#spring cleaning imminent

[bekolxeram]

I wasn't that cruel, trying to edge Tommy into 2025, so I spent my NYE writing more porn.

We're technically 2 hours into the new year here, but it's still 2024 in Los Angeles, so shhhhhhhh you don't know anything about time zone byeeeee

Happy New Year everyone! Enjoy part 3 of my silly smut.

Rated E

Part 1 | Part 2

Moments later, Tommy strolls back from the kitchen with a roll of paper towel in one hand and two bottles of beer in the other. His cock, still hard and engorged with excitement, bobs around for each step he takes. An amused chuckle slips out of Buck’s watering mouth at the lewd but silly scene in front of him.

“See something you like?” Tommy follows his boyfriend’s line of sight downward, before putting down the kitchen roll and handing him a beer.

“My favorite,” a chuckle turns into a full giggle as the comically bouncy hardness enters Buck’s personal space. Taking a long swig from the bottle, he almost spits it all out when Tommy starts gyrating his pelvis to spin his dick around in circles.

“Hey! I’m drinking here.”

“Sorry, just wanted to show you my helicopter flying skills,” Tommy stops playing around, takes a sip of his own beer, and continues, “finish your beer. I’m gonna clean up your mess.”

“My mess? This is your doing,” Buck protests.

“Hmm I know, and I’m proud of it,” Tommy bends down to give the younger man a searing kiss, then tears off a few sheets of paper towel and starts wiping.

Buck still can’t take his eyes off Tommy’s raging hard-on, he even lays his head down underneath jut to better appreciate it in its red, girthy, veiny glory.

“Ah…” Tommy gasps when he feels Buck’s icy cold lips wrapped around him, without warning.

“Mmmmmm,” Buck hums, sending electrifying vibration all over Tommy’s body.

“If I’ve missed a spot, it’s your fault,” Tommy says, tossing the ball of paper aside.

Buck pulls off with a suggestive pop, “let’s test it, then.”

Next thing Tommy knows, he’s being flipped around and pushed down onto the previously white fluid laden surface.

“All clear?” Buck asks, already climbing into Tommy’s lap.

“You’re lucky this time,” grabbing Buck’s jaw firmly, Tommy pulls him in to nibble on his bottom lip playfully.

“I’m lucky every time,” Buck reaches back to stoke Tommy’s length from root to tip, “I get to play with this,” and proceeds to sink down in one fell swoop, drawing out a synchronized groan from them both. Still stretched out from their earlier joining minutes ago, Buck needs no time to adjust. He starts rolling his hip straightaway, grinding that sensitive bundle of nerve endings against the swelling erection inside of him, his own spent cock springing back to life at the enthralling sensation.

After reveling in the bliss of fullness for a few more moments, Buck turns his focus onto Tommy’s overdue release. Rather than stimulating his own prostate, he begins bouncing up and down, putting on a pornographic moan every time his ass hits Tommy’s thighs.

Helpless against his imminent climax, Tommy thrusts up at Buck’s pace to meet him half way. The sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the loft.

“Ah! Tommy! Fuck my hole!” Buck feels Tommy’s rhythm breaking apart upon hearing the filthy words. Determined to get the older man off, Buck leans in again to whisper in his ear, “you make me feel so good… I wish you could feel it too…”

“Aaaahhh — Evan, Evan, Evan!” Tommy wraps both his arms around Buck’s waist, slamming into him over and over again.

“One of these days, I’m gonna get a replica of your dick, and fuck you with it while you’re fucking me.”

This sends Tommy right over the edge, spilling deep inside Buck’s clenching channel.

The two men presses their foreheads together, catching their breathe, basking in the afterglow.

“Hmm I love you Evan,” Tommy sighs, with a hint of sated exhaustion in his voice, “but I’m not cleaning the couch again.”

Buck finds himself being picked up and thrown onto the couch again. Feeling Tommy slowly pulling out, he closes his eyes and braces himself for the dry roughness of paper towel dragging over his sensitive rim, instead, he feels something warm and wet. His eyes flies open to see Tommy between his legs, licking his leaking hole clean.

“Ooooh… fuck! Tommy!”

Once Tommy observes no more of himself dripping out of Buck, he pushes two think fingers past the entrance, then starts vigorously rubbing that sweet spot of pleasure, until Buck’s squirming under his touch.

“Tommy! Tommy! TommyTommyTommyTommyTo…” Chanting Tommy’s name like a prayer, Buck explodes in euphoria for the second time of the night, painting his own body white.

“Wow… That was amazing,” Buck exclaims, collapsing back onto the armrest of the couch. “Come here,” he gazes at his man with eyes full of affection, inviting him with open arms. Tommy complies, ignoring the dampness between their stomachs, slotting his face into the crook of Buck’s neck.

“I don’t think I can look at bagels or baking the same way every again,” Buck laughs.

“Well, that was the intention,” Tommy looks up, “feeling better now?”

Only now does Buck realize it’s the first time since they’re back together that he feels truly in tune with Tommy, just like the old days, understanding unspokenly each other’s wants and needs.

Oh…?

“I think took up baking because I… kneaded you.”

“Evan, my love, that was terrible.”

[dreamjoymemoir]

Since 3.3 Cipher been in my head and heart how about how would Cipher feel/do if female or gender neutral if you prefer reader is injured. How injured can be up to you :) anyways have a wonderful day or night

thank you very much! i hope this suits your request ^^

-the black tide monster that was foolish enough to ambush you is dispatched before your eyes by a silvery blur, which tricks your eyes into seeing three of your girlfriend, or five...? dizzy with pain, you only register one cute cat running up to you after it's destroyed.

-cipher doesn't waste time asking you about the hows or whys; a critical once-over tells her that you're not dying, just bleeding pretty bad... but it doesn't stop her from being scared out of her mind for you. being mindful of your injuries, she picks you up and whisks you back home as fast as she can run.

-at your place, she tears through your cabinets looking for first aid supplies. forgive her if she makes a mess while she's at it--the only thing that matters to her is making sure you're okay. since the life of a thief can be harsh, she's had to patch up most of her own injuries over the years, so her deft hands are surprisingly skilled at cleaning and bandaging you up without too much pain.

-she tries to talk to you during the process and be all nonchalant about it, telling you that you'll be a-okay as long as you don't go tussling with more dumb beasts. and what were you even doing in such a dangerous place anyway? if she manages to make you laugh at some point, it's a relief to her. but it's hard to miss the signs of obvious worry: the way her voice goes pitchy and rapid, the tension and twitch of her tail that is often so relaxed, and the somewhat forced chuckles as she tries to distract you. talented liar as she is, it's difficult to hide her feelings about you.

-cipher is only able to relax a little once she's done all she can and you're no longer in any imminent danger. but she's still tense, not wanting to leave you in such a state. if you urge her to come closer, to provide you some comfort, she'll press up to you and hug you as tight as she dares. her shaky breaths will start to even out, and the fearful tension coiling her up like a spring starts to dissipate. for once, she is quiet with relief.

-don't ever forget that you're cipher's greatest treasure, far more precious than any rarity she could sniff out from some old ruins, and she couldn't bear to lose you.

[mesetacadre]

I've read about how a bourgeois revolution from feudalism is needed for a proletarian revolution to take place after in things like The Principles of Communism, but for some reason that idea hasn't really clicked in my brain yet like why it's necessary as like a middle step

Having read your post about the popular front and the mistakes made around that middle step, can you explain that concept of a bourgeois revolution being necessary?

Also, is this concept still applicable today? Is there anywhere nowadays where that step is necessary?

The development of history has been one of quantitative changes to society and the economy accumulating into sudden qualitative changes; The French revolution was a qualitative change (it changed the quality, the being, of the feudal productive system into one based in private property and the political domination of the bourgeoisie) precipitated by an accumulation of quantitative changes (successive bad harvests because of cold weather, the progressive hits to the French treasury, the measures taken to compensate by taxing the bourgeois strata radicalizing them, and a myriad of other small reasons). This is, as explained by Marx, the inevitable development of productive forces, eventually overflowing the limitations of the mode of production, the organization of those productive forces.

For there to be a proletarian revolution, there needs to be a proletariat in the first place, a class defined by its relation to the bourgeois mode of production; private property, salary work, complete alienation from the social fruits of labor. This is a revolution that can only be propitiated by that overflowing of the productive forces, which happens regularly/cyclically and materializes in the form of economic crises. The development of production sponsored by the bourgeoisie itself can't help but eventually brim over the top of every limitation and form of control that the bourgeoisie have instituted to their own mode of production. It's those crises that an organized proletariat can take advantage of to mobilize a considerable portion of its class to overthrow the bourgeoisie and change the mode of production. Similarly, the bourgeoisie's revolutions of past centuries happened when the feudal mode of production encountered crises, the productive forces burst out of the limits of the feudal mode of production; it created the bourgeoisie as well from the gradually accumulated stratum of free peasants and artisans who carried out their economic activity outside of the feudal systems of obligations, land ownership, etc.

So in this schematic sense, there is a clear order, first feudalism had to create the bourgeoisie, for it to accumulate power, take advantage of feudal crises, then take power and institute its own mode of production, which creates the proletariat, and then this class is able to take power. And looking at history in broad strokes, this checks out. However, transitions are almost never this clean, they take years of struggle with a messy political shell around it. Marx and Engels themselves, when Marx formulated historical materialism to Engels in Brussels in the spring on 1845, lived in the midst of the bourgeoisie's rise, however, feudalism still held onto its grip and in most parts of the world, the slave mode of production still existed. It is my personal theory that it's this great mix of modes of production that favored the formulation of historical materialism. At the time, communists put most of their eggs into the German basket, as the German states contained the most economically powerful bourgeoisie that hadn't achieved any political power, so their revolution seemed imminent. History turned out more disappointing.

At this time (mid 19th century), the theory did make sense, as there was no way in which the proletariat could acquire enough experience and strength to carry out a revolution without first having a ruling bourgeoisie sponsoring the growth of the proletariat itself. However, what happened, was that capitalism began developing towards monopoly and imperialism, which meant a tightened grip on the state, an expansion of the worker aristocracy (the lieutenants of the bourgeoisie in the worker's movement), the global south, the proletariat itself. Among the many changes it effected on the worker's movement, capitalism made itself secure in its place and it became many times harder to overthrow. Hence, the extinction of revolutionary waves until the first great crisis of WW1. What I'm getting at is that, for every year that passed for imperialist capitalism, the need for that "middle step" expired because imperialist capitalism is the middle step itself. The mistake made by many people, even today (eurocommunists), is both uncritically bringing those analysis of the mid 19th century in Europe to a time qualitatively different, and overestimating the remnants of pre-capitalist elements.

The bolshevik revolution could be argued was made without a middle step, Russia was an overwhelmingly feudal country despite the progression away from feudal laws (such as the theoretical abolition of feudal debts for peasants, even if it didn't materially change anything, it was significant in that sense) and a still present proletariat, which is what made the core of the bolshevik party. This condition of actual feudal remnants was approached with two significant policies. First, a social alliance with the peasantry. There was a constant effort from before the revolution until the end of collectivization to bring the peasants to the bolshevik cause, such as the committees of poor peasants during the Civil War which so effectively countered anarchist petit-bourgeois vacillations, and later the forceful expropriation of kulaks (rich peasants). Second, the NEP, mostly focused at recovering from the Civil War as fast as possible by allowing capitalist relations to develop productive forces in the unbridled way it does when it's as volatile as it was in the early 1920s in the USSR, and also to accumulate technical and economic knowledge for the mass of Soviet people who had to learn to run the state.

It was also this notion of the way the bolsheviks dealt with the "backwardness" of the ruined empire they inherited, summed with the experience of the February revolution, that was pretty uncritically transmitted to the Comintern in its VI Congress.

There is nowhere in the world today, and it has been so for a long time now, where such a middle step is necessary. Imperialist capitalism is the foyer for proletarian revolutions, as we've already seen happen sporadically across the last century. Both the proletariat and bourgeoisie have developed to such a point where their antagonism is the primary contradiction anywhere, there are no more productive forces which have to be necessarily developed, no know-how needed to be accumulated by capitalists, no political reforms or "revolutions" to support. It is only is a few cases of settler colonialism, the residue of a less refined form of imperialism with counted days, where it can make sense sidestepping a proletarian revolution.

[steviebeans]

Life and Death

Above him, the world rioted. His friends, his family, his allies, his enemies - nobody understood.

He's the God of Death, and you the God of Spring!

But what is new life without death? What is worth celebrating, if it isn't worth losing? Life is precious, yes, but only because it is fleeting. A flower blooms, pollinates, withers, rots, bleeds back into the Earth and its seeds take root.

Unstoppable. Imminent. Beautiful.

James watched how Regulus tended to the souls that made their way to him. Watched how he cradled them in gentle hands, offered peace and reprieve, safety, kindness. Rest. Indiscriminate of region or gender or status or occupation.

There was cruelty there, too. Rage, anger. Tartarus was not exaggerated - it was cruel and cold and vicious. Punishments to fit the crimes.

But there was always grace, always a second chance when true repentance, true remorse, emerged from the pits of despair.

Why? James had asked, the first time he watched a bloodied soul claw out of Tartarus, to be cleaned in the river, reborn to try again.

What if they hurt someone again?

Then they suffer again. Again, and again, and again, until their soul learns. And it will. Humans, I've found, mostly want to be good. Why not give them the chance?

God of Death, he was, but he loved humans and loved their souls in a way no other God did. They were precious to him, beautiful, even in their flawed states.

So they rioted above him, bemoaned and shouted, begged and pleaded, but the decision was easy.

James peeled the fruit, let the pomegranate juice stain his fingers as he plucked out ruby red seeds. He ate them, one by one, savored the burst of flavor over his tongue. Savored, more, the flare of hope, of light in grey eyes that used to only betray loneliness, resignation.

New life, James thought, cradling a pale cheek in maroon-stained palms. Because of Death.

[senka-mesecine]

Since I'm a "feisty" reader enjoyer, could we maybe get a little something where Barnes has to LITERALLY pull reader back by the collar, grab her in his arms or just toss her aside (lol) to stop her from doing or reacting to something he considers stupid or dangerous. (Worried) yelling would also be a plus. 🙏🏻 Bless you, you're the best 💜👑

MINEFIELD.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

wonderful gif by @woman-with-no-name

---

Thing is, it happens suddenly.

Then again, everything in the jungle had the tendency of being sudden.

No build up, no warning, no genuine foreshadowing of any imminent danger.

Even the most moderately raised voices subjectively feeling like a lion's roar.

Maybe why when Sergeant Barnes had the tendency of doing it, springing things open you or others, it was as jarring as it tended to be. You don't even have the time to register it properly; the physical act of you being grabbed and practically yanked, hauled to the side in one swift motion by a hand you didn't even realize was reaching for you from behind along with a collection of five meaty, stiff fingers hooking themselves around your forearm like a vice that sent you flying as if you were weightless --- only once you're on the ground, thrown like a sack back first into the red soil does it compute that he's done this to you. On purpose. Sergeant Barnes grabbed you and hurled you to the side, looming angrily with a scowl that would frighten the devil. Takes a good ten seconds or so for you to catch your composure due to the suddenness of the act only for you focus to fall on his index finger, pointing profusely.

-"You see that!?"-

He barks, motioning towards a common patch of grass not even two steps from you.

You shake yourself, still on your rear, the palms of your hands having dug themselves into the soil burning, undoubtedly scraped clean by your falling, causing you to be here feeling a bit like an idiot trying to figure out what you were supposed to be looking at; once you say nothing, your mouth having fallen agape, he repeats his words again, if at all possible, even angrier this time around. What the actual fu ---

-"You see that!?"-

He repeats gruffly and then it hits you; takes a second or two for you to truly spot the thin strand connecting one tree to another, running hidden through the blades of greenery. Tripwire. You were about to walk straight to it and across it, seconds from being decimated and you were blissfully unaware of it. A lump gets caught in your throat. You momentarily forget how to breathe. Jesus Christ, you could've been a sack of meat if he didn't intervene.

-"You're like a bull in a china shop; ten seconds away from gettin' your dumb ass blown up all around the perimeter!"-

He reprimands and your heart beats fast as the true gravitas of what could've happened kicks in and hits you over the head like a bag of bricks, causing you to lose your voice; when you decide to speak up the tone that comes forth comes out meek and cracked even though your intention was to sound at least a little bit sarcastic to save face --- simultaneously being genuinely grateful. Grateful and not dead. -"Thank you, sir. I didn't notice that."-

You manage, your hand on your chest; hyperventilating wildly.

-"Yeah, betcha' didn't!"-

He reproaches, all venom, like scolding an errant child.

-"Political hire. You and the Lieut both! Y'all could hold hands and swap notes on incompetence and how to get y'allselves and others killed out here!"-

Political hire!? What!? The fact that you were a woman!? C'mon, now.

It tended to be weirdly funny.

How he oscillated from thinking everyone should have the equal opportunity to come out here and get blown up, from giving everyone he didn't think deserved being here through merit the stink-eye, and all the way down to lecturing you for nearly blowing yourself up the exact way he claimed everyone should go and ahead and try.

Barnes spits on the ground right next to your feet, profusely embittered and something prickles on the surface of your scalp at the notion of being compared to Wolfe of all people; you weren't an order-giver and you were responsible for tending wounds, bandaging, injections, not being an authority figure, so it was hardly comparable. However morbid the idea, if you died, you could be replaced, but Wolfe should've been a father to his men and he fell short on every account and frequently. So, in regards of that at least, you have to protest, balancing yourself, attempting to stand up. The haul he gave you making you feel like you've been hit by a moving train or trampled over by an angry bull. Either or. Something emboldens you. Maybe it was the close run in with getting your legs blow off from under you that has you feeling uncharacteristically courageous. -"Don't you always have the tendency of saying that everybody's gotta die sometime, Sergeant?"- You groan, getting to your feet, the rest of the platoon way behind you on your long trek south. You're almost glad nobody saw this. But, Barnes saw. That was enough. It was too much even. You knew he'd silently hold this over your head forever. -"If I died it would've been because it was my time to die, sir, all due respect."- Deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine, you argue your point, dusting your fatigues off. So? Death's a part of reality, or at least so Barnes continuously drilled the point home. Was he going to pretend he was a lover of long living all of a sudden? You click your tongue, your knee burning with ache now that you were standing to your full height. -"Jesus."- You moan to yourself, rubbing the middle of your sore leg, trying to relieve your own pain. -"Threw me into the ground."- You mutter. Sometimes you felt no right to be shocked at the man's strength because he was just as strong as he looked, if not more. Especially when enraged. A testament to that cemented once more when his hand comes up like a claw, grabbing your jawline without warning, pushing you backwards and slamming into a nearby tree with such force that the branches overhead ruffle.

If your gut doesn't coil into a knot the first time when you nearly waltzed into an active minefield, it sure does now.

-"Don't you ever mouth off to me about death again."-

He growls at you with such an intensity his spittle's practically in your face.

His hand powerful enough to shake your whole body.

-"You hear!?"-

He demands furiously.

-"Feelin' suicidal!?"-

You're reprimanded and held up, just an inch above the ground and hoist by part of your gullet where your neck met your head; however scared your prime instincts tell you you should be, part of you knew it was bullshit. So, only Barnes was allowed to pontificate about death then. Nobody else, huh? Yeah. Figures. Perhaps it's pure spite that guides you at that point, but you find it in you to keep mouthin' off as he called it even as you were hoisted up above the soil by your neck like livestock about to be slaughtered. -"No. I'm just doing my job same as everyone else and I knew from the get-go my job would have consequences, sir."- You murmur, strained, voice coming forth tense from behind the wall of his grip. You were no fool. You understood how dangerous deployed here would be. No weren't clueless. You didn't need him or anyone lecturing you. -"One of those consequences being death, worst case scenario. I don't want any sort of special treatment."- You add, purely defiant and for once, you're surprised when he lets you go. You inhale, deeply, catching your breath, rubbing the tenderized flesh of your throat. His index finger is waved in front of your eyes again, his face so close you could feel him breathing sharply, in and out, in and out, nostrils flaring wildly. He shoves you again, further back into the tree bark. -"You do that again --- you don't watch where you're goin', you go leavin' where I can see'ya for a second, I could have'ya outta here so fast on failure to meet standards you won't know where's left and where's right."- He threatens, outright, and with Barnes, you knew very well it wasn't just a warning or mere empty words; he really meant it. He was going to write a report so scathing on this incident you'd be sent home like the worst nuisance and well, that --- that, you feel gave you leave to be the enraged party for once. What was his damage anyway!? Why was he so fixated on this in particular, goodness gracious!? -"You want to dishonorably discharge me for not spotting a trip wire thinner than a strand of human hair? Honestly now!? Might as well discharge the whole platoon then, because they've all have worse mishaps by the daily!"- You point with your whole hand, right down on the wire that was still there, and however fiery, you keep your voice deliberately subdued as much as possible, albeit hissed through gritted teeth.

Might as well dishonorably discharge his own Lieutenant for failing to operate a compass then. Or Junior for falling asleep on ambushes. Taylor for simply being new.

Discharge everyone but himself and conduct this war the way he wished.

Discharge Captain Harris himself, in an alternate reality where that would be doable.

Why not?

Man was getting in the way, after all, with all those pesky rules of warfare.

-"I'm gonna have you dishonorably discharged for anything anytime 'cos I don't want'yer ass here, period.''-

Barnes spits out, bluntly transparent and for once, you're rendered speechless --- shocked even --- sure, you knew he didn't quite like you too much but to loathe you enough to sabotage you for whatever reason by any means necessary? You almost don't notice the sounds of the platoon from over the hill becoming nearer, that's how profound your bafflement was, maybe more so once his arm comes up and momentarily, you flinch, thinking he'll end this by choking you the hell out, only for him to hover the open palm of his hand, tracing the outline of your face, somehow desperate and both infuriated, fingers never touching you yet still claw like, tracing the shape of your head --- so close you can practically sense the heat radiating from his skin, like his own rage was burning him up from the inside, coming off in waves through the pores in his skin. A phantom caress. Wha --- what was he doing? The wrath was still there, etched all over his face, displayed through the lightning in his eyes, but the gesture of lingering his hand next to your cheek is unfamiliar, not easy to place. Was he worried for you? Did he intend to grab you by the hair and yank it back? Was that it? Was the root of this outburst...concern? Sure, he was concerned for his men in a strange way that wasn't always easy to explain, you've observed that before, after all, it was the prime reason why his orders were specifically that you stay glued by his side during these treks through the jungle so something stupid and wholly preventable wouldn't go around happening to you, as what he referred to you as, technically useful and practically the weakest link, but still --- -"The menfolk in your family should get an ass whoopin' for lettin'ye go in the first place."- The what now? His words are all reproach of the most alien sort and you find yourself blinking rapidly, trying to assess what sort of backhanded comment of Barnes's this could be classified as and what would've been the best way to react and respond to it with some barb of your own. Nothing comes to mind. -"The menfolk in my ---"- You mouth, confused, trailing off. What in the mother of all archaisms...

-"I sure wouldn't."-

He adds curtly, all ice and outright resentment, measuring you up and down with the utmost scrutiny and before you can think of anything to say back to him, he stomps off, towards the platoon, leaving you cradling your neck, the tripwire next to your defunct; the grenade it was attached to promptly grabbed and removed. When did he manage to do that so quickly you wouldn't spot it? And? And. Did...did he just say what you were thinking he was saying? That if he was your...what? Your older brother, your father, your uncle, he wouldn't let you serve as a field nurse? That if he was your man, he wouldn't? Was that it? If he was your man? The thought nestles into your brain like something completely foreign and the realization sinks like an anchor, heavy and all iron.

Did he...care about you?

[ros64]

Buon capodanno a tutti e grazie a @sassenach77yle per la gentile concessione.

Happy Hogmanay 🎇 Bliadhna Mhath Ùr 🎇 Happy New Year to everyone

from Outlander Elite on FB — Period drama, books & TV series

New Year’s Eve in Scotland is something incredible and has a very specific name: Hogmanay.

If you’re wondering what Hogmanay means and what traditions are associated with it, here’s some information and fun trivia for you.

Hogmanay is the Scottish term for the last day of the year and is synonymous with the festivities and celebrations linked to New Year’s Eve. Unlike other parts of the world, these festivities don’t end in just one night.

Hogmanay celebrations usually continue into New Year’s Day and, sometimes, even into January 2nd, which is a public holiday in Scotland.

The origins of the name Hogmanay are not entirely clear, and there are several theories about its etymology.

The most likely one seems to come from the Old Norman term hoguinan, which meant “New Year’s gift.”

The word has certainly existed since at least 1604, when it first appeared in written records.

Some have also hypothesized that Hogmanay derives from the French word hoginane, meaning “festival day.”

Viking traditions have intertwined with pre-existing pagan rituals over time.

The fireworks displays and spectacular torchlight processions seen today in Edinburgh and other Scottish cities harken back to these ancient pagan celebrations and Viking traditions.

There are, moreover, various traditions and superstitions said to be observed during Hogmanay. Are you ready to discover them with us?

▪︎ House Cleaning (Redding)

Among the various traditions, house cleaning—known as Redding—is common. This includes removing ashes from the hearth and settling all debts before the clock strikes midnight.

The underlying message is to eliminate remnants of the old year, and after a thorough cleaning, welcome a new and prosperous year.

Instead of spring cleaning, Scots do New Year’s cleaning to prepare the home for the year ahead.

▪︎ First-Footing

One of the most famous Hogmanay traditions is First-Footing, a unique ritual for bringing good fortune into the New Year.

According to tradition, the First-Foot is the first person to cross the threshold of a house after midnight on New Year’s Day. The arrival of this special guest is believed to bring luck and prosperity for the year ahead.

Traditionally, the first visitor of the year must meet specific requirements: they should be male, tall, dark-haired, and, ideally, good-looking.

It’s said that the preference for dark-haired men dates back to the Viking invasions when lighter-haired visitors might signify imminent danger!

The First-Foot must also bring symbolic gifts, such as a silver coin, coal, whisky, salt, or sweets.

Once inside, the First-Foot is guided into the home—which has been thoroughly cleaned as per tradition—and places the coal in the fireplace.

Finally, they make a toast to the household and its residents.

If every detail of the ritual is observed, the First-Foot earns the privilege of kissing all the women in the family (hence the good looks being an advantage!).

Today, First-Footing is a delightful excuse to visit friends and neighbors, celebrating all night with songs, dances, and drinks in good company.

Other “first steps” considered particularly lucky include new brides, new mothers, and anyone born on January 1st.

▪︎ Singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ Together

Just after midnight, it’s tradition to sing Auld Lang Syne, written by Scotland’s great bard, Robert Burns.

Burns composed the lyrics for this famous song in 1788, although the melody predates it.

Though the meaning of the song remains somewhat unclear, it’s believed that the opening lines pose a rhetorical question:

“Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?”

The phrase auld lang syne roughly translates to “for the sake of old times.”

The song is about cherishing old friendships and reminiscing about the year’s events.

It’s sung worldwide, evoking a sense of belonging and brotherhood, tinged with nostalgia.

Auld Lang Syne,

known in Italy as The Candlelight Waltz, is a widely popular song in English-speaking countries, where it is traditionally sung on New Year’s Eve to bid farewell to the old year and welcome the new one.

This tradition originated in Scotland, where the song was traditionally sung during Hogmanay celebrations. It later spread to the rest of Britain and America through Scottish emigrants.

The title, a Scottish phrase, translates into English as old long since, meaning “the good old times.” The song tells the story of two friends who meet again after many years apart and toast to the cherished memories of the past that will never return.

Source: Scozia Viaggi.

Happy Hogmanay 🎇Bliadhna mhath ùr 🎇Buon Anno a @tutti

Il Capodanno in Scozia è qualcosa di incredibile ed ha un nome ben preciso: Hogmanay.

Se però vi state chiedendo cosa significa esattamente Hogmanay, quali sono le tradizioni vi lascio qui qualche informazione e simpatica curiosità.

Hogmanay è il termine scozzese che sta ad indicare l’ultimo giorno dell’anno ed è sinonimo delle feste e delle celebrazioni associate al Capodanno.

A differenza di altre parti del mondo, però, queste festività non si limitano solo ad una notte.

Le celebrazioni dell’Hogmanay di solito continuano a Capodanno e, talvolta, anche il 2 gennaio, che in Scozia è giorno festivo.

Le origini del nome Hogmanay non sono del tutto chiare e ci sono diverse teorie sull’origine del termine.

La più probabile sembra essere hoguinan, che in antico Normanno doveva significare regalo di capodanno.

Di certo, la parola esiste da almeno il 1604, quando è apparsa per la prima volta in documenti scritti.

Alcuni hanno, quindi, ipotizzato che Hogmanay derivi dalla parola francesce “hoginane” che significa “giorno di festa“.

Le tradizioni vichinghe sono poi andate a mescolarsi ai riti pagani già esistenti.

Gli spettacoli pirotecnici e le scenografiche fiaccolate/processioni che ora si godono a Edimburgo e in molte città della Scozia ricordano proprio le antiche feste pagane e le tradizioni vichinghe dei tempi passati.

Ci sono, peraltro, diverse tradizioni e superstizioni che in occasione dell’Hogmanay si dice andrebbero rispettate.

Siete pronti a scoprirle con noi?

▪︎Tra le varie tradizioni, ricordiamo la pulizia della casa (nota anche come Redding) e la rimozione delle ceneri dal fuoco e l’obbligo di estinguere tutti i debiti prima che “le campane” suonino a mezzanotte, .

Il messaggio di fondo è quello di eliminare i resti del vecchio anno, e, dopo una ripulita generale, dare il benvenuto a un nuovo e felice anno nuovo.

Al posto delle pulizie di primavera gli scozzesi fanno le pulizie di Capodanno, per preparare la casa all’anno che verrà.

▪︎First -Footing

Una delle più famose tradizioni di Hogmanay è però il First-Footing, che rientra a pieno titolo tra i riti propiziatori più originali del Capodanno.

Secondo la tradizione il First-Foot è la prima persona a varcare la soglia di una casa nell’anno nuovo dopo lo scoccare della mezzanotte.

L’ingresso di questo ospite speciale è in grado di assicurare fortuna e prosperità per l’anno appena iniziato.

Tradizione vuole che il primo visitatore dell’anno risponda a precisi e fondamentali requisiti: deve essere di sesso maschile, alto, bruno e, possibilmente, di bell’aspetto.

Si dice che il fatto che debba essere scuro di capelli risalga alle invasioni vichinghe, poiché i vichinghi erano in genere più biondi, quindi l’arrivo di un uomo biondo avrebbe potuto significare un pericolo imminente!

Il First-Foot deve, inoltre, portare con sé un dono simbolico, generalmente una moneta d’argento, del carbone, whisky, sale, biscotti o dolci.

Una volta entrato, il First-Foot dovrà essere accompagnato in casa, che come da tradizione sarà stata pulita da cima a fondo, e collocare il carbone nel fuoco del camino.

Infine, farà un brindisi in onore della casa e dei suoi residenti.

Se ogni dettaglio del rituale sarà stato osservato, al First-Foot sarà concesso di baciare tutte le donne della famiglia (capito perché dovrebbe essere di bell’aspetto?).

L’antica pratica del First-Footing è ormai diventata un simpatico pretesto per far visita ad amici e conoscenti e festeggiare tutta la notte in allegria, tra canti, balli e bevute in compagnia.

Altri “primi passi” ritenuti particolarmente fortunati sono le nuove spose, le neomamme e chiunque sia nato il 1° gennaio.

▪︎Cantare insieme ‘Auld Land Syne’

Subito dopo la mezzanotte è tradizione cantare insieme “Auld Lang Syne“, nella versione di Robert Burns, il grande bardo scozzese.

Burns scrisse il testo di questa famosa canzone nel 1788, sebbene la melodia esistesse già.

Anche se il significato di questa canzone continua a creare confusione, si pensa che i versi di apertura corrispondano ad una domanda retorica: “Un conoscente dovrebbe forse essere dimenticato e mai ricordato?”.

La frase “auld lang syne” si traduce approssimativamente in “per amore dei vecchi tempi“.

La canzone parla, infatti, di preservare le vecchie amicizie e ricordare insieme gli eventi dell’anno.

È cantata in tutto il mondo, evocando un senso di appartenenza e di fratellanza, venato di nostalgia.

Auld Lang Syne, conosciuta in Italia come Il Valzer delle Candele, è una delle canzoni più popolari nei paesi di lingua inglese, dove è tradizione intonarla a Capodanno per dare l’addio al vecchio anno e accogliere quello nuovo.

Questa tradizione ha avuto origine proprio in Scozia, dove la canzone veniva cantata durante le celebrazioni di Hogmanay. Successivamente, con l’emigrazione degli scozzesi, si diffuse nel resto della Gran Bretagna e negli Stati Uniti.

Il titolo, un’espressione scozzese, si traduce in inglese come old long since, ovvero “i bei tempi andati”. Il brano racconta la storia di due amici che, dopo molti anni di lontananza, si ritrovano, brindando ai ricordi dei momenti felici del passato che non torneranno più.

Fonte: Scozia Viaggi.

RICETTA SHORTBREAD

Ingredienti

300 g Farina

200 g Burro

100 g Zucchero

5 g Sale

Preparazione

Mettete il burro freddissimo di frigo e tagliato a pezzetti nel mixer insieme alla farina.

Frullate per qualche minuto in modo da ottenere un composto sbricioloso.

Trasferite il composto sul piano da lavoro e aggiungete zucchero e sale.

Impastate energicamente per qualche minuto fino ad ottenere un impasto liscio e omogeneo.

Avvolgete l’impasto nella pellicola trasparente e mettetelo a riposare in frigo per 1 ora circa.

Trascorso il tempo di riposo riprendete l’impasto, lavoratelo velocemente e stendetelo tra due fogli di carta forno.

Stendete con il matterello fino ad arrivare a uno spessore di circa 1 centimetro e tagliate a rettangoli i biscotti.

Bucherellate con uno stuzzicadenti in modo da farli più simili possibili agli originali e trasferiteli su carta forno.

Cuocete gli shortbread in forno preriscaldato a 180° per 15/20 minuti circa fino a che vedrete che inizieranno a diventare ambrati.

Sfornate gli shortbread e fateli raffreddare totalmente.

[emborgor]

Why Are Humans (Almost) Always United?

Feel free to give constructive criticism! I'm a new-er writer and improving my writing would be amazing.

We know that there are several kinds of governments that can spring up, but in most HSO posts I see, there are no corrupt governments or corporations for the most part. There may be the occasional thing, but it surely isn't a human or allied alien.

We, as humans, are always divided on Earth, just look at the countries and warring we do. We can never agree on anything!

I see the lack of division explained in two ways: One, that humans decided that in order to present themselves to aliens they must become one, under one governing body. Two, that some disaster brought them together under one common cause, and one body controlling the information, studies, and actions regarding this cause was easier than many countries or organizations.

I want to see several human corporations racing each other (yes, like the space race) for money, honor, or to be the face of the human race.

Li rolls its eyes as it scrolls through the news.

"Is a New Government Imminent?", "Riots Against The Human Coalition!", "What is the New Political Trend?"

"NexusTrek Overtaking The Human Coalition's Technology", "NexusTrek: Who Are They Anyways?", and "Exploration and Diplomacy vs. Terraforming and Trade"

No matter how these articles market themselves, as opinion works or informative, the bias is obvious to Li.

Humans had to chose who the face of their race would be to meet with the interstellar community's diplomats.

The Human Coalition would doubtlessly do anything in their power stop NexusTrek. They have stayed in power for far longer than many, including Li, think is right through this method.

Yay!!! Needless conflict, censorship, and damage to our world! We *just* cleaned ourselves up for the interstellar community to see.

It could not understand why, exactly, we felt so caught up in the need to chose one representative. Just because everyone else had one governing body did not mean that they had to have one too. It was just so frustrating how people could not look past their own political views and corruption.

More opportunity would be good for this race.

Maybe more perspectives would protect us from our own greed.

Xe gestured for a keyboard and typed in a search query, "why do aliens have one ruling body?"

The limited information they had access to was still enough to answer its question.

They did not have one. Not all of them. Several had divided themselves based on ideology, but that was millennia ago. Since then, the different ideologies had moved to their own planets and colonies. Some of them evolved separately! To what extent, xe did not know.

Would those few they still appear similar? Would they be a new race now? How did they handle their integration into the intergalactic community? Nothing it could find answered these burning questions.

Xe could only hope that the information she had collected would aide NexusTrek's PR team.

[zeciex]

So I was playing the old Pokémon games with my niece (who only just discovered Pokémon yet thinks it's the coolest thing ever and is surprised by my deep knowledge of the subject since I myself was obsessed at her age) and she was in the middle of catching various Pokémon when I saw one that made me think of Dae.

This is Budew:

It is a Grass/Poison type and here is its description:

"Budew keeps its buds closed during the cold winter, but opens them again in the spring and releases poisonous pollen. The pollen it scatters induces harsh sneezing and runny noses, and is more toxic depending on how clean the water it was fed with was. Budew's bud beginning to open is seen as the imminent arrival of spring. It lives near clean pools and ponds."

However the Pokémon that made me think of Dae wasn't Budew, but rather the last one in its its evolutionary path:

Its final evolution is Roserade, and here is its description:

"Roserade lures prey with a sweet aroma. The more toxic its poison, the sweeter its aroma becomes. Each hand has different toxins, but both hands can jab with near-deadly power. Roserade's right arm contains poisons that act faster, while its left arm contains poisons that act slower. Regardless, Roserade's poison can be life-threatening. It attacks with a dancer-like elegance and uses hidden whips covered with poisonous thorns."

This set me down the path of wanting to fill out Dae's team if she lived in a Pokémon world, so I picked 5 more Pokémon that I think would suit her.

Oddish:

Dae could pick the final evolution to be either Vileplume or Bellossom, but I think Vileplume would be the better option for her. Here is Vileplume's description:

"Vileplume can shake, flap, or burst its petals into bloom with a bang in order to release clouds of pollen. This pollen is yellow and highly allergenic to humans, and toxic to other Pokémon; Vileplume uses it to paralyze its prey before devouring it. The larger the Vileplume's petals are, the more potent the toxin on its pollen is. Vileplume's behavior of flapping its petals also makes very loud noises."

Nidoran male or female:

Each are poison types that have highly poisonous spikes but the male Nidoran are more aggressive.

Seedot:

Seedot is a Grass type but evolves into Grass/Dark types. Its final evolution, Shiftry, is a wicked and mysterious Pokémon that is feared as the guardian of the forest that can read minds and take preventative measures, which I think Dae would really like.

Sensing a pattern here (that I was picking a lot of poison or grass types), I decided to go a bit different for the next two, but I still think that they would suit Dae.

Ralts:

Ralts is a Psychic/Fairy type that can read others' emotions. Its evolutionary forms, Kirlia, Gardevoir, and Gallade can see into the future, while its final evolutionary form, either Gardevoir or Gallade, are intensely loyal and protective of their trainers and very good at combat. Only males have the potential to turn into Gallade with a Dawn Stone.

For Dae's final Pokémon, I decided to go with Eevee:

Eevee is special in that it has eight different evolutionary paths, so Daenera could pick whatever type she wanted to have in the end.

Last but not least, I would like to show an alternate that I had, Bulbusaur:

What do you think of my list? Do you think these Pokémon would suit Dae?

I LOVE the whole deck you've assembled, or whatever you call your Pokémon collection, I've never fallen into the fandom but every kid has dipped their toes into it.

I love Evie, most of these are new to me, but I LOVE them so much <3 You really put thought into these and they fit Daenera so well. (She'd kill me immediately with these because I am heavily allergic to pollen, it knocks my teeth out and nose into my skull each year.) These are so good and I really appreciate the effort and thought you've put into it--it makes me giddy <3

[metalhoops]

Like a lesser hero in a fantasy tale, the night was cut clean in two by the dull glow of a flashlight beam, flanked by two boys. It was an odd pastime but a familiar one to them. They had grown at home in the strange dark places of the town, aware of what might be lurking in the shadows between the pines. 

Eddie, the first boy, with his hair and clothes as black as the forest floor, shook the silent woods with the intermittent clatter of his stainless-steel rings on the metal shaft of the light, his makeshift weapon. Each ring was a treasured yet well-worn possession. The ear of the pig ring and the temple of the skull were permanently scratched from the repeated action.

Steve, the other boy, was more prepared. He came brandishing a baseball bat, its wooden body a sister to the surrounding trees with a halo of gnarled nails, hinting at the more sinister air of their surroundings.  

Unlike Eddie’s fantasy games, the backstory didn’t matter. It was the reason the boys were there, of course, but it was also the imminent threat they didn’t wish to speak of. In their shared pasts, there had been portals to other worlds, monsters beyond human comprehension and near-death experiences that’d brought on the winter of Eddie’s life, and the spring of Steve’s. 

Eddie had spent the past month jumping at shadows in the corner of his new bedroom or in the woods beyond the trailer park. Steve, on the other hand, had bloomed beautifully and brutally before Eddie’s eyes. Before the Upside Down, he would look at Steve and all he’d feel was ire, righteous indignation and a small yet frustrating, pang of lust. 

When he looked at Steve in the yellow glow of the torchlight, he saw a man who’d come when Eddie called, in the middle of the night, with haste and a plan. He saw someone who believed in him or at least, cared enough about him to go willingly into the night when Eddie had reported seeing sinister shapes shift past his window.

It was enough to get Steve to leave the confines of his isolated mansion and slum it with the poor folk down in the proverbial trenches. Eddie now saw a man he very well might be in love with. Jagged shadows cast by stray branches sliced across his face, resembling the snaking vines of the Upside Down. The boys had barely escaped the place and every moment after felt as though they were living on borrowed time. 

“What’d you say we do one more loop past the old train tracks and call it a night?” Steve asked, at last, his body sticking close to Eddie’s side. He felt a pang of guilt for dragging Steve out of bed, again, just to find nothing. 

“We can head back now, I’m probably going crazy, man.” 

“No, I wanna check. Otherwise, it’ll bug the hell outta me. We’ve all been a little crazy after everything we’ve been through. I mean, I’ve almost died like ten times. Think the eleventh time might be the one that sticks- you know?” 

It reminded them of another night, in another world. It had been a quick yet intimate conversation with a stranger. If we get out of this, Eddie had thought at the time, I might actually want to get to know this guy. Months had passed. He still felt like he didn’t know Steve enough to say what he wanted to say, but Steve needed to hear it. 

“That’d be a real bummer, you know? If you died. I wouldn’t have anyone to go on long walks in the moonlight with.” 

The two boys had fallen out of step with one another. Steve had charged forward in the semi-darkness leaving Eddie a few paces behind.

“Nancy would come with you.  After the first time, when Will and Nancy’s friend went missing, she’d swing by my house, and we’d sit on the deck chairs watching the pool. Honestly, you might be better off with her. She’d bring a gun,” Steve spoke, tossing the jagged bat from hand to hand, with the skill of an ex-high school sports star. 

“Why is it you and I always end up in the woods trying to set each other up with Nancy goddamn Wheeler?” Eddie spoke disbelievingly as he jogged to catch up with Steve. He laughed, his hand bumping Eddie’s side as the two fell back into step. 

“She’s not my type, Stevie. You can have her,” Eddie tacked on, trying to defuse some of the tension that had arisen between them, skimming his light amongst the trees. 

“I don’t think she’s my type either. Well— not anymore. We tried it. It didn’t work out. We wanted different things,” Steve admitted.

Once they reached the train tracks, Steve surveyed the old wood and rusted metal. The place also had history. He could smell freezer burn and rotten meat on the breeze. When looking at Eddie’s profile he felt a sudden charge to the air like the calm before a thunderstorm. 

He thought of a conversation he’d had years before with Dustin on those very tracks. He knew with sudden certainty why he’d hauled himself out of bed in the middle of the night, once again to chase Eddie’s hunches. He and Dustin had been talking about love.  He gave himself the same advice he’d given the kid all those years before. 

Don’t fall in love. It’ll only break your heart.

“Right, you wanted that whole hoard of kids and an R.V. vacation thing? Three girls, three boys. A whole brood of Harringtons,” Eddie breathed, kicking up dirt and leaves with his shoes. Steve shot Eddie a perplexed glance, surprised he’d been listening and shocked he’d remembered the statement word for word.

“Right, yeah. I know, make fun all you want, dude. It’s crazy I know.” Once more, they fell out of step. 

Eddie stopped while Steve kept walking, playing the role of a funambulist, his hands outstretched as though standing at a great height as he walked foot over foot across the thin metal. 

“This might surprise you Steve but for once I wasn’t going to give you shit,” Eddie replied, walking beside Steve, jumping from wooden beam to wooden beam. 

The metal track gave Steve a good half inch of height, making it so that for once the two weren’t eye to eye. Eddie kept flicking the light between the vast track ahead of them and the empty woods behind. He still felt as though any moment something could burst through the cracks in the earth left in the wake of the quake and drag them back down into Eddie’s personal version of hell. He couldn’t help but think of Steve’s words. The eleventh time would stick. Eddie didn’t know what he’d do without him. 

“So, what do you want?” Steve asked, shaking Eddie from his thoughts. When his answer didn’t immediately present itself, Steve continued.

“I mean, you know what I want. Six nuggets, touring the country. What do you want?” 

The question startled a scoff out of Eddie. It wasn’t as though anyone had bothered to ask him that before. He didn’t know. 

“I’ve got no clue. I’m not like you. I don’t sit around thinking about the future. I’m just trying to get through today,” Eddie confessed, speaking more candidly than he’d intended. 

“Alright. You don’t know what you want to do with the rest of your life. That’s pretty normal, but having nothing? Dude. You’ve gotta have something. Let’s start small. What do you want to do tomorrow?” 

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind having breakfast with my uncle and spending some time with the kids and the band. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get to see you, hopefully under some better circumstances,” Eddie explained as Steve misstepped, almost falling from his perch. 

He corrected himself, placing an outstretched hand on Eddie’s shoulder for balance. Eddie tried not to preen beneath the other boy’s touch. 

“I like the sound of that,” Steve confirmed, daring a glance at Eddie. 

The storm within him continued to brew. Eddie’s plans for whatever small future stretched out before them involved Steve, which was more than he’d gotten from anyone else.

Nancy wanted a career in investigative journalism. She wanted to change the world for the better. It was a noble goal. One Steve had admired endlessly but he couldn’t help but feel like a small child asking for a seat at the grown-up table when trying to compete with the hopes and dreams of Nancy Wheeler. For her, he would’ve changed his dreams to play a small part in her life, but he’d come to realise that wasn’t a good way to love. 

Every relationship Steve had went to hell eventually. He didn’t want the same fate with Eddie. He wanted to continue walking the fine line between friendship and whatever awaited them on the other side of the electric storm. Steve didn’t know if he was ready for all the complications being in love with Eddie would entail. It’d wreak havoc on his sense of self and take a hatchet to his dreams of white picket fences. That was on the slim chance Eddie felt the same way about him. 

When Steve looked at Eddie he felt as though he were back at the bottom of Lovers Lake. To love Eddie was to drown beneath the crushing weight of possibilities. 

“You okay?” Eddie asked, a hint of concern in his tone. 

It was only then that Steve realised he’d stopped walking, his knuckles turning white as his fingers dug into the fabric of Eddie’s jacket. 

No. Steve was far from okay, but he couldn’t voice it without ruining everything. 

“I need a minute,” Steve muttered, stumbling back from Eddie, removing his hand as though he’d grabbed the wrong end of a hot poker. 

He’d moved on instinct, forgetting where he stood on his precarious perch. He tumbled ass backwards off the train tracks, trying to save whatever sense of dignity he had left by scrambling to his feet quickly. He heard his bat clatter to the forest floor as he headed off into the woods, unsure of his direction. He needed space to sort his head out. 

There were only two ways Steve knew how to face a crisis; two base and primal instincts, fight or run. Eddie wasn’t a wayward creature that devoured cats or a schoolyard bully. He couldn’t punch himself loveless and doing anything to hurt Eddie was worse than torture. 

Steve wanted Eddie to hit him. It’d shake loose some of the tension in his chest at the sight of the boy’s brown eyes; the eyes that reminded Steve of the deep warm wood that was fashionable in homes during his childhood. The familiar floorboards of the entryway where he’d lay with Tommy after hours of swimming, drip-drying on the wood, warping it to the shape of their bodies. 

Eddie’s eyes reminded him of home. Not the place he’d grown up in, but the sensation one felt when they recalled a fond memory, years removed from context and complications. Steve couldn’t imagine a future where Eddie would hurt him, even if that’s what he wanted. 

He did what he did best. He ran away. 

Without Eddie’s flashlight, the woods were a gaping maw of some unseen creature. Even the breeze on the back of his neck felt warm. Steve collapsed at the base of a tree and searched his pockets for a lighter. He didn’t bring his cigarettes but there was something soothing about the weight of the object in his hand and the repeated action of sparking the flint and extinguishing the fire with a twist of his wrist. 

Steve heard approaching footsteps signalled by the crunch of leaves underfoot.  He prayed Eddie wouldn’t ask why he’d run. If he asked, Steve knew he’d tell him. Then they’d both be screwed. 

Steve tried to spark the lighter again, but no flame would ignite. It was out of lighter fluid. Just his goddamn luck.  

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice echoed through the trees. 

The direction was all wrong. Eddie’s call came from a distance. The footsteps were close. Right goddamn on top of him. Fuck. 

Steve acted fast, fumbling in the underbrush, trying to find a weapon. He grabbed a stray branch with enough heft to wield. He was good at making use of what he had. He held the wood aloft, scrambled to his feet and fumbled with the lighter, desperate to get one last spark out of it. He knew how much the creatures hated fire. In a way, he was thankful that he knew what he was dealing with for once. 

The swiftness of the footfalls and the length of the shadows cutting through the blackness let him know within seconds he would be face to face with a full-sized Demogorgon. 

Steve felt the creature before he saw it. A sudden force collided into his body knocking him from his feet. He had just enough time to get the jagged end of the stick between himself and the creature. He felt the branch wade into the creature’s soft flesh. 

Eddie called his name once more, drawing the creature's attention away from him. Steve had an opening.

His trembling hands flicked the lighter again. This time, for a brief and brilliant moment, it sparked. He shoved the naked flame against the creature's wound. He wasn’t sure if he’d hurt it or just made it mad. It thrashed and writhed, grabbing at Steve’s body, and pounding him into the damp earth. Now Steve had its attention. 

He tried to strike out but this time the monster was too quick, its body bared down on Steve and before he knew it, he was face to face with the monster's strange unfurling flesh mouth and razor-sharp teeth. So, this was how he’d die. 

“Mother fucker,” Eddie muttered as two shifting figures caught his attention. 

Steve was pinned to the ground by something that looked fresh out of his nightmares. The others had told him there were more things out there than the bats and demonic, skinless hell-wizard they’d faced but Eddie’s mind had never been able to conjure a creature that would match the true beast before him. 

Steve was doing his best to keep the creature at arms-length. A rotted wooden branch cut at the palm of Steve’s hands and had gone straight through the thing’s body.  Eddie scoured his brain, trying to remember everything he’d been told about the creature. Heat. They hated heat. 

Eddie had grabbed Steve’s bat as he followed him. He’d wanted to be the kind of person who could give Steve space but every fibre of his being had told him to chase after the boy so he had. 

He dropped the flashlight to free up a hand and searched the pockets of his jacket, thankful he always had his lighter handy. He knew Steve would be pissed if Eddie torched his favourite weapon, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He’d rather have Steve pissed than not have him at all. 

He set fire to the bat, throwing more hellish shadows over the wicked tableau of the snarling beast and the desperate boy pinned beneath its grasp. The smell of burning wood and flesh hung heavy in the air. He had the element of surprise on his side. 

The flaming bat collided with the creature’s skull sending it reeling. It let out an inhuman whaling that scattered the nightbirds. Eddie readied the bat to swing again, expecting the beast to charge. Instead, it ran off into the blackness of the night. It’d finally happened. What they all knew had been inevitable. The Upside Down, and in turn Vecna was back. Though for now, he and Steve had brought themselves time. 

Eddie watched as Steve sat wide-eyed but seemingly unharmed. He guessed Steve Harrington had more lives left in him yet. Thank Christ. 

“Please tell me that looked as badass as it felt,” Eddie breathed trying to alleviate some of the tension between them. 

He dropped the bat, snuffing out what was left of the flame and moved unthinkingly to pat down Steve’s body, checking for wounds. He had a gash on his forehead and a split lip, but he’d live. 

“It looked pretty badass,” Steve confirmed and froze as Eddie’s hands raked through his hair. 

“You’ve got something in your...” Eddie’s voice trailed off as he pulled a leaf out of Steve’s hair, holding it aloft in front of his face. 

Steve’s eyes glanced from the leaf to Eddie before tentatively reaching out, his hands searching the planes of his body, dancing cautiously over the barely healed wounds that’d once littered his side. Steve was checking him over.

“I’m okay. You okay?” Eddie assured holding up a hand before reaching into the back pocket of his jeans. 

He pulled out his bandana and inched forward to wrap it around the gash on Steve’s head. The boy cringed beneath his touch. Eddie muttered an apology. 

“I’ll live,” Steve confirmed leaning back, trying to get some space between them. 

Eddie hadn’t realised how close they were. He shifted back, remembering with sudden clarity that Steve had practically begged Eddie to give him a second alone. He wasn’t willing to do that, given they’d already run into one hell beast that night. There could be others. He did something uncharacteristic. Eddie Munson sat with Steve in silence. 

They sat in stillness for so long that the birds and insects returned to the woods around them. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie spoke when the silence was too loud. He didn’t know what he was apologising for, but he couldn’t think of anything better to say. 

Steve looked up at the boy with alarm. 

“What’re you sorry for?” He asked, feeling as though he was caught in another echo of the past. 

He remembered a seemingly endless car ride to Nancy’s house, trying to find ways to apologise for some transgression he wasn’t sure he’d committed. He’d wanted to apologise because he’d loved Nancy and he’d been scared of losing her. 

He wondered what motivations were behind Eddie’s apology. He worried that The Upside Down’s strange relationship with time had leaked into Hawkins, that some pasts were destined to repeat. 

“I don’t know,” Eddie admitted after a breath, letting out a nervous laugh. 

“I’m sorry for doing whatever I did to make you go all space cadet on me. Tell me what I did, and I can tell you I’m sorry,” he continued. 

Steve was certain at that moment, Eddie loved him too. It was already too late to change things. They were trains on a track, their futures seemingly already locked in place.

“You know if you want someone to talk to about whatever’s going on in that head of yours, I’m here Steve,” Eddie kept pushing, unable to take Steve’s silence as an answer. 

His tone was so soft, sincere and unlike anything that Steve expected from the boy that he couldn’t help but speak the words out loud, despite his better judgment. 

“I love you.” 

Eddie had thought he’d been prepared for anything, but he hadn’t been prepared for that. It was then that Steve let out a strangled sound between a scoff and a groan. 

“And it's screwed now. I always mess it up.”  

Eddie could hardly hear the boy’s voice over the rush of blood in his ears. His heart was a high-strung choir, singing the same repeated tune, ‘Steve loves me’. When his common sense kicked into gear, he noted the panic in Steve’s eyes and knew he needed to say something. 

“I love you too,” Eddie managed, feeling both heavier and lighter. 

He’d never said it before. He sure as hell hadn’t pictured a world where he’d admit he loved a boy before they’d started dating. Steve was moving at a breakneck speed and Eddie was desperately trying to catch up. To his surprise, Steve hardly stirred at the confession. 

“I know,” Steve admitted sounding broken as his eyes met Eddie’s. He gave the boy a tight-lipped grimace. All of Eddie’s momentary joy fell just as it’d begun to soar. 

“Please tell me that was a Star Wars reference,” Eddie whispered, earning a real smile from Steve. It was soft and fleeting as freshly felled snow on a warm palm. He knew despite all of Steve’s posturing, he was a huge nerd when it came to science fiction. 

“Eds, my track record...” Steve’s voice trailed off. 

Eddie realised the thing Steve had been dancing around. They were still talking about Nancy goddamn Wheeler in the woods. 

“Stevie,” he breathed, for once at a loss for words. 

He was a storyteller, but he didn’t want to give Steve a story. He couldn’t promise him a world where everything was perfect. They lived in a land of blight and monsters, a time of trouble. The town was still after Eddie’s head on a pike and Steve was running out of goodwill with those that’d once called him king. He wanted to show Steve what they were. 

Damn the past. Kill all possible futures. All they had was the brief and infinite present. 

Eddie wanted to show Steve what they could be at that moment. 

He crossed the space between them, pausing for a breath, leaving room for Steve to push him away. When no such protest arose, he placed one hand on Steve’s cheek, the other cupping the nape of his neck. 

“I’m not good at this either,” Eddie admitted tentatively. 

He’d kissed guys before. It’d always been desperate and sloppy. He didn’t want loving Steve to feel like an afterthought as it had with the other men. 

“But I think it’s worth a shot,” Eddie concluded. 

He’d laid everything out on the table, all that was left was for Steve to pick it up or turn it down. 

Steve didn’t surge forward. Instead, he moved achingly slow. One hand landed on Eddie’s thigh, the other tangled in his hair. He gave a gentle tug to pull him that last inch closer. 

Eddie’s lips were wind-chaffed and cool, melting ice on bare skin, shocking and a good kind of painful. Steve’s face had the faintest hint of stubble, it was rough as the rocks, and forest foliage beneath their bodies. He smelled of wet earth, blood, and faded cologne. Their hands traced each other’s topography with fingers, lips and tongues, toppling over in the process. 

When they pulled apart the whole world seemed to hold its breath. The wind was still. The night was silent. An invisible audience waited with bated breath for a conclusion. 

“Christ,” Eddie choked, hand fluttering dramatically to his heart. It was a kick drum in his chest. 

Steve’s hand followed, sliding beneath Eddie’s shirt. 

“Christ,” Steve echoed with a goofy grin. Eddie loved him. The thought came easily. It was the only thought populating his mind. 

“We should probably, you know, shelve this and try to stop the world ending... again,” Eddie proposed, trying to think straight. 

“Only if you promise to take me on a date after,” Steve countered. He pulled himself to his feet and extended a hand to Eddie. 

“Me take you? You’re meant to be the ladies' man with the killer dates,” Eddie argued, falling into step with Steve easily. 

“Exactly. It’d be nice to be the one getting the flowers for a change. Technically you’re the one who wanted to give this a shot. I’ll get the second date.” 

Eddie scoffed disbelievingly. The cocky bastard.  He’d never picked Steve as someone who liked flowers. He’d give Steve a garden, a forest, a kingdom. 

“Alright, save the world. Buy you flowers. Go on a first date. Go on a second date. Seems like I might actually have a plan for the next few days down pact.” 

“And after that?” Steve prompted. 

“If you want me to say six nuggets and a Winnebago you’ve gotta buy me dinner first.” 

[kingmabry]

G.V. SUBBARAMAYYA,

part 3

Though Sri Bhagavan made an enormous impact on me at this first meeting, it was not until the spring of 1936, three years later, that I paid my second visit. On that occasion, I brought with me a note of introduction from Sri G. Sambasiva Rao Garu. I handed the note to Sri Bhagavan when I presented myself in the hall.

Before he had even perused its contents he gave me a knowing nod and a gracious smile.

'Why the introduction?' he asked. 'You have come before. You are not new.'

To add to my wonder, I now felt as though my dead father had come back to life. The resemblance was striking. Lest it should be dismissed as my fancy, I might add that my cousin, Sri VV Narayanappa, who saw Sri Bhagavan later, observed to me, 'Sri Bhagavan looks the very picture of my uncle, your father'.

That settled my relation to Sri Bhagavan for all time. He was not only Guru, Maharshi, Bhagavan, he was also my father. My approach to Sn Bhagavan has ever since been that of a child to its parent, quite fearless, free, and familiar.

Several years before, I had been initiated into two mantras and had been enjoined to repeat them a minimum number of times every day. I had been doing this practice punctiliously, but now, after entering the ashram, I had no mind to repeat the mantras or do any other kind of formal worship. After a few days, I was seized with the fear of incurring a sin by failing to observe the instructions that were given to me at the time of my initiation. I approached Sri Bhagavan himself, made a clean breast of my default, and asked him what I should do.

Sri Bhagavan smiled and replied, 'You have done so much japa. Its merit has brought you here. While you are enjoying the fruit of your japa, why should you worry or be afraid?

At a much later date, I questioned Sri Bhagavan about the difference between japa done with the mind and meditation. Sri Bhagavan replied by saying, 'They are the same. In both, the mind is concentrated on one thing, the mantra or the Self. Mantra, japa, meditation - these are only different names. So long as they require effort, we call them by these names, but when the Self is realized, these go on without effort and what was formerly the means becomes the goal.'

I had also at this time a more serious trouble. I had been practicing breath control as taught by Swami Ramatirtha in his works. There came a stage when I felt a terrible sensation. I felt that my head was about to crack open and break into many pieces. I stopped doing this practice, but every day the sensation recurred at the time I used to practice. I was afraid that some disaster was imminent. In the middle of the night, when Sri Bhagavan was alone, I approached him with my tale.

He said, laughing, 'What! Again you are seized with fear! These are the usual experiences of people who do yogic exercises without the immediate guidance of a Guru, but having come to me, why should you fear?'

Then Sri Bhagavan added in an undertone, 'Next time you get that sensation, think of me and you will be all right.'

From that moment to this, I have never felt that sensation again, so there has been no need to think of Sri Bhagavan on that account.

The Power of the Presence, III.

[breelandwalker]

Worm Moon - March 25, 2024

The world is thawing and spring will soon be sprung. Dust off your garden tools and get ready for the Worm Moon!

Worm Moon

The Worm Moon is the name given to the full moon which occurs in the month of March in the Northern Hemisphere. Most sources claim this name is taken from the renewed visible presence of vermicast (worm droppings) and earthworms themselves, as the spring thaw allows them to emerge from the soil.

There is a possible alternative explanation, involving a colonial explorer's notes about the Naudowessie (Dakota) observation of emerging worm-like beetle larvae from the bark of trees. "Every month has with them a name expressive of its season; for instance, they call the month of March (in which their year generally begins at the first New Moon after the vernal Equinox) the Worm Month or Moon; because at this time the worms quit their retreats in the bark of the trees, wood, &c. where they have sheltered themselves during the winter." (It's entirely possible that this "worm" in this instance is a mistranslation of an indigenous word for "larva," since it refers to the larval state of certain beetles. Without knowing whether the language in question makes a distinction between larval worms and earthworms, it's impossible to tell, and I was unable to find further sources.)

Other North American Indigenous names for this moon include Goose Moon (Algonquin and Cree) and Crow Comes Back Moon (Northern Ojibwe), in reference to the reappearance of migratory birds, and Sugar Moon (Ojibwe) and Sap Moon (Shawnee), in reference to the season in which the maple sap begins to run and can be tapped for the production of maple syrup.

Fun Fact: The term "Worm Moon" only occurs in southerly indigenous nations. The March moon is commonly named for trees or birds in more northerly areas of North America because in those places, the native species of earthworms went extinct during the period when glaciers covered that portion of the continent. About 12,000 years ago when the glaciers receded, the forest grew back without earthworms. The species which now inhabit those areas are invasive or introduced specimens originating from Europe and Asia.

The March moon, if it occurs prior to the spring equinox, is also the Lenten Moon, named for the Christian holiday of Lent. If it occurs after the equinox, it is called the Paschal Full Moon, corresponding with the Christian holiday of Easter, or Paschal Sunday (This year's Worm Moon will occur the week after the equinox and Easter Sunday will be March 31st.)

What Does It Mean For Witches?

Full moons are both the beginning and end of the lunar cycle. With the Worm Moon, we can look forward to the beginning of spring and the yearly harvest cycle. So now is the perfect time for seasonal divination, plans for the coming months, and the setting of goals for the future, both short-term and long-term. You can also check in with goals you may have set back in January and record your progress. (Remember - even a little progress is still progress!)

Consider also how you can change or begin new routines and habits to improve your life, make better choices, streamline your schedule, or just give yourself a much-needed break. If there’s something hanging around that no longer serves you, now is the time to consider bidding it adieu and moving forward to a new path.

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

The Worm Moon heralds the imminent start of the planting season. If you’ve got green fingers, now is the time to begin planning your garden for the season. Prepare your sprouting trays and browse your favorite seed catalog for inspiration.

It’s also time for that all-important spring cleaning, so open up those windows on a warm day and air out all the staleness from winter. As you scrub and dust and declutter, you can also magically cleanse your space of stagnant, disruptive, or unwanted things, replacing them with your own energy and your good wishes and goals for the upcoming season.

This is also an excellent time for spells focused on fertility, optimism, and new growth. It’s important to remember that fertility spells don’t just have to focus on procreation. They can also be geared toward planting, creating, opportunity, inspiration, motivation, prosperity, abundance, and anything that requires nurturing and productivity.

The season of growth and renewal is upon us, so it’s time to Ready, Set, GROW!

Happy Worm Moon, witches! 🌕🌱

Further Reading:

Worm Moon: Full Moon for March 2024, The Old Farmer’s Almanac.

Worm Moon: The Stunning Full Moon of March 2024, The Peculiar Brunette.

Travels Through the Interior Parts of North America, in the Years 1766, 1767 and 1768, Capt. Jonathan Carver, London, 1781. (Text available on Project Gutenberg)

The Next Full Moon is a "Supermoon" Crow Moon, NASA, March 5 2020.

Easter and the Paschal Full Moon: Determining the Date of Easter, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison, Llewellyn Publications, 2004.

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[baycitystygian]

bruh I kinda had an epiphany?

been going through my entire camera roll for Christmas gift related projects and when I hit spring of last year I literally felt the depression all over again seeing the last photo of Sammy, the empty room after I manic-cleaned it the second I came home that day so I could make room for another kitty, photos from just before my grandmother got sick... of course a hyperfixation was imminent. There's no way it couldn't have been- my brain needed something good.

[thatlaylachick]

☆ a fractured fairytale post 🧚‍♀️ ✨️ ☆

Her mother watched as she collected her belongings. She was used to this, but didn't like it all the same.

"Now, promise me that you'll send word upon your arrival back...there." She said quiet but stoically.

"Of course, Mother. It shall be the first thing I do." She took her mother's cold hand in her own.

"Don't be silly, Love. I know he is going to want to hug and kiss you...and I know you will want to do the same to him. " Her mother's sad eyes twinkled.

"I know how you used to feel about him, Mother. I know I felt similarly. But he's a good man and I know he appreciates you too." She pulled her mom in closer for one of those hugs that seemed impossible to break away from.

Her mother held her tightly.

"Yes, that is true. I once hated him for stealing away my baby. But I know he loves you, and you him. All I want for you is your sincere happiness." A tear slid down her cheek.

"Don't cry, Mother! You know I shall return when the blossoms start to re-emerge, and the birds begin to appear in the blue skies." Persephone said through tears of her own. "Use your grief to do what you've always done - clean the slate and allow nature to rest."

"Yes, Darling. I shall. Once I know you are safe in your other home, I'm preparing to unleash the first big storms of the season. It will feel good to let it all out." Demeter was the one to break the embrace.

"Finish up, Dear. Hades awaits. And I have a large storm to send out to the masses."

Just then, the wind howled and the curtains billowed back into the room.

"Hold your horses, Mother. I'm not gone yet." Persephone giggled.

"I was just warming up, Love." Demeter touched Persephone's cheek.

"I know your husband will be happy to have you back. But so will I come the Spring."

Just then lightning streaked across the sky and thunder shook the valley below.

Deep in the Underworld, Hades smiled.

"She's on her way..." he whispered in the darkness. "Thank you, Mother Demeter. I'll take good care of her." He stood and went to prepare his wife's chamber for her imminent arrival.

[torpublishinggroup]

How to Worship Your Dragon: Julia Vee & Ken Bebelle Advise

Julia Vee & Ken Bebelle wrote a book that’s like female John Wick with dragon magic and it’s called Ebony Gate and guess what! It’s out TODAY. We actually have Julia & Ken with us as special guests for Dragon Week, so check out their scholarly article on rituals of dragon worship, and then check out their high octane urban fantasy full of magic and assassins!

Check it out!

A Brief Description of Rituals to Worship Chinese Dragons by Julia Vee & Ken Bebelle

1. Make Your Annual Pilgrimage to a Local Dragon King and Dragon Mother Temple For Blessings

Dragon King and Dragon Mother temples dot the Asian countryside. If you are in the northern reaches of China, get yourself to the Heilongdawang Temple (literally “Black Dragon Great King”) located in Longwanggou (“Dragon King Valley”) in Shaanxi province where you can njoy six days of festivities.

Modern Chinese scholars note that folkloric traditions and religions are having a revival.1 And why not? Festivities for the Great Black Dragon King include opera, dancers, circus performers, games, fireworks, and of course, gambling. This particular dragon king is more highly regarded than other local dragon kings because of his imperially conferred official title–the Marquis of Efficacious Response (Lingyinghou, 灵应侯).2

The Heilongdawang festival draws hundreds of thousands of pilgrims, all ready to donate generously to the temple coffers, burn incense, and otherwise eat copious quantities at the food stalls.

Or you can participate in a rain-summoning ceremony. In the drought-prone north, one ritual to summon rain included “casting tiger bones into a pool of water in order to scare dragons into flight, thereby creating rainclouds.”3

If you are in southern China, on the eighth day of the fifth month on the lunar calendar, you can join in with over a hundred thousand pilgrims to visit the Dragon Mother Temple in Guangdong. This temple sits along the Xijiang River and leans against Wulong (Five Dragons) Mountain. The area is known as the Pearl River Delta, and Dragon Mother devotees are spread widely across the West river and into Hong Kong and Macau. The Lung Mo temple on Pengchau island (Hong Kong) is situated on the beach.

The origins of the Dragon Mother reach back longer than the established official story, which goes something like this:

There was a young woman named Wen from Wuzhou. One day while washing clothes in the West River, she found a giant stone. From the stone sprung five lizards, who grew into dragons. She raised them tenderly and when her village had drought, the dragons brought rain. When the river threatened to flood, the dragons were there to divert the floodwaters. When she was quite elderly, the Emperor summoned her to the capital. Her dragon sons prevented the arduous journey (which was by river of course). When she passed away in 211 B.C. her dragon sons were devastated and transformed into five human scholars who held her funeral rites and buried her in Jiangwan.

Later, she was elevated in status to a deity, rising to the heavens as an immortal.

Pilgrims consider this eighth day of the fifth lunar month the Dragon Mother’s birthday and observe time-honored rituals. First, they wash their hands in the Dragon Spring to clean off the worldly dirt. The pilgrims then burn incense and present gifts at the temple. They bow, then kneel on the floor, and pray to the goddess. After this devotion, they light off firecrackers to respectfully invite the Dragon Mother to receive their gifts and fulfill their wishes.4

As one scholar notes, “It is not a coincidence that the pilgrimage to the Dragon Mother Temple falls on the eighth day of the fifth lunar month, as the fifth lunar month was the time when the danger of seasonal flooding of the West River (which is commonly known as “xiliao 西 潦,” literally “west flood”) was the most imminent. The West River therefore was both a lifeline and a constant threat to the local people, who felt a real need to appease the river as well as to express their gratitude to the river goddess on this annual festive occasion.”5

The Dragon Mother and other water goddess (“Shuimu”) traditions go back millennia and it’s not hard to see why. The specter of drought, famine, or flooding was constant. Seafaring populations too, had multiple goddesses they sought blessings from for their safe voyage (Dragon Mother, Sea Goddess Mazu, and the shuimu (“Water Goddess”).

In 1861, John Henry Gray observed a ceremony to the Dragon Mother:

“…On a small temporary altar, which had been erected for the occasion, stood three cups containing Chinese wine. Taking in his hands a live fowl, which he continued to hold until he killed it as a sacrifice, the master proceeded in the first place to perform the Kowtow. He then took the cups from the table, one at a time, and, raising each above his head, poured its contents on the deck as a libation. He next cut the throat of the fowl with a sharp knife, taking care to sprinkle that portion of the deck on which he was standing with the blood of the sacrifice. At this stage of the ceremony several pieces of silver paper were presented to him by one of the crew. These were sprinkled with the blood, and then fastened to the door-posts and lintels of the cabin.”6

It wasn’t just sailors and locals to the West river who observed such pilgrimages and prayer rituals. When there was a drought, even government officials were tasked with conducting prayers to the Dragon King.

2. Failure to Worship the Dragon King, or Worse, Destruction of a Dragon King Temple, Can Lead to Heaven-Sent Disaster!

During the Great Flood of 1931 in Wuhan, one official lamented that the people blamed the flood on the destruction of a Dragon King Temple.7 The Dragon King Temple in Hankou had been demolished in 1930 to make way for a new road, so the timing of the flood was uncanny.

This flood affected 53 million people. The officials of Wuhan had to repent. Several prominent officials of Wuhan participated in rituals designed to placate the Dragon King, including the mayor. They kowtowed to the Dragon King altar, beseeching the deity to spare Wuhan from the flood.

Citizens of the region also blamed officials for outlawing the singing of “spirit operas” traditionally performed to assuage flood dragons.8

To those who worshiped the Dragon King, destroying his temple that sat atop the dyke was clearly a bad idea.

3. Maybe a River Near You Has a Dragon Deity.

Even if a Dragon King or Dragon Mother temple isn’t available, you can still make a pilgrimage to the rivers. At least forty rivers in China are named for dragons including these rivers in Shanghai: Shanghai: Longquangang He 龍泉港河 (Dragon Spring Port River), Bailonggang He 白龍港河 (White Dragon Port River).9

Just be sure to be properly deferential, and perhaps offer a song to the river dragon.

—Julia Vee & Ken Bebelle

We would like to thank Dr. Yasmin Koppen of University Leipzig for her friendship, and generously sharing her expertise and scholarship in East Asian dragons.

Works Cited

Chau, Adam Yuet “Mysterious Response: Doing Popular Religion in Contemporary China” (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2006) 88.

Fan Lizhu and Chen Na “Resurgence of Indigenous Religion in China” (2013) 11.

Courtney, Chris “The Dragon King and the 1931 Wuhan Flood: Religious Rumors and Environmental Disasters in Republican China” (University of Cambridge, Twentieth-Century China 40.2, May 2015) p. 88.

Tan, Weiyun “Dragon mother temple keeps legend alive for 2 millennia” Shine, Nov. 12, 2021 https://www.shine.cn/feature/art-culture/2111128066/

Poon, Shuk-Wah. "Thriving Under an Anti-Superstition Regime: The Dragon Mother Cult in Yuecheng, Guangdong, During the 1930s." Journal of Chinese Religions 43, no. 1 (2015): 34-58. muse.jhu.edu/article/708611.

Poon, pg 41.

Courtney at p. 83.

Courtney at p. 100.

Zhao, Qiguang Chinese Mythology in the Context of Hydraulic Society Asian Folklore Studies Vol. 48, No. 2 (1989), pp. 231-246.

cindyxiong. “Ancient Bronze Dragons Carving in the Ancient Dragon King Temple along Yangtze River,China. Foreign Text Means King. Stock Photo.” Adobe Stock, stock.adobe.com/images/ancient-bronze-dragons-carving-in-the-ancient-dragon-king-temple-along-yangtze-river-china-foreign-text-means-king/100861913?prev_url=detail. Accessed 6 July 2023.

[small-bizz-press]

How Long Does a Roof Last? Lifespan Insights for Milwaukee County Homes and Businesses

Your roof isn’t just a structural feature—it’s your first line of defense against the elements. Whether you’re a homeowner protecting your family or a small business owner safeguarding your investment, understanding the lifespan of your roof is critical. In Milwaukee County, where frigid winters, heavy snow, and occasional hail are regular challenges, knowing how long your roof should last—and how to extend its life—can save you thousands in unexpected costs.

In this article, we’ll examine average roof lifespans by material, the key factors influencing roof durability, local climate considerations, and signs that it’s time to repair or replace your roof.

1. Average Roof Lifespans by Material

The type of material used in your roofing system is the most significant factor in determining longevity. Here's a general breakdown:

Asphalt Shingles: 15–30 years (most common choice in Milwaukee County)

Architectural Shingles: 25–35 years (more durable than basic asphalt)

Metal Roofing: 40–70 years (excellent durability and weather resistance)

Tile Roofing (Clay/Concrete): 50–100 years

Slate Roofing: 75–150 years

Flat Roofs (EPDM, TPO, Built-Up): 10–30 years

While metal roofing may have a higher initial cost, residential metal roofing in Milwaukee is gaining popularity due to its incredible resilience to ice storms, snow accumulation, and wind uplift. It also reflects solar heat in the summer, lowering energy bills.

2. Factors That Influence Roof Longevity

Lifespan isn't just about materials. Other variables significantly impact how long your roof will last:

Installation Quality: A properly installed roof by a certified professional will last significantly longer.

Ventilation and Insulation: Without proper airflow, heat and moisture can prematurely age your roofing materials.

Maintenance Practices: Regular inspections, cleaning gutters, and prompt repairs will extend the roof’s life.

Exposure to Harsh Weather: Milwaukee's freeze-thaw cycles and strong storms can deteriorate shingles and flashing faster than in more temperate regions.

Slope and Design: Roofs with proper slope shed water more efficiently and are less prone to leaks.

A flat roof on a commercial building, for example, may need more frequent inspections than a pitched roof on a home, especially in areas prone to ice damming and pooling water.

3. Local Weather Considerations in Milwaukee County

The Midwest’s diverse climate has a unique impact on roofing systems. In Milwaukee County, seasonal conditions such as snow, sleet, freezing rain, and the occasional hailstorm create challenges:

Winter: Heavy snow loads and ice dams can damage shingles and flashing.

Spring: Rapid thawing can reveal leaks and expose underlying damage.

Summer: Heat, UV rays, and sudden thunderstorms all contribute to wear and tear.

Fall: Leaf accumulation and clogged gutters can lead to moisture buildup.

These realities make it even more important to choose the right materials and conduct seasonal maintenance. For homeowners, milwaukee roof leak repair becomes an inevitable task if these issues are neglected.

4. Warning Signs That Your Roof is Failing

Even the most well-maintained roof has a shelf life. Be on the lookout for these red flags:

Shingles are curling, cracking, or missing

Granules accumulating in gutters (common with aging asphalt roofs)

Visible sagging or soft spots

Water stains on ceilings or walls

Moss or algae growth

Consistent roof leaks after heavy rain or snowmelt

A roof inspection by a qualified contractor can confirm whether repairs are sufficient or if a replacement is imminent.

5. Extending the Life of Your Roof

If your roof is in good condition, the right maintenance strategies can help extend its lifespan by years:

Schedule annual inspections, especially before and after winter.

Clean your gutters regularly to prevent water backup.

Trim overhanging branches to reduce debris and minimize physical damage.

Repair small leaks immediately to prevent water from infiltrating insulation and framing.

Check attic ventilation—poor airflow causes excess heat and moisture to collect under the roof deck.

One of the most important steps is choosing a reputable contractor to ensure any work is done correctly. Check reviews and credentials before hiring.

For top-rated local professionals, consider visiting Diamond Certified’s roofing directory for Milwaukee County, which features rigorously vetted contractors known for high customer satisfaction.

6. Roof Lifespan by Building Type

While material plays a big role, your building’s purpose also influences roofing decisions and longevity:

Residential Homes: Asphalt shingles are still the go-to for affordability, but residential metal roofing in Milwaukee is gaining traction for its low maintenance and long-term savings.

Commercial Buildings: Flat roof systems require regular inspections and shorter replacement cycles, typically every 10–25 years.

Multi-Unit Properties: May require hybrid roofing systems depending on exposure and design.

7. When to Replace Instead of Repair

If your roof is nearing the end of its expected lifespan and repairs have become frequent, it’s often more cost-effective to replace rather than patch issues repeatedly. This is particularly true for owners facing milwaukee roof leak repair bills multiple times a year.

8. Roof Warranty and Lifespan Guarantees

Most roofing materials come with manufacturer warranties ranging from 20 years to lifetime coverage. However, these warranties often require proper installation and regular maintenance to remain valid.

You’ll also want to ensure your contractor offers a workmanship warranty, which covers errors in installation. This is particularly important in areas like Milwaukee, where climate stressors can amplify even minor flaws.

Conclusion: Make Your Roof an Asset, Not a Liability

Understanding how long a roof lasts—and how to maximize that lifespan—is essential for anyone owning property in Milwaukee County. Whether you choose asphalt, slate, or residential metal roofing in Milwaukee, you’ll get the best return on investment by staying proactive.

From conducting regular inspections to working with certified contractors, small actions can prevent major expenses down the line. If you’re unsure where your current roof stands in its life cycle, get a professional opinion from a trusted source like Diamond Certified’s Milwaukee County roofing experts.

Remember, your roof’s longevity isn’t just about the years it lasts—it’s about the peace of mind and protection it offers every season.

[darkmaga-returns]

Spring has not yet sprung, but in my effort to expunge memories of winter, I have begun my annual effort to sort through the vast trove of books, movies, magazines, and other ephemera that manages to fill every nook and cranny of my house each year.

When I say “every nook and cranny,” please take my words in the manner in which Trump supporters regard the president’s various utterances: seriously but not literally.

For example, in the comfortable but chaotic environs of my home office, there are books piled wherever they can easily be piled: on my desk, on the floor, on the seat of an armchair originally purchased as a place to read books, not store them. But there they sit: Flannery O’Connor’s Complete Stories, Samuel Lipman’s Arguing for Music, Arguing for Culture, a biography of Orson Welles. Admittedly, it’s a fairly random assortment, but what heap of books wouldn’t be? Besides, such heaps have a way of reassembling, as Shirley Jackson knew when she wrote about spring-cleaning her toy-infested house in Life Among the Savages: “It turns out that although we can live agreeably without the little wheels off things, new little wheels turn up almost immediately.”

Also in my office are several tall bookcases, but their imposing height did not discourage me from forming stacks of oversized books atop them. Let us hope I have no imminent need to reference Keep Watching the Skies!: American Science-Fiction Movies of the Fifties, The Complete Lyrics of Oscar Hammerstein II, nor a compendium of dance reviews from The New York Times—since I am not presently confident I could get at any of them without inducing injury.