returning from battles. He would then invite you to tea and tell you about everything that happened. He would frequently let slip about a few people that had been hurt, and those you had not seen in the infirmary would be sought out later.

His hip had a deep gouge in it from the point of a sharp lance. You wonder how me made it back to the tent with something that deep, the blood had dripped all down his leg. You cleanse it, pouring some healing potion in to soften the burn as you prepare him for the alcohol to follow, flushing out the debris and who knows what that was on the enemy lance tip. Finally, you heal the wound closed now that you are certain it will not become infected. He tells you the next injury is to his shoulder.

Completing your treatment of each and every one of his wounds you get back on your feet. “Tell me what you find in the morning. The worst infections can come from the smallest cuts.”

“I know, thank you.” He calls out to the darkness of his tent.

You know whose tent is next. You stand outside, pausing. “Don’t blast me into next week. I must do what is necessary.” You announce before entering.

“Your concern is unnecessary.” He fumes.

“You prefer necrosis?” You sass.

“To be looked after –ugh.” Hubert groans.

“Better than dead. I’m going to be here a while, aren’t I?” You kneel in front of his cot, smelling blood everywhere. You know he has a high threshold for pain but this man is ridiculous. He is a human pincushion filled with so many holes he should be classified as swiss cheese.

You begin by placing him under a magically induced sleep. This slows his heart rate, making him bleed out slower. Lighting several candles in the room you need to pick apart this man, healing every possible wound new or old, removing all signs of infection.

He cares so little for himself it is a miracle that he can remain standing on his own feet most days. Tweezers and a scalpel assist you with removing four pieces of shrapnel from his back. Two fractured ribs are also healed. His legs are battered by the fallout of spells attacking him. He can deflect them from his head and torso, however he is so tall that his legs still feel some of the impact of magic and what it carries with it. One last scan for any further untreated injuries makes you sigh in relief. You pull back on the sleep spell a bit. He remains asleep, allowing him to rest, however he should not be so deep in sleep as to not be able to be rustled awake.

Sitting on the ground in front of his cot, you rest and meditate until morning. You will not leave him unprotected. Once he begins to rustle several hours later, you stand and face the exit to the tent.

“I would ask if I missed anything, but you will never tell me if I did.” You state matter-of-factly.

“Thank you.” He mutters softly.

You nod and leave.

Camp is broken down. Everything is packed into wagons or on the back of horses. Enbarr is the next destination. Back to the capital to plan.

Most of the fights for the next few years are smaller skirmishes. The larger battles are much fewer and further between. However, this current battle is quite serious. The Empire has had control over the bridge at Myrddin since the Emperor declared war. There is word of kingdom forces approaching, threatening the bridge and surrounding territory. The entire Strike Force is called together to interfere with the invasion.

You have the bridge map memorized. The strategic meetings provide you with the locations of where everyone is to be deployed and defending their area. Your assistants inform you of the fighting and position changes as the battle unfolds. They update you as the enemy moves forward beginning their attacks. Suddenly the watcher to the right is quickly rambling, upset and excited.

“What! Tell me what is going on!” You order, having no idea what is happening due to their rambling.

“They are swarming, trying to get past Caspar and Ferdinand, many are getting through and overwhelming Hubert. He’s moving back but…”

Immediately you cast Physic at Hubert then Caspar.

“I can’t see Hubert there are so many around him!” the observer is shaking moving left to right to see.

You cannot let him fall. You cast warp and appear standing alongside his fallen body. There are a few surprised utterances by the soldiers, however they are quickly gathering their wits about them. They are not as fast as you are, you throw a series of spells. The first is your Thoron. You cannot see well enough to cast it as a normal Thoron, your modified version is closer to clusters of ball lightning emitting from around you, arcing out in a rotating pattern. You lean over Hubert, who is still alive from what you can feel. The soldiers swarming him are very very much at risk and feeling your wrath. Their bodies jolt and shake with the electricity. Just as the spell ends you cast recover on Hubert.

“Muh…more coming!” The dark mage blurts out, casting Mire at the closest one.

You call upon the hellfire from within you, casting your own special Ragnarock. The smell is horrific as all flesh in a huge circle around you is incinerated in the heat of the flames that extends around you for a 30 foot radius.

“What next?” You ask the dark mage on the ground beneath you.

“You were successful.” Hubert says as he takes your hand to assist him in getting back onto his feet.

Hubert begins to walk briskly towards the next sign of melee. You grab his elbow and are dragged along.

“Are you certain you wish to do this?” The dark mage asks.

“I’ve made it so far.” You counter, scared and excited at the same time as you are headed for the center of the battlefield.

There are a lot more sounds around you than normal. Spells going off, horses rushing in at the direction of their riders, the clashing of metal against metal. You keep turning your head at every sound. You hear the sound of boots coming closer, you cannot clearly make out a face, but the colors donned by the fighter are of the enemy, so you cast a normal Thoron spell at him. Hubert calls out and you direct your attention to him.

“Heal Ferdinand!” He orders.

You lock on the cavalier and cast Physic. A hearty Yes! is heard not too far away as you continue to be aware of your immediate surroundings.

Hubert dashes away from you, headed further toward the center of battle. You know better than to run into the thickest part of things where your clear vision extends not more than six feet ahead of you. A green coated figure comes close and you grab onto the arm of Linhardt as he walks past.

“Everyone good?” You ask as he is dragging you along with him.

“So far. I am glad this is almost over. I am so exhausted.” He groans.

You listen as the noise dies down, the sounds of spells being cast has ended. The voices are calling out more organizational orders than directing the forces to attack. Linhardt takes you to the area where they have set up camp, pointing you into the direction of the infirmary tent before he gets close enough to be dragged inside. A healer outside notices you and hauls you in, you are needed to put a few soldiers back together. Much later, as you emerge from the tent you are grabbed and warped away.

“Sit.” You are pushed backward until your calves hit a surface for you to sit upon. He stands in front of you, arms crossed.

“I know. It is a risk I had to take. You are too stubborn and so am I.” You confess before you are asked a question.

“Do you have any idea what-“ Hubert’s voice is full of venom and anger.

“Yes, I do. More than you. I did not join this war to do anything halfway.” You calmly answer. You know his bark is worse than his bite. And if he wanted to harm you, he would kill you first and ask questions later.

The dark mage turns to step away, then spins around to face you again. “And what of after the war?”

“I have no vision of what is beyond anything that I can see right now. I have bound myself to you through a blood oath that you did not participate in, so that I could help you live through this war.” You respond, quiet and rational. “You are not committed to me and owe me nothing. I knew you would not wear the necklace. I did what is necessary to keep you alive. We cannot win this without you. It is not like I will ever have a suitor clamoring at my door.”

Hubert is furious. You knew he would be. Based on ancient customs and rituals in several countries, one of them Brigid you created the spell. There is an exchange of blood between wedded parties, mixing their blood so the two could ‘become one’. However further research into the matter reveals that as a part of one’s self being with the other could be extremely useful, especially relating to magic spells to locate the other and/or to assist them.

The moment you warped to Hubert’s side, he knew what had occurred. You knew he would treat it as a betrayal of his trust in you, however this being a ‘one way’ blood passing would not bind him to you in any way. A complete exchange blood oath on his part would sever this one sided oath and cause a magical backlash to yourself. Since you had initiated this blood oath, you cannot perform this with another.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “What is done is done. Leave.” He orders.

The tents and supplies are packed away again, the long convoy is back on the road. The anniversary of the millennium festival approaches quickly. The weather has turned quite miserable, raining day and night. The roads are getting sloppier every day. Riding in the back of the supply wagon is dangerous for you, but you feel it is worse it is worse as you cannot tell where you are stepping. Just as someone announces they can see Garreg Mach in the distance, the wagon you are riding in flips onto its side due to the deep ruts in the roadway and shifting of the cargo. You are buried under multiple boxes and cargo from the wagon.

When you awaken you are dry and clean and lying on a cot in the infirmary of the academy. You sit up in the bed and recall what happened. Your left arm is wrapped up to your shoulder. You feel a bump on your head. What you don’t feel, is your glasses.

“Cleric?” You call out. You know someone was in the room with you, you had heard them with papers.

“Oh! You are awake. I will fetch Manuela.” You hear her footsteps getting further and further away down the hall.

Manuela arrives and explains the situation. Your left arm will have to be in a sling for a few days. Your glasses were crushed under the wagon. A message was written and sent today requesting a replacement pair, nothing we can do for that in the meantime. She fits you with a sling and at your insistence you walk from the infirmary down to the first floor. Alone.

You were able to slowly make it to the end of the corridor that led to a courtyard. From there you only have to cross the courtyard, find the stairs down and then the dorms in order to get to your room. Piece of cake you think to yourself. You know the layout of the monastery, where the obvious dangers are. It’s just the minor details that you can’t see. If someone leaves items out where they don’t belong or an item is in an unusual spot, that could be a problem for you.

The open courtyard is intimidating, people can come at you from all angles, and they do. You do not get run over, but you get spooked when a large something crosses your vision suddenly. You feel better when you get to the area that has bushes all along one side. You stay close to the bushes, keeping out of the way of the faster people.

Now is the dangerous part. The stone walkway in front of you, and the stairs that go down to the dorms. You must choose embarrassment or death. You choose to not die today. Sitting on the ground you scooch your behind closer and closer to where you think the edge of this level is until your feet reach the end of the stone covered walkway. You scoot until your lower legs are over the wall and feet are hanging. From here you scoot right until your feet touch the stairs leading down.

Whew. Now you can stand on the steps, hold on with your hands on the level above as you cautiously descend down the stairs. One step at a time. Your hands are now flat on the wall above the stairs. One last step and there’s no further steps. You made it! Nobody saw you or if they did they said nothing and you lived!

Cautiously you walk across the small courtyard until you knock into the porches of the dorms. You grab a post, sit on the porch, spin your legs and then stand up next to the post. No stairs, no problem you think.

You are at the last room, that belongs to Byleth. You knock.

“Come in.” Is pleasantly called from the inside.

“Byleth, can you give me a hand and get me to my room. I’ve been released by Manuela.” You request.

The former Professor walks past you, stopping so you can take her elbow. “I am happy that you are out already and didn’t have any serious injuries. Your eyeglasses were smashed beyond fixing. Are you going to be okay getting around on your own? She inquires.

“I can make it here and there. I have problems with stairs, anything that is left out of place, cats and dogs being on the paths. I perhaps should get a walking stick to help with balance. I can see a little, everything is just very very blurry. While you may see a barrel, its edges, the lines of the wood, the metal band holding it together, I see a brown almost oval blob. I can judge by the size of the blob if I am close enough to bump into it.

Byleth leads you out the door, pausing at the stairs, then through the courtyard to the next set of stairs, finally over to your room that is next to Bernadetta’s. Thanking her you go through your room, arranging your clothes and belongings. You are always quite organized in your room. Everything must be in its place or you can’t find it. You go to your desk drawer and pull out your magnifying glass. If you have plenty of light you can just make out a few letters in a row on a written page. So you can read, but it’s going to give you eye strain. You decide that maybe it’s time to do some handiwork. Heading out the door you walk to your neighbor and knock on hers.

“Bernie, can we talk a minute?” You ask pleasantly.

Bernadetta cracks her door open then shuts it quickly. “Who is it!”

“Bernie, it’s me. I don’t have my glasses, so I guess I must look different?” you question as you answer her.

“Oh! You do look much different without your glasses on.” The purple haired woman opens the door, now recognizing you, she lets you inside leading you to a chair by her desk.

“I heard they were broken when the wagon tipped over. How are you doing? I bet Bernie can help you some.” She smiles.

“Oh Bernie, that would be wonderful if you can walk with me sometimes. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. I know you don’t like getting out much, but I do need to get to the dining hall. Honestly, the stairs scare me a lot!” You confess.

“Oh! I think they would be scary to someone that can’t see them. I will help you. Just let me know, okay?” Bernadetta offers.

“You have perfect vision, I trust you so much Bernie. Oh! I came over because I have a request. Since I can’t read much right now, I thought I would knit. Can I borrow a couple pair of needles you’re not using right now?” You request.

“Sure! I have quite a few different sizes, so you have a few to choose from.” The woman dashes to a drawer to grab her needles.

You are sitting on a bench outside the greenhouse knitting, a small rectangle grows longer below the needles.

Without turning you call out, “Hey Ferdinand, are you busy?”

“I did not see you there. You are looking quite well. Are you getting along all right? May I be of assistance in any way?” He happily answers, being the noblest of nobles, he must offer his assistance to all that could possibly require it.

“If you would have some time to escort me to the market briefly in the next few days, I would like to purchase some yarn.” You request.

Ferdinand bows low, “Of course, I would be most happy to assist. I do have somewhere I have to be, however I will return for you before dinner. I will then escort you to your room to store your purchase, and then take you to the dining hall as well. It is my duty to help all in need of aid. Please do let me know if there is anything else that I can assist you with.” He smiles brightly, you know because you can hear it in his voice. If a smile was ever loud, it would be his.

Time passes and Ferdinand returns to greet you again. “I am yours to command.” He says bowing before you.

“If you could please take me to the market and find the one selling wool and other knitting materials.” You say grabbing his elbow as he leads you past the pond.

“How are you getting along without your glasses? I see you are keeping busy.” He asks as you slowly stroll.

“I am doing fine. It’s not like I’ve suddenly lost my vision altogether. I simply cannot see clearly at the moment. The finer details are not visible. A basket of apples is varying shades of red in a brown circle. Grass is simply mottled green with no individual blades. Stairs do not show their depth, the ground does not reveal its pitch. If small thin items are on the footpath I cannot see them. Reading is difficult without a magnifying glass, and that gets tiresome after a while. I could not see very far away before, so nothing has changed there.” You reflect.

“Here we are.” Ferdinand brings you forward to the cart.

“Sir,” you ask the proprietor, “Have you any lambs wool or perhaps Angora?”

The man hands you two skeins of wool, one being a bit softer than the next. You feel some of the wool that he has on display. These two skeins are softer, but not by much, certainly not Angora wool.

“I have a project in mind for the Emperor you see…” You don’t care much for name dropping, however in this case, it is the absolute truth.

“Oh.” The merchant gasps. “I think this may be more in line with what you are looking for.” He takes the other two balls of yarn and replaces it with a different one.

This skein feels very silky and soft. There are long, soft hairs mixed in with the wool, which is much closer to the feel of the yarn you desire. “This is more like what I will need.” You answer. Haggling the price a bit you make your purchase. You also buy 8 other skeins of wool in different colors. And several pairs of knitting needles.

The merchant packages your goods and hands them to Ferdinand.

“Anything else?” the noble asks as he walks you back towards the dining hall.

“Thank you so much, it went much faster than me wandering from cart to cart, trying to identify what the merchant is selling.”

The next week you take your shifts in the infirmary, go to meetings and knit in your spare time. Bernadetta attends the meetings regularly, since she must escort you.

Guardian Moon is extremely cold to those from Enbarr. People from the Kingdom would probably walk about in their shirtsleeves. You invite Emperor Edelgard to tea in your room this day and she accepts.

You bustle about your room, gathering everything necessary for a lovely tea. The bergamot is steeping, smelling wonderful as she knocks.

“Please come in, Lady Edelgard.” You answer.

“You are as bad as Hubert! Just Edelgard, please!” She laughs.

“Please help yourself.” You offer sweet pastries with a delicious cinnamon crumble on top.

You fuss with the tea, removing the leaves now that the brew is complete. You pour for the both of you and offer sugar cubes or honey.

There is a knock on the door, “Package!” is called out in a male voice.

You are so excited you nearly knock over the tea table. You dive to the door and take the box from the delivery person, throwing coins at them and slamming the door.

You return to the table and hand it to Edelgard.

“Please open it for me. My new glasses!” You are beside yourself with excitement.

She laughs as she is handed the package and quickly removes the wrapping. Sliding the lid of the box open, she hands the box to you.

Your hands shake a little as you reach inside, taking the glasses in hand at the edge of the lenses, flipping the temples out, you slide them onto your face. You will have to adjust things a bit for the fit, but they feel like home.

“Well, how are they?” Edelgard excitedly asks.

“Perfect! You look even more beautiful than I remember you!” You grin widely, so happy to be able to see her clearly again.

“It is a shame that you have to wear them.” Edelgard comments. “They really distort your eyes. Perhaps some day they can create some type of magic to correct your eyesight.”

“Thankfully, I am not vain. I choose being ugly and able to see rather than be blind and pretty. As Dorothea says, beauty is only skin deep. It is the true beauty of the person inside that counts.”

“So true.” Edelgard nods.

You stand and scuttle over to a dresser. “I have something for you!” Reaching inside you remove a long red fluffy scarf. “It is getting colder outside, my hands need to keep busy. I made a scarf for everyone on the Strike Force.” You announce, handing her the scarf.

Edelgard takes it in hand and wraps it around her neck. “Oh my! This is the softest thing I have ever felt! It is so warm! I can feel my neck is warmer already!” She exclaims, then stands to give you a warm soft hug.

“We certainly need to keep warm through the next few battles.” You nod.

“Your perseverance is your strongest attribute.” Edelgard commends you. “We need people with that on our side. To engage the obstacles head on, finding new and different ways to get around them. I admire your strength in continuing to do your best, no matter what adversity is thrown your way. Knowing you makes me a stronger person.”

[inspiringmelodrama]

Yo no creo en brujas, pero que las hay, las hay

Part 3

Warnings: death of animals, spiders, curses, injuries, blood.

Beta read by the amazing @hnt-escape

*

*

*

The beast laid still in the middle of the clearing, its elegant body sprawled in a way that hid the harm done by Tovar’s blades. Vines curled around the big head, almost caressing it. The place looked sacred, holy.

No church had ever made him feel small or impure, but that clearing somewhere in the middle of nowhere did. The trees seemed to sway and a gust of wind swept through the space, causing leaves to spin.A distant howling sound sent a clear message for him: something treasured had been destroyed.

The idea of carrying some type of proof of the beast’s death had gone through his mind, only to be dismissed immediately.

He would end up dead on the forest floor if he tried to drag the heavy body with him.

The antlers or the fur could be removed with relative ease, but the thought made his guts wrench.

He had done enough to the being.

If the villagers didn’t believe his word, or his injuries, they could enter that wretched forest and see it for themselves.

With a last glance, Pero turned around towards where he thought he’d come from. Death heavy on his shoulders.

**

The trek back to the village seemed endless.

Tovar dragged himself, leaving a trail of blood from his various wounds. The creature’s antlers had speared clear through his right arm and he wheezed with every step feeling his ribs shift, courtesy of when the beast knocked him down.

The sun had passed the center of the sky when the foliage started to thin and Tovar found himself in one of the pathways leading to the edge of the village.

With a huff he climbed over a tree root that most definitely wasn’t there this morning and came face to face with the old woman from before.

She stood hunched over her cane, a beautiful piece of carved wood resembling entwined vines, her eyes crinkled when she looked up at him and that hissing cat voice was back when she proclaimed “The beast was slayed then.

Tovar assented, expecting she would say something else on the matter.

But the old woman kept looking at him, a flash of sadness on her wrinkled face.

When it became clear neither of them had anything to add, Tovar grunted and made to walk past her, only to be stopped by said cane planted firmly against his front.

“You’re hurt, Tovar. Come to my cottage and I’ll bandage that arm of yours.”

There was no question in her tone, but no order either. It was simply an invitation, a kindness offered to someone who had risked his life for her people. Accepting or not was entirely on him.

A friendly grunt and a nod was all they exchanged before she turned and went her way, Pero on her heels, hoping it wasn’t far.

**

Turns out nothing was far in that village and after a couple of minutes they stood in front of a small but well tended garden leading to an equally small and well tended cottage.

The door was low and Tovar had to bend down so he wouldn’t hit his head. Inside the ceiling was higher and bunches of drying plants hung from the wood beams.

The place was cozy, with embers heating a pot over on the hearth. It was one room with a big, sturdy table in the center filled with glass jars, a pestle and mortar and other strange items.

Fur pelts and candles, jars and what Pero presumed were cooking utensils finished the decorations.

And there were plants.

Everywhere.

Coming in through the sole window, hanging upside down from the ceiling, strewn around the table. Giving the room a heady smell of damp soil and green things he didn’t know the name of.

It’s all very witch-like, Tovar thought, or perhaps she is a healer.

Both healing and witchcraft were strangely similar. How did one know what was wrong in a place they could not see if not by some touch of magic?

One gnarled finger pointed to a chair by the table and Tovar followed with his eyes, still by the door. It was only when he saw the woman turn with her arms full of odds and ends that he moved his body and settled down on the chair.

She approached and started organizing the items she carried on the table top, murmuring for him to take the clothes off his torso.

“Let me see the injuries, Spaniard.” This time her tone was commanding and without thinking he started to undo the armour, disposing of the chainmail and other layers until he was left in his tattered and bloodied undershirt.

Her knowing gaze assessed the ragged edges, the trickle of blood running down from where the beast had stabbed him with its antlers. With quick movements the woman took hold of a soft looking cloth and dabbed it in a bottle with clear liquid, Tovar learned what was the purpose of it approximately 5 seconds later.

At once she pressed it against the wound, holding firm when Tovar thrashed against the intense burn and let out a yelp, sounding like a wounded animal.

Tovar let out a string of curses behind clenched teeth and braced himself for whatever else the old crone had in store for him.

The healer paid him no mind and after what seemed an eternity, but in reality was no more than a minute or two, she removed the cloth and he watched, astonished, as the wound started to foam and dirt bubble out.

Tovar realized 3 things at the exact same time:

1.She was definitely a witch.

2. She meant no harm, for now.

3. He was too tired to care either way.

**

It was time for the last part of his hurried treatment. The woman had cleaned other scratches, tied his ribs and applied a poultice to the many bruises he sported; the only thing left now, according to her, was sewing the skin together.

Pero would have no problem with it if she wanted to use normal thread, but no, the old crone wanted to irk him.

The old witch had to know, because she turned around with yet another jar. What this one contained though...

Few things in this life scared Tovar, and 8 legged creatures were one of them.

Inside the glass jar in the woman’s hand there was a stick filled with a white gray thin substance resembling thousands of fine threads tied together. In the bottom, a brown spider worked on even more of the weird thing.

A shiver ran up his spine, Pero could swear he felt eight legs and a fuzzy body making its way up his bare back.

The old witch, for in his mind he was certain now of what she was, could do anything she wished to his wounds. Anything except that.

“Absolutely not, witch!” He growled, one arm shooting up to hold her needle and thread away from him, the other took hold of his dagger that rested on his belt.

The woman’s nose wrinkled at the sight of the blade, “That,” she said pointing, “smells of death.”

“You figured me out then” the woman let out a sigh, and dropped the needle.

“You didn’t make it hard; with your weird jars and cobwebs you want to use on guests.”

“You are a very rude guest, Tovar.”

“Not letting you sew me with cobwebs doesn’t make me rude. I want answers.Now.”

They faced each other in a battle of wills; Tovar ended up winning.

She harrumphed and let go of the spidery thread, only to pick another spool, green thread this time. Raising it to his face, she only started stitching when he nodded and then they talked.

**

“Why get me to kill your own beast?”

It was the only thing he still didn’t understand.

“Do you think me the mother of that monster? Is there only one Spaniard on this earth?”

Foolish of him to think he wouldn’t end up in a village with not only one, but two witches.

The woman let out a breath and her body seemed to sag with it; that was the moment Pero truly saw the age in her bones, the tiredness in her eyes.

“I’ve been on this earth far longer than you could even imagine and there’s nothing in this world that I haven’t known, Tovar. I’ve seen it all, including what power can do,” she continued. “I chose this place as my home centuries ago and I come and go, watching children be born and grow and I cannot let them suffer any longer.”

“If you have seen so much, why not kill the beast yourself then? Why get me to do your bidding?”

“Because, Pero Tovar,” she said, taking hold of his hand and tracing with the point of her fingers the lines and scars intertwining in his palm, “you needed to come here, you’re meant to a place I haven’t seen yet. And sometimes one needs steel, not herbs and spells.”

“Dine with me, Pero Tovar and I’ll mend your clothes, as a favor. It won’t be long now.”

She sounded ominous. His mind paused at it but his stomach growled and between the two, his stomach usually won.

So he stayed.

**

He should leave. Grab his armour, go to the tavern, demand his payment and leave this place, let the only reminder be the dust on his soles and the scars he bears.

But he couldn’t.

The witch’s home was warm and inviting; the food was delicious and most important of all, she seemed happy to talk to him. To listen to his stories and animatedly tell her own.

He was in the middle of a tale about William and some ducks in Wales when a rush of cold air came and a strange woman entered the cottage.

**

Pero shot to his feet, his left hand wielding the same dagger he used to end the creature in the woods, the strange woman stood before him with fire in her eyes.

“I suppose no one would invite a mother to feast with her child’s murderer,” was said to him in a voice reminiscent of a hissing cat.

Fuck

Fuck

Fuck

“It was no child, Ethânis. It was a monster and had to be stopped.” The older witch sounded calm, too calm.

The witch’s forehead, Ethânis, blazed with a series of marks; the same ones he saw on the beast’s head, her eyes focused on the dagger on Tovar’s hand and he felt the steel grow hot in his grip.

“I haven’t finished with you, old hag,” Ethânis’ voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“And you, you heartless bastard, with your precious blade; I know just what to do. A soul for the spilled blood.”

The dagger shone the same marks, the heat on the hilt became too much even for Pero’s calloused skin; he realized with horror that he could not let go of it.

The dagger and his skin were as one.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” was the only thing he could mutter.

The witch raged on, a storm let loose in an enclosed space; the old witch, Tovar realized in that moment he didn’t know what else to call her, laid frozen on the floor.

Everything stopped and the hissing voice came again, in whispers against his ears,

Place of the first strike cursed blade shall find; Wielded by friend or foe you shall never know; For millennia the will wander, only to alone fall in a strange land.

Her eyes kept blazing and winds erupted from the doors, sweeping around and raising leaves and fur pelts.When it was over Ethânis had disappeared.

**

Pero Tovar believed in witches. A lot.

He was stunned. What does one do when cursed?

Tovar refused to cry. He was a man of actions, and crying wouldn’t help.

What would help was getting rid of the curse. And that’s exactly what he set out to do.

The old witch was still on the floor and Tovar shook her none too gently until the old witch came back to her senses.

“Wielded by friend or foe”

“Wander for millennia”

The words kept twirling in his mind, spreading and infecting every thought.

God, he’d spent a life fighting; was it all he would ever know?

Would he truly spend a thousand years drifting only to end up forgotten and alone?

He didn’t want that.

He didn’t want any of that.

**

The old witch was up and running around the cottage and at this moment Pero didn’t care about names anymore.

He cared about being cursed.

About being alone.

About being owed a debt; he said so to the witch.

“I know, Spaniard. The debt the villagers owed is now mine.” She kept rummaging in her things, looking for something in various pouches.

The witch finally produced a single coin out of one of those pouches; it was beautiful,capturing the firelight and gleaming like pure, polished silver.

She offered it to him and Pero snapped.

“I don’t care about money,” he roared, “I want the curse gone.”

She shoved the coin in his hands and “There’s no way of undoing a curse after its cast, Pero Tovar,” she continued, a look of sympathy on her face, “the only thing I can do is lessen it someway.”

Shit

“Then do it! I don’t care how. Lessen the curse and I will consider your debt paid.”

“Then a debt shall it be.”

The old witch grabbed her cane, and started hitting it against the floor. A steady thump, thump, thump creating a thrum in Tovar’s ears.

The hissing voice was gone and now she sounded like water. The noise of gurgling springs and waterfalls, the eternal rivers running towards the sea. Powerful and mysterious, not to be played with.

You shall sleep, not wander.

When there’s fire in the sky and ice on the ground, a tender heart shall come and with frigid fingers touch you. She’ll guide you, where you have never been before, through earth, sky and sea.

With the last word the thumping also stopped and her voice returned to what Pero believed to be normal.

“It’s done,” was all she said.

This one wasn’t much better than the last.

“Yours didn’t rhyme.”

The look of sympathy was substituted by one of annoyance. “It doesn’t have to rhyme. Not all of us have the penchant for dramatics that Ethânis

possesses.”

Pero grunted in concordance.

He still held the gleaming coin tightly on a fist and when he let go there was a perfect imprint of it on his palm.

“And this? Shall I acquire another debt with you?”

“That is a favor, mercenary. You may need me once more.”

“What of Ethânis’ curse then? I just wait to be stabbed?”

“You can always take your destiny in your hands, Tovar. You can live in fear of it, or you can end it now.”

“What do you mean?” he was suspicious now.

“Easy. Let me stab you.”

**

Let me stab you.

She just said it. As if being stabbed was something he wanted for himself.

The worst of it was that he was actually considering.

“Strike me then, witch.” the words coming out of his mouth surprised even him.

Pero got to his feet unsheathing the cursed dagger from his belt.

His skin felt clammy as he extended his arm.

He felt shivers as he left his side unprotected and pointed to where the blade had first drawn blood from the creature.

He didn’t need to bother though, the moment the woman took hold of the hilt it felt like there was a string tying the tip of the blade and the place on his ribs together.

Guiding one towards the other.

Before she could strike, Tovar held her other hand, small and feeble under his strong ones, her skin thin and dry.

“Are you…” Pero cleared his throat before continuing, “are you friend or foe?”

Her old eyes held such sympathy for him that he knew the answer before she even opened her mouth.

“I would like to think ‘friend,’ Pero.”

He nodded, he would like to think that too.

She swung her arm in a wide arch, the dagger coming straight to the place it was supposed to hit, no changes in its trajectory.

He felt the blade pierce his skin, felt the tip scrape at bone. It burned more than anything he had ever felt. A fire within he thought never would seize.

He heard the words of the second curse again, then everything went to black.

[alatismeni-theitsa]

This post is based on my knowledge of traditions of the north and center mainland of Greece. However, I am pretty sure most of those things apply to Greek Orthodox people universally. Needless to say, each village and town can has its own local traditions when it comes to religious occasions.

I am a Greek Orthodox living in Greece, raised into the religion.

I will translate some phrases directly, hoping to give a more “raw” meaning.

If you are not sure you understood about certain information in the post, feel free to ask me on Tumblr!

Google Drive Link for the post in .docx format

Table of Contents

Philosophy.

The Church as a building and as a center of faith.

Chapels and even smaller churches.

The Communion.

Livanisma / Thimiama – Incense burning.

Home Altars.

Clothing.

Komboskini - The prayer rope.

Tama - Votive

Crosses in high places.

Wedding

Baptism

Wedding & Baptism.

Burial customs and honoring the dead.

Agiasmos - Blessing.

Protomaya.

Martis - The protective bracelet of Spring.

Easter Traditions.

Vasilopita on Christmas

Kalanda

Mount Athos

Pilgrimage to Tinos

The Catching of the Cross

More customs

Random Information

1.   Philosophy

Love and Forgiveness are the main pillars of the faith. Some people follow the Bible to the letter, others pick the parts that think reflect our age and most of people keep the general message of the teachings. The Holy Texts are interpreted differently by different people and there can be contradictions in lifestyles and believes. However, the notion that having love and forgiving is what makes you a Christian is widely believed.

Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. - 1 John 4:8

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.- 1 Corinthians 13:4-5

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. - 1 John 4:18

Don’t say ‘I am hated, and that’s why I do not love‘. For this is why you out to love the most. - Ioannis Chrysostomos

“But I say to you who hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you” Luke 6:27

“Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” -  Luke 6:37    

"Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, 'Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?' Jesus answered, 'I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.' "  -  Matthew 18:21-22

 2. The Church as a building and as a center of faith

Jesus and the Apostles gave us some directions for the worship but most of practices, as well as the architecture of worship came from the Greeks themselves. I jokingly say that Greeks are low key pagans, because religion didn't change the culture. (It did, but only a bit). Christians first worshipped inside the old temples of the Hellenic gods (the Parthenon was once the temple of Virgin Mary) and they built their first churches in that style. The architecture changed with time but it still carries the mark of ancient temples.

Agios Demetrios Thessalonikis

In this link you can view the different styles of architecture for Greek Orthodox Churches. (Link)

In Orthodox churches you don't have to have a feeling of the dominance of God, like in the Catholic or protestant churches, but a feeling of warmth and belonging. In the hall you can buy a candle to light on a display of candles in the hall, to get a blessing for yourself and the soul of anyone you want. Nobody supervises you there.

You can also not pay but I haven't seen anyone not giving money, so far. After that you kiss all the icons displayed in the hall and cross yourself.

As you enter church, men on the left side, women on the right. There is also a special place for women, an interior balcony which is really cool and women go there if they want to. Nowadays man and women can go there.

 3. Chapels and even smaller churches

Chapels serve the same purpose as churches but liturgies rarely happen in them. You can get married in them sometimes.

They can be carved in stone or into a cave - even in a tree or in between multiple trees.

The also exist in big hospitals to bless the patients and invite people to pray for their sick.

They can be seen in some big hotels, too!

But the churches can become even smaller!

Traveling the roads of Greece you will see dollhouse-sized roadside chapels. Some are elaborate little things made of terracotta or even marble, plonked in the middle of nowhere, high up in the mountains; no village or houses for miles, and yet impossibly, most of them are faithfully maintained with a candle always burning inside.

There’s a number of reasons for these heartfelt shrines, some as old as the roads themselves. Placed by the roadside, an initial assumption is that they’re built to remember a victim of a traffic accident victim, and sometimes this is exactly the case. But just as often, shrines will be built by survivors of accidents, thanking a saint at the location of their ordeal.

They can be found in home yards of people who want to come closer to God

4. The Communion

We all take part in Communion with the same spoon. The Communion has bread crumbs in. Even babies drink a tiny bit of the wine (blood of Christ). Traditionally you were "unpure" if you had your period - others believed the blood of Christ would come out of you as period blood if you drunk it, so generally getting the communion during your period is a no for many.

 5. Livanisma / Thimiama – Incense burning

Today, Orthodox Christians use incense throughout the church services. The priest “censes” certain areas at certain parts of the liturgy. The incense is placed inside a device known as a “censor”, which is fairly ornate in appearance and has bells on it so that we not only smell the fragrance, but hear the jingling sound as the priest uses it. This action is meant to remind us that are prayers are rising to the heavens to be heard by God.

Typically in the Orthodox Church, dried incense cones are used. In order to provide the heat needed to allow the cones to burn, a special type of charcoal is used. You also may burn resin, such as Frankincense or Myrrh, directly in an incense burner using charcoal without taking the extra step of mixing it with a binding agent.

Churches often get their incense from special suppliers and maybe even monasteries where the monks or nuns make their own. Typical scents that are used include Frankincense, Myrrh, and Rose.

The believers can also burn incense in their homes and say prayers to ward of Evil.

6.  Home Altars

An Orthodox Christian is expected to pray (to be connected with God) constantly. According to Bishop Kallistos Ware, "In Orthodox spirituality, [there is] no separation between liturgy and private devotion." Thus the house, just like the Temple (church building), is considered to be a consecrated place, and the center of worship in the house is the icon corner.

An icon corner is normally oriented to face east. It is often located in a corner to eliminate worldly distractions and allow prayer to be more concentrated. Here is where the icons that the family owns should be located, normally including at least icons of Christ, the Virgin Mary, and the Patron Saint(s) of the family.

An oil lamp normally hangs in front of the icons. The careful trimming of the lamp to keep it burning at all times is interpreted as symbolic of the attentive daily care faithful Christians should take over their souls. Relics of saints (if the family possesses any) and a Gospel Book and a blessing cross would be kept there, as well as incense, holy water, palms and pussywillow from Palm Sunday, candles from Pascha (Easter), and other sacred items, as well as a personal Commemoration Book (containing the names of family and loved ones, both living and departed, to be remembered in prayer).

7. Clothing

People should enter the church in modest attire. No shorts and no short skirts. Women don’t need to cover their head. In fact, almost no woman under 80 covers her head in church.

With special occasions being the exception, Greek Orthodox Priests wear a black himation because of the fall of Constantinople. They wear it all the time, even to grocery shopping. They have long hair and beard. In rare cases you will see women dressed with a long black cloth - something like a burqa but the whole face is uncovered. They are nuns or devoted to Christ.

 8. Komboskini - The prayer rope

The prayer rope, known in Greek as a κομποσκίνι (komboskini), has long been a powerful weapon for the Orthodox Christian. It has a very simple design, but is filled with meaning. The rope typically comes in one of three lengths, 33 knots, 50 knots, or 100 knots, though there are some in use which are as long as 500 knots. The 33 knots of the shorter rope symbolize the 33 years Christ spent on earth.

It is used in conjunction with the Prayer of the Heart. On each knot is said, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." This prayer is occasionally shortened to, "Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me," and other prayers are sometimes said, such as, "God be merciful to me a sinner." Prostrations can also be made with each prayer or after a certain number of prayers. By carrying a prayer rope on us discreetly, we are reminded to “pray without ceasing”.

The prayer rope is attributed to St. Pachomius (4th century). The devil would untie the simple knots he would make to count his prayers. Inspired by a vision from an angel of God, St. Pachomius was able to create a special knot composed of nine interconnected crosses (representing the nine angelic classes), that the devil was unable to untie.

 9.   Tama - Votive

Tama is a form of votive offering or ex-voto used in the Eastern Orthodox Churches, particularly the Greek Orthodox Church. Tamata are usually small metal plaques, which may be of base or precious metal, usually with an embossed image symbolizing the subject of prayer for which the plaque is offered.

The tradition comes from the ancient years, when Greeks offered metal or marble plaques to the gods, often for the cure of an ailment. Eyes may indicate an eye affliction, hands or legs may indicate maladies of the limbs, a pair of wedding crowns may mean a prayer for a happy marriage, etc.

Tama also means Promise. Usually the believers promise something to a saint in exchange for their help on something. My aunt made a tama to the saint Anastasia Farmakolitra ("saves through medicine") to change her name day from the day of the Resurrection to the day of Anastasia Farmakolitra's day if her daughter passed to Pharmaceutical School. Many promise to light big candles (Lambathes) as an offering to the saint or make a donation to their church. Making a lambatha in your height is a standard tama.

 10. Crosses in high places

The Greeks want to feel watched over by the Divine but also leave their mark in the area they live. A way to show their devotion is to place big crosses in hills and mountains which overlook their city, town or village.

In some cases you find those crosses in high, remote places.

Some crosses light up at night!

 11. Wedding 

When the priest says "and the woman should     fear the man" in a wedding, the bride may step on the groom's foot to     show dominance. 

In the bride’s shoe sole her unmarried friends     write their names. The woman whose name fades first will be the first to     marry

The relatives also put money into the shoe of the     bride “so it can fit better“ - but really it’s just a gesture to give     money to the couple

The Crowning is the highlight and focal point of     the Sacrament of Holy matrimony. The priest then takes two wedding crowns     (stefana), and blesses the bride and groom in the name of the Father, and     the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and then places the crowns upon their heads.     The Best Man or Best Woman then interchanges the crowns three times as a     witness to the sealing of the union. People keep their stefana in their     house and even frame them.

12. Baptism

Greeks take their names from their grandparents (since ancient years) and the name is kept a secret until the baptism.

It is a ceremonial moment because prior to the Christening, the individual is not yet part of the church family. In the church hall the priest asks the person to be christened to renounce Satan. If the individual is an infant, the godparent does it for the child. In the next major part of the ceremony, the person being baptized is immersed in the water three times, which is symbolic of Christ’s birth, death, and resurrection. The person is oiled - so they can be blessed and slip from the hands of Satan - and a tuft from their head is cut - to symbolize new beginnings, devotion to Christ and to give Satan less hair to grab them from. If baptized as an infant, after immersion the child is placed in the arms of the godparent with a white sheet, which symbolizes purity. Then, the child receives the sacrament of Chrismation.

The godparent gifts a golden cross to the baptized and, as long as the baptized is young, they buy them shoes for Christmas and an Easter Candle for Easter.

13. Wedding & Baptism

You can do a wedding-baptism to save money. First     the marriage, then the baptism. If the child is about to die before a     baptism gets arranged - God forbid - they get baptized in the air (and not     in water) by a priest.

Koufeta (Sugar Coated Almonds) are mainly served     in weddings but also when wedding and baptism happen in the same day. They     are placed in little bags in odd numbers and are served on a silver tray.     Odd numbers are indivisible, symbolizing how the newlyweds will share     everything and remain undivided. Tradition holds that if an unmarried     woman puts the almonds under her pillow, she'll dream of her future     husband.

After wedding and/or baptism there is - of course     - a feast with hundreds of guests. 

 14. Burial customs and honoring the dead

Pouring wine on the graves during the burial, as an offering or to prevent the dead from coming to life. (I am not sure but that is probably wine blessed in the church).

There is a feast after every mystery. Even funerals.There are more feasts for the dead as time passes. You have to do them in 3 days, 9 days and 40 days. You don't have to do all of them but it's showing respect to the dead and most people do them. 3 and 40 days feast are very important. For the 40 days feast - as for the funeral - there are flyers on the area, which invite people. When 1 year and 3 years pass you go to Church and the priest mentions the name of the dead in the blessings and later comes from the grave to chant.    

During the Sabbath of Souls you have to bring koliva (wheat) to offer to the dead in the family. Supposedly the dead "feed" from them. So it has to be boiled!

Charon is the one who takes souls in our recent tradition.

Graves stones often have sketched pictures or photos of the deceased on them.

15. Agiasmos - Blessing

The start of the New Year in the tradition of the Orthodox Church is marked with the blessing of homes and businesses with Holy Water, or an Agiasmos (literally, to make blessed). This practice commences immediately following the Feast of the Theophany (the annual celebration and remembrance of the Baptism of Jesus Christ – January 6). This blessing is not something done for good luck or to prevent bad luck, but rather a blessing to help strengthen and protect.

The following items are needed for the ceremony:

Small or medium size bowl, filled halfway with     cold tap water

Small twig of fresh basil (floral kind)

Icon displayed behind the bowl

Hand censer, lit and burning incense during the     service

The service is also provided in schools when the new school year starts. This is a particular occasion which can be annoying but also fun for the students because... water shower! Please watch this video (Link). I love it because the priest comes too close to the children - sometimes they want to bless too much - and the kids try to avoid getting wet from head to toe!

 16. Protomaya

May, according to Greek folklore, has two meanings: The good and the bad, rebirth and death. The custom celebrates the final victory of the summer against winter as the victory of the life against death go back at the ancient years and accumulated at the first day of May. This day was also dedicated to the goddess of agriculture Dimitra and her daughter Persephone, who this day emerges from the under world and comes to earth. Her coming to earth from Hades marks the blooming of nature and the birth of summer.

Another ancient celebration that Protomagia has its roots is Anthestiria, a celebration in honor of Dionysos (the Greek God of theater and parties) a festival of souls, plants and flowers, celebrating the rebirth of man and nature.

The custom of May 1st  is to decorate the doors of houses with flower wreaths in a way to welcome the power of nature into our home. The wreath is made ​​from various flowers, handpicked and knitted together. In some parts of Asia Minor, people put on each wreath, except flowers, a garlic for the evil eye, a thorn to protect the house from enemies and an ear for good harvest. The wreaths adorn the doors of the houses until the day of St. John the Harvester (June 24) when all the wreaths of the neighborhood are gathered and burnt in a big fire, the fire of the saint.

See my hashtag #protomaya for more

17. Martis - The protective bracelet of Spring

It’s said it’s an ancient tradition dating back to the cults of Demeter and Persephone. Eleusis was the ancient city where the ancients performed secret rites for the cult. As a form of initiation into the cult, which was one of the Eleusinian Mysteries, the faithful wore a bracelet called a “kroki” around both their right hand and left ankle. Amazingly, the ancient tradition still lives on today in modern Greece. However, there are certain rules that one must abide by when creating and wearing the symbolic bracelet which celebrates the arrival of Spring.

Most importantly, the bracelet must be woven on the last day of February and it must be made of white and red thread. The white thread of the bracelet symbolizes purity while the red represents life and passion.

In ancient times, people believed that the bracelet helped protect the person who was wearing it from diseases, as well as the strong rays of the spring sun during the month of March. Today they say it protects from the strong rays but also the cold of March. Since it’s a transitional month you can burn from the sunrays but you also need wood for your fireplace!

Part of the ancient tradition in Greece calls for the person wearing their red and white “Martis” bracelet to take it off and tie it to the first flowering tree they see in March, in order to yield a healthy harvest and to keep the tree healthy.

Another practice with Martis bracelets occurs when the first swallow of the Spring is sighted. The first person who sees a swallow upon the bird’s return from its winter migration, ties their bracelet around the nearest rose bush to encourage the bird to make its nest there.

 18.  Easter Traditions

Easter is the biggest celebration of the Greek Orthodox tradition. The Holy Week, preceding Easter Sunday, is a time to ponder on Jesus’ Passion and Crucifixion. It is often regarded as an opportunity for body cleansing through fasting, visiting their town of origin and embracing local traditions.

We fast for 40 days (cutting more and more foods every week). Before the fasting we have Tsiknopempti when we eat as much meat as we want, to give our body what it needs before cutting it for 40 days. (It's sort of a celebration and people go out). University restaurants and private restaurants always have fasting options this period. The first day of the fasting is called Clean Monday and it's also like a celebration. It’s the first day we start eating “fasting” food and we also fly kites!

Kyra Sarakosti - Lady Lent

She can be made out of paper or dough. Lady Lent has seven feet. They represent the seven weeks of Lent. Each passing week, on each Saturday, children get to break off one foot. This is a great visual way to countdown the weeks until Easter.

Lady Lent has no mouth. The missing mouth symbolizes fasting. No consumption of meat, dairy products or eggs. She has no ears, this means that she refuses to listen to gossip. Her cross represents the easter religious services in the church, her hands are folded for prayer.  

After the last foot is cut off, it is tradition to place this foot in a bowl with fruits and nuts and whoever finds it receives a special blessing.

You don't have to fast if you don't want to. Fasting from bad thoughts and words is equally - if not more important - than food fasting.

Epitaphios threnos (funerary lamentation) is the name of the matins of Holy Saturday, served in Good Friday evening. Within a liturgical context, this is also the name of an icon, usually made of cloth and richly embroidered, depicting the body of Christ being laid in the grave, often by the Virgin Mary and some disciples.

On Good Friday morning, the icon is placed on a platform, resembling a bier, typically topped with an elaborately carved wood canopy. In most cases, the canopy is heavily decorated with ornate flower arrangements, ribbons and sometimes candles. Young girls (the "virgins") have to adorn it with flowers.

Throughout the day, people can come into the church and venerate it. Kids have to pass under the platform in order to take a blessing.

In the evening the service begins; near the end of the ceremony, the canopied platform bearing the icon is lifted on the shoulders of priests or churchgoers (usually four to six people) and carried through the streets followed by the believers.

In towns with more than one parish, the processions starting from different churches may converge to a single spot (usually the town square), where they temporarily stop and a common hymn is sung before they resume their routes. In large towns, the chants are often performed by a marching band.

The epitaphs in the Central Square of Larissa (Short Video)

These practices have numerous variations according to regional traditions. On the island of Zakynthos in the Ionian, instead of an embroidered cloth, a lamb is used: this is a figure of the dead body of Christ, cut out from board and painted from both sides, placed vertically so that it can be seen from either side of the bier. Another famous custom, the “burning of Judas”, where an effigy of Judas is set aflame on a bonfire, is usually regarded as an Easter Sunday ritual; in some parts of Thrace and Macedonia, however, it takes place on Good Friday, after the procession. In some coastal towns, most notably on the islands of Hydra and Tinos, the men carrying the Epitaphios march right into the sea, until they are at least waist-deep in water, where they may remain for several minutes, often holding the platform high to protect it. During this time, prayers are said for the welfare and safe return of the many seafarers coming from those communities.

Watch footage from the Epitaphios procession in Kaminia, Hydra (Short Video Link)

Τhe flowers used for the adorning of the Epitaphios are considered blessed and women used to put them under their pillow for protection or to dream their future husband, or to put them in talismen for their beloved or use them as medicine, or they put them in the home altar.

On 00:01 on Easter Sunday the priests happily chant "Christ has risen from the dead!" in one of the most known and iconic chants in Greek Orthodoxy. There are fireworks and we kiss each other on the cheek having this exchange: - Christ has risen! - True! This exchange is used by many as a greeting for 40 days after the resurrection. In the Resurrection the priest offers the Holy Light and people go to get it and pass it to their own company or anyone else who asks for it. The candle is held in candles you buy yourself but for children their god parents buy them. With the smoke of this fire you make a cross above your door and you don't clean it up - never. A door can have multiple black crosses above it. With the Holy Light you light up the lamps of your home altar. Some people have breaking eggs contests right after the announcement of the Resurrection, others do them when they come home. We also eat a special soup that night called Magiritsa. It has meat so with this we cut our feast. When the morning comes we host family gatherings and eat as much meat as we want.

19. Vasilopita on Christmas

The Greek word Vasilopita is directly translated as “Sweet Bread of Basil”. When the Vasilopita is prepared, a coin is baked into the ingredients. When the observance begins, usually on New Years Day, the bread is traditionally cut by the senior member of the family, and the individual who receives the portion of the Pita which contains the coin is considered Blessed for the New Year.

Vasilopita is also cut in educational institues and the workplace. Whoever finds the coin usually receives a gift.

This age old tradition commenced in the fourth century, when Saint Basil the Great, who was a bishop, wanted to distribute money to the poor in his Diocese. He wanted to preserve their dignity, so as not to look like charity, he commissioned some women to bake sweetened bread, in which he arranged to place gold coins. Thus the families in cutting the bread to nourish themselves, were pleasantly surprised to find the coins.

20. Kalanda

Caroling (kalanda) has roots in ancient Greece. Children would carry small boats and sing songs honoring Dionysius. In Ancient Greece the children would praise the head of the household. At this time in history they would also gift the head of the household with an olive branch, which signified prosperity. Greek Christmas carols date back to the Byzantine times.

After singing for the household, the children receive money (and sometimes sweets). Before the financial crisis one could gather hundreds of euros from Kalanda.

Children say Kalanda on Christmas Eve, on New Years Eve, on Epiphany Even and Lazaros Sabbath. The songs are different for those four occasions.

21. Mount Athos

Mount Athos is a mountain and peninsula in northeastern Greece and an important centre of Eastern Orthodox monasticism. It is governed as an autonomous polity within the Hellenic Republic. Mount Athos is home to 20 monasteries. It’s commonly referred to as Agion Oros (Άγιον Όρος, 'Holy Mountain').

According to the Athonite tradition, the Virgin Mary was sailing accompanied by St John the Evangelist from Joppa to Cyprus to visit Lazarus. When the ship was blown off course to then-pagan Athos, it was forced to anchor near the port of Klement, close to the present monastery of Iviron. The Virgin walked ashore and, overwhelmed by the wonderful and wild natural beauty of the mountain, she blessed it and asked her Son for it to be her garden. From that moment the mountain was consecrated as the garden of the Mother of God and was out of bounds to all other women.

22. Pilgrimage to Tinos

15 August is a national holiday in Greece and sees a mass departure from the cities to the islands and holiday homes in the mainland. However one island in particular witnesses more activity than most; the island of Tinos. Across Tinos are churches and shrines, the most famous of which is Panagia Evangelistria, the most holy church in Greece which houses the ‘Miraculous Icon of Virgin Mary’. In the Greek Orthodox religion, the Icon is considered to be the protector of all of Greece.

In the Orthodox Church the 15th is ‘Virgin Mary Assumption Day’ where the Virgin is believed to have ascended to heaven. The ritual of travelling to pay homage to such a sacred Icon at this time is highly emotional for Pilgrims, with the Holy Icon in Tinos serving as a main passage between the Virgin and the believers who seek comfort and miracles on their trip.

Often pilgrims crawl to the church from the boats that they arrive on on their hands and knees to show their devotion and pray for compassion, good health and healing. The final part of the pilgrimage often happens in the blazing heat which makes the effort even more momentous.

The atmosphere at and around the Church in the days proceeding the event is sincere and intense. Other pilgrims will arrive at Tinos the night before and sleep in front of the Church to ensure they have the opportunity to see and pray to the Holy Icon.

On the day itself the Holy Icon is carried through the streets of Tinos by members of the Greek army and navy, followed by the Greek Orthodox priests, political figures and the public. The procession leads down to the port when the Icon is stationed on a marble podium and speeches are made. The desire of members of the public to touch the icon often leads to a frenetic atmosphere as pilgrims try to touch the Icon itself. After the procession and speeches the Holy Icon is returned to the Church.

__________________________________________

In the same day Epitaphs of the Virgin Mary are honored and are taken to the streets so everyone can pay their respects. 

23. The Catching of the Cross

On the sixth of January, the Christmas holidays in Greece officially come to an end with the ‘festival of light’ (‘ton foton’ in Greek), also known as Epiphany.

In the Greek Orthodox Church, Epiphany is celebrated as the revelation of Christ as the messiah and second person of the trinity, at his baptism, by John the Baptist, in the River Jordan. 

Another cause for celebration in the Greek Orthodox Church on this day is that Christ’s baptism was only one of two occasions when all three persons of the trinity revealed themselves, at the same time, to humanity:

 God the Father, speaking from the clouds, God the Son, being baptized in the River Jordan, and God the Holy Spirit, revealed as a dove, descending from heaven.

On Epiphany, the Greek Orthodox Church performs

 the ‘Great Blessing of the Waters’.
 This ceremony is usually performed twice, once on the eve of Epiphany which is performed in the church, and then again on the actual day outdoors with priests blessing large bodies of water, sea, rivers, lakes etc.

The tradition is that

 a priest, surrounded by brave young men and boys, throws a cross into the sea, either from the harbour or from a boat at sea; the minute the cross leaves the priest’s hand, the divers jump into the freezing water to catch the cross. The lucky one who finds and returns the cross is blessed by the priest. As the cross is victoriously brought back, the priest releases a white dove, as a symbol of the holy spirit. 
This tradition is carried out to commemorate the baptism of Christ and to bless the waters.

  24. More customs

Each city, town and village is protected by a different saint. When the saint of the area celebrates a fair is organized. There is music, dance and stalls where the peddlers sell their merchandise.

But Greeks know that some of their customs are not approved by the church. We do it anyways and sometimes the priests join, too!

Το celebrate the Epiphany and chase away the evil spirits some residents dress up in scary attire and make a lot of noise with their voice and bells. They drink excessively, they dance and even fight with each other “to the death“ (it’s fake, don’t worry!). This custom exists in many areas of Greece, from Thrace to Cyprus. Even though the people who dress up have many names - momogeroi, babougera, ragoutsia etc - they all symbolize the carefree spirit, childish fun and trickery. Don’t get in their way because they will chase you though the village!

In these festivals there are different characters like the bride, the devil, the cop etc, who can symbolize fertility, the New Year, the Old Year and other concepts.

Sometimes the bride (usually played by a man) is abducted and it’s said to be a remnant of a re-enactment of the abduction of the goddess Persephone by Hades.

In other areas the Dionysiac character of the festival is eccentuated by the presence of a man who pretends ot be the god of wine, vegetation, happiness, Dionysos.

In some areas there is also dancing around a gaitanaki!

In some areas a fake camel (three people under a cloth) is presented on the streets. It probably started as a spectacle for kids but in some cases today it’s a symbol of resilience and patience. It can also remind us of the magi who rode camels to visit baby Jesus.

There is also the story where a Greek woman is abducted by a Turk and three young men pretend to be a camel to enter the Turk’s wedding with her and steal her back! (Something like the Trojan Horse!)

25. Random Information

Namedays are the days when the saint who has your     name died. It's said that you actually take your name from them - even if     it comes from your grandparents the saint is the reason you have it.     In that day you bring treats to your school or work, or you treat your     friends to drinks or coffee. People give you wishes ("enjoy your     name" is the most common) and they call you on the phone to wish if     they are away. The most common name in Greece is Maria and in Maria’s     nameday everybody has to call half of their relatives and friends to wish.     It’s a bit offensive if someone doesn’t remember your nameday or if they     don’t call.

We bring food to the workplace in happy events -     like when your child was accepted into a university.

Lots of people cross themselves when they pass     outside a church.  They could be passing on foot, on the bus, or even     when they drive a motorcycle.

You also cross yourself when you call god for     protection or when you hear something strange (accompanied with "come     Christ and Virgin Mary!")

Making embroidery with the face of Jesus and/or     Virgin Mary is a thing.

40 days after the pregnancy women and their     newborns can     woman can go out of the house but they have to go to Church to be blessed     by a priest first.

We say "Christ!" when a person is     chocked and "Small healths!" when someone is sneezing.     When a baby is yawning bad spirits could come in so we cross their mouth.     We also give them eye bendants so the Evil Eye won't get to them. People     spit (just saying "ftou ftou ftou") the child after saying good     words for them so they can protect them from others who will flatter them     with malice. The Evil Eye is recognised by the Church. See more in my #mati     tag.

Bell ringing every day before the morning and     evening liturgy. It also chimes every hour. On Good Friday it rings solemnly all day.

Priests are considered spiritual leaders by many     in the sense they can listen to you and guide you like a psychologist. "My spiritual" people     call them.

You don't have to have your mind unguarded,     that's why Greek orthodoxy is against yoga which teaches the emptying of     mind 

Mondays and Wednesdays of all year are for     fasting - just meaning you don't eat meat. Some people also fast sexually on those days.

Hatzis- (from middle eastern "hajj") is     for people visiting the holy land (Israel) on pilgrimage.

The icons of saints you buy have to be blessed by     the Church before you hang them, so they can offer you a connection to the     divine.

Every day at school children gather in the yard     and one child says the Lord’s Prayer

We don't know the hymns by heart. They are too     many and long. But there are books you can read and older people (usually     women) usually study them.

All the saints in hagiographies look kinda     malnourished because they are supposed to avoid the earthly     pleasures. 

We give epithets to the saints according to their     characteristics - like we did with our ancient gods.

Lots of saints probably “covered” the dominions of older deities because Greeks were used to having smaller powerful entities for different stuff (there is even a saint who helps you find stuff if you dedicate a pie to the church)

We have a set of explanations for dreams (Ονειροκρίτης). For example, if you see something very good in your sleep about a person, misfortune will find them. If you see them dying, they will live for many years.

We read the future in the bottom of the cup of Greek coffee.

From the Byzantine era and today people buy holy wood - from the cross of Christ they say - and bones of saints. In the old time those were also used for witchcraft.If you are born on a Saturday you     don't see creatures or ghosts. Also people born on Saturday are lucky and     whatever they wish comes true.

Dick festivals are a thing in some areas and they mostly happen on Greek Carnival. Traditional sex songs with dances are also a     thing.

Virgin Mary is the mother of Greece, and you see her as a mermaid even. We are pretty chill with our divine figures - we use them in swearing a lot, too.

Many people cross themselves before and after     eating.

We take oil blessed from the Church and we put it     in the lamps of our home altars. We also anoint people who want to keep     safe with it. (My grandma made a cross in my forehead, for example). Many     take it home the myrrh produced by the bodies of saints.

We place a bone of a saint on the ground where a     church is going to be built.

Sometimes we call a priest to bless our new     vehicle!

Also, it’s not a very safe practice but a lot of people hand crosses and icons from their front mirror.

Notice that the #mati is also there!

[idunnoficsorsumthing]

Homesick part 2

Dean Winchester x reader

You had sent the letter. The problem was that now you send it, you were enduring the pain of waiting till there would be a response. You woke up every morning hoping that when you went to the post office that a letter would be there. Or a phone call for you. You thought about when you got married that you waited for your parents in front of the church. You had asked them to be there but they never showed up, you were sad about that but the sadness of your parents not showing up didn't overpower the happiness of marrying Dean. He had insisted that More than a feeling was played when you walked down the aisle, and you hate that idea so much. You had vetoed that one badly. However, when it came to it, more than a feeling did play softly when you walked up to him. He gave you one of his idiotic smiles when you walked towards him. That's when you realised you were doing the right thing. Because you made him happy. 

You linked your pinky fingers together as you walked through the supermarket. Supply run, the boys called it. You thought that was a lame way to call grocery shopping. Dean tossed in some new razors. "Aw I'm gonna miss the stubble." You said, Dean scrunched his nose. You hated it. "Oh you like this?" He said, rubbing his cheek against the side of your face. "Chuck, no." You laugh. Pushing him away, he laughs at you while trying to peck a kiss on your lips.  You focus back on the shopping. Gabriel stopped by the bunker more often so sweets were a must for him. Sam wanted veggies, and pie alternative options. Dean always wanted some sort of pie or burgers or meat of any type. Cas wanted starburst, and dr.Pepper. It was a whole list because if Bobby would stop by there would need to be beer, and etc. It was a whole thing shopping. You push the cart out in front of you out of the hygiene aisle into the section that had useless things you clearly didn’t need but were still going to buy obviously. "We already own candles." Dean said, you pick up a few jars of your favorite scent. “We own demon hunting candles. This is for our bedroom, and the living room.” you tell him. He looked at you with a suspicious look in his eyes. “You never cared about scented candles.” he said: “You really want our bedroom to smell like peace and tranquility?” he held up one of the candles that was in a rack. “Dean, we have been moving around a lot, and I am just trying to make the bunker our home.” you said: “I don’t want our kids to grow up in a bunker that feels like a bunker.” he looked away, he didn’t want to talk about kids. He never did. He secretly loved kids, he was just scared. “I don’t know what you are talking about. The bunker is… cozy.” he said, he sounded unsure of every word of his sentence. He was quiet for a moment while you looked at him, waiting for him to say something. “Jeez Dean, you guys didn’t even have a shower curtain before I moved in.” you snap. He had to hold his laugh. “Fine, We’ll get this.” he said, picking a black jar from the rack labeled midnight forest. 

You got home, and after putting away all the grocery’s it was time for the candles to get a place around the bunker. Dean was watching tv when you reached the living area, you had around three candles left that needed a place. “Uhm. Sweetheart. Can we talk for a second?” he asked. You nod, you sat down in the one-seater that was next to the couch. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked. You nod. “You’re pregnant?” he asked. You shake your head. “Okay, I was thinking you were nesting or something like birds do.” he said, You frown at him. “You think I am a bird?” you ask. He shrugs. “You were feeding Cas grapes.” he said, you shrug. “You cut them in half!” he said, and you laughed a little. “Cas is very sensitive!” you said, Dean raised his eyebrow like he still wasn’t sure. You got up from your seat leaving him there. 

You were in the library sitting behind some shelves looking at the letter that arrived. It didn’t look like a bill or something so it must be a handwritten letter, with no return address on it, and it was specifically to someone. Just the address of the bunker was on it. Someone knocked on the side of the bookcase, you looked up.Sam was standing there. “Can you talk for a minute?” he said, you nod. He sat down on the ground next to you. “We noticed you were acting weird.” he said, you roll your eyes. “Tell Dean he is being stupid.” you said, Sam signed. “Cas noticed, and he is oblivious to all your moods.” Sam said, you shrug. “I don’t have-” moods. That’s what you almost said but you didn’t finish the sentence. “Dean says I am nesting. I’m not.” you said: “I just wanted the bunker to feel a little more like home. You guys haven’t felt like being home in such a long time, and I am just feeling a little homesick.” Sam eyed the letter in your hands. “Is that from your mom?” he asked. You shrug. “I haven’t opened it yet. I sent her a letter a few weeks ago, and I think this is her response.” you said: “I’m too scared to open it.” Sam nods. “Maybe she wants things to be okay again.” Sam said, you shook your head slightly. You hand him the letter. “Can you open it?” you ask. He nods. Sam was like your brother, you could ask him anything and he’d do it. You watched him open the envelope. Scanning his eyes over the letter. “Y/n, this isn’t from your mom. It is from the telephone company.” he said: “We forgot to pay the bill.” he handed you the letter. You scan over the bill. The envelope was misleading, it really was just a bill. You felt your heartbreak. “Are you okay?” Sam asked. You nod your head. “I know you miss your mom, and that your dad never made you feel like the three of you were a normal family.” you said, Sam nods. “He didn’t. But, you had all that, and Dean took that away from you.” he said, it sounded bitter. You put your hand on Sam’s arm. “No, no. Dean didn’t take me away. I decided to go because this life was exciting, and adventurous.” You said, Sam shook his head. “Dean knew better. He still knows better.” he said: “He shouldn’t have taken you into this life knowing that you couldn’t go back.” you look up at Sam, and he seemed honest in his words. “Dean was selfish. He shouldn’t have asked you to come with us.” Sam said, you shake your head again. “Dean makes me happy. Cas and you make me happy.” you said, Sam nodded. “Dean still shouldn’t have-.” Sam wanted to say. But, you stop him. “Sam, this was my choice. Dean never sugar coated it, you boys deserve happiness too. What happened in the past is terrible but don’t be scared of happiness.” you said, he nods. 

You were cooking dinner, and the boys were in the library. You wanted to go help search for information too. But, she decided the best way to help is making them a warm meal, besides she could help them after dinner. Dean stepped inside the kitchen. “It smells good.” he said, taking a beer out of the fridge. You take a sip from the beer you pulled out of the fridge earlier. “Uh you shouldn't have that.” Dean said, taking that out of your hand. You raise an eyebrow in confusion. “I’m not pregnant.” you tell him. He should stop being so annoying. Dean gave you a little smirk. “If you want dinner, you should set the table.” you said, Dean nodded. Walking over to a cupboard. You remember the old kitchen, and it was horrible. A little paint, and some new shelves and it looked better than before. “Yes ma’am.” he said, 

The four of you were eating dinner, and discussing the new case. Mass homicide. But, it wasn’t. There were multiple murders from different counties yet all the bodies were burned on one spot. The four of you made a plan to go out to the scene of the crime. After dinner, Dean was helping you with the last dishes because you asked him because there was something you wanted to ask him. “If you want we can stop by your hometown, it is on the way there.” he said, you smile a little. Because he didn’t forget. You shook your head. “No, it’s alright.” you said, you put down the sponge that you used to clean the counter with. While Dean put away the last of the glasses. “What?” you ask. When you notice Dean staring. “You keep being a mystery. I thought you wanted to talk to your family.” he said, you nod. “I know. But, then Sam reminded me that you are my family, and that if my parents loved me they would have supported my decision.” you said, he nods. “But, they are still your family.” he said. You nod. “and when the time is right for them. They have my number.” you tell him. He gives you a smirk. “or when the baby comes.” he said, you glared at him. “There is no baby!” you said, Dean smirked. “Maybe not yet!” he said, He picked you up, setting you on the kitchen counter, he stepped in between your legs. He started kissing you.

Tagged: @akshi8278 

[okageshadowkingfannovel]

Book 1: Chapter 9

“Oh sure, by all means,” Ari’s father says pleasantly, “I have a feeling this will be interesting.”

He looks up at his son and the Evil King Stan as the Tenel Village Office thunders around them in chaos, more chaos than what is considered normal. Some workers run around frantically with stacks of papers haphazardly clutched in their arms while others hide under their desks, hoping no one will notice them.

“Um … is everything ok here, dad?” Ari asks.

His father pops up from fishing a set of keys out from deep within a severely cluttered desk drawer.

“Oh sure,” he says, his smile never faltering, “everyone’s just excited about the ghost in the Church and the village finding out about it.”

Ari looks again and catches tears running down faces and wails echoing throughout the office. “I don’t think ‘excited’ is the right word.”

“Don’t mind them, son. The town found out about the ghost in the Church and these guys are all panicking that there’s going to be a mob coming after the village office because we’ve been keeping it a secret for weeks. Here you go!”

He hands Ari a ring of keys. King Stan giggles maliciously.

“Perfect. Tell your fellow mortals that their ghost problem is coming to an end …” King Stan lowers his voice so that only Ari can hear him. “… and their Evil King problem is just beginning.”

Ari starts to rethink this strategy.

“Well, I’ll see you later, dad.”

“Be careful, Ari, and on behalf of the village of Tenel, Stan, we’d like to extend our deepest thanks for taking care of our ghost problem.”

“King Stan! KING! KING! KING!”

Ari makes his way out of the village office, stepping over several assistants and secretaries curled over in fetal positions along the way.

“Look at this pathetic rabble, slave,” King Stan murmurs as they make their way outside, “all this crying and panicking over measly ghosts and fellow humans with pitchforks. They have no idea the terror I have in store for them.”

It occurs to Ari that even though taking care of the ghost would be a good thing for Stan to do, he’s not sure if putting the Tenel treasure into the shadow’s clutches is worth it. He has no idea what sort of treasure is in the Church’s basement. If it’s really a thing of great power, Ari might just be dooming Tenel and who knows? Maybe the whole world. Stan has been pretty ridiculous up to this point, but how much would people be laughing if he truly has the power he brags about?

Before Ari knows it, he’s standing before the Church, key in hand. He hesitates.

“Don’t be chicken, slave! Those lesser evil being are nothing in the face of my awesome power! Now, get in there!”

“Oh! Master! Please wait!”

Ari looks over his shoulder just in time to see a ball of lightning appear and burst to result in James the evil butler strolling casually towards them.

“I long to see your evil plans come to fruition, my Master. I cannot wait! However, there is one thing,” James looks squarely at Ari, “you’re a rookie, Ari, and let’s be honest, not so sharp. Try your best to stay out of Master’s way.”

Ari stares at James, unsure if he should be offended or not. Then, he nods.

“Good! Well, good luck, my Master!”

Another ball of lightning appears, bursts, and James is gone.

“Does he always do that? Shows up, says a sentence or two, then poof! He’s gone?”

King Stan shrugs. “That is James’ way, I suppose. Now, slave, no more stalling!”

Before he can second guess himself, Ari steps up to the Church door and unlocks it. The door sticks terribly and only opens with a bit of force. A musty, rotted wood smell, mixed with ancient incense greets Ari as he steps inside. The only light comes from the sun reaching in through the stained glass windows. It’s weak and does little to dispel the darkness.

It’s been ages since Ari’s been in Church and he’s certainly not used to seeing it so empty. The pews are hauntingly dusty. The pulpit at the far end still holds homily notes and announcements.

“Slave, the basement,” King Stan manages to whisper.

The shadow gestures towards a door to one side of the Church. In the dim light, Ari picks out the right key and unlocks it.

This is it … I guess.

Ari’s heart pounds in his chest and it’s only when he removes the key from the lock that he notices his hands are shaking. The door opens with a loud whine that seems ear shattering in the solemn quiet.  Ari is greeted with basement darkness, a familiar phobia of his childhood days.

“I-I can’t see a thing.”

“Hmmm, that is problematic. I can’t exist in a completely dark room.”

“Wait, really?”

“Think carefully, slave. Is it possible to have a shadow in total darkness, where there’s no source of light?”

“Well, no-”

“Exactly! Sheesh! James wasn’t kidding when he said ‘not too sharp.’” King Stan pauses to look around. “Ah! But we can use those!”

Ari follows King Stan’s pointing finger to one of the floor candelabras lining the sides of the Church. Their candles are partially melted from previous use, but have become cold and dusted over.

“Grab one, slave!”

Feeling just a touch sacrilegious, Ari reaches up and plucks out a thick candle from the candelabra’s clutches.

“I don’t have any matches, King Stan.”

“Don’t bother me with your mortal problems, boy,” he grumbles and then whispers, “burning devil …”

Suddenly, black fire spurts from the Evil King’s finger and catches upon the wick of the candle. Ari nearly drops it in surprise.

“Careful, slave!”

“Whoa! What was that?”

“My power! The glorious malevolent flames of all the evil possessed within me!”

“… but it’s so teeny.”

“I was lighting a candle, slave! Not burning the Church down!” King Stan crosses his arms and mumbles, “and anyway, I’m nowhere near back to my full strength. Whatever! Just get on with it!”

Ari swallows all the questions he wants to ask and, raising the candle high, begins his descent into the basement. The stairs are old and rickety, the barest bones of what stairs should be. They tremble and squeal under each of Ari’s steps. It doesn’t help that the Evil King Stan must huddle close to Ari’s back to stay within the candle’s halo, lest he be swallowed up by the black. There’s a cold that crowds the basement. It’s clammy and wet, like the whole room is nervously sweating. And off in the distance, Ari can hear an indistinct noise. In one moment, it sounds like the natural settling of an old foundation, but in the next, it sounds like muffled howling and moaning.

“Look, slave!”

Ari jumps, his ears ringing from the sudden command.

“What?! What is it?!”

“An oil lamp!”

He swings the candle round and as he finally steps down on the floor, the light catches the faint gleam of a bulbous oil lamp dangling by a chain from the center of the ceiling.

“Looks like there’s still some oil in it. Go and light it!”

“Why can’t you light it? You know, with that burning devil trick, spell thing?”

“My powers are limited, slave. I’m not wasting it on every little light fixture we pass!”

Considering there’s still a ghost to deal with, Ari finds that fair. Standing on tiptoe and being extremely careful, he lifts the glass globe to share the candle’s flame with the oil soaked wick. The room floods with a warm, yellow glow.

“Ah, much better!” King Stan stretches out into the light.

If the cold, drippy atmosphere wasn’t a give away on the trip down the stairs, the oil lamp confirms the dungeony atmosphere, revealing muddy grey stone floors and dark stone brick walls. A collection of barrels off in the corner suggests the Church used this mostly for storage, but then Ari also finds a wooden bench and a lion headed fountain. The lion’s mouth is dry and dusty, having gone weeks without water to spit out into the basin below it. Finally, beside the fountain, there is a heavy metal door. When Ari draws closer to it, the room somehow gets even colder and his skin begins to crawl and itch.

“I-I think th-this is it, King Stan,” Ari says through fear and chattering teeth.

“Hmm, yes, I can feel the presence of a lowly being, skulking around in there. This must be where the treasure is!”

Reluctantly, Ari fidgets the still lit candle and the key ring to ready the fitting key.

“And-and you’re sure you got this?” Ari can’t help but ask.

“You doubt my power?!”

“No, not doubt, just … you know, checking in.”

“Open the door, slave!”

Ari takes a deep breath and turns the key in the lock. The mechanism makes a loud thunk which makes him tense up. The door opens and to his surprise, there’s already an oil lamp lit. And the first thing Ari catches in the lamp light is a hulking red cloud of a ghost, aggressively pacing the room. It seems to be muttering to itself, but of course, Ari has no idea what it’s saying.

“Booo, boobah, bah?! Boo boo bah bah!”

(Where am I?! I’ve been lost for ages!)

It doesn’t look like it’s noticed us yet, Ari thinks with a touch of relief.

“So, you’re the third class demon who stands in the way of my ambition!”

Well, that was short lived.

The ghost stops its pacing and spots Ari and King Stan in the doorway.

“Slave, move closer,” he whispers.

With King Stan’s prodding, Ari reluctantly inches further into the room. It has the same dungeon inspired atmosphere of the last room, but amidst the wooden crates and barrels, a giant, thick, rusty pipe snakes from one wall to another. A large valve sticks up out of the pipe and it occurs to Ari that this must be where the water issue is. The ghost puffs up, reclaiming Ari’s attention. Bits of debris supposedly trailed in by the ghost - sticks, leaves, and rocks - tremble on the floor. As the angry yellow eyes fall on him, Ari feels his stomach drop and a gross, clammy sweat breaks out on the back of his neck.

“Booh, baaah!”

(Whoa, what a weird shadow!)

“Ha ha ha! Look at it, slave! This low rank demon, he cowers before my divine dark power!”

Ari watches the ghost and it doesn’t seem at all like it’s cowering, in his opinion anyway. Then again, Ari figures he, himself, doesn’t speak ghost, so he’s probably just missing something.

“Boo bo bo behobooo!”

(Oh boy, this is too funny! What a weird shadow!)

Is the ghost chuckling?

“Ah, I see. You want to pledge allegiance to me?���

“Bubabubaboo …”

(Getting hungry … he’s weak-looking. He’ll do.)

The ghost’s eyes travel up and down Ari’s stature. Then, the big red cloud starts slowly drifting towards Ari and King Stan.

“Uh, K-King Stan?”

“Yes, very good! Once you become my follower, your existence will be devoted to me!”

Then, a terrible, awful thought strikes Ari. It’s so terrible and awful that Ari immediately rejects it in a desperate attempt to hold onto hope in this situation. But …

I don’t think Stan can understand ghost. He’s supposed to be their lord and master - how could he not understand ghost?!

“Booh boo ha!”

(Time to chow!)

The big red cloud charges Ari. Before the boy can move, he is swallowed up by a red mist. It feels awful, like he’s going through a light rain of dirty sink water. Through the red mist, Ari catches sight of three figures.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

“Funny, I was about to ask you something similar!”

Eventually, the mist clears and three monsters stand before boy and shadow, ready to pounce.

“M-monsters? I-inside the ghost?”

“Possessed beasts.”

Two of the three are giant frogs. They sit at half Ari’s height and stare up at the boy with wide, haunted white eyes. Their mouths are unnaturally wide and massive, possessing rows of neatly jagged teeth. The third hovers above the two frogs, swaying back and forth. To Ari’s surprise, it’s another, smaller ghost. This one is white however and looks more like a flying tadpole than a cloud. It wails with a forever open mouth, and long, noodley arms reach out for him.

“Minion! As the one true Evil King and Master of all ghosts, I command you to stop!”

Paying no mind to the talking shadow, the frogs leap forward in unison, mouths aimed for Ari’s legs. He yelps as he springs out of their way. Their mouths make violent snaps in the air where Ari was standing just a second before. He backs up and bumps into a barrel.

“Stan! What’s going on? Why aren’t they listening?!”

“King Stan, and I don’t know, slave! Perhaps my subjects have grown disobedient in my absence.”

The frogs are back on the prowl, inching their way closer to Ari. He thinks he can hear a croaky growl gurgling from deep within their throats. The ghost seems a little slower and more thoughtful with its movements. It floats towards Ari, but stretches its arms out as if to block possible escape routes.

WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?

“Stan! Do something!”

“Pesky frogs and tricky ghost, cease immediately, or I’ll get really angry!”

“BESIDES THAT!!!”

Ari makes another last minute dash, just as the frogs jump and the ghost tries to make a grab for him. He trips in the rush and hits the floor, his head violently smacking the hard stone.

“Slave! Be careful! If you die, I die, remember?!”

Ari sits up, his head pounding and spinning and his thoughts a scramble. His gaze falls on the three monsters again.

I-I can’t keep this up. I-I-I …

Still on the floor, Ari clumsily backs up until his hand touches something other than hard stone. He looks and finds a long, thick branch. He grabs it and brandishes it desperately.

“I’m going to die.”

“You better not!”

“I can’t believe this. I’m actually going to die.”

One of the frogs goes after Ari’s outstretched legs, its teeth sinking into his left calf. Ari screams.

“Burning devil!”

A blast of black flame leaps over Ari’s head and strikes the frog. It releases Ari’s leg with a high-pitched squeal, writhing on the ground. Ari hugs his bleeding, stinging leg and stares as the fires make quick work, dying out once the frog is nothing but a fine, black dust.

“Why didn’t you do that before?!”

“It’s very difficult to do in my current state!”

One frog down, one more and a ghost to go. Watching their amphibious associate perish seemed to make the other two more cautious. They keep their distance, eying Stan warily.

The frog bite burns and Ari hisses at the pain. Looking closer, through the diamond rips in his pant leg, he can see the curved line of punctures, oozing little rivers of blood. It looks nasty, but it’s not very deep. Ari stands up. Stick still in hand, he holds it out like a sword.

“Alright, King Stan, go ahead and toast the other two.”

“I can’t, slave.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I’m in a weakened state, remember? I can only do that once a day!”

“Once a day? You just did it twice!”

“The small one didn’t count!”

“Well, what am I supposed to do, Stan?!”

This time, the ghost comes for him. It swoops at Ari with a wailing roar, its stringy arms clawing at the air. As he watches the ghost come at him, something strange happens in Ari. It’s a surge of energy in his chest. The world suddenly goes slow and blurry.

“Stan?” he calls as the room bleeds more and more into itself, but there is no answer.

The smearing of the room intensifies until nothing around him is discernible. There is no Church basement, no ghost, no frog, not even an Evil King Stan. Even the stick is gone, his hands suddenly empty. It’s just a sea of swirling, messy color. Ari looks around frantically, but otherwise, stays stock-still lest any stray movement cause something even more bizarre to happen. Suddenly, despite the stillness, something even more bizarre does happen.

A shape suddenly makes itself defined out of the blurry mess. It appears before Ari as a dark rust stained iron gear, turning in midair. It’s about the size of a dinner plate with medium sized teeth, interlocked seemingly with nothing at all. It moves so painfully slow that Ari’s not even sure it’s moving. He looks around it, under it, over it, but nothing seems to be holding it up or causing it to rotate except its own gearish will.

Ari reaches out a curious hand and taps a finger against one stubby tooth. He shudders all over with the contact and it briefly occurs to him that this could be some kind of ghostly trick. But something bigger in him, something instinctual, something like a mysterious gut feeling tells him to not just touch it, but to take it.

He reaches up and wraps his hands over the edges. The iron is cold and the rust has roughed up the surface. He starts to pull and twist it in the opposite direction of its turn. If the tap before just produced a shudder, this feels like his whole body is being put through an earthquake. The gear resists, determined to continue its slow turn. Ari grips tighter and throws everything into that contrary twist.

And then the gear shatters.

“Oh,” says Ari stupidly.

The shards fade into nothing, but Ari’s hands adopt a strange, tingling glow.

“SLAVE!!!”

Ari looks up from his hands to find the world returned to high definition, including the ghost coming right at his face. Without thinking, Ari sweeps his hand upward to hit the ghost away, but then, the stick is back in his fist. And more than that, it glows a strange, eerie white. As it connects with the ghost, the white glow releases, turning a swat into a hefty punch. Ari can feel it - the satisfying follow-through of making a really good hit.

The strike sends the balloon like ghost flying across the room until it smacks into a far wall.

Ari stares at the stick still tightly gripped in his hands. The strange white glow hums up and down the length of it from his fists to the few remaining dying leaves on the branch’s tip.

“What was THAT, slave?!” King Stan frets behind him.

“I don’t know,” Ari mutters, partially to himself, “but I don’t think I can count myself as ‘ordinary people’ anymore.”

The simple, if obvious, statement inspires the boy to action. While the ghost and the frog are still stunned by his sudden not-so-ordinary abilities, Ari rushes the frog, the stick drawn back over one shoulder, ready for the strike.

“Overdrive!”

Ari spits the word out without thinking. Later, he’ll try to explain that he just said it in the heat of the moment or that Stan made him believe all strange powers had to have cool names in order to do them. Either way, with the utterance of that word, the white glow flares up into blinding waves rippling up and down the length of the simplistic weapon. Upon reaching the frog, Ari whips the stick in a brilliant arc, striking the monster across the face and scattering its body into a cloud of dust particles.

In a last ditch effort to get itself a bit of lunch, the wobbly, battered ghost picks itself up off the floor and drunkenly makes its way over to Ari, wailing as it goes.

“Destroy it, slave!”

Ari is way ahead of him. He runs towards the ghost and with another mighty, burning swing, he crashes the stick down upon the ghost’s round, tadpole head. Ari obliterates the monster.

All that’s left of the battle in the basement is a few drops of Ari’s blood and several curious piles of dust and ashes. In the silence that follows, the glow in Ari’s hands and in his weapon slowly dies away.

“Phew … that was odd … oh well, never mind! I showed that floor-scrubbing demon what happens when you turn against me!”

Ari looks over his shoulder, saying nothing, but launching a barrage of protest with his eyes. The small motion hits him with a wave of dizziness. His limbs suddenly feel very tired and ‘floaty.’

“Look, slave!”

Stan frantically gestures towards a dark corner of the basement, just behind the giant pipe. Though his vision feels off kilter, Ari can just make out a chest shaped object hidden back there. On numbing legs, Ari walks over and carefully climbs over the snaking pipe. Sure enough, the chest shaped object is in fact a chest.

“This must be the treasure that the old coot was talking about!”

“You’d think they’d be better about hiding something this important. I mean … this thing isn’t even locked.”

Ari kneels and gingerly lifts the lid, the old hinges whining in protest. The inside first strikes Ari as being overwhelmingly disappointing.

“It’s empty?!”

But a lump in the corner of the chest catches Ari’s weary eye.

“No, take a look at this.”

It’s a dusty, velvet black bag that makes a strange jingle and a glass clacking sound when Ari picks it up. Evil King Stan hovers heavily with treasure hungry anticipation.

“Open it, slave. Open it.”

Curious himself, Ari doesn’t hesitate to slip open the drawstring and reach inside.

“Slave, what is it? What new weapon or power has fallen into my terrible grasp?!”

“A glass tube, and … 14 sukel.”

“… what?”

“I think it’s about 14.” Ari flips the bag upside down to be sure. “Yep, 14 sukel and a glass tube. Why would they keep their spare change in here? It’s not even enough to buy a pound of beef from the butcher.”

“Focus, slave! Is the glass tube magical in some way? M-maybe it’s a piece from some horrible, world shattering device?”

Ari holds it up into the light and looks over it, turning it round to get a view of every angle. He even holds it up to his eye like a telescope.

“Pretty sure it’s just a glass tube.”

The evil king trembles in fury. It builds and builds until the paper-like Stan explodes in a gust whipped frenzy of flailing.

“They’ve tricked me! They will all pay for this! My wrath will know no end, boy!!!”

Ari is frankly too tired to be fazed. As the evil king flaps about, he remembers the valve. Ari feels like the string of a tornado caught kite, but with outraged Stan in tow, he makes his way along the pipe to where the valve sits covered in weeks old cobwebs.

Might as well fix this while we’re down here.

Ari grabs the valve and twists it, reminded immediately of the strange floating gear he accidentally shattered.

I suppose I should ask Stan about that … once he’s calmed down.

The valve gives in and begins turning, though it takes quite a bit of strength on Ari’s part.

Maybe it’s a shadow thing?

As the valve turns, Ari can suddenly hear the sounds of rushing water. And with it, comes a sudden rush of exhaustion.

Oh … oh, I think that did it.

Once Ari releases the valve, he falls to the ground.

“Slave?!” is the last thing he hears as a sweet, restful darkness overwhelms him.

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 - Finale

NOTE: Okage Shadow King is owned by Sony Computer Entertainment and Zener Works. This novelization is purely a fan-work and the writer claims no ownership over the characters, general plot line(s), etc.

[ghofransanakli]

the room

Like one, on a lonesome road who,  Doth walk in fear and dread, And, having once turned round, walks on,   And turned no more his head;  Because he knows a frightful fiend   Doth close behind him tread.                               -Coleridge’s_ Ancient Mariner_-

> A few weeks ago, we endured the agony of my mother’s death in a very tragic accident. This crushing event left us empty and almost lifeless as the sharp fangs of remorse tore at our hearts and souls. Every corner in our home, nay, the whole town , brought back so many haunting memories, every centimeter carried her voice, her presence and her picture. Me and my father, no matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t bear that weight, especially with the fact  that her body was nowhere to be found.

My father utterly refused to adresse the subject and insisted on helping me recover from my melancholy urgently, and as a solution he resorted to leaving my childhood house behind and with it our disastrous past. 

In a surprisingly short notice, my father claimed that he found a lovely house far away on the countryside. He appeared to be very keen upon leaving ,yet, on the day of our poorly planned departure, I couldn’t help but notice how oddly distracted he was ; more than once, I caught him staring off blankly into the distance as if he was seeing something that I could not. 

When we reached our desired destination, I was amazed by how enormous and soiled the house was, the doors were so rusty as if it were never before imprinted by the foot of a man. It stood majestically upon a steep hill, and in the light of the day it looked to me rather like a castle with its high tower that overlooked the town. It seemed like a product of a twisted imagination.

My father was very eager on settling us in as quick as possible so we started cleaning right away. My dad moved about in the house as if he knew the huge place like the back of his hand. And what left me in utter shock is how he was at his wit’s end when I tried to open a wooden box I found in a cupboard and how firm he stood upon throwing it. As he yanked it from my hands he started muttering undistinguishable words to himself and he went even further to burning it. In an attempt to shake off the strange behavior of my father, I decide to go around the house and get a little more acquainted with it. It was immense and had five floors, every floor bore 6 rooms and some of the rooms had one single  bed covered with rugged dusty sheets.

However much I tried to ignore the heavy feeling that pressed down on my bosom, it just kept growing heavier with every chamber I entered , and by the time I got to the fifth floor , I was captured by anxiety and I felt choked and trapped. This floor was a tower it only had a porch and another shut room. I raced to the porch and took a deep breath trying to lift my dampened spirits, but the gruesome scene before my eyes knocked the air out of my lungs; all around the house slithered a garden covered in dead flowers and undesirable weeds, here and there I spotted ghostly marble gargoyles whose eyes were fixed on me like daggers with a wolfish grin on their faces . What startled me even more was the absence of human company; the only neighbors we had were the far off murky lake, an abandoned church blackened by the soot of ages and the leafless trees of the forest surrounding us. In the faint light of the October setting sun the branches looked like bony hands stretched out to incacerate me. In this fallen empire,only the icy breeze seemed to whisper a mute warning.

The perished realm before me distressed me to a greater extent, so I turned around and examined the closed chamber. I felt myself be pulled towards it, when i reached it i put my hand on the knob and softly twisted it, it was shut. I turned around  and my father was behind me in such a sickly pale appearance, and started frantically talking and warning me against ever approaching that floor again. In the scheme of his panic and my fright I caught a look at his obscured  eyes and I saw something that I failed to root out but it certainly sent chills down my spine .

That night I couldn’t sleep a wink. I was intrigued, and I couldn’t help but be lured to the room as if by an unseen force. I lit a candle and headed to it. 

Twisting the handle of the door it immediately gave in with no struggle letting out faint creaks as it slowly opened. On the inside, the room was even darker than the rest of the house. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust as if it wasn’t opened for over a century. Its window was open, yet, through it u could not see the stars nor the full moon of that night . The walls were covered in shelves full of books. 

In the middle of the room stood a wooden desk, on it sat the very box I saw my father burn earlier, I Approached it slowly, it was intact, it had no trace of burns or damage. I opened it, inside, I found a stack of letters messily written as if by the hands of a madman. I picked them up just to find, under them, an old picture of a man in a pearly white suite bearing an expressionless face and gazing blankly at the camera. His stare chilled me to the bones and as I brought the picture closer to the candle I was horrified to recognize the man as my father.

With shaking hands I flipped the picture . On the back the date “October 1920” was inscribed in a scarlet ink. And to my terror I saw splashes of thick blood appear all over the picture. I was petrified. I couldn’t lift a limb as the blood drenched piece of paper fell to the ground . And in the silence of this damned night , I heard faint whispers but I failed to decipher them as if they were of a foreign language. 

Suddenly an eerie nauseating smell filled the air , and I felt a warm breath on the back of my neck, I was trembling with fright, every motion of any muscle or fiber in my body was suspended, when I saw a dark shadowy silhouette in the corner of the room and slowly it started edging closer and closer to me . I could feel the blood curdling in my veins and with a rush of adrenaline I found myself running for the exist. the distance seperating me from the door seemed to grow with every step I took, and when I finally left the room I didn’t recognize the house; the walls were covered in splashes of dried blood and the staircase disappeared. I was stuck in a corner in front of the appearance as it floated towards me. 

In the silver of light coming from the porch, I saw its features and I recognized them. It was my mother. Her eyes bleeding on the white nightgown she was wearing. She had her throat sliced open oozing curdled blood she jumped at me and let out a deafening high pitched scream that put the fear of god into me she started feverishly repeating:”He killed me! It’s him! Your father ! RUN! RUN!” 

Petrified with fear I closed my eyes. And in an instant everything was enveloped in a grave silence. I opened my eyes and the house was back to normal. I found the staircase and i ran. By the time I reached the gates my bare feet and ankles were covered in wounds, but I barely felt a thing, adrenaline ignited my veins like a match.

In the stillness of the night I heard my father let out a devilish laugh I turned around and he was leisurely walking towards me with a nightmarish smile on his face. I hastened my pace and threw myself into the dark maze of the woodland  as the branches tore at the exposed flesh on my arms and face. My sweat drenched clothes clung to my skin, I coud feel the cool night air slash my skin like freshly sharpened knives .

Suddenly he was in front of me blocking my way. I was horrified as he proceeded towards me, I felt tears of terror sliding down my cheeks, and I started pleading him , yet all he did was let out loud laughs and in a blink of an eye, he grabbed hold of my throat and pressed with brutal force. He kept repeating the words:”I warned you! I did all of this for you! To protect you! And you disobeyed me ! ” And with that everything went blurry, I could not breathe or move. I fell to my knees and he didn’t let go.

I caught a glimpse of the twinkling stars shining bright in blissful ignorance of my miserable state. Then, as my soul was quitting my corpse, I started shaking furiously like a slaughtered lamb, and in an instant I couldn’t feel a thing. 

I was gone.

[dakotarrabideaulove]

Far Cry 5 Ch. 2 - Condemned

After the issues that happened in the church, She was transported to a house not far off... She would only assume what would be Josephs abode. Silence was the only thing that she remembered in the car ride there.

Deafening silence..

The poor girls mind was on overload... What were they going to do with her? Was she going to die...? Was everything true that the Sheriff and Burke spoke of...? Could these people really... be bad?

Draped over her small frame was an expensive jacket, Johns no less to keep her from getting cold. Temperatures had dropped in the night and it was crisp as the wind blew through the trees.

Trees swaying and dancing in the wind without a care in the world, Her grey eyes focused upon the movement.. Mesmerized by the calm movements.

Jacob was driving the old truck, John was sitting in the back next to her staring at her, While Joseph was in the front murmuring a prayer. The sounds fell upon deaf ears as she spaced out.

Eventually her eyes began to flicker and felt.. Heavy... Tiredness and slumber were beginning to set in. Eventually her head slumped down against the door drifting into a deep sleep.

That’s when they began...

Nightmares..

The Flashbacks...

A small child running through a meadow.. Long beautiful brown hair flowing behind her. Giggles sounding off like a windchime in the wind, Happiness.. Bliss..

Until..

That sharp cold voice that called out to the meadow... Slurred... Angry..

That’s when the child’s head picked up... and the color drained from her face like paint dripping down a wall. It was her father calling to her to come to him.. That horrible snap of fresh leather.

Swallowing back the bile threatening to come up, The child turned and followed the voice holding flowers in her hands... Beautiful Lilly’s. Her mothers favorite flower.

The child ran across the meadow quickly to the larger figure standing at the tree line not too far from the house. He was.. menacing in look, Scarred facial features, Cold blue eyes.. 

Scars ran from the upper torso down the arms.. Deep pink lines covering the flesh right down to the hands that were rough and like sandpaper to the touch.

Those rough hands coiled around the young girls arm, With a sharp pull dragging her back towards the house.

Those deafening cries and screams.. would turn anyone's stomach. Pleading with what god there was... for Salvation. The small child being thrown through the doorway like a ragdoll.. As the door slowly closed shut was when everything seemed to stop.

The car door slamming shut was what jolted the female awake, Tears were flowing down her face in her sleep as her small hands brushed her cheeks to wipe them away.

John had leaned forward to glance looking over her face, Those intense blue’s staring into her eyes. The lump in her throat was visibly noticeable..

Have you ever looked into a mirror? That’s what it was like looking into John’s eyes.

Casting her eyes downwards he had climbed out of the truck after Joseph and Jacob both had and stepped off to the side to speak to one another. John had walked over opening her door and helped her down. An encouraging hand pressed to the middle of her back ushering her inside the small abode.

The house was a beautiful white, There was another vehicle already there but she had no clue who it was. John opened the door and the smell of food wafted from the kitchen. 

It smelled like... stew? The loud gurgle from her stomach indicated she clearly was starving. The petite female quickly moved herself inside following the smell to the kitchen. 

It was her... 

The female from the church..

Faith had turned in her direction offering a kind smile, It felt more as if she could see right through her façade she plastered on her face.

“Are you hungry? Jacob hunted fresh meat for us so with help I made stew over a bed of rice.”

Her voice was so...

Enchanting. 

Something about this female was.. off. She couldn’t put her finger on it. So instead the young female moved and found a seat at the table as Faith fixed the plates up.

After some time both Joseph and Jacob came inside and sat down.. She had never seen a family sit to eat together before. She was use to her father sitting in a different room on the television and her mom.. Well.. She didn’t eat much and passed away when she was still young.

Lost in thought she stared at the food, Focused in on her own thoughts until she was interrupted by Joseph.

“Shall we say grace?” He inquired as a gentle smile was flashed in her direction, The warmth of it seemed to have her heart skitter in her chest as they joined hands as he spoke.

“Thankyou Lord for giving us this food.. And Blessing our family with a new member.. Protect her from the sinners that have wronged her and protect our family.. As we are all your children that listen to your word. We will walk into Eden’s Gate together.. As a family. Amen.”

New family member..? Surely he wasn’t talking about her.. Why would anyone want her? She’s been on her own for years.. battling her own demons.. She was about as useful as a shattered mirror. As the others repeated “Amen.” 

Only silence escaped her mouth, As their hands dropped they began to eat and talk. 

Joking and laughing as John would elbow Jacob... It was like... they were a normal family.

Was this what she was missing... for so long? The longer she watched them smile... and laugh.. Making small talk the more her heart mourned that she never had this growing up.

She found the tears rolling down her cheeks but... not from sadness. Confusion.. mixed with Joy? Of course it was cause for concern because her grey eyes locked with Josephs and worry crossed his features.

“My child... are you alright? Have we upset you in some way?” Joseph inquired.

At first she opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. She cleared her throat wiping her face and took a deep breath.

“No... No I... I’ve never... had this. This sort of dinner that is.. My dad wasn’t much for family... I lost my mom when I was... very young.” She choked out swallowing the lump that threatened to block her throat.

“T...This seems too good to be real.. If I’m being honest.. I feel like I died in that church.. Not Burke.. I... I don’t deserve to be part of something like this..”  

Small hands covered her face trying to stop the tears from overflowing, Oddly enough... It was John that stood up and walked over hugging her rather tightly. Burrowing her face into his shoulder and he smelled... So good.

Joseph had a smile from ear to ear as he shook his head with a chuckle. 

“I can assure you that you did not die in that church. God brought you to us to show you there is a place for you. A home that will love you, Cherish you. You aren’t alone.. My brother John knows your pain well.. We can set you on the right path. You are welcome here.. You are family.”

 He assured her which only made her heart swell.. And well- Cry a bit more. This was a night that changed her life.. Forever. Of course the pain would never go away.. Everything leaves a scar for a reason. Those scars though... would seem a little less prominent everyday.

As they finished up dinner she had made sure to help Faith with the dishes. It was only fair since she cooked after all. After that John, Jacob and Joseph had went to a private room while Faith showed her the spare bedroom that she would stay in for now.

It wasn’t much, A desk, A bed, Nightstand... simple oak wood walls, Dull lighting.. It was a room enough. She moved over to sit down on the bed silently as she watched the lit candle that illuminated the room flicker.

Faith smiled in her direction. “If you ever need anything.. Let me know. I’ll always be here to lend an ear. I’ll bring some night time tea for you to sleep.”

She nodded as the door closed and shuffled over to the change of clothes. Soon she began undressing pulling the heavy jacket off her shoulders to place on the back of the chair. The soaked black T-shirt and the combat boots lace by lace. Dropping them with a loud “thud” and soon the pants. 

It was a nightgown with undergarments for her to wear that was a floral pattern, She imagined it was probably something Faith would wear. As she got ready for bed and took her hair down it was curly from being in a braided bun.

There was a blank journal left for her to write in, Glancing around before pulling out the chair to sit down taking the pen and writing.

 “Diary of Elora Blackwell.”

She began to scribble from every memory she could remember, Time passed slowly as she enjoyed writing. Elora’s past time use to be writing non stop up until her father burned all of her books and journals. 

The next time the door opened it was Joseph holding a cup with a steaming liquid, She only assumed it was tea.

“How are you settling in child? I hope this place is.. pleasant enough?” 

“Of course it’s fine! Cozy and simple.. It’s perfect.” She smiled and took the drink he offered, Of course it looked.. strange but she wasn’t one to judge tea. A few sips in she placed the cup down.

Joseph moved to sit down in another chair in the corner.

“Child... you never told me your name.”

“Oh! I’m Elora... Elora Blackwell.. It’s...not much of a name..” She smiled nervously rubbing the back of her neck.

“It’s a religious name.. For God gives the laurel..” He smiled at her and stood up ruffling her hair. “Never doubt your worth in the eyes of the Lord.. He chose you for Salvation..”

Before he left the room he turned to look over his shoulder. “I have a sermon tomorrow.. I would like you to attend. I think it would be the perfect time to introduce you to our family.. And to teach you what we truly are all about.”

Something was weird about the way he spoke... What they were.. all about? Was this part of the story’s that she heard?

“Of course! It.. would be rude of me not to attend after the hospitality you’ve given me... instead of judgement and fear.” 

Elora batted her eyes at him and smiled, Something.. felt strange with her head. She felt... Fuzzy. Blinking a few times before standing up. “I think.. I’m going to retire for the night.”

“Sleep well then, My child. I will see you tomorrow.” Joseph smiled before shutting the door. Elora had finished most of the tea before she moved towards the bed. Blowing out the candle at the bed side and climbing into it.

The bed was soft.. and the pillows too. It felt... so nice as everything seemed.. better. She didn’t feel the crippling anxiety and sadness sitting in the back of her mind. Soon her eyelids fell and she drifted off.. into a “Blissful.” sleep.

[mythicalsecretsanta]

Christmas Together (G)

This gift is for: Rachel (AKA @bloody-fucking-cigarettes) Merry Christmas! I loved all your Nicesties but I couldn’t get past the phrase “Tooth rotting Christmas fluff”. I snuck a couple of others in there too! I hope you like it :D From your Secret Santa, Ross (AKA @mythical-ross)

Link to AO3, or read below:

Even though they’d spent almost their whole lives together, Rhett and Link had never really spent Christmas together. They’d been a couple for the past few Christmasses, but they’d been living separately and stayed at their parents’ houses on Christmas Eve. This was the first year they were staying in LA for the whole Christmas season, living together in their own house. 

“You can’t force Christmas spirit,” Rhett had said when Link started fretting that it ‘wouldn’t feel right’ to stay in LA, “in a few years this’ll all feel normal.”

Link had snorted at the sentiment, but he appreciated Rhett’s attempt to cheer him up. “Christmas Spirit,” he laughed. “What is this, a Hallmark movie?” 

On December 1st, Link insisted it was time to decorate the house. They had several boxes each labelled ‘Xmas’ that had been unceremoniously dumped in what would eventually become the guest bedroom. Link was eager to start consolidating all their decorations but the more he talked about it, the more Rhett seemed to be trying to avoid it.

“Can’t we just watch a Christmas movie and curl up under a blanket?” Rhett suggested hopefully.

“I’m doing it today and you better help or I’ll just throw all your stuff away,” Link told Rhett. He had no intention of doing it without Rhett, but Link wasn’t above an empty threat to encourage him. 

It was just starting to get dark when Link carried one of the boxes into the living room. Rhett gave a long moan when he saw Link coming. “Now?” He whined.

“Yes,” Link said cheerfully. “Come on, it’ll be fun!” 

Despite his protests, Rhett helped Link carry the boxes downstairs. They sat facing each other on the rug as Link looked around the room thoughtfully. “How big is your tree?” Link asked. “We’ll only have room for one big one… maybe some little ones.”

“What?” Rhett practically whispered.

“Your tree,” Link prompted. 

“I always get a real tree.”

They stared at each other, mouths ajar, like they had just discovered a horrible secret about each other. Link was the first to speak.

“I’m not having a real tree in my house!” 

“But you’d have a fake tree? Those things are horrible!”

“They’re a lot more appealing when you don’t have to worry about it catching fire and burning down the whole house!” 

Rhett scoffed at the suggestion. “That won’t happen.”

“You don’t know that!” 

“Yes I do,” Rhett said, trying to sound reassuring. “Plus a real tree looks and smells better. It smells like Christmas to me. Why do you think I like wood so much?”

Link hesitated. He knew Rhett was trying to emotionally blackmail him and it was working… almost. “Rhett, come on,” he said calmly. “We already have a nice tree. We don’t need to go out and buy another one.”  He placed a hand on Rhett’s knee and squeezed gently. “Just for this year and we can talk about it again next year.” 

Rhett sighed. He, of all people wasn’t immune to Link’s charm. “Ugh, fine. But just this year. I love my real tree dang-it.”

Link smiled, both relieved and satisfied to get his way. He opened a couple of his boxes until he found the tree in pieces. “The one downside,” he said, grinning as he pulled out a bundle of branches and set them on the couch, “is that you have to attach each branch individually.” 

“Are you kidding me,” Rhett muttered under his breath, but got up to help.

With the ‘trunk’ connected to the base, Rhett kneeled on the floor and slotted in the branches as Link passed them to him one at a time. He put out his hand to receive the next branch, looking up at Link when it didn’t come.

Link gazed down at him blissfully. “I can’t believe I’m doing this with you.”

Rhett huffed out a laugh, “why d’you say that?”

Link shrugged. “We always spent Christmas with our parents and I figured some day we’d start spending it with our own, separate, families.”

Rhett gave a small smile, unsure what to say to such a touching comment. “I’m glad,” he said, the words catching in his throat.

Link cleared his throat, physically shaking himself, and handed Rhett the next branch. They were soon standing side by side inspecting the bare tree. 

“It looks so sad,” Rhett said.

“Once it’s decorated it’ll look great.”

“Why don’t we put some lights on it?” Rhett suggested. “I’ve got a bunch of them.” 

Link watched him go back to the boxes and select a string of little white LED lights. “I have colored ones,” he said.

Rhett stopped what he was doing and looked at Link. “Aren’t those a little old-fashioned?”

“I like them,” Link shrugged. “They remind me of the tree in my mom’s house.”

“Oh yeah…” Rhett said, tilting his head slightly. When they were kids he was always so jealous of Link’s Christmas tree. The tree in his house was all red and gold (‘tasteful’ his mom called it) but he always thought Link’s tree looked more like Christmas. “Okay,” he said after a pause, “colored it is.”

Rhett held one end of the string of lights at the top as Link circled the tree with the rest, adjusting as he went. He couldn’t resist running his fingers across Rhett’s stomach each time he passed, earning a giggle from Rhett. 

With the lights on the tree, Rhett went looking for ornaments. He opened the next of Link’s boxes and peered inside. Sitting right on top was a little tree, about two feet tall, made entirely of green tinsel. He’d bought it years ago when Link said he wanted something to brighten up his desk. Rhett had found the tackiest, cheapest decoration he could and proudly set it down beside a bemused Link.  “Why do you still have this?” he said, unable to hold in a laugh.

When Link realized what Rhett was talking about, he snatched the tree out of the box and held it away from Rhett. “Because I love it,” he said, placing it defiantly on the table at the end of the couch. “Remember when you bought this for me?”

“Yeah…”

“I was having such a bad day,” he said, “and you just appeared beside me with this ridiculous tree and a huge smile on your face, so pleased with yourself. It turned my whole week around.” Link smiled to himself at the memory and looked up to find Rhett smiling back at him. 

“In that case, I love it too,” Rhett said. He went back to the box of Link’s decorations. There were no tree ornaments, but the box was full of little snow-covered buildings. “What are these?”

Link looked into the box and lifted out two of the houses. “My Christmas village!” he grinned. He moved an unopened box off the coffee table and set down the houses. “I got this one first because it looked like my house and then I bought that one because it looked like your house.”

Rhett watched as Link arranged the buildings on the coffee table. He had a space for each one and looked up at Rhett triumphantly as he placed the last one. “It’s Buies Creek,” Rhett realized. 

“Yeah!” Link said, and stood up beside Rhett to survey the town. He wrapped an arm around Rhett’s waist and leaned his head against Rhett’s chest. “I know it takes up a lot of space. I’m sure we can find somewhere else for it.”

“I like it there,” Rhett said. “We can work around it.” Since they weren’t going back to North Carolina, it was a nice way of keeping their family and old friends close. 

Link retrieved a candle out of one of Rhett’s boxes and set it down beside the village. “Can I light this candle?” He said, hoping to improve the ambiance.

“Not that one,” Rhett said quickly before Link could find the candle lighter. 

“What? Why not?” Link asked. It was just a plain white church candle with a Christmas tree stuck on the side. It looked like he got it at a gas station.

“It’s just a reminder,” Rhett said, looking a little uncomfortable. “Before we were a couple I was really good at hiding my feelings… most of the time.”

Link sat down on the couch and gave Rhett an encouraging nod. Truth be told he was still good at hiding his feelings. When he opened up, Link liked to encourage him as best he could.

“Once I was in Walmart, minding my own business, and you text me all excited about some guy who’d just asked you out and it killed me man.” Rhett cleared his throat and sat down beside Link on the couch. “I just started crying right there in the aisle.”

Link placed a hand on Rhett’s knee and squeezed gently. “Yeah, I was a dumbass.”

“We both were,” Rhett said. “This nice lady came and asked what was wrong and I just blurted it all out. She told me if it’s meant to be, it’s never too late and she would light a candle for us.” He lifted the candle and smiled. “I picked this up in the next aisle over to remind myself that God would be working on it.”

“That’s really sweet,” Link said. He placed a hand on Rhett’s cheek and gave him a gentle kiss. “I guess it must have worked.”

“Guess so,” Rhett grinned.

Link scanned the rest of the boxes and pointed at a small one by the couch. “That one says ‘Rhett’s Xmas tree ornaments’. You think that has Christmas tree ornaments in it?” 

Rhett narrowed his eyes. He didn’t remember labelling his boxes so extensively. “Alright alright,” he said, amusement in his voice. “You just concentrate on finding your own so we can figure out what to keep and what to throw away.” 

Link found his box of ornaments and sat down beside Rhett on the couch. “My own decorations take up the whole tree so we definitely need to get rid of some stuff,” he said, searching through the decorations. 

“I don’t want to get rid of any of mine,” Rhett muttered.

“Well, neither do I,” Link said and looked into Rhett’s box. “There’s bound to be something you don’t need in there,” he said. He pulled out a plain blue star and turned it around in his hand. “Like this. It’s nice, but it’s not very distinctive.”

Rhett took the star from Link’s hand and held it up beside his face. “It’s the same color as your eyes,” he said sheepishly. “I couldn’t resist it… it was just something subtle that reminded me of you.”

Link took the star back and looked down at it in a new light. Before they got together, Link would keep little items all the time that reminded him of Rhett but he didn’t realize Rhett would be sentimental enough to do the same. Without speaking, he went and placed it on the tree and sat back down on the couch.

“Thanks,” Rhett grinned. He peered into Link’s box and picked out a little plastic Santa carrying a christmas tree. “Do you want to keep this? It’s a little cheap looking.”

Link’s face flushed. He gave Rhett a guilty look.

“Seriously?” Rhett said, understanding right away. He held the ornament up to eye level so he could get a closer look. 

“What?” Link said. “A bearded man with wood made me think of you.”

Rhett couldn’t help laughing. “Okay, fair enough,” he said. “That one can stay.”

Link leaned over and gave him a kiss. “Don’t worry, you’re still my favourite bearded man with wood.” 

Rhett rolled his eyes, but laughed anyway. “Okay, well what about this?” he said, lifting a gold bell out of the box. “It isn’t even a Christmas decoration.” Rhett had taken a trip to Philadelphia years ago with his brother’s family, and brought a Liberty Bell back for Link as a souvenir.

Link smiled fondly at the memory. “I was so pissed at you for going on that trip,” he said. “We were crazy busy with work and you just left me for a week to deal with it on my own.”

“That doesn’t sound like a great memory,” Rhett pointed out.

“But you came back,” Link went on. “We spent so many Christmases apart, I moved the bell to my tree to remind myself you’d be back. You always come back.” 

Rhett couldn’t think of a response. It was just like Link to turn a bad memory into something positive. 

Before Rhett had a chance to speak, Link leaned over and took a plain silver ball out of Rhett’s box. “What about this? It couldn’t possibly have any sentimental value.”

“Um…” 

“You’re kidding.”

“I’ve had that one longer than any other decoration,” Rhett said, grinning at the confusion on Link’s face. “One Christmas I was at your house, and I was telling your mom how much I loved your tree and how it didn’t feel like Christmas until I saw it.”

“That’s really cute,” Link said.

Rhett shrugged. “Well your mom must have thought so too, because she took that ball off the tree and gave it to me to keep.”

“I never knew that,” Link said. “I always wondered why you had that one silver ornament on your mom’s beautiful red and gold tree.”

Before long, there wasn’t a bare branch on the whole tree. Every ornament seemed to have some sentimental value and neither was willing to let any of them go. 

“What kind of topper do you have?” Rhett asked, setting the remainder of the ornaments on the floor. 

“A star,” Link said. “What kind of topper to you have?”

“A Link!” Rhett said, holding up the weirdest looking angel Link had ever seen.

“What the hell is that,” Link asked slowly. 

Rhett smiled at the angel in front of him. “I got it because I liked the look of it,” he said, “then one day I saw it out of the corner of my eye and realized it looks exactly like you.”

“It does not!” Link protested, narrowing his eyes at the doll’s heavy brow and square jaw.

“Let’s see your star,” Rhett said, trying to change the subject. 

Link pulled the star out of his box and held it up to show Rhett. It was made of wood and painted with red, yellow and blue paint. 

“Uh…” Rhett said, not wanting to criticise it in case it was particularly meaningful to Link.

“Don’t give me that look,” Link snapped. “Remember the time I took my mom to Europe for Christmas? I picked it up in a Christmas Market in Berlin and the woman selling it told me to make a wish and put it on my Christmas tree.”

“Good sales technique,” Rhett grinned.

“Well it worked,” Link shrugged.

“What did you wish for?” Rhett said, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips.

Link couldn’t help smiling. “It doesn’t matter, it already came true,” he said, and leaned forward to press a kiss to Rhett’s lips.

“Oh,” Rhett grinned, “well in that case, can’t Angel Link go on the tree?”

Link picked up the little gold angel and looked at her face. Apart from the long hair, it actually did look a lot like him. Distinctive for a woman, to put it nicely. “I guess,” he said, turning his nose up.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Rhett said, looking at Link instead of the angel.

“Shut up,” Link said while trying not to smile. “Okay fine, put the angel on the tree. But I’m not getting rid of the star.”

“Put it on that little tree,” Rhett said, pointing at the 2 foot tall tinsel tree.

Link shrugged. They didn’t match and the star was half the size of the tree, but he crossed the room and placed it on top anyway. 

“Perfect,” Rhett said.

Perfect wasn’t the word Link would have used but it looked whimsical if nothing else. “Better than putting the angel on here,” he admitted. “That would just look like me with a tree up my ass”

Once again, they stood back and inspected the tree. It looked considerably better with the decorations.

“Do you feel more Christmassy now?” Rhett asked, prodding Link in the side gently.

“Yeah,” Link said, grinning up at him. “Don’t you?”

“A little.”

“We still have a box of ornaments we don’t want to throw away,” Link said, pointing at the box on the floor. “What are we going to do with them?”

“Save them for next year?” Rhett suggested.

“But I want them out now!”

“Well then we’ll have to take something else off.”

Link looked up at Rhett pleadingly, like Rhett was going to be able to magically fix it. “Well,” Rhett said, after thinking it over for a moment. “There is one easy solution.”

“What?” 

“We could get a bigger tree.”

“Oh!” Link said, initially pleased with the suggestion. He narrowed his eyes at Rhett when he realized what he was really suggesting. “Wait a second. You’re just saying that so we’ll go and look at real trees.”

“Aw come on Link,” Rhett said. He placed his hands on Link’s shoulders and turned him towards the tree. “We tried yours and it’s not big enough.”

“I’ve never had any complaints before,” Link grinned, unable to help himself. 

“Please?” Rhett said, trying not to giggle at Link’s joke.

“Fiiiine,” Link said. “We can go tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Rhett said, leaning down and giving Link a kiss on the cheek.

“I must really love you,” Link mused. “I guess if you’re happy, I can cope with the fear of the house burning down.”

[lesbiantimwright]

Ghosts of Suburbia, Chapter One

Description: Jessica expects exactly jack-shit when she moves to the far edge of the suburbs. Instead, she gets an abandoned church in the silent part of the woods, a hazy creature stalking her from out of the corn, and a secret she’s hidden from herself. On the bright side, she’s found exactly the group of idiots that won’t let her deal with it alone.

Relationships: Jessica/Amy, background Jay/Tim/Brian

Rating: Teen

Chapter Length: 2k

Chapter Warnings: minor mention of a gun

A/N: This is my first time posting fic to tumblr so??? Idk what I’m doing

Jessica’s exaggerating when she says that Cottonwood was the last place on Earth she wants to spend her summer, but only a little. The place is basically a wasteland of bizarre lawn ornaments, old white people, and houses that wouldn’t ever stop smelling like bad candles. Technically, it’s the suburbs, but not the movie suburbs where the houses are all the same, the lawns are all perfect, and there are house parties, those kind of suburbs would’ve sucked just slightly less. She’d moved in with her dad a day and a half ago and she can already tell that nothing ever happens. 

It’s not just moving unexpectedly in the summer when none of her friends are around to say goodbye, or that her junior year will be at a completely new school where people genuinely care about football, but that it’s fucking Cottonwood. To put it simply, Jessica is trapped in a purgatory between pissed and bored out of her mind. And that’s in the middle of a “party”, too.

Hypothetically, it’s her dad’s way of celebrating her being there, except she has not a single memory of any of these distant relatives and all the food contains gelatin, cool whip, or both. She tries a vegetable tray, thinking that there’s no way to mess that up, just to find everything coated in sugar. One of her supposed uncles is wearing a MAGA hat, and it’s taking every ounce of her self control not to physically combust every time she has the misfortune of looking at him. She’s only holding herself back because her dad is really, really trying and she knows it, so she’ll have to just talk to him about it once everyone’s cleared out. Not that that’s a huge comfort. It was at least 90° out and humid, her phone was at 9%, and nobody’s showing any signs of slowing down.

She stares at the edge of the woods. Everyone’s clumped in the part of the backyard that’s under the shade of some very flimsy tents, the rest of the space made up of a plain of dried, cracking grass and a few kids climbers that she hadn’t even used when she was six, caked with dirt and falling apart in a corner. It looks post-apocalyptic, except for the  group of aunts behind her talking about some gossip so boring that it fades into the background with everything else.

 It would be easy, to just walk out into the trees, she thinks without meaning to and suddenly the idea won’t go away. They look cool, and quiet, and like she won’t be forced to eat bits of pretzel in watermelon jello once she’s in there. She can disappear into the woods for an hour or two. She can disappear. 

Jessica grabs her boots, the heavy ones that have been caked in mud so much that she doesn’t remember what color they were when she bought them, lacing them up as tight as they’ll go. She leaves the tents and the strangers and the questions behind, walking across the crunching grass and into the trees. As the crab-grass fades into leaves and little plants, she thinks that she was right: it’s much cooler in here. 

There isn’t a path, obviously, but as long as she just keeps walking straight, she’ll be fine. Stopping now doesn’t even seem like an option, not when there’s so much deeper to go, now that she’s taken the first steps. Moss clings to the sides of rocks and fungi grows from dead logs, sunlight falls from between the branches, tinted green and splattering over everything. She thinks that she can hear the burble of a stream from somewhere just a little farther, and Jessica wants to find it. Somehow, though there’s no difference between where her feet fall and the rest of the ground, it feels like she’s on a trail anyway, outlined between the trees.

So maybe she loses track of time, and badly, but time isn’t real during the summer anyway. But that doesn’t keep the sunlight from getting thinner and the woods grayer. Maybe she should’ve turned back way sooner, but Jessica swears, every time she pushes back a branch or climbs over a boulder that the creek must be behind it, over and over and over until, finally, it is. But the water isn’t alone.

 She rounds a corner in the not-path and finds her feet at the edge of mud and, past that, a church. Or something that used to be a church. The wood is faded, some of it splintered and falling apart, with gaps in the walls and plaster-dust coating the floor in the parts of the inside she can see. It’s a big, ancient-looking building, like it’s rotted here in the woods as long as there have been trees, but really it probably isn’t more than 20 years old.

 Jessica takes a few steps closer to the creek but doesn’t cross it, walking back and forth along the edge to see more instead.  It looks like parts of it are burned, just odd patches crumbling into ash, the roof caved in over one part, and through a busted-up gap in the wall she can see a few plastic chairs scattered on their sides over a rotted carpet. There’s a cross above the door closest to her, the golden paint on it chipped around the center but still shiny in the slanted evening light. The building goes on and there’s plenty left to explore, but Jessica stops at the edge, her feet just starting to sink into the mud.

 Look, she’s not a superstitious person, she considers herself down-to-earth and reasonable, but as much as she hates to say it, she’s got a feeling. Except it’s not really her feeling, but one that this place owns, hanging over everything; it’s something like dread but quieter. Silent. Nothing moves but her own lungs and ribs, a standstill between her and the empty church. But something, a presence or a feeling or terror, rises, looming like a wave coming from the inside out, about to crash, and for a half second there’s the feeling of light, a pinprick of it in her spine where her back meets her neck-- 

Fuck that, Jessica thinks, grabbing a solid branch from next to her and turning to sprint back into the woods. Of course there isn’t any real danger, the logical part of her brain reminds her, but there’s also no one around to see her running away. Not that booking it fixes the problem. It really just makes her feel like prey, and she holds onto her stick tighter.

Now time’s really gone sideways, and it feels like forever or just a moment before she’s at the edge of the trees again. It’s really dark now, her legs ache, and it takes a long, long time for breathing not to hurt, but it felt like just a few steps to get her here. She knows that it took hours to get that far in. Jessica also knows that she’s lost.  

It’s definitely not her dad’s, cramped, badly-painted house in front of her, but something much bigger and much nicer, something that doesn’t remotely belong in her neighborhood. Shit, shit, shit. She’ll just have to find out where she is and call her dad to pick her up, she thinks, heading towards the street--

“Who’s there?” Comes a hesitant voice from in front of her, towards the house, and she freezes, watching a flashlight beam dance over the ground. 

The grass here is actually green and well kept, too, so definitely not anywhere close to her street. But she’s in Alabama, rich neighborhood or not, so there’s probably someone around here keeps a shotgun for the sole purpose of anyone on their property. Jessica crosses her fingers.

“Uh, hey, I think I’m lost?” She calls, still holding onto her stick because she’s not stupid. 

The beam of light approaches, revealing everything around it, and she immediately decides that she’s safe because she can totally take the guy holding the flashlight. He looks right around her age, scrawny and kinda pale, with big eyes looking at her cautiously out from under a hat. She lets the stick hang down by her side.

“Why--what were you doing in the woods? I thought you were a murderer,” Not-a-Threat explains, and she raises an eyebrow.

“You thought a murderer was coming out of the woods and you go towards them?” He looks guilty, scratching at the back of his neck and failing to come up with a good explanation, so she plows on.

 “I just got lost and came out at the wrong spot and my dad’s probably totally worried about me, can you drive?” Her phone is completely dead, so the sooner she gets home the less grounded she’ll be. 

“Uhhh, not really, but I have a friend who can?” Jessica sighs, more exasperated now than actually shaken, and nods. 

She stands in the dark grass while Not-a-Threat calls his friend who can drive, looking up at the light leaking out from the windows of the big house and listening to the roar of the cicadas. As they go around to the street to wait, she feels stupid. Not just for getting lost in the woods but for genuinely getting scared enough to run out of them like that, like there’s anything to worry about. Sure, an abandoned church in the woods at night is something only an idiot in a horror movie would explore, but she could’ve just walked back and maybe then actually gotten back to her own house.

 “So uh, I’m Jay,” says the guy, shifting the flashlight to his other hand so he can offer the right one, and she takes it.

“Jessica.” They stand under the streetlight for a long time after that until an old, beat-up van pulls up, the edges faded purple, a guy waving out the window at them. He’s looks a little bit scruffy but mostly just tired, with the most actual sideburns she’s ever seen on a teenager in her life, but her first instinct is that he’s good. Still, she brings her stick with her into the back of the car, and borrows Jay’s phone so she can call her dad and let her know the situation. He’s kind of mad but mostly relieved, and guilt tangles in her stomach.

Jay’s friend is named Tim and he is in fact a good guy, clearly making an effort to chat with her as the streetlights come in and out of view beside them. He doesn’t seem surprised when Jessica explains that Jay was going to try and talk to a stranger shuffling out of the woods at night, just laughs and shakes his head. She explains that she’s just moved from Montgomery and gets an adequate amount of sympathy for her situation, and it turns out that they’re going to the same high school in the fall, though, thankfully, neither Jay nor Tim seem like they care about football even a little bit. They give her pointers for which teachers are incompetent and which classmates to avoid, and rehash some of last year’s drama to someone who hasn’t heard it all a billion times.

 It’s the usual stuff that comes with stupid horny teenagers getting stuck with each other for nine months, and by the time they’re pulling into her driveway, Jay’s finishing up a rambling story of two seniors who went at it in the teacher’s lounge and their literature teacher’s dramatic tale of her walking in on it, and she feels more like a real person again. Through the window, she sees her dad stop pacing, running his hands through his hair, and she hurries to get out before the car’s even fully stopped.

 “Jessie, you’re okay!” He’s hugging her, too tightly, but she doesn’t mind. Still, she untangles him after a moment, hyper-aware of Jay and Tim still in the car. 

“I’m sorry dad, I uh, I just wanted to go for a hike and I got lost?” It sounds pathetic as far as excuses go, even if it’s actually what happened, but her dad seems content to chew her out later.

“You’re back in one piece, that’s what matters. Just never, ever do that again. Now, who helped you get here?” He asks, and she immediately knows, dreads, what’s coming. 

“You boys, come on out here, I need to thank you.”They awkwardly get out of the car and stand in front of her dad, Jay picking at a loose thread in his jacket and Tim standing up way too straight, like he’s expecting to be judged on his posture. Instead, her dad just ruffles their hair in the most dad-like and embarrassing way possible, beaming.

 “Thank you so much for bringing my daughter home safely. I worry a lot about these younger generations, but you’re two fine young gentlemen, thank you for proving me wrong. Would you like to come over for lunch tomorrow as a reward?” He offers, and they share a look, mumbling and eventually sort of agreeing out of obligation, but by that point she’s got a hand over her eyes in exasperation. 

She looks up, though, when she hears Tim scrambling around in the back of the car for something, coming back out with the stick she’d left there.“Uh, you want this?” He drawls, and she laughs, taking it. Her dad insists that they come over one more time before letting them go and hugs he one more time before letting her stumble back into the house and up to the bedroom that had been hers when she visited as a kid but is still unfamiliar, and she’s suddenly exhausted.

Jessica forgets all about the little church in the woods, for now.

[pinkiepiebones]

And You’re Standing Here Beside Me

FINALLY, the sequel to “This Must Be the Place”! Chapter two of my Dance Macabre fic! Chapter one is here- http://pinkiepiebones.tumblr.com/post/179160389115/this-must-be-the-place

***

After the son returns home. Still set in the 1870s maybe. Now featuring a completely original character because I needed a bridge between lore snippets.

***

Sister Imperator sat with Damien as the party continued. She was fascinated by him; this boy, this young man of unholy blood, raised completely divorced from the church... He was shy, but assertive, a gentle spirit brimming with charisma. He had his father’s profile, and he was hungry with curiousity. “I feel like I belong here” he had told her. “And I feel like I belong with you, if I may be so bold, Sister.”

She did not object to this.

Eventually the night ended, as do all things. The strange party goers said their goodbyes and left to find their horses and carriages. Those who remained never removed their devilish masks. They spread out across the grand room, beginning to clean up the discarded dishes and drinkware and scrape up the spent candle wax.

“Come, Damien” Sister Imperator said gently, pulling the young man up from the sofa. “Let’s talk to your father.”

***

Sister Imperator led him by the hand up the flight of stairs and into a long, tall hallway lined with stained glass windows to the left and doors to the right. A glimmer of morning light seeped through the windows, splashing fragments of painted light on the wall. She moved confidently, and stopped at an ajar door.

“Papa?” she said gently, “Papa, I’ve brought him to meet you.”

There was a sound of fabric rustling and a mutter of “well don’t just stand in the hall my dear” and the door flew open.

Damien stared. An older man, taller than him, stood before them. His head was shaved, his face dressed to be a gruesome skeletal visage, his left eye bone white, and he was dressed in deep red robes with brilliant gold embellishments. He smiled, and Damien was not afraid.

The man tightly embraced him. “My son, my dear boy, at last we meet.” He drew back but kept his hands, adorned in strange rings, on Damien’s shoulders, assessing him with pride. “You have your mother’s eyes. Kind, with a glint of mischief.”

Sister Imperator cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should continue in your office, Papa?”

The older man nodded. “Quite right, my dear.” He turned and started back inside. “Come along you two, talking with long-lost family goes better when you’re able to sit down.”

The office walls were crammed with dark wooden bookcases filled to the brim with books and glass containers of things Damien could not- but wanted to- identify and tapestries depicting strange creatures and symbols. The floor was an uneven plane of rugs and furs, placed with no consideration of space or aesthetic. The room smelled of old parchment and wet earth. Toward the back wall was a massive dark wood desk littered with paper and ink wells and quills and candles burning bright. A skull hung on the wall behind it all, and a goat head mask sat on the floor beside the desk. Damien stared at the mask; he had seen someone at the party wearing it. His father had been there the whole time, observing, a silent master of ceremony.

The older man took his place behind the desk in an ornately carved chair and gestured for the young people to sit in the simple, but upholstered, chairs before the desk.

“So, my son...” The older man tilted his head slightly to the side, owlish. “What name did your mother give you?”

“Uh, Damien,” Damien said quietly, still taking everything in. The man chuckled and sighed.

“We had floated that name, yes. Damien if it’s a boy, Lilith if it’s a girl.” He closed his eyes, a warm smile gracing his pallid face. “She would talk to you, ask you which name you’d prefer, tell you you could pick your own if you were unsatisfied with our choice...” He opened his eyes. “How is your mother, Damien?”

Damien chewed his lower lip. “She passed away, a few months ago.”

“It was peaceful,” Damien offered. “She slipped away while talking to me, like she had just fallen asleep mid sentence...” He bowed his head. The last thing she had said was ‘the church,’ and now, months later, he was in it. He was in the mysterious church, sitting next to a beautiful woman, and talking to his father.

Sister Imperator placed her hand on his and gave him a reassuring smile. She looked to the man at the desk. He had been still since hearing the news. His painted cheeks were damp with tears.

“Papa, perhaps some answers now? Damien surely has questions.”

The young man sat up a little straighter. He had many questions buzzing in his skull. “I do, actually. A lot. Like-“ he glanced at Sister Imperator. “Why do you keep calling him ‘Papa’? Is he your father as well? I really like you, but I don’t think that’s okay...”

The man, Papa, laughed and wiped the tears away with a long sleeve, his heartache shoved out of his mind for the moment. “Lord, no! ‘Papa’ is my title, son!” Damien let out a sigh of relief and winked at Sister Imperator.

“Actually,” Papa continued, “my full title is Papa Invictus the Fourth. My father was Papa Invictus the Third, my father’s father was Invictus the Second, my father’s father’s father was Invictus the First, my father’s father’s father’s father-“

“Had a different title?” Damien offered. Papa chuckled.

“No, he was Papa Invictus Nihil. Invictus Zero. In the church, when a new Papa ascends, he may continue the title from the Papa before him, or he may reset, so to speak. And here, we start with zero. Or Nihil, as it sounds cooler.” Papa nodded to himself. “Sometimes I wish I had chosen to be a Nihil, but, the whims of the Lord are not to be questioned.”

Damien leaned in. “Right, about that. What /is/ this church, exactly? Mother and I went to the church in the village, more out of societal obligation than anything else, and it was just tedious. Repetition. Retelling the same ley stories. Frankly it was dull compared to what I’ve seen here.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet” Sister Imperator said cheerfully.

Papa stood and spread his arms, the gold of his robes glinting in the candlelight, his shadow eeriely matching up with the skull hanging on the wall behind him. He drew in a deep breath, and his voice filled the room.

This is the Church of Satan, my son! We follow and worship the Dark Lord, spreading His word, sharing His message!”

Damien looked to Sister Imperator, then back to Papa.

Papa faltered. “Eh, I used to have an office with a window, and if I timed it right, you know, lightning, drama- eh, forget it.” He huffed and sat back down. “Someday the church will be as theatrical as it surely demands to be. Perhaps you will be the one to see this happen, Damien.”

Sister Imperator giggled and clapped. Damien looked bewildered. He glanced between the two. “What does that mean? Does that mean what I think it means?” He ran a hand through his hair. “What do I think that means?”

Papa leaned forward, excitement gleaning in his mismatched eyes. “I would dearly love to have you stay here, my son, and learn your family history. Learn and grow in the church, and, when I am called home...

You will be the next Papa,” Sister Imperator said quietly, revenently.

[eeveedel]

Hi all, I promised you a REAL preview of the next chapter of feeling it out, so here it here. i was going to just post one scene, but then I decided it was too short, so now, you get two of my favorite short scenes, together. I hope you like it and that this tides you over. Much love xx

--

On the morning of Louis’s birthday, he woke up to the hard caramel cooking in a saucepan in the kitchen, and Harry standing barefoot next to the stove, in Alex’s favorite sweater, a wide smile on his face and his hands tucked behind his back.

“Happy birthday,” he said when Louis slipped into the kitchen, his hair still rumpled and his hands still tucked into the sleeves of his fleece night slip.

“Thank you,” Louis smiled, then took out his hands enough to motion to where Harry was hiding his hands, “What have you got here?”

“A surprise,” Harry said, and then put his hands out in front of him, showing a plain brown package, “I won’t make you guess what it is. Here.”

Louis jumped forward right away, snatching the package fast enough to make Harry laugh. He ripped the paper as he went to the table, tearing right through Alex’s beautiful, sloping handwriting to get to the interior. There was a little, cream-colored card on stiff paper, the letters sloped and rushed, and yet he still bit his lips when he read them.

To my beautiful china doll on his twenty fifth birthday.

For Christmas, you get my entire heart.

I miss you, precious. I’ll see you soon. -A

Louis lifted the paper to his nose and mouth, trying to smell Alex through the scent of ink, kissing the paper like he would kiss Alex’s mouth. Then he dropped the card and picked up the plain black box at the bottom of the package, undoing the twine holding it closed.

The lid clattered off as soon as the twine was drawn away, and a sharp line of gold fell onto the table. Louis picked it up and held it to the light, watching the light reflect off the soft gold chains, the little pearls fused into the ends of the bracelet.

He stared at it until he was brought out of his thoughts by a plate of hot caramel and potatoes being set in front of him, a cup of plain cider and a mug of tea right next to it. He looked up, and Harry was smiling gently, nodding the bracelet.

“Do you need help putting it on?”

“Yes please,” Louis said, immediately offering Harry the bracelet and then his wrist. Harry laughed and shook his head, buckling the chain carefully around Louis’s left wrist.

“I wonder where he got this,” Harry sighed, “Can’t be easy to find a new present in a war zone.”

“He’s in France,” Louis said quickly, “France is a nice place to find something.”

“Mm,” Harry nodded, “Well, he did a nice job.”

He finished hooking the bracelet’s clasps together, and pulled away, going back to the tea kettle to get his own drink.

“What do you want to do today?” he asked, and Louis shrugged, playing with his chain.

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “Sometimes we go to lunch, or dinner, and we go to the winter market in town.”

“Do you want to do that, then?”

“Sure,” Louis said, “I – that’s usually something Alex and I do, but – “

“We don’t have to do it,” Harry assured him, “If that’s something you do with Alex.”

“But I want to do it again this year,” Louis said, “I’d rather do that then stay here for the whole day.”

Harry nodded, his eyes going a bit soft.

“Only if you want to.”

“I want to.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded.

Louis smiled, and then pulled his plate towards himself, picking up a fork.

“I did want to ask, though,” Harry said, making Louis flick his eyes up, “Is it okay if I – go to Mass tonight?”

Louis frowned and tilted his head.

“Like, church?”

“Well, yes.”

Louis nodded, picking at a potato on his plate. He hadn’t exactly pegged Harry for the kind to go to church, even for the holidays. Alex had never mentioned his brother being interested in anything like that.

“You can, if you want,” Louis said, “Sorry, I didn’t think about that. Alex and I don’t really go. But yeah, if you want.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, “I just – I haven’t ever missed a Christmas Mass. It feels odd, not going, but if Alex doesn’t go, maybe I – “

“Oh, just go,” Louis sighed, “I’ll probably fall asleep, so I’ll just stay behind. But you can just tell anyone that asks that I was tired and tipsy and wanted to stay home, and that you wanted to fit in some prayers for your poor brother overseas.”

“They won’t find that odd? That I’m there without you?”

“Alex and I go different places, Harry, it’s okay,” Louis laughed, “Really, go. We can even go to dinner early so you can make it in time.”

Harry nodded once more, and then his face broke, his smile carving deep into his cheeks, his dimple pressing hard into his cheek, his eyes sparking.

“Thank you, Louis,” he said, his voice so soft, quivering a bit.

Louis kept his hand clasped tightly around his wrist, feeling the chain that Alex had picked up and packaged so carefully for him, and smiled across the table at Harry, still so soft and happy and wrapped in Alex’s clothes.

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” he said, and then picked up his fork once more.

--

Harry left for Mass after Louis’s birthday dinner, dressed in Alex’s favorite business trip suit, and didn’t come back home until late.

Louis sat home and listened to the Christmas programs on the radio, the music and the readings of the Night Before Christmas and the well wishes to the troops across the ocean. He finished reading the book Alex had sent him, and then sat and fingered the little pearls on his wrist, smiling to himself as he settled his cheek into the side of the sofa, letting his eyes flutter closed.

He was woken up an hour later to the door opening, and a short burst of cold from the unheated hallway. He shivered, pulling his blanket tighter around himself, and lifted his head. Harry was shutting the door, stomping his snow-coated boots on the carpet as he locked the door behind him.

“Was Mass nice?” Louis asked, and Harry lifted his head and grinned, his eyes sparkling and his smile bright.

“Yes,” he said, “I – look, I got something.”

Louis lifted his brows as Harry came towards him, snow still in his hair and lining the collar of Alex’s coat. His cheeks and nose were bright red, his ears were flushed against his dark hair. He was holding something between his mitten-covered hands, hiding it from Louis, even as he held out his hands.

“Harry,” Louis sighed, “What are you doing?”

Harry just smiled, shaking his head.

“Look,” he said, and opened up his hands, holding them out to Louis once more so he could see what was inside. Louis blinked at his hands, and then lifted a hand to his mouth.  

An orange was nestled in Harry’s mittens. A little dull, small, a bruise blooming on one side. But an orange.

“There was a market open next to the church. Last in the whole town, probably,” Harry was grinning, shaking his head, “Had to bargain for it.”

Louis still hadn’t spoken, and Harry looked at him, frowning a little as he leaned his head forward.

“For your cider,” he explained, and Louis nodded quickly.

“Thank you,” he got out out.

“You’re welcome.” Harry said, “Happy birthday, Louis.”

Louis’s eyes suddenly burned, and he forced himself to look at the fruit, not Harry. Slowly, he reached out and took it from the alpha, holding the soft ball in his own palms.

An orange. He’d gotten him an orange.

Alex had gotten him so many gifts over the years. Flowers, jumpers, rogue and lipstick in little golden cases, silver chains, little pearl earrings with clips so he could wear them in his unpierced lobes. Of course he had. That was Alex’s job, to get him things.

The most Harry had gotten him until now was a book, or a glass vase for the living room, or a ball of pale pink yarn for Louis’s knitting patterns. Simple birthday gifts between people that were loosely connected. And that was fine, because it was Harry. Louis didn’t mean anything to Harry.

But this year, he had gotten Louis an orange.

“Here,” Harry said gently, putting a hand over the fruit, “I’ll slice it up for you, put it in your cider. Do you still want cider?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Okay, good. And do you want biscuits?” Harry asked, “The ginger ones? Or chocolate?”

“Both, please,” Louis managed, “Both sound really good.”

“Of course. It’s your birthday,” Harry smiled. Always smiling tonight, “I’ll be right back.”

He took the orange carefully from Louis’s hands, leaving them open, and he just blinked and stared after Harry before finally letting his hands drop, instead settling them in his lap.

Louis sat and waited until Harry returned with a steaming mug, delivered right into Louis’s hands. The cider was heavy with spice, and there were two orange slices floating in it, making it taste sweet and ripe. Harry went back to the kitchen to get him a plate of biscuits, and then to the hall closet to get Louis another blanket, and then lit a candle on the table before he settled into the sofa, across from where Louis was huddled tightly into Alex’s armchair. Louis watched him, the alpha’s form blurred in the steam rising in front of Louis’s vision.

“I forgot to get you a gift,” Louis said quietly, “for Christmas.”

“That’s okay,” Harry said, “I don’t need any gifts.”

“Maybe for your birthday.”

“Get Alex something twice as nice for the both of us,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Really, Louis, it’s fine. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

Louis just nodded, the feeling still deep in his belly, overtaking everything as he looked at his cup.

Harry had gotten him an orange.