#and foreign coins on his altar

[cherrywine-sunnydiety]

Hermes is so sneaky with money, he sees when I’m struggling and he finds a way to send me exactly the amount I need. For example I needed to renew my car registration and get my car checked and I knew it was going to be a chunk of my paycheck but yesterday I was doing a favor for a family member that sells homemade creams and soap by going to two older ladies and dropping off the product and picking up the money (she lives out of town) and when I was ready to drop off the earning she told me I could keep all of it because she felt like I needed it more and I almost cried. And the HILARIOUS part is that today, when I went to check my car it was EXACTLY the amount that I had gotten from the creams

[seafoamaphrodite]

Hi, I wanted to ask what to do if I’ve become weirdly drawn to Aphrodite in last few weeks and keep seeing her everywhere (fyp, shops, random books) and I’m interested in hellenic gods and devotion but I don’t feel close to any concept associated with Aphrodite at all? Like I’m masculine, not interested in makeup/skincare/decoration, aroace not wanting relationship, dress very simple, etc

Ofc I can feel platonic love or appreciate beautiful things like all humans, but the whole concept of flirty feminine goddess of love and sex and fertility and beauty and pearls is just so foreign to me. Why am I so drawn to a goddess who’s kinda my opposite? How do I start connecting with her without doing the usual beauty stuff flowers pink crystals which people usually mention? And should I even try connecting with her if I don’t like her “aesthetic”?

Now I sound like some pick me girl lmao and sorry if I described her very stereotypically

Why I still insist on connecting with her is bc getting so many synchronicities is crazy, for example today I contacted a baker to order my custom birthday cake and asked to see examples of her works, and she sent Birth of Venus cake picture?? yk I believe that when I get signs I should follow them

hi there! my best advice to you would be to look into all of Aphrodite's epithets, myths, associations, and history. while Aphrodite is often associated with pink and flowers and feminine, this is not the only way to honor her.

take Aphrodite Areia for example. Aphrodite's "war-like" epithet could be associated with knives, blood, armor, and courage. Aphrodite Ourania evokes images of the stars, the ocean, divinity, and power.

Aphrodite is so much more than just a feminine love goddess, and I don't blame you for feeling pressured to conform to that. she is known as the goddess of love, beauty, and pleasure for a reason, and this often correlates with decadence and femininity. I would encourage you to find your own associations and go with your gut when it comes to offerings/worship.

try what works for you! do some research and go easy on yourself!

anyway here's some lesser-known Aphrodite associations that are less traditionally "feminine". you could use these for altar decor, offerings, or whatever!!

sea shells

sand

sea water (or salt water if you can't access the sea)

animal bones

feathers (she is often associated with doves and swans, but i give her all sorts of feathers lol)

bees

geese

apples

things you associate with love (gifts/photos from loved ones, things you associate with them, etc.)

cherub and angel imagery

knives

coins

any kind of jewelry

dolphins

and I will sign off by saying your relationship with the divine is completely personal. give yourself grace to try, explore, and learn new things. do what works for you 🐝🐬🕯️

[rythasbrenelle]

Prompt #21: Shade

“Hot, hot, hot.” Locke swiped his hand over his eyes, rubbing stinging sweat from them, and brushed his bangs back. It offered the slightest bit of relief from Thanalan’s arid weather, exposing his skin to the air and letting it breathe, but it did nothing for the shaggy mess sticking to his neck. He’d have to get a hair tie next time he found himself near a market.

Whenever that was. The dirt road twisted through the hills, dry and cracked beneath the midday sun. Stubby trees and stone outcroppings dotted the landscape, but they offered little shelter from the heat, and he saw nothing promising before him.

“Gods help me,” he muttered. “Would like some shelter. Or rain? Settle for rain.”

It wasn’t a proper prayer, really. He wasn’t certain how those worked here.

But somehow, it worked anyroad.

The sun had traveled a couple bells’ worth further across the sky when Locke spied a spire jutting up from the stone. He shouldered his pack and quickened his pace, moving briskly down the road and closer to the spire.

As he drew near and stepped into the open, more spires reached up from the stone and from buildings arranged across the hills. They loomed over the path, rocky fingers beckoning him to a shaded cavity below.

Locke spared a glance toward one of the buildings as he passed, eyes following the stairs leading up to the door. Though old and worn, it didn’t appear to be in disrepair.

But his gaze was quickly drawn back to the cave. Flanked by columns nursing lit candles and adorned with glittering red and blue ornaments hanging over its mouth like teeth, it had the look of a holy site, though he knew not to what or who.

What he did know was the cave offered shade and shelter, exactly as he’d prayed for.

It seemed rude to decline.

Locke stepped into the tunnel and followed it, the metallic click of his boots on stone echoing all around him with each footfall. Candles and columns lit the path forward, guiding him until he stepped into a chamber.

A stone statue stood at the far end, hooded head bowed, carved eyes shut. Swathed in long, flowing vestments and bearing a sword almost as long as the statue was tall, it towered over Locke. Behind it stood a massive door, carved into the rock.

He crossed the lonely cavern to the altar at the figure’s feet. Smoky incense burned in a censer, rising up in lazy curls and setting Locke’s nose twitching. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand and sniffled before lowering himself to sit before the altar.

Locke stared up at the sculpture for a while, pondering it. There was no question that it was some sort of deity. Surrounded by lamps and candles and glittering ornaments, watching over an array of urns and their contents, its frame carved so meticulously and maintained despite its age.

If he spoke, would it hear, as his master had once claimed the woods did? And would it speak, as his elders certainly still claimed the woods did?

But his god and his ghosts were half a star away. What questions could he possibly have that wouldn’t be a waste of this foreign deity’s time?

He closed his eyes and let himself rest instead, rousing from his not-quite-sleep only once he felt the worst of the day’s heat had passed. He rose to his feet and stretched before collecting his swords and his pack, returning them all to their proper places.

His eyes wandered up the statue again to peer at its face, composed and at peace throughout its long vigil.

He set a coin on the altar.

“It’s not much,” he apologized. “But thanks for the shade.”

Locke flashed a smile at the keeper of the dead and left the temple, continuing on his way.

[mandi-cakes]

Next up, in sharing my BG3 Tav children…

My bardlock, Miguel de Navarre. Or rather, His royal Highness, Prince Miguel Luis Antonio Fernando Santiago de Navarre. However, since BG3 only allows so many letters in a tav's name, It's simply Miguel de Navarre. He is a nonsense boi.

I've had this lad sitting on my list of playable DnD characters for a long while, and I figured, since it was likely going to be a long while before I can use him in an actual DnD campaign (as is the case with a lot of my PCs), I'd at least play him in BG3. For a little of his backstory prior to using him in game--and remember, this is outside of BG3:

Miguel is not originally from Faerun. Instead he is from another continent entirely (where exactly IDK, I made up his home country and named it after a real world place that is off the coast of Spain). He's a disgraced Prince living in exile, who was cast out for making the royal family look bad. He'd been bedding everyone from castle staff to foreign dignitaries, and ditched his betrothed at the altar (an arranged marriage he didn’t want). Thus he was disowned, and is even forbidden to speak his mother tongue. So Miguel travels from place to place, and makes his living as a bard. But, being of royal blood with lavish taste, and a desire for the finer things in life...Miguel eventually found that affording those things as a singular bard was really hard to achieve. How is one supposed to afford a cushy place to bed down at night when public taste for good music and poetry is so subjective? Or nonexistent... And coin is hard to come by... Migs was going to need somebody to care for him in the way he felt he deserved... Yes, he was aiming to be somebody's sugarbaby. Of course he would, he's a prince, he's not going to take care of himself. In time, he encounters an archfey who promises to do just that--not in the way you think, though. Yeah, Miguel is a bit of a whore--he's a bard--but not everything has to be about sex, ok? (I'm laughing as I write this) Not that he scores all that much anyway. Hell, not even he's patron wants Miguel like that. The situation is more like, 'work for me, and I'll provide you with what you want or need'. However, the downside to Miguel's patron is that it's Hyrsam, the Satyr Prince of Fools. Of course, he would attract Hyrsam as a patron... Miguel is 100% free range himbo.

Look at him, this absolute baby, with those puppy doge eyes. Such idiot. Much fool. Wow.

Anyway.

In terms of characterization, I put Antonio Banderas and Puss in Boots in a blender, and out came Miguel.

For Manner of dress...possibly a matador inspired aristocratic outfit, or as close as I could get. Big, fancy hat with a big and fluffy feather plume. Like, is he a matador, a prince, or just a fancy pirate? Either way, he is extremely ostentatious. However, the outfit that I had in mind for Miguel doesn't exist in BG3, so I've had to make do with what I could get once I was in a position to upgrade his wardrobe.

So fancy. Like others before him, twas tempted by the other himbo of the vampiric variety.

But, ultimately, Miguel chose Gale. Can't resist the Rizzard of Waterdeep.

*sigh* Look at them... (ಥ﹏ಥ)

I love these two dummies together.

I'm still playing Miguel's run, so I'll update this once I'm done.

[fortuneshq]

𝙵𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚄𝙽𝙴’𝚂 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙴𝙻 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝟶𝟶𝟷: BENEDICTIO.

location: reims cathedral → courtyard of the hôtel saint-pol.

involved: everyone.

ic & ooc dates: 2 july – 9 july.

the streets of paris are strewn with heaven-blue carpets, white blossoms, and gold coins, glistening in the early-july sun. sweat-slick bodies crowd together, their palms outstretched to the majestic, mystic figure of pope innocent gliding by, swallowed by the cerulean mist of of almoners and gold-cloaked bishops. the pope rains his blessings upon the people of the city, once-plague ridden dwellings overflowing with hundreds of spectators, clawing for a glimpse of their holy father as innocent’s shimmering entourage processes towards the notre-dame de reims.  

inside the arched, limewashed cathedral, royal bodies press together in the pews; their own grand entrée into the city having been equally magnificent. they watch as the pope ascends the altar, floating on a billowing cloud of possibility, bestowing his sincerest hopes that the summer’s summit will restore peace and prosperity to the world.  as a token of his troth, innocent presents each ruler from the assembled conclave with a gilded insignia, declaring them a bishop of hope. the parisian summit has begun – the fate of creation lies in their palms. 

later, royals and their winding retinues snake back to the courtyard of the hôtel saint-pol, carried on gilded couches and litters drawn by snow-white palfreys. amid the bright sunshine and verdant lawns, they are feted by tournaments, jousting, archery, dances in the gardens, the opportunity to have their fortune’s heard in the shadow of ancient oaks, to listen to wandering troubadours play at their village dirges and knights of chivalry wax poetic about maidens’ beauty – all whilst mingling with fellow rulers and their relatives. foreign coins are traded, foreign fashions marveled at. the basis of international treaties will be made and unmade under the scorching parisian sun, for the air that streams over the palace carries a fresh and invigorating sense of hope and possibility.

[cageslip]

ATTN : DEMIGODS OF CAMP HALF - BLOOD . ENCLOSED :

❝ — SHE'S AN OUTDOOR CAT , MAN . IT'S WHATEVER . GIVE HER NINE LIVES . AND IF SHE DIES , SHE DIES .

FULL GOVERNMENT NAME : maia joan shea .

CALL HER : o . c . THAT STANDS FOR : outdoor cat .

AGE : twenty - four .

D . O B . : august 8th , 1953 . NATAL CHART : leo sun , scorpio moon , virgo rising .

SPECIES : demigod .

MOTHER : joan . deceased '59 — 33 years old . pensacola native . head of housekeeping at the resort on pensacola beach . flashes of soft skin and coconut tanning lotion . the altar of photobooth clips and polaroids and a closet full of vintage leather bags stuffed with gloss and love letters and stale foreign cigarettes . FATHER : hermes . god of going out to get a pack of foreign cigarettes . he came back around when his daughter proved useful to him , but she'll never forget . UNCLE : andy . handyman , mechanic . her real father , and mother , all things considered . joan's little brother — 25 when maia became his official legal burden , 43 at present . as far as family , really , there is nobody but him . a tangled emotional knot of memories so potent and bright they could overwhelm the sun .

GODLY PARENT : hermes .

TELEPORTATION : yeah , fuck you , she can teleport . long distances , too . at will . ALCHEMY : not something she's quite mastered , apart from dabbling in magical party drugs and the occasional minor enchantment . water into wine . party tricks . so far .

INVENTORY : black jansport .

ENCHANTED EVER RETURNING CELESTIAL BRONZE COINS : her weapon of choice . a gift from hermes . carried in a 20's beaded bag , or loose in her pocket . 9 coins altogether . when flipped , or thrown , the coins transform into darts , daggers , or knives where appropriate . generally speaking , they return to their sender . RANDOM LOOSE CRAP : a gift from hermes . when the god of travelers rewarded his 14 year old newly claimed daughter and champion with the backpack that'd accompany her for the rest of her journeys as a vagrant demigod , he had a little bit of fun . there's a janitor's ring of keys , who's to say what any of them open , if anything . three loose teeth . ew . a pair of fuzzy dice . a hotel key for a hotel that never existed . random receipts . shotgun shells . you get the picture . CONTRABAND : you name it , she's got it . if it's not allowed at camp , she can get it to you . hope you pre - ordered your shit , because it's looking like she's not gonna be able to leave camp grounds again for a minute .

FLORIDA GIRL : unfortunate circumstances & their consequences .

she's six when her mother dies . the memories there are fuzzy around the edges , saturated and warm and warped by the cracking yellow sun . who knows what's real about it . anyways , she always remembers andy . the blue house and the holes in the screen door . dangling hairfist over the bow of a motorboat and poking at barnacles while andy prays an engine back to life . she knows that's all real . understand , she was always an outdoor cat . she was a barefoot , firefly chasing , tree climbing , swamp exploring , fearless warrior on a three speed bike . scraped knees and rides home from the sheriff's deputy — andy's best friend's brother , illegal fireworks , c minus report cards , donuts on the golf course , and the all times they stole mr . connor's grady white and took it for a spin around the bay . she was fourteen when that thing came out of the water for her — it almost killed her . when oscar , her boss at the marina , maia was working the bait shop counter for the summer , told her the unfortunate truth about some things . he pulled her onto the dock . they ran from the creature . he took her to long island . she didn't get to say goodbye . she spent one night in a sleeping bag on the floor of cabin 11 . night two , she made her break for it . she'd stolen some kit — now savvy to celestial bronze — and taken off into the dark . three risky hitches , two greyhounds . it was terrifying . freefall . home by dawn . panicked , she found her uncle at the dockyard . flung herself into his arms . wept . he then told her what he knew . her father was a con man , swindler , he'd heard he was from california . he'd also heard , yes , a story about him being the greek god of messengers and commerce . he had always felt that was unlikely . he gave her some cash , some sentimental parting gifts , a sandwich and a coke , and sent her back to camp . maia did not go back to camp . as far as maia was concerned , she was free . she went anywhere but camp . for six months , she learned how to ride the rails . she learned how to make cash . how to scrape by , scramble , scheme , survive . for three weeks she follows the rolling stones along on the american leg of their world tour . she gets a taste for life on the road . this is the beginning of the rest of her life . furies chase her back to long island . mostly just for the fun of it . anyways . she has questions . she's tired , too , badly hurt . though the ego won't relent on that front . in any regard , she finds herself back in front of chiron . unrepentant . he has a message from her father . while she slept , he paid visit . chiron expressed his frustration , concern . plans of action . hermes was amused , borderline endeared . she was always an outdoor cat , true , but hermes was the one to say it . the camp director's exasperations are met with a crack about nine lives . and then the immortal psychopomp slung an unassuming black bookbag off his shoulder , and onto the table .

it's ten years of come and go . she's oc , she doesn't give a fuck . once she learns how to teleport , which she does , and swiftly , she gets good at outsmarting monsters . good at running . good at killing . and surviving . compartmentalizing , dodging , persisting . hermes starts to ask her for favors . she delivers packages . sensitive materials . god to god cross country ground services . she's an excellent courier , so long as the pay is enticing enough . when she's at camp , which is for either days or months at a time , she's your contraband kingpin . whatever you need from the outside world , oc is your girl . she's for sure a top 5 troublemaker , genuinely possessing zero self control and even less respect for authority . a heedless hedonist , she's pretty consistently at the center of nonsense . by extension of being somewhat of a daddy's girl , she's also a camp girl , even though she has a complicated relationship with staying put . oc's never missed a capture the flag . she corresponds with semi regularity . keeps in touch . and more than once , she's shepherded a young stray demigod to safety . GOOD NEWS : oc is back ! she just showed up , today ! JUNE 8TH ! bad news for oc , chiron is seeeeerrriouuuss when he says she's under house arrest right now . she's just come back for the first time in a full year , and found out she's not going anywhere . should be fun !

[nightmarist]

DnD story so far:

The party explored a cave region in search of the source of a blight wracking a once prosperous town, peoples lungs filled with black sludge, all meat rotting, soil turned barren.

Tork the Boarman Barbarian, Tahir the Khenra Fighter, Ivan the Vampire Cleric, and Xehara the Simic Rogue explored the local cave system and found it was lined with undulating flesh, and creatures insides it’s caverns posed easy, though unnerving fight.

Exploring deeper, they came across a wall of sinews, and decided to simply tear through it. Finding bodies fused into the flesh of the walls, they all tied to move on - but Tahir’s curiosity got the better of him. He disturbed a tri-headed creature, and Tork bravely tried to protect them, shattering his bones by shielding the party. As they ran, Tork carried by Xehara and Tahir, they came across a dead end, but with curios and carved s Rawlings as though someone lived there.

They found a priest inside, working away at a crudely made desk. The vampire’s charm didn’t work, only seeming to annoy the priest feverishly working away at writing researches in a foreign language. The screeching creature was coming nearer and they prepared to fight for their lives. Xehara asked the priest for aid, and all were surprised when he flicked his wrist, and the creature exploded into pieces.

He allowed them to take anything from his work bench as he said his research was concluded. Upon asking what research he had conducted, he remained cryptic but says nothing was evident in his studying a shining black stone. As they left, the flesh in the cave began to rot and disintegrate.

Tork came down with an illness after being covered in disgusting bile and needed to recover (our player unfortunately caught Covid and needed to quarantine and recover).

In that time, two new companions came to explore this poor region: Huş the Aarakocra Monk and Elowyn the Forest Gnome Sorcerer. The priest, Sigurd, instructed them to the best of his failing memory to enter the swamps to retrieve a Blackheart, a stone that can cure any disease to save Tork, overcome with the blight. Traveling together they found a swamp hag, whose body was obscured by long vines. During the fight, cutting away at her vines, her appearance was so horrific it frightened most of the party. However, Tahir, immune to Fear from the loss of his twin brother, was able to strike the hag and fell it, splitting open her skull and cracking open her wooden body, revealing the heart inside.

They came across one of the vampires sitting lone in the middle of the swamp but it attacked them, screeching wildly and unintelligently. They avoided it with an illusion.

On their way back they saw three cultists at an altar, one sacrificing himself in a blood ritual. The party decided to leave them be for now and head back to town where Tork was being taken care of by Sigurd. Upon returning, Sigurd crushed the heart to powder and brewed it into a tea. And took it himself. His memory cleared, for the most part, his speech no longer slurred and confused. He explained this blight is not something that can be cured by normal means, even by a fantastical item as the hag’s blackheart. He used his immense power to cure Tork, retrieve some of his belongings, and left.

They argued about where to go next, searching for clues that may lead them to the origin of the blight. The coins and tomes Sigurd left with them were interesting. Although Elowyn had a spell to translate any language unbeknownst to everyone else (and possibly to her, we may have to study our spells), they could not translate the texts. They did however find someone knowledgeable in the ancient currency and it’s history. It is so incredibly rare, one coin could buy the mayors home.

They kept all but one coin, giving it to the tavern owner who helped them take care of Tork, her favorite local customer, and decided to travel to the location where the coins originated from.

Along the way they will meet what happened to those cultists: Transformed into a hulking beast, a fleshy amalgam of many other creatures horrifically joined together by flesh and bone, hemorrhaging black blight.

They will then be lead into the depths of the swamp and into Myri, the vampire Kingdom of Mires, to meet King Yugwai whose people are caught in the wake of this necrotic plight (and discover that this was why the lone vampire they met along the way was acting out, they will be tasked to bring him back, preferably alive with reward).

Eventually much later, Dauthas, Tahir’s homeland where his brother died in ritual sacrifice (and whose body is now possessed by an ancient spirit).

[travelingthief]

Hermes Devotional Post!

Not a complete list of course, so feel free to add on!

Travel

Dedicated travel playlist for Hermes

Mindful packing for trips

Road-trips/camping

Trying new modes of travel

Let Him pick the music

Travel by boat/kayak/canoe

Learn to roller skate, skateboard, or longboard

Learn to surf

Go for a bike ride

Find ways to save on gas (like rewards cards)

Misc.

Draw sigils on shoes

Leave coin offerings at the location you start your travels

Travel size portable altar

Give people in need bus fare 

Go for a run 

Picking up coins you find/leaving coins for others

Donating to homeless shelters

Car

Keep up on car maintenance (especially in the wintertime)

Courteous driving (Letting people out, stopping for pedestrians, using your blinker)

Clean snow off other drivers’ cars

Keep your car clean

Giving rides to others

Stopping for those that need help on the side of the road

Invite Him to ride in the passenger seat

Let Him pick the music

International

Get a passport!

Keeping up on foreign affairs

Decorate your passport

See the world!

Make a travel board/destination list

Learn about places you wanna go

Try foreign foods

Nature

Take a nature walk! (Or just a walk around the block)

Dedicate your hiking boots/running shoes to him

Find a spot in nature to talk to Him

Learn about birds in your area and where they come from and go.

Learn how animals communicate (great alongside Artemis)

Communication

Write letters to friends

Send postcards/greeting cards

Call a friend or relative

Reread messages/emails before sending 

Communicate your thoughts and feelings in your relationships

Practice keyboarding

Establish and enforce your boundaries 

Can and string telephones

Keep secrets entrusted to you

Support your local post office

Collect stamps/postcards

Dedicate your phone/laptop to Him

Have a penpal

Language

Keep a journal 

Learn a new language/Revisit the language you started learning and then neglected 

Learn ASL

Learn about the evolution of language and how it is always changing

Be mindful of the language you use in daily life and consider how it affects you and those around you 

Change your self-talk! Keep it positive!

Voice training (Particularly for trans worshippers)

Thinking before you speak

Learn about older forms of communication (like Morse Code)

Learn braille 

Go to the library and practice reading books in a foreign language (Great to do alongside Athena)

Practice writing (great to do alongside Apollo) 

Learn about the elements of writing, like allegory and metaphors (alongside Apollo)

Trickery and luck

Play pranks (remember: good pranks cause confusion, not harm)

Learn magic tricks 

Buy scratch offs/play the lottery

Understand how gambling addictions affect people

Dice and card games

Learn about good luck charms/Make your own

Night at the casino 

Learn about superstitions

Games like billiards or darts

Arcade/video games/carnival games

Make small/friendly bets

Poker nights!

Game of horseshoes

Learn parlor games

Miscellaneous 

Smoke a bowl with Him! (If your relationship is like that)

Offer him coffee and energy drinks

Trail mix, candy, road-trip snacks, 

Learn a good joke

Write/perform stand up comedy 

Related Jobs

Mail carriers and sorters

 Retail workers (Hermes of Merchants & Commerce)

 Canvassers 

Editors, journalists, and writers

Newspaper routes

Bank tellers

Carnies 

Casino workers

Gas station attendants

 Mechanics 

Where I Acknowledge Him

Gas stations

Mail carriers/trucks

Worn-looking travelers (thinking of the eye-patched man lounging on the sidewalk smoking a cigarette. Hope to be that content one day)

Gumball machines give me his vibe

Arcade games, pinball machines, and air hockey 

Flea markets/garage sales

Simple Acts to Devote to Him

Checking your mail

Checking email/voicemail

Buying stamps

Flipping a coin

Dice divination

Charm casting

Collections

Rocks

Coins/money 

Good luck charms

Pens/writing utensils

Playing cards

Dice (Looking at you D&D players)

Offerings

Orange peels

Trail mix/peanuts

Road-trip snacks

Rocks & pebbles, coins, cool things you find outside

Travel souvenirs 

Good luck charms

Energy drinks

Coffee (bonus points for gas station coffee)

Letters/postcards/stamps

Apples/bananas/grapes

Foreign foods

[noctivague]

30 Days of Hermes - Offerings

Day 10 - Offerings – Historical and UPG

I will divide this post into two categories; traditional and UPG. I kept the historical part pretty strict and only kept items we know were given to the gods and put everything else in UPG even if those things are very common.

Traditional

Water - Clean water makes for an easily accessible and great offering. It’s better to give something simple than nothing at all so don’t feel bad about it if you can’t afford something fancier ! See this post for more info.

Wine - Not limited to Dionysos, wine was wildly offered by the greeks. Honeyed wine is a thing too !

Olive Oil - They had plenty of olives so naturally it is something that was commonly given. Herms and statues were anointed in oil. 

Honey - Makes for a great libation, being seen as food of the gods.

Milk - Plain or mixed with honey. 

Incense - Something else that was widely offered. Frankincense (olibanum), myrrh and storax were most common, however feel free to expand on that and give different resins, woods, plants and flowers. You can even make your own blend !

Flowers - Fresh flowers make for a beautiful offering. Wreaths would be used to decorate statues and herms. 

Fruits (and nuts) - Very common due to being easily available. See this post for more info !

Cakes and bread - They were often offered, you can go the traditional route and try to recreate ancient greek honey cakes, or just make any type of biscuits or cake. I really like spending time making something myself and it’s the occasion to share it with other people as well, as if you were having a mini-feast. 

Meat - Not very common nowadays, animal sacrifice was a big part of how the gods were worshiped. In the homeric hymn to Hermes, he sacrifices one of Apollo’s cow to the gods, teaching humanity this tradition. Tongues of animals were especially offered to him. 

Devotional writing and art - Ancient wrote hymns, poems and prayers to the gods. Double as Hermes is also a god of language and communication. 

UPG

Coins - Couldn’t find historical evidence so I put it in this category but coins are very often given by modern worshipers, as Hermes is the god of trade and merchants. You can put a little bowl and you altar and collect coin. Combo points if you get foreign coins as you get his travel aspect as well. When the bowl is full you can donate them to the local homeless or to the charity of your choice. 

Postcards - Due to his Messenger aspect, anything to do with the mail will fit.

Things you bring back from trips - Make for a very personal offerings, I love bringing things back from my adventures. 

Coffee - Due to the association with quickness and movement. Often given by modern worshipers.

Strawberries - Hermes was raised under a strawberry tree, which is not the same plant that gives us the fruit, so there seem to have been a misconception. However strawberries are widely offered by modern worshipers. See this post. 

Cinnamon - often associated to Him, see this post.

Pineapple - The one time He requested something to me it was pineapple so it’s something I hold dear to my heart. Personal UPG although I remember seeing it on tumblr once. 

Gin - I remember seeing a post floating around with someone advising it as an offering. You could also try other types of alcohol.  

Lavender - No idea where it comes from but lavender is often associated to Him. Works great burned or in a tea, or even in baking !

Foreign or exotic food - Being the god of travel, it seems fitting to me. I love trying sweet foreign recipes.  

Feathers - Hermes is the god of bird omens, hence the association. 

Dices - Being the god of luck and divination with pebbles, anything to do with those things will make great offerings. 

Playing cards or games - Same deal than with dices. 

Things related to computers - Due to the connectivity and communication aspects. Bonus point if it has to do with gaming or hacking. 

[twelfthremedy]

Hermes Offerings

"Hermes is the Olympian god of herds, trade, heralds, travel, athletes, and thieves."

Large altars:

Beer

White wine

Red wine for His chthonic aspect

Milk

Mutton

Pork

Beef

Chamomile tea

Honey

Olive oil

Strawberries

Foreign foods

Eggs

Virgo or Gemini moon water

Frankensince

Myrrh incense

Lavendar incense

Golden objects

Silver objects

Musical instruments

Wands

Small/Hidden altars:

Money/coins

Foreign money/coins

Dice

Pebbles

Silver or silver objects

Gold or golden objects

Amethyst

Quartz

Orange topaz

Agate

Strawberry scents

Lavendar scents

Feathers

Turtle shaped objects or art

Strawberry art or toys

Crocus flowers

Written stories or letters

"Travel food", food you would take on a long car trip, i.e. trail mix, seeds, nuts, candies, etc.

Souvenirs from your trips

Actions:

Travel to new places

Learn a new language

Learn a new sport

Practice speaking in public or online

Practice writing

Learn astrology

Learn astronomy

Learn about agriculture and animal husbandry

Learn slight-of-the-hand magic tricks

Collect coins

Have a feast in His name

Dice games (yes, this includes DnD!)

Card games

Donate to homeless shelters in His name

Give money to the homeless

Keep a dream journal

Write Him stories, poems, or jokes!

Honor the dead, especially family members who have passed away

Invoke Him on your travels or when looking for a job and always thank Him when you arrive safely or have some luck in your life

Sources:

http://www.neokoroi.org/religion/gods/hermes/hermes-an-introduction-to-worshipping-the-messenger-of-the-olympians/

https://vocal.media/futurism/ways-of-worship-hermes

[honklore]

is nothing sacred? | quackity

(4.6k+ word count, prince!alex, augur/seer!reader, gn!reader, angst, alex has a sucky dad, reader has a sucky family, karl appears as a time traveler ofc, neg and pos religious themes, deification is the belief that when a monarch dies they will become a god, the rapids is a kingdom in this but it isn’t an smp au)

listen to: evermore by taylor swift, foreigner’s god by hozier, (the end) by levi weaver, exile by taylor swift

There’s a warm spring just outside the monastery. It’s hidden in the mountain, a few miles away from the castle walls and yet you find that it’s too close for comfort.

Every bright and loud fanfare that announces the prince’s coming and leaving echoes off of the hills and pours through your peaceful respite. It’s just enough to make you grumpy.

It’s one of those mornings again, and you find yourself floating in the hot spring, eyes open towards the sun, wishing you had more patience with the dear prince you call your best friend.

Your robe is heavy across your torso, floating around your bare legs as you ponder your plans for today. That is, if the prince doesn’t come visit you.

That would be wishful thinking, though. You don’t have to close your eyes to know that someone has blocked the sun. With a sigh, you sink your body beneath the warm water and submerge, blinking the water off of your lashes. “Alex, this is sacred ground.”

“I know,” the prince replies, squatting down to see you. “I tied my boots around my neck, see?”

You stare at the boot he’s proudly holding up, then shift your eyes to his bare feet. “Why are you here? This is my day off.”

“Excuse me for wanting to see my best friend,” Alex sneers mockingly, rolling his eyes. “Listen, are you coming back to the castle tomorrow?”

“We literally have an augury lesson at one in the morning,” you say. “So, yes.”

“Good, I’m going to disprove all of your theories.”

“They aren’t theories, Alex. I read patterns for a living, alright? I know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s not science.”

“Neither is your father deifying your grandfather,” this time you mock him.

He holds a steady gaze, lips quirked into a cheeky smile. “You’ll tell me about the night of my coronation again, right?”

“Because it warned of extreme change,” you say, voice level. “Yet I can’t figure out what’s going to happen. There’s something the stars aren’t telling me, and I have to figure it out to protect you and the kingdom.”

Alex’s eyes are a deep brown that you could probably get lost in, if he wasn’t such a little shit. “Protect me, you say?” He’s flirting now, eyes alight with the thought of annoying you, and if this spring wasn’t so important to you, you would’ve yanked him in already. “Didn’t know you cared that much about me, Y/n.”

Your robes are clinging uncomfortably to your body, accentuating the lines and curves — or lack thereof. “Hand me my towel and look away please.”

Alex closes his eyes and turns his face away, holding out the towel. “Learn anything divine from your swimming trip?”

Alex holds the towel out like a makeshift screen, and averts his eyes while you dry off and change into the clean robe he brought you. As annoying as he is, the prince is thoughtful, and he fills in the places where you lack.

“I was reflecting,” you say, buttoning the front of the robe. “It’s good for you; clears out your soul.”

Alex tosses the towel over your head and ruffles your hair. He chuckles at your protests; taunts you with warmth in his eyes. “You’re so spiritual.”

You glare at him. “I’m an augur.”

“Right,” Alex says, holding the now-wet towel close to his chest. “But you take it so seriously, sometimes.”

“I hate you,” you say, no venom in your words.

“I love you, too,” Alex says. He leans forward, almost as if to kiss your forehead, and then remembers that you’re on sacred ground, and kissing is forbidden.

Still, the very thought of what he might’ve done sends an unwanted flutter throughout your chest.

Wax drips onto the closed letter. You dip the silver stamp into the dark purple puddle, leaving the royal seal behind.

Inside is a letter to your family. It’s a prophecy you’ve received just for them. Despite them disowning you for your gift, you still find it important to warn them of upcoming woe. Like now, for instance, when you wish to warn them about the upcoming rainstorm that could ruin their crops if they don’t take precautions.

You rub your temples and blow out the candle, leaving you in silent darkness.

Your room is on the highest tower of the castle. The turret is small; a circular room with a circular bed and a circular desk and a glass, circular ceiling that showcases the stars to you each night. There’s a telescope standing against the window, a chest for your clothes, and the writing desk you’re seated upon. However, your bathroom is a few stories down, near the bottom of the tower and closer to accessible plumbing.

The door behind you bursts open, and you know it’s the young prince and his lack of basic manners when it comes to privacy. Your privacy, anyway. “What is it, Alex?”

“I’ve been waiting for you in the tower for an hour now, silly,” Alex’s words get softer as the light from the corridor pours in, and he can see what you’ve been up to. He stills, smile faltering. “You had another vision of them.”

“I wish they would stop,” you mutter. If you clench your eyes tightly enough, you can will any tears to suck back into your head. Then you can suffer through a headache, like you always do. You’ve had this “gift” since you were a little kid; you know the ups and downs of using it.

Not that it gives you much choice sometimes.

“Are you drinking the–“

“No,” you snap at Alex. “Look, suppressing them only makes it worse. Prophecies become... darker. I see things I can’t unsee. I have to allow them through.”

Alex has a hurt look on his face, but you can’t tell if it’s because you snapped at him or because he doesn’t want to see you in pain. You selfishly hope it’s the latter.

“We can talk about something less harsh on the mind.” Alex sits on your chest, avoiding your bed. It’s another sacred place for you, same as the monastery grounds. Alex knows the rules of being a seer; the ancient laws you practice. He’s read the same books as you — if just to understand you better. He’s the most loyal friend you can think of: the only person in the entire kingdom who has never questioned your beliefs.

“I can’t stand the thought of them getting hurt,” you admit. “And with the vision about your coronation... I’m so scared this kingdom is going to crumble and it’s going to be because I couldn’t prevent it.”

Alex fiddles with his necklace. It’s a rune, one for protection. You used to wear a similar one beneath your robes, but with your fear of something happening, you’ve made Alex promise to wear it.

“It’s not your job to keep the kingdom from crumbling,” Alex relays. “All you need to do is tell me what you see. Then I hint to my father ways to change the kingdom. After that, it’s up to fate.”

You bite your lip. “Fate has a tricky way of playing its own hand.”

“Then it was never in your hands in the first place, yes?” Alex speaks honestly, but there’s a bit of cheek to his voice that eases your nerves.

You smile sadly. “Your father is too prideful, Alex. I can see it; the ravens, they flock the castle whenever he makes a speech. He wants to become a god. He wants something that’s impossible.”

“He deified Grandfather,” Alex quips, no emotion backing his voice. “Like you said earlier. It’s just to start the tradition, so that when he dies he’ll become holy, too.”

“I told him it was wrong. I told him that the stars foresee ruin if he stays on this trail of pride.” You cast your eyes down to your family’s letter. “No one believes me.”

“I believe you,” Alex’s soft voice urges you to look at him.

He’s quiet. The rune is resting on his outstretched palm and he’s looking at you. “Do you think I’d take these lessons and wear these trinkets if I thought you were wrong?”

“Maybe you do it because we’re friends,” you say. You're well aware of the fact that the prince is the only person in the entire kingdom who advocates for your beliefs. But with the rest of the realm against you, you can't help but think that deep down, he's making fun of you, too.

"You sure do worry a lot for someone who can foresee the future."

You choke out a laugh and run your hands down your face. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm so sorry. I just– I feel like if I can't prevent every bad thing I predict, then it's my fault when they happen. I wish I was ignorant to omens."

Alex tuts. He pouts at you, dragging his lower lip between his teeth and holding it there for just a beat too long. “Let’s skip lessons today. You should rest.”

“Alex—“

“Ah!” Alex stands up. He begins to unclip his cufflinks from the hem of his sleeve before he passes you a coy glance. “That’s Prince Alexis to you, and if I say you should rest, then you should rest.”

You grumble, but inwardly you’re thankful.

There’s an altar, rectified in the middle of the castle courtyard. Though it was once a place of healing — a place seers would go to cleanse their minds — it is now standing in ruins.

You lay down your offerings anyway. Dried rose petals, and a few copper coins saved up. You wait with the objects until a few crows come to diligently take them away. To where? You don’t know. You’ve never asked.

Alex’s father plans to take down the altar and replace it with a shrine of himself. The knowledge of change reeks the air with a foul scent only you can smell.

It’s as if the entire kingdom is rotting and you’re the only one who knows.

You lift your hood off of your face and continue your walk throughout the court. Those you pass politely ignore you, though some choose to sneer at your mannerisms. The king has them wrapped in his prideful rule, and your heart aches for them.

There is no freedom in serving man. This much, you know.

You find yourself in the tower, waiting for the prince to come in time for his lessons.

“Father says he wants me to study more practical subjects,” Alex relates to you.

He’s lying across the balcony floor, and you are perpendicular, with your head on his stomach. You feel every breath he takes, and something about the closeness comforts you in a way you refuse to analyze.

“I’m not sure what else you could learn,” you say. Your eyes are stuck on a chip in the balcony railing. Stone that hardly cracks, and of course your foundation is crumbling quicker than your resolve. “You have lessons from dawn till dusk.”

“And you’re the only tutor I care for,” he says with a flippant sort of tone. “I don’t know what I’d do if I saw you less. I already wish I had more time with you.”

You’ve spoken to nuns and monks and those who swear off love in servitude to the one they worship. Most admit that it’s a lonely existence, and a torture to make up for their sins. You understand that true love must be as sacred as an old god, and to worship another person would be the greatest act of devotion. For how else do you serve a creator than by worshiping the created?

You don’t think kings are meant to be worshipped. No one with that much power should be revered with such ignorance.

But a prince is different. To worship a prince alone, in secret, for just yourself... perhaps that is the most spiritual devotion of all. Perhaps it is the most torturous.

Hearing Alex’s words makes your heart yearn for a future that can never be. You don’t need a vision to tell you that his father will soon grow tired of you. Of course you will soon be sent out of the kingdom, and Alex will forget about you in time.

You know this without a doubt in your heart, and yet Alex still clings to these moments with you.

You’d do anything to keep him safe.

“Where will I go?” You ask. “Where will I be accepted?”

Alex’s breath hitches; you feel it. And you know what he wants to say — you know what lingers at the tip of his tongue.

With me.

Your family sends back the letter, unopened. You try not to cry about it, but the truth is that you feel more alone than ever. Surely you are the last of your kind, and no one cares in the least about what you have to say.

Except maybe Alex. Lovely, beautiful Alexis. He could no sooner harm a butterfly’s wing than deny you your beliefs.

But Alex is not king. He is merely a prince, and the king does not like you. It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long.

“You fill my son’s head with nonsense,” the king paces back and forth in front of his empty thrown.

You hide your hands in the sleeves of your robe. “Your Majesty, I only relay what I see. I fear your kingdom is in danger.”

“And you think it my fault? Tell me, what if the stars told me to deify my father? What if I am following my own visions?” The royal cackles. “You have no sensible argument. All you have are silly dreams and lies to propel your own agenda. I will not have you spoiling my son’s brain.”

“Your Majesty—“

“I forbid you to speak on anything of the sort from hence forth. The altar will be torn down, and any peep from you regarding these readings will result in instant banishment.”

The sentence hurts more than it should, considering you aren’t being willed to die. You’re quite lucky in this sentence, considering you can still see Alex. Though, a part of you cracks and splinters to think of suppressing your visions.

The vision of Alex’s coronation still remains. You fear for the prince’s life. You fear the king will have something to do with it.

How do you tell the boy you adore that his father may be his downfall?

How do you get him to believe you?

The warm spring only gets hotter as the seasons change. You sink your head under, and the heat of the water burns your closed eyelids. Your head is killing you; pounding from holding back your emotions: your tears.

The monks don’t even worship the same as you. They lend you their springs and advice, but they aren’t the same. There are no other augurs in The Rapids, so no one else really knows how taxing the job is.

More visions come to you when you’re stressed, so you try your hardest to calm yourself. The water scalds your skin, but it distracts your mind enough to keep the visions away.

It’s all the same. All the visions are the same — Alex gets crowned king and overturns the deifying decree. And only days later, he’s assassinated, and the regent — his father — takes back the throne.

As the old proverb goes: pride cometh before a fall, and the king certainly has enough pride. You just don’t want Alex to get caught in the fall.

“You’re so predictable.” Alex’s voice is warbled.

It takes a minute for the water to release from your ears.

Surfaced, you can see Alex crouched by the bank, careful not to fall in. He’s got that same gentle smile — thin, rouge lips and eyes that seem to shine when they look at you. Alex never judges. He never makes fun of your methods. He’s simply there for you, and your heart longs to be there for him as well.

“This place is sacred,” you blurt. Seeing Alex’s face in the light of the sunset just makes you think of your visions. What would a world without Alex even look like? You aren’t sure you want to find out.

You start to cry, and Alex holds a hand out silently.

He helps you out — holds out the robe for you. His boots are around his neck, and you focus on the thinness of his ankles while you clothe yourself.

“You can’t hold me.” You say plainly.

“I know,” Alex’s voice is watery. “Let’s get you back to the palace, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “Okay.”

“I’m not dead.” Alex lightly scratches your arm. Up and down. Up and down. “I’m not going to die.”

Your shoulders are braced against his side. You keep your gaze on the white smoke rising off of his incense cone.

This is his room, and his bed, because those aren’t sacred. His bed can be slept in and snuggled in and kissed in and loved in. He has scratchy cotton sheets and incense that is too old to really smell like anything.

He’s a prince with messy documents surrounding his desk and curtains that haven’t been dusted in days. Some days you wonder if the entire castle has forgotten about him. You don’t want to bring it up — don’t want to ask — but it flummoxes you.

You reach for his hand and stop its motions. “I’m sorry I bring you into all of this.”

“I want you to bring me into everything,” Alex slurs. He’s staying awake for you, and you know it. He rests his temple against your head. “I don’t want you to keep anything from me.”

You hum. His body is warm against yours. Too warm, to the extent where you know you’ll wake up in the uncomfortable sort of sweat that comes when a child falls asleep on you, or when you fall asleep without the window open.

Something heavy squeezes your chest. It feels like your ribcage is sentient — hugging and pressing into your lungs until it’s nearly impossible to breathe without an uncomfortable stutter.

Alex falls asleep quick, so you don’t worry about him noticing.

You settle against him and breathe through your nose. The feeling will pass — it always does. You feel this way whenever Alex reveals something so vulnerable to you. You reckon it’s something to do with the tenderness of his voice, or the earnest squeeze of his hand.

There’s a need to protect him. You want to be there for him, more than anything else in the world.

Stripped of your job — the altar torn down — you resort back to your first and foremost activity: Alex’s best friend and (unofficial) advisor.

In this position, you’re confident in your abilities. You know just as well as anyone that you’d rather die than see the prince harmed in any way.

You’re kicked out of the tower, and your telescopes are left to dust. The king locks the door personally, ardent in his attempt to keep you away from any visions that might harm his reign.

You stay in Alex’s room, on a spare bed mat near the fireplace.

Of course, Alex has offered his bed, but you refuse to bother him any more than you have to. And now, with your rituals forbidden, you need a place to privately gather your thoughts.

The flames lick the stone furnace and you lie still. You watch them dance and close your eyes, hoping to rest without any visions or nightmares.

But the nightmares come, and they’re always the same.

When you wake in a fervent sweat, you know that only one thing will keep you from fearing Alex’s death. So, you crawl beneath his scratchy sheets.

You don’t snuggle into him or bother his slumber. All you need to do is know that he’s here. You rest your smallest finger against his bare arm and fall asleep to the sound of an owl hooting outside the window.

On the morning of Alex’s coronation, fog rises from the earth. You see it as a sign: this day will be confusing and blurred.

Alex is just excited to have cooler weather. The blistering heat has been plaguing the kingdom for days, so to have a day of fog and hollow wind sounds like heaven to the prince.

You wear your runes beneath your robe, and the weight of them is less than the weight of knowing you’re dead if you’re caught. But you need them; need this day to come and go without blood and tears.

Alex cannot see you. He’s far too busy with final rehearsals and receiving guests from far and wide.

You stray beyond the castle, into the square, where traders and travelers have set up shop in the hopes of making a profit.

There’s a sign. Fortunes Read Here. It’s tacked over a purple curtain, and you can see amber light shining through a thin slit. Like maybe someone is in there. Like maybe you aren’t alone.

You walk in.

Disappointment smacks against your ribs like a heavy wave against jagged rocks. It’s a scam. A boy no younger than yourself is sitting behind a table, with a green sash tied over his forehead. There’s a mystical rune of some kind that looks like a portal, and it’s tacked to nearly every surface you can see with dripping green paint. The place looks like that of a madman, and you fear you’re about to be mocked.

“Hello,” he says. He doesn’t offer a name. The blues of his eyes flicker from time to time with a shimmery purple, and you think it’s a trick of the light.

“Are you going to laugh at me?” You sit across from him. “Once I leave, are you going to think of me as just another gullible customer?”

“Can you not tell the future?” He says, and he grabs the crystal ball and tucks it under the table. “I can sense it. You want answers, genuine answers, not some promise of success.”

“Who are you?”

“Karl,” he says. “I’m from the village of The Rapids, but you know, magic is looked down upon. I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them what I know.”

You trace the lines of the rune. Your brain fogs, but as you repeat the motion, it clears up, and you suddenly see Karl, clear as day, standing in a crowd and watching Alex make a speech. “You’ve been there? You’ve been to the future?”

“Look closer,” Karl mumbles.

So you focus on the details, and you can see the black banners of mourning, and the redness of Alex’s eyes. “Oh. This is his grandfather’s funeral. This is the year before I became Alex’s tutor.”

“Walk closer.”

Unsure what he means, you continue to trace the rune, and imagine yourself walking through the crowd. Only Karl moves instead, so you pause your tracing and look at Karl.

He’s got his eyes closed, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Why did you come here? What did you want to see?”

You brought me here, you think of saying, but you wonder if this is what Karl can do. If he can travel to the past and show people what he sees. “I- I suppose I want to know why he was deified. Was it a plot?”

You trace the rune again, and Karl walks over to the king, where he stands apart from the podium. Even though his son is giving a heartfelt speech, he’s not listening at all. Instead, he’s talking to one of his trusted advisors.

“I will make a wonderful god.”

“Prince Alexis hates the new creed,” the advisor observes. “Surely he’ll overrule it once he is king.”

“Yes,” the king says. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

You gasp, and even Karl seems winded as you stop tracing the rune.

He places his palms on the table. “So that’s what you wanted to find out. A regicide plot.”

“I have to find Alex,” you mutter. You stand and rip one of your runes off of your neck. Intuition. “Here, take it. You should go.”

“I can’t go into the future,” Karl warns. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“No,” you think of Alex’s words. “None of us can predict fate. I have to go.”

You run out of the tent, and when you look back, it’s gone, left with nothing but a dirty sign labeled Fortunes Read Here.

Perhaps it’s past tense now.

Your purple robe billows behind you as you rush into the castle in search of the prince.

The staff says they haven’t seen him, the lords are already drunk off of mulled wine. His own tailors are running around, fearing they won’t be able to dress him in time.

So he’s gone, and that means you’re too late.

Or rather, maybe Alex is smarter than you give him credit for, and he’s gone to the one place his father won’t go.

You head up to the tower.

He’s there. Of course he’s there. And he’s in only part of his ceremonial clothes, leather pants and a cream-white collared shirt. He’s leaning his palms against the stone railing and staring out against the wind, like he’s waiting for it to speak to him. Tears slip down his cheeks and drop into the air.

“Alex…” You wrap your arms around his soft waist, squeezing tight to try and convey how thankful you are that he knew to get away. “Your father… He’s—”

“He poisoned my breakfast,” Alex whimpers. He grabs blindly for your arms, and at the touch of your skin, he folds in on himself; shifts around to face you, and buries his face into your neck. “My taster… He thought my taster was out. But he wasn’t. Now he’s dead, and the counsel are trying to figure out what to do with my father.”

“Alex, I’m so sorry.”

He cries harder, and you think your hug must feel weak compared to the comfort he so clearly needs right now. “I have to go tell the lords and the staff. We have to postpone the coronation until everyone involved is apprehended.”

You think of what he does when you feel alone. He visits your spring, and he takes off his shoes. He takes you to his bed and scratches your arm. He kisses your head and hums old lullabies from his childhood until you fall asleep.

So you grab his hand, and you pull him down the few stairs where your old bedroom lies. And you bring him toward your bed, but he stops you.

“It’s sacred to you,” he hiccups.

“You’re sacred to me,” you finally decide, and you let him crawl under your sheets.

You untie his boots and pull them off of his feet, along with his socks. Then you take the blanket and pull it up to his chin. You kiss his forehead and crawl in next to him. And you scratch his arm, up and down, and you hum old lullabies from your own childhood until he falls asleep.

While he’s asleep, you trace the moles across his cheeks and close your eyes. Suddenly, it’s like Karl’s tent, only you can see into the future, not the past. And you aren’t Karl, you’re Y/n.

The sun is bright on Alex’s back, skin tanned and warm. You’re swimming with him in the spring, and all that is sacred to you is him. All that matters is him, so he can float in the spring, and he can kiss you on holy ground, and if he can’t be deified in the kingdom, he can be deified in your soul.

And when you stop your motions, you’re back in your bed. Alex is there, sweet Alex, snoring softly and snuggling into your warmth, like you keep him safe. Like your visions aren’t the ones he believed in at all.

He has always believed solely in you.

[lailoken]

‘Heathen Survivals’

“In Scotland, as in other parts of the British Isles, the conversion to Christianity was largely led by foreign saints who were of noble birth or royal descent. They converted the tribal kings who then forced the new religion onto their subjects. For this reason the process was resisted by the lower class, and even by some members of the ruling power elite. The Chronicle of Lonecast recorded that as late as the 13th century Father John, the parish priest of Inverkiething, seduced young village girls so they danced wantonly around an ithyphallic stone idol. He allegedly 'stirred them to lust and [to] use filthy language' while leading a procession around the churchyard holding aloft a representation of 'the male organ of generation' on top of a pole. At Loch Mournie in the 17th century the local minister condemned his practitioners for continuing to practice the pagan ritual of sacrificing bulls. Twenty years later Hector Mackenzie of Mellon, his two sons and his grandson were summoned before a session of the kirk (church) elders to explain why they had killed a bull on their farm "in ane heathenish mannere". In his defense Mackenzie told the elders the sacrifice was an attempt to recover the health of his sick wife. It was not recorded who the animal was sacrificed to.

In 1650 a woman was called to account before the kirk elders for killing and burying a lamb under the threshold of a house, a magical liminal place. She told them she had sacrificed one of her flock of new-born lambs, the healthiest, so the rest would be protected from disease. When Isobel Young was charged with sorcery in 1692 for burying a live ox, her son told the court it was common husbandry practice and nothing to do with witchcraft. In a program broadcast at Hallowe'en 2009 the local radio station on the Isle of Lewis mentioned a letter written by a 17th century visitor to the island calling on the laird and the church to outlaw 'barbaric customs' at that time of year. The writer said he had seen a bull sacrificed and its blood spilt on the earth and ritual bonfires blazing on every hill. (Letter from Linda Fallows to author 31.10.2009)

On the Isle of Mull disease broke out in the herds of cattle in 1767. It was decided to take drastic measures to deal with the outbreak. A need- fire was lit on a hilltop without the use of flint and by friction between two pieces of wood. 'Need' is from the Old English niedfyr and the Old German nieten, meaning 'to churn'. The fire had to be lit before moonrise and during its lighting an old man chanted an incantation. Then a sick heifer was sacrificed and the diseased part of the animal was cut out and burnt on the need-fire. The rest of the good meat was then cooked and eaten by all those present as the fire gradually burnt down.

An ancient druidic cure for epilepsy still practiced in the Highlands at the beginning of the 20th century required the sacrifice ofa black cockerel. A hole was dug near to where the patient had experienced their last fit. The bird was buried alive while an incantation was read out calling on the earth to "swallow the evil". Shortly afterwards the sufferer would recover and, it was claimed, would have no more fits during their life.

In 1909 when a farmer died on Orkney his grieving family sacrificed his prize heifer. This was said to be an offering to the hogboy or hogboon, from the Norwegian haug-bui or haug-buinn meaning 'mound dweller'. This was the Norse term for a tutelary or guardian spirit associated with ancient burial mounds. Sometimes the hogboy was believed to be the shade or earthbound spirit of a former owner of the nearby farmstead or the ancestral founder of the family concerned. They remained earthbound to watch over their property, land and descendants and to monitor the progress of the estate down the generations.

In the 18th century Martin Martin said that the inhabitants on the Isle of Lewis still performed sacrifices to an ancient sea-god called Shoni or Shoney on Hallowe'en (October 31s). They brewed a special beer and after sunset threw cups of it into the sea. Afterwards everyone went to the local kirk and sat in the pews in silence while a candle was lit on the altar. This candle had to burn down and go out before they would leave. The rest of the night was then spent in the fields drinking, eating, singing and dancing. It was believed this ritual would ensure a good crop of seaweed used as fertilizer on the fields and therefore a bountiful harvest for the next year.

In the Hebrides St Michael, the patron saint of horses, horsemen and boats, was spoken of in the 19th century as "the god Michael". On the saint's feast day of Michaelmas (September 29th), a special bannock or oat cake was baked inside a lamb's skin. It was then blessed at a special Mass by the priest and dedicated to the saint. It was also a traditional custom on the same day to hold horse races and, unusually, both men and women participated in these events.

As well as blood sacrifices there was also a folk tradition of making offerings to the genii loci, the 'spirits of a place' or nature spirits, that inhabited the countryside. In 1697 when Martin Martin was travelling through Scotland he said country people still held pre-Christian beliefs. Although they claimed to outsiders that they were God-fearing pious folk, secretly they believed the hills were inhabited by spirits and made offerings to them. These entities could appear in an instant from their natural hiding places whenever they wanted to startle a passing traveller.

In January 1657 at Cullen in Forfarshire Margaret Philp was arrested on a charge of practising witchcraft. Her servant, Isobel Imblaugh, who may have been related to Philp's husband as they shared the same surname, testified she had seen her mistress have dealings with a spirit taking the form of a talking hare. Imblaugh said she had seen Philp put out a bannock, a jug of beer and a piece of meat for the sprite and the next morning it was all gone. On another occasion the spirit-hare had allegedly entered the house through an open window and drank the beer left out for it in a bowl. In the 19th century superstitious Highlanders left offerings of milk at 'fairy hills' (prehistoric burial mounds) and standing stones for the faeries known as brownies.

Aspects of pagan moon worship also survived in folk magic and folk customs. People believed warts could be cured by a simple ritual at new moon. When its crescent was first seen in the night sky a handful of soil was taken from under the right foot of the sufferer. This was then made into a paste using the affected person's saliva and spread over the infected part of the skin. This was then covered with a dressing and left until the lunar disc had waxed to full and then waned again. It was removed when the crescent of the next new moon was seen in the sky. It was said that this procedure was always successful in removing the blemish. Unmarried women also performed a ritual at the new moon to divine who their future lovers or husbands would be. When they could see the lunar crescent in the sky they sat astride a gate or stile without any underwear on. They then recited the following charm:

'All hail to thee the moon, All hail to thee, I privy good moon, declare to me, This very night, who my husband shalt be'

Various wells and springs all over Scotland were visited until comparatively recent times for healing purposes. Many of these places were said to have specific properties to heal diseases and illnesses in a throwback to pre-Christian times. For instance any well dedicated to St Tegla was claimed to be able to cure the 'falling sickness', probably dizziness caused by fluctuating blood pressure levels. St John's Well at Balmanno in Kincardshire was frequented by parents taking their children to be cured of rickets, a once common disease caused by malnutrition. St Kilda's Well cured deafness and drinking the waters of Trinity Well in Perthshire was reputed to be able to cure even the so- called Black Death, or bubonic plague.

St Fillan's Well near Tyndwell in Perthshire was visited by those suffering from mental illness. They were first dipped in the water by their carers and then taken to a nearby chapel. Once inside they were tied up and the chapel's bell was placed on top of their heads. The patient was then left in this uncomfortable and rather undignified position overnight. When their relatives returned the next morning at dawn they were supposed to have been cured.

Another well used to try and cure the mentally ill was situated on the isle of St Maelrubla on Loch Moree in Ross and Cromarty. Near the well was a tree where pilgrims hammered coins into its trunk as offerings to the saint or the spirit of the well. There were also the remains of a stone altar on the island allegedly used by the druids to sacrifice bulls on in ancient times. When St Columba arrived in the area he reconsecrated it to the Christian faith.

People suffering from depression, anxiety, or other mental problems were rowed out to the island in boats. Just before reaching landfall they were thrown out into the shallow water and then dragged by ropes the rest of the way to the shore. Once at the well they were forced to drink the water and a piece of their clothing was cut off and hung from one of the branches of the tree. An offering of a coin was then made by hammering it into the trunk. It was said that the well's healing properties were negated when a shepherd threw his mad dog into it. This apparently caused the spirit who inhabited the well to leave.

Some of the holy wells were only potent at certain times of the year. One example was at Craigie, which only possessed healing properties on the first Sunday in May. Its waters were said to be a powerful antidote to all known diseases, malefic witchcraft and the baleful influence of the Good People or faery folk. Crowds gathered at the well and colored threads and scraps of clothing were hung on the shrubs and rocks surrounding it.Other wells were given offerings of pins, needles or coins in a far memory of the sacrifices given to water deities in pagan times.

The prehistoric megalithic monuments of Scotland still retained their special nature after the conversion to the new religion. An ancient custom of holding legal courts at stone circles for settling property and land disputes survived into historical times. The bishop of Aberdeen held one at the Ring of Peddles and a nobleman called William de Saint Michael was summoned to attend it. He was asked to explain why he had seized some property from the Catholic Church. Forty years later the son of King Robert II of Scotland held a special court at a stone circle and called the bishop of Moray to justify why he was making a claim on some land at Badenoch. This ancient custom also survived in Wales. In the 1980s a man asked a council official to meet him on neutral ground at the Pentre Ifan cromlech near Newport in Pembrokeshire to discuss a longstanding property disagreement.

Following the conversion of the pagan Scots prehistoric sites like stone circles, standing stones and burial mounds were popularly believed to be the meeting places of witches, the haunts of spirits of the ancestral dead, and the habitat of faeries, elves and goblins. One witch was seen to regularly visit a local standing stone for unknown purposes of a magical nature. Another, Helen Rogie of Lumpahana, was accused of building a cairn or pile of stones on a hilltop for the practice of alleged 'devil worship.' She was probably making offerings to, or doing rituals involving, the genii loci.

In 1649 the male witch Andro or Andrew Man was accused of setting up a stone as an idol. He was seen to perform a "superstitious ceremony", taking off his hat to bow to it. In his defense Man claimed it was only a boundary stone marking the edge of his land and the beginning of his neighbor's. This is interesting in itself as in prehistoric times standing stones were often erected for just this purpose, to divide one tribe's land from another's. Such boundary makers were also regarded as having a magical liminal significance. The kirk refused to accept Man's explanation and decided he was performing some kind of “heathenish practice". He was ordered to break the stone into four pieces.

One of the earliest recorded examples of witchcraft in Scotland was in the 2nd century CE when King Natholocus consulted a famous witch living on the sacred island of Iona. The King had just lost an important battle with a rebel army who were trying to overthrow him. He sent a messenger to the witch to ask her advice about what he should do next. Unfortunately after consulting the spirits she predicted the King would be murdered. This dastardly deed would not be carried out by one of his enemies, but by somebody close to him who he trusted.

The King's messenger demanded to know by whose treacherous hand his master would be killed. The witch gave a mocking laugh and replied; "Even thine, so shalt be well known within these few days." The man returned to court in some distress and at first he was reluctant to pass the witch's prediction to the King. He thought if he told the truth the King would put him to death. However, if he kept it secret one of the others present might tell the King anyway. Only one possible alternative was left. Just as the witch had predicted, he entered the King's bedchamber during the night and stabbed him dead while he slept.

St Patricus or Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, was a 5th century Romano-British subject allegedly kidnapped by Irish pirates and sold as a slave to the king of the Dalriada tribe in Scotia. However an alternative story says that Patrick was forced to flee from his home country of Scotland to Ireland after being attacked by the witches of Dumbarton. He fled in a boat across the sea to escape them as he knew the dark sisterhood were unable to cross water. 

During the 7th century King Kenneth became so concerned at the widespread practice of witchcraft and wizardry in his Scottish kingdom that he passed a new law condemning its practitioners to death. Three hundred years later King Duffus (who reigned from 962 to 966), the son of King Malcolm I, fell ill with a mysterious malady and began to physically fade away. His physicians could not help him and they began to believe some form of witchcraft was involved in the ruler's dramatic and potentially fatal decline in health.

A few days after the King became ill word reached the court that a number of witches had been gathering nearby to magically bring his death. A young girl who worked in the royal kitchens had been overheard threatening Duffus' life. The governor of Forres Castle immediately ordered her to be arrested and interrogated about the alleged plot. She named her own mother as the head of a witches' coven casting spells against the sick King. As a result of the servant girl's confession several women including her mother were detained. They were caught red- handed in the act of roasting a wax image representing the King over a fire. Once the image had been destroyed and the witches summarily executed the King recovered his health.”

—

Scottish Witches and Warlocks

by Michael Howard

[paganimagevault]

Coin of Antiochos VIII Grypos & Sandon 121-96 BC

SELEUKID KINGDOM: Antiochos VIII Grypos, 121-96 BC, AR tetradrachm (15.92g), Tarsos mint, BMC-22, Cohen-1424, diademed head right, fillet border // Sandan standing right on horned lion between two omphaloi; all on a garlanded altar beneath a pyramidal baldacchino; monograms outer left, some porosity, VF, RR. From an old Collection, purchased by the collector in the 1960s with his tag.

"Grypus, having thus recovered his father's throne, and being freed from foreign perils, found his life endangered by a plot of his own mother; who, after betraying, from desire of power, her husband Demetrius, and putting to death her other son, was discontented at her dignity being eclipsed by the victory of Grypus, and presented him with a cup of poison as he was returning home from taking exercise. But Grypus, having received notice of her treacherous intention, desired her (as if to show as much respect for his mother as she showed for him) to drink herself first, and, when she refused, pressed her earnestly, and at last, producing his informant, charged her with the fact, telling her, "that the only way left to clear herself from guilt, was, that she should drink what she had offered to her son." The queen, being thus disconcerted, and her wickedness turned upon herself, was killed with the poison which she had prepared for another."

-Justinus: Epitome of Pompeius Trogus' Philippic Histories, Book 39.2

https://pagancurrencyvault.blogspot.com/2021/03/coin-of-antiochos-viii-grypos-sandon.html

[hawks-and-herons]

Ritual to honor Hermes Tetrakephale

Cast a large circle about 4 foot in diameter to allow for movement within during the ritual. It may be smaller or larger depending on what you wish.

In the center light a candle for Lord Hermes in all forms, be it scented or no. Gather your offerings and the candle and lighter beforehand, as this will help you not have to break your circle.

Begin with the direction you work most with. They are each different, with the directions corresponding to different forms of Hermes.

North: Kthonic aspect. New moon. The beginnings and endings, he sees the end and the beginning at once, as he guides souls.

South: Tricky messenger side. The full moon, and summer. When he is at his full with how we perceive him most often.

East: Merchant and herdsman. Successful and hardworking, building something to last. The waxing moon.

West: Wilderness god. Unfiltered, unrefined, holds the world in his hands and runs through the fields in Arcadia without care. The waning moon. The time before rebirth.

This version of the ritual goes from north to south to east to west. Change as needed for you!

In the northernmost point of the circle pour a libation of wine, some lavender, skulls, leave coins and any other offering to the dead. Pray to Hermes Psychopompos and Hermes Oneiropompus, his guider of souls and guider of dreams aspects. The north is the New Moon and the time of the dead and new beginnings.

In the southernmost point of the circle, offer letters, high energy food or drink in libation, and possibly a herb of some kind that he would enjoy. Here pray to Hermes Argeïphontes and Hermes Sokos Eriounios, his most commonly used epithets relating to his Tricky Messenger of the Gods aspect. The south is tied to the full moon, of celebration and completion.

In the easternmost point of the circle, give foreign money, tools of your trade, written tells of tricks of business, and or animal products (not food). Here you pray to Hermes Hodios and Hermes Poimandres, patrons of Merchants and Herdsmen. The East is connected to the waxing moon, to success and manifestation.

In the westernmost point of your circle, offer strawberries, wild fruits, strong wines, and any other kind of wild offering. Pray to Hermes Diolos, his tricky wild form that dances wildly under the moon. The west is connected to the waning moon, tricks and wilderness.

After completing your ritual, blow out the candle in the center while praying to Hermes and thanking him for his presence. Once you close your circle gather the offerings for additions to his altar or disposal, whichever you see fit.

[docholligay]

SM rewrite: any of haruka's first times meeting the inners

EPisode 92! 1960 words, I hope you enjoy, I AM HAVING FUN TODAY

“He’s SO HOT, Mina.” 

Usagi was off on yet another one of her larks, talking about some guy she’d seen at the arcade. She’d thought, at first, that she was talking about Motoki, who Mina took to be her current obsession who was not Mamoru of the moment, but maybe that had been several moments ago. It was hard to tell with Usagi. 

People always took her and Usagi to be alike, and if that gave Mina the benefit of being underestimated, that was fine with her. And it was true, that they both liked attractive people, in a way, but Mina was more of a freelancer, moving from this flower to that like a brilliant butterfly with no particular link to any one person, while Usagi fell in love with every man she ever met. 

That too. Usagi was still under the impression that she was straight, and the delusion might yet follow her all the way to the wedding altar. That, in particular, was none of Mina’s business, who had realized since the age of 12 that attractive was attractive in her eyes, which became the fact that a bedroom was a bedroom, as she got older, and what it might say on someone’s driver’s license or facebook held little notice for her when it was time to go home. 

Dating, on the other hand--well, she wasn’t bold enough to tell Usagi to never date a man, if she had other options, not while she was still enamored of Mamoru, but she certainly thought it hard enough. Mina had learned that lesson quickly. Men were like riding a roller coaster, exhilarating and fun, for a quick ride, but eventually you just get sick. 

Usagi had not yet learned this, and it was in this that Minako allowed her to keep your youthful naivete. She had time yet to learn. 

“His name is HARUKA,” she swung her bag around, “I heard the cashier say it. Isn’t that dreamy?” 

Mina chuckled, “It’s one of the most popular names in Japan, Usagi. I go to school with like, 4 Harukas.” 

“Well, it seems different on him!” She gave a little scowl and a stomp of her foot, but then smiled brightly and whipped around, “Come to the arcade with me and see him!” She narrowed her eyes playfully, “We can compete to see who he’ll fall in love with.” 

This was the point at which Rei would have chimed in that Usaig had a boyfriend, if she had denied to leave off from her shrine duties and hang out with them after school, but she hadn’t, and Mina didn’t see why something like a boyfriend should get in the way of a good time. 

“Amazing. I hope you like losing.” Mina cackled as she swanned toward The Crown. She hadn’t been in a while, not for any particular reason, other than she was doing a bunch of back work for a hostess club, which she hoped would hire her as a hostess the absolute second she turned 18. Unfortunately, they were too above-board to hire her for anything at the front right now. It was less than a year. She’d live. 

Usagi rushed into the Crown, ever with the perfect idea of how to act casual, and gazed immediately over to the racing game in the corner, hand under her chin as she leaned against an old copy of Pacman. 

“There he is!!!” she stage whispered, hissing as she grabbed Mina’s hand. 

She sighed and turned to tell Usagi that he was going to hear them, but he didn’t look over even at all, and Mina’s brow twitched as she noticed it. His hearing must not be anything to write home about. He was wearing a blazer over the top of a sweater, over the top of a collared shirt, which seemed a bit like overkill to Mina, but hey, maybe he was cold. 

MIna walked over to him, Usagi half-tiptoeing behind in a way that Haruka would find either cute or incredibly unsettling, and based on that, Mina would change her strategy. It was all a sort of chess game, flirting and seduction, and with men maybe it wasn’t even chess. Checkers, or something.

“Hi!” Usagi popped up, “Good afternoon! We saw that you were playing alone here, and were wondering, you know!” 

Mina looped her arm across the back of the car seat, and leaned against it. “Care for a friendly game?” 

Haruka ruffled his hair, and looked up at her, and Mina nearly burst out laughing. She hadn’t noticed, with the bulkiness of the blazer and other entrappings, and she hadn’t looked hard enough when she’d been standing with Usagi, but looking now, there was no mistake. Haruka wasn’t a man at all. Oh, she was tall, and gangly, and even given the sweater probably fairly flat-chested, but there was the unmistakable fullness of her lip, the softness of her brow, the way she looked at Usagi and Mina. Mina was a bit of an expert, in these matters. 

She looked over to Usagi. No reason not to let this play out. Why not, she’d earned some fun. Maybe Usagi would have a moment of realization--Mina doubted she’d ever seen a butch lesbian outside of Takarazuka, and those women were made up to the high heavens, more drag than the genuine article. 

So she smiled. 

“Just a race or two.” 

Usagi started to stammer, and step in front of her, but Mina dodged it effortlessly. Why have one bit of fun, when she could have two? Besides, Usagi may have been wrong about Haruka being a boy, but she wasn’t wrong about a certain quality of rough handsomeness that she carried, that sort of young, gentlemanly way, with a touch of insecurity, that Mina sometimes found very winning about the younger butch set. She could have a worse time. 

“Sure,” Haruka smiled, and nodded, then added, “I always like to play with a pretty girl.” 

Her voice was deep, but not overly so, and Mina found the feminine lilt at the end of her sentences quite charming. She rather liked butches, when it came down to it. They had a habit of picking up the charming parts of masculinity while letting the rest rot where it belonged. 

MIna slid in next to her. She smelled good, like sandalwood and maybe a touch of motor oil, which Mina wouldn’t have thought would be charming. Usagi was salivating as they put their coins into the slot, but she stood and watched Mina. She’d played this game plenty of times, and beaten Usagi at it nearly every time, save when Motoki accidentally spilled a drink on her in the middle of a race. This wouldn’t be too hard, but she would be careful not to humiliate Haruka, and maybe even let her win in the last stretch--

She looked over to the map. Haruka was already out in front, her car on full manual and effortlessly gliding through it, swinging the wheel and tapping on the brake and gas at perfect intervals. 

Minako, for a moment, became just a little enraged. She hadn’t even wanted to win before this moment, but for her to be beaten so easily, by whatever putz of a nerd was too old to be hanging out in an arcade but clearly WAS hanging out in an arcade, on an afternoon, and didn’t she have a job or college or something to go to? 

She slammed down on the gas, trying desperately to catch up, to make a better showin, but Haruka just kept going and going, hitting checkpoints without a second thought, not even the slightest amount of wrinkle to her forehead. 

Besides all that, Usagi was laughing and clapping her hands like the damn fool she was. 

Mina tried to weave around the fake traffic in her way, but ended up broadsiding a bus full of fake schoolchildren, and she imagined their fake screams echoing her own as the Game Over flashed across the screen. She quite forgot her seduction, in the moment, as she slapped the middle of the steering wheel and laid her head down on it. 

“I can’t believe I lost that bad!” 

Haruka chuckled, “No, you actually did pretty good.” 

Mina straightened up, smoothed her hair, and tried to regain herself. 

“Sorry, it’s just,” she giggled, “I get so competitive. The uh….heat of the moment, you know what I mean?” 

Haruka looked at her with a slightly confused sideways grin. “Sure.” 

“Oh but I am sorry, Haruka, mother was forever at lunch, sometimes I swear she asks for things only to see the human limit of what a waiter will bear before smoke begins to run from his ears. It was never my intention to keep you waiting.” 

“Oh, that’s okay.” 

Mina saw Game Over flash across the screen a second time as Haruka looked at the woman who had just entered. 

She was unquestionably beautiful, with a delicately rounded face that suggested a touch of foreignness at the eyes, eyes in green or blue but also somehow both, shifting a bit as the tides. Her hair was elegantly curled to her shoulders, and her carriage was straight and practiced, a show dog out for the afternoon with all the regular mutts. She wore a finely tailored blouse of silk with a demurely pleated skirt, round toe leather on that fit her perfectly on her feet, a bag at her side that was the sort of designer you wore if you were too polished for garishness of advertising that you wore designer. The whole of her felt wrong in the crown, like placing Italian marble in a kid’s playplace, and she smelled of rose and jasmine. 

But none of that was what stopped Mina in her tracks, no, wealth and polish was not enough to frighten her off. It was the look Haruka gave her, that wide-eyed gaze like a tourist standing in front of some great masterwork, and the softness with which she had responded. Mina didn’t know if they were together, or if they weren’t but she knew one thing for sure: 

Haruka was desperately smitten. She could have competed with Usagi for stupid in love, at that point. She and Usagi were getting nowhere with this one. 

Haruka rose to her feet, taking her bag and tossing it over her shoulder in one motion. MIchiru turned to leave the arcade, and Haruka gave a nod back to Usagi. 

“Hey, uh, you with the buns,” She smiled and tossed her hair, “We should play next time.” 

Usagi’s eyes damn near became hearts, but Mina just gave a half-hearted wave and a nod. There were fights you could win, and fights you couldn’t win, and Minako Aino didn’t ever throw effort straight into a fire. She had more of a sense of self-preservation than that. 

Haruka turned to walk next to her companion, who gave her the smallest closed-mouth smile. 

“Well, aren’t we making friends so quickly today?” 

Haruka chuckled. “You jealous or something?” She looked at the woman with what Mina noted was a mix of hope and fear. 

“Oh, terribly.” she answered. This woman knew exactly what Mina knew.

Haruka shook her head, unable to keep up the ruse. “They’re high school girls,” she shrugged, “ They seem like such little kids. But they’re cute, right?” 

“As kittens.” Noted the elegant woman, as they breezed out the door. 

There was a pause for a moment as even Motoki stood beside them to watch them leave, the perfume still hanging in the air as if the entire place were surrounded by petals. Usagi put her hands on her hips. 

“Is it just me, or were they both ridiculously good-looking?”

[sunblinx]

Altar ideas for Hermes

i know there are already a lot of posts like these, but i find them fun to make and i had some neat ideas!

-Board game pieces (especially stuff like monopoly money!)

-Travel tickets

-Sporting event tickets

-Souvenirs and gift shop items

-Random trinkets and coins you find (on his altar space i have a small jar filled with coins and stuff like paperclips and screws i’ve found in parking lots!)

-Crystals associated with luck, prosperity, and/or travel (i like to put aventurine on his altar, that’s what i associate him with most!)

-Dice and card games

-Puzzle games (rubix cubes, for example)

-Green, silver, or white candles (i personally associate scents like strawberry, vanilla, and coffee with him!)

-Car keys

-Rocks from your favorite travel destinations or along the way

-Anything made of silver

-Foreign currency (bonus points if it’s from places you’ve personally travelled and brought back yourself!)

-Old letters/mail

-Stamps

-Strawberries (real, fake, or just imagery)