#the life and times of a modern heathen

[weebsinstash]

I'm sorry but I'm going insane for your idea of Lilith and Luci getting a sinner pregnant together can we please have more of your thoughts on this idea 🙏

Absolutely because I'm a dirty little heathen and Season 2 isn't just about to magically pop up out of the ground and I've had SOME THOUGHTS and also this post is way longer than it should be 💀

I was sitting and I was thinking of the concept of the Hotel having communal breakfasts or having at least one day of the week where there's food served and everyone (typically) eats together, not only as a bonding/unity sort of thing but also simular to how real hotels can have complimentary breakfast as part of your stay, and like, yeesh this is actually an entirely separate fic idea in of itself but you're talking with Alastor and you're saying something along the lines of "oh yeah, well, I was actually starting to think a lot about motherhood before I died, but, raising children is so complicated, not to mention society right now is so genuinely hostile and dangerous to children, and i wouldn't have been able to afford it anyways, and, well, you know, NOW i literally can't have them down here"

AND FROM THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE END OF THE TABLE

COMPLETELY UNPROMPTED

HERE'S LILITH, "Oh! It wouldn't be impossible at all! You and Lucifer could still have a baby :)"

RECORD SCRATCH SOUND EFFECT AS EVERYONE LOOKS TO THE QUEEN OF HELL. She seems completely unbothered while her husband is A TOMATO, he can barely even look in your direction, he's just tugging on her sleeve, "L-Lili, cmon, don't say things like that 😳🥴" and awkwardly laughing, maybe even asking to speak to his wife in private (I feel like its a regular occurrence for these two to dip out of a room and reappear and Lilith is reapplying her lipstick as she re-enters followed by a kiss covered Lucifer lmao)

Can you even imagine going to Charlie, "hey um, this is awkward, your mom keeps like. Jesus please don't kill me I'm not a homewrecker but your mom keeps making comments about me having a baby with your dad and she sounds completely serious about it and shes been bringing it up for like two weeks" and you could not be saying this in a more obvious "hey girl this is weird and I don't like it, can you chat with your parents for me to stop this" kind of way BUT, the actual way Charlie is responding ALSO THROWS YOU OFF. I can see it already, Charlie all but LIGHTS UP WITH EXCITEMENT and she, takes a breath, "oh!! I mean!! You don't have to do anything you don't want to obviously, bbBUT UH THAT BEING SAID oh gosh that sounds like it would make you really happy, aaaaand and I know you wanted a family of your own and, hey isn't this place about new beginnings and" GIRL WE AREN'T HAVING A BABY WITH YOUR DAD TF?

You know how I made that post "hey Lucifer kind of appears to have these vague Master Of All type powers down in Hell, what if he could manipulate your dreams and made you dream about being a kid because he's wanting to heal your inner child/adopt you". I also started thinking recently about Lucifer AND OR Lilith using these powers to make you dream about 1) being with them in general and more specifically 2) motherhood and i started mentally deep diving for that shit. Like. It could genuinely actually get so fucked up actually. Could you imagine you're just, VULNERABLE with the Queen of Hell and you're drunk and you're crying and you're just, SPILLING EVERYTHING, she's getting your entire life's story, and she's petting your hair as youre way too drunk to realize youre telling her way too much, amd she's just thinking "oh you poor thing, human society sounds absolutely dreadful now" and like. Think of it from a hypothetical fantasy psychology perspective. It's not like Lilith has never been part of modern society, she's been a member of Hell forever and has only been out of contact for 7 years, BUT she also exists from a time predating all of that AND she built Hell with Lucifer, so like, imagine she actually starts forming some um Strong Opinions on how, it sounds like all these complicated modern things are really dragging you down, both as a person and as a free spirit, and comes to a consensus that your life needs to be a little... simpler

I'm serious, I'm talking "Lilith makes you dream about being In The Actual Goddamn Garden Of Eden Itself with her and Lucifer and you're ALL naked". Just completely controlling your dream. You're naked as the day you were born and so are they and you can't control your dream at ALL. Lilith is wanting to like, watch you peacefully frolic around, I'm talking she wants to see you having your Hot Nymph Summer where you're napping in beds of flowers and you're having birds land on your finger and you're gasping at all the pretty flowers and wanting to explore and, experiencing the beauty of being alive without all these messy modern nuances and it's like NO MAAM I DONT WANT TO PICK BERRIES FROM THAT BUSH, YOU CAN SEE M Y BUSH AND I CAN SEE YOURS AND YOUR HUSBANDS---

Alastor is over here thinking he's hot shit, "oh I do so wish we could return to simpler times without all these modern trivial problems!!" MEANWHILE LILITH IS LIKE. ACTUALLY GOING THAT EXTRA MILE. Alastor is like "boo cellphones are bad and women dont dress modestly enough, people these days spend too mych time with technology and not with family" meanwhile in "the garden" a completely naked Lilith is braiding your hair and weaving flowers into it while an also completely naked Lucifer is feeding you berries by hand as they discuss the idea of having a nice fun swim in the lake passed the glade, like you guys really are frolicking and fucking around like a bunch of fairies and it's. It's peaceful and fun but also you miss your cellphone and having underwear 😩 like miss queen of hell can I PLEASE get some boob support--

Moving on, I was thinking of the Fake Garden in of itself, as its own idea, but like in this poly baby raising context, it would be essentially Phase 1 of the plan to normalize their presences to you and make you more comfortable around them and then skipping into Phase 10 of "oh hey by the way you're gonna have a dream about um sleeping with the King and Queen of Hell and it's Totally Not Real and you're Totally Definitely Not Actually Like For Real For Real Legitimately Pregnant Now ;)" like. First off before I get any farther in this post can we just like acknowledge the like HEINOUSNESS of you not knowing everything is "real dreams" and LiliLuci using this to their full advantage to ask and find out anything about you because basically to them, they think you're just being boggled down and negatively influences by modern human society and you're like an onion they have to peel some layers off of first to expose those juicy inner tender bits

Just. Ok. Like. High level fantasy horror concept ok, here we go I'm gonna cook here:

It eventually does move on to you having dreams about living in an actual home with Lucifer and Lilith, sleeping with them in you know, All Those Ways, basically in what you think is some weird imaginary throuple that while you do find yourself enjoying it like actually, you can't wake up from it, and these dreams can feel WAY too long sometimes. You're dreaming of some, "am I a man dreaming I am a butterfly or am I a butterfly dreaming i am a man" shit where you hit the pillow in Hell and Dream You is waking up, seeing your husband and wife get ready for work and you're basically a pampered stay at home spouse. I honestly can't decide what dynamic would be cuter: both of them having jobs, you and Lilith having jobs while Lucifer is the house husband, only Lilith having a job while you and Lucifer do dumb shit at home, or Lucifer being big daddy and bringing home all the money while you and Lilith lounge by the pool and she takes you to the spa and pampers you all day and is sending texts and photos of how cute you are to her husband while he's working

You're probably thinking "wait but weeb this is actually kind of cute, where is the horror" and for starters it just kind of, mentally wears your energy down over time to 'never shut your brain off' and have true rest, like Lilith and Lucifer intentionally 'trade' you being alert in reality to you being more conscious in the dream world, so, you're not as present when you're around ACTUAL people as you are when you're in their little, fucked up pocket dimension.

Then you've got. The baby. You're pregnant ONLY in the dream. You have THE ACTUAL PAINFUL EXPERIENCE of giving birth, BUT THEN you're waking up and you can't hold your child, show them to your friends, have the, SANITY AND COMFORT OF KNOWING YOU ACTUALLY HAVE ONE. You're waking up DEVASTATED. Where's your baby? 🥺 oh right.... They're not... actually real... like it fucks you up psychologically

I just picture, if I were to put it in an order of events. You go from 1. Lilith and Lucifer are just your casual acquaintances, Charlie's parents that you know through her 2. They start getting closer to you as you stay longer at the Hotel 3. Ok we get along and have fun moments and even sing songs and we have fun times with your daughter ^^ 4. Ok you're getting maybe a little comfortable, am I tripping or are you a little too comfortable 5. You're Bush Out in Fake Eden 6. You accidentally slip up and get more cozy with them in reality because Ok Maybe The Stupid Garden Bullshit IS Fun And Maybe A Little Soul Healing 🙄 7. You're getting banged in the Garden 8. Being in reality is awkward now, suddenly you're avoiding them less, so you're dreaming about them more, having them push themselves closer to you in response to you trying to pull away, like even if you're spending entire days outside of the Hotel you can't escape needing to sleep eventually 9. Suddenly you're like, not in Eden, you're in a hospital getting an ultrasound w Lili Luci holding your hands as a doctor tells the three of you you're pregnant and oh no you're actually really happy and excited about it 🥺 10. crushing crushing reality. You're single and not pregnant and you're beating yourself up for these fucked up dreams you're blaming yourself for having, as if they're some self conscious desire and you're kinkshaming yourself for having them 11. Dream You is having your baby, everyone is so happy like it's actually so perfect, even when you're stressed as a first time parent you have so much love and support to keep you strong 12. You wake up and it's nothing but DEPRESSION DEPRESSION DEPRESSION where is my baby and my wife and my husband who love me and I love them DEPRESSION DEPRESSION DEPRESSION 13. Lilith and Lucifer HAVE TO to spill that Hey Our Baby Is Real because you're like going near insane with "grief" like youre like actually wanting to try and end your life or constantly self harming because Where Is MY CHILD 14. You're so fucked up at this point you don't care to ask questions when they hand your Very Much Real Baby to you looking exactly how you remember them from your dreams. You're just happy your baby is real and now you can be with them all of the time and you don't even care that um This Was Such A Fucking Ethically Dubious Conception.

Do you think the other Hotel residents would have a sliding scale of being ok with this. Like you just SHOW UP WITH THIS LITTLE BLONDE BABY IN YOUR ARMS and Lilith and Lucifer are all but glued to you and they're all fucking confused because WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN??? you barely even spend time with these two, or so they thought??? When were you PREGNANT??? HOW??? I feel like realistically if they aren't all, you know, as Equally Crazy For You, that they would find this extremely manipulative and fucked up MEANWHILE CHARLIE DOESNT CARE and may have been in on it.

Also "something something what if Reader being able to get pregnant also turned out to be like God Himself being like 'hey lucifer lilith here's the deal I'm throwing you a bone right now, ok, this is for you, to keep things chill between us mk' and there are added layers of Oh Shit You Were Created To Be With Them" as if your ass wouldn't have an impossible enough time escaping as is 😭💀

But like... the concept of Reader falling so deep into "grief" that it gets so bad that you're basically not eating or sleeping, Lucirer and Lilith were always gonna tell you but they're forced to do it abruptly because you just breakdown and can't stop crying. Or it's even Charlie disobeying her parents and running up to you with your baby who stops crying the moment they're in your arms

I also just... as a final note..... just as a cute palette cleanser there's one specific idea I keep thinking of... you have your new baby and you're showing it to all your Hotel buddies and you give it to Alastor to hold because your baby was giggling and gurgling at him and you're just, death grip on his shoulder, "alastor please hold my child :) they're excited go meet you, say hi" and while you're like, vaguely threatening him to interact with this baby which he has Extremely Valid Reasons To Find Abhorrent, his deer ears move or twitch, and your baby is just looking up at him with their big eyes, watching those ears twitch, and, poof! Your baby has their first Lucifer/Lilith related shape-shifting incident and suddenly your baby has twitching little red ears and they're looking up at Alastor with these big cute eyes and here you are, "alastor :) aren't you going to praise my baby :) they just had their very first shift and it's for you :) tell them what a good job they did :) you're not trying to make my baby uncomfortable are you :)" and. Ok Maybe this does win Alastor over a bit being the narcissist that he is BUT THE TRUE REWARD is Lucifer scrambling into the room after you call out in excitement, dropping to his knees and all but wailing, "NO, WHY IS MY BABY HAVING THEIR FIRST SHIFT FOR Y O U AND I MISSED IT" and you just have Alastor being an ABSOLUTE SHIT, suddenly oh so cozy with your baby, "well talent recognizes talent! This little one clearly has potential! Why, look at how clearly they ALREADY ADORE THEIR DEAR UNCLE ALASTOR >:)" and from then on you can't leave these two men alone with your baby or they'll be having nonstop contests to "win them over" and prove who the best role model/caretaker is

Ok. Lastly. Lastly lastly lastly. THIS BABY SPECIFICALLY IS RUINING MY LIFE. Look at those STUPID CHUBBY cheeks and those big eyes and how attentive and focused she is like oh my godddddddd if LiliLuci handed one of those to me "this is yours" i would just die like 🥺🥺🥺 man, I'll have to tell you guys later about my idea for "Reader wants to see if Rosie will let them adopt a Hellborn baby and Alastor helps vouch for you and lowkey becomes your husband/the child's second parent" or "Reader finds an abandoned imp baby and all the shenanigans/protective possessive feelings from your yandere/s that follow once you begin your motherhood journey "

[urlocalrambler]

DN fanfic: an exploration into Kai Mori's mind while he's in prison. Introspective piece. So get ready for self-loathing, the woes of the disgraced son and the Banks reminiscence and yearning that we deserved.

My first Devils Night fanfiction ever. Actually, it's my first writing piece in a long time in general, but fuck it, we balling. I've always struggled a little with understanding Kai, but I think this piece helped me get more of a grip on my characterisation of him <3.

_

Kai sits in jail, and he knows he's a scrouge on his family name. He’s the shameful blot in their lineage, the fuck up who keeps on giving even when all they want is for him to stop. Kai's the shadow in his family's illustrious life. A good boy gone wrong, the ungrateful child, responsible for his mother's tight smiles and fervent worry — he’s the parasite leeching away at his mother's kindness, carelessly ruining the happy life his father fought to give her. It took one blow of a hammer slamming against a gavel, and his parents have a sword of humiliation rammed into their guts. The pain is only dug in deeper with the indignity of a sentence of 28 months lost to the confines of walls crammed to the brim with prisoners, with his fitted suits for interviews traded in for a standardised orange jumpsuit, as a lifestyle befitting of an animal is thrust into the hands of their only son. 

The worst part is that they still loved him despite his neverending failures.

"–Gave him three broken ribs. So he fractured his fucking spine."

"Who?"

"The rich brat. Mori. He didn't even hesitate."

"Shit, he might belong here, after all."

Yeah, maybe he does belong here.

From the start of it all, he's been the defining reason for the lines marring his father's forehead, those were wrinkles etched in from worrying about Kai's unfortunate tendencies, but he's still forgiven again and again for every indiscretion that they catch him in and he learns to forgive himself for the thousands that they don't know about as a default. Kai's allowed to follow his own path even if it means spitting at his father's feet and disparaging the legacy that Katsu built with his roughened hands. It's wrong, grievously so, but he takes the chances and the freedom, Kai proves he's a certified fuck up. Useless boy who's worth nothing much when compared to the father who tried to give him every head start in life no matter what it cost. Katsu's a man who pulled his family out of poverty, he gives his wife her old life back tenfold, and Kai’s the worthless son who ruins it by gorging himself on endless vices, amusing himself by toeing the lines, and eventually, he gets a crew and starts obliterating the lines. Never improving even as they ardently pray for him, Kai only gets worse as the years pass.

Everyone knows it in Thunder Bay. Kai Mori's a cautionary tale in the flesh. 

The good boy who gets caught up in the wrong crowd and suffers for it. Prince amongst the heathens, gilded gold stained by their tar, a demon playing at being an angel. Kinder smiles and 'thank you's' on his tongue don’t get rid of the taste of sin, but they mask it well enough. Until it suddenly doesn't anymore, and they see that he's made of the same strokes as his friends. Demon, not an angel. Predator, not the prey. Villain, never a prince. Sins can't be hidden forever in a modern era of phones to the ear and the glimmer of cameras catching their every move. He should’ve known better than to have expected zero consequences – Kai hid his truths better than his friends ever managed to, but an unchained nature couldn't be hidden forever.

People were predisposed to making assumptions. 

In Thunder Bay, they accepted and revered the version of him that they thought they knew, and they share their aggrieved regrets as his fall from grace occurs in the brightened spotlight. Analysed just like Icarus, with a tragic fate of his own making – Kai can't meet his father's eyes for the first couple of weeks after his wrongs are aired to the public. Kai Mori had potential in spades, the gossip somberly chastens, and he squandered it away on freedom ravelled within insanity, he wasted a guaranteed future on the kind of lust that made priests look away in discomfort, and he ruined himself due to a useless loyalty towards friends that should've never amounted to much more than a footnote in his life.

Outsiders never understood how the blood of the covenant could run thicker than the water of the womb. They didn't feel the allure of darkness in its fullest form. Nor could they understand the power that control gave him when it was cradled in his palms, and he had chaos biting at his neck. She had, though, that one girl who hides in his mind just like she'd veiled herself into that confession all those years ago– she understood it all, and she even fed into it back then. 

He wonders what she felt when she saw him in cuffs. 

Mystery Girl was among his worst mistakes, mostly because she quickly became his darkest daydream and a favourite nightmare.

Kai's quiet when he does it. In the showers, when heat spindles against the mirror, he washes off the heat of shame by engaging in more depravity. He thinks about her often. And he's not gentle, not even close to it. Whenever he thinks about girls wrapped up in men's clothes, in shirts that aren't his, he's harsh and angry because they should've been his clothes, she should've been his girl. He thinks of smart quips on the curve of her lips, and he wonders how sweet it would've been to have held her and shut her up in the way he'd desperately wanted to whenever she said the name of a man who wasn't him. Kai's got a hand on his cock and he jerks it hard to the thoughts of her. 

Chocolate hair. Green eyes. Golden skin. Daydreams and nightmares. 

She's the only thing he never got that he'd desperately wanted in his golden years; she's the thing he still wants so carnally even in his darkest hours. Wants her thighs wrapped around his torso, wants his name to be the only thing she's capable of saying by the time he's done with her, wants her marked and ruined by the touch of him and him only. Indulging in her, Kai knows, would've been his favourite sin. Back then, he got only a speck, got nothing more than a touch, and he'd still been hopelessly addicted, high on fumes when he had the wisp of her silhouetted in his arms, and he was in withdrawal whenever he lost her to a man he hated and loved in equal measure. Just a taste back then, just the thoughts now, and he's still maddeningly hooked on her. Pretty girl, harsh girl, but never his girl. Sweet like candy with a tangy kick to her. She's the only drug in his veins, inching in without warning, putting him in a trance and an unruly high.

In the dead of night, she visits him, and Kai welcomes her. 

He is a fuck-up, Kai knows it well. Somehow, he's still so ready to engage in the betrayal of his brother in everything but blood. Damon's down in a living nightmare in solitary, and he dreams of stealing his girl. He dreams of using her up. He yearns to take her and have her feed the desires of his concupiscent flesh for as long as he wants, and he thinks he wants to keep her for months, for years, for as long as it takes until she feels more his than anything else.

Irreverent lust, onerous fingers, amatory desires, and all for what? A girl he had known all of a couple of weeks. And he thinks he'd sell the flesh on his back to go back to that time with her. For her, he thinks he'd do anything because if she's a reverie then he's a victim to the ghost of her. Kai thinks of her and that hotel room, and he wonders why he let his dream girl go. 

She's the only person to ever make him feel alive, to make him feel desire on an impulse, the only one who could easily stoke his dangerous need for control, and she did it all without ever trying. No fight to take and no need to make his blood boil; there was no need to force himself into those conversations with her because he was already obsessed with her voice from the second he heard it. Everything came naturally when it was with her. 

He thinks she could've been his if she hadn't been Damon's to keep. 

Kai laughs when he grips the plexiglass, breathes harder, and strokes faster– she's certainly not either’s now, and she wasn't his back then, but she is all Kai’s in the darkness of his mind. Smooth skin pressed against his chest, lips to his neck, and she's begging for it, for his dirty criminal's hands to stay on her neck. Moaning, whining, crying for more. He's undone by the idea of her, air caught in the chasm of his lungs, knuckles tightened to a pale white, as he gives into his favourite nightmare. Kai's spent by the thought of her, the evidence washed away by water, as his back presses against the shower wall. 

Suddenly, he's almost glad that he doesn't see Damon here at all. Kai tries to convince himself that he should be relieved that he'll likely never see her again either (it doesn't work but he tries). If he doesn't see her, then it means the fantasies, the output of those unreachable desires, can stay intact.

There's no Damon to stop him. No dancer in a hotel to distort what they could've had. No blood to mop away and no nights to hide away. It was just him and her again.

In his dreams, Banks is everything he still desires.

In his dreams, she belongs to no one else.

In his dreams, Banks is all his.

--

[sea-owl]

The Cain instinct thing is so funny to me especially if I imagine it with the Modern Spouse Group. Like imagine Anthony's last thought of Simon is with the lone wolf single child vibes and then years later (after meeting Kate), he goes to visit Simon in his office and hears unholy screeching only to stumble in his office watching dumbfounded as Kate and Simon are fistfighting and rolling on the floor tearing each other apart like they were in a death match inside a cage because Simon ate the lunch that Mary made for Kate (who left it in Simon's office because she thought he would be busy with meetings the whole day). "HOW DARE YOU EAT MY LUNCH!!!" "WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE IT UNATTENDED HUH??!! YOU KNOW I GET HUNGRY AFTER TERRORIZING WHITE MEN!!!"

Anon, I want you to know I had to set my phone down I was laughing so hard at this.

I adore the thought that the spouses Cain instincts just unleashing on one another as they all grow closer.

Simon was perfectly (not) fine until these heathens came crashing into his life. He'll do anything for them but he swears to all that is holy if any of them steals his good snacks ONE MORE TIME HE'S DROP KICKING THEM!

Mama bear Kate will show no mercy to those who would dare try to hurt her weird little found family. But she's also merciless to them during game night and god forbid you're bad at cheating.

Sophie, being the one to tattoo them all, has seen the scars each one of them hides or wants covered up. She takes great consideration of the meaning of each symbol they bring to her to put on their bodies. She has even done some research to make suggestions. Sophie is also gonna make fun of them during their tattoo appointments based on their level of pain tolerance. Simon's is the worst. He's the biggest baby in her chair. Meanwhile, some of the girls have literally fallen asleep while Sophie was tattooing them.

None of the group would blink if they walked into the trio's flat to find Michael and Phillip fist fighting on the floor. Meanwhile, Penelope is climbing on the back of the couch to pile drive on both of them because she WILL NOT BE IGNORED! But they also won't blink if they find the three of them platonically cuddling because one of them was having a bad day and the other two offered comfort.

Gareth and Lucy will 1000% use the knowledge that they are the babies of the group to get Simon and Kate to do what they want. Rarely works on the other four, though, who, as the middle children, are required to put the two in a headlock so Simon and Kate won't give in.

[rosewaterandivy]

6. a routine malaise

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, winter holidays (Christmas), poor groupchat etiquette, travel, Steve driving stick (🥵🥵🥵), drinking and drug use, Eddie meddling, Just Friends mention (yes, AGAIN), pining and yearning, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.

A/N: Damn, we really in it now, huh? Get ready for ignoring feelings and maladaptive coping mechanisms! Here’s 5.8K of Steve being a sweetie and Reader being... well... evasive. Let me know what you think; like and reblogs are appreciated, as always, enjoy! 💜

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Then, Winter Break, Christmas Eve, IND ➡️ SFO ➡️ MRY ➡️ Carmel-by-the-Sea, CA

You were going to kill Steve.

You’d arrived to the airport with absolutely no time to spare and had to book it through security (thank you, TSA Pre-Check) and then sprint to your gate. A special shout-out to your TSA agent who barked out a laugh after reading your ‘Dead Inside But Still Horny’ t-shirt when they made you take off your hoodie and place it in a bin to be screened. Never in your life had you related more to Eminem’s description of “palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy” than you did right now.

If you didn’t have some water soon, you’d be joining him in the vomit on the sweater portion of the song. Luckily, Steve threw you a water bottle before the mouth sweats could really set in. You gulped it down heartily and then chucked the plastic bottle at his head.

“Uncalled for,” he accused indignantly, ignoring your scowl and narrowed eyes. “We made it, didn’t we?”

“You had to carry me on the plane,” you point out, knowing it’s not one of your finer moments. 

He had to shift his backpack around to carry it on his chest and gave you a piggyback ride to your seats, much to your embarrassment. But in your defense, your legs were about to give out and it seemed to cheer up the holiday travelers on the plane as Steve apologized with nods and shrugs, as if to say ‘what can you do?’ accompanied by a charming smile.

As he slipped you into your row, you heard a woman in front of you say, “Well, if that isn’t the sweetest thing.” A nudge to her husband seated next to her to ask, “Richard, why didn’t you do that for me?” His responding chuckle was warm and bright.

You ducked down to situate yourself in the seat, buckling the seatbelt and settling in. Steve slid in next to you, taking the middle seat because he’s a heathen with no concept of personal space, and opened his backpack. You wondered what you’d do to pass the time for the nearly five-hour flight and were interrupted by Steve when he handed you a pair of Sony headphones.

“If this is part of your Christmas escapades, I will be terribly upset.”

He shrugged, nonchalant, “Santa said to give ‘em to you now, I’m just following orders here.”

You mumbled obscenities to yourself, mindful of the tiny ears on the plane while Steve laughed at you. After a few futile minutes attempting to pair your phone to the headphones, he took over. You glanced out of the window, watching as the ground crew loaded the cargo hold before take-off.

Steve, damn him, could never really warrant your prolonged anger– this trip was, by far, the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you. And you found it difficult to be mad at him for breaking the gift-giving rules, but, rest assured, he’d be getting a talking to later.

He passed your phone back to you and opted to test your headphones for you. Opening Spotify, you tapped on your Liked Songs playlist and scrolled until finding something acceptable. Steve’s bright smile at the opening notes of “Last Christmas” was worth it.

“Think that’ll do it,” he says with a wink, placing the headphones securely around your ears. 

You pause the song and reveal an ear, “What’ll you do?”

He digs through his bag again and pulls out his copy of Midnight in Chernobyl. You shudder at the thought of reading about such gruesome things as he opens the cover and thumbs at the pages. 

“Okay, enjoy that, comrade,” you joke, pulling the headphones to rest against your neck as you prepare to watch and listen to the flight attendant’s safety presentation. “What,” you ask to his raised brow and smirk, “One of us should be prepared.”

He huffs a laugh and winds his fingers between yours on the armrest, giving you a reassuring squeeze. Setting the book down to mark his page, open against his thigh, he scrolls through his phone, tapping out a missive or two.

“Oh shit,” you said, remembering the holiday plans with the group, “Shouldn’t we let Nance and them know we’re bailing?”

Steve smiles and hands you his phone. You quickly read through the loft groupchat.

👊fight club 👊

bucko 🤠: what, no goodbyes?

dumbass 🤘: no glove, no love stevie baby

steeb 🖕: you can both fuck off (derogatory)

bucko 🤠: [enter two clowns] 🤡🤡

nwa 🔪: he didn’t have time for goodbyes because he was late AS USUAL

steeb 🖕: sent an image [selfie of Steve carrying Trouble onto the plane, piggyback]

dumbass 🤘: damn, she looks straight wrecked homie 🥵

You scoffed and typed back a response to Eddie.

steeb 🖕: [looks out onto a sea of idiots] hell

bucko 🤠: don’t you mean hello?

nwa 🔪: that you trouble?

dumbass 🤘: babe, what the fuck is wrong with you

steeb 🖕: it all started back in ‘92, a calamity was a brewin’

nwa 🔪: love you babes, text us when you land 😘

steeb 🖕has liked this message

bucko 🤠: 😘😘😘 kisses for my bitches

steeb 🖕: bye nance & robs, love you lots! eds, swiggity swoot im comin for you 🔪🔪🔪

dumbass 🤘: god damnit

As it so happened, your trip was about seven hours, all told. After landing in San Francisco, you had to make a connecting flight and had a brief layover. Just long enough for Steve to run to a Peet’s Coffee and grab something for a snack before you boarded the next flight.

He returned with a cappuccino for you and some snacks from a news vendor. You took the cup gratefully and warmed your hands against the cardboard cup. Steve sipped from his own cup, taking the seat next to you in the terminal. 

“What’d you get?”

He shrugs, swallowing the coffee down, “The usual, an americano.”

“Ugh,” you scoff, “Boring.”

“Well, one of us needs to be awake.” 

You eye him suspiciously.

“This flight is about an hour and then we have to drive.” He rolls his neck, with a sigh, “Only like, twenty minutes, give or take with traffic.”

“Are you planning to murder me and dump my body into the Pacific?”

“What!?” he squawks, turning a few heads your way. “No, never. When did you get so paranoid?”

You sip daintily from the cup once more, “Born this way, take it up with my mother.”

He rolls his eyes and gets up to toss his empty cup into the recycling bin. “I will do no such thing, your mother is a gem.”

You elbow him in the side as he sits back down. “Whatever you say, big guy.”

They call for boarding not long after and you shuffle back onto another plane. The flight to Monterey is under an hour, not enough time to do much of anything but nap, really. Upon landing, Steve shoulders his backpack once more, hand extended behind him for you to hold as you disembark onto the tarmac and walk inside to collect your bags. 

You assure him that you know which bags to grab from the carousel before he leaves you to pickup the rental car. Grabbing your phone you let Nance know you’ve landed but still have no idea what Steve’s planning; she’s less than helpful in her response.

natty light 💯: nope, i’m not enabling you’re snooping

trouble 👁️👄👁️: whatever could you possibly mean? me, a snoop?

natty light 💯: yes, and the worst of them too.

trouble 👁️👄👁️: you’re no fun.

natty light 💯: babe, i love you. but for once in your life, could you let someone do something nice for you and just enjoy it?

Well, that wasn’t what you were expecting.

Steve returns to your side as you spot the first of your luggage and then goes to get it himself. Less work for you, you suppose. 

The sun makes its final descent beneath the horizon as you walk to the parking lot. Steve’s looking for the numbered parking spot the concierge gave him, mumbling to himself.

“Oh, there it is!”

He jogs toward a white two-seater convertible, a Mazda MX-5, whatever the fuck that is, and seems pleased with himself. He loads your bags into the trunk and walks you over to the passenger side door, opening it for you. 

“Very gentlemanly of you,” you tease, sliding into the leather seat.

“Oh, be sure to tell my mom,” he smiles back at you, “She’ll be thrilled those etiquette classes were good for something.”

He shuts the door and crosses in front of the car before settling into the driver’s seat. Steve adjusts the rearview mirror and seat before pairing with the bluetooth and passing his phone off to you. 

“Did you already type in the directions?”

“Yeah, just pick something for the drive.”

You nod and settle on something from one of his numerous playlists. Preoccupied with the music selection, you don’t notice you’ve pulled out of the airport parking lot until Steve merges onto CA-1. Your attention drifts to the center console and gear shift, Steve’s hand resting there and shifting occasionally while his feet work the pedals.

“Throw back, huh? Feeling nostalgic?” he asks, changing lanes, commenting on the song rattling through the speakers. 

“I guess,” you say, distracted by his hand on the gearshift and concentration on the road. “Is this a manual?”

His brow raises in surprise, “Yeah, stick shift. Cars like this usually are.”

“Oh,” you lean back into the seat, turning to catch some scenery. “I didn’t know you could drive stick.”

He sighs, “Yeah, my dad insisted I learn how. But Hopper’s the one that taught me.”

“Really?”

His eyes flit to you briefly, before looking to the road again. “Yep,” he pops the percussive ‘p’ and smiles. “He was overseeing the driving program at the time, some zero hour bullshit that I hated since I had to get up at ass o’clock.”

“Huh,” you reply, lost in thought. “I guess that’s when Eddie started picking me up for school.” 

The song changes over to another old favorite, “Two Weeks” by Grizzly Bear as you take in the scenery. To your right, the Pacific Ocean laps against the California shoreline. It’s growing dark, but enough light remains for you to spy the crests of white foam as the waves crash against the shore. 

Steve handles the curves of the of PCH adeptly, and you’re only momentarily distracted by his hands moving over the wheel and gearshift. It stirs something uncomfortable in your abdomen, as if your stomach flipped or something. If you could cross your legs more, you would, you’re all too aware of the tightening in your thighs— thank god for opaque Lululemon leggings.

The rest of the drive passes, gorgeous scenery giving way to the parks and downtown of Carmel-by-the-Sea. Tiredness settles over you like a warm blanket, the exhaustion from the previous night’s insomnia on top of a travel day. You hope to sleep well tonight.

He turns onto a residential road and drives up hill, passing beautiful homes and gardens along the way. Must be making your way to the AirBnB. 

“Pretty sure my aunt and uncle have a place here,” you muse, “It’s a rental property of theirs, I think.”

Steve hums in agreement, so it must be something you mentioned before. He pulls into a driveway with a black S.U.V. and parks the car. 

“This is us,” he says turning toward you, fingers drumming anxiously against the steering wheel.

It’s a big house, too big for just the two of you, surely. Something from a storybook with a gate to the front garden and a Juliet balcony above the French doors at the entrance. You’re about to say how it’s too much, that there’s no reason the two of you need an entire house to yourselves when the one of the front doors opens and a head peeks out

“Merry Christmas you two!”

A gasp escapes the cavern of your chest, because that’s a voice you’d know anywhere. You barely make it out of the car to careen into your mother’s warm embrace, stifling tears as you go. She squeezes you tight, one arm wrapped around your back while the other cradles your head to her chest.

“Hi sweetie,” she sniffles, fingers tangling in your hair and bringing your forehead to rest against her own, “How’s my favorite daughter?”

You manage a laugh, pulling away to wipe the tears from your cheeks. At a loss for words, all you can get out is, “How?”

She responds with a slow smile, eyes landing on Steve with a subtle nod. “He planned the whole thing, swore us all to secrecy.”

And Steve, for his part, dutifully unloads the trunk like it’s just another day. Like he hasn’t planned the world’s greatest Christmas present for you. You listen as your mother chats about colluding with your best friend for the better part of a month as the two of them worked out dates and bookings.

He waves at the pair of you and lugs the bags up the cobblestone drive to the door.

Your mother tuts and tucks wayward strands of hair behind your ears. “Now honey,” she says, “You know we adore Steve…”

Blinking, you face her once more, knowing all too well what she’s getting at, “Yes, you’ve made that very clear mom.”

She smirks, “And you’re sure there’s nothing you’d like to share, just between us girls?”

Her laugh is infectious and drowns out your scoff as Steve stops at the entryway. “Already up to no good, I can tell.” He readjusts the strap of his backpack and gives your mom a hug with his free arm, “Hey mom, long time no see.”

She playfully smacks his chest, “You troublemaker, I saw you just last week.” She pulls him in for a hug and lays a kiss on his temple, “So, how did the surprise go?”

Steve looks to you with a raised brow, biting his bottom lip. “Uh, looks like she’s still in shock,” he says, “We should probably get her inside.”

Allowing yourself to be led inside, you walk in a daze behind your mother, Steve just a step behind you with the luggage. 

Your mother shouts that you’ve arrived, alerting your father and brother in the kitchen as they work on dinner. Your dad responds with his exuberant, “All right!” while your brother takes the steps down from the kitchen to give you a hug.

“Hey sis,” he says releasing you, “Pretty wild that Steve-o was able to pull this off, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” you parrot back, “Pretty wild.”

Your mother looks on in interest, curious eyes and pursed lips. Steve greets your brother with a handshake, turns to you with a mock-salute, and seemingly abandons you to your family.

Rude.

Steve takes your mom’s directions to locate the remaining bedroom for the pair of you. There’s only one bed, which seems to be par for the course at this point. He tosses the backpack on a nearby chair and leaves the luggage by the closet. 

Falling against the bed, he checks his phone for any missed messages. There’s the usual bullshit in the groupchat, Eddie rightfully fearing for his life after your threat. Followed by a text from Robin asking how he’s doing and a missed Facetime call from his mother.

With a sigh, he sits back up and calls her back. She picks up on the second ring, camera decidedly not on her face. “Ma,” he says, “You gotta hold the phone in front of your face, it’s not a phone call.”

“Oh.”

She maneuvers the camera to show her face, impeccably made up (as usual), as she sits in the hotel room waiting on his father for some event or another.

“So you made it to California?”

“Yeah, we just got to the house.” He scrubs a hand down his face, feeling more tired than he lets on. “I think she likes it?”

“Well, I would hope so,” she tuts, “You put an awful lot of work and money into this.”

“Ma–”

“No, no,” she sighs, “I know it’s yours to do with as you want, I’m just saying.”

“Well, don’t,” he glowers.

“Now Steven,” she admonishes, “We like her, she’s a lovely girl and you both had a similar upbringing…”

He rolls his eyes as she begins the litany of why-aren’t-you-together-yet and cards a hand through his hair. 

It’s really none of her business, either way. And it’s pretty obvious that if Steve had his way, you’d have already been an item. But no, some asshole had to propose and then break your heart. He flexes his hand, mindful of his sore joints from the punch.

“And I know her mother has shown you the heirloom jewelry already and we have some exquisite pieces from your grandmothers as well—”

“Wait, what?”

His mother stops her prattling, brows raised. “Is this not a proposal trip?”

His eyes nearly pop out of his skull, “Fu–,” he clears his throat, “No, absolutely not. Mom, where did you even get that idea?”

She has enough sense to seem chastened, “Well, you were working on that ring for her, weren’t you?”

He swallows audibly. “Yes, that’s technically true…”

“And it’s not an engagement ring?”

“Uh, no.”

She scoffs and balks, “Well whatever could it be for if you’re not proposing?”

At this point, Steve’s father overhears and comes into frame. “Steven’s proposing?”

His mother turns to her husband, ignoring Steve, “To the neighbor girl, you remember her.”

“Oh, right,” his father adjusts his tie. “Are you sure about this, son?”

“I’m not–” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, “That’s not happening you guys.”

“Apologies,” his mother says, “Apparently he’s not proposing but has some ring for a Christmas present.”

“Could be mistaken for an engagement,” his father replies, “You’re giving her ring on Christmas, nearly twenty percent of engagements happen between Christmas and New Year’s.”

How the fuck would he even know that?

“Your father and I were engaged on New Year’s.”

“That’s right, dear, and it worked out perfectly fine for us.”

Steve sighs in frustration, falling back against the pillows, “D’you two want to continue this conversation by yourselves or…?”

“There’s no need to be touchy Steven,” his mother cautions, “We just wonder if this is the best time to gift her a ring if you’re not to be engaged.”

“If you’d let me explain,” he says in a measured tone, “I could clear up your misconceptions.”

“Fine, go on then.”

He takes a breath in and explains how the ring isn’t an engagement ring but a replica of your grandmother’s ring that you’d lost at sleep-away camp when you were thirteen. Apparently, your grandmother in her infinite wisdom had deemed thirteen a mature enough age to keep and wear fine jewelry. Despite keeping it in your duffle bag and not wearing it all during camp, it had been lost, and you were utterly devastated.

“Her grandmother passed late that summer,” Steve reminds his parents, “We went to the funeral that September.”

“Oh,” his mother breathes out, hand to her heart, “I had no idea…” she trails off, looking to Steve’s father to carry the conversation.

He clears his throat, “That’s a thoughtful gift, son. Just make sure she takes your meaning when opening it.”

Steve allows him a brief smile, “I don’t think that will be an issue, but thanks.”

They say their goodbyes not long after that and you call out that dinner is ready.

Dinner is a casual affair, curried salmon with an arugula salad courtesy of your mom and dad, Syrah and after dinner weed provided by your brother.

“Can always count on your brother for a decent joint,” Steve says passing it to you.

You take a pull, holding the joint just so between your fingers. Steve used to joke that you hold pretty much anything like a French woman holds a cigarette and you (unfortunately) have to agree.

As it turned out, there was one bed in your room but, it was a California king so there’ll be tons of space between you; not like the trip in November at all.

Your parents had graciously given the pair of you the primary suite with the Juliet balcony and views to the Pacific. Incidentally, this meant you had the luxury bathroom of the house with a jetted tub and ridiculously large shower.

Must be nice to have money.

“Steve,” you say after a while, relaxing just enough to lower your inhibitions, “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

He’s facing you, but only partially illuminated from the bedroom lights. An inkling of a smile graces his lips, “You deserve it y’know.” But what he wants to say is you deserve the world.

A soft laugh, “I don’t know about that,” you take another hit and pass it back to Steve, fingers brushing. “I would reign in your expectations for Christmas morning, pal.”

He takes a final drag before snuffing out the roach, eyes landing on you once again. “Really? I shouldn’t expect some gift that’s equal parts incredibly thoughtful and altogether ridiculous?”

“Okay,” you laugh. “If that’s what you’re anticipating, then you might be in the right ballpark.”

He pours another glass of the Syrah for you, the deep red hue swirling in the glass. He passes the wine glass to you, depositing it in your hand. You take a sip, savoring the notes of blackberry and tobacco. 

Steve pours himself a glass too, effectively killing the bottle and setting it down on a nearby table. “Damn,” he says, “Your brother dating that sommelier really paid off.”

You crack a smile, watching as he leans his forearms against the railing, glass in his hand. Rumpled and tired from a day’s travel, but still cutting a quite the figure in the soft glow of the moon. Unless that’s the wine… or weed talking.

Shit.

“Yeah,” you allow, “Though she wasn’t the biggest fan of my super-taster pallet.” 

“Did I know you were a super-taster?”

You shrug, “It’s my party trick. Good for those fancy dinner parties you drag me to.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, downing a swig of wine. “How so?”

“Well,” you begin, “When I met Vivian over the summer, she prepped a white wine tasting for us, which was super nice.” You lean against the railing, trying to recollect the moment. “So, we begin with the usual suspects, your Sauvignon Blancs, Viogniers, a Chenin Blanc, you know.”

“Oh yes, my extensive knowledge of summer wines,” he teases, “Please continue.” 

“Riiight, so no problems there– was on my best behavior and everything.” You pause to sip your wine, “But then, we get to the Pinot Grigio.”

“Gross.”

“I know!” you agree. “So, we sample that and she asks how it is, the usual stuff. And everyone goes around commenting on a few of the notes they’re able to discern, all well and good. That is, until she gets around to me.”

“Uh oh,” Steve says into his glass, seeing where your story is headed.

“Uh oh is right. Because when I take another sip and ponder the taste of the vintage, I correctly, mind you, identify a note of ... plastic pool toy.”

Steve spits out the remainder of his wine over the balcony and onto the flowers beneath him. “What?” he nearly shouts turning back to you, “P-plastic pool toy?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, “Like those cheap-o inflatable plastic balls in a net at Target.”

He fails to close his mouth, jaw agape. “How could you possibly know what those taste like?”

You shrug, “Pool volleyball,” and finish your drink. “Robs bought some earlier that summer and we had that stupid tournament at your parent’s place. Nance spiked the damn blue marbled ball into my face, so that’s how I know that Pinot Grigio tasted like plastic pool toy - with just a whisper of chlorine to round it out.”

Steve, gathering his senses, laughs softly, “And how did she take that?”

“Oh, Viv?” you say over your shoulder, making your way back inside for the night. “She agreed with me, after doing her own taste test, of course. My brother warned her of my tendencies before the trip, so she was well-prepared.”

“You’re something else.” He says, gathering the empty bottle and glasses from the balcony and shuts the door after him. 

You curtsy and turn to locate your luggage. 

Steve leans back against the door, setting the glasses and bottle on a side table, and observes as you dawdle throughout the room. Suitcase set down on a chair and unzipped hastily to reveal various packing cubes labelled by occasion in Nancy’s deft hand. You rise slowly, lips screwed to the side in perturbation and eyes narrowed.

You fix him with a look, “You and me, we’re fighting later.”

“Oh, sure,” is all he says, struggling to mask his smile.

You turn back to the task at hand, finding pajamas, because you are not repeating the last sleeping arrangement you had with Steve. Which amounted to stealing one of his shirts, sleeping in that and your underwear because you, frazzled as usual, failed to pack pajamas but had somehow stuffed three coats into your duffle bag.

And you know that Nancy, the perennial Girl Scout, won’t let you down. 

Digging until you find the ‘sleepwear’ cube, unhelpfully next to the one labelled ‘pjs’ in something that is definitely not Nance’s handiwork.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you open the mystery package and nearly drop the damn thing on the ground at the shock of its contents. Heat rising from your chest to neck, you make a garbled sound and Steve thinks it best to excuse himself for the moment. He tells you he’ll be back soon and goes to return the glasses to the kitchen. You nod dumbly, packing cube crushed to your chest until he closes the door.

In a panic, you pull the silk and lace from the zippered bag. And it’s not much better when you have all the items laid out in front of you, a risqué and skimpy picture of what someone called ‘pajamas.’ You inspect the handwriting on the cube once more to no avail. A scrap of paper falls out of as you throw it across the room.

‘Merry Christmas big boy! xxxx, Eds’

Finding your phone, you furiously type out a message.

trouble 👁️👄👁️: 🤜 this is my fist coming for your ass

bandcamp 👿: thanks for the heads up, plenty of time to prep!

trouble 👁️👄👁️: trouble sent an image [burgundy lingerie set and sheer robe]

you think you’re funny?

bandcamp 👿: hilarious, actually. surprised you’re breaking it out this soon though

trouble 👁️👄👁️: lsadhflksajd

bandcamp 👿 ‘liked’ this message

MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS

Hearing Steve in the hall, you drop your phone and stuff everything back into its packing cube before he can see anything, cursing Eddie the entire time.

You shove the incriminating the cube back into your suitcase just as Steve opens the door. He pauses and tilts his head to the left.

“Everything okay there?”

Because your elbow deep in the suitcase like you’re hiding something and have gone about ten different shades of red at this point. Your eyes grow wide when you realize Eddie’s note is still at large and currently residing somewhere in this room.

“Yeah, of course,” you grab the correct packing cube and toiletry bag before escaping to the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

“...okay.”

Steve’s phone pings as you start the shower, banging things down on the countertop aggressively. He’ll ask you about it later. He opens his phone to reply to Robin’s earlier message only to see something from Eddie.

Which is weird, because Eddie only texts Steve if he has to.

He opens the thread and reads.

dumbass 🤘: don’t say i never did anything for ya

dumbass 🤘has sent 2 images

[Image 1 a screenshot of a conversation between Eddie and Trouble]

[Image 2 a photo of a burgundy lingerie set and sheer robe]

Steve, taken aback, drops his phone in response.

Needless to say, the rest of the night went about as well as it could. Upon exiting the shower, you discover that the sleepwear in the packing cube is not, in fact, your own. Instead, it’s brand new with the tags still on for chrissake. Holding the offending garments in your hand, you secure your towel on your chest with your opposite hand and exit the steamy bathroom.

“Harrington” you say, jolting him from whatever he was doing on his phone. You wait for him to glance your way, and clear your throat when he does. “The fuck is this?”

“Uh,” he swallows audibly, “Pajamas?”

“No shit Sherlock,” you grouse, tossing them on his face, “But they’re not mine so the mystery continues.” 

Removing the shorts and shirt from his face, he runs his fingers against the material. “Nance tried to go to yours and grab some stuff,” he says by way of explanation, “But your ex was cagey and shitty with date and times for her to do so,” he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “And I just figured new stuff would be easier?”

“Oh,” you say, feeling mildly foolish. “That’s— I’m sorry about that, about him.”

“Hey, no,” he says getting up from the bed and walking toward you, “You don’t ever need to apologize for his asshole behavior.” 

He hands you the blue pajama set with white moons and stars with a soft smile, “They’re cute, right?”

You screw your mouth the side and narrow your eyes, “Yes, but that’s not the point, Daddy Morebucks.” You take the shirt and shorts from him with a huff, “I guess these will do, if you insist.”

“Oh, I do,” he replies with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. When you turn back to the bathroom, he eyes a scrap of paper under your side of the bed and picks it up.

He reads it with a sigh, fucking Eddie. And taps out a reply.

steeb 🖕: too soon, but well played. much appreciated

dumbass 🤘 ‘liked’ this message

dumbass 🤘: don’t fuck it up and wait too long

By the time Steve returns from his shower, he finds you snuggled down in bed singing to “Yule Shot Your Eye Out.”

“Guess we figured out the bluetooth then,” he says pulling back the covers and slipping in beside you. 

“Don't come home for Christmas / you're the last thing I want to see,” you croon and hand him the remote.

He joins in with a “Merry Christmas, I could care less,” and cues up the movie for the night. 

You turn off the music. “Steve,” you say, turning on your side to face him, “Are those… leopards on your pajama pants?”

“Obviously.”

“Huh, okay. Just checking.”

The movie in question, which, awkwardly, is the Ryan Reynolds favorite Just Friends. But it was a tradition at this point, and who were you to buck off a time-honored classic such as this? A coward, that’s who.

Because you’re out like a light, and the irony is not lost on Steve when Chris Brander knocks on Jaimie’s door, in an attempt to explain this shitty behavior: “I’d rather have you in my life as a friend than nothing at all.”

He pauses the movie with a sigh, feeling incredibly called out, and hazards a glance at you before he kills the lights. And, sure enough, you’ve wrangled that dumbass pillow over your eyes like some hostage that’s had a bag thrown over their head.

You look adorable but insane; you insist on sleeping with it because it’s like a “hug for your brain,” whatever that means.

So, despite knowing he’ll be momentarily terrified waking up next to that particular sight tomorrow morning, Steve can’t wait to celebrate Christmas with you and your family. He’s only a little worried about the rest of your gifts, and a mildly curious about the lingerie set from Eddie.

You jolt from a stupor with a gasp. The room has darkened, barely lit by the soft glow of the moon and stars. The blanket from your shoulders has slipped off some time ago, gathering to pool at your feet. Blinking sluggishly, you realize you’re no longer grasping for dear life at the edge of the bed.

Cypress and vetiver. Faint cool aftershave and the vital heartbeat of warm boy. Something heavy and warm draped over your previously cold shoulders.

Another dream.

Yet, it feels more corporeal than ever before and the drumming in your chest strikes a thrilled beat. Your hands wildly pat him up and down, drawing forth a dazed rousing at your antics. You don’t stop, though, running up his bare torso, the fingers tangling in the soft curls on his chest, skating to his strong jaw and chin. Then hair, those long chestnut strands lightly curled at the edges, grown a little longer and wild.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, honey.”

You bristle in disbelief, distracted by the realization with some embarrassment that you’ve been sleeping on top of him for who knows how long.  Stupid syllables stuck like gooey taffy in your mouth, welding your teeth together in a solid disappointment. 

“Y'alright?”

You nod, untangling yourself from him slowly and retreating back to your side of the bed. With a twist of his torso, Steve slips his palm beneath yours, touches each pad of his fingers to your own, bending each fingertip to graze you. 

His eyes search you intently, a little confused, a little relieved.

“I just–” you breathe out, words stuck in your throat. Unable to look him in the eye. “Thank you.”

It’s a whisper in the night, soft and delicate falling from your lips.

“For this, for everything,” you continue breathlessly. 

‘Course, he thinks. I’d do anything to see you smile. Inside of him, an all too familiar weight, heavy with promise.

His selfish heart. His stupid, cowardly, guilty heart. His broken, broken heart. He doesn’t even care to gather it up this time. Or the next.

But it’s Steve’s mouth that opens, sides of his tongue already bent over his molars as he whispers a reply. “Anytime, doll.”

He runs his fingers in his hair, sweeping it away from his forehead, stifling a yawn, eyes your pretty, pretty mouth in a smile. Still dark out, some mysterious hour both too late and too early to be awake, and he couldn’t see you at all—blurred at the edges and wrapped in shadow— but he knew you well enough to know when you were smiling.

He imagines the plush curve of your mouth, how it pressed hot and heavy against his own. You slip away, back to the far side of the bed, hand falling from his. 

His misses your warmth, but turns over anyway. Knowing he’ll struggle to sleep with the chilled distance between your bodies. 

But, his heart is selfish and it always has been. Even now, when it thumps so noisily he’s certain you can hear it. Even now, when you’re tucked in, wonderful and warm, close enough to touch, to hold.

And Steve knows, just like he knew last night with the crush of your lips against him, he’d always–always want you, in whatever way you’d have him.

[thedanniannie]

What I think Itachi's Morning Routine Would Look Like...

This is on a weekend, when he's not busting his ass at a day job

Modern AU headcanons (sfw)

He gets to luxuriate a bit today (like me. I'm writing this over a homemade mocha. And yes it's subpar but I'm pretending that it's not...)

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5:30 - Alarm is off and he's shuffling out of bed. His logic, he doesn't want to lose his sleep schedule, even on a day off.

5:40 - He changes into a grubby set of clothes and brushes his teeth almost immediately after getting out of bed.

5:45 - He prepares a quick, small breakfast (just to gain some sustanance before working out) and takes his prescriptions.

6:00 - He stretches and runs. He doesn't usually get to go out much when he's working. Maybe he can fit in some physical activities after work, but not like he can on a Saturday. He can actually enjoy a nice run for once, and while it is still cool outside.

6:45 - Itachi showers and puts on his nicer day clothes. He is normally quick and brisk with his showers during the week. But he finds himself luxuriating a bit. (NOT that he doesn't take good showers normally, Mikoto didn't raise a HEATHEN!)

7:10 - He can finally take the morning a bit slower now. He makes himself a more appropriate breakfast, bringing it to the small table by the window where he likes to eat and read. His book is already there, a bookmark indicating that it's nearing the end of its story. Maybe I can look for another book today, Itachi thought.

7:30 - Itachi finished his book. Unfortunately for him the book store doesn't open until 10, so he decides to waste some time at a café. He makes sure the kitchen is tidy before leaving the house.

8:00 - He arrives at the café with a small laptop in hand. He orders a seasonal latte and finds his spot at a table with an open outlet. Itachi decides to write until the store is open.

(Now I want an Itachi/writer au headcanon/fanfic... lemme cook on it and I'll post one later)

10:00 - Book store. He is happy. Bc the book store is open.

11:00 - Itachi may have gotten carried away with his time at the book store, and is just now arrive back home. He looks down at his phone, eager to answer the work emails that have been piling in while he was out (Mikoto wished Itachi had a better work-life balance. She reasoned with him to just have one day--Saturday--to himself. He could always answer back on Sunday. While it itched at Itachi's work ethic, he obliged to make his mother happy).

He sits back and picks one of the books from the small pile he brought back home.

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.

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This was fun. I'm content. Also the time stamps aren't like, a "set schedule" he has. I think he's just naturally punctual without trying. I also love anytime I get to reference Itachi's love for café-hopping bc that's gawt to be the most darlin' thang about him 💖

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

To the Next Adventure

Atem/YamiYugii X F!Reader

Darkness was everywhere you looked. It surrounded you, preventing any other movement besides the pivot of your head. It was neither cold nor warm, dry nor wet, it was simply nothing. What was this place? What happened that made you come here? Pain shot through your temples as if to answer the questions you’d asked, near blinding white hot, threatening to render you motionless altogether. Had you sustained a head injury of sorts?

“Release her at once!”

Another bolt of pain seared across your being. The voice was familiar, ripples of fine dark hued velvet dancing with white silk appearing from nowhere, as it caressed your ears. Who was its owner?, you couldn’t help but wonder as glittering gold sand gathered in a pile around your feet courtesy of a warm breeze. Darkness lingered though small stars slowly began to appear with each echo of the command until a desert spanned for as far as you could see blanketed by Nyx’s cloak of twilight. A full moon stained red threatened to bathe all things in its crimson glow if not for the single figure who stood atop of a mighty twin mouthed dragon.

“I will not repeat myself…Consider this your only and final warning!”

This time pain radiated from around your neck as what was identifiable as large fingers threatened to cutoff your airway. “Ah, but you see, she is rightfully mine by right! Need I remind you of this era’s rules, your highness, for he who lays claim to a female then the property she becomes! Matters not how nor if it was by choice! I have her in my hold currently which makes her the perfect person for the job I have in mind!”

The dragon released an earth shattering roar that would make any who heard deaf, its four eyes aglow with bloodlust as its summoner’s lip curled in a snarl. Seeing either one alone would ensure nightmares to come with its glistening fangs and claws but it was the man wearing the Eye of Horus upon his head that struck you with awe. Wild ebony hair with vermillion tips that faded to violet towards his neck’s nape, a mantle of rich purple billowing behind him that accentuated the amethyst shards within his sharp gaze as it remained locked upon the one you surmised as your captor, skin beautifully kissed by the sun’s rays that shone with subtle hints of sweat as he raised his hand outwards. “All in the land know that she you dare touch is to be by my side as queen so do not play me for a fool! Will or not, I demand you return her at once!”

Queen? You? Confusion filled your chest at his words.

Anger shone brilliantly as his gaze tinted towards pomegranate. As if your uncertainty had wounded him, there was the briefest shadow of sorrow hidden within his gaze as you met it. “You heathen, what have you done her?”

“Well, dear pharaoh, it was clear that you were not going to pull your punches even if I used those little modern century friends of yours. My patience wanes thin already and Zorc the Dark One will be resurrected soon enough once I offer up her life force!” Another hand rose to take hold of your chin, raising it roughly so that the length of your throat was exposed. “Try not to take this personally, my dear, you were simply a means to an end! Fear not though, your memories shall be returned to you once his highness speaks his name!”

Both summoner and beast bellowed towards the night sky as the moon behind them darkened. Those were your only warnings as the world you barely knew was plunged into darkness once again courtesy of a dagger which first swiped across your throat then buried itself deep within your chest until its metallic hilt met your flesh.

Breaths hissed from between your clenched teeth as you sat upright in bed, hands leaping to your throat and chest while staring wide eyed up through the skylight window to the full blood moon eclipse. Horror filled you like a spreading poison when hearing a voice call out a name which unlocked a hidden gate that was buried within your mind. Faces and places swam past you like a movie reel until they came to a screeching halt upon an altar where the shadow sourcing from a single being became two. The cellphone that was on your bedside table began to ring but you were too numb to move let alone speak. Somehow you knew where to go, where you should be, and who was calling out to you.

Sunlight threatened to blind you while stepping off the boat, feet running the second they met the blistering sand despite the shouts of local deterring you from venturing below. You’d used every string and connection you knew to get here so quickly but it would all be worth it. At the end of a seemingly never ending stone staircase, after stepping around the slumped figure of a white headed man, you found the golden upside down pyramid laying behind a tricolored teen who lay unconscious with several others. The stone tablet before you seemed to hum with power as you approached, a single golden beam appearing from the carving’s apex to brush your brow, before it fell silent; all of your memories had been restored already, meaning its task had nothing to do with you. Your hands carefully picked up the ancient artifact, caressing it gingerly and carefully as if it would shatter, raising it to press one of its sides against your cheek. A single teardrop fell from your eye to splatter across the priceless gold.

“By the ancient gods,” the voice from your dream sounded as if he were standing in front of you instead, “how have you come here?”

“Nothing upon the earth nor in the heavens could keep mine love from you, my pharaoh.” You whispered back while returning it to the young teen who stirred. Though you couldn’t physically see him, there was no mistaking the gaze which seemed to watch with suspense as you walked back towards the staircase. The urge to take the Millennium Puzzle came over you in a tidal wave yet you retrained yourself. It was not for you to possess and his task within this time was not yet complete. “Come seek me out once you have gathered your senses about you.”

And without another backwards glance, you vanished back up the staircase.

The gentle rocking of the boat would lull anyone into slumber but you instead found solace upon starboard’s bow with the wind teasing the sensitive skin of your face. Scents of water lily and driftwood filled the night’s cool air which quenched most of the day’s relentless heat. A soft smile made to raise your lips if not for the presence which manifested behind you.

They didn’t speak, nor did you, as the shadow that stretched across the wood underfoot became taller. It was dominating, radiating with power unseen in this century’s time, yet it seemed to not show its fangs as it came closer.

One step…

two steps…

four steps…

And it came to a stop just short of reaching where you stood. Yet they still did not speak nor did they attempt to touch you.

This time a smile did grace your lips as the lids of your eyes slowly closed. Masculine sandalwood now tickled your nose in place of playful yet faint scents of modern deodorant which was a bit too potent for your personal liking. “Upon the Nile’s shore, where water kisses land, so ever flows my love for you.”

“May by Ra’s grace, our bond be forged in gold.” He spoke softly, gently, as if afraid you were a vision that would disappear if he was too loud. “For not riches nor jewels shine brighter than my beloved. For so long as she remains by mine side, I shall not want for naught.”

“For what is fortune to one such as I when mine eyes behold the greatest treasure one could find?” You faced him fully with a tilt of your being, the banister meeting the small of your back as he crossed the remaining space to wrap both arms around you as if to prevent anyone from stealing you away. Guilt wracked your body as you in turn clung to him.

Along your trip you’d familiarized yourself with the path of his vessel, Yugi Mutuo from Japan, and had felt stricken with self loathe when discovering all that had occurred while your memory was lacking; Pegasus’ Shadow Game, the battle against Marik’s evil, Atlantis, and that you had been unable to assist in any of them left you feeling bitter. Even back in ancient times, the pharaoh had immense strength blessed to him by the gods, but the showcase again and again of it was almost too much for you to take when realizing that strangers had been by his side instead of you.

“My pharaoh, my beloved, my King of Games, forgive this fool of a woman for not finding her way to your side sooner.”

“I am relieved that you did not have to suffer twice. The battle’s path may have turned in an unfavorable direction if you had participated, (Y/n), thus I am relieved to find you unharmed and well.” The pads of his thumbs were quick to wipe away the tears as they spilled down your cheeks, his gaze piercing you with its gemstone hues. “Bakura’s curse was vanquished the moment he was defeated, (Y/n), so do not blame yourself upon something that was not within your control.” He appeared just as you had dreamt and more as he encouraged your eyes to open with the softest of brushes that were his fingers against your eyelids. Pale moonlight accentuated each plane of his face, revealing masculine edges yet smoothed over by the lingering plush that was from living within the modern century, though it did little to conceal the physique which was testimony of endless trainings both in combat and magical. A black racer back tee failed to conceal the lean build he sported, shoulders and upper chest showcased thanks to the fabric’s tightness, and recognizable bottoms ended where pointed boots began. Leather studded bands around his biceps and wrist did little to deter his movements, matching the choker around his throat. The expression upon his features though was foreign as he retreated a step. “Forgive my appearance, for it is not entirely my own.”

“My pharaoh, frankly I would not care if your vessel was a giant purple dinosaur.” Your hand waved dismissively when his head tilted slightly, unable to stop a giggle from sounding. Pride filled you while cupping his face between both your palms, exhaustion appearing within his gaze as you brought him closer so that your foreheads were touching. “It matters not, beloved, all that matters is that you have succeeded in saving the world from Zorc the Dark One. Now you may finally know peace as the kings before you have.”

Regret wafted off of him in waves as he removed your hands, gaze becoming hooded. “I am in need of rest, yes, yet my duty upon this matter is not yet finished.”

You listened carefully and intently as he told of one final duel he needed to partake within. This time it would be against his vessel. Understanding filled you when noting how he glanced over his shoulder towards the cabin where the boy’s companions sounded from, your fingers lightly brushing against his own when he hesitated to answer the call of a name which wasn’t his. “Go to them. It will not be long before they must accept your destiny leads somewhere they cannot follow.” Though his fingers and hand was larger than your own, it did not deter you from raising it so as to brush your lips across his knuckles before placing his palm against your chest where he could feel your heartbeat. “You have my word that I will not wander, pharaoh, have faith in my words as a promise to remain seen yet unseen while going forth from here.”

Sharp gemstone eyes closed briefly as he nodded, slowly allowing the call to cause his vessel to take retreating steps, until he disappeared from sight towards the other end of the boat.

Watching him go threatened to fill you with loneliness and neglect but it was not you who needed comforting tonight. No. He deserved to be with the friends he’d made despite you wanting not to waste another second not within his presence. You’d managed this second life’s time so far without him.

What was one more night?

Little were you aware of how many times he came to a stop outside your door as the moon traveled its way across the night sky. It was close to the four o’clock hour that the softest of sounds woke you. No explanation was needed as you crossed the borrowed room’s space to unlock the door, your hand gently collecting his own and drawing him inside before closing it once more. The shadows seemed to gather around him as he silently followed you to the bed, not stopping nor saying anything as you laid him down first. Words weren’t necessary as the heaviness within his gaze met yours. One of your hands rose to begin slowly combing through his tricolored tresses while the rest of you settled in a comfortable position beside him, silently encouraging him to relax by coaxing his head to rest against your upper chest. The invitation was accepted and he soon had nestled his face into your being with arms wrapped around your waist.

And that was all it took for the mighty Nameless Pharaoh of Egypt to finally break. His hold became tight as near scalding droplets of liquid splattered across your skin as he choked on his own words. He told of everything from how his initial emergence from the puzzle frightened the poor boy who’d completed it, how he had selfishly grown attached to the boy’s friends and became envious of the simplistic lifestyle, of how each adversary he met would nearly result in the harm of those he’d come to care for, the frustration he felt when someone was made victim because of his choices or actions, when he’d felt helpless against silver tongued opponents who nearly made him lose sight of his path. Your hold didn’t wane or falter as he spoke, uncaring of how long it took until his words ran out, internally relishing every one that passed through his lips. It had been so long since either of you had spoken freely, let alone held one another in such a way, and though he’d tried his best to keep a clam and neutral exterior, you of all people knew just how self destructive such a face could become.

He’d had no one in this time to comfort or encourage him in the way he needed. No one had been capable to ensuring his confidence within himself was put back together when he felt lacking. There had been new friendships to help him cope with his missing memories but with them came a lacking of understanding from both parties. Several times it seemed as though he was at a loss for what he’d needed in some scenarios, despite his and their best efforts to find solutions, but that’s outside of the here and now.

Silence hung in the air once he’d finished, though it was as weightless as a feather, yet it settled over the two of you in an invisible blanket which stemmed off the chill of night. Your eyes drifted closed as his breaths slowed to an even rhythm against your skin. The tension which had been radiating off his form since your skin touched was replaced by calm acceptance. His mind must have been racing with the coming dawn that it had robbed him, and his vessel, of slumber. Even if this was all you could do for him you’d gladly accept this role.

Dawn filtered through nearby window as he finally stirred, bathing him in its colorful glow as he rose to sit upright. You would wake soon, that much he could tell from how you shifted due to his warmth now missing from your embrace. Ever so gently he brushed his lips against your temple then across each of your knuckles. The beauty he saw as you teetered on the line between dreamland and consciousness threatened to take his breath away but it could not be ignored that he had one more mission to accomplish upon this plane of existence. His turned back, however, made him miss the tear which slid down your cheek as with a crack of your eye allowed your to witness him depart.

Dressing took minimal effort, your belongings next to none since you no longer would need them come tonight, and you carefully followed the small group who were his comrades below the earth to where the Millennium items were to slumber. It seemed that none noticed you slipping within the designated space that was to be his final stage and watched with awe as not one figure but two appeared from the shadow which had been one.

With breathless abandon, you watched the duel’s twists and turns earn mixed reactions from those who watched; the tomb keepers would be freed from their ancient family duty to watch over the Nameless Pharaoh’s tomb until his return and those who were teens within high school couldn’t decide who to cheer for yet they all soon began cheering for the one named Yugi. Magic cards were activated, trap cards triggered, summons of monsters completed or prevented…

Until his life points were nonexistent.

Your breath came out in a soft exhale as defeat permeated the air. It seemed as though the other spectators were struck by the turn of events, judging from how they stared wide eyed up at the pair who crossed the space to stand mere inches apart instead of feet. Even from here you felt the waves of relief coming off the pharaoh as he offered his hand towards the boy who looked ready to weep. Whispers almost too soft for you to hear filled the air, encouraging you to come forward from your hiding place, and steeled yourself as you stepped out from the column’s shadow you’d been within. A collective exclamation rose as you remained locked upon your target, the platform which had been stage for his final duel, uncaring as a few demanded you explain how you’d come to be here. Coming to a stop beside him, you offered him a smile after bowing lowly. “Beloved, you fought valiantly.”

An uproar sounded from those who watched, despite the attempts of the tomb keepers, but silence fell as his hand rose to tuck a few fallen strands of hair behind your ear. The boy beside him was watching with wide eyed surprise as your introduction was followed by explanation of Bakura’s curse upon your memories which had wiped them clean until recently.

Your hand offered its palm to him as another smile raised your lips when he took it. “Thank you for taking care of him as he traversed upon such a path.” Hesitation filled his gaze when you drew him forward, your other hand cupping the side of his face so that his gaze wouldn’t wander from yours. “Your friendship shall not be forgotten, Yugi. Allow me to take my place at his side now as he prepares to cross the final threshold.”

He didn’t object or intervene despite his friends who spoke against your actions while releasing him, the woman tomb keeper explaining the final steps which the pharaoh needed to take in order to transcend. “I can tell you mean a lot to him, (Y/n), though I probably should say that I had my suspicions someone out in the world was looking for him ever since we returned. I’m glad you found him.”

Those who had gathered as the great stone slabs parted to reveal golden light which bathed the pharaoh in its light. His modern clothes were replaced by the ancient wardrobe you’d been more familiar with down to the royal purple mantle which billowed in the soft breeze coming from beyond the gate. Ever so faintly you could see those who had passed on during the battle centuries ago waving and awaiting the two of you with welcoming smiles. Tanned fingers gently laced themselves with yours, which you gave a gentle squeeze, your gaze rose to meet his own to find them practically glittering. Somehow your own clothes had undergone a change as well to resemble those which you’d once donned. A bend of his being brought his lips to your cheek, earning a soft hum from within your chest and a blush as he whispered how beautiful you looked, before turning his attention to those who watched with tearful gazes.

Farewells were said, smiles exchanged, your fingers giving his a squeeze as the minimal window which would allow him to finally crossover began to shorten. “Atem, my beloved, it is time. If we do not go now then we may remain within limbo.” You shared a glance with him back over your shoulders, then together the two of you stepped through the gateway.

“As I embark on this next adventure, I am thankful to the gods that we have reunited.” He brought your joined fingers up to his mouth as the golden light grew, nearly blindingly so, his lips descending upon your own when you sighed blissfully. “Let us go…together.”

[candywife333]

Our Lord and Savior.........Garlic

TO RELEASE IN DECEMBER

[TEASER]

Pairing: 1000 year old arrogant vampire Jin x chubby reader (who is obsessed with garlic and Italian food)

Warning: explicit words used

I crept into the mortal's room. She was a horribly chubby little being that resembled an overstufffed turkey, currently snoozing away wrapped in her duvet. I tilted my head to take a better look at her, she really did look like she was a piglet in a blanket. Though I really hated the fat humans (due to what I considered to be their inferior taste) , this one really did intrigue me.

She smelled of peaches, vanilla, and rum. Strange combination that became slowly addictive to my senses. At least that's what my vampiric nose told me anyway. She was a prude. Completely covered in a long white cotton nightgown, and then again concealed by a comfy looking (but very inconvenient) blanket.

How the hell was I supposed to navigate this situation? I had dealt with extracting blood from modest humans in the past. But that was something like 200 odd years ago. I didn't particularly remember how I did it then, the technique was lost to me. The modern age had lent itself to the discovery of shorter night clothes leading to convenience for sucking blood.

The girl was surely not making my life any easier. Was it too much to ask for scantily clothed prey who I could slurp blood away from by the gallon?

As I got closer to her bed, trying to ascertain what angle to pierce her neck at, I heard sniffling and then a set of wide eyes sleepily fixing on my form.

Oh no!!! I was violating all the codes!! I could not under any circumstance be seen by a mortal. How did this mortal even open her eyes when I had bestowed upon her a sleep incantation?

I heard a squeal beneath me and saw the human scurry away from me, scared , as red as a tomato. She bellowing out , "GET AWAY FROM ME YOU VAMPIRE!!! BE GONE FROM MY CASTLE YOU IMPUDENT SCUM OF THE EARTH!! HEATHEN!! INFIDEL"!!

Why the hell was this girl acting like she was in the 18th century? What was this behavior? And this language was way too anachronistic, even for a vampire as old as me. Before I could respond to her accusations, she continued shrieking, " I SHALL CASTRATE YOU IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER"!

Ok, that for sure was a new and bold threat. Hadn't heard that one ever. She got points for creativity. She waved around a cross that was around her neck strapped to a thin gold chain. Well this was more typical of most religious victims I came across.

Then the girl proceeded to do something so unholy---even by my standards. Yes people, even I have standards as unlikely as it may seem.

So decrepit.

So unexpected.

She must be insane, that was the only explanation.

Even an immortal of my age had never seen this tactic before. She whipped up her night gown in a flurry, exposing her.....wet pussy to my eyes. For a second, I was confused by the exquisitely provocative sight.... till I caught the scent. The toxic scent of ..............garlic.

But the scent was emanating from her pussy?!!!! What type of sorcery was this?!!!

She hysterically cackled out, "GOT YOU, YOU DEMON! I ate so much garlic today from Olive Garden that you will rue your life, if you come too close to me. GARLIC BREATH AND GARLIC PUSSY SHALL BE THE END OF YOU, YOU EVIL CREATURE"!!!

I stood there confused. She was right about the garlic for sure. It definitely wasn't a preference of mine, along with ginger. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And I had never been one to turn down a meal. Clearly she had miscalculated.

[avelera]

Whenever I see those posts that say your ancestors would be so amazed at you for having easy access to spices, and food, and all the technological wonders of our day, and so proud of you for your education, I always appreciate them for how they remind people to not only appreciate the wonders of our time but also to see them as the result of so much work by our ancestors to get us here. Even the societal woes we deal with today are often the unintended consequences of the goals of our ancestors to make the world better for their descendants, or are consequences that were impossible to predict back when the goal was to solve problems like starvation, exposure, or scarcity.

H O W E V E R, because I'm also the ultimate anti-nostalgia history pedant, I always get stuck on these anecdotes thinking, "Ok, but what would they be HORRIFIED about? What would they denounce us for? What would they look at and simply not understand how it's gone so very wrong? What would be dystopian for our ancestors?"

In my opinion? The precipitous decline of religion as central to daily life.

(By the way, I don't just mean the things we think of as dystopian in our society. Ancestors who lived in a world with child labor and slavery aren't going to be horrified by the woes of modern capitalism the way young online people today hope they would be, or if they are, it might be for reasons you'd never think of, like how few people are self-employed, though of course, everything is subjective based on the demographic of the historical person we're imagining. Honestly, one of the things they might find horrifying is the speed of our communication, and how we're always at the beck and call of others because of the cell phone in our pocket pounding us with messages and notifications all day without rest, but I digress.)

Now, I only speak to my own experience here, and I live in a part of the US with the highest level of atheism, and consider myself an atheist by any standard that matters and so I mostly see this as a good thing even as I try to see through my ancestor's eyes as to why it wouldn't be to them, but I have to say the one thing that I never see these rapturous posts about how we are the envy of our ancestors mention is religion.

Even relatively devout Christians today (Anglosphere, Western, etc, I don't speak for the world) who go to church every Sundays are practically heathens by Medieval standards, where society was built around attending church multiple times per day, including at midnight. Where being pious and devout was considered a desirable virtues in a marriageable woman. Where the church was the center of the town and the center of public life. Where the Pope could excommunicate a king and cause a revolt from that king's people with that leverage, because excommunicating the king meant excommunicating the whole country and the people went ballistic at the fact they were doomed to Hell (supposedly) because of their ruler's choices. A society where men traveled to the Holy Land because their souls were guaranteed salvation if they did and because they devoutly believed in that cause, and who would walk on their knees an equal number of steps to that journey if they could not make it for real.

I can't help but think these ancestors would look at secular life, even with all its technological wonders and marvels of health and convenience and think, "Was it worth it? If they're all bound for Hell as a result?" and for many the answer might actually be no!

Anyway, it's just a thought exercise. One I engage with whenever I hear a sweeping argument that seems to have no counter to it, that of course things are always getting better with time. There are no doubt many, many things our ancestors took for granted that we'd find amazing too, or that they'd look at with us and see as a huge step down compared to their life. On the other hand, one also can't understate how huge it is that we've basically eliminated child mortality, at least in the US, compared to only a century ago, or that huge societal famines are basically nonexistent (even if nutrition is another matter). There's plenty to recommend us, but there are also values I think that get lost in this discussion that as we travel further from them, become almost alien to us.

[thorraborinn]

Tonight is the beginning of jólablót for most heathens who observe a lunisolar calendar. The timing is determined by "the first full moon following the first new moon following the solstice." The new moon was immediately after the solstice, making this about as early as a lunisolar jólablót can be.

According to Heimskringla:

Hann setti þat í lögum at hefja jólahald þann tíma sem kristnir menn, ok skyldi þá hverr maðr eiga mælis öl, en gjalda fé ella, en halda heilagt meðan jólin ynnist. En áðr var jólahald hafit hökunótt, þat var miðsvetrar nótt, ok haldin þriggja nátta jól.

'He [King Hákon] made it law to hold Yule at the same time as Christians and each man was to have a measure of ale or else pay a fine, and observe for the duration of Yule. But before, Yule was held on hökunótt, that was midwinter night, and yule was held for three nights.'

Most modern recreation of the lunisolar calendar is built primarily on the work of Stockholm University professor Andreas Nordberg's paper Jul, disting och förkyrklig tideräkning ('Yule, Disting and pre-Christian Time-Reckoning'; paper is in Swedish but with a substantial English summary at the end) though usually not identical to Nordberg's reconstructions. The lunisolar calendar associated with the Nordic Animism movement and the Year of Aun (not exactly the same as Rune Hjarnø Rasmussen's The Nordic Animist Year) is more directly informed by Josh Rood in his paper The Festival Year: A Survey of the Annual Festival Cycle and Its Relation to the Heathen Lunisolar Calendar.

Read more about the Year of Aun, named for the legendary Swedish king who extended his own life by sacrificing his sons, on the Nordic Animism website and on Rune Hjarnø Rasmussen's YouTube channel.

[royal1asset-if]

My Very First Interactive Novel.

Links: Character's Animal Pics,

Character's Badges, Character's Masquerade Mask

Teasers: 1,2,3

Spotify Playlist

Snippets: Dustin Wither, Amelia Payne, Luna Du Couteau, Serena Fairclough, Elric Graves, Conrad Hoyer

RO's Review Reaction: 1

Demo: Prologue up to Chapter 1

(Tip: On your mobile phone, go to your browser's setting and click on desktop site.)

Royal Asset is an interactive novel, about a group of people with exceptional skills that were tasked to defend the kingdom and it's crown. There are 6 love interest for you to choose from, 3 males and 3 females each with their own past and secrets for you to learn!

(Note: The RO's are not final. I might add more in the near future and that no romance is not a option. Also, I want this novel open as much as possible not restricting itself to the medieval time era or any kind of era. For example, I might put modern music in the novel.)

(Warning: 18+ Viewer discretion is advised! The story includes the following: Violence, Sexual themes, self-doubt, depression and many more will be added in the future.)

The game itself is currently in progress, where each chapter will be updated as I finish it.

The king is sitting on his throne, fidgeting anxiously.

Thinking how his life flashed before his very eyes, one assassin infiltrated his castle in the middle of the night and almost succeeded in taking his life.

" Haha! brooding my king?" his Royal Protector asked him.

"That obvious huh? Leon." the king said to his protector.

"Be quit, Leon! can't you leave the king in peace?" the king's Royal Wizard says annoyed, chastising Leon.

"You're always so grumpy! Leona!" he says to the wizard.

The king listening to the banter of the two, just can't help but to forget his present problem and laugh at their argument. Thinking how many years have passed, before they were children and playing around. These two are his most treasured friends and he can always rely on them to watch his back.

"Reminiscing my king? I can see tears forming on your eyes." Leon says.

"Yes, Leon I'm just thinking the good old days, now I have to manage this kingdom and ensuring safety to the people, not to mention almost getting killed in my sleep." the king says wistfully.

"Just remember you're not alone Hendrik!" Leona says gently, putting her hands on the shoulder of the king.

"I know, it's just taxing to oversee this all by myself!" he says frustated, hands clutching tightly

"That's what you get for being the heir." Leon deadpan. Before the king can something, Leon immediately cut him off.

"But worry not!, me and my sister here have thought of a plan to make your life easier!" he says triumphantly, fist raise in the air.

"Please do tell!" the king said tiringly.

"Hendrick, why not make a team that consist of people from different divisions." she says to the king confidently.

"We know the divisions have their differences and they are always at each other's throat, but this crazy plan might work!. he exclaimed skeptical.

"We just need to think of a group name, that will strike fear to the hearts of heathen and will be a beacon of light to the people.

"How about, "The Elites." she says.

"Too common Leona! we need something unique, "The Vindicators!" he says.

"Really Leon! "The Vindicators" the people upon hearing that, will think that they are mercenaries or thugs." she says exasperated.

The king closed his eyes and block out the noise of the arguing siblings and ponder what name will sound better.

"The Royal Assets!" he says aloud, it's name, reverberating through the castle walls.

The kingdom of Devontae, thrived and lived happily. King Hendrik rules his kingdom with a stern but caring hand. Ensuring the safety of it's people and punishing those who will disrupt the peace of his kingdom. With the council and advice of his "Royal Protector and Royal Wizard". His most trusted and treasured friends, ensuring that he will not fall from grace. But as time goes by, the king became weary as shouldering the weight of his kingdom alone is slowly taking a toll on him and one assassin almost succeeded in taking his life. His friends noticing this, decided to devise a plan that will help the king govern and protect his kingdom at the same time protecting the king himself.

They recruited the following people.

"Victoria Dare ,The Inquisitor. From the Knight Division"[F]

"Dante Bancroft, The Grandmaster. From the Assassin Division"[M]

"Ailwyn Elffire, The Sanguiner. From the Mage Divsion"[M]

"Kenred Ryder, The Hunter. From the Ranger Division"[M]

"Beatrice Delia, The Divine. From the Cleric Division"[F]

"Alessia Young, The Spectre. From the Rogue Division[F]

This warriors together, defended the people from injustice and dispose anyone who will do harm to the king. Operating both in the light and the shadows, they ushered the kingdom to peace and tranquility.

But as time goes by, our protectors grew in aged and wisdom. As well as their enemies becoming more powerful and cunning. Our protectors knows that time is against them and set out on recruiting new students. They started teaching, training and passing their knowledge to their new students.

As well as seeking the one who is worthy to bear their mantle and continue their legacy.

Will you be the one that will keep the peace in the kingdom or will you be it's liability and caused it's downfall?

MC's gender is locked to non-binary

*Customize your MC's physical appearance.

*Make choices that will affect the story and the people around you.

*Choose your class and mastery.

*Choose how the people will view you, will you be a merciful protector or a cruel warrior doing what any means necessary.

*Find love among the characters, know their story, see what makes them tick. 3 males and 3 females with their own personality.

*Will you follow your fate or make your own destiny.

*Each class has their own different story, so have fun exploring.

*Battle liches, dark knights, tackle conspiracy and many more!.

*Lead the team and be known as " The Peerless Dragon"!.

"Dustin Wither, The Roaring Lion. Knight Division" [M]

Role: Tank

Physical Appearance:

Weapons: Sword and shield.

"Guess, I'm built different."

A knight with a savior complex, they will always be the first one to the fray. Wanting to take most of the hits, so the team can hit back even harder. Their passion for protecting the innocents burns wildly, disregarding their own safety. Even it means dying they will not falter in their step, knowing that they will die honorably in battle and doing it for the greater good.

Ready to sacrifice themselves for the mission and for their friends. No matter what happens, they will always protect their friends even if it means losing a limp in the process, just to make sure their friends go home in one piece.

"Can your love endure the searing heat or will you be consumed by the raging flames?

"Elric Graves, The Watchful Eagle. Ranger Division"[M]

Role: Tracking

"What's life without risk?"

Physical Appearance:

Weapon Choice: Bow and short sword

Adventurous and care free is the word to describe them. Getting restless when staying for a place too long and doing nothing. To them life is supposed to be dangerous and exciting. A dancer and joker, they will always have a joke ready for every situation even in a life or death situation.

A daredevil and laughing at the face of death, they are always ready to accept any mission despite the risk. Always seeing the silver lining in everything even in seeing someone dying. To them seeing the team sad and glum is a horrible curse to bear.

"Will your love aim true or will it be broken in two"

"Conrad Hoyer, The Observant Owl. Mage Division." [M]

Role: Planner

"Why ever use your heart for thinking?"

Physical Appearance: Hair color blonde like gold, shaved short, reaching to their ears, Eye color calculating gray. Standing at 5'7 and skin color pale white. Lean body type.

Weapon Choice: Magic and staff

A pragmatic person and believing that the heart is the reason why people do things that they will regret later. Mind over matter, to them everything has a reason to why it came to pass. A perfectionist and straight-forward person. Not afraid to voiced out their thoughts and opinions on anyone. Not to mention drawing the ire of everyone.

They will ensure that the mission will go according to plan no matter what. Making sure that every data or analysis are 101% foolproof, even it means not sleeping or eating for many days.

"Can your love make them beat their heart one's more or will you be discarded like a failed experiment?"

"Luna Du Couteau, The Vicious Wolf. Assassin Division" [F]

Physical Appearance:

Role: Reconnaissance

"Emotions makes you hesitate and hesitation leads to death"

Physical Appearance: Hair color white as the moon, very short above their ears, eye color blue as ice. Skin color is fair like the light of the moon. Alethic body type. Standing at 5'8.

Weapon choice: Sword and dagger.

Their stare cold as ice and emotion locked deep within their heart. A virtuoso in the arts of assassination, may be in land, sky or water they will always hit their mark. As a lone wolf, they always distant themselves from others. Afraid that getting close to someone might open old wounds. Spent many years hardening their heart making it hard as steel and cutting out all emotions both heart and soul, making sure that it will not get in the way of completing their mission.

To them mission is first priority if it means sacrificing their friends. Using every resources at their disposal may it be life's or favors, they will not hesitate to do so, if it means securing the mission.

"Can your love thaw the wall of ice around their heart or will you freeze and cracked under pressure.

"Amelia Payne, The Zealous Bear. Cleric Division."[F]

Role: Healer

Physical Appearance: Hair color ginger like dying leaf, skin color is mocha like cinnamon, eye color is brown like their skin, Standing at 5'7 .Lean and athletic body type.

Weapon Choice: Hand to hand combat

"Even sadness can be a good thing, because it reminds that we are only humans.

The sunshine in the group, they are optimistic and supportive, but a very shy bunch. Believing that the world is not so simple as black and white. That there is more to cherish and explore in life. Don't mistake their kindness for weakness, for when provoked they will unleash their fury. Overprotective when it comes to their friends and showing their genuine concern to those who needs it, making them a motherly figure to everyone.

To them, the safety of their friends is what important ,than completing the mission, even it means if the king's life is at stake. Their very same friends who have been with them through thick and thin, making them family and a home to go back to.

"Can your love progress into something more or it will remained" stuck in first base?"

"Serena Fairclough, The Cunning Fox. Rogue Division." [F]

Role: Security Breaker

Physical appearance: Hair color is midnight black, skin color is warm ivory, eye color is swirling caramel. Standing at 5'6. Lean and small body type.

Weapon Choice: Escrima sticks and short sword

"They say never steal from a thief, but I think you got something that belongs to me."

A charmer and occasional poet, they always seemed to get what their heart desires. Gifted with a silver tongue, they can sway men and women both young and old. Not to mention has a knack for cracking open locks and safes. To them love is just a game, stealing hearts and after draining it's usefulness they will discard it afterwards. When the dust settles they, will ensure that they are the one left standing even it means fighting dirty to achieve what they want.

No mission will be safe from their hands and lock picks. No matter the difficulty they will always find ways to crack it. A improviser, they will always have a plan made on the spot just in case a mission gone awry.

"Can your love steal their heart or will they be the one that got away?

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

Time After Time

Word Count: 3152

Summary:

Modern!Eddie Munson x POC!Reader We've been best friends with benefits for years, Eddie and I. We both have even had partners and just paused the benefits when it would happen. We've never really were able to commit to any one other than each other. I'm over being antsy though and have chosen just say fuck it and make the decision to finally make this something more. Am I to blame for my sick, frantic brain? When toxic shit tastes just like candy And love might be lit, but I'm scared of what it might demand of me No wonder I'm antsy

Warnings: 18+

Shameless Smut, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Best Friends, Love Confessions, Anxiety, Porn with Feelings

Notes:

This is my first Eddie fic so please be kind. Also this is heavily inspired by the song Antsy by UPSAHL. Lyrics will be used from this amazing song in the fic (in bold italics) I do not own the rights to the song in any way. I hope you enjoy this porn with feelings. Happy Reading Heathens! 😈 Divider by @firefly-graphics

Eddie Munson. The King to my Queen of the outcasts. He’s loud, quirky, boisterous and the best friend a girl could ask for. Not to mention he is hotter than sin. Those curls always begging to be twisted around my fingers. Good thing our friendship has benefits of the sexual variety attached to it.

“Earth to Siren.” Fingers snap in front of my face. “What’s got you so spacey Songbird?”

“Huh?” I turn to him. A look of confusion crossing my face.

“Wow, you were really lost there weren't ya? Bet you didn't hear a single word of what I have planned for the next Hellfire session did you?”

I scrunch my nose. Biting my lip in embarrassment. “Um. Sorry?”

“You're lucky you're so damn cute otherwise I might take offense to such a disregard to my misadventures.”

“I didn’t mean to drift off. Promise. Tell me again. You’ll have my full attention this time.”

“Nah. Moments passed. Now I want to know what had you so lost in your head. Care to share?”

He’s giving me those damn puppy dog eyes again. I’m sure he thinks I’ll just squirm and come up with some lie. Why not give it to him straight and throw him for a loop.

“A couple of things, actually. Grabbing a handful of that unruly mane of yours while I make a mess on your lap as I ride your dick. I might have gone and caught very real feelings for you after all this time. And playing the new song I wrote. Unfortunately only one of those things can happen as everyone should be getting here soon to chill and jam out.” I shrug as if it’s no big deal and wander over to my guitar case. My acoustic waiting inside for me to do my thing and make some magic.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Come again, sugar? You buried the lead there. You have feelings for me?”

“That’s what your brain latched onto? Not the sex but the feelings?”

“Oh we’ll get to you riding me. Trust me. That is inevitable. But I need some clarification first. What kind of feelings are we talking about?”

“Don’t be so daft Batboy. You know exactly what type of feelings I’m referring to. The kind we said we wouldn’t let happen once we started sleeping together years ago. The whole reason we dated other people and put a separation between our sex life and our friendship.”

“So you’re in love with me huh?” He’s looking at me with this strange glint in his eyes I’ve never really noticed before.

“Uh..” I can’t help the awkward laugh that escapes my throat. “Yeah. I think so.”

I watch a smile spread across his face. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, there’s a knock at the trailer door followed by Dustin and Steve barging in.

“What’s the point of knocking if you’re just going to walk right in.” He grits out.

“Curtesy mostly.” Dustin quips.

I breathe a quick sigh of relief. I’m saved from my confession. At least for now. “Well once everyone is here and gets settled, I have something I want ya’ll to hear.”

Everyone is crammed into Eddie’s tiny living room. Bodies scattered across the floor on various pillows and blankets. Food and drinks overflow on the makeshift coffee table. The atmosphere is calm yet joyful as I play around on my guitar.

“I hear that you have a new song you’re working on that you want us to hear.” Robin declares as she takes a seat on the couch next to the armrest I’m seated on.

“I do. It’s still a little rough but I need someone other than me to hear it.” I state.

“Well. Get playing then Songbird. We’re just dying to hear that sweet voice serenade us.” Eddie demands.

“Alright. Here goes nothing.”

I begin strumming. Infusing my words with everything that I’ve been feeling as the words drift out of me. As I get to the verse divulging my feelings for Eddie, I make sure to make eye contact with him and hold it there.

Bet what I need is to stare at a wall

Then one little text, turns into a bender

Did I say too much or nothing at all? (At all)

Now I'm inventing the damage in bathroom floor panics (uh-ah)

Am I to blame for my sick, frantic brain?

When toxic shit tastes just like candy

And love might be lit, but I'm scared of what it might demand of me

No wonder I'm antsy

The vulnerability I’m showcasing starts to feel like too much and I close my eyes. Breaking contact with the soft brown orbs that have seen more than they should. It’s much easier to finish out the song this way. Safe. In my own little bubble. Feeding off the energy of the room.

With the last notes sung, I take a deep breath and reopen my eyes. The room has fallen silent and everyone is just staring at me. “What? Was it that bad? I thought it was a great idea for a song.” I start to second guess myself.

“That was fucking awesome!” Robin breaks the silence.

“Then why are you assholes being so fucking quiet?” I snap back.

“Just processing babe. That was a lot.” Steve states.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to bring everybody down. I was just really excited about this new song. And I-“

“Sugar, stop rambling.” I instantly close my mouth at Eddie’s words. “We love it. I know I do.”

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He licks his lips. “In fact I have something I need to show you myself. Come on.” He walks over, takes my guitar out of my hands, placing it carefully against the couch and takes my hand. Pulling me off the armrest he heads towards the hallway. My hand clasped tightly in his as we make our way to his room.

I really hope I didn’t just screw everything up and we’re going to go fight in private. Why did I have to write that stupid song.

I’m practically yanked inside Eddie’s room. Tripping over the disaster of clothes and junk scattered across the floor as he hurriedly maneuvers me through his space. “Eddie, slow down. I’m gonna eat shit if you keep this up. You don’t need to do all this just to yell at me about the rules and that love wasn’t part of the deal.”

Having reached the bed he abruptly stops. Turning to face me. “Shut up.”

The next thing I know he’s grabbing my waist and tossing me down on to the mattress. Following it up by climbing up my body and caging me in with his lean but surprisingly muscular frame. “You’ve used that mouth enough tonight. Now it’s my turn.” 

With no time to catch my breath, he renders me incapable of a retort by capturing my lips with his own. Kissing life back into my body, as our tongues dance a tango, we both know so well. 

His hands roam the curves of my body. Sneaking his ring clad digits under my shirt. The cool feeling of silver leaving goosebumps along my skin. It’s not long before he begins to remove my shirt. Placing his unoccupied hand underneath my lower back as he slowly lifts me to pull the fabric over my head. I of course raise my arms in aid. Making sure to graze my fingertips along his jaw when he tosses the shirt aside, as if offended by the cropped garment.

Not wanting to waste any time his hands find their way to the waistband of my jeans. With a quick snap of his deft fingers my button comes undone. My zipper quickly following suit. Sliding the denim down, he taps my hip, getting me to raise them so that he could divest me of my jeans.

He leans back, doing that thing guys seem to do with ease. You know the thing, grabbing the back of his shirt with one hand and pulling it off with ease. I don’t care what anyone says, that shit is hot as fuck.

His eyes are lust blown, the beautiful brown nothing more than a sliver. Their sole focus set on me draped over his messy bed sheets. “So fucking beautiful.” He ghosts his fingers up my slightly shaking legs. Teasing me by stroking the wetness that has soaked through my panties. Stretching out his middle finger, he tucks it into the gusset and slowly removes the last piece of clothing blocking him from his intended target.

“Take your bra off, Songbird.”

Without a thought I sit up. Reaching behind my back, I unclasp the black lace encasing my cleavage, letting it fall away from my body. 

He groans and rubs the bulge confined in his tight black jeans. He places a series of kisses along all of my exposed skin. Mapping out a trail of pleasure and gooseflesh. Teasing one and then the other nipple with his tongue. Ending each with a deep suction. 

The slow-paced teasing continues. It’s driving me absolutely insane. We’ve had some pretty intense nights before, but this is something different all together. He stops his trek at the apex of my thighs. Hot breath blowing puffs of air on the cooling slick leaking from my folds.

“So beautiful and all mine.” He mumbles out. Almost as if to himself. He drags his finger along my drenched lips, while he ensnares me in his gaze. “That’s right, isn't it, sugar? This pretty little pussy is mine to do with as I please?”

“Yes, Eddie. It’s all yours.” I pant out. Delirious. Needing him to do something more than just tease me.

“Damn right it is.” He growls before sticking out his tongue and running it along my wet flesh from entrance to clit with the skillful muscle. He circles my sensitive little bundle of nerves, pulling a moan out of my throat. Seeming to have had enough of taking his time slowly torturing me, he thrusts his tongue as deep as he can go inside my aching center. The thick muscle massaging my silken walls, giving them something to finally clamp on to. 

“Fuck, Eddie. Your tongue. Mmph. Feels so good, baby.” I allow my hands to finally anchor themselves in his curls like I have wanted to all night. I feel his moan of acceptance against my clit and it has me trying to squeeze my thighs shut. I know he wants me desperate and begging before he gives in and makes me come apart on his cock. It’s the one thing that has never changed over the years since we started sleeping together.

Pulling his tongue out of my slit, he swirls the tip along my folds. Seeking out every drop of my essence that he can. With the lightest touch, he draws figure eight patterns around my clit. Dancing me so close to the edge, that I’m in danger of falling over that cliff into utter bliss. Right as I can feel myself start to crest over that ledge, the bastard pulls away.

“No! Why’d you stop? I was so close.” I sit up and reach for his face. Wanting to drag him back to my pulsing center to finish what he started.

He Houdini’s out of my reach and scoots back off the bed. “The first time you come after that little confession you made earlier is going to be while my cock is deep inside you.” He says with conviction as he unbuckles his belt.

I’m hypnotized by his movements. Eyes drawn to his nimble fingers working on divesting himself of the last of his garments. My mouth waters as I wait for his thickness to spring free from its confines. Time seems to stand still as his pants finally drop to the floor.

“You went commando.” I whisper out as I lick my suddenly dry lips.  

“Wonderful coincidence. I wasn't expecting to have you in my bed tonight, since everyone was hanging out here and usually at least one or two of them end up crashing on the couch. But then you came pounding on my door right as I got out the shower, early as always. I just threw on the closest clothes.” He admitted, wrapping his fist around his length, giving himself a few pumps as he drinks me in with a predatory gaze.

“Lay back down” He husks out. The command sending a fresh wave of slickness to coat my thighs. Anticipating what’s to come, I slowly lie back on the mattress.

“Spread those delectable thighs for me, Sugar. Put my perfect little pussy on display. Show me once again what’s mine.” He grunts out as he continues to stroke himself. I watch with rapt attention as a bead of precum leaks from his tip and he places a knee down on the bed.

I smile sweetly up at him as I allow my legs to fall open just enough to show off my dripping folds. Following his request but holding back just enough to make him growl and push my thighs open the rest of the way. 

“You really wanna play with me right now, Songbird? After confessing having feelings for me and then making me sit with our friends while you filled my ears with your damn Siren song until I could sneak you away?” He teases his cock between my cleft. Tip tapping against my engorged and still so sensitive clit.

I can’t help but squirm and whimper. Wanting nothing more than for him to be deep inside of me already. That halted orgasm, inching its way back to the surface every time his hot length grazes my bundle of nerves. 

“I’m sorry, Eddie. Please. Need you inside me.” I begin pleading. “It’s been too long since you last filled me up.”

“You’re sorry huh?”

I quickly nod my head in agreement. “So sorry.”

“Gonna let me wreck this pussy? Ruin you for anyone else? Milk me dry like the cumdrunk little slut that I know you are?”

“Yes. Yes. Please.” I beg. Just wanting him to finally take me. Claim me as his own.

“As you wish, princess.” With his declaration he slams his hips forward. Splitting me open with his massive girth.

He doesn't even give me a moment to get reacquainted with the size of him deep inside me. He just pulls his hips back and thrusts in again and again. Setting a pace that makes my brain go fuzzy and every nerve-ending sing in pleasure.

“Fuuuck. Look at you, little Siren.” He grits out. “Already cock drunk and I’ve barely gotten started. Pussy’s gripping me so tight baby. She doesn't want to let me go.”

My mind can't seem to function correctly enough to produce anything other than moans, whimpers and wails of pleasure in response. I’m flying a serotonin high I was not ready to come down from yet. The coil in my core tightening as I dance closer and closer to the knife's edge of orgasm. Waiting for the moment when I can dive off the edge into pure ecstasy.

Almost as if sensing my impending climax, Eddie picks up the pace. Working his hips and grinding his pelvis down on my clit with every thrust for added stimulation. “Come on, baby. Come for me, pretty girl. I can feel your walls quivering around me. Give in. Fall apart on my cock. Show me how good I make you feel.”

That’s it. That’s all that I needed to allow myself to let go completely. Surrendering to the euphoric bliss with a scream I’m sure the whole trailer park could hear.

A rainbow of stars begin to detonate behind my closed eyes as I writhe beneath him. Back arching off the mattress before my limbs go limp and I lay there in a state of bonelessness.

“Don’t pass out on me now princess. I’m so close. Little pussy is squeezin’ me. So. Fucking. Tight.” His pumps become erratic as he chases down his own high. “Don’t you want me to fill you up? Have me leaking out of you as we spend the rest of our night with our friends?”

I just nod along. Whispering out. “Please. Full.” Not able to formulate more than two words in my current state.

Apparently, that was all the validation he needed to hear to stop holding back and release his seed into my waiting womb. Painting my walls white with rope after rope of his spend. 

It felt like it went on forever with how much he was pouring into me. Until his dick stopped twitching and he collapsed onto my chest. Catching his breath and covering my face in sweet kisses as we both came back down to earth.

We stayed locked together, my well-loved pussy warming his cock, as we both let our fingertips roam along the others skin. Allowing ourselves time to just revel in the moment of the new direction our relationship looks to be heading.

"I’ve had feelings for you for a long time now, ya know. Just never thought that you’d ever actually love a loser like me back. So, Songbird, our resident Siren, will you do me the honor of officially becoming mine now?” He asks into my neck. 

I can’t help but grin like the cat that got the cream. “You're truly stuck with me now, Batboy. A Tarrasque couldn’t rip me from your arms."

He chuckles. "I wouldn't have it any other way." He places a soft kiss to my lips.

Just as the kiss deepens and we begin the journey towards round two, there’s a knock on the door, followed by Steve’s muffled voice. "You guys done scarring us for life yet? Dustin won’t let us eat until you guys get back out here."

We both can’t hold in our laughter. "Tell Dusty buns we'll be right out but we're not staying long. I've got time to make up for. So you assholes are going to have to call it a night earlier than usual."

“TMI man! A simple ‘Be right out’ would have been enough, Eds.” Steve scoffs as he walks back to down the hall.

“Come on, sugar. Let’s get dressed before Dustin comes looking for us next.”

We quickly throw our clothes back on. Not wanting to keep our friends waiting much longer. As we reach the door to his room Eddie spins me around and pins me to it. Gazing deeply into my eyes he speaks. “I love you Songbird.”

“I love you too Batboy.”

Another sweet kiss is exchanged. “Now let’s go be a gross couple so we can weird out our friends. I think we’ve earned it.”

This night turned out so much better than I ever expected. Sometimes it really is best just to let the chaos reign.

[collapsingneutron]

Jason Todd's Life: A Cautionary Tale

There's room in a house in Park Row. Where a boy holds onto his bravado. His Daddy's a calloused disparager. His Mommy's a sky-high angel. Ten dozen needles and a pistol, they each follow their credo. Mommy shoots her veins and flies to the church steeple. Daddy shoots mafiosos and kneels at the altar of heathens.

There's a room in a house in Park Row. Where a boy escapes into fairytales. He's gotta survive, that boy. Swore to himself one awful night, with his Daddy jailed and his Mommy pale, he won't shoot veins and he won't shoot skulls, won't let his soul decrescendo.

There's an alley in a street in Park Row. Where a boy holds onto a tire iron. Money's his deity and demon. One bite away from starvation. One pound away from a skeleton. One debt to pay with a crime.

The footsteps he won't follow took him on a road to Apollos. A man found him stealing his tires. Saw something in him and turned him honest.

There's an alley in a street in Park Row. Where a mom and a dad were shot. And their son found a son in that very spot.

There's a room in a house in Bristol. Where a boy holds onto a comforter. His Daddy's a careful protector. His Mommy rests easy since he found paradise. Ten dozen meals in a day, his eyes light up like sunshine. Gunshots don't break the silence and no one hostile is welcome. He understands, one day, with his Daddy kind and his future bright, what it means to live instead of survive.

There's an alley in a street in the Narrows. Where a boy wields his bravado. Since Daddy put him on the straight and narrow, he's been fighting crime with magic. Ten dozen thugs in handcuffs, a pat on the back for a job well-done. Cheeks aching from a wide grin, chili hot dogs with the man who saved him.

There's a warehouse in Ethiopia. Where a boy loses his bravado. A sicko takes a crowbar to his soul. Plants a bomb and fills him with smoke.

A mom turns a blind eye.

A son crawls to his mom.

A dad is too late for his son.

There's a room in a house in Bristol. Where a man sits with a pistol. Where a butler doesn't displace an item. Where laughter doesn't break the silence and no one else is welcome. Where a boy has gone to paradise.

There's a man in a room in Park Row. Who scratched his way to the top from a coffin.

When the city thrives on crime, with his killer running wild, with his Dad gripping morals, knuckles white — there comes a time when desperation strikes.

The life he had is missing. The symbol for vengeance failed him. The bodies he bags make a difference. One day, his hatred for himself will soften.

There's a room in a house in Park Row. Where a man scratches his skin raw. His Dad's a modern Plato. His Mom's a face in a photo. Ten dozen heads in the bag, their bodies drag down his hands. He shoots mafiosos to death. And quotes Aristotle.

Organised crime's his gospel. A cluttered attic's his domicile. Was Mom's angel back then. And now, Dad's undead demon.

That man with bravado, a cautionary tale for boys in Park Row.

Desperation made a desperado.

[whiterosebrian]

Modest Proposal for Fellow Heathens

Many of you know that I am a neopagan, specifically a Heathen (at least for now), which means that my practice focuses on efforts to revive pre-Christian Nordic-Germanic ways.  As part of a slowly burgeoning magico-spiritual practice, I have been learning animism, meaning relating to spirits throughout the natural world and beyond.  Because I believe that recovering animism and the best ancient ideals is important to healing a wounded modern world, I intend to write this in such a way as to make sense to people outside the Heathen community.  Even still, my main intention is to offer a modest proposal for fellow Heathens.  Don’t worry—even though this post’s title is meant to play on Jonathan Swift’s infamous satire, I won’t say anything outrageous.   

I think that I should first discuss a certain bit of mythology within Old Norse literature—that will lead directly into my modest proposal soon enough.  The mythology tells of the war between the Aesir gods and the Vanir gods.  The Aesir have often been associated with civilization while the Vanir have been associated with a sort of tribal life within the natural world.  The war ended with a truce and they came together as a family of gods. 

One thing that should be kept in mind about this kind of mythology is that it was an oral tradition that developed over time; it was committed to writing concurrently with the process of Christianization.  This sort of oral tradition came in the form of sung poetry, and the most impactful and long-lasting poetry makes use of metaphor and subtext.  Some scholars dispute that the pre-Christian Norsemen viewed the Vanir and Aesir as distinct groups of gods.  On the other hand, that particular tale may reflect encounters between a warrior culture and a pastoral culture somewhere in the distant past.  Survival in “wild” places can be quite harsh.  The myths involving the Aesir’s rivalry with the Jotun—typically translated as “giants”, and who have been associated with storms and disasters—may reflect the difficulty of building thriving human societies in the face of nature’s harshest aspects.  I’d like to note that even some of the giants (such as the frost giantess Skadi, to whom I’ve reached out along with Odin, Freya, and Freyr) are welcomed into the family of the gods—which itself may be read as a parable on welcoming outsiders and even former enemies!  It can also be read as a parable on respecting nature instead of trying to conquer it. 

Jumping forward to today, hundreds of writers and hundreds of thousands of activists have called out the dire flaws in modern civilization—not because of a supposed lack of authoritarian traditionalism, but because of the most demonstrable harms to the earth and its denizens.  Anyone who pays attention to them could conclude that drastic social change and a reconciliation of humanity with the rest of nature are necessary for a sustainable, thriving world civilization.  Many people have found Christian institutions wanting, as most notably reflected in many BIPOC individuals attempting to rebuild their earth-based heritages.  A small though growing number of European-descended individuals have likewise attempted to revive earth-based heritages under the umbrella of the pagan revival.  Heathenry is but one branch. 

Heathenry is, sadly, notorious for its entanglement with white nationalism and full-blown Nazism.  Within a separate post from a couple of years ago, I offered my thoughts on a book meant to offer a warts-and-all review of the revival of Germanic pagan culture through the modern era.  The book discusses Carl Jung’s theory of Odin as an archetype for the “folk soul” of northwestern European peoples and of a need to reconcile and integrate that “folk soul”.  Sometimes, you’ll hear of violent racist criminals calling themselves “Odinists” or “Wotanists”.   The term “Odinist” was popularized by a Danish migrant to the States who spread an explicitly ethno-nationalist version of Heathenry, while “Wotanist” was popularized by a notorious Neo-Nazi domestic terrorist.  People like them have tarnished the reputation of the Germanic pagan revival, particularly in the Anglosphere and, of course, Germany. 

There’s certainly nothing wrong with reaching to Odin!  As an aspiring magician and healer, I have reached to Odin of the Aesir myself, as Odin is considered a shamanic figure.  He most certainly isn’t the simple macho war-god that both wannabe Vikings and Nazi-adjacent gangsters picture him as, but he is still a war-god (and a trickster to boot).  The author of the aforementioned book does speculate that a cultural overemphasis on one god, Odin, has inspired ecstatic frenzy—the name Odin can be translated as “lord of ecstasy”—gone wrong.  I have also reached out to another shamanic figure, Freya of the Vanir. 

Recall that the Vanir are considered fertility deities and are associated with life within the natural world.  Recall that more people are seeing a need to reconcile with the natural world.  I’ve read books suggesting that Tiwaz or Tyr used to be the chief god of the Germanic tribes before Wodanaz or Odin became the chief god.  Folks who take after these old Germanic peoples may consider letting another shift take place as they revive a northwestern European animistic heritage.  My modest proposal is that Heathens let Freya and her mythic brother Freyr be the foremost deities. 

Freya of the Vanir has many traits in common with Frigg of the Aesir, despite the Eddas depicting them as separate characters, which led to speculation that, at the very least, the Scandinavian cult of Freya developed from the continental cult of Frigg.  Freya has been more widely popular within the present-day pagan revival, whether or not admirers and devotees identify as Heathens.  Why? 

With her ownership of and generosity with her sexuality—befitting a fertility goddess—Freya might easily appeal to women seeking to similarly take charge of their personal lives.  Her very name is perhaps more of a title that can be translated as “lady sovereign”, and the status implied by that title might also appeal to a desire for sovereignty under a patriarchal culture.  To some extent she is a goddess of battle as well, though mainly in the role of one who chooses a portion of the slain to live their afterlives in her realm. 

Let me circle back to Freya as a shamanic figure, one who crosses the veil separating the world of spirits from the human world, bringing back wisdom or magical power.  It absolutely should be admitted that “shamanic” and “shamanism” are somewhat slippery terms, as they were first applied to magico-spiritual leaders within certain communities in Siberia before being applied to a wide variety of cultural contexts.  Nonetheless, scholars and practitioners alike find them very useful anyway precisely because of striking similarities across cultural contexts.  The Old Norse literature depicts Freya as a mistress of a type of shamanism called seidr, which she taught to Odin himself. 

Much earlier writing from the Roman historian Cornelius Tacitus gives somewhat meager though still intriguing insight into Germanic tribal culture well before the Viking era started in Scandinavia.  Yes, the Germanic tribes had warrior cultures.  Tacitus also attested to prophetesses who were given high honor and deference, with commoners and leaders alike looking to those women for guidance.  He also claimed that the tribesmen saw women as having a special affinity for such spiritual gifts—which some of todays’ practitioners speak of, even those who reject a strict gender binary or TERF rhetoric. Tacitus has been credited for influencing the later Noble Savage trope!  Both the warrior culture and the esteem for prophetesses evidently carried over to early England and Viking-era Scandinavia.  The Icelandic poet and politician Snorri Sturluson wrote a saga in which Freya is depicted as a priestess leading rites for the dead king Freyr. 

I brought that up because it seemed like a nice way to segue into talking about Freyr (meaning “lord”).  Linguistic and literary evidence suggests that Freyr, also known as Ing or Ingvi-Frey, was honored in England as well as Scandinavia.  He has been mainly associated with peace, prosperity, and sacral kingship.  Within old Germanic societies, kings had priestly duties of providing peace and prosperity to their subjects and the very lands that they held.  If you’ll allow me to go on a tangent, Tacitus wrote about Germanic tribesmen engaging in frequent battles which only occasionally ceased.  He described one such occasion in some detail, a festival involving a procession of a wagon carrying an idol of the earth-goddess Nerthus.  Contemporary Heathens sometimes claim Nerthus as the wife of the Edda-attested Njord, with both as the parents of Freya and Freyr. 

It can be surmised, then, that peace was a lofty aspiration among old Germanic societies.  One well-known poem within the Eddas depicts Freyr as falling desperately in love with the earth-goddess Gerd.  Yes, modern readers may very rightly balk at Freyr allowing his servant to escalate the bribes and eventual threats to get Gerd to be his woman—I actually typed a poetic exercise that touches upon that idea.  Some commentators say that it reflects how romantic love can be a trap.  Anyhow, when Gerd agrees to be his lover, among the agreements that they make, Freyr willingly gives up his magic sword.  Freyr is indeed a warrior who gives up his weapon of war for love.  His union with Gerd has been speculated to represent a memory of the very old rite of sacred marriage, in which a ruler would make love with a priestess in the stead of a goddess to hopefully bless the land with plenty.  Freyr has been associated with a joyous sensuality as well, potentially offering that as yet another gift. 

The Aesir god of truth and justice, Tyr, is more closely associated with the thing—a major public assembly of free men who come together to resolve legal disputes.  However, Freyr can also be associated with the thing, a peaceful and partly-democratic method of governance, in defiance of the stereotype of the olden days (albeit a justified stereotype that reactionaries unfortunately glorify).  Weapons couldn’t even be carried into the thing.  When kings in Scandinavia grew too powerful, migrants to Iceland reinstated the thing and called upon Freyr to guide them. 

Heathenry is a relatively small new religious movement with a spotty reputation among the wider public (though, I would hope, nothing like Scientology or Happy Science).  I am just one random jackass on the Internet whose following has consistently been very small for over two full decades.  However, I do see potential in the animistic pagan revival to do much good for this world as it steadily grows.  I’ve attempted to show that Freya and Freyr could potentially make for great figureheads for Heathenry.  Freya presents a powerful feminine force offering magic and sovereignty.  Freyr offers us a masculine bringer of peace, prosperity, and joy.  Both, as members of the Vanir, show us male and female exemplars of living with the natural world.  All of us need what they offer very much.  Even those who aren’t pagan could look to them for guidance.  Surely that is worth a try.      

[illarian-rambling]

Happy WBW! (Courtesy of my partner) What is a piece of worldbuilding that you are really excited about but that you haven't been able to incorporate into your actual writing yet?

Sorry this one took a while, I had to break out the lore book!

I've got a lot of minor stuff I haven't been able to put in, but probably the biggest of these is the War of Conquest. Which, considering it's the reason modern Illaros Is the way it Is, is kind of a glaring oversight.

The War of Conquest kicked off about a thousand years ago as a result of various bad conditions in Janaz. This was before the establishment of the Janazi Confederacy, so the archipelago warred frequently and at the time, there were famines sweeping many islands, along with religious troubles. Many Janazi humans were hungry for something better. They wanted security and religious stability. It was one man, Nicklai Sayovski, who found a way to make that a reality.

Nicklai came up through the ranks of the Yunin military (a Janazi city-state at the time), eventually earning the rank of general. However, the corruption he saw in the upper ranks of the government and the overcrowding in his city only reinforced his sentiment that something drastic needed to be done to improve his people's quality of life. The course of action he decided on was, indeed, nothing but drastic.

After reaching out to several other influential figures (the politician Xiulin Haru, the diplomat Konguo Daiichi, the pirate Halicas Achmenos, the master mage Cardor Dular, the spy Altacoya Ceqliquetzal, the engineer Idan Sib Yamiz, and the generals Agita N'Jogu and Tua Durnan) Nicklai gathered not only an army, but a pack of homesteaders looking for a better life away from Janaz, and went out to conquer the continent of Iarl. From the humans' perspective, this conquest was justified. They were doing what they had to in order to help their own people, and they would be bringing the truth of Illarianism to the heathen masses.

The first place they conquered was the peaceful nation of Abrim, mostly composed of goblins and fenodyree. Because they surrendered early, Abrim was allowed to exist as a Republic satellite state in exchange for horses and siege machines. After that, the generals N'Jogu, Dular, and Durnan would prosecute a brutal campaign in the south of Iarl, pillaging and enslaving as they went. Up north, the politicians Daiichi and Haru played the elvish nations off of one another, promising each many things in exchange for religious conversion and military support. Ultimately, both Nabafyr and Skysheer knew that if they didn't ally with the Republic, their rival nation would, leading to them being crushed, so they each took the offer and converted to Illarianism. (Converted in name, at least)

The war in the south progressed pretty quickly after the elvish nations committed troops. Previously, the area had been made up of many, smaller nations that didn't have the might to stand up to such a massive force. It was after the brutal sack of Lanokos, after which General Durnan disappeared, that southern Iarl was officially declared Republic territory and settlers began to move in.

But the war wasn't over yet. There was still one major player on the Iarlan map that the Republic hadn't tangled with yet: The Dwarven Alliance.

Being an insular collection of city-states, the Alliance didn't care too much about what was happening in southern Iarl. However, one of the things the Republic had promised to Nabafyr and Skysheer was Alliance territory, knowing that if the elvish nations joined their cause, the rival Alliance never would. This began the longest stretch of the War of Conquest. Slowly and bloodily, the Alliance forces were pushed back from the Siegewall Mountains and into the poisoned Araunian desert, where they were forced to dig underground shelters to avoid the magical radiation. It took about ninety years to fully get the Alliance out of the mountains, and even in the modern day, border skirmishes are common.

After the war was officially declared over, the descendents of Nicklai's original team were each given a province to rule, with two other families being put in charge of the colonies the Republic siezed from the Alliance later in the war.

So, basically, everything in Illaros's current political climate can be traced back to the War of Conquest. The founding of the trade city Unity began as a refugee camp for southern Iarlans. The attitude of prejudice against non-humans and non-elves in the Republic can be traced back to the enslavement of that first generation of POWs, whose children were born free according to traditional human war laws, but were still subject to crushing poverty. The Alliance's xenophobia and precarious living situation in the Araunian desert is directly due to the actions taken 1000 years ago. Even the introduction of runic magic to Iarl and the formation of the Janazi Confederacy is because of the War of Conquest.

Anyways, here's a before and after map

Thanks for the ask!

[hiding1ntheforest]

British Folk Beliefs & Magick: Pagan-Christian Syncretism

Highlighting the influence of paganism on folklore, traditions, and magick in the British Isles from the Middle Ages and onward.

Christianity first began to spread throughout Britain in the 4th century when Christian Romans began interacting with our British ancestors. In Anglo-Saxon England, St. Augustine’s journey to Kent in the 6th century catalyzed the conversion. Christianity spread throughout Scotland and Wales as a result of several missionaries spreading word of this foreign faith. Contrary to the popular narrative, those inhabiting the British Isles at the time did not forget their native faith outright. Paganism shaped the many folk beliefs and customs that persisted throughout the Christian era. Folk magick, in simplest terms, is the people’s magick. It is shaped by various features of one’s environment - geography, ecology, history, religion, social structure, etc. Folk magick began to appear during the Middle Ages and continues in modern times, often combining elements of the heathen faith and Christianity. Folk beliefs were characterized by an acknowledgement of numerous spirits and folk magick often centers the Earth and making use of one’s natural resources. This article will outline some of the folklore, traditions, and magick of the British Isles.

Both household and land spirits were prominent figures within British folklore. Brownies are a type of house spirit thought to perform various household tasks, especially if they were treated with respect. These creatures are elvish in nature and appearance, sometimes described as house elves. Brownies are not small, in fact they are often described as being human sized and not particularly pleasant to look at. However, brownies carry out most of their chores during the night, so they are never seen. Despite being fairly helpful spirits, they could become mischievous if they felt offended. Boggarts are a similar type of spirit who may inhabit both the land and family homes. These creatures are much more troublesome than brownies and even destructive. They have the tendency to make a mess within the home and even harm animals. A repeatedly insulted brownie may transform into a boggart. Tales about household elves have been recorded by the Brothers Grimm and land spirits are notably featured in Shakespearean literature, such as Puck in a Midsummer Night’s Dream. The belief in such creatures are rooted in the pre-Christian veneration of husvaettir, or house spirits, and landvaettir, the land spirits. In Anglo-Saxon England, house spirits were recognized along with the cofgoda, or house deities. Moreover, elves are mentioned several times in Anglo-Saxon medical manuscripts, in which they are blamed for a variety of ailments that afflict both humans and animals alike. Anglo-Saxon elves were evidently more prone to causing difficulty, very much like the Boggarts of medieval England and Scotland. Another prominent nature spirit includes the Green Man, who symbolizes life, death, rebirth, fertility, and the spring season. Towards the end of the Medieval period, churches throughout Northwestern Europe featured architecture likely portraying the Green Man. For example, a church in Llangwm, Wales, is adorned with the image of a head with foliage emerging from its mouth. Such architecture has also been found in Asia and the Middle East, including the countries of India, Lebanon and Iraq. The Green Man is undoubtedly a legendary figure derived from nature deities. The Church likely viewed the Green Man as a representation of the danger and wildness of the outdoors, as suggested by Christian literature. The veneration of nature can be seen with May Day, which celebrates spring, the arrival of summer, and fertility. The May Pole acts as both a representation of the tree of life as well as a phallic symbol. This celebration persists in Ireland, Scotland, and England in the modern age, though it has become heavily Christianized.

Throughout medieval Britain, those who practiced magick were referred to as “cunning folk.” The cunning folk incorporated elements of folk magick and ceremonial magick into their practice, which was heavily shaped by both paganism and Christianity. Cunning folk were typically Christians, though they were viewed as heretics and church authorities accused them of working with the devil. Charms, herbal remedies, shamanism, and divination are prominent in the magick of the cunning folk. Furthermore, these individuals claimed to have a special connection to the spirit world and were assisted by magickal spirits such as fairies. The spirits often took the form of an animal such as a dog, cat, or goat, and could take one onto a spiritual journey to Elfhame. Magick was practiced more in rural parts of Britain and the majority of practitioners were solitary. The cunning folk used their magick for good, providing ill individuals who could not afford a physician with an herbal concoction, and scrying a crystal ball to uncover the identity of a thief. They even provided protection to individuals claiming to be victims of malevolent magick, but the Church still viewed their work as devilish and equally malicious. As mentioned in previous articles, charms for healing and protection were used in the pre-Christian era. Practitioners of magick continued to rely on the power of charms, though the charms of the cunning folk often quoted the bible or invoked the power of several Christian figures. The Sator Square, a magickal Latin palindrome, was also used for protection. Additionally, utilizing plants and other natural elements with the aim of curing an ailment have prominent heathen origins.

Not many cunning folk were literate, but those who were may have made use of a grimoire. Grimoires are books containing information and instructions on spellwork, invocation, as well as a variety of rituals, and they circulated throughout Britain once printing became more accessible. Many of the grimoires of the cunning folk were influenced by other magickal books, such as Cornelius Agrippa’s work on Western esotericism, Three Books of Occult Philosophy, which was translated into English in 1651. Arthur Gauntlet was an English physician living in London during the 17th century who’s own grimoire contained information found in both Agrippa and Reginald Scot’s works. During the 18th century, a French Kabbalistic grimoire called the Black Pullet was published and became popular amongst British magicians due to its information on talismans and amulets.

British folk magick centered a Christian cosmology as well as philosophy, and it was combined with the pagan elements of nature worship and plant magick. There was a recognition of the spirits that inhabited the land alongside us, while the Earth retained it’s role as a healer, provider, and protector. Folk magick is not static; it reflected the people’s needs, environment, and other social factors. The practice of the British folk magician was ever-evolving. The application of magick and even one’s theology likely shifted through major social changes such as the English reformation or laws persecuting those partaking in ritual work and conjuration. The beliefs, traditions, and magick of the British Isles reminds us that paganism never completely died out. Though the old gods were not recognized during the Christian period and continue to be vastly unrecognized in the modern age, the values and knowledge of our pagan ancestors has always persisted.

[willywonderfan]

More ultra beasts incorrect quotes.

1.Kartana, cowering in fear: What do you want from me?! Guzzlord, standing in front of Kartana: *bites into the whole KitKat bar like a heathen* Kartana, crying: Please...stop...

2.Guzzlord: No, this is not a mess. You know what I consider a mess? Kartana: Your life? Guzzlord: I- well yes, but-

3.Guzzlord: Alcohol is delicious! ...I mean, MAlicious. Sorry guys, I’m really drunk right now.

4.Blacephalon: Say no to drugs. Blacephalon: Say yes to drugs. Blacephalon: It doesn't matter if you say yes or no to drugs, cause if you're talking to drugs... then you're on drugs.

5.*At a dinner party, the guests converse while the host is away* Buzzswole: So how do you know the host? Kartana: They were a former vegan, and they bought milk. Guzzlord: That BITCH! Naganadel: I pulled them over for money laundering. Blacephalon: I'm chaperoning their dinner party. Pheromosa: They stole a baconator! Guzzlord: That BITCH! Buzzswole: I tanked the store they were managing and they convinced me to quit from one of the only jobs I've ever had. Now I'm living off of unemployment checks and fear!

6.*The Squad with cigarettes* Buzzswole: I smoke regularly. Xurkitree: I smoke sparingly. Blacephalon: I smoked once, but I didn't care for it. Pheromosa: I've never smoked, but the idea intrigues me. Naganadel: I've never smoked, and I refuse to do so. Guzzlord: What's a cigarette?

7.Buzzswole: How do you want your coffee? Blacephalon: Black, like my soul. Buzzswole: Buzzswole: Blacephalon, your soul is a latte.

8.Buzzswole: May luck (and this picture of Guzzlord eating shredded cheese at 3 in the morning) be with you.

9.Xurkitree: Don't joke about murder. I was murdered once and it offends me.

10.Celesteela: Is this mistletoe? Stakataka: Uh, no, no, that is basil. Celesteela: Too bad cause if it was mistletoe I was gonna kiss you. Stakataka: Yeah, no, it’s still basil.

11.Naganadel: When Nihilego was born, the gods said, "They're too perfect for this world." Stakataka: Please. When they were born, the devil said, "Oh, competition."

12.Nihilego: Every time I hear someone talking about updog, I’m torn between not wanting to fall for it and wanting to help them complete their joke. Guzzlord: Okay, but what is updog? Naganadel: Updog is a long sausage in a bun, often served with ketchup, mustard, onions, and/or relish. Blacephalon: No, that’s a hot dog. An updog is when a new version or patch of an application is released. Kartana: No, that's an update. You’re thinking of the fourth largest city in Sweden. Stakataka: Surely, that’s Uppsala, where’s updog is the giant spider in Harry Potter. Nihilego: That’s Aragog. Updog is a symbol conventionally used for an arbitrarily small number in analysis proofs. Blacephalon: You’re thinking of epsilon. Updog is an upward-moving air current. Naganadel: No, that’s an updraft. An updog is the modern version of a henway. Guzzlord: What’s a henway?? Nihilego: Oh, about five pounds.

13.*The Squad is on the bus, and a child is crying* Naganadel: *rolls eyes to the sky* Blacephalon: *makes funny faces to get them to stop* Kartana: *puts their earphones on at 100% volume* Guzzlord: *doesn't mind, doesn't bother* Nihilego: *is the reason they're crying* Stakataka: *enjoys in silence*

14.Naganadel: Kartana, we're hungry! Guzzlord: Kartana! What's for dinner? Blacephalon: We're hungry, Kartana! Kartana, frying a bottle of ketchup over the stove: *screams*