#Bavarian Style

[periodically80s]

[aixelsyd13]

New Year’s Day Pork & Sauerkraut II

I came to blog my recipe then through a search, discovered I posted one last year! That was in the roasting pan though, and it was a pork loin rib half. This year, I put a pork shoulder roast in the crock pot... and made some dumplings 2 ways too!

[boanerges20]

BMW R Nine T [R9T] "Bavarian Fistfighter" by Rough Crafts

[septembergold]

Chiemseer Dirndl und Tracht 1989

[movieposters1]

[auutumn]

autumn court inspired by germanic folklore & fairytales, my beloved

[auraeseer]

Bavarian, varian quiet . . .

[likirahub99outfitstees]

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[mcmansionhell]

on neuschwanstein castle (part 1)

This is an essay in two parts.

Neuschwanstein Concept Drawing by the stage designer (!!) Christian Jank (1869).

There exist in architecture clear precedents to the McMansion that have nothing to do with suburban real estate. This is because “McMansionry” (let’s say) has many transferable properties. Among them can be included: 1) a diabolical amount of wealth that must be communicated architecturally in the most frivolous way possible, 2) a penchant for historical LARPing primarily informed by media (e.g. the American “Tuscan kitchen”) and 3) the execution of historical styles using contemporary building materials resulting in an aesthetic affect that can be described as uncanny or cheap-looking. By these metrics, we can absolutely call Neuschwanstein Castle, built by the architect Eduard Riedel for King Ludwig II of Bavaria, a McMansion.

Constructed from 1869 through 1886 – the year of Ludwig’s alleged suicide after having been ousted and declared insane – the castle cost the coffers of the Bavarian state and Ludwig himself no fewer than 6.2 million German gold marks. (That's an estimated 47 million euros today.) The castle's story is rife with well-known scandal. I'm sure any passing Swan Enthusiast is already familiar with Ludwig’s financial capriciousness, his called-off marriage and repressed homosexuality, his parasocial obsession with Richard Wagner, his complete and total inability to run his country, and his alleged "madness," as they used to call it. All of these combine to make Neuschwanstein inescapable from the man who commissioned it -- and the artist who inspired it. Say what you like about Ludwig and his building projects, but he is definitely remembered because of them, which is what most monarchs want. Be careful what you wish for.

Neuschwanstein gatehouse.

How should one describe Neuschwanstein architecturally? You’d need an additional blog. Its interiors alone (the subject of the next essay) range from Neo-Baroque to Neo-Byzantine to Neo-Gothic. There are many terms that can loosely define the palace's overall style: eclecticism, medieval revivalism, historicism, chateauesque, sclerotic monarchycore, etc. However, the the most specific would be what was called "castle Romanticism" (Burgenromantik). The Germans are nothing if not literal. Whatever word you want to use, Neuschwanstein is such a Sistine Chapel of pure sentimentality and sugary kitsch that theme park architecture – most famously, Disney's Cinderella’s castle itself – owes many of its medieval iterations to the palace's towering silhouette.

There is some truth to the term Burgenromantik. Neuschwanstein's exterior is a completely fabricated 19th century storybook fantasy of the Middle Ages whose precedents lie more truthfully in art for the stage. As a castle without fortification and a palace with no space for governance, Neuschwanstein's own program is indecisive about what it should be, which makes it a pretty good reflection of Ludwig II himself. To me, however, it is the last gasp of a monarchy whose power will be totally extinguished by that same industrial modernity responsible for the materials and techniques of Neuschwanstein's own, ironic construction.

In order to understand Neuschwanstein, however, we must go into two subjects that are equally a great time for me: 19th century medievalism - the subject of this essay - and the opera Lohengrin by Richard Wagner, the subject of the next. (1)

Part I: Medievalisms Progressive and Reactionary

The Middle Ages were inescapable in 19th century Europe. Design, music, visual art, theater, literature, and yes, architecture were all besotted with the stuff of knights and castles, old sagas, and courtly literature. From arch-conservative nationalism to pro-labor socialism, medievalism's popularity spanned the entire political spectrum. This is because it owes its existence to a number of developments that affected the whole of society.

In Ludwig’s time, the world was changing in profound, almost inconceivable ways. The first and second industrial revolutions with their socioeconomic upheavals and new technologies of transport, manufacturing, and mass communication, all completely unmade and remade how people lived and worked. This was as true of the average person as it was of the princes and nobles who were beginning to be undermined by something called “the petit bourgeoisie.”

Sustenance farming dwindled and wage labor eclipsed all other forms of working. Millions of people no longer able to make a living on piecemeal and agricultural work flocked to the cities and into the great Molochs of factories, mills, stockyards, and mines. Families and other kinship bonds were eroded or severed by the acceleration of capitalist production, large wars, and new means of transportation, especially the railroad. People became not only alienated from each other and from their labor in the classical Marxist sense but also from the results of that labor, too. No longer were chairs made by craftsmen or clothes by the single tailor -- unless you could afford the bespoke. Everything from shirtwaists to wrought iron lamps was increasingly mass produced - under wretched conditions, too. Things – including buildings – that were once built to last a lifetime became cheap, disposable, and subject to the whimsy of fashion, sold via this new thing called “the catalog.”

William Morris' painting Le Belle Iseult (1868).

Unsurprisingly, this new way of living and working caused not a little discontent. This was the climate in which Karl Marx wrote Capital and Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol. More specific to our interests, however, is a different dissenter and one of the most interesting practitioners of medievalism, the English polymath William Morris.

A lover of Arthurian legend and an admirer of the architect and design reformer John Ruskin, Morris was first trained in the office of architect G. E. Street, himself a die-hard Gothic Revivalist. From the very beginning, the Middle Ages can be found everywhere in Morris' work, from the rough-hewn qualities of the furniture he helped design to the floral elements and compositions of the art nouveau textiles and graphics he's most famous for -- which, it should be said, are reminiscent of 15th century English tapestries. In addition to his design endeavors, Morris was also a gifted writer and poet. His was a profound love for medieval literature, especially Norse sagas from Iceland. Some of these he even translated including the Volsunga Saga -- also a preoccupation of Wagner's. Few among us earn the title of polymath, but Morris' claim to it is undeniable. Aside from music, there really wasn't any area of creative life he didn't touch.

However, Morris' predilection for the medieval was not just a personal and aesthetic fascination. It was also an expression of his political rejection of the capitalist mode of production. As one of the founders of the English Arts & Crafts Movement, Morris called for a rejection of piecemeal machine labor, a return to handicraft, and overall to things made well and made with dignity. While this was and remains a largely middle class argument, one that usually leads down the road of ethical consumption, Morris was right that capitalism's failing of design and architecture did not just lie with the depreciated quality of goods, but the depreciated quality of life. His was the utopian call to respect both the object and the laborer who produced it. To quote from his 1888 essay called "The Revival of Architecture," Morris dreamed of a society that "will produce to live and not live to produce, as we do." Indeed, in our current era of AI Slop, there remains much to like about the Factory Slop-era call to take back time from the foreman's clock and once more make labor an act of enjoyable and unalienated creativity. Only now it's about things like writing an essay.

I bother to describe Morris at length here for a number of reasons. The first is to reiterate that medievalism's popularity was largely a response to socioeconomic changes. Additionally, since traditionalism - in Ludwig's time and in ours - still gets weaponized by right-wing losers, it's worth pointing out that not all practitioners of medievalism were politically reactionary in nature. However – and I will return to this later – medievalism, reactionary or not, remains inescapably nostalgic. Morris is no exception. While a total rejection of mass produced goods may seem quixotic to us now, when Morris was working, the era before mass industrialization remained at the fringes of living memory. Hence the nostalgia is perhaps to be expected. Unfortunately for him and for us, the only way out of capitalism is through it.

To return again to the big picture: whether one liked it or not, the old feudal world was done. Only its necrotic leftovers, namely a hereditary nobility whose power would run out of road in WWI, remained. For Ludwig purposes, it was a fraught political time in Bavaria as well. Bavaria, weird duck that it was, remained relatively autonomous within the new German Reich. Despite the title of king, Ludwig, much to his chagrin - hence the pathetic Middle Ages fantasizing - did not rule absolutely. His was a constitutional monarchy, and an embattled one at that. During the building of Neuschwanstein, the king found himself wedged between the Franco-Prussian War and the political coup masterminded by Otto von Bismarck that would put Europe on the fast track to a global conflict many saw as the atavistic culmination of all that already violent modernity. No wonder he wanted to hide with his Schwans up in the hills of Schwangau.

The very notion of a unified German Reich (or an independent Kingdom of Bavaria) was itself indicative of another development. Regardless if one was liberal or conservative, a king, an artist or a shoe peddler, the 19th century was plagued by the rise of modern nationalism. Bolstered by new ideas in "medical" “science,” this was also a racialized nationalism. A lot of emotional, political, and artistic investment was put into the idea that there existed a fundamentally German volk, a German soil, a German soul. This, however, was a universalizing statement in need of a citation, with lots of political power on the line. Hence, in order to add historical credence to these new conceptions of one’s heritage, people turned to the old sources.

Within the hallowed halls of Europe's universities, newly minted historians and philologists scoured medieval texts for traces of a people united by a common geography and ethnicity as well as the foundations for a historically continuous state. We now know that this is a problematic and incorrect way of looking at the medieval world, a world that was so very different from our own. A great deal of subsequent medieval scholarship still devotes itself to correcting for these errors. But back then, such scholarly ethics were not to be found and people did what they liked with the sources. A lot of assumptions were made in order to make whatever point one wanted, often about one's superiority over another. Hell, anyone who's been on Trad Guy Deus Vult Twitter knows that a lot of assumptions are still made, and for the same purposes.(2)

Meanwhile, outside of the academy, mass print media meant more people were exposed to medieval content than ever before. Translations of chivalric romances such as Wolfgang von Eschenbach’s Parzival and sagas like the Poetic Edda inspired a century’s worth of artists to incorporate these characters and themes into their work. This work was often but of course not always nationalistic in character. Such adaptations for political purposes could get very granular in nature. We all like to point to the greats like William Morris or Richard Wagner (who was really a master of a larger syncretism.) But there were many lesser attempts made by weaker artists that today have an unfortunate bootlicking je nais se quoi to them.

I love a minor tangent related to my interests, so here's one: a good example of this nationalist granularity comes from Franz Grillparzer’s 1823 pro-Hapsburg play König Ottokars Glück und Ende, which took for its source a deep cut 14th century manuscript called the Styrian Rhyming Chronicle, written by Ottokar Aus Der Gaul. The play concerns the political intrigue around King Ottokar II of Bohemia and his subsequent 1278 defeat at the hands of Grillparzer’s very swagged out Rudolf of Habsburg. Present are some truly fascinating but extremely obscure characters from 13th Holy Roman Empire lore including a long-time personal obsession of mine, the Styrian ministerial and three-time traitor of the Great Interregnum, Frederick V of Pettau. But I’m getting off-topic here. Let's get back to the castle.

The Throne Room at Neuschwanstein

For architecture, perhaps the most important development in spreading medievalism was this new institution called the "big public museum." Through a professionalizing field of archaeology and the sickness that was colonialist expansion, bits and bobs of buildings were stolen from places like North Africa, Egypt, the Middle East, and Byzantium, all of which had an enormous impact on latter 19th century architecture. (They were also picked up by early 20th century American architects from H. H. Richardson to Louis Sullivan.) These orientalized fragments were further disseminated through new books, monographs, and later photography.

Meanwhile, developments in fabrication (standardized building materials), construction (namely iron, then steel) and mass production sped things up and reduced costs considerably. Soon, castles and churches in the image of those that once took decades if not a century to build were erected on countless hillsides or in little town squares across the continent. These changes in the material production of architecture are key for understanding "why Neuschwanstein castle looks so weird."

Part of what gives medieval architecture its character is the sheer embodiment of labor embedded in all those heavy stones, stones that were chiseled, hauled, and set by hand. The Gothic cathedral was a precarious endeavor whose appearance of lightness was not earned easily, which is why, when writing about their sublimity, Edmund Burke invoked not only the play of light and shadow, but the sheer slowness and human toil involved.

This is, of course, not true of our present estate. Neuschwanstein not only eschews the role of a castle as a “fortress to be used in war” (an inherently stereotomic program) but was erected using contemporary materials and techniques that are simply not imbued with the same age or gravitas. Built via a typical brick construction but clad in more impressive sandstone, it's all far too clean. Neuschwanstein's proportions seem not only chaotic - towers and windows are strewn about seemingly on a whim - they are also totally irreconcilable with the castle's alleged typology, in part because we know what a genuine medieval castle looks like.

Ludwig's palace was a technological marvel of the industrial revolution. Not only did Neuschwanstein have indoor plumbing and central heat, it also used the largest glass windows then in manufacture. It's not even an Iron Age building. The throne room, seen earlier in this post, required the use of structural steel. None of this is to say that 19th century construction labor was easy. It wasn't and many people still died, including 30 at Neuschwanstein. It was, however, simply different in character than medieval labor. For all the waxing poetic about handiwork, I’m sure medieval stonemasons would have loved the use of a steam crane.

It's true that architectural eclecticism (the use of many styles at once) has a knack for undermining the presumed authenticity or fidelity of each style employed. But this somewhat misunderstands the crime. The thing about Neuschwanstein is that its goal was not to be historically authentic at all. Its target realm was that of fantasy. Not only that, a fantasy informed primarily by a contemporary media source. In this, it could be said to be more architecturally successful.

The fantasy of medievalism is very different than the truth of the Middle Ages. As I hinted at before, more than anything else, medievalism was an inherently nostalgic movement, and not only because it was a bedrock of so much children's literature. People loved it because it promised a bygone past that never existed. The visual and written languages of feudalism, despite it being a terrible socioeconomic system, came into vogue in part because it wasn't capitalism. We must remember that the 19th century saw industrial capitalism at its newest and rawest. Unregulated, it destroyed every natural resource in sight and subjected people, including children, to horrific labor conditions. It still does, and will probably get worse, but the difference is, we're somewhat used to it by now. The shock's worn off.

All that upheaval I talked about earlier made people long for a simplicity they felt was missing. This took many different forms. The rapid advances of secular society and the incursion of science into belief made many crave a greater religiosity. At a time when the effects of wage labor on the family had made womanhood a contested territory, many appeals were made to a divine and innocent feminine a la Lady Guinevere. Urbanization made many wish for a quieter world with less hustle and bustle and better air. These sentiments are not without their reasons. Technological and socioeconomic changes still make us feel alienated and destabilized, hence why there are so many medieval revivals even in our own time. (Chappell Roan of Arc anyone?) Hell, our own rich people aren't so different from Ludwig either. Mark Zuckerburg owns a Hawaiian island and basically controls the fates of the people who live there lord-in-the-castle-style.

Given all this, it's not surprising that of the products of the Middle Ages, perhaps chivalric romance was and remains the most popular. While never a real depiction of medieval life (no, all those knights were not dying on the behalf of pretty ladies), such stories of good men and women and their grand adventures still capture the imaginations of children and adults alike. (You will find no greater fan of Parzival than yours truly.) It's also no wonder the nature of the romance, with its paternalistic patriarchy, its Christianity, its sentimentality around courtly love, and most of all its depiction of the ruling class as noble and benevolent – appealed to someone like Ludwig, both as a quirked-up individual and a member of his class.

It follows, then, that any artist capable of synthesizing all these elements, fears, and desires into an aesthetically transcendent package would've had a great effect on such a man. One did, of course. His name was Richard Wagner.

In our next essay, we will witness one of the most astonishing cases of kitsch imitating art. But before there could be Neuschwanstein Castle, there had to be this pretty little opera called Lohengrin.

---

(1) If you want to get a head start on the Wagner stuff, I've been writing about the Ring cycle lately on my Substack: https://www.late-review.com/p/essays-on-wagners-ring-part-1-believing

(2) My favorite insane nationalist claim comes from the 1960s, when the Slovene-American historian Joseph Felicijan claimed that the US's democracy was based off the 13th century ritual of enthronement practiced by the Dukes of Carinthia because Thomas Jefferson owned a copy of Jean Bodin's Les six livres de la Republique (1576) in which the rite was mentioned. For more information, see Peter Štih's book The Middle Ages Between the Alps and the Northern Adriatic (p. 56 for the curious.)

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[boanerges20]

BMW R NineT [R9T] "Bavarian Fistfighter" by Rough Crafts

[morethanthisblog]

Recipe for Bavarian Style Meatballs Cranberry sauce, chili sauce, sauerkraut, and meatballs team up in the slow cooker for a sweet and sour party appetizer that's easy to make.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

BMW 2002 GT4 Coupé, 1970, by Frua. Because Pietro Frua has worked the Glas before the company was taken over by BMW he had hopes that the Bavarian company would continue to use his services. The GT4 Coupé was based on the BMW 2002 Tii and seemed like a good prospects as there was no coupé version of the 02 series but BMW weren't interested. Two prototypes were produced with differing C pillar styling but the project went no further

[perseephoneee]

sleigh ride [ficmas day 8] [castiel x reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

author's note: this is a day late bc my stomach has been killing me and also i was hella sleep deprived but you know what it's fine totally fine nothing to see here

playlist:

winter wonderland -- pentatonix

coffee -- tori kelly

7 o'clock news/silent night -- phoebe bridgers

You never thought about kids, not in your line of work. 

The reasons people got into hunting were varied. Most of it was personal. For you, you just couldn’t deal with the knowledge of the supernatural world and not bother actually doing something about it. Even though you knew that doing so would likely mean a young death.

This is why you stopped thinking about kids; you’d likely never have them. But being stuck in Leavenworth, WA, with Castiel gave you the same kind of glee. You imagine parents likely got excited to watch their children experience Christmas for the first time. That’s the same joy you felt watching the angel observe all the twinkling lights around you. 

The difference is that Castiel is not your child. And if he was, that’d be gross, considering you are harboring a major crush on him. 

Maybe you should’ve thought of a different analogy. 

You had been hunting with the Winchesters for a bit now. You all ran into each other on a ghost case. Your hula hoop of salt made their jaws drop, and the next thing you know, Sam is inviting you to hunt with them. You didn’t know that Castiel was a regular member of that group. 

Even in his vessel, you could sense something otherworldly about Cas. There was a sort of preternatural stillness, an ancient gleam in his eyes otherwise juxtaposed by his lack of knowledge of human nature. It was so easy to get lost in his curiosity. Sometimes, when he looked at you, you couldn’t help but feel his gaze observing every molecule you were. Like he saw you better than anyone else. 

Right now, you felt like you saw him better than anyone else, the angel so ready to give up everything for humanity. It was late, and snow was falling. You had all decided to take an extra night in Leavenworth after a Krampus case had gone wrong (don’t ask). Also, Baby was struggling to get out of the snow, and Dean was too wired up to ask for help. Fortunately, it was the Christmas season, and Leavenworth knew it. The town looked like the North Pole. You weren’t surprised it was a tourist attraction, not when there were actual reindeer and Bavarian-style buildings. The cup of hot cocoa you had earlier solidified this town as Christmas incarnate. 

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked, watching Cas catch more and more snowflakes on him. He just shook them off. 

“I don’t get cold.”

“Lucky you, I’m freezing,” you shivered, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. Your nose was ice cold, and your breath came out in puffs. Castiel frowned, walking back over to you. He shucked off his trench coat and put it over your shoulders. You felt your cheeks heat as he made sure you were adequately cocooned. The jacket was surprisingly warm. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“I do not want you catching a cold,” Castiel said. “I am ill-equipped to handle it.”

You laughed. His lips quirked for a second before settling into their normal neutral expression. You would give the world to see him smile. 

“I’m going to go inside and get something to drink. Are you going to stay out here?”

“No, I will join you,” Castiel nodded. He paused for a second. “Is that alright? Dean often tells me people want alone time.”

You melted.

“Of course, it’s alright, c’mon,” you nudged him with your shoulder, still bundled in his jacket. You walked the short distance back to the inn. The idea of mulled wine sounded appealing at this moment. The inside was a picturesque log cabin with a roaring fire. You let out a sigh of relief from the warmth and were able to return Cas' jacket to him. You also were able to remove your hat and scarf. You probably looked like a sweaty mess, but you didn’t care. You chose a seat by the fire and tucked your legs under you as Cas came to sit across. A waitress came over a second later, and you ordered mulled wine for the both of you. 

“I don’t really drink,” Castiel added after the waitress left. 

“You can just tell me what the chemical compounds are,” you shrugged. Castiel looked out of place in his suit and tie. And yet, the light from the fire accenting his bone structure, contrasting the blue in his eyes, was enough to think that this was where he was always meant to be. 

He was frowning at the tree. 

“Why do humans put angels on their trees?” he inquired, brows furrowed. You looked up to see a stereotypical angel planted on top of the Christmas Tree. It had a little horn and everything. 

“I think people like to imagine there’s someone watching over us, that we’re not alone,” you sighed, turning back to him. “Even if it isn’t true.”

“It’s true for some,” Castiel murmured. “I watch over you.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, especially as Castiel looked at you with those intense eyes again. You had to wonder if he was really this clueless, or if he knew exactly the effect he had on you. You watched him lick a sauce off his fingers once, and it was enough to make you excuse yourself from the room. 

The mulled wine arrived a moment later. 

The spices were a perfect blend, and you felt yourself sink deeper into your chair as the alcohol invaded your system. Castiel took a sip and nodded. 

“Mostly ethanol and water,” Castiel sipped it again. You grinned as he listed off the ingredients. He would ruin anyone who wanted to keep a secret ingredient. 

“Last call for sleigh rides!” a man dressed as an elf called out, having come in from the front door. You perked up immediately. You had never been on a sleigh ride before but have always wanted to. You have a soft spot for horses. 

“We should do that,” you jumped up, grabbing Castiel’s sleeve. He spilled the wine, but you were already out the door. You barely had time to throw on your hat and scarf as you were running after the elf man. Castiel, to his credit, kept up with you. 

“One sleigh ride, please!” you said, breathless. The man just looked you up and down and then took your money as you jumped with glee. 

“What is a sleigh ride?” Castiel questioned when he caught up. He was not out of breath. 

“You get to sit in a sleigh and get pulled around by horses.”

“And this is entertainment?”

“It’s serene,” you smiled, getting good luck at the horses pulling your sleigh. They were beautiful Clydesdales, and even in their enormity, you weren’t intimidated. They were beautiful. Cas didn’t ask any further questions as you piled into the sleigh. You took one of the blankets provided and put it over your lap, bundling it up. The sleigh was going to pull you through the town, emphasizing the light installations and ice sculpting competition. The cold kissed your cheeks as the sleigh started moving. 

You both sat in companionable silence as the sleigh ride started. It was so quiet, and you welcomed that peace. When did you ever receive peace such as this?

“I understand now,” Cas nodded. “Why you were excited over this.”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. Someone had built an igloo, and you took your phone out to take a picture. Castiel just looked at you.

“I don’t measure beauty the same way humans do.”

“How do you measure beauty?” you inquired. Some part of you was worried that whatever he was going to say would dash your dreams. 

“By someone’s soul.”

That wasn’t the answer you were expecting, and you just blinked in response. It shouldn’t be shocking. You just never expected that maybe he would never see your face, only your soul. You wondered if your soul was beautiful. 

You didn’t say anything as you passed through a light tunnel, the brightness contrasting with the night sky. You could fall asleep out here if you let yourself. 

“What are you thinking?” Cas asked. He noticed your silence. 

“Is my soul…?” you trailed off. You barely had the guts to say anything at all. Castiel’s gaze softened as if he understood. 

“Your soul is like the North Star,” he answered simply. You kept looking at him. “It’s what one needs to follow to get themselves home.”

He was full of surprises tonight. You don’t remember anyone saying anything like that, especially not to you. How absurd was it that the first person to truly see you was not a person at all? Your heart picked up pace. 

“Cas…” you murmured. He never looked away from you, was never shy. It was unnerving and intense. He would never be too scared and proceed to look away. You couldn’t help but look at his lips. He noticed. His hand came up and brushed loose hair away from your beanie, his fingers somehow still warm as they brushed your freezing cheeks. You sucked in a breath. 

“I do not understand human courtship,” he whispered. “I would be interested in you showing me.”

You understood; how could you not? He just called you his home. You closed the distance between you two, going slow until you weren’t slow at all. Your hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him into you. You kissed him like you needed him to kiss you. Fortunately, Castiel was a quick learner. He nipped your lips and kissed your teeth like he had been doing it his whole life. You would sell your soul to kiss him for eternity, just like this. His hand was firm on your hip like he was afraid to touch anywhere else. You wished he would touch you everywhere. 

You had to pull away for air, even if he tried to chase after your lips afterward. 

“You’re a quick study,” you breathed a slight smile on your lips. Castiel grinned a true goofy smile that you had been yearning to see. You were the cause of that style. 

“Anything for you,” he responded. 

He kissed you until the sleigh ride was over, and the worker was rolling his eyes. He kissed you when you made it back to the inn, and you felt like you could feel his wings holding you closer. You would stay with him until you weren’t able to because with him, you were finally home. 

taglist: @thefutureastronaut @lover-of-books-and-tea @qardasngan @evasmlp

[shepherds-of-haven]

Ok Lena, we've asked what bagel order the shepherds would have, but what's their preferred donut??

I'm honestly SHOCKED this hasn't been answered before! 😱🍩

Blade: plain cake donut (with a black coffee) - otherwise known as an old fashioned

Trouble: Boston creme or glazed donut, but he's also partial to cinnamon crumb or apple cider donut or something more out there, like Cap'n Crunch or Fruity Pebbles!

Tallys: maple long john/maple bar or dark chocolate frosted donut

Shery: strawberry donut with sprinkles, but I also get the feeling she'd be into more Asian-style donuts, maybe mochinuts or a matcha-vanilla donut, something like that?

Riel: chocolate eclair

Chase: espresso glazed or caramel

Red: glazed or glazed raspberry filled donut, or butterscotch. Or Boston creme lol as well lol!

Ayla: cinnamon twist or glazed lemon blueberry

Briony: chocolate donut with sprinkles or Nutella donut

Lavinet: red velvet donut or vanilla frosted donut with sprinkles

Halek: beignet with powdered sugar or Bavarian cream donut

[katelynnwrites]

You Look So Pretty (Pretty Like The Sun) | Sydney Lohmann

warnings: not proof read

word count: 2557

summary: after making your own name, you realise it's not enough because you are still missing your sunshine

a/n: i wasn't going to post this but i'm on a mission to leave all my bad writing behind in 2023 so here's part two of this fic

It’s with a certain amount of trepidation that you walk onto the Bayern Munich training pitch.

Both you and the facility have undergone a major change in the years that you have been away but one thing is the same.

You know when the love of your life is near.

It seems that the blonde can still sense your presence too because she looks up and visibly pales the second she sees you.

‘Sydney.’ You breathe but she shakes her head.

The German player’s eyes are wide and panicked.

You are torn between staying where you are, on the very edge of the pitch or making your way to her.

This is the closest you have been to her since the day she broke up with you.

Luckily or unluckily, your new manager spares you and calls your new teammates over so that you can meet them.

Seeing Magda and Pernille again is a welcome distraction.

The older women had practically adopted you as their own when you were at Chelsea and you sigh contentedly as they wrap you up in a hug.

‘I missed you two so much.’ You mumble.

‘I hope you’re prepared for dinner at our place tonight. You can tell us all about why you didn’t tell us you were coming to Munich.’ The Swede says.

Pernille gives her a fond swat, ‘Oh don’t sound so serious love.’

Conspiratorially, she turns to you and loudly whispers, ‘Magda just wants the chance to mom you again.’

You giggle at the defender’s immediate protests.

******

Meeting the rest of your new club teammates goes smoothly.

All except for one.

Magda and Pernille help with the introductions, easing you back into the Bavarian team.

For all your fame, you’re still shy so you are grateful for the help.

They’re not all new faces, most are familiar.

You grew up playing for the youth teams with Klara and Lea. Some others you know from international games or as opponents that you once played against in the Frauen Bundesliga.

It’s with laughter that you reunite with Lea, the older woman teasing you that you’re still shorter than her.

Your introduction does not last long but by the time you have properly met all of your new teammates, Sydney is nowhere to be seen.

And you hate how awful that makes you feel.

Maybe you didn’t make the right decision in coming back to Munich.

******

Sydney is still Sydney. That much you have come to realise. The blonde has grown up but at her core, she’s still who you fell in love with.

You are content to watch forever as she shines on everyone. There is never going to be anyone else like her. Sydney Lohmann is a singularity.

She shows up to training sessions just a fraction of a second early and drinks far too many coffees for her own good.

Her fancy footwork on the pitch puts everyone else to shame.

The sound of her laugh still makes you happy and her smile brightens up every room that she is in.

Unlike before, none of that is directed towards you.

These days, all she has for you is indifference and silence.

She doesn’t even look at you and from the only interaction you have had so far, the one from your introduction, the midfielder has made it clear that she doesn’t want you back at her club.

You try not to let it affect you or your performance.

The faking it till you make it must be working because you are all set to be a starter just two weeks after rejoining the Bavarian club.

******

Syd doesn’t start that particular game and it gives you an overwhelming sense of relief.

It’s already stressful enough to have to prove yourself good enough to start without adding on your standing with your former girlfriend.

You’re doing well against Köln and you’re proud of how you are adapting back to the German style of play, if you do say so yourself.

There is only about a half hour left of playing time when the blonde is subbed on.

She doesn’t look at you and you keep your gaze down.

Unfortunately, for her, her playing time is cut short. It is like a bad deja vu of her previous injury against Köln, a few years ago.

One second she’s jumping up for a header and the next she is on the ground, holding her ankle.

You hear her cry out and then you are sprinting.

Lina is already at her side and just before you reach her, you freeze.

Sydney doesn’t want you anymore.

So you stay away from her but just far enough that you can still see how she is.

It doesn’t look good.

The medics come on and it is agonising for you to have to listen to Syd’s pained whimpers and do nothing about it.

You are trying your hardest not to flinch when Lea comes up to you.

‘Go to her. She needs you even if she doesn’t know it yet.’ She quietly says.

‘Schülli…’

‘Go. I know you want to.’

Hesitantly, you approach the injured midfielder.

Sydney’s eyes are tear filled and when she sees you, she immediately stretches out her hand.

It is instinct for you to put your hand in hers.

‘You’re gonna be okay.’ You murmur soothingly and she closes her fingers around yours.

The blonde shuts her eyes, more tears escaping despite her best efforts.

You keep holding her hand until the medics signal that she needs to come off.

Your ex girlfriend cries even harder at that and you help her get to her feet.

The German woman stifles a whimper as she does so and you worriedly ask, ‘Do you want a stretcher?’

‘No! Please no.’

‘Okay. Lean on me then.’ You whisper and Syd nods.

She puts her arm around your shoulders and you wrap your arm around her waist, supporting her weight.

‘I got you.’ You assure her, as she limps towards the sidelines.

Once there, it is with great reluctance that you let her go, the medics taking over.

You look over at the bench where your manager is preparing the subs and you signal for you to be replaced.

‘I’m coming off too.’

‘No.’ The blonde snaps.

‘Syd this is not up for debate.’ You insist.

Your meaning and intentions are clear, making Sydney let out a frustrated noise.

‘No. You are going to stay on and be a star. Okay? Go be a star and play for us both.’

She squeezes your hand tightly, wanting you to know how much she means her words.

‘Are you sure?’

Your ex nods, ‘Go.’

‘Okay.’

Syd’s hazel eyes are filled with tears and she looks so vulnerable that you can’t help touching your lips to the side of her head.

‘I’ll score a goal for you. Promise sonnenschein.’

In running back onto the field, you miss the way she lets out a soft sob.

She doesn’t know if she cries harder because of the old nickname, the feel of your lips back on her skin or because of the way the pain in her ankle practically doubles once you are gone.

******

You keep your promise to the German midfielder.

Scoring not just one goal but two before the referee blows the whistle for full time.

Then you rush straight to the medical room where you had been told Sydney is.

You slow down, the clicking of your studs becoming quieter as you approach. Tentatively, you knock on the door before you open it.

Syd’s all alone, sitting on the bed with her knees drawn up to her chest.

Her injured ankle has been fitted with a moon boot and her face is pale.

‘Sydney?’ You ask softly.

‘Why did you come back?’

‘Because I wanted to check on you.’ You answer immediately.

The blonde scoffs, ‘Not here here but Munich.’

‘I don’t understand.’ You murmur even though your stomach drops because you understand perfectly.

Sydney’s eyes narrow with anger.

‘Don’t give me some bullshit answer. You were doing so well for yourself over in Barcelona so why come back? You left before so why return now?’

Her words are clipped, filled with more than just resentment.

You sigh. She still knows you too well.

‘You. I came back for you.’

Sydney’s face goes blank.

‘No. You came here to win the league. You have won the English and Spanish leagues. The Champions’ League and Euros too. This is just one more thing on your list.’

Wincing audibly, you take a step forward.

‘I came back for you. You and you alone Sydney.’

‘No.’ The blonde adamantly says, even as her bottom lip starts to wobble.

‘Syd…I came back for you. I promise I came back for you.’

You are pleading with her now, almost begging for her to believe you.

The midfielder searches your face for traces of lies, tears spilling down her cheeks as she does so.

‘No. No. You chose to leave and I wasn’t enough to make you stay before. Why would I be enough for you now?’

‘Sydney I never wanted to leave you. It broke my heart to leave Germany with how things ended between us.’

Raw pain is evident in your admission and now it is your ex’s turn to flinch.

‘Why didn’t you come back earlier? You could have played for Germany. We could have played together just as we promised to all those years ago.’

You shrug.

‘I was eligible to play for England too and you made it clear that you didn’t want to see me anymore. I know me being here is the last thing you want but I just couldn’t stay away from you anymore. Not when I never stopped loving you.’

Sydney loses the little composure she has left.

Harsh sobs wrack her body and she covers her face with her hands.

‘I’m sorry. I-I’ll go now.’

You turn to leave but the blonde chokes out your name and a plea for you to stay.

‘What?’

‘I never meant for us to break up. I never meant to push you away. Fuck I am so sorry. S-So sorry.’ Syd stammers.

‘Sydney what are you talking about?’

Your words aren’t unkind, just genuinely lost. The German player’s actions have been plain and constant ever since you left. They have been nothing short of obvious in recent times.

Sydney doesn’t want you.

The midfielder wrings her hands, her voice barely a whisper as she says, ‘I love you too. There’s not been a fraction of a second where I haven’t.’

You are floored.

Literally because you have to sit down.

You stare at her silently and the only sound in the room is your ex’s quiet cries.

Eventually her tears slow and she sniffles, looking up at you.

‘Say something.’ She breathes after the painful silence continues.

You don’t know what to say so you go over to her and sit down beside her on the physio bed.

Sydney is trembling but she tentatively wraps an arm around you, getting you to lean your head against her shoulder.

After a few minutes, you curl completely into her side and the blonde sighs in relief.

It is how the rest of the team finds you later, Lea smiling a secret smile to herself.

******

You end up going with Syd back to her apartment. She gives you her address and you drive her there in your car since she can’t do it herself due to her injury.

The blonde keeps stealing glances at you as you drive, wondering if she is dreaming.

She thinks it would be too much if she puts her hand on your knee the way she used to, when you were hers and she yours.

Sydney is so busy overthinking it when you slip your hand onto her knee.

You keep your eyes on the road the entire time but a smile forms on both your faces as Syd covers your hand with hers.

Neither of you have said a word to each other but that’s okay cause there will be time for that.

******

It’s after you have helped the blonde onto her couch and brought her a mug of tea that you realise whose jersey is framed on the wall of her living room.

The three lions crest is familiar, the last name and autograph even more so.

‘Sonnenschein that’s mine.’ You murmur.

Your former girlfriend sets her tea down and nods.

With growing curiosity, you inspect the match worn jersey.

‘From the Euro final in 2022.’ Syd confirms when glance at her.

‘How?’

‘I bought it at an auction. I think it’s the one you wore during the first half.’

You remember now, the England staff had got the team to sign the jerseys before sending them off to some charity organisation.

‘Why do you have it? I would have given it to you for free if you’d asked.’ You question.

You have so many of them that this is as good a place to start as any.

‘Because I was so proud of your achievement. Even if you had to beat me to win that gold medal.’ She explains, picking up her mug again just so that she has something to fiddle with.

‘And I didn’t ask you because I was afraid.’

‘Of me?’

You try not to sound hurt but it bleeds through anyway.

Syd’s hazel eyes gloss over.

‘Not of you. Never of you. J-Just how you would react I guess. Nothing like your ex girlfriend coming up to you after you’ve won your first piece of silverware for your country to spoil the mood.’

The midfielder lets out a strained laugh.

You frown, ‘You wouldn’t have. I wanted to approach you that day too but I didn’t know how. I thought you hated me.’

‘I could never.’

‘It felt like it.’ You softly say. She's, after all, been point blank ignoring and avoiding you ever since you resigned for Bayern Munich.

The blonde grimaces, ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘You said that I made you feel like you weren’t enough when I left for Chelsea. I’m sorry for that.’

‘You needed to leave. I get that now. Leaving Munich was the best thing for your career. Bayern might be my home but it wasn’t yours. I couldn’t see that at nineteen and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for letting my selfishness ruin us. I treated you the way I did all these years because of how guilty I felt.’

‘Sydney…you didn’t ruin us.’

‘Didn’t I?’ She hopelessly asks.

‘I played a part too. It wasn’t entirely your fault.’

The German woman looks defeated and sad. Her hazel eyes are downcast and her usually healthily pink cheeks are pale.

You sit down next to Sydney and take her hand in yours, ‘We’re not ruined. You are still here and I am still here.’

She squeezes your hand in hers, ‘A-Are you saying that you want to give us a second chance?’

‘Only if you want to.’

Your former girlfriend doesn’t need a second to consider it. Her mind is made up.

******

Sydney is pretty like the sun. You’ve always thought so.

Now that you have your sunshine back, you’re not leaving her again. She’s not letting you go again either.

German Translation:

sonnenschein- sunshine

[hometoursandotherstuff]

1882 Italian villa style home in Denison, TX. 5bds, 4ba, 6,782 sq ft, $1.7m. Built by master German carpenters and Bavarian woodcarvers, under the direction of renowned architect John McDougall, famed for his work on St. Patrick's Church and Xavier Academy. Of course, it's currently rented out as an Airbnb for $1400 per night.

I didn't expect this, especially the cathedral-like art on the ceiling. Beautiful chandelier and woodwork, plus stained glass and leaded glass windows.

In the huge dining room. These ceilings are crazy. Then, you've got a stone floor and a balcony.

There's a sitting room off the balcony and you can close the sliding glass doors.

The sitting room off the dining room looks like it has some church architectural salvage. The lighting is definitely from a church.

Have you ever seen a more elegant kitchen and everyday dining area? I wonder if some of the windows came from a church.

I bet that no one even uses the kitchen.

How tranquil. A lovely office or possibly a library. I love the colors. Now, why would they stage this and rent it out as an Airbnb? All of the fireplaces are hand-carved. I would live here myself.

So, instead of the owners using this as their own primary bedroom, they rent it out. I guess they have their own mansion. This is beautiful, though.

Look at the en-suite. Very cool red tub.

This room isn't that great, but at least it has a shower in the en-suite.

This room would be for a family.

Kitchen so you can cook for the family while you're on "vacation." Yeah, no. I think I'll pass.

And, this is an apt. for a gang.

There's a washer/dryer and ironing board.

This suite gets this fancy bath.

Plus a closet, if they're having an extended stay.

And, this small room has a cute vintage bath.

Nice porch to sit on.

Pool and hot tub.

There's also a pond.

3.50 Acre lot