#The Swine Domain

[ghost-1-y]

Worship

Human!Giyuu x AFAB!Naiad!Reader

Content Warnings: MDNI, sub!Giyuu, dom!reader, penetrative sex (f! receiving), unprotected sex, oral sex (f! receiving), face-sitting (f! receiving), pegging (not strap-on, Giyuu gets fucked with a dildo though), body worship, having sex underwater, virginity loss (Giyuu is a virgin), creamp!e, praise k!nk, worship k!nk, temperature play (ice), slight degradation from reader, reader refers to Giyuu as “pet” a few times, please lmk if I missed anything!!

Summary: As a water nymph, you never saw the world from beyond the spring you were born from, having only seen humans come to your spring bearing gifts and performing rituals for the sake of worship. However, one day, a beautiful human male stumbled his way into the domain of your sacred spring, and with neither offering nor sacrifice to give you, he thought of another way in which he could pay you worship.

Word Count: ~3.6k

Divider Credit: @/benkeibear

A/N: this was inspired from the story of Hylas and the Water Nymphs, a Greek mythology story where Hylas, a young male, goes to get water from a spring but is kidnapped by the Naiads because of how beautiful he was, it’s a short but interesting read!

Beauty was beheld by those who wished to seek it.

It would be bestowed upon in many different forms, through life, through fertility, and through healing.

Oftentimes, those who sought such beauty would do so through sacrifice – and would give thanks through continued worship of those who so graciously imparted such virtues upon the needy.

As the sun would rise, your eyes bore witness to such worship, as humans from the nearby village would arrive – men, women and children all wishing for their lives to be filled with beauty unknown. Some would ask for it on behalf of others, a sick family member perhaps – or possibly for the good of their village, praying for the blessing of a good harvest with the changing of seasons; others would ask for their own sake, for personal gain and fulfillment. And you were willing to provide them with what they desired, so long as they gave appreciation and thanks in return.

When dawn broke over the horizon, a line of villagers would emerge from the woods, the men carrying the corpses of swine or lambs for the sake of sacrifice. You would peer at them from within your quiet spring, eyes just above the surface of the water as they’d form a circle and remove the bones from the animal and offer them at the edge of the spring. 

Smiling, you’d emerge from the water and would take the bones into your possession, admiring the beauty in the humans’ effort to worship you. As you stood collecting the bones, some of the children would come by and offer locks of their hair to you – curious and excited to see such a pretty being emerge from the spring. You’d take their offerings and gently pat them on the head, before using water to create doll-like figures made out of ice as the children stared in awe at your power. Giggling, they’d take the shaped ice into their soft hands and run back to their mothers, showing them what the “beautiful water fairy” gifted them before it slowly melted away in their hold.

The villagers would cook and feast upon the meat that was not sacrificed until the sun rose higher into the sky, chatting amongst themselves, happiness evident in their eyes as they’d return to the village to find their crops thriving and their sick healing.

It was good.

It was beautiful.

And so you’d return to your spring, with water as calm as night and falls as enchanting as the morning mist, cascading into the place that inhabited your very soul. You submerged into its depths, ripples causing floating lily pads to drift away from you before swimming behind the falls, your home behind its veiled entrance.

Each week, the same ritual would take place – the villagers would change over the years, some growing old and some with newer faces. You’d always laugh at those who’d blush and refuse to make eye contact with you due to your lack of clothing – something unnecessary for a water nymph such as yourself – but the unmistakable happiness remained constant throughout their years of worshiping you.

However, on a day in which the villagers would usually not come to your spring with plans of worship, you heard the trudge of footsteps from outside of your home. Curious, as it sounded like a single human had come to your spring rather than a group, you’d wondered if there had been some sort of emergency that required your help.

Perhaps the human was in need of healing? Or caring for someone who was dying? So you emerged from behind the waterfall, only to find a young man – no older than his early twenties you’d assumed, as you’d learned of the average human lifespan from blessing generations upon generations of villagers over the years. His raven locks splayed past his shoulders and fell down his back and chest – which was completely bare down until his waist, where the only cloth he wore seemed to be his woolen chiton which had fallen off of his wide shoulders and pooled past his hips, revealing a physique that would invoke the envy of Heracles himself. 

He crouched down at your spring, filling his hydria with the sacred water of your home.

“May I ask why you fill your cup with the water of this spring?” you asked, looking at him with curiosity. Startled, he stood up, spilling the water that he had collected in the process.

“This water is not meant for your consumption, love. I must ask that you refrain from drinking it at all,” you continued, a soft smile gracing your features.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

How rude, you thought, taking from your home and not knowing who you were.

“I am the spirit which inhabits this spring, dear human. May I ask what you are doing alone and so far from your village? I’m afraid I have not seen your face before.” You walked along the water’s surface, ripples emanating from your footsteps as you closed the distance between you and the stranger. This man, however, did not seem to like that idea – pulling out a xiphos blade from the scabbard hooked to his waist belt to point it towards you in warning.

“Do not come near,” he demanded, a certain venom lacing his tongue, although a faint blush seemed to grace his cheeks as it took everything within him to not look below your shoulders.

“Such weapons are useless against me, love – I’d have hoped that your kind would be smarter than to show hostility to a being like myself,” you sighed, continuing to draw near. “I assume you did not come for the sake of worship, then, given your confusion?” 

He glared, yet said nothing, instead deciding to sheath his blade – expression nearly unreadable as you tentatively approached him. 

“Why would I waste my time by spending it on worship? I’m collecting water for my group.”

“So there are more of you? I don’t sense them, could they have left you behind?” You looked over his shoulder before gazing at him again. His eyes narrow, his jaw clenching before looking back over his shoulder, searching for someone who wasn’t there.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m thirsty, so I’ll be taking this water with me,” he resolved, holding his hydria close to his naked chest.

“Is that so?” you smirked, a playful look in your eyes, “and yet you have not brought anything for me in return? Not a single offering nor any sacrifice…” You drew close enough to touch him, before a sudden voice rang from the forest.

“Giyuu–!?” the voice called out, and the raven-haired stranger turned his head quickly, seemingly responding to the name. While distracted, you grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the depths of the water, your grip strong enough to persist in holding him close despite his thrashing movements, trying to escape from you and the spring. You exchanged your grip on his arm for holding his jaw, colliding your soft lips with his and exhaling into his mouth. He gasped and parted from you, staring at you in bewilderment as he found himself able to breathe despite being completely submerged under the surface. 

“Is Giyuu your name?” you ask, and he nodded quietly.

“I can’t have you take from me without giving anything in return, Giyuu,” you paused, “if you offer me something, I will allow you to return to your group, does that sound fair?”

“What would I offer? I don’t have anything of value,” he admitted.

“Well, unless you wish for your voice to become a mere echo that haunts this spring, I suggest that you think of something, love,” you folded your arms, looking at him expectantly. “I am a gracious spirit to those who treat me well, but I am also selfish should I not receive any thanks for my good works.”

Giyuu thought deeply, trying to think of something – anything – he could possibly give you to save his life. His mind raced, and his heart started to beat faster out of sheer panic.

But then, he thought back to your kiss – how your lips were soft against his own, and how it lit something deep within him that he wished to feel yet again. His eyes were downcast, unable to meet your own as a blush spread from his cheeks to the tip of his ears.

“I– I could give you–” he swallowed, “my virginity.”

Your eyes widened, having never received such an offer from a human before. You couldn’t lie, the man before you was beautiful, but you also knew that this was a rather unconventional way for one to worship a spirit such as yourself.

“Are you sure?” you asked, wanting to make sure he was fine with it, “you could gift me something else, it could be something small even – like your hydria or even the clothes on your person–”

“No. I’ve made my decision,” he paused, “you wanted someone to worship you, right?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Then let me worship you.”

Despite his words, he seemed very unsure of himself as he reached out for your hand, holding it up to his mouth before kissing along your palm. Your eyes softened, his actions nearly melting your heart. You moved your hand to his cheek, tracing your thumb along it as you initiated a kiss with him once more. This time, rather than doing so to prevent his drowning, you savored the taste of his lips upon yours, enjoying the roughened texture of them as they caressed your lips. His movements were hesitant, but the groan that bubbled from his throat told a very different story.

“Is– is this okay?” he asked once parted from your lips, and you smiled at him.

“It’s more than okay, Giyuu, you’re doing perfectly,” you reassured him, causing the faintest blush to appear on his cheeks.

“Okay.”

He kissed you once more, his hands hesitant before placing them gently on your bare hips. You could feel his pulse beating rapidly against your skin, slowly guiding his hands further down towards your ass. His breath caught in his throat before looking at you, eyes nervous and unsure until you kissed him once more, encouraging him to grope and feel how soft and pliable you were in his hands. A hum emitted from your throat, and he smiled into the kiss, feeling slightly more confident in his actions as he held you close to him.

He moved to your jaw, kissing along it before slowly licking a stripe down your neck, the slight saltiness evident against the freshwater you both were submerged in. His kisses were delicate – soft despite the chapness of his lips as he kissed along your collarbone. He moved his hands from your ass, making them travel upwards and around towards your breasts, holding them gently.

“Squeeze them,” you commanded softly, and he obliged, groping them like he did your ass – but it wasn’t enough. You took his hands in yours, taking them off your breasts.

“Did I do something wrong?” he looked worried, and you shook your head.

“No, love, I just want to show you how I like it, okay?” you reassured him, before taking your own breasts in your hands, pinching your nipples and rolling them between your fingers, moaning softly as you played with your tits. Giyuu watched eagerly, taking in every movement you made as you pleasured yourself. You looked back at him before taking his hands and placing them once more on your breasts, and he copied your movements, yet it somehow felt better than when you did it, his roughened hands playing with your breasts – a delicious contrast against your soft skin. Eventually, he lowered himself so he could latch his mouth to one of your tits, sucking gently as his eyes fluttered shut in contentment, his cock beginning to strain against the cloth that hung from his waist.

“Mmh– such a good boy, Giyuu, doing such a good job for me,” you praised, causing him to groan against your nipple, sending vibrations through it as he felt his cock throb at your words. Your hand rose to cradle the back of his head as he sucked at your tits, alternating between the two when he felt as though he wasn’t giving enough attention to one compared to the other.

Eventually, he started to kiss down your stomach, descending towards your heat until he stood on the floor of the spring, with you floating in the water above him. Your fingers found purchase in his hair as he gave a shy lick to your swollen clit, causing your hands to tighten around his dark locks. His eyes looked up to you in approval, peering through his pretty lashes at you as you brushed your fingers through his hair, smiling down at him. His pupils dilated, and he pressed the tip of his nose to your clit as he began licking around your sopping hole, not tearing his eyes away from you while sloppily eating your hot cunt. His tongue was flattened against your slit as he licked a wide stripe up it, before licking at your clit, running circles around it teasingly. 

Suddenly, an idea came to his mind, causing him to temporarily part from your cunt before sitting down on the sand below him. You lowered yourself down to the floor as well, wondering what he had in mind, before you saw him lay fully on his back.

“Please, will you… sit on my face?” he asked innocently, his eyes peering up at you in such an obedient manner. You smiled at him, and did as he asked. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, pushing you down so your full weight was on him. His tongue delved into your hole, shallowly thrusting in and out of it, causing you to bring a hand up to your mouth, muffling your moans. 

“Wanna hear you, please,” he begged from between your thighs, and reached to bring your arm down and away from your mouth, causing you to moan unabashedly as you ground your hips into his face. 

He continued to slurp up your sweet juices, nose nudging at your clit as he fucked his tongue into you, collecting anything and everything you’d give him, groaning hungrily with each taste. 

“Fuck– I– shit, you’re gonna make me cum,” you moaned, grinding down faster as he continued his ministrations, a tension building up deep in your gut as he licked at your needy pussy, until finally the tension snapped, causing heat and pleasure to course through your blood as you screamed his name.

“Giyuu—! Fuck, so good– so good f’ me,” you whined, and he moaned into your cunt, sending vibrations into it as you rode out your high, roughly grabbing at his hair, causing him to let out a small whine.

“Shit, such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” you asked, and he nodded quietly.

“Say it.” 

“Mmh.. ‘m– ‘m a good boy f’ you,” he whimpered, “love worshiping y-yo– oh!” 

You reached under his cloth and started stroking his cock. You were slightly surprised by its length, giving long strokes along his shaft before collecting the precum that had leaked from his tip. 

“So sensitive, aren’t you? Have you never touched yourself before, Giyuu?” you asked, and he whined pathetically, shaking his head, “so cute, ‘s a shame no one has ever touched this cock before– not even yourself. It’s okay though, baby, ‘m here now to take care of that.” 

He moaned softly as you kept stroking his dick, pulling it out from the cloth that hid it. You pushed the cloth he was wearing down his legs and off of his body. Once he was completely bare, you moved on top of him, your pussy hovering just above his cock.

“I’m going to ask you one more time: are you sure you want this, Giyuu?” you asked.

“Yes, please,” he whimpered.

You sank down on his cock, feeling it throb inside of you, veins pulsing as you took him deeper and deeper inside, moaning as your hips were finally flush against his. You reached behind your back, cupping his balls in your hand before starting to bounce up and down on him. His eyes shut, brows furrowing as he tried to take in how good it felt for your cunt to be wrapped around him. 

“Wait– wait s-slow down, I won’t last long–” he protested, but that only encouraged you to move faster.

“N-no, please, ‘m gonna– ‘m gonna–!” his voice was cut off by a low groan as he spilled himself deep inside of your pussy, his cum hot as it exploded in ropes against your pulsing walls as your second orgasm came crashing down around you, grinding yourself into his hips as you both tilted your heads back in ecstasy.

“Such a good boy, maybe I’ll keep you as a pet– you’d like that, wouldn’t you? To have no worries at all except to look pretty and please me?” you asked him, and he whined a small yes in response.

“I knew it – good pets deserve rewards, don’t you think, baby?”

He nodded, whining at how overstimulated he felt from your pussy clenching around him. You slid off of his cock and stood up, before holding your hand out, palm facing up towards the surface. Ice fractals began to swirl around your palm, forming an object Giyuu couldn’t quite make out until you held it out in front of him, causing his eyes to widen and his cheeks to flush in embarrassment.

“Do you want me to fuck you, pet?” you asked softly, holding up the ice dildo that you created, “I promise I’ll be gentle with you.”

He swallowed thickly, but he was intrigued, so he nodded, “yes, please,” his voice small and soft as he spoke.

“Turn around for me then.”

Giyuu sat up and turned his back to you before getting onto his hands and knees, his ass on complete display for you. You caressed one of his cheeks before giving it a light slap, causing him to whimper softly. You knelt behind him, at first inserting a finger into his hole, causing him to tense at the sensation.

“Relax, pet, you’re doing such a good job for me,” you cooed, and he did his best to relax his muscles, softly whining as you moved your finger in and out of him, caressing his walls before slowly working in a second finger and prodding them deeper into his hole.

He was trembling, arching his back as you thrust your fingers in once more before removing them completely, making him whine at the feeling of emptiness inside of him. His whining was cut short, however, as you pressed the ice cold dick against his ass, causing him to shudder due to its temperature. You leaned over him, and brought your face close to his ear.

“Are you ready, baby boy?”

“Yes,” he moaned, gasping as you inserted the toy inside of him, the coldness of it making it difficult for him to relax as you slowly began moving it, having the toy press against his prostate with every single thrust. You reached around his torso to stroke his cock as you fucked him, and the combined stimulation caused a familiar buildup to bubble up in his gut.

“Nngh– so, so good,” he moaned, slowly losing himself as he began fucking himself back on the toy, meeting each of your thrusts while simultaneously fucking his cock into your fist.

“Such a good little slut for me, you love this don’t you? You love being my pretty little whore, huh?” you smirked.

“Yes, yes– love it,” he moaned, the tension nearly at its breaking point as he continued to fuck himself with your help. “Gonna– gonna cum again, please let me cum,” he begged.

“Of course, baby. Cum for me.”

His legs shook as he arched his back further, head tilting up as his eyes rolled back into his head, moaning as his cum spurted out from his cock. He gasped, panting as he fucked himself slowly into your hand to prolong his orgasm, cheeks red and hot as he finally came down from his high. You removed the dildo from his ass and converted it back into liquid before pulling him into your arms, allowing him to collapse into you from pure exhaustion.

“You did so well for me, baby,” you praised, and he gave you a small smile as he closed his eyes, head resting against your chest.

After a while, you swam him back up to the surface of the water, allowing him to swim and crawl back onto the land surrounding your sacred spring.

“You may always return if you wish, I’d never be opposed to receiving more worship from you,” you teased, and his blush was hot as he frantically tried to pull on his wet clothing, grimacing at the slight discomfort it brought him.

You smiled and, with a wave of your hand, you evaporated the water that soaked both him and his cloth. He sent you a thankful look before pulling it onto his body.

“I believe you should go find your group, pet, they may think you’re dead since you’ve been gone for so long,” you smiled at him.

Nodding, he muttered a quick, “thanks,” before collecting his xiphos blade and hydria and walking off into the forest once more.

It was only by the time he reached his group's encampment that he realized that the hydria he was supposed to fill up was completely empty.

He may need to go back to the spring once more – just to collect the water this time, of course.

Taglist: @oreo-creampie, @k-a-t-h-r-i-n-a, @wow-im-gay, @peanutpunchy, @love-me-satoru, @crazycatlddy, @dinosaur-crime-scene, @thisbicc, @gojoscumslut, @everyonesfinaldestination, @leehoonii-i, @whateverfontmindmenere, @kyojurismo, @briefrebelfanalmond, @izuoyarmin, @ahashiraswife, @d1gitalbathh, @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701

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I hope you enjoyed!!

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[apteryxparvus]

truth beneath the spell

Pairing — Lyney / Reader

Word count — 5865

Content warning — mild cursing • idiots in love • mean pranks

Summary — For years, you and Lyney have been locked in a fierce rivalry, constantly one-upping each other. But when Lyney’s latest stunt results in the destruction of your cherished garden, revenge is the only thing on your mind.

Driven by a desperate desire to settle the score at the upcoming Fontaine Grand Gala, you devise a cunning plan — you infuse Lyney’s favorite Pate de Fruit with a potent dose of truth powder.

However, what you don’t anticipate is your plan going awry as emotions buried deep within both of you begin to surface.

“Don’t you think this is a tad bit excessive?” Mona muses, casting a lazy glance your way, as she reclines on your plush couch. She idly flips through a weathered spellbook, her once neatly tied hair cascading freely around her shoulders. “I mean, if you keep retaliating to every prank, you’ll forever be stuck in this endless all-out war.”

You huff dramatically from your spot on the floor, attention fixated on the pile of journals chaotically scattered around. “He started it first,” you retort, completely ignoring your friend’s advice.

She arches an elegant eyebrow. “And you just had to get back at him, didn't you?"

“Yes! My reputation is on the line!”

She sighs, a hint of exasperation evident in her voice, as she joins you on the carpet. "Why yes, you're totally not trying to hide—really badly at that, by the way—your extremely obvious crush on Lyney."

“No!” you deny too quickly, shoving the first heavy journal you find against Mona, catching her off guard. "Just — just, shut up and help me, or I swear to the Archons above, I will tell the Old Hag who read and misplaced her precious journal."

Mona gapes, her light blue eyes narrowing as her teasing smirk fades away from her soft face. “This is blackmail,” she declares, gaze fixated on your menacing, yet cheerful expression. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You say nothing in response, and a silence envelops the two of you, lingering in the air, broken only by the rhythmic sound of pages being flipped. Each turn feels like an eternity as you scan through the books.

“Aha!” you exclaim, eyes gleaming with triumph as you point towards a page adorned with scribbles and intricate diagrams.

Mona’s gaze shifts from skepticism to intrigue, and she leans in, studying the page with genuine interest. Her eyes flicker between you and the diagrams, and she shakes her head.

“I think that one is too much, even for your standards,” she remarks, furrowing her brows.

"What do you mean? It's perfectly acceptable!"

She looks at you, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. "You cannot just open an extradimensional portal and send him tumbling into an unknown domain! Are you out of your mind?"

"Fine, fine. I'll look for something else," you grumble, resuming your little quest. You skim over the pages with renewed determination. Each time you eagerly point towards a spell, Mona shoots you a disapproving look, shaking her head.

Finally, you stumble upon the perfect spell — one with easily obtainable ingredients and a straightward diagram and incantation. Your face lights up as Mona nods in approval.

"Mockingbird's Echo," you begin to read, your fingers delicately tracing the frayed page. "Transforms the fauna in proximity to its target into impish mimics, compelling them to emulate every gesture and vocalization in a sarcastic and mocking tone. These enchanted creatures persistently trail the subject."

"I suppose that's an interesting tactic to silence him," Mona comments with a sly smirk. “Will you need my help gathering the ingredients?”

You inspect the list of items mentioned — a generous amount of dried Tongue Grass, a combination of Swine’s Snout and Lion’s Tooth, along with century-old Mayflower bark, three purple candles, and a moon-charged Septarian.

A brief moment of contemplation passes over your features, and your eyes shift to your herb corner comfortably nestled on your windowsill.

“Perhaps you can ask Jean if she’s willing to part with one of her quality blends of Swine's Snout and Lion's Tooth."

A few days later, after Mona had successfully procured a high-quality blend of herbs from Jean — whose only response was the thinning of her lips along with a deadpan expression at the mention of your plan — you’re sitting, legs crossed, in your ritual room.

The moon bathes the room in its ethereal glow, revealing your altar, cluttered with numerous hanging smudge sticks, spell jars, and a multitude of colorful misshapen crystals and stones. The air seems to shimmer with a subtle energy, carrying whispers of ancient magic. All the necessary ingredients are neatly arranged next to you, catching the moonlight that reflects their textures and deep colors.

The silence is interrupted by the soft rustle of pages as you look over the instructions for the spell. Following the guidance, you carefully place each herb in your trusty mortar, grinding them into a fine powder. As you add the century-old Mayflower, you grimace at the memory of haggling for a cheaper price, recalling the heated argument with the pink-haired merchant. You transfer the powder to a small bowl, placing it in the center of the altar.

With a swat of your wrist, the candles next to you flicker to life, their flames dancing in response to your command. You meticulously draw several runes, ensuring each one is somewhat connected with the burning candles beside them.

Reciting the incantations, you hold the charged Septarian close to your chest. The air around you crackles with energy, the temperature growing hotter with each uttered word.

Moments later, the candles die, their flames extinguished abruptly. The room plunges into sudden darkness, and only the residual warmth and charged energy lingering in the air is left.

You let out a sigh of relief, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck, and your limbs feel heavy, as if gravity is pulling your body harder and harder to the ground.

Performing spells has always taken its toll on you, and ever since Lyney's remark about your limited mana levels — sparking the beginning of your little rivalry — you've been dedicated to surpass your own limitations, improving and strengthening your energy, determined to prove him wrong.

With a proud smile, you place the ground herbs in a small sack, expertly wrapping it with cotton twine.

“That’ll teach him,” you mumble to yourself.

Slipping the enchanted sack of herbs into Lyney's coat proves to be amusingly simple; a bribe for his familiar — a fluffy black cat with red eyes and a sly feline smirk — involving a bag of catnip and a few morsels of fatty tuna seals the deal.

"Rosseland, come here, boy," you whisper-yell, propped against the fence that separates your house from Lyney's. The cat glances at you, then at the tempting bag of catnip in your hand.

He lets out a loud meow, and you see his expression shift into one of mischief, perfectly mirroring your own. The cat trots over to you, skillfully climbing the wooden fence.

“Good boy,” you murmur as he purrs, affectionately headbutting you. You scratch behind his ear, earning a satisfied meow.

It's amusing how much Lyney's own familiar adores you; he’s constantly overjoyed to see you, and you are the only other person apart from the trio of siblings allowed to give him belly rubs.

Rosseland climbs onto your shoulders, playfully biting into your hair, anticipating the promised treats. "Yes, yes, my boy." You wave the catnip in front of his face, and his whiskers twitch happily as he takes a whiff. He gracefully jumps off you, landing on the grass. You crouch next to him. "Listen, you'll get all this — maybe even some Pate de Fruit — but on one condition." The cat perks up at the mention of his favorite jelly candy, staring at you expectantly. "I need you to place this in Lyney's coat, yeah?" you say, presenting the enchanted sachet.

Purring once more, the cat headbutts you in agreement, his long bushy tail brushing across your face. You laugh softly as you offer him the promised pieces of fatty tuna. Once he finishes the treats, you let him play with the catnip, observing him as he rolls around the grass, meowing and growling loudly.

You release a sigh. "It's a mystery how such an adorable familiar ended up with such an annoying owner like Lyney..."

The same evening, as you prepare a simple vegetable stew and savor a glass of dandelion wine for dinner, a loud, insistent knock echoes from your front door. Glancing at the oven clock, you realize the only person who would be knocking this late could only be—

"Open the door right now, or else!" Lyney yells, and you smirk at the evident frustration in his voice, his words echoed by several mocking tones.

“As if,” you mutter under your breath dismissively, ignoring his shouts. You carry on stirring the simmering mixture, checking the thickness of the stew and tenderness of the potatoes. Licking the wooden spoon, you release a contented hum, pleased with the spiciness level of your creation.

Just as you're about to turn off the stove, the room grows unbearably hot, the flame of the stove flares for a moment, and a scorching breeze envelops you. Swirling around, you brandish the wooden spoon like a weapon.

“How dare you!” you shout as Lyney materializes in your kitchen. “You just had to come and ruin my dinner, didn’t you?” You point an accusatory finger towards the now-blackened dish.

“And you really had to cast such an annoying spell on me?” he fires back, his voice mirrored by the two ravens swirling around him. You can't help but giggle at the mocking tones of the birds. Lyney only shoots you a glare, his violet eyes narrowed into slits.

"Remove this spell right now," he demands, crossing his arms.

“No,” you answer bluntly. “You trespassed into my home, scorched my floor,” you continue, pointing towards the now-charred floorboards around Lyney, “and ruined the dinner I was looking forward to the whole day.”

"And anyway, shouldn't you be the better one of us, huh? Why not get rid of the spell by yourself?" you smirk, enjoying the flush that colors his face.

Lyney stays silent for a few moments, then releases a grunt and turns around without uttering another word. The birds follow, hovering nearby. One of them pecks at his hat, and he swats the raven away, fists clenched.

You wait for the inevitable sound of your front door slamming shut, and as it does, you sink into a seat at the table. Cheeks ablaze, you hide your face in your palms, and let out a groan. "Of all the people, why did I have to develop a crush on you?"

“Barghest, Mama’s home!” you holler, your familiar dashing towards you, tail wagging. The large wolf-dog leaps into your arms, and you both tumble onto the grass, laughter bubbling out as he showers you with slobbery kisses. “Bargest, enough — enough,” you giggle through his affectionate onslaught, running a hand through his short, silky fur. “I missed you too, baby.”

"He was very obedient while you were away," Clorinde remarks, leaning against her front door. "How was your trip to Mondstadt?"

"Tiring as usual," you sigh, rubbing your temples. "Fischl roped me and Mona into yet another commission. This time, we ended up getting lost in a labyrinth-like domain… and chased off by wind spirits.”

Clorinde's laughter fills the air as she gives you a thorough once-over. Her gaze lingers on the eye bags beneath your tired eyes and the fading bruises scattered over your body.

"Go home and rest; you'll need it if you want to be at least partly presentable for the meeting this Wednesday."

Your eyes widen for a split second, and your stomach plummets—the meeting, oh shit, Fontaine Grand Gala.

In the midst of the ongoing prank war and the recent commission in Mondstadt, you had entirely forgotten about the bi-yearly gathering between the Fontaine magical society members. The last one had been absolute chaos — arguments had erupted between different factions, and neither Lady Furina’s authoritative commands nor Monsieur Neuvillette's diplomatic skills could calm anyone down.

As the cherry on top, you and Lyney ended up in an elemental brawl that echoed through the grand hall. The sizzling magic and the crackling flames did not only set a few ancient artifacts on fire but also managed to engulf a couple of innocent coats and dresses in the process.

"Maybe this time it'll be less eventful," Clorinde offers optimistically, though the subtle raise of her eyebrow suggests she's not entirely convinced. "But seriously, take care of yourself before Wednesday."

As you traverse the familiar forest path leading towards your home, accompanied by the rhythmic thud of your familiar’s heavy paws, your mind is haunted by the vivid memories of the fiasco. And you can’t help but cringe at the thought of how your fiery clash with Lyney had quickly become part of the gossip fodder of the community.

"Barghest, I am so utterly screwed.” Your companion’s ears perk up at the mention of his name as you lament. “This stupid rivalry is only fueling my crush. Am I some sort of masochist?" Barghest, of course, remains silent, but responds with a look — his red eyes slightly narrowed, as if silently calling you out on your own stupidity.

The evening air is cool, and the dimming sunlight is hidden behind the canopy of tall trees, casting a gentle shadow over the path leading to your home. As you approach, a sudden shiver runs down your spine, and goosebumps prickle your skin. Beside you, Barghest snarls, revealing his sharp fangs, his eyes aglow in an ominous red.

In the distance, you notice several small creatures circling your garden, an unsettling dark aura barely cloaking their presence.

"He wouldn't have," you whisper, unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before your eyes.

Barghest doesn't wait for your command, already leaping towards the boggards. The creatures, sensing the imminent danger, emit squeaks of terror. In panic, they release their grip on the plants they were holding, fleeing into the distance. You command your familiar to stay put as you take cautious steps towards the now disturbed spot.

The soil beneath your feet is upturned, and the once vibrant plants lie trampled and torn. There is a lingering malevolence tainting the air, intermingling with the putrid smell of sulfur.

As you lower yourself to the ground, a wave of emotion washes over you, and a few tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. Gently, your fingers trace the once vibrant, now crumpled petals of a bluebell.

Amidst the disarray, a lone tansy stands tall, slender stem unwavering against the chaos. The petite yellow blooms stand out against the aftermath. 

You narrow your eyes, a simmering anger bubbling within you. The significance of the plant isn't lost on you — after all, herbology is your strongest subject. Could Lyney have intentionally left this flower as a declaration of war, knowing full well its meaning? You shake your head, dismissing the notion, but the uncertainty lingers on within you.

Barghest moves closer, his furry form leaning in, and with a gentle nudge, his wet snout presses against your cheek.

"Don't worry, we'll get back at him," you murmur soothingly into his fur.

"Try this on," Mona suggests, gently fastening a choker around your neck. The piece is adorned with a large amber gemstone, encapsulating the fossilized remains of a spider.

You run your fingers along the delicate lace of the choker, observing your reflection in the mirror. You’re elegantly dressed for the grand gala, light makeup accentuating your features. Mona had offered to help you get ready, preaching how the best revenge is appearing uncaring and looking your best.

And while you agree with Mona’s sentiment, you’ve kept your true intentions hidden from her — how you intend to make Lyney confess all his wrongdoings and embarrass him before the community.

Your friend had seemed wary upon spotting the assortment of desserts in your bag — pate de fruits, conch madeleines, and colorful macarons. But you had swiftly explained it as an apology for the previous incident. Mona had raised an eyebrow in suspicion but chose not to press further, and you had sighed internally, relieved.

There was no way in Celestia you’d disclose the fact that the fruit jelly slices — one of Lyney’s favorite snacks — were discreetly laced with a potent dose of truth powder, cleverly mixed with the sugar.

"Promise me, no arguments, no fights, and especially no more pyro brawls with Lyney.”

You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping a bit. "Yes, I know," you mumble, pouting. “Chiori still shoots me icy stares whenever she passes by. The coat was apparently a family heirloom or something.”

Mona gives you a pointed look. "I know you're plotting something to avenge your garden, but promise me you'll hold off until after the gala."

Rolling your eyes, you assure her, "I'll behave, alright?” Raising your right hand dramatically, you declare, "cross my heart, Mona. I'll be the picture of perfect behavior."

A soft, monotone voice calls your name, and you turn around to find Lynette approaching. “This bow looks really cute on you,” you comment, eyes flickering to the teal accessory adorning her hair.

She responds with a quiet thanks, a delicate blush dusting her cheeks. "I should go look for Freminet. He's probably feeling overwhelmed from the party by now," she states, glancing around the bustling gala. You nod in understanding.

"Also, I would recommend not going near the punch table. A feral cat is on the loose there," she warns and you cannot help but laugh, knowing full well who she is referring to. She's been aware of her older brother’s antics since the beginning of your prank war, maintaining a neutral stance despite Lyney’s persistent attempts to enlist her help on multiple occasions.

As Lynette makes her way through the crowd, you take a moment to admire the lively atmosphere of the gala.

The grand hall, with its soaring ceiling and arched doorways, exudes an air of timeless elegance. Elaborate tapestries hang from the walls, and the polished marble floors reflect the shimmering lights above. As you walk around the room, you pass by tall columns, embellished with sophisticated carvings, depicting scenes that capture the rich history of Fontaine.

Ignoring Lynette’s warning, you decide to make your way towards the punch table, where the “feral cat” supposedly roams. As you approach, you spot the magician engaged in an animated conversation with Aether, their laughter filling the air.

Lyney, as if possessing the hearing of a wild cat, detects the sound of your approaching footsteps and swiftly turns around. He offers you a cheerful smile that doesn’t fully mask the challenge lurking in his eyes.

Aether, the embodiment of warmth and light, greets you in a friendly manner, his eyes a rich glowing amber hue.

"I brought some desserts," you announce with a hesitant smile, presenting the carefully arranged selection of sweets. “As an apology for last time.” Your gaze flickers away in an attempt to appear shy and humble.

Aether’s eyes light up at the sight of the intricately crafted macarons. You generously offer him a few, suggesting he shares them with his gluttonous fairy familiar. Grateful, he thanks you and departs, leaving you alone with your rival.

The atmosphere between the two of you thickens, the tension palpable.

"You're not going to share some with me?" Lyney teases, a mock pout on his face.

"After you ruined my garden, no, not really."

"Then would you like a glass of punch as an apology?" he suggests, pointing to the fruity mixture.

Your eyes narrow suspiciously. "A drink from you? No thanks, I don't trust you."

Lyney's playful demeanor doesn't falter; instead, he takes a deliberate step closer, his gaze holding a challenge. "Come on, don't be so uptight. It's just punch."

"And why would I take anything from you?" you question, suspicion lacing your words. "How can I be sure that you wouldn't have poured something in it?"

"Because why would I drink it myself, too? And look," he points casually to a few figures engaged in lively conversation near you. "They’re also drinking from the punch. Why would I risk angering the rest, especially today?"

You pause, considering his argument.

If you're going to endure this gala until Mona decides it's time to leave, a little liquid courage would not hurt. You look away from Lyney's captivating violet eyes, snatching the glass he is holding. With a sly grin, you pour yourself a generous amount of the sparkling liquid.

“Well, it was unpleasant meeting you, as always,” you say with a smirk, your hair swaying as you turn to leave. Unbeknownst to you, Lyney’s eyes follow your every move, a faint pink hue dusting his cheeks.

His lively façade noticeably deflates as he witnesses you greet a dark-haired man whose muscles strain against his clothes. Lyney clicks his tongue disapprovingly, downing his drink in one swift gulp — he doesn’t care that you’re talking to Wriothesley, and he is absolutely indifferent about your little crush on the older warlock.

The magician refuses to acknowledge the subtle shifts in his emotions, trying his best to avoid the implications they carry.

He pours himself another glass of the punch, scanning the various tables. His eyes lock onto a plate of jellied fruits, sitting there untouched, the tempting delicacy calling out to him.

Wriothesley casually leans against a column, sipping tea from a delicate cup.

"Has Barghest been giving you any trouble?" he inquires, his voice smooth.

"Um…" you start, feeling your tongue dry up, the words unable to leave your mouth. "Actually, yes," you stammer, and you gape, not believing your own words.

"Oh? What's wrong?"

“To start off, anytime we're at the dog park, attempting to blend in with normal people and play fetch with a stick, he insists on bringing me enchanted — and by that I mean cursed — artifacts. Not only does he refuse to let go, but he hoards all his little finds and won't even let me touch them!" You rant, voice rising. "And don't get me started on his behavior during the full moon. It would've been fine if the only problem was his howling — I could easily cast a spell and soundproof the room. But no! He gets the zoomies and has to run around for hours!"

Wriothesley arches an eyebrow, motioning for you to continue. His expression is of mild curiosity, partly entertained by your unusual behavior.

You gasp, hands instinctively flying to cover your mouth. The words had spilled out unintentionally, and it takes you a moment to grasp the bizarre nature of the situation.

“Ask me what’s two plus two,” you implore in an attempt to make sense of the situation, eyes pleading.

With a bemused expression, the Duke obliges.

Summoning all your willpower, you try to say “five”. However, each attempt feels like dragging your tongue through sand, rendering your voice mute before the incorrect word can escape. After a brief struggle, you give up with a reluctant "four."

"Congratulations, you can do basic math," Wriothesley deadpans.

"Lyney, you little shit!”

Your eyes sweep across the hall, searching for his unmistakable figure amidst the crowd. His figure seems to grow more prominent as he gets closer and closer. The room seems to narrow down to just the two of you, the distant chatter and laughter fading away.

Lyney is now just a few paces away, his eyes fixed on yours.

"You!" The accusation erupts simultaneously from both of you,

"You think you can just ruin my night and get away with it?"

"You ruined my garden, and now you're trying to ruin my reputation at the gala!”

The onlookers, previously engaged in light-hearted conversations, now turn their attention towards the spectacle unfolding before them. The entire grand hall holds its breath, sensing the growing hostility, awaiting the next move.

Lyney smirks, seemingly unfazed by the attention. "Well, if you're looking for a fight, you've got one."

Before you can formulate a response, a voice echoes through the hall, cutting through the tension. "Enough!" The commanding presence of Monsieur Neuvillette silences the murmurs in an instant. "The two of you, out now."

Attempting to explain yourself ends up being futile, as Chevreuse firmly grasps your shoulders, propelling you towards the exit. You find yourself unceremoniously dropped on the grass outside, protests lost in the scuffle. Clorinde follows suit, pushing Lyney out with a force that sends him stumbling besides you.

"You are not allowed to re-enter until you've resolved this petty drama between you," Clorinde declares, tone unyielding, as she forcefully closes the door behind you, the latch clicking shut.

"You drugged me with a truth serum!" you shout as you nurse your aching tailbone. Lyney ignores you, nonchalantly standing up and brushing off his clothes.

"And you didn't do the same?" he retorts with a sharp edge to his words, his nostrils flaring.

"It was payback for my garden! An answer to your little declaration of war!" you snap.

The male in front of you appears taken aback for a split second. "Declaration of what? What are you even talking about?”

"The tansy, you asshole!"

"Tansy? What even is a tansy? Have you gone mad?" he responds, a furrow forming on his brow as he struggles to comprehend your accusations.

"The only flower the stupid boggards you summoned left alone in my whole garden. Do you even know what it means?" Your voice echoes in the stillness, punctuated by the distant sounds of crickets and the passing night breeze.

"I really don't know what a tansy is," he admits, his confessions handing in the air, the admission catching you off guard. Despite your initial reluctance to believe him, the truth serum’s influence prevents him from lying — and you’re left grappling with the realization that perhaps he is genuinely unaware of its significance.

You groan, the weight of the chaotic evening bearing down on you. "Seriously, why did it have to be you?" you mumble into your hands, your words muffled by your palms.

"Me what?" Lyney asks, leaning in slightly.

Your eyes widen, and panic courses through you. You quickly press your hands against your lips in a desperate attempt to keep them closed. The truth serum is still affecting you, and you’re acutely aware you’ve almost revealed more than you intended.

Lyney narrows his eyes, sensing that there's more to your words than meets the eye. "Come on, spill it," he prods, leaning in even closer, his lips brushing past your ear.

You gulp, squeezing your eyes shut. "It's unfair that I had to like you of all people," you confess quickly through gritted teeth, your fists clenching the grass beneath you. "What idiot falls in love with someone who clearly hates them and sees them as weak and useless?"

Lyney is stunned, not expecting your answer. He stumbles back, and you feel a few tears pricking in your eyes at his obvious rejection.

"You love me?" he slowly asks, confused. You take a look at him — the moonlight accentuates the contours of his face, revealing a vulnerability you've never witnessed before.

"Yes, how many times do you want me to repeat it and embarrass myself? I think this was more than enough."

"An infinite amount of times," he states softly. You meet his gaze with damp eyelashes, taken aback by the sudden flush of his cheeks. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, drawing a shaky breath, he murmurs, "I want to hear you say it again and again."

“Why?”

"Because—because I love you too.”

His confession hangs in the air, every vulnerable emotion laid bare before you.

“You must be lying,” you mumble, shaking your head.

Lyney crouches down to meet your averted gaze. “Look at me,” he murmurs gently as he reaches out to brush away the lone tear tracking down your cheek. “You know I cannot lie.”

As his thumb wipes away the dampness from your skin, you find yourself leaning into his touch. “Then why do and say all these hurtful things?”

A tense silence hangs between you as Lyney seems to search for the right words. He takes a steadying breath before meeting your eyes. “Fear… Fear made me lash out in stupid ways. When I first saw you, it stirred memories of my own immaturity and overconfidence, back before I realized I could depend on other people, too.” His shoulders slump. “I didn't mean to hurl those hurtful remarks towards you — I really didn't — but I wanted to shield myself from caring for you.”

His eyes plead for understanding, hand reaching for you, but he lets it fall limply to his side when he sees the turbulent swirl of hurt and anger in your eyes. 

"You are so stupid, Lyney!" you cry, hot tears coursing freely down your cheeks now. "Instead of facing your true feelings, you chose to lash out and say cruel things, just to drive me away! Clearly that didn't work out, did it?”

Your ragged breaths echo in the tense silence between you both. Lyney offers no defense, unable to justify his actions.

"I should've been honest from the beginning. I wanted you to become stronger... and while doing so, I hurt you," he says, eyes downcast, and you notice how the fight he had in him has left him. “I saw my own weakness reflected in you…”

"Wow, thanks for noticing," you bite back, the hurt in your words hidden by your simmering anger, veiling the vulnerability underneath. "So, all those times you cast spells on me, all those attempts to humiliate me in front of friends and superiors—what was it all for? To help me grow? Get over yourself, Lyney."

He looks down, unable to meet your eyes. "I truly am sorry," he murmurs, “and I wish I could take it all back.”

You stand up, your body surging with conflicting emotions as you close the distance between you and Lyney. As you draw near, your face is mere inches away from his; nostrils flaring, you grit your teeth, and without breaking eye contact, you grab him by his shirt.

"Sorry won't fix it." Your fingers dig into the fabric. "And yet, I still love you."

With those words left hanging in the air, you press your lips to his.

Your mouths collide in a frenzied dance, all the bottled up emotions pouring out. Your hand moves from his collar to the back of his neck, gripping him tightly, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer to you.

Lyney responds with a fervor that matches your own — his lips move against your with a hunger that mirrors your desires, his pent up feelings coming undone. His hands find their way to your sides, holding you tightly as if afraid to let go. The pressure of his touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burns hotter with each passing second.

The kiss is not gentle; its rawness — a proof of the unspoken tension that has defined your relationship.

You feel the wetness of tears streaming down Lyney’s cheeks, and his grip on your sides tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he deepens the kiss. His teeth graze your lower lip, and a breathy moan escapes your lips.

"I love you so, so much," he whispers as he moves his lips away from yours, leaning his forehead against yours. "I will do my best to repent for my actions until the day I die."

The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, and you can't help but let out a choked sob, heart feeling both heavy and light. You reach for his face, your trembling hands gently cradling his cheeks.

"I know you will," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion, "and I know I will forgive you."

You press your lips against his once again, this time tenderly. Your bodies draw closer, molding together as if they were made to fit each other perfectly. The heat between you intensifies, and you feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

The world around you fades into insignificance, and time becomes irrelevant as you lose yourselves in the intoxicating passion.

“—rinde, Clorinde, wait” a distant voice calls out.

"They’ve been out there for a while. I must make sure no property is destroyed, again."

Clorinde flings the heavy door open, eyes narrowed, body crackling with purple electricity that dances around her. Seconds later, Navia follows suit, appearing slightly out of breath with her intricate dress billowing behind her.

Caught in the act, you and Lyney spring apart at their entrance. The two women's eyes scan your disheveled appearances — your lipstick smudged around your mouth, with marks matching its shade plainly visible on Lyney's collar and neck, both your clothing rumpled, and his hairdo now a tangled mess.

"Damn it," Clorinde's groans, her hand pressing against her forehead in apparent frustration. "You couldn't wait — I don't know — a few more weeks until Mabon. Now I'm down 72,000 mora."

"What?" you ask, puzzled by your friend’s outburst.

Navia sighs, offering a sympathetic pat on Clorinde's shoulder. "A few people had a betting pool running."

"A betting pool? About what?"

Clorinde crosses her arms, her expression softening. "How long it would take you and Lyney to finally confess your feelings," she reveals. Lyney's cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and realization. "I bet that it would happen after Mabon. A few others had different predictions, and of course, there was Wriothesley who bet on tonight. That smug asshole was so sure."

“Well, then, we will leave you two lovebirds alone," Navia teases, giving you a playful wink.

"Wait," you yell out, feeling a sudden surge of curiosity. "What did — what did Mona bet on?"

Clorinde's laughter fills the air. "Oh, Mona? She bet that you'll always be at each other's necks," she reveals, unable to contain her amusement.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mona," you mutter under your breath, exasperation evident in your voice.

Clorinde waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't take it too seriously. Just remember, I expect an invitation to the wedding."

"We're not even officially together yet, and you're already planning our wedding?" you exclaim.

"Let's take it one step at a time, shall we?” Lyney teases, his voice filled with warmth as he presses his lips against your cheek. “But I must admit, a wedding would be quite the celebration." Lyney teases, pressing his lips against your cheek.

"Anyway, I will leave you two alone now, just try to keep it PG in here," Clorinde teases once again before shutting the door behind her, leaving you and Lyney alone.

Your whole body flushes. On one hand, you feel a tinge of embarrassment and anger at the thought of your friends betting on your love life — particularly your best friend betting against you. But on the other hand, you can’t deny the contentment swirling within you, knowing that you’ve finally broken down Lyney's walls and glimpsed at the raw emotions behind his eyes.

"I think before we go in, we should have a proper talk about us," you murmur, meeting Lyney’s gaze with a determined expression. "Just so you know, I'm not toning down on the pranks even if we are together. I have a score to settle."

"Oh, I wouldn't expect anything less," he replies, a hint of challenge in his voice. "But remember, love, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve as well."

Author's note: My brain is completly fried from the amount of RedBulls and painkillers, so sorry for any mistakes. This was meant to be around 2k words, but yea... 💀

Some extra information for the curious 😋

English folk names for the herbs used — Chickweed (Tongue Grass), Dandelion seeds and roots (Swine’s Snout and Lion’s Tooth, respectively), Hawthorn (Mayflower)

Dragon's Egg — another name for Septarian, a brownish-red stone that "enhances communication abilities", a healing stone

Rosseland — in-game name for Lyney's cat

Barghest — a monstrous black dog from English Folklore; I like to imagine Barghest was from the same litter as Wriothesley's familiar (Cerberus), which is why the two of you are close friends

The Fontaine Grand Gala being hosted on a Wednesday — supposedly this day of the week is associated with "communication"

Lyney did not spike the punch, but the empty glass he was holding (which was rudely snatched) was coated in the truth-serum powder

Tansy (Tanacetum vulgare) — a perennial flowering plant; "I declare war on you"

#genshin x reader #lyney x reader #genshin x you #lyney x you #genshin x y/n #lyney x y/n #reader insert #lyney #x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact #lyney brainrot #i love him too much

[moonlight1237]

Elder ᚠᚱᛖᛁᛃᚨ Younger ᚠᚱᛁᛁᛁᛅ

Freyja/Frøya (The Lady)

Epithets And Titles

Gullveig (gold-greed) Her more magical and ruthless side is closely associated with fire due to her being burned but not harmed

Vanadis (lady of the Vanir) Her neural side has a little bit of all her aspects and is what you normally call on

Gefn (giver) Her motherly giving side associated with fertility and harvests etc

Horn (flax) Her side associated with Love, sex, and playfulness

Mardoll (root word Marr meaning sea. Sea bright) One of her sides associated with death and war

Syr (sow)

Valfreyja (Lady of the Slain) Another side associated with Death and War

Lady of fire

Heid (Völva from Voluspa)

Thrung

Lady of the Disir

Skialf

Queen of Folkvangr

Chief of the Vanir

Queen of the valkyrie

Possessor of the fallen

Ruling/Domain

Folkvangr is her realm and Sessrumnir is her hall.

(and is sometimes said to be where she takes her half of the dead but this is disputed)

Family

Njord is her father and her mother is never mentioned but is speculated to be Skadi or Njords sister, an unnamed Vanir goddess. Her twin is Frey(r). She has 2 daughters Hnoss and Gersemi both of which translate to "treasure" though only mentioned in Christian sources and Gersemi is only mentioned once. In the Eddas, it says she has a husband named Oðr which is one of Odin's names, and gets into the Frigga and Freyja debate.

History

I won't get too much into the debate on her and Frigga but by the myths, they are different and separate beings. Historically they were possibly the same once and split over time but they are not the same now.

Frøya has a necklace she always wears. Its name is Brisgamen is a torc/necklace made by the dwarves and frøya supposedly spent a night with each of them who made it to get Brisingamen. In other myths Thor wears it dressed as Frøya during the fake wedding to Thrym the giant who stole Thor's hammer, then when Loki stole it and gave it to Odin when Odin made her start a war to get it back.

She also had a Boar named Hildisvini "Battle-swine" which she turned her husband oðr into and rode in one of the myths.

In the Grimnismal translation, it says "then" Odin picks not "and" giving the idea Freyja picks first but it's never mentioned otherwise. But modernly we accept that she does have the first pick.

Gullveig is believed to be another name for frøya she was a sorceress who predicted the Æsir, Vanir war and was burned alive 3 times by the Æsir each time coming back to life and was struck by spears and still didn't die.

She, like Odin, was known to use many different names throughout the myths and in her travels.

She's the one who taught Odin and the other Æsir gods how to do Seidr magic.

After the Æsir, Vanir war they exchanged hostages, and Frøya, Njordh, and Frey went to live with the Æsir in Asgard.

It's rumored but never confirmed if Freyr and Freyja have Elven ancestors. But she is NOT a valkyrie; the only sources with that are later Christian sources; this is believed to be the same thing as making her out to be a love goddess and sexualizing her.

The myths never actually show her as a Vølva but her association with magic gives us the idea she is.

She also had a chariot that was pulled by cats sometimes people believe they’re Lynx.

Historical worship/practice

She had a fertility cult in the Viking age that stopped due to Christianity and a cult that lasted up until Snorri's age and time but that stopped soon after. She and Frigga were called on during childbirth, historically our source coming from a midwife.

Associations

Death

Love

Lust

Magic (especially Seidr)

War

Cats

Wealth

Divination

Fertility

Beauty

Glory

Days of the Week

Friday

Special days

Alfarblót (The first day of winter celebrated in the home in private the time when we connect to ancestral magic to the Elven folk)

Elements

Fire

Numbers

9

Colors

Gold (fav)

Light Pink

Green (fav)

Copper

Silver

Yellow

Light Purple

Red

Brown

Planet

The Moon

Animals

Cats

Horses

Boar/Sows

Rabbits

Swallows

Lynx

Falcons/Birds of prey

Ladybugs

Cuckoo

Plants

And flowers

Basil

Roses

Roseroot

Common Valerian

Mugwort

Rosemary

Apples

Primrose

Raspberries

Strawberries

Cinnamon

Poppy's

Daisy's

Almonds

Hay

Snow Blossoms

Linden

Essential oils/incense

Strawberry

Lavender

Lilac

Juniper

Cinnamon

Any sweet scents

Any baked good scents

Amber

Mint

Peppermint

Rose

Mulberry

Rosemary

Vanilla

Jasmine

Cypress

Sandalwood

Myrrh

Birch

Crystals

Rose quartz

Amber

Gold

Carnelian

Citrine

Any moonstone

Malachite

Black Tourmaline

Pink Tourmaline

River rock

Rubies

Divinational associations (runes/tarot)

Fehu, Sowilo, Berkano, Queen of wands, Queen of swords, The empress, The high priestess, The lovers, The star (Wildwood deck The Seer, and The Woodward)

Offerings and Devotional acts

Any Meads

Flowers (pressed or fresh)

Anything handmade for her

Stretching

Learning sword work

Exercising

Things respectfully taken from nature

Jewelry

Poetry (especially traditional Norse)

Hot coco

Any tea

Wine

Sweet drinks or spice like cinnamon

Potatoes

Stews

Any meats

Any Berries

Ethically gathered Bones, Cat claws, and cat whiskers (DO NOT HARM AN ANIMAL FOR THESE)

Self-Care

Spending time in nature

Learning runes

Learning distaff spinning

Any imagery associated with her

Learning magic or divination

Any baked goods (bread, muffins, honey cakes, etc)

Honey

Honeycomb

Cat statues

Boar imagery

Fostering cats/kittens

Lighting candles every day in her honor

Burning incense for her (she likes things with flames or burning)

Bonfires

Flax bundles

A staff making a staff for your craft if you practice Seidr they are commonly used in it and you could make your devotional staff for that and have it by her alter.

Alter Suggestions

Candles

Bones

Jewelry (especially gold-colored)

Statues of her or her cats

Swords/axes/spears/shields

Wooden bowls or horn bowls

Incense

Plants

Imagery of Folkvangr

Dedicated Poems about her or love or death

The artwork you make her

Animal pelts

Runes

Fehu imagery

Chants

Runic Chants/chanting the runes

Old Norse songs

(Both are commonly used in seidr)

Signs they may be reaching out

Smelling scents associated with her out of nowhere

Seeing her in dreams and meditations

Becoming more attracted to colors associated with her

Being closer to Cats or cats favoring you a lot or having different behaviors toward you

Views over death and war changed drastically

Having potential in Seidr magic

Being a seer/seeress

Being open to the spirit realm and the dead and speaking to them

Having a very sudden interest in her

Feeling a very feminine energy and string energy in the room (she's not subtle at all)

Liking foods associated with her that you didn't before

Sudden interest in distaff or spindling.

SOURCES

Freyja, Lady, Vanadis: An Introduction to the Goddess

by Patricia M. Lafayllve

Poetic Edda translated by Jackson Crawford

Tales of Norse Mythology by Helen A. Guerber

The Norse Gods and Goddesses (Intro.)

Frigg and Freyja

The Vanir

The Vǫlva (Norse Seeress) and Seiðr

Valkyries (Valkyrjur)

Fólkvangr (Folkvang)

THE NORSE GODS: FREYJA || General info, what working with Freyja is like and offerings

Freyja (Freya) Norse Goddess of Love, Warriors, and Cats

My Experiences with Deities: Freyja

Seiðr Magic and Gender

https://teaandrosemary.com/freya-goddess/

https://study.com/academy/lesson/goddess-freyja-facts-symbols-norse-mythology.html

https://historycooperative.org/freyja-the-norse-goddess-of-love/

https://historiska.se/norse-mythology/freyja-en/

https://hrafnar.org/articles/dpaxson/asynjur/freyja/

https://www.britannica.com/topic/Freyja

https://www.northvegr.org/nordic-goddess/froya-freyja

https://www.spiritualityhealth.com/freyja-sensuality

#witchcraft #witchythings #beginner witch #witchyvibes #witchblr #witch community #paganblr #paganism #pagan witch #pagan community #norse runes #norse mythology #norse paganism #norse goddess #freyja #goddess freyja #cats #cats of tumblr #seidr #norse magic #crystals #herbalism #study notes #studyblr #study blog #norse pantheon #norse gods #nordic #lunar magic #deity work

[ralfmaximus]

Here's the complete list of DHS flagged search terms. Don't use any of these on social media to avoid having the 3-letter agencies express interest in your activities!

DHS & Other Agencies

Department of Homeland Security (DHS)

Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA)

Coast Guard (USCG)

Customs and Border Protection (CBP)

Border Patrol

Secret Service (USSS)

National Operations Center (NOC)

Homeland Defense

Immigration Customs Enforcement (ICE)

Agent

Task Force

Central Intelligence Agency (CIA)

Fusion Center

Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA)

Secure Border Initiative (SBI)

Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI)

Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms (ATF)

U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (CIS)

Federal Air Marshal Service (FAMS)

Transportation Security Administration (TSA)

Air Marshal

Federal Aviation Administration (FAA)

National Guard

Red Cross

United Nations (UN)

Domestic Security

Assassination

Attack

Domestic security

Drill

Exercise

Cops

Law enforcement

Authorities

Disaster assistance

Disaster management

DNDO (Domestic Nuclear Detection Office)

National preparedness

Mitigation

Prevention

Response

Recovery

Dirty Bomb

Domestic nuclear detection

Emergency management

Emergency response

First responder

Homeland security

Maritime domain awareness (MDA)

National preparedness initiative

Militia

Shooting

Shots fired

Evacuation

Deaths

Hostage

Explosion (explosive)

Police

Disaster medical assistance team (DMAT)

Organized crime

Gangs

National security

State of emergency

Security

Breach

Threat

Standoff

SWAT

Screening

Lockdown

Bomb (squad or threat)

Crash

Looting

Riot

Emergency Landing

Pipe bomb

Incident

Facility

HAZMAT & Nuclear

Hazmat

Nuclear

Chemical Spill

Suspicious package/device

Toxic

National laboratory

Nuclear facility

Nuclear threat

Cloud

Plume

Radiation

Radioactive

Leak

Biological infection (or event)

Chemical

Chemical burn

Biological

Epidemic

Hazardous

Hazardous material incident

Industrial spill

Infection

Powder (white)

Gas

Spillover

Anthrax

Blister agent

Exposure

Burn

Nerve agent

Ricin

Sarin

North Korea

Health Concern + H1N1

Outbreak

Contamination

Exposure

Virus

Evacuation

Bacteria

Recall

Ebola

Food Poisoning

Foot and Mouth (FMD)

H5N1

Avian

Flu

Salmonella

Small Pox

Plague

Human to human

Human to ANIMAL

Influenza

Center for Disease Control (CDC)

Drug Administration (FDA)

Public Health

Toxic

Agro Terror

Tuberculosis (TB)

Agriculture

Listeria

Symptoms

Mutation

Resistant

Antiviral

Wave

Pandemic

Infection

Water/air borne

Sick

Swine

Pork

Strain

Quarantine

H1N1

Vaccine

Tamiflu

Norvo Virus

Epidemic

World Health Organization (WHO and components)

Viral Hemorrhagic Fever

E. Coli

Infrastructure Security

Infrastructure security

Airport

CIKR (Critical Infrastructure & Key Resources)

AMTRAK

Collapse

Computer infrastructure

Communications infrastructure

Telecommunications

Critical infrastructure

National infrastructure

Metro

WMATA

Airplane (and derivatives)

Chemical fire

Subway

BART

MARTA

Port Authority

NBIC (National Biosurveillance Integration Center)

Transportation security

Grid

Power

Smart

Body scanner

Electric

Failure or outage

Black out

Brown out

Port

Dock

Bridge

Canceled

Delays

Service disruption

Power lines

Southwest Border Violence

Drug cartel

Violence

Gang

Drug

Narcotics

Cocaine

Marijuana

Heroin

Border

Mexico

Cartel

Southwest

Juarez

Sinaloa

Tijuana

Torreon

Yuma

Tucson

Decapitated

U.S. Consulate

Consular

El Paso

Fort Hancock

San Diego

Ciudad Juarez

Nogales

Sonora

Colombia

Mara salvatrucha

MS13 or MS-13

Drug war

Mexican army

Methamphetamine

Cartel de Golfo

Gulf Cartel

La Familia

Reynose

Nuevo Leon

Narcos

Narco banners (Spanish equivalents)

Los Zetas

Shootout

Execution

Gunfight

Trafficking

Kidnap

Calderon

Reyosa

Bust

Tamaulipas

Meth Lab

Drug trade

Illegal immigrants

Smuggling (smugglers)

Matamoros

Michoacana

Guzman

Arellano-Felix

Beltran-Leyva

Barrio Azteca

Artistics Assassins

Mexicles

New Federation

Terrorism

Terrorism

Al Queda (all spellings)

Terror

Attack

Iraq

Afghanistan

Iran

Pakistan

Agro

Environmental terrorist

Eco terrorism

Conventional weapon

Target

Weapons grade

Dirty bomb

Enriched

Nuclear

Chemical weapon

Biological weapon

Ammonium nitrate

Improvised explosive device

IED (Improvised Explosive Device)

Abu Sayyaf

Hamas

FARC (Armed Revolutionary Forces Colombia)

IRA (Irish Republican Army)

ETA (Euskadi ta Askatasuna)

Basque Separatists

Hezbollah

Tamil Tiger

PLF (Palestine Liberation Front)

PLO (Palestine Libration Organization)

Car bomb

Jihad

Taliban

Weapons cache

Suicide bomber

Suicide attack

Suspicious substance

AQAP (Al Qaeda Arabian Peninsula)

AQIM (Al Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb)

TTP (Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan)

Yemen

Pirates

Extremism

Somalia

Nigeria

Radicals

Al-Shabaab

Home grown

Plot

Nationalist

Recruitment

Fundamentalism

Islamist

Weather/Disaster/Emergency

Emergency

Hurricane

Tornado

Twister

Tsunami

Earthquake

Tremor

Flood

Storm

Crest

Temblor

Extreme weather

Forest fire

Brush fire

Ice

Stranded/Stuck

Help

Hail

Wildfire

Tsunami Warning Center

Magnitude

Avalanche

Typhoon

Shelter-in-place

Disaster

Snow

Blizzard

Sleet

Mud slide or Mudslide

Erosion

Power outage

Brown out

Warning

Watch

Lightening

Aid

Relief

Closure

Interstate

Burst

Emergency Broadcast System

Cyber Security

Cyber security

Botnet

DDOS (dedicated denial of service)

Denial of service

Malware

Virus

Trojan

Keylogger

Cyber Command

2600

Spammer

Phishing

Rootkit

Phreaking

Cain and abel

Brute forcing

Mysql injection

Cyber attack

Cyber terror

Hacker

China

Conficker

Worm

Scammers

Social media

SOCIAL MEDIA?!

#dhs #privacy #paranoia #security

[bracketsoffear]

Expanding on my copium loaded ideal timeline:

Eye: The Ornithologists (Rest in power I)

Lonely: Idk tbh, but the arguments for the Baron of the Baronies is solid (I used the 'friendship' to destroy the friendship)

Vast: Glad Joy Wang/Jobu Tupaki, but that one argument about the Spot being similar to the ever expanding universe is so damn good

Buried: Minecraft Steve; applies especially to those make their houses on the side of mountains and caves (also the argument where the villagers see him as a cryptid is great too)

Dark: Logically, either Pride or Samuel Vimes, but I really wished that ☝︎✌︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎ swept more. But, again, maybe I'll stop there, it's rude to talk about someone who's listening after all

Stranger: The Substitute

Slaughter: Angron

Spiral: The House on Ash Tree Lane (I'm so happy you won, my fucked up little architectural mindscrew)

Hunt: John Wick

Flesh: The Swine Prince, if only because the Flesh Pit made more sense as a Domain

End: Grimora or Anton Chirgurh

Extinction: Dr. Eggman (Rest in power II)

Desolation: Walter White (Rest in power III), if not Tyler Durden

Corruption: Bugsnax

Web: Glad Clarimonda won, but Doflamingo in my heart is a solid choice

FANA: Mystery Inc./Scooby Gang

Anyways,

Thanks a lot for the experience OP. It's fun playing lawyer for fictional people, even if its only me on one side sometimes (*coughcough* Doflamingo *coughcough* Gojo)

HOUSE SWEEP YEAHHHH

.

#asks

[fitrahgolden]

Next, I tried writing a bit more of There's a world you need to know. Here goes. Like with Lilies and Soap, I'll probably just post scenes haphazardly and erratically and out of order. Fun, right?

Hope you enjoy.

There's A World You Need To Know: 1 - Not Really Sure How To Feel About It

"Mother, who is that in there with Greg and Hy?"

"Oh! That's Kate. She's the children's new music and art therapist."

"...music and art therapist..."

"Don't start. I had a meeting with their teachers--"

"When was this? Why wasn't I there?"

Violet blinked at him. "I'm capable of tending to my children's education without you, Anthony. I am their mother, after all."

Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose. Not the time, he reminded himself. Not the time.

"I apologize. That's not what I meant to imply. What did their teachers say?"

"The children have been... talking a lot. About their father. And Hyacinth in particular has been withdrawn lately. Both of them have been receiving lower marks--"

"Then we'll replace their tutors."

"That's not the problem, Anthony. We're actually quite lucky that Ms. Sharma was available. She comes highly recommended. She works with several students at Hyacinth and Gregory's school and all over Kent."

Kate Sharma, was it? Right. 

—

Anthony didn't think he looked particularly imposing as he leaned against the wall, waiting for the kids' "therapy session" to be over, but apparently he did as Kate Sharma startled at his presence when she saw him, dropping her bag. They both dove to get it.

"Allow me," Anthony said. It sounded more like an order than an offer.

"No, thanks. I have it," Kate mumbled.

As they stood, Anthony finally got a good look at her face.

"...Yes?"

"Pardon? 

"You're staring at me."

"Oh, um, sorry." He extended his hand.

"Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton."

Kate scoffed but took his hand, shaking briefly but confidently.

"Kate Sharma."

She turned to leave and Anthony felt the inexplicable urge to keep talking to her.

"How, um... did the session, uh, go?"

"You don't have to do this."

"What?"

"I know you think what I do is bullshit."

"No, I don't. I just--"

"It's fine, I'm used to it. Thankfully, it doesn't stop me from being really fucking good at my job. Anyway, your mother warned me about you."

"She--? Right. Um... Sorry, but can I just ask what training you need for this... job?" If any, he added in his head.

Kate rolled her eyes, pulling out a folder and unceremoniously pushing it at him.

"I have degrees in Music, Music Therapy, and Art Psychotherapy. I'm registered with the Health and Care Professions Council and a member of the British Associations of both Art Therapy and Music Therapy."

Anthony flipped through the contents of the folder, everything corroborating what she'd just said. "How old are you?"

"Excuse me?"

He sheepishly handed the folder back. "I'm sorry. You're just very... accomplished. You always carry your credentials with you?"

"When I'm working, yes. Like I said, I'm used to people like you."

"Like me?"

"I really need to go. I have other clients to dupe into giving me money for playing with their children."

"That's not at all--"

She tossed over her shoulder, "Violet seems happy with my work, as do the kids, so I'm afraid you'll be seeing me again, Viscount."

Anthony was sort of dazed. What the fuck just happened?

"Holy shit, was that the Kate Sharma?" Eloise all but shouted.

"The?"

"Of course you haven't heard of her, you uncultured swine. What in the world was she doing here?"

"She's... a child therapist. A... famous one, I guess?" Anthony squinted at his sister.

"Ugh, you're hopeless. She's also the best mural artist this side of London. You've never read My Mother's Daughter?"

Anthony looked back down the hallway where Kate Sharma disappeared. Huh.

—

The bell rang as Anthony entered Art Blanche and he was already bracing for it.

“Who is that I spy? Lord Anthony Bridgerton descending into the bohemian slums that are my domain?” Benedict’s grin was comically wide as he sat behind the desk in his small art shop.

“Brother, always a pleasure. I was planning on supporting a local family run business, but I can pop down to Waterstones.”

Benedict was already walking over with his arms outstretched. “No! Stay, stay. So, you are looking for a book?” Benedict asked, giving Anthony a bear hug.

“Yeah. Um… My Mother’s Daughter? It’s by–”

“Kathani Sharma, newly employed as the kids’ therapist.” Benedict made his way to the art books section and plucked a copy of Kate’s book from the shelf.

“Right,” Anthony took the book when Benedict proffered it. “Have you met her yet?”

“No, but last time I was home, Greg and Hy were gushing about her. Mother, too. I can’t believe she snagged Ms. Sharma.”

“You sound like Eloise.”

“I’m surprisingly OK with that. So, you’re doing your own research so you can discount art therapy and fire the creative genius?”

Anthony closed the book he’d been flipping through and looked up. “Damn it, can’t I just look into it? Does it not sound a little silly to you? Wait–”

“Right, remember who you are talking to.”

“Anyway, yes, I’m looking into myself.”

“You don’t think mum has? You know you can just let her parent on her own.” Benedict’s tone was kind, but Anthony got defensive anyway.

“Jesus, I know that! That doesn’t mean I want to abdicate all responsibility for the kids’ wellbeing.” He exhaled sharply, looking back down at the book. “I apologize.” Benedict placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“You’re alright. Do your research. But please give her a chance. She’s brilliant.”

“Wait…”

Benedict raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“T. W. Dorset. Tom? She works with Tom? You remember him? We were friends at Oxford.”

“Oh, right! Ha, maybe you should ring him up as part of your recon.”

“I haven’t spoken to him in ages.”

“Well, reconnect with an old mate and use him for your own nefarious intentions.”

#anthony x kate #bridgerton #kanthony #kanthonyedit #kate and anthony #kate sharma #kate sheffield #kate x anthony #kate bridgerton #bridgerton au #anthony bridgerton #lord bridgerton #anthony and kate #therapist au #there's a world you need to know #there's a world you need to know au

[searchingforserendipity25]

Ooh, would you mind sharing something about the sorcerer of Amon Ereb?

Hi @lesbianhaleth! I would love to, thanks!

The Sorcerer is a bit experimental- very much a WIP for sure, and also trying to do something about magical systems as a metaphor for formal systems of authority and Song as both the evading and enforcing of narrative (personal) (immense predestined possibility).

Right now, tho? It's mostly vague thoughts on Elros & Maedhros debating whether turning a hostage situation into an internship opportunity counts as a cultural crime, judicial obligation for education, a cunning hustle or just a dickishly unfilial move, while Maglor and Elrond put ethics aside to do fell, unorthodox and rather ilegal rehab to the monsters in the basement. I've also talked a bit about the process here for @thalion71.

Here's a snippet:

Elros, in particular, had enjoyed it ruthlessly; once, he had almost convinced Maedhros he had found his calling in becoming a swine herder, to watch the prince of Tirion make conversation on how his most gifted student was off to root for mushrooms and make acorn-bread once the snowstorms lifted.

I wonder how many pigs the slaughter of Sirion can be accounted for, Elros had mused in their mind; Elrond would have kicked him under the table, if Maedhros had not narrowed his eyes at him and started bargaining right then and there

That always ended the ruse thoroughly; Elros, at heart, was too much a magistrate to pretend otherwise, and once they started at it no term was left unstudied, no clause unmauled, no degree of ruling or logistics or conquest without consideration.

When they did so, Elrond would end up sharing glances with Maglor, in suffering and laughter - Lordlings! Brothers! What are we to do with them? It was very easy to forget Maglor had been a great lord of a great domain in his own right, before the dragonfire had left him landless and half-blind and charred and altogether mad. He was, or had made himself to be well suited to the business of being seneschal and general and clerk to Maedhros the Marred, prince of Himring and master-of-horses. The sorcerer of Amon Ereb - he had taken very few students in those days, but Elrond had been among them, and his brother as well. Had he chosen it in earnest, none of Elros’s herd would have perished for cold or sickness or wolfbites.

(But it had been Elrond who, from a young age, had stayed closer to Maglor’s tutelage; in Singing, and in Listening as well.)

#ask memes #wip game #thank you!!! love your blog btw haha #maglor #elrond #elros #maedhros #at this point you know what? i'm counting this as mart of m&m week

[r-rook-studio]

A Moonlight on Roseville Beach Art Show

It's Moonlight on Roseville Beach digital release day! You can get the PDF and ePub over on Itch and DriveThruRPG, so I wanted to do a short tour of some of the pulp pieces art director Dai Shugars found and chose for the book.

On page 8 of the book, Dai does a half-page dedication to the often unknown pulp artists whose public domain work we repurposed, listing every known creator we could find, including four pieces from Robert McGinnis, which include the piece Dai adapted the character creation section.

The above spread includes pages from the final section of character creation (the strange events you and your housemates had that got you involved in supernatural mysteries), the map of Roseville Beach (adapted from open maps of Cherry Grove, NY), Maxwell Lander's ready-to-run mystery "The House in the Woods," and the title page for section 1.

The full book adds two new character options to the ones from the Quickstart (free on Itch and DriveThru): the Familiar (an intelligent animal who works with the housemates) and the inter-dimensional Stranger. If you pick up the digital edition from Itch, you can get the playtest doc for an upcoming character option, The Veteran.

The full game adds Guest Stars, ready-to-run characters for drop-in and occasional players in your home game. Guest Stars work with the housemates but have their own abilities and resources separate from them. I wrote one as a sample, but Alison Cyve, Ezakur, and Sharang Biswas added 20+ more mundane and supernatural visitors who've come out to spend some time on the island. Inspired by the background section of Troika!, Dai did incredible work selecting pieces that brought this section to life.

Moonlight on Roseville Beach also comes with several ready-to-run mysteries and mystery starters from Maxwell Lander, Cat Ramen, Anne Toole, and Sean F. Smith (not counting the mystery starters by Noora Rose). Dai designed each to look like a small pulp novel itself. You saw Maxwell's "The House in the Woods" above, but also look at the work Dai did on Cat Ramen's "Girls Before Swine."

If you'd like a print copy, you can still preorder one! I'm sending the print files to Mixam next week and they should be in Spear Witch and other fine stores soon after.

#ttrpgs #ttrpg art #tabletop gaymes #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #dai shugars #gaymes #gaymers #lgbtq+ #lgbtqia #queer

[caltropspress]

FEEDBACK LOOP #14: Voodoo Macbeth: Armand Hammer's "Windbreaker"

…Each new morn / New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows / Strike heaven on the face…

—Shakespeare, The Tragedy of Macbeth (1623)

They use me wrong, so I sing this song to this day.

—Nas, “I Gave You Power” (1996)

1.

Once upon a time, woods “had a gun once.” “Windbreaker” is woods’ adaptation of Shakespeare’s tragedie Macbeth. Stories retold and resold—twice the first time, like Saul Williams once said. Not until you’ve listened to Rakim on a rocky mountaintop have you heard hip-hop. And not until you’ve staged Shakespeare in a sludge-slicked 150th Street Harlem sewer have you heard hip-hop either. A young Orson Welles directed what became known as Voodoo Macbeth on behalf of the WPA’s Federal Theatre Project in 1936. Featuring a full African-American cast, the play took place in a quasi-Haitian setting complete with tropical-cum-skeletal stage design—palm fronds and bone altars. We live in Storyville where the population density reaches hypersensitive levels and the murder police can’t keep up with the homicides. (Meanwhile, the Second Witch busies herself with “Killing swine” [1.3.2] in Macbeth.) We’ve been here before, before. Slick Rick’s “Children’s Story” (1988) told us to bite our tongues, that this ain’t funny so don’t you dare laugh, it’s just another case about the wrong path. He warned, in a playful and pajamaed manner: “Straight and narrow or your soul gets cast.”

2.

“Windbreaker” is a [re]mixture in the witches/bitches brew of Nas’s “I Gave You Power” (1996), too. The power, you could guess, is a wily one capable of possession. “Possession” in a legal sense—nine-tenths of the law and so forth; possession of a firearm [see: S. Carter, B. Sigel, Shyne, et al.]—but also the possession the gun holds over its owner. Those finding themselves possessed by the gun—a weapon which “made you buckwild,” in Nas’s terms—should brace for berserk behavior modifications. We can splice together epileptic seizures and Santería and call it spirit possession just the same. The possession is pervasive—everywhere. The ubiquity of guns in the collective imagination takes up serious real estate—we’re talkin’ eminent domain land grabs—and Nas’s psyche is no exception:

I was around a lot of guns then. Guns were in my sleep, in my car, in my home. Guns were on my person, guns were on my friends. That’s how much they were around. There was so much around me that I rapped about it. It’s crazy to think about that today, but it was my reality. It was in my head 24/7.

“Windbreaker” functions as an exorcism of that exact sentiment.

3.  RECKLESS WHAT

Blow wind! Come wrack!

—Shakespeare, Macbeth (5.5.58)

The wind forebodes. woods gets handed the gun “late night, right on the porch,” and it must be windbreaker weather. woods’ jacket rustles in the gusts. “I’ll give thee a wind” (1.3.12), the Second Witch says to the First, and the “wind” she refers to is what the witches bestow upon each other to exact revenge. woods, though, breaks their wind (true to the song’s title and his heroic epithet, likely). He’s not susceptible to their marshy shufflings, their murky hells. He “speak[s] things strange” (1.2.52-53), as Lennox says of the worthy Thane of Ross.

But the winds are everywhere (like guns)—they be blowin’ like Maceo Parker in a buhloone mindstate. They blow the horrid deed in every eye and “tears shall drown the wind” (1.7.24-25). Word to the RZA and Wendy Rene: after the laughter comes the tearz. But the winds swirl and cyclone and gyre skyward. woods, “like a naked newborn babe,” survives by “Striding the blast” (1.7.21-22) as a cherubim might, riding the breeze. He’s Kong learning to stop worrying and love da bomb. He straddles and hoots and hollers from the hydrogen missile. A hard acid reign’s a-gonna fall [RIP to Gajah].

Of Macbeth’s poor murderers, the second says: “I am one… / Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world / Hath so incensed that I am reckless what / I do to spite the world” (3.1.121-124). Shakespeare knows the sway of poverty over moral decisions, like the Apothecary in Romeo and Juliet whose “poverty, but not [his] will consents” to selling illegal, poisonous drugs to Romeo. woods gets beat back by the gale-force winds, but he bests those “buffets of the world.” Everything’s for sale except for the Beaufort scale.

4.  YO-HO-HO

The gun, in the case of “Windbreaker,” is equivalent to Robert Louis Stevenson’s Black Spot. That is to say, the song isn’t so much a billy woods metanarrative as a twice-told tale of Billy Bones in Treasure Island (1883). Passed from pirate to pirate, the Black Spot is a black-sided death sentencing, a Last Judgment on a scrap of paper. Biblical bad luck. A Book of Revelation back-page pressed into a fist. Maritime connotations aside, the Black Spot signals that it’s marring time, so make yourself scarce or knuckle up.

woods claims to have only had the gun “for about a month,” and he was none too keen on keeping it. The gun, we assume, had traveled many travails and trials, tribulations too; that it had “been in the hands of mad thugs,” as Nas puts it. Mad meaning “many” but also “crazed” and “deranged.” Mad like diaries maintained by gravediggaz. Pick, sickle, and shovel-wielding men. The gun, the “brandished steel, / Which smoked with bloody execution” (1.2.19-20) is bequeathed to woods as it was to so many others. Less a gift than a curse. “Sick of the blood,” Nas-as-gun raps, “Sick of wrath of the next man’s grudge.” This gun—like any gun, perhaps—is one that harbors a self-consciousness. Maybe it is the guns that kill people, personified with malevolence [male violence].

Unlike countless others, woods doesn’t choose to use the gun to cement his masculinity. As Macbeth tells his wife, woods is already man enough, and “who dares do more is none” (1.7.52)—a negation of that manhood. Overkill, let’s call it. Mac daddies and MAC-10s: Nas is like the phallocentric Asian, half-man, half-guns blazing. “The barrel’s my dick,” he explains, “Uncircumcised, pull my skin back and cock me.” Macbeth, meanwhile, questions his hallucinating senses, “Is this a dagger which I see before me, / The handle toward my hand?” (2.2.44-45). The blade is bloody, possibly with menses, yet he still grapples for control: “Come, let me clutch / thee” (2.2.45-46). In doing so, he’s giving mics menstrual cycles. “The game is so irresistible to touch,” LL Cool J once said of the mic phallus, “You should see me when fiendin’ for microphones that I can clutch.” 

In a letter to his wife, Macbeth writes that he “stood rapt in wonder” (1.5.6), explaining what he witnessed held him in thrall. On the porch, billy woods is likewise “rapt withal” (1.3.60). Banquo knows “instruments of darkness tell us truths” (1.3.136). But woods is “too full o’ th’ milk of human kindness” (1.5.17) to use the gun; he doesn’t have “slaughterous thoughts” (5.5.16). And even if he does, his ignorance and mystification prevent him from reaching for the strap.

5.

A dagger of the mind, a false creation…

—Macbeth (2.2.50) 

The story told in “Windbreaker” raises questions of realities and false narratives, actual fears and imagined ones, authenticity and authorship—in short, the friction that exists between fiction and figment. woods mixes up the simulacra of hyperreality like the guy Quelle Chris knew on “PSA Drugfest 2003” that “mix[ed] up a spliff like witches with newt eye.” We’re pulled in by woods’ first-person point-of-view (“I had a gun once,” followed by a proliferation of Is) but put off by his reluctance to divulge the details. He bleep censors the name of who he “got it from.” By doing so, he protects the innocent, the guilty, and every gradation of conscience in between. The unidentified person who gives him the gun could be a peer, an elder, a mentor, a bad influence, or some combination thereof. Regardless, the nameless and faceless figure—a mysterious character, if we choose to lean into the fictitious realm—“showed [woods] how to load it” in the “same place [he] showed [woods] how to roll a blunt,” linking two illicit activities, both requiring punctilious attention to detail. Of gats and ganja; of heat and hemp. 

woods demonstrates the blurry border between fact and fiction in the scene details. The gun is handed off clandestinely under the cover of “late night,” yet the location (“right on the porch”) is indiscreet. This doubling (call it down-low and out-front) plays out anadiplotically when woods says, “[They] was speaking soft, / Soft pack of ’ports.” The sibilance of “speaking soft” suggests secrecy (if worse come to worse keep this on the hush, Lil’ Cease might say), but the point-blank alliteration of “pack of ’ports” sounds like when your guns go pow-pow (word to Big L). Furthermore, the soft pack of stoges—though its connotation implies silence—has a plastic wrapping that crinkles like a windbreaker, attracting unwanted attention.

6.

The gun given to woods is far from perfect, in fact, the weapon is “scratched and marred where the numbers was filed.” Like the bleep censors, the redaction of the serial number safeguards against snitching. But, as the pattern of the one-verse song shows, that which is criminal is liminal. Those defaced numbers, well, “you could still see ’em.” One thinks of Macbeth’s dagger cloaked in hemoglobin: “...on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood” (2.1.58). One remembers Nas’s encounter with “a wrecked-up TEC with numbers on his chest that say: / 5-2-O-9-3-8-5 and zero.” The TEC yearns to confess, “hoping one day police would place where he came from, / A name or some sort of person to claim him.” But with his “serial defaced,” the TEC shares the same fate as Lady Macbeth: beyond saving. Just as doctors can’t “raze out the written troubles of [Lady Macbeth’s] brain” (5.3.52), so too can’t you resurface a scratched-off serial number. 

To include bleeped names and scratched-off serial numbers is to engage in a sort of scriptorium subterfuge. Historically, we’ve seen this in novels, as John Barth explained in “Lost in the Funhouse” (1967): “Initials, blanks, or both were often substituted for proper names in nineteenth-century fiction to enhance the illusion of reality. It is as if the author felt it necessary to delete the names for reasons of tact or legal liability. Interestingly, as with other aspects of realism, it is an illusion that is being enhanced, by purely artificial means.”

Uncertainty abounds. woods can’t even accurately identify the weapon he’s handed: “.38, .22—I’m not even sure.” It could just as well be Nas’s Desert Eagle, a “semi-auto with lead.” These redactions, this unknowingness, inevitably leads to confusion. One must forgo epistemic approaches and settle for feels. Nas’s aforementioned Desert Eagle, as an example, measures at “seven inches” and weighs “four pounds.”

7.

Emotional liftin’—please use the proper form: / Bend at the knee.

—“spongebob” (2019)

But little and heavy as a dead child. The game is the game, but the gravity of the situation increases with woods’ somber simile. That uzi, or .38, or .22— weighs a ton. But it’s the emotional weight that’s so exhausting. “Windbreaker” opens with a bevy of words with short-u sounds—words with heft, words that carry bend-at-the-knee weight: gun | once | month | blunt. A significant weight, like Biggie’s ubiquitous uh adlibs. woods throws haymakers, heaves shots. By all accounts, he’s acting “wild truculent” (as Breeze Brewin once said on “Weight” by the Indelible MC’s). woods holds the gun with “Macbeth hands,” a phrase he drops on Armand Hammer’s “Duppy.” Macbeth speaks of “dread exploits” (4.1.164), and woods works in dread[ed] talk (s/o to Velma Pollard), that Iyaric, a protest language and flexi lexicon, to ward off the weight of what violence he might have the capacity to engage in.

You show loyalty; they learn loyalty. But Macbeth disregards the value of his commander Banquo even after leading Duncan’s army alongside him. He keeps the plot to murder Banquo “from the common eye” for “sundry weighty reasons” (3.1.141-142), most of which are purely practical. The Thane of Cawdor doesn’t consider the guilty conscience he’ll have to carry. He doesn’t contemplate “that perilous stuff / Which weighs upon the heart” (5.3.54-55). woods does.

On “Heavy Water” (emphasis on the heavy—we’re talking some brine pool shit), woods told us “the play-within-the-play was G. Dep as Macbeth,” and thus hands us a key. G. Dep, who confessed to killing an innocent man seventeen years after the fact, couldn’t function under the weight of what he’d done. “I didn’t feel free and clear,” he said from prison where he’s serving 15-to-life. “Everyday I was faced with this memory, with this heinous act, that didn’t really have to happen….I had to do what I had to do to get that burden off my chest.” That burden off his chest. “Burden” from the Old English byrðen, meaning “load, weight” but also “a child.” (But little and heavy as a dead child.)

G. Dep endeavored to lift the weight off his chest, but woods prefers to hide the weight in a chest. woods secretes the gun—and his shame at even accepting it—in various places, all of which prove porous. He “had it hid under bed”—those deadweight d’s burying any misdeed deeply—but he “couldn’t sleep” like some Princess and the Piece. He’s a sensitive soul, feeling it penetrate his back leaving him black and blue all over his body. Mattress upon mattress upon mattress, and he still felt its presence. No quitter, woods seeks other unseen spots—ahem, hiding places—like “in the shed, somewhere Moms couldn’t reach.” I was made to kill, Nas rapped, and “that’s why they keep [the gun] concealed.” Nas tried to squeeze “under car seats” and sneak into clubs. By verse three of “I Gave You Power,” he’s “still stuck in the shelf with all the things that an outlaw hides.” As we see, any attempts at avoidance are mostly ineffective.

8.  THE WEÏRD TURN PRO

woods is unsettled. Who can make sense of machine gun etiquette? The man feels damned. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” he raps, noticing “both shoulders had demons.” Can’t brush ’em off. As Macbeth says, “Cannot be ill, cannot be good” (1.3.144). Out, damned spot, out, I say! One. Two. (5.1.37). But the spot is blown, and Lady Macbeth can’t do a damn thing about it. She can try to sound like Biz Markie as much as she wants (“...a one-two, a one-two…”); she can make like Special Ed and fetch the Cascade, but there’s no getting those red stains off her hands.

“I was scared,” woods tells us, “’cause [redacted] heard [redacted] was tryna rob me.” But even self-defense shuffles closer to self-destruction. “I was more scared,” he explains, “when I took the gun, to be honest.” He fears both the threat on his person and the weapon intended to ward off any such maneuvers. He feels stuck: “By then, too late to say I didn’t want it.” We can assume his “dome was aching” like the man in Nas’s song who reaches for the gun, finally. woods “walked home in the darkness,” in his frantic thoughts. Somewhere along his route he was detained by “three witches on the marshes.” 

Rewind back to the beginning of the song. “And I know it better than before,” Fielded sings, “they want me to notice—even out the score.” Fielded becomes all three Weïrd Sisters in one: she turns to they. For weïrd read “fateful.” Depending on which Shakespeare folio you’re flipping through, the word is also spelled weyward and weyard. They all come from the Scottish form of wyrd, though—the Old English word for fate. The Weïrd Sisters, or witches, are tied up in some real Hussein Fatal/Fatal Hussein business. I’m pretty sure that I won’t be ready when they come through that door, Fielded sings with “the syllable of dolor” (4.3.9), evoking the lurking evil, the looming dread, that woods experiences. Fielded—whose stage-name is near-synonymous with the marshes and heaths on which the witches appear—sings of seething vengeance (“even out the score”) and simmering nervousness (“I got somebody coming for me in the night”).

Fielded, in their role as the Weïrd Sisters, is warmer to woods than Macbeth’s encounter with the witches. Fielded warns him, it sounds like, not to cross them. In an evasive move, woods goes metaphorical. He feels like a “dinosaur in the tar pit.” He marks sharks as “all cartilage.” (The witches include “maw and gulf / Of the ravaged salt-sea shark” [4.1.24-25] in their cauldron ingredients, by the way.) Sharks for woods; scorpions for Shakes. “O, full of scorpions is my mind” (3.2.41), Macbeth moans. woods feels his “blood cold as the water is,” while Macbeth looks to the “multitudinous seas incarnadine” (2.2.80), meaning the ocean turns blood-red. The arrival of Banquo’s ghost at dinner is likened to the approach of “the rugged Russian bear, / The armed rhinoceros, or th’ Hyrcan tiger (3.4.122-123). Bears, rhinos, sharks, scorpions, and tigers…oh my!

9.  SLUMB’RY AGITATION

A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, / And yet I would not sleep…

—Banquo, Macbeth (2.1.8-9)

“Fair is foul, and foul is fair” (1.1.12-13), the witches say in unison. woods hovers through the fog and filthy air thinking, Fuck a fair one—I get mine the fast way, like Biggie on the “Flava in Ya Ear” remix from ’94. On “Halloween Fell on a Weekend,” woods was talkin’ witchy: “Fair is foul, / Awkward smile.” Nas, for the record, noted how the intrusive gun thoughts were “making every ghetto foul.”

But what’s really foul and utterly unfair—a flagrant foul, a Flagrant 2—is the sleep troubles. “I slept with no dreams,” woods raps. But his dreamless sleep is more of an insomnia. “Methought I heard a voice cry, ‘Sleep no more!” Macbeth says, turning over in the sheets to speak to himself in the third-person, “‘Macbeth does murder sleep’” (2.2.47-48). woods looks a ghost now, a somnolent wanderer: “Asleep on my feet, / Awake when niggas sleep.” The repetition of sleep at the start of one clause and at the end of the next signals the circularity of the story being told. 

We can’t help but summon Nas’s “cousin of death.” And Macduff refers to “downy sleep” as “death’s counterfeit” (2.3.88). woods is restless, “tempest-tossed” (1.3.26), enduring the night where “wicked dreams abuse / The curtained sleep (2.1.62-63). “Headlights splashed the curtains,” woods raps, and instead of sheep he’s “counting every car passin’ in the street.” He may as well be midnight marauding like Lady Macbeth with a taper. When the Doctor notes that Lady Macbeth’s “eyes are open,” the Gentlewoman clarifies that “their sense are shut” (5.1.26-27). Nas, Queensbridge-bred, opens his penthouse lids to “see some cold nights and bloody days.” If only Lady Macbeth had been as alert as Nasir Jones or billy woods.

10.  BLACK MACBETH WILL SEEM AS PURE AS SNOW

The gun, which was described as “little and heavy as a dead child” (G. Dep’s debut was called Child of the Ghetto, as fate would have it), returns to haunt us at the end of “Windbreaker.” The baby image, in Shakespeare’s terms, becomes “doubly redoubled” (1.2.42). When the hurly-burly’s done, it’s the kids who suffer. A generational pain that folds back in on itself. An inheritance of the horrific. Look around: dead babies are everywhere.

Ross speaks of Macduff’s murdered household where he discovered “babes / Savagely slaughtered” (4.3.240-241). Nas delivers a choral ode about how he, as gun, “might have took your first child.” Slick Rick rapped of “a little boy who was misled.” That boy found himself in a woods-like dilemma, calculating the consequences: I’ll do years if I pull this trigger. If not a corporeal death, a death of the spirit. 

The Weïrd Sisters promise Banquo that he’ll father kings—bank on it, they say. And so Macbeth fears Banquo’s children will be the future kings of Scotland, usurping his throne. Macbeth decides: Banquo’s gotta go. Not only his brethren-in-arms, but Banquo’s son Fleance, too. Fleance “must embrace the fate / Of that dark hour” (3.1.156-157), Macbeth determines, all in order to assure his place on the throne. When Macbeth ambushes Banquo in Act 3, Scene 3, Banquo implores his son to “fly, fly, fly” (3.3.25)—he tells him to supa fly, to supa dupa fly. To be fresh, wild, and bold, too—like the Cold Crush would advise.

woods, as Banquo, is drawn into a terminal life, a posthumous life, when he is given the gun. That hand-off arranges his end. “Banquo when I think of my kids,” he raps. “Banquo when I kiss my son in his crib.” This is the Fleance farewell. But woods is unwilling to go the way of Banquo. He doesn’t only want to save his son—he wants to save himself. “Stunningly,” Nas says, “tears fall down the eyes of these so-called tough guys.” woods rebuffs the “heavy as a dead child” gun. The only weight he wishes to feel is his son asleep in his arms.

11.  THE WOOD[S] OF BIRNAM

It felt wrong knowing niggas is waiting in Hell for him.

—Nas, “I Gave You Power”

“Here’s a knocking indeed!” remarks the Porter in Act 3, Scene 1. He considers the vocation of “porter of hell gate” and mocks the incessant knocking: “Knock, knock, knock! Who’s there, i’ / th’ name of Beelzebub?” (3.1.1-4). Careful what you ask for and be wary of the knocks you answer to. woods can knock the hustle. He’s none-too-anxious to join the mobb of “murd’ring ministers” (1.5.55) we hear about in the Scottish play or Track 4 on It Was Written. Still woods, eventually, commits to composing a kind of murda muzik—equally bloodletting and bloodshedding in its emotional registers and range. “[T]he blood-boltered Banquo smiles” (4.1.138) knowing he’s secured futures for his kids. He rests easy. It’s presupposed that the gun gives power, but on “Windbreaker” we learn that the weapon deprives us of power, leaving us with nothing to pass on but the curse.

Images:

Photograph of the Nat Karson design used to create the backdrop for the Federal Theatre Project production of Macbeth at the Lafayette Theatre, Harlem, 1936 (detail) | Opening of the Federal Theater Project production of Macbeth at the Lafayette Theatre, Harlem (1936) | Winslow Homer, Hurricane, Bahamas (1898) | Andy Warhol, Gun, black, white, and red on pink (c. 1981-82) | Ravi Zupa, Mightier Than Guns sculpture series, disassembled typewriter, stapler, and scrap metal (c. 2016) | G. Dep, Child of the Ghetto album cover, 2001 (detail) | “Macbeth visits the Weird Sisters (Three Witches) on the blasted heath,” title page by John Gilbert for an edition of Shakespeare’s works (1858–60) | Canada Lee as Banquo in the Federal Theatre Project production of Macbeth at the Lafayette Theatre, Harlem (1936) | Photograph of the Nat Karson design used to create the backdrop for the Federal Theatre Project production of Macbeth at the Lafayette Theatre, Harlem, 1936 (detail)

#underground hip hop #billy woods #armand hammer #fielded #backwoodz studioz

[lenniedoesthings]

A drunken analysis of fandoms I did on a long flight in 4 thousand words or less

Introduction

Please let me set the scene. It's past midnight, an obscene hour if anyone's asking. There's a young lady, around the age of 16 to 24, in the corner of her room, which is decked out with posters, with the lights off, lit up only by the light of her bedside lamp. She probably has school or responsibilities next morning, but she's not showing signs of going to bed. She's perched at the edge of her spinny chair, eyes eagerly running over the glowing words on her computer reflecting off her face. This could've been 2006, or 2014, or 2018. Frankly, this set-up is applicable as long as the internet existed. There's a lot of pages the girl might be going on, many appropriate and common to the times. Possibly early internet forums, if it was 2006, young and innocent and ready to find friends from afar. Maybe Tumblr, the popular social website of young, introverted girls in 2014, ready to share to the world what was happening in their lives, a breakup or a struggle with themselves or simply to gush over something they liked. And if it was 2018, it could been any social media website you can think of. Truthfully, I can't imagine a girl on a PC in 2018 instead of a phone, so there's the flaw in my set-up.

But no matter what, people nowadays aged 30 and below most probably have a memory of eagerly browsing the internet dead in the night, searching for friends within their loved specific niche that they couldn't find in their day to day life's social circle. But the internet isn't what I'm to talk about today, but one specific niche that most, if not all people on the internet have encountered -- fanatic domains, or fandoms, this gigantic monster of conflicting opinions and shared loves. You might be shaking your head at me, this uncultured swine, don't I know about fan gatherings of the past? People in a web of letters ready to discuss their favorite character of The Hobbit? Yes, very much so, and very much not so. The way the internet is made makes everything available for everyone to share, read, and reshare, making loving something incredibly easy and information quick to consume. In the past, if you needed to find fellow lovers of The Hobbit, you would need to hopefully bump into someone at the store who shared the same interest, who'd introduce you to this other friend and another friend until you've got this group of friends all loving the same book, and all waiting outside eagerly for the release of The Lord of the Rings, buzzing with ideas Tolkien might have for his next book.

There are many more stories to tell of fans of the time, some more vivid and most probably more accurate than my retelling, but there is one constant between them, you needed to be at the right place, at the right time, or you needed to know the right people. Nowadays, however, you could just type 'Hobbit' into whichever browser you're using, and there would be years upon years of information and entertainment for you to enjoy. A precise analysis of the High Elves and their motives along with counter arguments on why they're the best? Look no further than fan sites that pop up, with people dedicated to dissecting the book in detail. An imaginary situation of Thorin and Bilbo meeting in a coffee shop in New York? Well, there are way too many websites for that, early blogs and independent websites or large commercial monsters like Fanfiction.net or Wattpad. Simply a place to gush about Legolas? Forums or places like Reddit and Tumblr will find you a lots of fellow fangirls with a never ending abundance of fan art and reader-inserts. A comparison between the movies and the book? Tumblr has that too, and you'd find fourteen year old girls doing the most precise analysis that's lacking in their English essays. (This is slightly hypocritical coming from a teenage girl analyzing fandoms instead of the themes of Frankenstein)

I could go on and on forever, and this isn't even a fandom I'm involved in. In better words, there's no lack of fellow fans on the internet, too many, if some people would say. Especially with popular books and big fandoms, this gives birth to many subcultures simply of that particular book, along with terminology that seeps into every young girl's vocabulary. It's really beautiful in the way you can observe online fandoms and their evolve from a tiny, niche corner of the World Wide Web to this day's monster of so many hearts poured out, seeping into every corner of the internet, with references even in the wildest and most different of scenarios. In this essay I will attempt to analyze one of the biggest online cultures, it's subcultures and their online culture, and one funny thing called fanfiction, along with guiding you on the path of every Tumblr girl's road of discovery and growth with their introduction to the internet world.

Fanfiction

Fanfiction is such a large sprawling web of interconnected night owls there's a whole subculture just talking about the unique experience of reading fanfiction. Born from early glitchy fanpages to scattered stories around long lost websites such as LiveJournal and short scribbled stories on DeviantArt to the big three nowadays, Wattpad for the teenage girls, Fanfiction.net with the memories and for the classic and old fandoms, lastly Archive of our own with everyone and everything in the most beautiful and horrifying sense. Its something everyone that's been on the internet for as early as fifteen years ago would probably know about. Some with disdain, others with morbid curiosity, and the rest with fond memories. The reputation that fanficition is simply badly written porn isn't wrong per se, just look at any Ao3 (Archive of our own) page, but there's so much more.

People look down on it, call the writers 'unoriginal' and 'illiterate' and just silly 'fourteen year old crazy fangirls'. But it's not, at least, not completely. It's a safe space for people who just want to take these funny little characters of their youth and put them in these either torturous or cute situtations, mostly romantic and homosexual, but also experimental and new and beautiful, with some amazing works of literature coupled with many people finding their love for writing and starting their journey with a 5 + 1 story of their favorite two characters. Fanficiton also varies a lot, from a love letter to the original authors or a beautifully written protest of the story direction, or even just using premade and well-loved characters to tell a personal struggle in different words.

Heck, some of nowaday's popular and maybe slightly morbid terms come from fanfiction, with a simple battle of tongues for dominance or a soft epilogue with your love to being tired of choosing and always having to choose and never getting to choose you. Yes, there's a lot of horrible fanfiction, don't we all know it, and most of fanfiction is unreadable, unless you're really desperate, but whenever you find a gem of a find, with proper punctuation and a well thought out plot that just nails all the tropes which makes you cry and laugh with a pairing you've never even considered before and it's long and unproblematic enough for a reread, those moments are just pure joy, one that you'd never expirence without even a month deep in fanfiction.

One primary counter argument is that these words people smush together of someone else's characters aren't real literature simply because it isn't original, but if we're going there, why aren't we shaming Shakespeare? How dare he write these great fanfictions of Greek myths and publish them, making them some of the most legendary literature of all time. If your whole criticism of fanfiction that it isn't original, I would like you to reevaluate your books, for there are so many popular stories that aren't 'original', and if your definition of fanfiction is a rewrite of a book or story built upon another, there are so many pieces of English literature you would not enjoy.

But the main thing you're here for is to understand what this subculture actually is, so let me get back on topic. Let's start with something simple, give me a show of hands if your first fanfic, (short for fanfiction) was from either the Harry Potter books, the MCU, or the pioneer, the television series Supernatural. Supernatural is a series familiar to me not for it's television merits, having never watched the show, but its impact on this internet subculture. That fandom gave birth fanfiction's many terminologies, short forms, and something that has been splayed on newspages recently along with the rise of AI, many sub-sub-cultures and stories, most famously ones like the Omegaverse (Don't Google this and don't look at the tags) and Coffee shop AUs. Maybe as someone completely separated to this culture you were following along, just barely, but now you're confused, what's an AU? Well, dear reader, that is but one of the many inventive terminologies of this subculture. Let's take a look at this seemingly gibberish sentence: "hp hp/dm otp coffee shop au ewe slow burn meet-cute enemies to lovers"

I hope I have evoked some long forgotten Wattpad Drarry memories for some. The way fanfiction terminology has evolved to suit the needs of readers is a little like a developing language, with constantly being fine tuned until it reaches the perfect sweet spot, but still forever evolving to keep up with the times and climate. Like how early writers needed to specify platonic relationships from romantic ones and thus standardizing the sign & and / respectively. Or how writers loved the characters but craved more for them, thus creating popular AUs or Alternate Universes for them, like ones which are set in the modern day, others without powers, and some in simply a coffee shop meet-cute. Some writers going further with these characters leading to crossovers, letting Hermione volunteer as tribute and Katniss fight along Hawkeye.

As fanfictions evolved to suit the author's desires, readers invented more and more terms for them to group their favorite mush of words, leading to newbies usually browsing some Ao3 veteran's Tumblr blog for correct fanfiction etiquette along with a dictionary of the terminology. By the way, the Drarry story was: "A Harry Potter slash (usually meaning a homosexual romantic relationship, coming from the / sign) fanfic with Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, my One True Pairing, where they meet in an Alternate Universe in a coffee shop after the Battle of Hogwarts, ignoring the epilogue and Rowling's ending, and a slow, gradual romance with them going from enemies to lovers (this is very self explanatory).

Ships

Relationships are always a thing in books and movies, especially romantic ones, but there’s a lot more to it for the fans once the book is over. There are the canon relationships, the ones stipulated by the writers and are thus, canon, and the non-canon relationships, or canon relationships, which are created by fans and do not exist in the canon storyline. They are similar to headcanons but are more prevalent, with many fanfictions centered around the fan created relationship.These can also be called ‘ships’. We’re going to focus on non-canon relationships first. They are usually created by fans who like a specific pair of characters together, which aren’t mentioned in a relationship in the books or movies, and put them together used in a series of headcanons and fanficitions. Ships are very prevalent in fandoms, even when the character is said to be in a canon relationship with another character.

One very popular ship on Archive of our own is Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter with more than 56 thousand stories, despite both of them having a heterosexual relationship already established in canon. One thing that fans use to address or name a ship, both canon or fanon, instead of just saying “X character and Y character” are ship names, using a portmanteau, smushing two words together to make a new word. This originated from the Supernatural ship of Dean Winchester and Castiel, taking the beginning of Dean’s name and the ending of Castiel’s to form their ship name, Destiel. Some popular portmanteau ship names are Drarry and Romione. Another type of ship names, instead of being a portmanteau of their names, but a combination of something associated with them. Take the popular fanon ship of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, their most common ship name is WolfStar, due to their names having similar ending, it is hard to create portmanteau of their names, and so fans used things associated with them, Remus’ lycanthropy giving “Wolf” to the name, and Sirius being named after a star, giving “Star” to the name. Most fandoms have popular ships, with fandoms of their own of those ships, but there are two types of ships that fall outside of this category: rarepairs and crackships.

Rarepairs are usually a pairing that isn’t popular and usually with a small following or of the author’s creation, such as Cho Chang and Dudley Dursley in Harry Potter. This is a viable ship, able to exist in the confines of canon and would generally be a healthy relationship. However, due to both these character having minor roles and never being seen interacting, this is a rarepair with only one or two headcanons and fanficitions, usually without a following, but just visitors of an author’s fanfiction. Crackships are usually a pairing of two characters that shouldn’t be paired and wouldn’t be in a romantic relationship in a normal setting, such as Bellatrix Lestange and Hermione Granger, based on canon evidence of the two character, it wouldn’t be a healthy or viable relationship, due to their age-gap, moral difference, general unhingeness of Bellatrix Lestrange, and other canon reasons. Crackships usually appear in many forms, such as situations where they act out of character or with different upbringing, humorous situations, one-shots, and straight-up porn at times. Crackships don’t usually appear in headcanon, but rather in fanfictions written solely for the crackships.

One completely separate category of ships are reader-inserts, these appear in text posts, headcanons, and fanficitions. Usually, these are written in second-person with the sole or at least main purpose of the fanfiction is for the reader to engage in a relationship with a specific character, platonic or romantic. Writers use words such as Y/N, meaning ‘your name’, and different things such as YHC (your hair color), or YLN (your last name) to make the reader insert themselves in the story by using second-person and making the character as much as a blank slate for reader to add on to their personalities as much as they want.

One glaring downside, or upside, of the entire shipping part of a fandom are the disagreements. With the inclusion of popular fanon ships, with sometimes the fanon ships gaining much more popularity than the canon ship (such as Marvel’s canon relationship of Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter often disregarded in favor of other ships such as Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes or Steve Rogers and Tony Stark), it leads to many arguments to much ship is the “superior” one, with many apologists going to great lengths to defend their favorite pairing. A very well-known ship disagreements are between the canon ship Romione (Ron and Hermione) and the fanon ship Dramione (Draco and Hermione), leading to many arguments on internet forums and long posts with people either defending their favored ship or undermining the other, with some even bashing the opposite character (Ron or Draco).

Headcanons

Another thing about fandoms which is very similar to fanfictions but in a much simpler way is headcanons. Something that deviates from canon (the established storyline and characters) or something we just don't know about. One example could be 'I headcanon Harry Potter as bisexual' This could be possible, as even though he is only mentioned as in relationships with female characters, his sexuality is never mentioned, and it is often mentioned in the Harry Potter books with Harry complimenting many male character's looks, leaving it in the realm of possibility. Another slightly different kind is 'I headcanon muggleborn students constantly making pop culture references' This isn't in line with canon, as though the story is told from Harry's perspective, a wide spread thing like that would've been mentioned, but instead, there's never a major transitional struggle with muggleborns, even with Harry, who was raised by muggles, showing that most muggle borns adopt their magical heritage and birthright in favor over their mundane one.

Headcanons are fun things to simply state in a Tumblr text post or a conversation between friends, not needing the brainpower to curate a whole story yet letting you to express your love and creativity along with wants for a series and character. Usually, however, some headcanons become so widespread they are adopted as canon, or something mentioned so many times in fanfic that people write it down along with character characterizations. Such as in the MCU, there is always a running mention of Clint climbing in the vents, even though this is never mentioned in either the movies or comics, it in actuality being a headcanon which it's lines with canon has become so blurred it's common appearance in fanfictions can lead me to believe most of the community has shelved this fan made characteristic of Clint along with his canon characteristics. Another notable mention is Remus' love for chocolate in Harry Potter. In the actual books, there are only a few lines of Remus offering chocolate to Harry, and all of them are in medicinal situations, as shown in one line with Madame Pomfrey. However, this is a favored headcanon, this characteristic adopted as canon and appearing in other headcanons and most, if not all, Marauder-era fanfictions. Most readers would be hard pressed to believe JK Rowling didn't intend Remus Lupin to be this cocoa lover.

Another thing that runs along headcanons, cut from the same cloth but different in patterns, are common misunderstandings or assumptions of a character, some incorrectly taken as canon, such as Draco's middle name, which is never mentioned, not in the books nor one of Rowling's websites, but many fans believe it to be Lucius due to a parallel with Harry's middle name and early writers using it as placement and other fanfiction writers adopting the name as the medium. Other things that are similar to this in fashion but are very obviously incorrect facts to canon, but so often used in fan conversations that it may as well be, but are still not confused as canon, such as the widespread use of 'Dan' and 'Emma' to name Hermione's parents, and the belief that the Marauders along with Dorcas, Lily, Mary, and Marlene were one big friend group.

Sub-fandoms

Harry Potter is the best example to use when describing a flourishing online fandom. It has been almost twenty years when the books have first been published, leaving it with ample time to grow a fandom on all platforms, for blogs, fanfictions, analysis, edits, and so much more. Along with movies and a fantasical universe, its a perfect breeding ground for excited fangirls and intricate dynamics. Its such a large fandom that within it, there are unique fandoms of things within the fandom, with fanfictions of fanfictions, edits of edits.There are many things in the Harry Potter fandom that are simply fan made things, but have large renown, as much as the original like the Potter Puppet Pals, an ironic comedy series which lines are often paraphrased for fun.

A great example of this is the 500 thousand word monstrosity on Archive of our own called All The Young Dudes, a slow burn fanfic of the Marauders' time at school. This is such a big part of the Harry Potter fandom that it is a fandom of it's own, with many fanfictions of ATYD, Pinterest pages, text posts, headcanons, and ships set in the ATYD version of Harry Potter yet not following the ATYD version of canon. (For example, the slash ship between Regulus Black and James Potter) It's a big fandom, and one thing that attracted many others from the main Harry Potter fandom was a fanmade movie trailer for ATYD using existing clips of Hollywood movies, but pieced together making it completely believable to exist together in a universe, much moreso a movie. You wouldn't believe Andrew Garfield's Spider-Man has a place in the Harry Potter fandom aside from crossover fanfiction, but one look at that fanmade movie trailer on YouTube will have you absolutely convinced that our favorite web-slinger could also definitely be our furry little problem. There are edits upon edits of the Spider-Man movie on social media platforms such as Tik Tok that are coupled with the right music and excerpts from the ATYD fanfiction that really makes you ask, is there actually a movie of the Marauders? Even Andrew Garfield himself has confirmed his knowledge and love for being a fancasted young Remus Lupin, showing the reach of this niche community within another niche online community within a fandom. You know what they say, never underestimate young girls in love.

References

Another thing highly prevalent in fandoms are specific words that only fans of that specific book or movie series understand what it's referring to, leading it to a running gag joke or a communal nostalgic memory. You only have to type 'calmly' after any Harry Potter text post and there's sure to be many people with laughing emojis and agreements. If you're out of the loop, its a comparison between the book and the movie of the Goblet of Fire in that scene when Dumbledore confronts Harry after his name pops out of the goblet. In the books Dumbledore asks Harry if he put his name in calmly to show his collected demeanor, but in the movies, Dumbledore runs across the room, grabs Harry and nearly yells in his face, leading this to be a running gag in the fandom, usually in the comment section of text post, to demonstrate in an alternate reality that the person has yelled it instead. In truth, and to quote, running gags like these are simply for "shits and giggles", but they are part of an integral communal joy that links the fans and their internet presence together.

Another similar but not completely is the line "Bucky?" commented in almost any Captain America posts or anything related in the MCU, sometimes used to reminisce past times or old fan memory, but usually just to prompt another commenter to reply with "Who the hell is Bucky?", paraphrasing the quote from the second Captain America movie when Steve Rogers meets his old friend Bucky Barnes again seventy years in the future, but in a situation where they are at each other's throats, with Bucky having no recollection of the other. Unlike 'calmly', which can only be used in the Harry Potter fandom for prevalence and is used for laughs as a commentary, the line from Captain America bears enough unique references to be used in scenarios which fans want to comment on outside the Marvel fandom, and can also be used as a calling for a fellow fan's reply.

Ending

We come to the end of this not-so-brief introduction of the world of online fanatic domains. In truth, this essay barely scratches the surface of fandoms. It is not only a place where people talk about their favorite fictional world, but a congregation of people along with our all unique personalities, then all contributing to a communal love, giving birth to a unique language, culture, and reference for online fans to find other online fans in real life. We currently exist in a turbulent world, ever changing, with people around us undermining us at each and every turn, physical or virtual, trying to tear us down, but the existence of online fandoms and communities are a place to let you know, “Yes, your love of this is valid. No, it isn’t something to hide, come share it with us!” Fandoms have led to a birth of many aspiring writers, artists, coders, publicists, and so many more. Though many may dismiss fanatic domains as simply a bunch of “crazed 14 year old fangirls wasting their time” there’s so much more to it, and if you have a book or movie or you’re interested in, I highly recommend you search it up, find a few Tumblr blogs to follow, maybe take a dip in fanficitions, create a few headcanons of your own, and who knows, it might bring you somewhere unexpected, and even if it doesn’t, you’ll have a fun time, I promise.

By lenniedoesthings on tumblr

#a03 #fanfiction #shitpost #shitposting #fanfic quotes #fanfic #fanfics #a03 fanfic #stucky #incorrect marauders quotes #incorrect marvel quotes #incorrect harry potter quotes #harry potter #incorrect mcu quotes #reader insert #fandom #fangirl #queue #fic writing #archive of our own #fanfiction.net #wattpad #in this essay i will #fanfic readers #i am never telling someone this irl but hello internet #oh my god I can’t believe I wrote this #i am going insane #mcu imagine

[endrusmithreal]

Dried Distillers Grains with Solubles (DDGS) Production Cost Analysis Report Reveals Crucial Insights for Industry Players

Dried distillers grains with solubles (DDGS) Production Cost Processes with Cost Analysis have emerged as a critical focus area for stakeholders in the agriculture and ethanol industries. In a bid to provide comprehensive insights into this domain, [Your Company Name], a leading market research firm, has released an in-depth analysis report shedding light on the intricacies of DDGS production cost analysis report and their implications for businesses.

Procurement Resource Assessment of Dried Distillers Grains with Solubles (DDGS) Production Process:

The report delves into the procurement resource assessment of the DDGS production process, elucidating the various inputs and resources involved. From raw material sourcing to energy requirements, each aspect is meticulously evaluated to offer a holistic understanding of the production landscape.

Definition of Dried Distillers Grains with Solubles (DDGS):

DDGS, a byproduct of ethanol production, holds significant importance in the livestock feed industry due to its nutritional value. It is obtained by drying the leftover grains after the fermentation process, rendering it a cost-effective and sustainable feed option.

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Market Drivers:

Dried distillers grains with solubles (DDGS) are a co-product of ethanol production from corn or other grains. Several market drivers influence the demand, supply, and pricing of DDGS:

Ethanol Production: DDGS production is directly tied to ethanol production. Higher ethanol production leads to increased availability of DDGS.

Grain Prices: The price of corn or other grains used in ethanol production significantly affects DDGS prices. When grain prices are low, ethanol producers can afford to sell DDGS at competitive prices.

Livestock Feed Demand: DDGS is primarily used as a feed ingredient for livestock, particularly in the poultry, swine, and cattle industries. Demand from these sectors influences DDGS prices.

Protein Prices: DDGS contains protein, making it a valuable feed ingredient. Changes in the prices of alternative protein sources, such as soybean meal, can impact the demand for DDGS.

Nutritional Value: The nutritional composition of DDGS, including protein content and amino acid profile, affects its attractiveness as a feed ingredient compared to alternatives. Higher nutritional value can drive demand.

Transportation Costs: DDGS are often transported over long distances from ethanol plants to livestock farms. Fluctuations in fuel prices and transportation infrastructure can impact the cost of delivering DDGS to end-users.

Regulatory Environment: Government policies and regulations related to biofuels, such as ethanol blending mandates and trade tariffs, can influence the production and distribution of DDGS.

Global Demand: DDGS are traded internationally, so global demand for livestock feed and biofuels, as well as trade policies and currency exchange rates, can affect DDGS prices.

Weather Conditions: Weather events such as droughts or floods can impact grain yields, affecting both ethanol and DDGS production.

Substitute Products: The availability and prices of alternative feed ingredients, such as corn gluten meal or soybean meal, can influence the demand for DDGS.

Technological Advances: Advances in ethanol production technology and DDGS processing can affect the efficiency of production and the quality of DDGS, influencing its market dynamics.

Understanding these market drivers helps stakeholders in the ethanol and livestock industries anticipate changes in DDGS prices and make informed decisions regarding production, procurement, and feed formulation.

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#DDGSProductionCost #DDGSProductionCostAnalysis

[rita0605]

Metalean: A Promising Photogenic Lean Meat Growth Promoter

In the realm of livestock production, the quest for efficient and sustainable methods to enhance meat quality and yield has led to groundbreaking innovations. Among these, Metalean emerges as a noteworthy contender, heralding a new era in the domain of lean meat growth promotion.

Metalean distinguishes itself as a photogenic lean meat growth promoter, harnessing the power of herbal components to optimize various facets of livestock development. This herbal growth promoter offers a multifaceted approach, aiming not only to enhance lean meat production but also to improve Feed Conversion Ratio (FCR), carcass weight, and overall feed efficiency.

One of the key advantages of Metalean lies in its natural composition, which aligns with the growing consumer demand for sustainable and eco-friendly agricultural practices. By leveraging herbal extracts, Metalean sidesteps the pitfalls associated with synthetic growth promoters, offering a safe and environmentally conscious solution for livestock farmers.

Furthermore, the efficacy of Metalean in enhancing FCR, carcass weight, and feed efficiency underscores its potential to revolutionize livestock management practices. Through optimized nutrient utilization and metabolic processes, Metalean empowers farmers to achieve higher yields with reduced resource inputs, thereby promoting economic viability and environmental sustainability.

Beyond its tangible benefits, Metalean also holds promise as a catalyst for innovation in the livestock industry. Its photogenic properties not only enhance the visual appeal of meat products but also cater to evolving consumer preferences for aesthetically pleasing food options.

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#Livestock production #Herbal growth promoter #Sustainable agriculture #Feed efficiency #Animal nutrition #Natural supplements #Eco-friendly farming #Meat quality #Feed Conversion Ratio (FCR) #Environmental sustainability

[magicwingslisten]

ELEGY THE ELEVENTH: WAR IS A CRIME

Whoe'er first forged the terror-striking sword, His own fierce heart had tempered like its blade. What slaughter followed! Ah! what conflict wild! What swifter journeys unto darksome death! But blame not him! Ourselves have madly turned On one another's breasts that cunning edge Wherewith he meant mere blood of beast to spill.

Gold makes our crime. No need for plundering war, When bowls of beech-wood held the frugal feast. No citadel was seen nor moated wall; The shepherd chief led home his motley flock, And slumbered free from care. Would I had lived In that good, golden time; nor e'er had known A mob in arms arrayed; nor felt my heart Throb to the trumpet's call! Now to the wars I must away, where haply some chance foe Bears now the blade my naked side shall feel. Save me, dear Lares of my hearth and home! Ye oft my childish steps did guard and bless, As timidly beneath your seat they strayed.

Deem it no shame that hewn of ancient oak Your simple emblems in my dwelling stand! For so the pious generations gone Revered your powers, and with offerings rude To rough-hewn gods in narrow-built abodes, Lived beautiful and honorable lives. Did they not bring to crown your hallowed brows Garlands of ripest corn, or pour new wine In pure libation on the thirsty ground? Oft on some votive day the father brought The consecrated loaf, and close behind His little daughter in her virgin palm Bore honey bright as gold. O powers benign! To ye once more a faithful servant prays For safety! Let the deadly brazen spear Pass harmless o'er my head! and I will slay For sacrifice, with many a thankful song, A swine and all her brood, while I, the priest, Bearing the votive basket myrtle-bound, Walk clothed in white, with myrtle in my hair.

Grant me but this! and he who can may prove Mighty in arms and by the grace of Mars Lay chieftains low; and let him tell the tale To me who drink his health, while on the board His wine-dipped finger draws, line after line, Just how his trenches ranged! What madness dire Bids men go foraging for death in war? Our death is always near, and hour by hour, With soundless step a little nearer draws.

What harvest down below, or vineyard green? There Cerberus howls, and o'er the Stygian flood The dark ship goes; while on the clouded shore With hollow cheek and tresses lustreless, Wanders the ghostly throng. O happier far Some white-haired sire, among his children dear, Beneath a lowly thatch! His sturdy son Shepherds the young rams; he, his gentle ewes; And oft at eve, his willing labor done, His careful wife his weary limbs will bathe From a full, steaming bowl. Such lot be mine! So let this head grow gray, while I shall tell, Repeating oft, the deeds of long ago! Then may long Peace my country's harvests bless! Till then, let Peace on all our fields abide! Bright-vestured Peace, who first beneath their yoke Led oxen in the plough, who first the vine Did nourish tenderly, and chose good grapes, That rare old wine may pass from sire to son! Peace! who doth keep the plow and harrow bright, While rust on some forgotten shelf devours The cruel soldier's useless sword and shield. From peaceful holiday with mirth and wine The rustic, not half sober, driveth home With wife and weans upon the lumbering wain.

But wars by Venus kindled ne'er have done; The vanquished lass, with tresses rudely torn, Of doors broke down, and smitten cheek complains; And he, her victor-lover, weeps to see How strong were his wild hands. But mocking Love Teaches more angry words, and while they rave, Sits with a smile between! O heart of stone! O iron heart! that could thy sweetheart strike! Ye gods avenge her! Is it not enough To tear her soft robe from her limbs away, And loose her knotted hair?—Enough, indeed, To move her tears! Thrice happy is the wight Whose frown some lovely mistress weeps to see! But he who gives her blows!—Go, let him bear A sword and spear! In exile let him be From Venus' mild domain! Come blessed Peace! Come, holding forth thy blade of ripened corn! Fill thy large lap with mellow fruits and fair!

(translated by Theodore C. Williams 1908)

Albius Tibullus (54 BC-19 BC)

[pigs-in-art]

#virgil finlay #circe #pulp magazine art #1939 #pigs in art

[ultrajustjo]

Week 5: Visio divina

15th-century Paschal Candlestick

This week, we head across town to The Cloisters, one of my favorite places. We continue to pray while contemplating art in three-dimensional, functional form.

15th-century Spanish Paschal candlestick at The Met Cloisters, New York City. Photo taken Autumn 2022.

Visio divina

My husband had the keen eye to find St. Benedict (Benito here, as the words are in Spanish/Latin) in Gallery 16, the Boppard Room. If you look closely, you can see St. Clare (Clara) in the panel to the right. Our eyes seek out both names as we named our children Benito and Clara. Poor Marcela was not depicted in this art, but she would say that, as the baby of the family, she is used to missing out on experiences we did with the first two kids. Anywho, let's look at the public domain photo of the entire candlestick:

I will draw out several design points later, but you can listen to a wonderfully thorough 3-minute description of the candle here:

If you're a reader, the Met description is here:

The verses

Today's suggested (revised common lectionary) gospel reading is interestingly applicable to our art discussion, particularly after hearing the audio description of the three-tiered paschal candle in which Christ's salvific blood stands above the sin of Adam and Eve, above the saints, and above the prophets. Within a framework of the people's fear of both demons and of godly works, the paschal candle reminds us to raise our eyes to the ascendant one.

Matthew 8:28-34

"When Jesus came to the territory of the Gadarenes,

two demoniacs who were coming from the tombs met him.

They were so savage that no one could travel by that road.

They cried out, "What have you to do with us, Son of God?

Have you come here to torment us before the appointed time?"

Some distance away a herd of many swine was feeding.

The demons pleaded with him,

"If you drive us out, send us into the herd of swine."

And he said to them, "Go then!"

They came out and entered the swine,

and the whole herd rushed down the steep bank into the sea

where they drowned.

The swineherds ran away,

and when they came to the town they reported everything,

including what had happened to the demoniacs.

Thereupon the whole town came out to meet Jesus,

and when they saw him they begged him to leave their district."

The meditation

The paschal candlestick, used at Easter (ta-da! It's paschal), is composed of wood with gilding and paint, and was made in Spain in the late 1400s. My eye is drawn to the gold in the panels that surround the piece. Carved flames and attached wooden stars/suns are golden and shimmer in the sunlight that filters through the windows of the Boppard Room, just as they would in a church setting. The gold plays off the darker inset panels. Flames symbolize the Holy Spirit, but what about the suns -- do you see the Son in them, or Creation? What about the places where they are missing? How do you respond to the missing pieces? Why are the saints included in the panel -- what stories do they tell of the history of the faith, and of the Resurrection?

What words in the scripture stood out to you? Where does your eye rest when you view the text? How do you feel about the text -- eye-rollingly annoyed, calm, confused, angry, inspired, irritated? If you were in the story, who would you be? A disciple, a herder, a demoniac, or a townsperson? Why?

Time now to sit for a moment in silence and let God continue to dwell with you.

[anyawinget]

Europe Animal Feed Market Demand, Size, Shares, Supply and Outlook 2018 to 2027

The animal feed market in Europe is expected to grow from US$ 98,934.86 Million in 2018 to US$ 1, 35,038.39 Million by 2027; it is estimated to grow at a CAGR of 3.4% from 2018 to 2027.

The Europe Animal Feed Market report is the most important research for who looks for all information about the market. The report covers all information about the regional markets, including historical and future trends for market dominance, size, trades, supply, competitors, and prices, as well as key vendor information across the region. Forecast market information, SWOT analysis, Europe Animal Feed market scenario, and feasibility study are important aspects in this report.

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Top Companies in the Europe Animal Feed Market include:

·        Archer Daniel Midland Co.

·        Cargill Inc.

·        Charoen Pokphand Foods PLC

·        Kester, Evonik Industries AG

·        Forfarmers NV

·        Land o’lakes Inc

·        New hope group Co. Ltd.

·        Nutreco NV

·        Perdue Farms

Europe Animal Feed Market Split by Product Type and Applications:

This report segments the Europe Animal Feed market on the basis of Types is:

·        Pellets

·        Crumbles

·        Mash

·        Others

On the basis of Application, the Europe Animal Feed Market is segmented into:

·        Livestock

·        Poultry

·        Ruminants

·        Swine

·        Aquaculture

·        Others

Key questions answered in the report include:

·        What will the market size and the growth rate be in?

·        What are the key factors driving the Europe Animal Feed Market?

·        What are the key market trends impacting the growth of the Europe Animal Feed Market?

·        What are the challenges to market growth?

·        Who are the key vendors in the Europe Animal Feed Market?

·        What are the market opportunities and threats faced by the vendors in the Europe Animal Feed Market?

Directly Purchase a Copy of this Europe Animal Feed Market research report at:

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Table of Content for Europe Animal Feed Market Research Report:

Chapter 1: Industry Overview

Chapter 2: Europe Animal Feed Market International and Regional Market Analysis

Chapter 3: Environment Analysis of Market.

Chapter 4: Analysis of Revenue by Classifications.

Chapter 5: Analysis of Revenue by Regions and Applications.

Chapter 6: Analysis of Europe Animal Feed Market Revenue Market Status.

Chapter 7: Analysis of Industry Key Manufacturers

Chapter 8: Sales Price and Gross Margin Analysis of Market.

Chapter 9: ……………………. Continue to TOC

Finally, the report presents market information in the most comprehensive manner. The report structure has been maintained to provide maximum business value. It provides critical insight into market dynamics and enables strategic decision-making for established market participants and those willing to enter the market.

*If you need anything more than these then let us know and we will prepare the report according to your requirement.

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