#Sacred Heathen

[reactionimagesdaily]

#Friday nights are still sacred in my book #reaction image #reaction meme #daily reaction images #image mood: y'all are heathens

[theyoungwaldschrat]

Offerings of life and death. An apple from the tree planted in celebration of my birth and a deadly nightshade berry Happy Autumnal Equinox everyone!

#mine #forestcore #nature photography #paganism #equinox #mabon #heathen #sacred mountain #september 2023 #atropa belladonna

[ourhallowedhearth]

I sell pentagram rugs!

#paganism #spiritualjourney #spiritual #spiritual knowledge #spiritualism #spiritualguidance #pagan #wicca #wiccan #cottage witch #hedge witch #kitchen witch #tarot witch #witch #altar decor #altarpiece #altar #sacred space #heathen

[tyrannosaurus-trainwreck]

I appreciate that John Wick 1 was like, oh, an action film, hmm. Okay. Then for every film after that, they were like "Well, we just need a vague plot and we'll let the actors madlib some yeahs and some huhs and we don't really need a screenwriter for that, right? So all that extra money can go to hiring a human-sized swarm of moths to be the DP?" And they did.

#the home depot lighting aisle is the john wick cinematographer's happy place istg #like i know the fighting is theoretically the point because this film was by and for stuntpeople #but if you look at the sets and the lighting 90% of the fights are clearly just an excuse for everything else happening in the shot #i'm kicking myself for not seeing No. 4 in theaters when it came out #a bunch of reviews were like 'diminishing returns' and 'interminable fight scenes' and it's almost 3 ass-numbing hours long #but jesus christ the fight in the abandoned house on the way to sacre coeur #you're only supposed to be paying attention to the fighting in the fight scenes for three minutes tops #the rest of it is for admiring the flawless shot composition you heathen fucks

[neverknowsme]

Hark and take heed, listen well… For the Dark triad are about to speak.

Behold, the three great Evils of humanity. Poverty, War, and Hatred, they who tug ever so gently upon the threads of the human soul, the puppet masters of all ill bared will towards thy fellow man.

We blame these great principles of Darkness for the horrendous choices of which we made of our own free will, yet to learn that their influence is only but a small tug against the strings of our hearts, is enough to crush one under the enormous weight of despair for our lack of self control, and failure to emphasize with our own people.

They but need only whisper the great and terrible truths of which we all carry in the back of our minds, where no light can shine, and it is we who do all the rest of our own accord.

What is the cruelest of all jokes or the harshest of all gospels, than to know and understand that though life maybe indifferent to human existence, it is we who make living unfair for all, and unbearable to everyone else involved.

Hear now how they see us as but mere pawns in their great game of discontentment, low how feeble we are to be nothing but puppets on strings, and but pieces of a mere game, cogs in the machine of a much greater master plan.

We are but a foot not to the gods of death and distraction, each night we sleep they destroy the world through our actions, and their only involvement was but a simple whisper within our own ears which we could not ignore.

Hush now… and hear the great words of definitive truth be told from the mouth of apathy itself.

OUR LIVES ARE WITHOUT PURPOSE SO WE CAN ONLY IMAGINE ONE FOR OURSELVES, LIFE A FARIY TALE WE TELL OURSELVES WE BELONG, WE ARE SPECIAL, WE HAVE MEANING, WE KNOW THIS IS NOT SO, YET TO LIVE WITHOUT PURPOSE IS TO LIVE WITHOUT ANY LIFE AT ALL.

#darkness #cosmic #heathen #pagan #pagan witch #sacred knowledge #death gods #the evil within #apathy #heartless #sacrifice #theistic luciferianism #hades #baal #barbarian #my madness #lovecraft #the void #the abyss #chaos is speaking #death and dying #dark deity #dagon #cuthulu #hedonism

[storyduncan]

#paganism #witches of etsy #spells #vikings #eclectic pagan #viking runes #elder futhark runes #pagans of tumblr #pagansofinstagram #mjolnir #thors hammer #yggdrasil #sacred #tree of life #norse heathen #norse pagan witch

[theherbwitchshoppe]

Tea time! Half off all my teas! www.theherbwitchshoppe.com

#tea #sacred tea #deity tea #heathenism #paganism #anglo saxon #norse paganism #medieval #norse deities #pagan altar #witchcraft #runes #freya #fulla #seidr #aelf

[honoringthor]

15 days of Thor devotion ⚡ sacred places and spaces

There are many sacred places to Thor. Your alter, if you have one, is a sacred space for Thor. He's also often called on to make a space sacred so pretty much anywhere can be sacred to Thor.

Historically, Adam of Bremen said there was a statue of Thor in Uppsala, Sweden. There was a Donar's/Jove's oak in the Hesse Germany area. It was cut down by St. Boniface according to Willibald's Life of Saint Boniface. Groves of trees, especially oak, were often places Thor was honored.

In 2020 a "god house" dedicated to Thor and Odin was excavated in Norway. In Iceland a temple too the Aesir is being built.

Sources

1,200 year old pagan temple to Thor and Odin excavated in Norway.

Asatru temple Reykjavik, iceland

Donar's oak

Temple at Uppsala

#god #thor #heathen #pagan #norse pagan #paganblr #devotional #thor devotion #thor diety #15 days of thor devotion #15 days of deity devotion #sacred space

[angelnumber27]

No one’s jealous sweetie, you’re a train wreck

Lmfaoooo the fact that you took time out of your day to think of me is flattering <3

#dont use the sacred sweetie in a derogatory way you heathen

[tarjapearce]

Heathens (Pt. 1)

Priest! Miguel O'Hara x Nun!Reader

art by @maxro_art on IG (Her Deliverance AU is ❤️❤️🤌🏻)

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. If you're sensitive regarding religion, please don't read this. Masturbation in holy places, explicit language, wet dreams, Female anatomy, oral ( F receiving) Gentle Dom Miguel, Corruption kink, overused tropes cause yeah, a tinge of yandere undertones if you squint, mutual lust, Not Proofread ~

Summary: Father O'Hara had a little lamb ~

A/N: Another for the Miguelverse ~ Reblogs and comments are much appreciated c:

Main Masterlist

From all the places you could've find solace from war, The house of God was the least of lieus in your list. Not that you had a choice.

Family long gone after unsuspected explosions decimated your town, followed by constant tragedies such as losing friends along the way either by enemy and merciless hands or sickness. In the end, it was only you. You had outlived them all despite your short age. And now, they lived crammed up in your memories.

Happy, smiling and very much alive. Sometimes you'd see familiar faces on stranger's bodies. Grief had slowly nested within your soul and when all hope seemed lost, the chapel had saved you from what surely would end up in your premature death.

The blackest of black matched the crispest white you had ever seen, they were all donned in their beatific robes, prayer beads dangling at every gentle step they did. And there it was, epiphany unfolding itself before your experienced in horror eyes. It was your call.

All the answers to your laments and aching heart were sent as them. Nuns of the Mistbourne Parish. A church located in the outskirts of a now rundown by conflict Nueva York. The church that now played a major role in taking in as much people within their sacred walls, before they could be dispatched to a more adequate place.

Without hesitation, you had joined. And now, six years later you still remained with them. Early twenties had settled right for you as a nun. Ever devoted, compassionate, and diligent.

As time went on, the main city was reconstructed, burying it's dark tragedy under freshly built towers, hiding the pain under the rugged carpet full of concrete and wire homes, like nothing ever happened. Like if war had never stepped upon it and gave it a much needed renewal at people's lives expenses.

But no matter how many changes time brought, life in Mistbourne's Parish remained the same. Untouched by the technological advances from the outer world. There was always something to do, as simple as it was. And so far, you've been satisfied with it.

The only alterations worth of mention was your holy family expanding.

A new couple additions to the staff. More sisters, an eighty percent of them were beyond fifty. You were the youngest, their child. After all some ended up raising you within the house.

And him. The new priest.

The tallest and bulkiest man you've ever seen. As much as staring was considered rude and borderline a sin, it was unavoidable to do so, when his rusty brown eyes fell upon you. Their color unique, like he was. Never in your life had you seen someone like him, or another man besides the butcher and the guard. He had definitely been a regular man before coming here.

The soft weary expression lines in his sharp countenance revealed his own fair of lived experiences.

He towered over you, crisp white dot on his black rimmed neck line, parading his status with modest pride, and golden praying beads dangling on his narrow hips, you held yours while asking forgiveness for keep staring.

"Father."

Father O'Hara. In his mid thirties, broken family also torn by war, wearing his vows in the shape of a ring on his right hand.

"Sister"

His voice deep yet gentle, like a lullaby. His steps took him away to his own residence. The rectory outside the church.

It made sense as to how some workers were renovating it in the past few weeks. The parish last priest had been sent off in sacred duties, only to realize later that he had killed a man. Cops and detectives surely made a show out of it.

Dark times, according to Sister Lianne, one of your mother figures. But now, Father O'Hara had taken his place, erasing all traces of the previous man with concise and pithy actions.

He took his role seriously. Said masses on sundays, visited the sick, baptized people; but his most popular feat was to hear the confessions. The most intimate secrets revealed to him by either your fellow sisters or people from the town that came to expiate their sins in hope to be forgiven.

You'd sometimes run into each other, bumping casually in the narrow wooden floored halls, you'd often apologize, only to reciprocate a polite smile on both ends. He'd sometimes help you out by carrying things a bit too heavy, or you'd help him out lighting up the altar for his speech.

Yet, his hands in one occasion took an accidental taste of your body dimensions underneath your beatific robes, while preventing you from falling down the stairs. He'd scold you for being careless and carrying things that obscured your sight.

After many sorries on your behalf, you returned to the cells and went straight to your own dorm, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His hands felt burning upon remembering the dents of your form, the curve of your waist and certainly the warmth that irradiated from you, so so close from his.

Unexpectedly it had brought memories from his past. His old life where he'd have his lovely and temporary companion for the night impaled deliciously with himself before war and hell broke loose. Before he was forced by the subversives that raided his town to create a new fake identity in the spot as they heard him speak spanish or fight a war he hadn't started, much less would end. And so, his life as Father O'Hara begun.

Odd enough, the sudden and thoughtless choice had granted him peace after witnessing so many terrors his fellow human could be capable of. His need of help has always been stronger than anything and when he finished licencing some sacrifices were required.

Poverty vows weren't an issue since his previous life had been modest yet good enough to go by. Little difference between his current lifestyle.

The obedience vow took him a little longer to fully yield. But he accomplished it to a T, just to avoid more trouble. He faked it until he made it.

His chastity vow had been a quite the challenge to perfect, but no matter how much the temptations paraded before him in the many parishes he was assigned to, he didn't give in. His libido had been sapped out of his body, like a campfire after completing it's useful cycle.

Not because of his brand new sanctity invested by holier-than-thou elders, but rather a broken mind full of grievance and other negatives that always haunted him. The gunshots and bombings too fresh in his mind.

It had been years since he touched someone in a way that wasn't holy. Since he had provoked things in someone else that clearly would make him go under the laicization from the clergy without second guessings.

Until he held you the other day.

Both of your eyes too enraptured in eachother that had sent an igniting spark to his spine. Reviving all those inactive nerves he thought his existencial toll severed long ago. His eyes had gave a brief rake over your face.

Wide and round eyes staring back, both in awe and surprise straight into his soul. Nose flaring softly just like your mouth, whose bottom lip trembled at the little erratic breaths your lungs exhaled upon being in physical contact with a man for the first time in ever, while cheeks bloomed with a not so discreet flush. And your body heat.

Jesus all mighty.

It was dangerously tempting. For a brief moment his past self had taken over, but quickly vanished upon hearing steps. Earning you to fix your crucifix and cowl nervously and him to fist his hands to refrain himself to take another taste and fix his collar and cassock.

To his conclusion, the robes you wore did not match what was underneath. He noted much, but having you wear that loose habit only fuelled his now active and sinful imagination. An opposite from your habits' purpose.

Priest life was hard, and the Celibacy vows were his biggest damnation. Mind often plagued with 'I shouldn't have done this.' 'This is ridiculous' 'Fucking idiot' 'Why did I even lie about this?' But even so, priesthood was better than ending up dead or mutilated by mines somewhere in the battlefield, in the middle of a war he didn't started, much less would end.

Government later was forcibly recruiting all those men, be them widowed or married. It didn't matter. War wasn't for him. Neither Priesthood.

But he'd bear it. He'd bear it until he was put in another parish church full of older and witty ladies he'd definitely wouldn't lust after.

----

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The sweet voice behind the confessional punctured walls, perked up his ears. He had memorized a lot of things, your voice included.

"I... I haven't confessed in weeks. But it grows me concerned that... my mind is somewhere else."

Silence. You were met with silence as expected, it also encouraged you to keep talking.

"A man has flooded my thoughts and no matter how much I try to occupy myself, he's there. Leading me to temptation and sin."

A man?

His brow quirked as he slanted over the little wooden division between you, to hear better and take a peek on your face. The only men he could think of was the guard, the butcher and himself. The only men inhabiting the same area as you.

"How does this man tempts you?"

"He... He visits. In my dreams I mean and..."

A low 'forgive me, God' echoed in your stall. His throat dried and his hands rested on each side of his knees, gripping at the fabric of his pants.

"He does things I know I shouldn't partake in... But, it feels too real."

"You sound scared. Does it frightens you?"

"Very much so. But it is a strange sort of fear, Father."

"What kind of fear then?"

It took you a long pause to muster

"A fear of him stopping his visits in my mind."

He gulped.

Your hands took the crucifix and held it tighter, "For him to stop doing such sinful things to me, even in my dreams."

"Have you sinned in the carnal affairs?"

"N-No. I would never. I've never engaged in them, Father."

His groin twitched, as a hand raked over his scalp. A shaky breath that was forced to come out in silence. Only when he thought you couldn't be more innocent, there you were proving him wrong.

"Ever?"

"I promise to you with my life, I've never."

"I must know" He wetted his lips with his tongue, "What kind of things does this man does to you?"

"W-What?"

Your spine straightened up instantly, eyes wild, staring another hole into the already punctured division. Cinnamon color in his skin, the only brief glimpse you managed to see. But even so, his gentle yet cornering voice brought you down from your initial jump.

"I need to know, so I can dictate a penance."

The flush on your cheeks returned, burning bright upon remembering the all too lucid dream you've been having about your secret man. That, even though visited frequently, you still didn't know his face, just his body as it smothered yours wholy in a constant merciless and scorching rut.

All what you remembered was him feasting between your legs like a starved man. His hands maneuvering your soft mounds to then give a gentle squeeze.

"His hands are the ones that bring the sin, Father."

"Explain yourself"

His voice was sultry, buttery rich and smooth on the other side of the stall. A subtle order. To your dismay, that same demon had a similar voice tone. Alluring, speaking to you in a foreign language it had you mewling and asking for forgiveness every time you remembered, cause you had begged the faceless man for more.

"He touches and... t-tastes places I shouldn't allow no man to delve in." With a thick gulp you continued, "His tongue is... marvelous."

His eyes widened for a second as his hand hovered over his crotch

"Marvelous?"

"I feel the biggest sinner by admitting this. Please, do forgive me."

"Accountability is part of the process."

He tried to sound as professional as he could, but little did you know his mind was torturing his already crumbling resolve with such vivid details. Celibacy wasn't a problem, until now. Hearing such sinful words coming from such a unsuspecting thing like yourself, a virgin that is, made his old self to re-emerge.

Disguising himself as a sheep, while he fought through his holy learning years to tame his wolfish appetite.

There were plenty of ewes in the flock , but so far the only one that made his mouth water was you. A perfect little lamb. And now, this. We're you set to making him break his vows?

No. You weren't. He was reaching his limits to break celibacy and you were just having wet dreams about someone that definitely made him wonder about your past life. A past lover? No. Not even that. A possession? A demon? No. Definitely not.

He had heard things whenever on lunch duty. Mindless talk that revealed more to him from others and you than they intended to. You, a nun. Picked up from a ravaged village nearby and raised within  the nuns, meaning, you had zero idea of what pleasure meant.

He believed, but wasn't a complete blinded idiot to faith. Your body was asking for physical and forbidden relief. Just like his.

But again, the golden band around his right hand not only forbid but also was the perpetual reminder of what was a stake.

"I know, Father. But... this man has such power over me that has pushed me to sin. He... he has pushed me to take such vulgar matters in my own hands."

Maker's mercy

His cock twitched harder and he was unable hold back and gave a firm  squeeze while biting his lip to quiet himself at the long forgotten and heady pleasure that was drowning his body in an alarming rate.

As if done of being fed lies and a quick and sloppy handjob for ages. It was disgusting how easy was to sin, how well his body ached and reacted to such stimulus. How effortlessly his old habits had caught up to him.

He was the one that needed a penance now, cause he couldn't shake the image of you spread with your legs wide open, naked, sliding your fingers in between your weeping folds. You'd certainly have your mouth shut or lips bitten to avoid having anyone hear you.

He had closed his eyes while his jaw clenched, occasionally sweeping his tongue over his lips to keep them moist.

"Say it. Say your sin."

He commanded in a voice that had your cheeks flustered and your pearly nub a throb. His hand half squeezed half stroked over his clothed groin. Swollen and needy cock begging to be set free and properly taken care of.

"I..." A dry gulp and your hands went to your crotch, begging your nature to behave. Cheeks impossibly red.

"I've enjoyed touching myself after dreaming a man... f-fucks me, Father."

The word 'fuck' coming out your delicious looking yet pure lips, had his teeth gnawing at the insides of his cheek, self control harder to keep under the leash. It barked, howled even demanded for more explicit details.

Instead, he sighed quietly and cleared his throat. The sudden noise had you gripping the skirt of your habit in shame.

Miguel didn't say much besides the prayer of absolution and a couple of more prayers as your penance. The same right hand that was squeezing his cock was now being kissed by you, to confirm your forgiveness. Plump, warm and soft lips caressed his ring finger.

And once you were gone, his hand took control on its own, slid under his soutane to stroke himself. If you felt like a sinner, he was the devil himself.

The vice like grip in his own cock made him shudder, sensation foreign yet so welcoming after years without it. A little whine escaped past his gaping mouth, exhaling pecaminous breaths as he stroked like teenage boy that just discovered masturbation for the time ever. Sloppy, desperate and wet motions echoed in the now sullied stall.

He fisted his hand tighter, thick fingers coaxing a much needed release, hips rutting into his choking hand. Quiet whimpers and an array of curses flew out his mouth.

His flushed tip swayed and shook under his own rough ministrations while his jaw clenched, he clawed at the chair when hot and thick spurts of his cum dribbled down his hand and wrist before time; pooling in the hollow of his palm while earning a gutural growl that dissolved into a shaky whimper, as he curled against the wooden and punctured wall for a brief lapse of seconds to regain his composure.

"Fuck..." He had to lay against his chair to keep the light-headedness at bay, drowning in his own made pleasure, panting like he had run a marathon for hours.

He shouldn't have lied back ago. And  definitely shouldn't have become a priest. He was soiling their already tainted reputation. His old self was back to stay.

He cleaned up his hand under his robes to then leave to change. He was given a glimpse as you were picking up some harvest in the orchard while he was making his way back home.

---

Window's glasses echoed with the soft rain. The parish has been quiet during weekdays, but busy for you. As winter approaches the harvest must be picked, the grains sorted and the meats stored.

You saw Father O'Hara less and less, and when you did, they were mere glimpses. He was as busy in meetings with other priests, or preparing for the mass that was now given twice a week.

If you weren't in the garden or the laundry, you were in the choir.

Lingering yet brief gazes chased each other. He had heard some nuns speaking about him, some had wonderful things to say, saying that he had been one of the most efficient priests the church has had.

Others mentioned between hushed and bashful whispers about his physical condition and how they caught him go for runs at crack of dawn a couple of times.

And you, just wanted to go to confession again and ask for forgiveness. Not to spill the advantures you had in your dreams with a man that oddly resembled like Father O'Hara, but to unleash your heart's desires to wonder what was beyond the parish.

It was your life, all you've ever known so far. But one of those trips to the city during a beneful visit to another location, had left you amazed. How could a world so different like yours could be considered bad and straying?

But again, vows. Your vows bound you, and once broken, there was no turning back. But right now all that mattered was to get to the dorms. The rest was out in another visit to the city, you were to stay to finish your tasks in the kitchen.

Weather changed so abruptly that one moment you were taking the last basket of vegetables inside, to then run for the dorms to seek refuge. But they were far and the only thing in sight was Father's O'Hara rectory.

It was either getting a terrible fever from the cold and unforgiving rain or ask him to lend you an umbrella to mitigate the glacial numbness spreading through your body. Another reason you barely went out during these days, rains in the countryside were merciless.

Miguel was tending his own garden when the rain begun drenching. Even more when the thunders broke the peaceful white noise. He removed his soutane and shirt off leaving his inner vestments free, but the desperate knock on his door made his undressing ritual to stop.

While quirking an eyebrow, he approached the door and opened it. Eyes widened in surprise upon seeing you, soaked through your bones. lips blue and shivering from the cold.

"P-Please-"

"Jesus. Come in."

He ushered you in, then rushed to get a towel. A frown in his face deepened upon hearing your teeth clatter, clothes stuck to you like a second skin.

"C-Can I... borrow your... u-umbrella?"

Without much though he smoothened the towel against your face, drying it.

"An umbrella? Really?!"

A vehement shake of your head, while trying to get him off you.

"You're freezing cold, the dorms are too far for you to leave. Don't be stubborn."

"I... I don't h-have clothes."

You mumbled through rattling teeth while your eyes darted hazily over his naked torso. He sighed.

"Unbelievable. You're freezing to death and you're worried about clothes. Get them off, I'll put them to dry."

He grumbled while taking more logs into the fire to what would be his living room. If it wasn't for the glacial and biting freeze that refused to leave your body and the foggy thinking in your brain, your cheeks would be beyond red. Crimson even from such simple act.

A weak nod you gave. Your hands stopped bracing your shivering body to focus on removing the cowl and headdress. Releasing through shaky motions your soaked hair that wasted no time to stick on your face and neck.

The next was your crucifix, and praying beads, the tempo you removed them could make a slug to easily win the race, this alarmed him greatly. He had seen what hypothermia did, way before turning himself into this holy persona.

Without much thought, he peeled off your habit that weighed you down.

"Qué mierda más pesada" (Such a heavy shit)

He held you by one arm as he removed the outer layer off. Your eyes drooped and he gave you a little shake.

"Hey, hey, look at me."

Eyes concerned raking over and it dawned on you. Those eyes, the same beautiful and unique eyes were the same that visited in your dreams.

A difficult gulp rolled down your throat as Miguel kept undressing you while grunting. Wet clothes were a pain in his beatific ass. Shivering dicreased, but your lips remained blue, a new shade of purple drawing over them.

"I-It's so cold" You mumbled through laborious breaths.

"Course it's cold. You're soaked! What were you even doing?"

The way he scolded you felt like someone you've known for years was giving you a lecture. So casual, homey, normal. It was Miguel O'Hara speaking, not Father Miguel. The ever gentle and patient man you've been helping.

"Jesús bendito, con cuánta cosa te vistes." (Holy Jesus, so many layers.)

He murmured while pushing you to his chest as he removed the dress that covered your underwear. It felt like a heatless body had been thrown over him, but the warmth irradiating from him felt heavenly. Your form instinctively nuzzled your head on his chest. He had to stop to gulp at the sensations

Even though his mind slapped itself, His couldn't help but wander over your shivering and weak body.

"W-Wait"

A small dark patch hovered above the joint of your legs. Taut peaks followed by lovely areoles ever standing and shivering under the flimsy white fabric of a short nightgown that proved even harder to remove since it clung to you like a second skin, refusing to abandon your body.

He peeled you off of everything despite your protests, but was sufficiently prude to not look over your naked form. A minute too slow and it would be late. Like the young boy in his arms, that had died out of cold once the subversive groups arrived in the forsaken town, they had forced him and the rest to go through a frozen river. He made it, but the boy didn't.

His mind wasn't in the tip of his cock.

That will come later.

But his brain had only one single purpose right now. To keep you alive but for that he needed keep you warm.

Despite the recklessness of his actions, he pulled a freshly folded duvet around  while pulling you ontop of his chest and sat together near the fire. Hands moving to dry your hair as much as he could. Your skin was full of goosebumps, frosty to touch, that relished into any source of heat available. His torso, the duvet and the raging bonfire made your head spin.

It felt like his hands, rubbing some life back into your arms while he shielded your body, embracing your form with his torso and limbs. Like a paramedic on duty. Your cheek smooshed against his solid chest, it made him shudder with your own coldness but eventually the body heat treatment would be effective.

"Sorry" it was all you managed before your teeth shuddered again, and his fingers caressed your neck, placing a new wave of delicious heat on your skin.

"You'll be fine."

Your body was slowly but surely returning to it's temperature. Miguel remained there, basking you within his body, fingers gingerly caressing as much cold skin as he could under the duvet. Even his breath provided a little heat. Your erratic breaths collided against his skin, earning a discreet shudder from him.

You had drifted off to limbo, trying to sleep a bit, but unable to completely do so. Not when a man, the Parish Father nonetheless, was holding and nursing you back to an acceptable temperature with his own.

"Father O'Hara..."

Miguel's ears perked up upon you mentioning his name.

"It's Miguel."

He mumbled while drawing lazy circles on your lower back. The fire and the duvet had kept you toasty to curl even more towards him. Teeth no longer clattering.

"Thank you, Father."

"Stop."

His eyes rolled in annoyance, as his hands stopped caressing your skin to then rub his face.

"Stop calling me that."

"But that's your-"

"I don't like it."

He grumbled while looking down at you.

"Call me Miguel."

"I can't do that. Feels too disrespectful."

"I'm not Father O'Hara here, understood?"

You nodded

"Are you cold?"

"I am. Not as before but yes. Has it stopped raining?"

His own smell was making your mind a puddle, some of that fragrant incense remained etched on him.

"No. Just got worse."

You sighed while resting your head on his chest. Heartbeats a mellow lullaby.

"I'm sorry for all of this."

"You were cold and soaked." He pointed dully and bored.

The duvet was brought closer to your chest while staring at the flames. Fingers tracing a lazy and mindless pattern in his abdomen.

"I was picking up the last batch of harvest when rain poured on me."

Your toes curled in as a soft breeze flickered the fire and he tilted his head to watch you closer.

"Now I'll have to explain why there isn't enough corn."

"We'll go by. It's ok."

"Are my clothes ready yet?"

A snort that  would be translated into an 'Are you kidding me?', your brow furrowed.

"You'd be lucky if they get dry during the night."

Another defeated sigh. But a sudden thought however made your cheeks burn faintly.

"D-Did you see me naked?"

"No."

Oh.

There was a silent pause before you spoke again. Curiosity tempting.

"Have you seen other women naked?"

He huffed playfully while pushing your hair away from your lovely and sweet face.

"Yes. I was a regular man before all of this."

His fingers curled up in his hand, morphing into a lazy fist

"Do you miss it?"

"Would be a liar to say if I don't."

"You... You've had sex before?"

He chuckled while with an open palm, took a taste of your skin, deliberately roaming your lower back. You shuddered.

"I did. Plenty of times."

Your audible gasp made his eyes droop hazily in a smirking grimace.

"I was told it felt marvelous."

You looked up at him and he pulled your chin upwards, he really had to keep his restrain under a leash to not take you here and there, instead, he cupped your face and hovered his lips over yours

"Do you want me to teach you, Sister?"

He was the demon. The very same one that visited in your dreams and left you a soaked mess. A little too late you'd noticed that he wasn't wearing his vow ring. It was placed somewhere else you truly couldn't care less at the moment.

You only nodded.

"Use your words, dear"

"Please", you gulped, "Teach me."

It was in that moment that he sealed your lips with his. Your first kiss ever. Chaste and sweet at the beginning that slowly turned into this obscene display of his mouth assaulting yours with his tongue in between gentle licks and bites of his lips.

A shaky whine then a whimper escaped your throat upon feeling his hands skimming down your spine. He only let you go when you tapped out for air.

"How often am I on your mind, pequeña?"

Finally the demon in your dreams had turned into a reality. Eyes were closed, unable to look at yourself melting under his touch. Nipples perked against his chest.

Plump and hot lips caressed yours but they stopped. Hands pulled you upwards, Miguel turned you around so your back was now colliding with his chest.

"You're still cold."

Cheeks grew impossibly red while he slowly peeled off the duvet out of your body, leaving you bare before him. You gulped as he moved your hair to a side and slowly kissed up and down your neck.

His hands were unable to resist any more and cupped your mounds, like in your dream. Calloused palms, rough against soft breast.

"Qué maravilla. Is this how your dream goes?

Legs smothered together, a little strip of hair etched to your pubic mount. He hummed in appreciation to then part your legs above his. Cunt pulsing at the coolness of air brushing past it.

Both of your legs dangled ontop of his as you remained nested above. Your heart beat at the playful moves his middle and index finger pulled on your nipple as his free hand darted over the joint of your inner thighs. You could feel him trembling underneath, the restrain made his breath hitch.

Your own turned erratic once more as he slid three fingers in between your folds. A shy Ah escaped your lips while he used two of them to part the outer labia

"Look at that, little one. Is that what you touch when thinking of me?"

Drunk eyes darted between your legs and his skillful hand, the engorged and pearly clit peeked out as one of his fingers flickered slowly. Focusing the right amount of pressure in it that had your moans shaky. He paused to adjust his fingers as they caressed and rubbed as much flesh as they could.

Mouth etched to your ear. Deep and needy breaths fanned behind you

"So so pretty. Look at that"

He made a show of his fingers coating themselves in your slick. One of his digits hovered over your entrance, slowly it disappeared inside. A muffled groan echoed in the void space

A wet and shlicking sound came from his ministrations, head unable to move, too enraptured into watching him sliding in and out. Skin bloomed with a new wave of goosebumps as his tongue licked your neck and earlobe, rewarding you for taking one finger deliciously, that he licked up clean before going back to rub at your clit.

"Want to add another?"

A breathless and hissing yes.

You didn't know who was with you right now since Father O'Hara couldn't. Your brain still refused to believe they were the same man. One preached and talked mass every Sunday, the other had your head spinning while his fingers explored your insides with such gentleness it only increased your whimpers and need for something more and bigger within you.

"Does that feel good, Hm?"

A dumb nod while more escaped your mouth repeatedly

"More?"

"Please!"

How could he deny to such petition? Even most when you were gripping him so deliciously and pulsating with every stroke he delivered in, grazing at your sweetest spot.

"Like this?"

He increased the tempo and your breath hitched, hips moving to meet his fingers aiding them to reach deeper and deeper.

Breaths turned into short and shallow pants, blood rushed to your cheeks. One of his digits pushed past between your lips meeting your moist muscle that wasted no time into kissing it. All you could hear was yourself and your weeping pussy that demanded for more.

But they weren't enough. Brain was sent into an override when the climax washed over you. All the pent up need and lust drowned you. Strong pulsations dictated the contractions that trapped and milked Miguel's fingers. Mind split in two in a shattering and core shaking spasm.

Mouth gaped, eyes heady and drunk with blind hot pleasure, body convulsed while an array of mumbles and clumsy curses flew out of your mouth to finally end with a delicious quivering cry.

"It's okay, shh, it's okay, pequeña." He cooed you through it while kissing your neck. Heart pounding in your ears.

It took you a moment to breath properly. How could you have missed this? How could you remain so ignorant to this? Alienated from something you were often told it was dirty and condemning.

He had only touched in the right places and you were melting. But why stopping there? You knew he also wanted you, his hard on pressing over your lower back, begging to set free.

"M-More"

He shook his head with a proud smile

"Can't do that, preciosa"

A capricious whine came through your throat, "Why not?"

"Cause, as much as I'd love to take you until you recite the bible backwards to me, you know what could happen."

"You don't want me, then? Why stopping now?"

"Far from that. And we must be discreet. Wouldn't want you to be whipped by Sister Lianne."

He took your hand and kissed your wrist. While his other limb pulled you closer to him.

"I am the only one that shall leave marks on you, my dear. Is that clear?"

"Yes, but-" He took your chin in a gentle but firm grip.

"Is that clear?"

You nodded with a pout.

"Lay on the bed."

"What? "

"Lay on the bed, so I can taste you."

Miguel could fulfil that fantasy. With Bambi-like steps you pushed yourself up and walked over his bed. Plush surface welcomed your body under a creak.

"Spread them."

Toes curled up for a second before spreading them open. Clit already tingling with a foreign yet needy sensation.

He kneeled before you, like he did every day he worshipped the Lord. But this time it wasn't God, but you. Nose nuzzled over your inner thighs while taking a whiff of your scent. Tantalizing and so alluring for his own senses.

Slow and deliberate kisses were placed above your flesh, the strip of hair that decored your pussy, to finally sink in between soaked folds.

The mewl you gave only made him feast upon you. Hands grope the sheets by instinct as he spreaded you further.

His tongue lapped and curled at your hole, slurping it without refrain and inhibitions. Devouring it like it would be his last meal.

Your dream had felt too vivid, yes, but this was completely different. This was in a whole new different level. His corruption had tainted your soul and it was gladly welcomed into your arms.

Legs twitched and shook while your head was thrown back, chest heaved with shallow breaths, unable to breath properly as his tongue was set into fucking your drooling hole.

The way his tongue fucked, dribbled and guzzled your cunt had you mewling and moaning the filthiest things you didn't think possible you could get out.

Good was an understatement, heavenly was a measly word to compare what you felt like. It was maddening and he gave you no rest.

Have you ascended? No. He just wrapped your supple thighs around his head, preventing you from squirming too much, holding your hips in place as his sloshing and assailant mouth gave you no rest.

You hadn't recovered completely from the other orgasm when a new one had approached. Lurking around your senses.

His name was moaned, over and over and when your hands were done of clinging onto the sheets, you held onto his hair. Silky and smooth chocolate locks slid under your fingers.

Eyes peeked over you, and he had to pause for a moment to squeeze his cock. Aching and weeping for him to let him free and make you his. But that would come later.

That would come much later when he had more leisure time and when he'd get protection. As much as he wanted to wreck your snug cunt, he didn't want you to be whipped and shamed like another nun was when the higher ups found out she was pregnant by an outsider.

"Miguel"

His name on your lips rich and tasty, like him.

Your voice snapped him out of his trance to immediately go for your clit. Plump lips pursed and captured the engorged nub. While his hands pushed your legs up and folded them, giving a complete access to your pulsating pussy.

He slurped and souped while his tongue teased. Wet laps sent jolts through your spine each time he tasted you.

Too much. Too good and too soon, yet he didn't stop. He shook his head like a mad dog subduing it's prey and that move alone had you gushing over his mouth. He quickly gobbled it all down.

You whined, cried and blabbled, even tried to pull his head away but he delivered you a last stroke with his tongue to then lick his lips clean.

"Please"

You mumbled through blown breaths as he watched you with a lust blown glare.

What had he done out of you?

"Greed is a sin, my dear."

What had he created?

"But if you're good enough, the wait will be worth it."

His little lamb was so willing for him, aching to be tainted, corrupted even more. And his task was to banish such whims.

He'd given you a taste of what laid ahead. A promise of a much unholy reward if you followed this path with him. But your resolve had been made the first time you came.

He'd be your first and last. There wasn't any need for another to teach you what he was compliant to demonstrate.

You'd be his to fuck. His to tame and corrupt.

You'd be his.

---

Taglist:

@plumplumpurin

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨ #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o hara #miguel ohara smut #priest miguel #Miguelverse #spiderman 2099 masterlist #spiderman 2099 smut #priest au #afab reader #Miguel O'Hara x AFAB Reader

[firehouse-buck]

smut below the cut. mdni, 18+. you know the drill.

So, I know that I promised you guys this scenario ages ago, but work got in the way and… yeah. C’est la vie. Anyway, back to our original thirsting.

This shit is filthy. Enjoy it, you heathens.

You and Aaron had been dating a while at this point, about a year roughly. I feel like after Haley, he wouldn’t immediately jump into sex with a new partner. I feel like it would take some time to really let him find his groove in this relationship, adjust to it, and almost… let the dust settle, so to speak.

By this point in your relationship, you two have had sex a handful of times. You guys don’t breed like jackrabbits (we don’t need to mention Aaron’s breeding kink), but he definitely satisfies your needs. Now, don’t get you wrong, sex with Aaron is fucking amazing. Your man is very generous lover; he even has a rule of a two-orgasm minimum. Aaron will not let you leave the bed before he makes you cum a second time, sometimes a third. However, as much as you love Aaron, you have to admit that he falls into a bit of a pattern when it comes to sex.

When you and Aaron are getting hot and heavy, he is always careful about the way he touches you. You’re his baby, so he would never want to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable. He is also hyperaware of the fact that he is much bigger than you. I mean, the man is six-two and two-fifty easy. He treats you delicately when he makes love to you, caresses you gently, whispers praises in your ear, and worships every inch of your body like it’s sacred.

You love that Aaron does that for you because it makes you feel beautiful, loved, wanted when he does that. The thing is, he’s this way every time you guys have sex. He is so careful about the way he touches you that it makes you feel like he thinks you can’t handle anything more than that. That is not the case at all.

You love rough sex. Before Aaron, you always made it clear to your partners that they don’t need to be gentle with you in the bedroom, that you prefer it if they weren’t. You lost count of how many times you’ve been spanked, choked, or tied down. And to be honest, you miss the thrill you got from those past experiences. You know that Aaron can’t fix the problem if he doesn’t know there is one, but for some reason, it’s hard to express your kinkier desires to him. He’s different.

So, one random night after a few too many sips of wine, you call Penelope to vent about your current situation. You knew that she would be the best person out of your friends to go to because she’s not afraid to talk about sex. She’s always been very forthcoming with her sexuality. She asks you how you and Aaron are doing, and you tell her that you guys are great, just that you need some advice. You tell her about the conflict that you’re having and ask her what the best way would be to tell Aaron that you want him to rough you up a little bit.

“I just wish that he wouldn’t treat me like I’m made of glass, you know,” you tell her. “I mean, don’t be afraid to slap me and call me cock-hungry whore every once and a while.”

You are so immersed in your conversation with Penelope—which you have on speaker because you were alone and weren’t expecting Aaron back until later—that you didn’t hear Aaron coming home until it was too late. You were in the midst of detailing the things that you would want your boyfriend to do to you, and suddenly, your phone was taken out of your hand. You look up in surprise to see a stony-faced Aaron holding your phone.

“She’ll have to call you back, Garcia,” is all he says before he hangs up.

You give a sheepish smile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.” He leans down, bracing his large hands on either side of your head, and he says to you while holding your gaze steady, “Looks like we need to have a talk, little one.”

#e posts #e writes #e's scenarios #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut

[skaldish]

What is Norse Heathenry?

Norse Heathenry is a contemporary pagan spirituality derived from the beliefs, customs, superstitions, and folklore of the pre-Christian Norse people. It is one of a few different kinds of Heathenries, which include Slavic Heathenry and Teutonic (Germanic) Heathenry.

The word "heathen" means "of the heaths." However, it's not a word the Old norse people themselves used. They didn't have a word for their spiritual belief system, as they didn't distinguish this from all other aspects of their lives. Rather, "Heathen" was coined by Christian writers to refer to Scandinavian pagans (this is also why it's sometimes used interchangeably with the word "heretic").

Nowadays, Norse Heathenry is referred to by many names, which reflects different developing iterations of it. Amongst these names are Norse Paganism, Asatru, and Forn Sidr / Forn Sed.

Where does Norse Heathenry come from?

Norse Heathenry comes from the Nordic countries of Europe: Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Iceland, and the Faroe Islands. These places are also known as the homelands of the vikings. But despite their shared origins, Norse Heathenry is not the religion of the vikings. This very large misconception has a very long, complex history behind it, owed to a combination of commercialization and fascist tampering. The Heathenry we see in America is extremely muddied from these influences. Fortunately, we now have the means to disambiguate it, thanks to increasingly accessible cultural exchange.

The following explanation is a product of ongoing anthropological, theological, and cultural research, in combination with what we know about the historical.

Norse Heathen Beliefs

Unlike organized religions, Norse Heathenry is (and has always been) a decentralized belief system. This means it has no universal doctrines, no orthopraxy or orthodoxy, no holy texts, and no religious figurehead governing it. When you hear people say "There's no 'right' way to practice Heathenry," this is generally what they're referring to.

However, Norse Heathenry does have a distinct way of thinking about and viewing the world, and it's very different from what we usually see here in the US. If you're feeling stuck trying to figure out how to "do Heathenry," this would be why.

Animism

A staple of Norse Heathen epistemology is Animism.

Usually, Animism is defined as the belief that all things have a spirit or vital essence to them. But this is only one definition of many, and not the definition that applies here.

The Norse concept of Animism is "the awareness that all things are part of an interdependent ecosystem." This changes how we engage with everything around us. We understand that when we interact with the forces of this world, they will interact back on their own merit. Our relationship with all things is a social one, and we're not spectators in our environment, but active participants at all times.

This stands is stark contrast to the way the USAmericans typically view the world: As a landscape to either test or be tested by, with the forces of the world acting as the means through which this is done.

Additionally, there's no separation between the sacred and the profane.

Immanence

Faiths that focus on spiritual ascension, enlightenment, or attaining a good afterlife are known as transcendent faiths.

While Norse Heathenry has some transcendent elements, it's ultimately an immanent belief system, which means its focus is on living life for the sake of living, as opposed to living life to receive a good afterlife. A good afterlife is already guaranteed.

(Some Heathens may strive for a specific kind of afterlife, however, which do have certain conditions for accessing. But these are elective rather than required, and different as opposed to superior. It's all a matter of preference, at the end of the day.)

The Norse Gods

Many people are already familiar with the Norse gods, such as Thor, Odin, Loki, and Freyja, but not many people are familiar with how they operate as gods.

In Hellenism and Religio Romano, the gods are divine lords who preside over different domains of society. It's a reflection of what the ancient Greeks and Romans highly valued in their civilizations: Law and political/civic involvement.

In Norse Heathenry, however, gods don't operate in a lordship capacity. Instead, they're more like celebrities in that they're celebrated figures everyone knows about.

While they don't rule over one thing or another, the Norse gods often act as allegorical representations of worldly phenomena. Thor is to thunderstorms as Loki is to "random-chance odds." SIf is to wheat-fields as Odin is to the old wandering beggar. Frey and Freyja represent masculine and feminine principles, Skadi the driven snow and foggy winter, and so on. The gods exist as worldly experiences inasmuch as they exist as ideas.

Lastly, but importantly, the Norse gods don't distribute rewards or punishments in accordance with on one's actions or deeds, nor do they tell us how we ought to live our lives. The way they interact with us depends on our individual relationships with them, which can be just as diverse as the ones we have with each other.

Myths & Folklore

What people often refer to as the "Norse Myths" are stories found in two old Icelandic texts called the Prose Edda and the Poetic Edda. These texts are special because they're the oldest and largest collection of tales featuring the Norse deities.

However, these texts represent just one region's period-specific interpretation of Norse folklore. They also only represent a fraction of the tales that still circulate within Nordic oral traditions, so not only are they not "canon" in the usual sense of the word, they're also just a sample.

This is all to say that Norse Heathenry doesn't have a hard body of mythology. It certainly has a defined one, but its definition is built from local legends, fairy tale humor, songs, customs, superstitions, and family folklore in addition to what survives on runestones and parchment. The corpus of Heathenry is very much a living, breathing thing.

Spirits

Norse Heathenry recognizes a wide variety of different beings, the likes of which can be found all around us. Some of these beings are like how we typically imagine spirits, in that they're incorporeal or otherwordly, while others are physical but may play tricks on you so you can't see them.

Like many things pertaining to Heathenry, there isn't a universally-shared classification system for Norse beings. But generally-speaking, beings are defined by their natures and the manner in which they relate to the rest of the world, rather than their morphology. For example, Trolls can take the appearance of rocks, trees, and also living people, but they can also be incorporeal spirits. This is all, however, the same kind of Troll, rather than being different types of trolls.

This is also why the lines between "spirit", "god," and "ancestor" can become very blurry at times. In English use, these are all typically labeled under the category "vaetter." Sometimes "wight" is used to refer to spirits of various types, but isn't often used to refer to gods.

Typically, the way people interact with spirits entirely depends on what kind of spirit they're dealing with, as well as their disposition towards human beings. Some spirits may enjoy a personal relationship, while others are best when left unbothered.

Values & Morality

Because Norse Heathenry has no doctrine and is immanent in nature, it has no fixed value system. Just like the stories were decentralized, so were the Norse people's values.

This is a feature as opposed to a flaw, and a fact as opposed to a theory. But it also has a habit of making Americans very uncomfortable.

For this reason, Heathens sometimes choose to construct their own value system to observe as part of their practice. But what those values are is up to each individual, and individual community, if applicable.

Anyone claiming Norse Heathenry has a universal value system is either new to Heathenry, or selling something.

Veneration

Heathen veneration is not just limited to gods, but also includes ancestors and even certain kinds of spirits, such as nisse/tomte.

Like most things in Norse Heathenry, what, who, and how a Heathen chooses to venerate is their choice to make. One popular observance across the globe is to craft altars, shrines, or similar sacred spaces for the entities one venerates. If a Heathen lives in a house that has a nisse (similar to a gnome), they might leave porridge (with butter) by the hearth for him, and he'll in turn bless the house with good luck and fortune.

Oftentimes, relationships with entities are very interpersonal. Heathenry's animistic and immanent nature means entities are rarely cold and distant, including the gods.

Misconceptions!

A list of misconceptions off the top of my head:

The practice known as 'Odinism' is an invention of the Germanic Volkish movement, which was the social precursor to Nazi Germany. This is also, unfortunately, the first kind of "heathenry" to be brought to the US, back in the 1970's. It was spread through the country via one of the fastest-moving networks at the time: The US prison system.

The Black Sun is a Nazi symbol, not a Heathen one.

No, Norse Heathenry is not a closed practice.

No, you don't have to have Scandinavian heritage to practice Norse Heathenry. Blood quantum is not a thing.

The rune alphabets are old, but the method of runecasting is new.

So is the use of magical bindrunes.

Bindrunes are also different from Galdrastafir. The latter is actually a form of Jewish-Christian-Norse syncretism and needs to be taught orally since it's a mystery tradition. You can still slap the Helm of Awe on things and look cool about it though.

Norse Heathenry is not the same as being a viking, and Norse Heathens are not vikings. However, some Heathens partake in viking reenactment as an extension of their practice.

There's no good or bad gods in Norse Heathenry. All the gods are capable of great good and great bad, just like people. They're fallible, and that's what makes them relatable.

Odin and Loki aren't at odds with one another.

You don't need to wait for a god to pick you to start venerating them.

If you're interested in learning more about any of these in-depth, check out the website I've built on Norse Heathenry, located in my pinned post!

#norse heathenry #norse paganism #asatru #heathenism #norse polytheism #heathenry

[the-lost-kemetic]

Red Flags In Pagan Circles

I've seen a lot of younger, inexperienced members of the pagan (and witchy!) communities fall into some traps set up for them by people who wish to harm them. It saddens my heart to see this happen, as a lot of newer practitioners join these circles so they can learn! And because they're new, they often get taken advantage of.

So I'm creating this non-comprehensive list of some red flags in pagan and witch circles. Again, this isn't comprehensive. I will be updating this as time goes by, so I recommend checking in on this. For each red flag, I'll give a brief explanation as to why it's a red flag. As always, feel free to add your own in the replies and I'll add them to this post!

EDIT: 11/15/2022 - since there's been some people misunderstanding some of the things in this post, I've rewritten a lot of it so hopefully it makes more sense! Apologies to any confusion that's been caused. I also added some of the additions people have reblogged as well!

Usage of the terms "black" and "white" magic:

While this doesn't always mean someone is racist or xenophobic, within occult spaces there's this tendency to use this. The association of darkness/black things being evil isn't always a racist thing (we as humans are naturally afraid of the dark), but it did play a part in the Atlantic slave trade by associating dark skin with animalistic, evil ambitions and light skin as being pure and good. This isn't 100% a red flag, but it's good to keep an eye out when it is used! Another issue is that "black magic" was often used to refer to African traditional magic. It's why you'll often see hoodoo and voodoo portrayed as evil.

Argues that anyone can practice whatever they want, regardless of the status of it being closed or not:

Closed practices are closed for a reason, specifically because these practices have had their people murdered, their land stolen, and their practices made illegal for many years. The reason they are closed is so that outsiders cannot just come into their sacred spaces, take what they want, and bastardize it. The belief that you can join these closed practices without being initiated/born into them is rooted in colonialism and racism. This is one of the biggest red flags. Some examples of closed practices are hoodoo, ATRs, Native American beliefs, brujeria, and santeria. Some plants are closed as well, so please do your due diligence.

The belief in folkism/volkism: that open pantheons should only be worshiped by those with their blood:

This is the complete opposite of the above. Open pantheons are open because they have not been passed down to us in a single line, and they are currently being revived. As such, these practices can't really be "closed". People who argue that open pantheons should only be worshiped by those with their blood are partaking in the same beliefs as Neo-Nazis. Please watch out for this especially in heathen/Nordic spaces! These people ARE NAZIS. The specific dogwhistle here is "go back to your roots". (Thank you to @chrisasiaheartman)

Offers to teach advanced practices (baneful magic, deity work, etc.) to newcomers:

It's true that everyone is on different parts of their practice, and not everyone will progress the same way. However, there are certain practices that newcomers should not be doing until they have the basics down. This includes baneful magic and deity work, as you can open yourself up to disastrous consequences if you don't take the proper precautions. This isn't too much of a red flag as often the people doing this do mean well, but it's still something to look out for.

They use the terms "witchcraft" and "Wicca" interchangeably:

They are not interchangeable! Witchcraft is a practice, and Wicca is a religion. These types of people often believe you must be Wiccan to practice witchcraft, which you don't.

They refer to Wicca as an "ancient" religion:

This is false. Wicca was founded in the 1960s. If they do this, it could either be tongue-in-cheek, or it's just blatant misinformation. I would be careful.

They act as though baneful magic is evil.

It isn't. Baneful magic can be a form of protection and self-defense, it is not always a bad thing.

They act as though the "threefold law" is the end-all-be-all of practicing:

Not every witch believes in the threefold law, nor are you required to. This goes back into my point about them believing you must follow Wiccan teachings to practice witchcraft. You don't, period.

The use of racial or cultural slurs, even if they claim it's in a non-discriminatory way:

They are racist. If they're mentioning these slurs in an educational way, that's fine. But if a witchcraft space is just dropping these slurs casually in speech, it's a good sign of them being racist.

They push a specific diet:

You don't need to eat vegan or vegetarian to be a witch. No one has to. Some witches might think that's the best way to practice, and that's fine! Some witches might not subscribe to that idea, and that's fine too!

They push pseudoscience and/or anti-science ideologies (anti-vax, etc.):

This is extremely dangerous. Witchcraft and science can work together just fine. People have done this for so long, and pushing these ideologies can be extremely dangerous to peoples' personal health.

Enforcement of gender binaries:

This is things like the divine "masculine" and divine "feminine". Often times these people will also claim that the womb/uterus should be worshipped as well, and the people who do this are often TERFs/transphobic. Not everyone neatly fits into a gender binary. (Thank you to @hagstone-enthusiast for this!)

They promote the idea that only witches can be female, or that male witches are called warlocks:

Witches can be any gender, and the term warlock is actually derogatory as it means someone broke their oath.

Promotes the idea that mentally ill/neurodivergent witches that that way because they have a strong intuition:

This is very dangerous because being neurodivergent/mentally ill isn't a special thing, and it often is a detriment to many people. People who claim this often believe in indigo children/starseed children. In addition, look out for people to claim that neurodivergent people are that way because they "don't have a position attitude" (thanks to @urchinbeans5000).

#paganism #pagan #pagans of tumblr #witchcraft #baby witch #witchblr #polytheist #polytheism

[damoreschool]

I'm sending magical energy and healing towards Ecuador tonight. For those of you who know galdr I suggest ᛟᛃᛉᛗ, that's "homes move" (that may be on top of people after the quake), and "protect people" (which is obvious). Sigils, Ogham, or any number of other methods could also be used. I may have no money to send, but I can do this.

#ecuador #witchcraft #witches of tumblr #pagan #witchcraft community #witch craft #sacred space #spirituality #offering help #polytheistic pagan #spoonie witch #global south #climate crisis #help Ecuador #norse polytheism #norse heathenry #norse pagan #norse pagan witch #norse paganism #norse heathen #old norse #old icelandic #runes #galdr #healing magic #energy work #pagan polytheism #witches of color #income inequality #wealth gap

[astronicht]

I’m not there yet but. Tolkien rlly said what if the Carolingians and the Saxons were 🌟friends🌟 actually… what if they fought together against someone who may or may not be some kind of min-maxed Weland the Smith… what if the new king who Pippin the Short introduced to Frankia I mean Gondor loved horses a lot and didn’t start a holy war against the northern heathens and destroy their sacred tree trunk— hey wait a. Wait a. HE’s the one with the sacred tree trunk. The heir of Gondor. Aw man . We all bonded over horses and trees all along.

#shitpost!!!!! #Astro lotr #genuinely I love how it’s NOT 1:1 and frankly maybe Gondor only looks Carolingian in the films #Rohan is not the Saxons on either side of the Channel and Gondor is Gondor #etc etc do not take this too seriously

[blood-orange-juice]

Ok, Childe as a wuxia/xianxia trope. It's honestly a bit embarrassing how well this fits.

(blame @a-yarn-of-purple-prose for this post and if anyone here is a wuxia fan feel free to correct me, I'm new to the genre)

Wuxia is a Chinese martial arts fantasy genre you are all familiar with. An adjacent genre is called xianxia, "immortal heroes", it ramps all the fantasy elements up to eleven and skews tropes a bit (we'll get back to that).

A common trope is some kind of unorthodox school/sect or technique, allowing to achieve greater power without the usual decades of training. It could be straight-out evil or just revolving around chaos.

Such a martial school is usually called an evil/demonic sect (sect is more like a clan in that setting, not the modern concept of sect) and their techniques tend to drive practitioners to insanity. Either because they are inherently corrupting or because getting too much power without growing as a person is really not the best thing for your mental health. They are also often cast from hp points.

And then there's the archetype of a demonic sect heir. The best pupil or simply someone who has inherited a lost art. Proud, always greedy for more strength, often noble in some weird way.

*points to our calamity of a boy*

Common elements of such stories include:

Falling into some weird realm or meeting a weird person who teaches the hero a Forbidden Technique

Learning a technique too quickly through some sort of magic/alchemy/memory manipulation

Some people are so singular in their pursuit they become insane (走火入魔)

Ambition bad, loyalty and family good

Conflicting loyalties, generally a conflict between a chosen path and personal weaknesses/attachments (could be both ego and familal love, and this is more of a xianxia trope)

Fits like a horoscope so far but wait.

There's a very interesting case of Korean murim genre (their version of wuxia) where sects are less varied (I recommend this post for a basic introduction) and we get three paths:

Justice/Righteous/Orthodox/Light — theoretically they keep the Evil Faction at bay, and protect innocent people, but usually are corrupt to the core

Evil/Unorthodox/Dark — these try gaining as much power as possible and attempt ruling the whole world

Demonic Cult — usually dont take part in evil and justice battles, follow their own code of conduct based on their religion, value strength above all else.

(I'm sure there's a similar distinction in wuxia too, I just can't find it in the deluge of lore)

"Demonic" is closer to "pagan" or "heathen" than Christian idea of demonic here, their beliefs are often based on Zoroastrianism and worshipping a sacred flame. Do you remember all the Persian themes used for Khaenri'ah? And Surtalogi being the flame on Surtr's sword in Norse mythology. I also had the impression that Genshin gnostic references are based on the Zoroastrian-flavoured branch of Gnosticism.

In murim the trope of demonic sect heir is called "heavenly demon" (I believe, a more correct translation would be "supreme heathen"), they are utterly badass, live for the glory of battle, seem more like forces of nature and follow a very strict honour code often conflicting with normal human ethics.

(do I need to spell it out)

TvTropes also says this about Korean stories:

(do I need to spell it out pt.2)

I'm not sure why a Chinese studio would focus on the Korean version of this trope but I'm sure something like this exists in China as well or maybe there's a popular manhwa that inspired authors.

Xianxia extends the fantastic element further, focusing on Taoist concepts and practices and adding all kinds of magical realms (celestial, demonic, etc) and magical beings and making immortality achievable. I still need to read more about it but if I understand that right, demonic heir trope turns into a demon prince in this case. An actual visitor from the demon realm or a practitioner who achieved immortality through dubious means.

These are fae-coded in a way very similar to Childe and have a certain nonchalance towards things most humans would consider traumatic. They are simply not bothered by them, having a different set of morals or faring from a realm that is much worse.

Our boy isn't that (he's still very much human) but he's aesthetically coded like one, same as Scaramouche is yokai-coded, despite not being a yokai.

So. When people say Childe's arc is a reference to Journey to the West, it's not entirely untrue, JttW is the classic of xianxia genre and Childe does belong to the same genre. He, however, is not Sun Wukong but a different, darker trope.

This also explains why he has that "shonen anime protag but not quite" vibe. Shonen was heavily influenced by wuxia but this trope never quite made it to anime or maybe never became popular enough. It's not a deconstruction, it's a different story. Or perhaps a deconstruction of that different story.

#childe #tartaglia #my investigation into what the hell this boy is is concluded #this means I'll get to think about something else #many thanks to saoki for indulging my questions for the past two days #there's also an argument for childe being a demon princess rather than a prince but I'm tired #maybe I'll get back to it if anyone wants to meme together #genshin lore tumour #skirk #khaenri'ah #if abyss be thy name I pledge to you my loyalty #I'll need another post to explain how it fits into some scenes #this is already too long