#miss heathen productions

[thatheathen]

happy fears — thatheathen (music video w/lyrics)

Lyrics

Why do I feel lost, but driven

To wake up from

this soul prison?

What do, I do?

Please come wake me

I’m all alone

Holding up the sky

On my own

Baby oh baby

You’re fucked in the head

That's why you gotta

Get out of the bed

Surviving by nesting

I don’t feel good

Catch these diamond tears

Filled with my happy fears

(Happy fears, Happy fears

What do we do with them?)

Don't pity me with

hollow gestures

A milky sky feels

just like new

In these aging eyes

Please don’t wake me

You feel this world is wrong

Israel sure loves their bombs

[heathenphotography]

"ROZAL 10" by Alex Cósmico & Zach Kursman is out now!

[withleeknow]

late night thought, imagine you convince lee know to let you do his makeup, he pretends to hate it (a pouty scowl on his face) but deep down he loves it :(

- 🍓

oh 🥺 this is so 🥺

imagine it’s a lazy saturday afternoon, you both have nothing scheduled for the day.

you’re just on the couch peacefully coexisting before an idea pops into your head and then you’re dragging him into the bedroom, demanding him to sit in front of your vanity while you pull out all of your products.

he’s confused as hell at first but he just watches you with his head tilted cutely to one side.

once he realizes what you’re trying to do, he’d be like “oh hell no. stay away from me, you heathen.”

he’d try to leave the room but when you tug on his shirt, pouting at him and giving him your best puppy dog eyes, he has no choice but to give you what you want.

he’d sit back down but act like he’s sooo bothered by this. you don’t give a shit bc you’ve got your model to work on, even if your model is rolling his eyes and scowling at you.

“just get it over with.”

you’d try to appease him a bit though. after every step you’d give him a kiss. primer done? kiss. eyebrows done? kiss. mascara done? kiss. (not that he needs that a lot. dude’s blessed with insane eyelashes. you hate him for that.) his skin is perfect so you just have to dab some concealer under his eyes. kiss. a little bit of eyeshadow. kiss. rosy blush on his cheeks. kiss. highlighter on his cheekbones and sculpted nose. kiss.

he’d hold onto your butt as you paint his face, patting you every now and then.

would definitely doze off while you work on his eyes. and you can’t help but sneakily grab your phone to snap a pic of your sleepy cat boy.

when it’s time to do his lips, you’d give him a longer kiss bc you can’t kiss him after the lipstick is on unless you want it to smudge.

you let him pick the shade though.

he’d study your collection of lipsticks, lip stains and glosses, seemingly bored, but you know that peculiar brain of his is meticulously picking out his favorite color.

he goes for a muted red shade in the end. it suits him and his complexion well.

he’s just sooo pretty that you make him sit there and pose for you while you take 297473 photos (and videos).

he maintains the grumpy look on his face in most of the photos, but you don’t miss the way he tries to suppress a smile when he admires your hard work in the mirror. dude secretly loves being pampered fr.

would definitely make you take the makeup off him afterward and do his skincare too.

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 3 - Crime Scene

It would have been a good fifteen minutes later, in the cab when Sherlock and John finally spoke.

John was looking out the window, deep in thought, uncommunicative. He had seemingly forgotten the earlier trauma, but then, as the cab moved past a particularly dark section of a building, he was greeted by his own reflection back at him from the window glass, triggering a renewed cry. “I’m green, Sherlock!” he said again.

“I am aware,” Sherlock replied calmly.

“You are responsible, you mean?”

“John, I’m sorry. I truly am. If I thought you’d believe me that it was accidental—“

“Green!,” John said again, sulking back out the window. “How am I supposed to explain this when we arrive at the crime scene?”

Sherlock sat in silence for a moment and then sucked in a breath. “I have an idea,” he finally offered. He leaned forward and redirected the cab.

John had turned his head to watch, a slight frown on his ridiculous green face. Sherlock didn’t fill him in. He simply gave John a reassuring nod and sat back in the seat.

“I’m not sure I trust your good ideas any more,” John said.

“John,” he scolded back. “It should only last a day or two. It was simply a chemical reaction between some products and it will simply lose its potency as your natural body oils—“

“Enough Sherlock,” John groaned angrily. “I don’t want to know.” He let out a frustrated sigh, throwing them back into silence for a while. “So the case then?” he finally managed to ask.

“Ah yes,” Sherlock replied, clapping his hands together. “Missing person. Supposedly. Ended up dead in another home. There is some confusion about his identity.”

“Right.” John waited for more information but that was apparently all he was getting.

“Any indication how the victim died?” he asked.

“Well, apparently stabbed.”

“Apparently?” John looked confused. “Surely that would be obvious enough?”

“Apparently not.”

“I see…” John said, his brain now whirring with possibilities. “No, actually, I don’t see. I don’t think I understand at all.”

“John, you have so little patience. Sometimes things need time to become apparent,” he said mysteriously.

There was a strange look on his face when he said it. John wondered if he was talking about the crime scene at all now or if he had heard more of Mrs Hudson’s words than he had let on.

“Sherlock…?”

“Ah! Here we are,” he announced as the cab pulled up, ignoring John. “We won’t be long, he announced to the cabbie as he leapt out. “If you’re happy to stay, I will compensate you for your time.”

John sat for a moment, completely confused. He made eye contact with the cabbie who was watching him, probably judging him.

Sherlock poked his head back inside the cab. “Are you coming?” he demanded.

“Me?” John asked innocently.

“Yes, Miss Elpheba. You,” Sherlock said, running off ahead again.

“Hey!” John cried out, offended. “You think I don’t know musical references? I’m not a complete heathen!” He shared a look with the cabbie again who couldn’t help giggling before John leapt out, chasing after his cruel flatmate. Surely Mrs Hudson’s observations were off. Sherlock was bloody enjoying this far too much. Not a caring bone in that body of his.

They headed down a narrow side street between some shops and when they rounded the corner there was a quaint little shop at the other end.

“I thought…” John began when he finally caught up.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“I thought we were at the crime scene…” John said, looking at the shop. “Is this…?”

“A solution. For you,” Sherlock offered.

There was something uncomfortable about Sherlock’s posture all of a sudden. He seemed unsure, as if he finally knew he needed to make amends properly. After all, he had said he was sorry - an accidental outcome of a hypothesis and so on. But did that mean anything at all? To John it was just words. More of Sherlock’s words. But maybe, just maybe he actually did want to fix it as best as he could manage.

Besides, there was no way John was staying home when there was an interesting crime scene to look at. It had been ages since they’d had an interesting crime scene to go to. Actually, now that he thought about it, that probably explained the rogue experiments.

“Well, come on then,” John said, in a more gentle tone. “There’s a crime scene waiting for us. We better come up with a solution.”

With that he took the last few steps confidently and walked into the shop.

—-

@notjustamumj @lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart @givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884

[f0linasahl0]

okay so it's 3am and i'm thinking about random stuff and one particular topic came to mind. and it's the scar on tyler's nose in particular music videos and it's on the side or bridge of his nose.

i haven't seen a lot of people talk about it but then again i haven't done a lot of research on this particular topic lore wise.

i was just thinking about how he could've gotten it and i saw a theory that it was something like dema's influence on him and where the scar is the bishop's ink starts there. like it's a way to show dema and their hold over tyler which is an interesting theory. i found it on reddit i believe but i can't remember the user's name.

though i also looked up how you could get that type of scar or injury without accidentally somehow banging your head on a cabinet in the most perfect spot. in that research i saw broken nose which honestly makes some sense. hear me out.

this kind of makes more sense with the music videos jumpsuit and heathens because of where it's located. after finding that possible reason on why someone might have a scar on the bridge of their nose i looked up pictures and honestly looking at that scar and those photos of what it looks like to have a broken nose, it is very similar to each other.

without having to post a photo of a broken nose because honestly you probably can't just post a photo like that, i'll explain.

when i google searched broken nose there were some photos of people with a broken nose with the exact same cut as tyler without the deformity that comes with the broken nose.

in heathens as he's in a prison there's more of an explanation of why he has those cuts on his face and cut on his nose. a lot of violence goes down in prison and a lot of injury comes from it. though with jumpsuit he is coming from dema (and yeah yeah i know whole "it's just an episode/vision it wasn't real/wasn't him" listen i don't believe that it was just an episode or didn't happen to clancy/tyler. personally i think tyler and clancy are synonymous and are the same person. that's a whole different explanation that will go someplace else that is not this post)

with jumpsuit, there's less of an idea of how he got that cut. i mean he fell maybe 3 different times in that video and could've scrapped it on a rock or something bc he was weak and couldn't stay on his feat ("i escaped. i wandered, grew weak, and was tracked down"). though there's a darker idea that someone purposely broke his nose. who? why? i don't know but there's a possibility there.

with the outside and the ending of overcompensate music videos, there's a reasonable explanation for the cut he has too.

one idea is as he was quite literally swimming through ruckage, he could've easily sliced it open on some sort of debris as he didn't have it in saturday.

though i'm going to be heavily delusional here for just a second.

what if someone caused these? as sometimes in production there's not a lot of time to do makeup sometimes and no doubt how many times they filmed pieces of these music videos it's a lot to have to memorise where the details are so they miss some. that doesn't mean clancy just doesn't have that scar bc that shit looks like it scared.

my delusional ass is saying someone caused that scar. dark theory? nico.

now i'm probably losing you here. i know, its wild and out there, right? but what if it's not.

looking back at the clancy letters i believe he talked of nico when he was talking about the person he witnessed out in trench with him. firstly, one again i believe that's clancy and he's just telling it like a vision but that explanation is for a later post.

the quote(s) that stuck out to me when speaking to this person and his bishop was "the force i saw between him and his bishop seemed tense to me, and frightening" and "i assumed the bishop was forcefully retrieving his subject.." he later believed he witnessed things wrong but i believe he didn't. that he witnessed and experienced that "tense and frightening" exchange and further had other tense and frightening exchanges. looking at the music videos, "i am clancy," and other clancy letters, the only truly "chill" and "understanding" bishop is keons. that makes sense as he did betray nico and sacrifice himself for clancy. keons is the only one that truly cares for his district from clancy's POV.

nico is the leader and he is more ruthless and "frightening" than keons and the others. then with how we know clancy had excaped a bunch of times what if nico punished him? physically?

we know clancy was punished with no food or water. he couldn't write either, but what if there was more than that? what if there was actual violent punishment?

sure it's probably not true but what if one of the bishops caused that scar? it's a longshot and they probably didn't, but it's a tiny possibility. who else would break his nose? who would hit him hard enough to leave physical evidence? we only hear about the banditos and i'm sure none of them did that. josh most definitely didn't. so who else would've? how did he get that cut on his nose???

again it's a long shot and this probably doesn't have a cohesive train of thought but i've been thinking. please give me your ideas on why that cut is there because i cannot figure it out other than this.

i will post more about my lore theories and stuff in the future if you're interested. though i'm posting. this because im genuinely curious on why that cut there and im sticking with my broken nose type injury theory or he just is clumsy and has no spacial awareness and sliced it open. give me your ideas because this is a definite long shot 😭😭

[ask-the-good-creeps]

Vigilante Pasta AU Timeline

//Hey, y’all. I’ve made a timeline for this AU, but it is longggg. I’ve broken it up into 4 parts, and the links to all of them will be at the start of the Masterlist post that’s pinned on the blog. Let me know if I missed anything! 

NOTE: THIS MASTERLIST (ALL 4 PARTS) CONTAIN SENSITIVE MATERIAL, INCLUDING DEATH, SUICIDE, ABUSE, ETC.//

PART ONE

385 AD

OCTOBER: The entity we know as 'Slenderman' moves into the mortal world with the intention of forcing humanity to bend to the will of 'the Divine'. Zalgatoth (Zalgo) also begins to extend influence here (though he cannot physically visit) solely to interfere with the Slenderman's plans and allow humans to retain their autonomy. Slenderman brings Splendorman, Trenderman, and Offenderman in expecting them to side with him, though they soon begin to drift into working toward their own goals. A war hidden from human eyes begins between the two sides.

1565

APRIL: The children of Novgorod, Russia have been hearing their parents anxiously discuss their worries about the more concerning acts of tyranny committed by Tsar Ivan the Terrible and where it may lead. The children make believe that they have strong protectors that are kind, fun, and whimsical. An entity among Zalgo's ranks finds it endearing and brings their imaginary playmates into reality: thus, Pop and Cane are created. However, they are bound to a music box with two dancing bears in it, and they cannot interact with the world unless the box is open and playing its music.

1570

AUGUST: The Slenderman is angered by the otherworldly jesters’ presence in the mortal realm and sees it as blatant disrespect from Zalgo that he allowed one of his minions to do this. Slenderman manipulates Ivan the Terrible's paranoia to convince him that the people of Novgorod are secretly working with his enemies. Ivan sends his personal army, the Oprichnina, to slaughter them all as a result of this. Pop and Cane are bound to their box during the massacre, which not a single man, woman, or child managed to escape. The Candy Twins are beside themselves with grief and horror but are unable to do anything. The soldiers raid the homes of the deceased citizens for items they can take, and in the process one of them smashes the music box. This ends up freeing Pop and Cane permanently. The duo immediately sees to having Tsar Ivan strangled for the atrocities he ordered.

1722

MAY: A one of a kind, colorful, Laughing-Jack-in-a-Box is spawned for a lonely little boy named Isaac in England. The creation of the Jack inside is not due to the Slenderman, Zalgo, or anyone in league with either of them; to this day, Laughing Jack's creator and that creator's motives remain an enigma. However, the Slenderman mistakenly believes the clown is a product of Zalgo's faction and seeks to ruin him.

1726

JULY: Isaac has sealed Laughing Jack in his box, as his mother has informed him he will be going away to a boarding school. Both mother and son have been tricked, and in reality, little Isaac is the Slenderman's first attempt at a human proxy. Isaac spends years being psychologically manipulated and forced to do the entity's bidding, and eventually comes to enjoy it.

1738

FEBRUARY: Isaac is returned to his now-empty childhood home when the Slenderman becomes tired of his experiment. Despite most of his memory of the past years being a blank fog, he still has the urge to shed the blood of heathens and miscreants and does not deny himself indulgence in this craving. Laughing Jack is forced to watch the carnage and is unaware of the Slenderman's existence or involvement.

1747

SEPTEMBER: Isaac nostalgically releases a heavily traumatized Laughing Jack one night, who immediately sets to torturing him mercilessly. Jack kept Isaac alive and suffering for nearly 47 hours before his body gave out, after which Jack simply started to wander around, completely invisible to the people around town.

OCTOBER: Laughing Jack encounters the Slenderman for the first time, and the faceless entity attempts to convince him to join its crusade for order and conformity. Jack blatantly refuses, as he has no respect for religion in any context after watching Isaac's mother and conformity doesn't suit his tastes anyhow. The rogue seraph doesn't take this well in the slightest, and Jack is quite thankful he can teleport away like he does.

1751

MARCH: Laughing Jack meets Candy Pop and Candy Cane for the first time and joins them in their search for Zalgo so that they all may request his protection from the Slenderman. Zalgo informs them that the mortal realm is open territory, and he cannot prevent the Slenderman from pursuing them there, but offers them their own 'pocket dimensions', where nobody can enter without their permission. This offer is gratefully accepted, and now Laughing Jack has his carnival and the jesters have the Candy Circus.

1896

JUNE: Jason exists. He has no memory of where he came from or how he spawned seemingly out of nowhere, but he knows his passion and mission is to bring joy to the children he encounters with unique and wonderful toys he makes. It is generally assumed that Jason was created by the same mysterious being that brought Laughing Jack about, but this cannot be confirmed as fact.

1899

JANUARY: Jason dedicates a corner of his shop to be a play area where children who can't afford to purchase new toys can come and play with them to their hearts content each day (respectfully, of course – Jason doesn't like to see his toys treated callously). The boy he met that inspired this project, named George, offers to help with chores around the toy shop as a gesture of gratitude, and is pleasantly surprised when Jason hands him a few coins after to pay him for his work.

DECEMBER: Jason has noticed a small child regularly peering in the window of his shop and ducking out of sight when the toymaker turns his head in that direction. One day, he waits behind the door and greets the boy when he appears, and invites him into the shop. The child is shy and hesitant, and based on the shoddy rags the boy is wearing as clothing, he assumes other shop owners have chased him away because he doesn't have spending money for their wares. Jason waves him in and allows him to play with some of the toys in the shop without worrying about buying or not.

1900

1906

DECEMBER: George has been coming by several times a week since then to help with whatever work Jason can find. Sometimes the toymaker can't find anything for him to help with, as Jason is a naturally clean and organized person anyway. On those days, George would watch him work, or wander the aisles and marvel at the incredible works on the shelves. Jason doesn't want to leave the child empty-handed for the holiday season, so in lieu of paid work he gives George a custom toy that has no other in its likeness anywhere in the shop: a fuzzy little mouse with wheels for feet. George watched in awe as Jason turned a silver key in its back and set it on the floor, only for it to scurry about in fun figure-8 patterns with a consistent mechanical purr. That memory of his laughter was the last Jason had of George in his shop.

1907

JANUARY: George had not visited in weeks, and Jason was quite worried. With some effort and assistance from passersby he manages to locate George's home, but a sour-faced man wordlessly slams the door in his face when he inquires about the child.

FEBRUARY: A small river of melting snow disturbs a shallow grave on the outskirts of the town, revealing the corpse of a child. A wind-up mouse toy is found in the pocket of the body's trousers, and a constable brings it back to its maker. The authorities had come to question Jason regarding George's death, as the child's parents had apparently pointed their fingers at the now-distraught toymaker. Jason tells them what he knows, and the constable admits that he doubted Jason's involvement in the crime to begin with – the cold had preserved the corpse fairly well, and cause of death was evidently starvation. George had not spent enough time in Jason's shop to be starved there.

MARCH: George's parents cast reasonable doubt on their alleged involvement in their son's death. His mother sobbed crocodile tears as she told the judge that he must have gotten lost and fallen in with ill company. Jason could swear he felt his blood boil when the couple were not found to be at fault or punished in any way, when everyone seemed to know what they'd done. He had kept the little mouse toy on his person since it was returned to him...and he held it safely in his pocket on the night he slaughtered those miserable bastards to avenge the child they hadn't cared for in the slightest. As he left the town, he wasn't happy to have abandoned his toy shop – but he regretted nothing else he did that night.

APRIL: Jason crosses paths with Laughing Jack, who warns him about the Slenderman. Without waiting for a response of any sort, Jack had teleported Jason straight to Zalgo so that he could gain protection as well. Jason admits to Zalgo how desperately he still mourns his toy shop, and Zalgo grants him not only a similar space but the ability to move it wherever he pleased so that he would never lose it again.

1914

NOVEMBER: With World War I starting up among the humans, the war between ancient entities seems to be drawing to a close. Slenderman agrees to a truce with Zalgo, and reduces his mettling with human affairs.

DECEMBER: Laughing Jack invites Jason to visit at his carnival, where the latter is also introduced to the pure chaos that is the Candy Twins (mainly Candy Pop).

1958

APRIL: On the 24th of the month, Ann Carrington is born via c-section to an exhausted mother and disappointed father, the latter of which had been hoping for a son.

1979

OCTOBER: On the [REDACTED] day of the month, Jack Robinson is born to two proud young parents.

1984

MAY: Ann Carrington has fulfilled her dream of becoming a registered nurse and begins work in a well-known psychiatric asylum under the direction of its founder, Dr. Abel Whitworth, who has gained a reputation among the nurses for behaving very inappropriately with them.

1985

MARCH: On the 17th of the month, Jonathan Frank is born, the second son to his parents.

1987

SEPTEMBER: Nurse Ann has refused Dr. Whitworth's advances despite his threats to her career. He attempts to force her, but she successfully defends herself and runs off. A bitter Whitworth has her relocated to the most dangerous ward of the asylum in retaliation. Within two weeks of this reassignment, Ann is murdered by a homicidal patient who somehow managed to get ahold of a straight razor. Her body had already been hacked into pieces by the time anyone went looking for her. She woke up in the morgue without a pulse and walked out overnight; a new worker, afraid of being fired for negligence, failed to report her corpse missing and instead through some fireplace ash in a spare urn to report her cremated.

[thorraborinn]

I am working on a post about Rígsþula but it’s going to be long as hell because I don’t know how to talk about any one aspect of it without talking about every aspect of it.

The heathen takes I’ve seen on it are either a smoothed-over version of the Theosophical take on it (that it represents an incrementally advancing racial hierarchy stages of humanity) or to just reject it completely. The latter is fine but all of this is missing out on like 30 years of scholarly commentary, a lot of which isn’t in English, AND heathens finally starting to realize that our myths are, among other things, non-neutral products of multipolar class war and catastrophic social upheaval over centuries, rather than fragments of a once-complete monolithic pan-Germanic spiritual culture. That is to say, we have the ability to form much more informed opinions about it than heathens did in the 90′s.

Also the scholarly consensus for the last half a century has been that Rígr is not Heimdallr and imo Karl G. Johansson delivered the killshot but he did it in Swedish so most heathens haven’t read it.

[still-single]

Heathen Disco updates

The most recent shows are as below. Maybe you'd like to listen.

Show #326 (Feb 12, 2023)

HOUR 1

James Brown – Stone to the Bone

The Supremes – Stoned Love

The Chi-Lites – Stoned Out of My Mind

Clark-Hutchinson – Free to Be Stoned

Nathan Salsburg – XIV

Black Sabbath – A National Acrobat

Cheater Slicks – Fear

The Drin – Mozart on the Wing

Come – Recidivist

FACS – When You Say

Equipment Pointed Ankh – Paper Sink

Del the Funky Homosapien – Eye Examination

HOUR 2

De La Soul – Held Down

Lyn Collins – Think About It (Live at the Apollo)

Quix*o*tic – Tell It Like It Is

Crushed – Coil

The Passions – Runaway

Mamitri Yulith Empress Yonagunisan – Gala Saver

Heavy Blanket – Danny

Miaow – Fate

Central Line – Walking Into Sunshine

Gina X Performance – No G.D.M.

Goblin – Roller

Doom Flower – The Space

Yo La Tengo – Brain Capers

HOUR 3

Oneida – Paralyzed

3rd Bass – 3rd Bass Theme A.K.A. Portrait of the Artist as a Hood

Casa Nostra – Insomnia (extended mix)

Detroit Emeralds – Feel the Need

Ramsey Lewis Trio – Opus #5 / Uhuru

Exploratorium – Number 09

Show #325 (Feb 5, 2023)

Art Ensemble of Chicago – Funky AECO

Mutamassik – Wishik

Lifted – Total Care Zero

Shizuka – Plan for Solitude

Beau Wanzer – A Burrowing Booboo

Nuovo Testamento – Heat

The Invincible Limit – Push (New Mix)

Experimental Products – Glowing in the Dark

Miss Nude – Taste My Acid Fruit

Syamese – Drum

Portion Control – Go Talk

Equipment Pointed Ankh – Port of Indiana

Echo & the Bunnymen – The Subject

Q Lazzarus – Goodbye Horses (Demo 2)

Nun – In Blood

Six Finger Satellite – Where Humans Go

Iggy Pop – Funtime

Terry – Gold Duck

SUSS – Ash Fork, AZ

Glyders – Maria’s Hunt

The House of Love – Road

The Loft – Your Door Shines Like Gold

Celibates – Coming Alone

Marcie’s Still Waiting – For You (Not For You)

Shinichi Atobe – First Plate 3

Th’ Blisks – A Salve

Dippers – Looking for a Sphere Pt. 1

Ulaan Passerine – Light of Lights

Adonis – No Way Back

Kraze – The Party (Original Mix)

Paul Johnson – After Dark

Tirzah – Sink In (Actress remix)

Om Unit – Pursuit

Show #324 (Jan 29, 2013)

Tom Verlaine – Souvenir from a Dream

Love Child – Stumbling Block

Love – Softly to Me

Owen Maercks – Intense Young Man

Television – Marquee Moon (1974 demo)

Peace Regime – untitled

Skull Practitioners – Intruder

Temple – Heathen

Rancid X – Old Sex Queen

X – I Don’t Wanna Go Out

Beau Wanzer – A Dead Person’s Monologue

The Real Kids – Nowadaze Kids

Holy Tongue – Spirit Mask

Sleaford Mods – UK Grim

Miss Lie – Depression

Exhaustion – Old Mickey

Midnight Mines – Hollow Sky

Primal Scream – All Fall Down

Virgin Prunes – Baby Turns Blue

The C.I.A. – Better

Exploded View – You Got a Problem, Son

Violet French and the Horrible – I Want the Sky to Be Crying

Dippers – Looking for a Sphere Pt. 2

Blatant Dissent – Eleven Days

Circus Lupus – New Cop Car

Lush – Nothing Natural

The Fall – Y.F.O.C. / Slippy Floor

Obe – untitled

Sightless Pit – Calcified Glass

The Ex – Evolution

Oozing Wound – Hypnic Jerk

Nitzer Ebb – Captivate

George Brigman & Split – Blowin’ Smoke

Meg Baird – Star Hill Song

Equipment Pointed Ankh – From Inside the House

Dalibor Cruz – Depose the Influencer

Manuel Göttsching – E2-E4 side A

[keevansixx]

heh, so that's what the court pointy hat muckety-mucks and tower bastiches are calling it these days? budget mage? i remember a time when my kind were derided with much more creative monikers like "the dirty brown" or "that old hedge bastard". i do so miss the old names, they had a flavor and gravitas of their own. People actually knew what they were up against when they used one of the olden slurs. now, it's just "the budget mage" like i'm some common household merchant plying sundries and unmentionables out of some broken down mule cart or ramshackle booth in the market square...Pah!

let's see, where to begin...Ah Ha! a brief recap...

Magic is as common as water, air, earth, and fire. carry some basic ingredients and tools, know the right words, and can scrawl a passing sigil down on a leaf, stick bark, or bit of parchment and presto wiggly hands (or whatever pretentious movement is currently en vouge with the court and towers)...magic will happen.

(especially fun when you teach the children how to build tiny mud golems with bits of spider silk, a leaf sigil, some grass, a bird feather, and a mud ball and then hold messy mock battles by the creekside to see who controls the water and ultimately the right to call themselves the mud king/queen....good times. i miss the sounds of children's laughter.)

sometime in the last century, there arose a trend amongst the nobles and magical tower muckety-mucks that all magic should be only the birthright and legacy of their peoples and no other. they passed laws forbidding outside use, common practice, or anything remotely useful and productive for the common people behind layers of buracracy and royal red tape. this, of course, has led to magical services being sold at a premium, and ever increasing stupid magical monkey-jumping-through-hoops unnessary steps to achieve simple goals. it's only gotten worse over the years, as wizards, mages, and sorcerers insist on only using the most expensive possible ingreidents to do the most butt-numbingly simple procedures (and to charge the most asinine prices imaginable to maintain the illusion of power and control) which puts most common helpful magics out of the price range and pockets of the masses. all by design.

Me? yes, yes...i know. I'm a mage, and i like to think of myself as one of the last damn good ones.

let me make an attempt to explain...long before all the royal dumbfeckery, and tower interference, i was THE hedge mage (capital T.H.E., which was some other mage's inside joke within their enclave that stood for "The Heathen Engineer"). the wizard of practicality, the sorcerer of simplicity, i could weave magic into useful forms as easy as it is for you to breathe. i learned shortcuts, and efficiencies that shaved precious time and energy off the casting resulting in close instantanous effects. my services were highly sought in the early days as i could accomplish more with less. i was the mage, other mages sought out, when things went poorly, or the crown needed a quick fix for problems they already made. getting woken up at 3am by distraught midwives to assist with difficult births, or wounds too grevious to heal with traditional means. That was the job, and i did it well.

flash forward a hundred years, and now it's all "sorcery for the highest bidder.", "Mages for Cash.", and "wizards for the wealthy!" they've managed to turn magic into a money crop to be utterly controlled and carefully harvested to the exclusion of all but the most wealthy and powerful...and quite frankly, that really pisses me off.

remember when i talked about the small mud golems? yeah, that kid's toy spell. I teach it to every kid i meet. for one, beause it's fun, and the other is because all i need to do, is to teach them the other sigil to turn a simple toy mud golem into an enourmous emergency response golem capable of leveling terrain, basic search and rescue, and general security. a little trick i picked up in the east continent when i saw their massive terracotta guardians, and figured out the litany needed to craft the sigils necessary for movement and obedient control. i've also embedded saftey protocols into the sigils for the tiny toy mud golems. if a child is in danger, the sigils activate to turn a toy golem (or any sufficent nearby material) into a guardian golem. remember that giant housefire blaze that swept through the lower wards a few years ago? how there were almost no casulties but a lot of mud that got baked into hard clay mounds that they found the people safely inside each and every one, a little parched but none the worse for wear? you're welcome...i taught all the lower ward kids how to build mud golems ages ago. the monthly pit tournaments were always a highlight of my day watching what new and exciting mud creations the kids came up with to battle in the dirt arena. the rewards were always a bag of sweets and another micro lesson on sigil crafting so the kids could build better golems for the tournament (as long as they kept them small). we're able to do all this, because a few of the royal's kids and some nobel's brats pestered me enough to teach them the basic sigils, and now the tournament is a somewhat respectable monthly affair in the lower wards, and i only have to mud soak a mouthy noblewoman or lord once in a blue moon when they get haughty in the pits. the mud Pits, to me, are neutral ground for nobel and commoner, and i even hung up a huge mud sign that read "check your crowns and brass hats at the door, no titles allowed beyond this point." only the mud matters here. it's messy, and squishy, gloopy and gooey, but to all the kids...it was a playground paradise. Thank goodness the pits are near the rivers so the kids can get somewhat clean again before going home. it's all good clean fun in the messiest sort of manner possible.

but i digress....

I, and a couple of others like me, exist in this realm because, for one...there is always a need for mages by almost everyone regardless of social strata. and the other is that the king owes me some favors for special services rendered long ago and i not too politely mentioned (with slight demonstration) that i could entirely fill up his castle with mud golems turing the kingdom's castle into the prettiest dirt block this side of the mountain ranges, and would not loose sleep over doing so. (to the excited cheers of his kids who actually wanted to see a castle filled up with millions of toy mud golems in one go.) we have a royal understanding of sorts...i keep doing the helpful things i've been doing all these years to keep the kingdom safe while the towers and courts turn a blind eye to my personal business and dealings, while i pretend that i couldn't easily take down all their high towers with a bit of sulfur, a dragon scale, one moderate fire sigil, and the hair from an imp on a tuesday with time enough left over to grab a meat pie and a tankard of ale from the nice new tavern down the street in the poor district from that lovely couple that moved in down from the highlands with their exceptionally blessed children who can weave magic almost as proficiently as myself, and who graciously allowed me to train them in the ways of magical simplicity in exchange for the occasional meat pie and ale while teaching them how to be helpful in an age where doing so is frowned upon by the current magical conclave. it's a living, and one i'm happy to utilize for the betterment of all.

sometimes the kids suprise even these old tired eyes with some new discovery that saves time and effort in the long run. i managed to pull a few royal strings and get the eldest officially registered with the court as a healing mage with a lot of potential. though sometimes i have to show her a more correct path to accomplish her castings because the court teachers are somewhat pathtic in their instructions (and i suspect trying to deliberately sabotage her to maintain their own lofty positions and ambitions) the harshest lessons she has yet to learn about the current magical heirarchy is how to hide her true talents from prying eyes, and how to preform what looks like healing miracles while making it look all the while like it was the work of another, or sheer divine intervention without drawing obvious attention to her talents. a difficult challenge, but one i believe she's capable of handling on her own one day. in the meantime, i take her along with me to various locations around the kingdom to practice with the rural folks who can't afford regular medical care from the courts. She's getting damn good at making it look like the person healed on their own with simple blessings, and she's almost mastered delayed castings. having the healing spell trigger a few hours after she's long departed by adding in a degenerating trigger timer into the sigils before applying the healing to a person. makes this old hedge bastard proud to see it. Teaching her magical slight of hand to hide what she's really doing. came in handy on the road to the hinterlands when we came across a party that had been badly attacked by a bandit raid. the court mage with them was doing all they could to heal, and would have nearly cost the lives of a couple of that party had my apprentice not intervened and managed to cast quick heals to stablize the more deathly injured party members while making it look like she was just lending power assistance to the court mage without appearing to overwrite the court mage's healing sigil with one of her own. some of my best teaching, that was, and made me proud watching her micro adjust the sigils on the fly underneath her power casting to where the court mage couldn't see what she had done. of course we both hemmed and hawed about how good the court mage was to the rest of the party, while exchanging knowing looks between each other and just happy no one died that day. I finally knew she was ready to take her own steps into the world the day we visited a temple hospital in a nearby city and she was drifting like a heavenly angel between all the sick and injured on her own, masking her sigil fixes with blessing cantrips and hidden timers beneath the watchful eyes of the senior mages without them once seeing what she had done. i knew then that the kingdom had inherited a powerful healer indeed. it was a good day. I gave her one of my hearty practical travel robes (lots of hidden pockets), and put the finishing touches on her staff of office as a parting gift along with a copy of my personal research notes on practical healing and how to shortcut sigils to achieve acquired results i had been working on for a long time. the book coded to only be visible to her eyes only...to anyone else it looked like nonsense herbal poetry written by some lovesick poet enamoured with a stack of hay.

In her hands, the book revealed a lifetime of secrets (like how to make a powerful bloodclotting poultice from salt clay, spider silk, cotton reed, and moss bark for sealing open piercing wounds until a healing cantrip was able to knit the wound closed. or my personal favorite of the firemint balm rub that warms the joints and relieves pain with the secondary effect of minor healing from cuts and abrasions. farmers love that one.) the rest of the book was my notes on various sigils and how to hack them to splice desired parts to draft new sigils on the fly for whatever need a caster may have. to the court and towers, my personal book is almost considered blasphemy and heresy to the established order because the simple premise is that anyone with even the slightest inkling of magical potential could create any number of countless powerful sigils and useful cantrips with a simple bee's wax crayon and a rub of hearth ash on a river pebble and be able to almost fell a dragon or any number of foul beastie on a whim. sort of counterproductive to a shady institutionalized grift if everyone and their pet dog could accedentally implode a thief by tossing a cow patty with a chicken feather sticking out the top, (a pinch of sulfur, one nail, a robin's egg, and a copper penny inside the patty, then gently placing the stinky mess into the entrance of whatever you were trying to protect) only to wake up the next morning to the smell of brimstone and a pile of scrap cloth and thieves tools. So yeah, i've had to go to great lengths to protect basic uncommon knowledge from those who would seek to profit greatly from it.

I wish her all the luck in the world, and hope she gets great use out of the gift items.

as for the quality of my work, i consider it practical over pretentious. a farmer doesn't need a fancy gold powered plow to till their fields (like every tower mage tries to peddle on the workforce), they need rich fertile soil, easy access to clean water, and the means to protect their livestock from the ravages of predation, illness, and pestilence. simple things to confound the wise, as the old scholars used to say. far better a simple clean water sigil etched into the foundation stones of a well, than some gaudy, months long to prepare, expensive contraption that does the same thing at three times the cost. sigils are fairly easy to protect and maintain, and i often train the buyers on how to care for and repair worn sigils on equipment and structures for free. for one, it's far less costly, and for the other, it frees me up to persue the things im interested in learning or researching instead of having to be on call all the time to fix some gods aweful redundantly complicated mechanism all the time. like i said, the instutionalized grift is distasteful and real.

Shoddy? mine? of course they would say shoddy...if your entire line of work is built upon the predation of the masses, and anyone who came along who could do the exact same work with minimal effort and expense, wouldn't you go about trying to besmirch, belittle, and tarnish the reputation of that person in a vain attempt to protect your institutionalized grift? wouldn't you do everything in your power to remove any obstacle that stood in your way to achieving absolute control by dictating or manipulating laws, or placing the biggest obstacles in the path of your competition? when you finally figure that one out, and you'll pretty much understand the entirety of mercantilism, and why bad people are allowed to exist and operate under the law, and why the greedy never seem to be punished for their sins. That's why i don't advertise. those who know, know. the people who seek me out, know what i can do, what i'm worth, and that i'll do my best to fix a problem in the most simple, efficent, and fundamentaly permanent manner as i am able to perform. No flash, no pagentry, no pretentions. just you, me, a few sigils, maybe a cantrip or two, and a blessing. maybe feed me, offer me some small token, owe me a favor if you are hard pressed, or point me in the direction of someone who may have something i need and are willing to work a trade or deal. that's how this works. power and wealth are for fools and those who lack real power of their own. i have use for neither in my life which is why i mostly operate under the radar and have garnered a clientele relationship that crosses boundaries and social strata. I'm a budget hedge mage, that's all anyone really needs to know.

so....you need something? or is this a social call? cause i've got to go help heal a herd of sick dairy cattle a couple of villages over and on the way i need to find some wheat stalks, some holly, and scribble a few dozen sigils on some scrap paper the butcher was kind enough to gift me for fixing the lady of the house's broken ankle. i could use a lift in your cart if you are heading in that general direction while i scribble out the sigils. otherwise, have a blessed day, and call on me when ya really need some stuff done.

,

You are a budget mage. While most of your colleagues use costly ingredients, rituals that take weeks to prepare and use a new spell for every problem, you only know a few spells, use common household ingredients and prepare rituals within minutes. They unjustly deride your work as shoddy.

[thatheathen]

"I WAS CRUSHED"

- Stockton Rush

[heathenphotography]

broken & wounded - thathheathen (ft. reprodestruxion) official music video

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

𝐈𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 - Aemond Targaryen

hoe hoe hoe, heathens. merry Christmas to those who celebrate!!🎄 it's horny Santa here to gift y'all some very merry Christmas smut. for all those sinners who get too horny at the most inappropriate times, like Christmas lmao

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI, and people who've been on the Santa's nice list), masturbation, mutual masturbation, praise kink, bit of dom/sub vibes (if you squint), scratching, verrrry fluffy

word count | 2.1k🤙🏻

You were horny beyond belief. You felt like you were going to die if you didn’t have some sort of stimulation. Surely, you were going to be flooding beneath your nightgown if you got any more turned on. 

You wanted to be fucked and filled, you craved pleasure, pain, aches, everything. You craved Aemond, but Aemond wasn’t there.

It had been too long since you and your husband had sex, or seen each other. He had been gone for a few days, off with Vhagar on some mission for his mother. He wasn’t in any danger, but you still worried for him. And most of all, you missed how his cock filled and stretched you. You missed having him whisper sweet nothings in your ear as he bruised your cervix with how deeply he fucked you. You missed the ache in between your legs and how hoarse your voice was after he made you scream and yell in pleasure. 

Gods, you were hopeless.

It always came the strongest late at night. In you and Aemond’s shared bed, feeling his absence and his scent slowly disappearing. You often held onto his pillow, smelling the perfumed oils and products he always put in his lavish hair. You squeezed your thighs together, thrusting against nothing to try and get some friction, thinking about Aemond’s breath on your neck and his soft moans that always managed to give you goosebumps. You had always had difficulty getting yourself to climax by yourself, eventually your hand giving out from exertion and cramping, making your attempts to get to the peak futile. It was only Aemond who could get you there, and he knew that, always coming in with a smug smirk after being away from you for however many days knowing you were in agony without him there to help you. You were completely dependent on him to make you come. But tonight was just one of those nights when you had to do something about your aching desire.

You kicked off the covers of the bed, slowly lifting your shift until it reached just above your pelvis. You were so wet, only slightly running over your slit with your index finger once, holding it up to find it shimmering from the light of the fireplace. You laid your head back against your pillow, shutting your eyes and picturing Aemond’s face in your mind. You rubbed slow circles on your clit, gasping softly at the stimulation, imagining your husband smirking down at you and playfully chiding you for already being so sensitive. Even when he wasn’t with you physically, he still had you like putty in the palm of his hand. 

You moaned as you pushed two of your fingers inside of yourself, letting out a disappointed whine as your fingers weren’t nearly as thick and long as your husband’s cock was. It wasn’t enough, but you fucked yourself anyway, switching between teasing your entrance and your clit. “Fuck.” You whined, choosing to spend all your energy on your sensitive nub, for you knew that was the only possible way you could get off by yourself. 

“Aemond.” You gasped as a deep pang of pleasure shot through your core. Okay, so you were finally getting somewhere after several minutes of touching yourself. You finally had hope you could get yourself there for once. You kept delving deeper into your imagination, pretending it was Aemond touching you this way. It made you feel so much better picturing your husband, letting out a silent cry as you sped up the ministrations on your clit. Saying his name helped too, causing goosebumps to raise along your body. “Aemond…” You kept repeating.

“Yes, my darling?”

You let out a surprised yelp as your eyes shot open instantly, seeing your husband very much there at the end of your bed, smirking darkly with a glint in his eye. “You’re home? I didn’t hear you come in.” You stuttered, your face heating up like a furnace.

“I tried to enter as quietly as possible, I feared I’d wake you…but it seems you’re already wide awake, behaving like a bitch in heat no less.” The teasing comment only made you throb, biting the inside of your lip to keep yourself from moaning. “Missed me that much, hmm?”

You hummed in agreement, the noise coming out desperate and whiny. “You have no idea.”

Aemond took a seat at the edge of the bed, one leg propped up on the mattress and the other dangling over the side. He took off his eyepatch, the light from the fireplace making the sapphire gem sparkle. He laid his eye on you, scanning over your body until coming back to look at your needy expression. “Well, my darling, don’t let me interrupt you.”

“But…don’t you want to help me out?” You giggled nervously, wincing as your body thrummed for attention, your skin hot to the touch.

“Why would I do that when you’ve put on such a pretty show for me?”

“But you know I can rarely make myself…ya know, without your help. I need you so bad, my prince.” You went to reach for his trousers but he quickly slapped your hand away.

“You’re going to try for me. Maybe if you make yourself come, I’ll fuck you as a reward. Sound good to you?” He smirked. You exhaled shakily, and continued to rub your clit. “Slowly.” He instructed, and you obeyed him diligently. “That’s a good girl.” The praise went straight to your clit. Maybe this would be easier than you thought it would be?

“Aemond.” You whined as he rubbed his hand up and down your thigh, getting so close to where you were touching yourself but never quite reaching it.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m right here.” Yeah, and he wasn’t doing anything. Only then did you see he was starting to palm himself through his trousers, a very prominent bulge stressing against the fabric. You watched unwaveringly as he pulled his cock out of his pants, hearing him groan softly as he slowly pumped himself while watching you as well. “You’re not the only one who missed you, you know? I never stopped thinking about you on that tedious mission. My cock got so hard just thinking about you like this. Touching yourself, missing me, wishing I was here to fuck you so hard you’d keep the whole palace up with your screams.”

“Yes, Aemond, please.” You begged, speeding up your hand movements (with his permission) along with his, your pleasure getting more intense as your husband watched you. “Gods, I’ve wanted you so bad.”

“Fuck.” Aemond growled, briefly throwing his head back in pleasure. “Keep wanting me a little bit longer for me, okay? I want to watch you come undone on your fingers.” You keened as he grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing roughly, the feeling of his skin on yours electrifying. “Gods, you’re so beautiful. How lucky am I to be able to call you mine?”

“My husband…my beautiful husband.” You smiled, biting your lip as you writhed on the bed.

Aemond’s cock twitched in his hand as he watched you intently, focusing on the way your fingers moved against yourself, coating the digits in your slick to make the feeling even more pleasurable. He ran his hand up from your breast to your collarbone, up your neck and prodded at your lips until you opened them for him. He moaned in approval as you sucked on his long fingers, pulling them back out and using your saliva to rub circles on your nipples, your back arching slightly as your sensitivity was dialed up to eleven.

Aemond smirked as he saw your telltale signs that you were close to your climax, your breathing erratic and your moans coming out more strained and high pitched. “My pretty girl, are you going to come for me?” He asked as he pinched your nipples roughly, eliciting a cry from your lips.

“Yes, my love.” You panted, trying your best to force your eyes open to keep them trained on his face, the visage making your pleasure all the more intense. “Please, please…” You whispered, willing your hand to keep up its movements and for your orgasm to overtake you. Aemond ran his hand all over you, gripping whenever he could while still touching himself, his soft moans filling your ears and making your whole body feel weightless. You almost let out a sob as you were right there, right at that precipice. “Can I come, my prince?” You begged, your free hand holding onto Aemond’s tightly.

“Yes, come for me, my pretty girl."

“Aemond!” You cried as your orgasm finally washed over you, your whole body tensing and contracting as the waves of euphoria slammed down and knocked the breath out of you, your legs spasming around your drenched fingers.

“Gevie.” Aemond whispered soothingly, caressing your face as you came down from your high, placing feather light kisses to your hand that was still holding his.

“I want you to finish inside me, my prince.” You spoke breathlessly, still trying to catch your breath. “I need you, my love. I need to feel you.”

Aemond hummed, planting a kiss on your lips. “Who would I be to deny my lovely wife, who’s always so obedient to her husband?”

You gasped as Aemond turned you on your side facing him, situating himself on his side as well, pulling your hips forwards until you could feel his cock gently rub at your slit. He held your leg up as he slowly pushed himself inside you, both of you moaning in unison. Finally, the desire to be filled was achieved, so much better than your fingers. Aemond’s cock always stretched you just the right way, never failing to rub against that sweet spot that made you shudder and your toes curl. He had never had you in this position before, it felt almost as intimate as it did when he was on top of you. You both cuddled into each other, keeping eye contact as you gently rocked together, wrapping your legs against his waist to keep him as close as possible.

“I missed you, Aemond.” You whispered, cupping his jaw and placing a kiss on the tip of his nose, watching as his eye closed contently with a small smile.

“As I you, my love.” His breath hitched as you clenched around him, a soft purr escaping his lips as he involuntarily bucked against you. “If it were up to me, I’d have you like this all day and all night. You’d never leave my bed.”

“I think I’d quite enjoy that.” You giggled, your eyebrows then furrowing and your mouth opening in a silent cry as Aemond rutted against you rougher, his grip on your hips surely leaving bruises with how tight his hold on you was. “All I need is you. You’re all I ever need or want. No one makes me feel the way you make me feel.”

Aemond growled as he flipped you on your back, pinning you to the bed as he fucked you fast and hard, his primal urges taking over as you spoke your loving words. “Gods, I love you.” He moaned, burying his face in your neck as his cock bruised your cervix, hitting the ends of you over and over until you were sobbing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, don’t stop!” You cried, digging your nails into his back, hearing him hiss as you created angry red marks that would remain there for a while, not that he would mind. He loved getting marked by you, it reminded him that he was yours and you were his, the way it always should be.

Aemond moaned loudly, his cock twitching inside you as his thrusts became more wild and erratic, feeling his teeth dig into the sensitive skin of your neck. “You feel so good, pretty girl. Do you want my cum, love?”

“Yes, I want it. I need it, my beautiful prince. Give it to me.” You begged, pulling him as close to you as humanly possible. Aemond let out a low, rumbly groan as he stilled inside you, painting your velvety walls with his thick cum, thrusting it deeper and deeper inside you, not pulling out even when he was entirely spent.

After a minute of catching his breath, Aemond carefully turned the both of you on your side like you both had been previously, keeping his cock inside you and wrapping his arms around you, a content smile on his face. “I apologize for making you wait so long.” He spoke softly, kissing the top of your head.

You leaned up to kiss the underside of his jaw, burying your head in his toned chest. “It was worth it.” You chuckled, letting out a satisfied sigh, closing your eyes and breathing Aemond in. “Just keep holding me like this.”

“I wouldn’t dream of ever letting you go, my love.”

sorry this was a bit short, i've been so very busy this holiday season as most are i'd assume. i'm exhausted lmao

[legit9thlunaticwarrior]

Can I request Kenny (Tyson) xfem reader the reader is dreaming of Kenny at night. Have you ever of the song dreaming of you by Selena. The reader can’t sleep because she is traveling in Japan (she is a stardom wrestler who is from Winnipeg) and can’t stop thinking about how Kenny is doing with his injury back in Florida. ( I’m trying to make it based of the lyrics from Dreaming of You)

ohh selena, my girl <3 ive been running ideas for this in my head since i got it and i think ive come to a nice product. please keep in mind, im not familiar with every aspect of his career (yet) so this is all fake shit spewed from my brain hole. also the gif makes my heart do the flippy floppy

|remember to leave feedback and i love all you heathens|

‘Dreaming of You’ Kenny Omega (Tyson) x fem!reader

^the duo was unstoppable. but when tyson has to return to florida, reader makes an impulsive choice after a sleepless night^

this isnt line by line, im doing a lot of jumping around in the song

Y/N POV

Late at night when all the world is sleeping I stay up and think of you

It’s day four in Japan without Ty and I found myself unable to ease my mind. Though I would have been allowed to go back home with him, he insisted that I stayed here while he went back to Florida with his injury; as we were only here for another few weeks. Being away from him was hard enough but when he was in pain, it was worse. Sick or injured, we always took care of each other and it sucked not being able to nurse him back to health.

And I wish on a star That somewhere you are Thinking of me too

When he got back to our home, we made a point to call or video chat everyday until we were reunited. I was putting on a brave face but the man knew me all too well and saw right through it. 

The first night without him was undoubtedly the worst. I couldn’t sleep and when I finally did fall asleep, I was awakened by a panic attack. Which has been the case for almost a week: when my eyes shut, my nightmares show me the worst. We put our bodies through hell for this sport and losing Tyson was my worst nightmare. He’s my everything and I couldn’t see myself teaming up with anyone else. We had a special type of chemistry in the ring that soon brought us even closer. One thing led to another, and now we have been together for three years. 

'Till tomorrow I'll be holding you tight And there's nowhere in the world I'd rather be

‘Fuck it.’ I thought to myself. I went on my phone and booked the next flight back to Florida for tomorrow morning. Looking at my suitcase, I decided to get everything packed up and ready so I could just leave the first thing in the morning. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I pulled into the driveway, not caring about my stuff in the car. Surprising Ty was the only thing on my mind. Letting myself in as quietly as I could, I peeked my head in and saw him on the couch with Dobbie. I tiptoed in but the little furball gave me away and started meowing in my direction. Ty turned to look where the cat was screaming and his jaw dropped. “Y/N?” “I’m home.” I said with a smile. He tried to get up but I rushed over in time to stop him “Don’t injure yourself because of me again.” I joked while sitting next to him. It only took seven seconds for him to tackle me for kisses. “Missed me that much after five days? You had to jump on a plane.” I put my hands on his cheeks, “I hated not being able to take care of you. And there's nowhere in the world where I'd rather be.” He leaned down to peck my lips again “Such a sweetie.” “Only because I love you Tyson. Endlessly.”

~~~~~~~

lovely taglist babes (dm or comment to be added) @josiewrites @rubyred1980 @chrisdickinson @xkennyxomegax

[yourheartonfire]

I keep trying to write fluff and it keeps coming out either angst or... well. 😳

CW: possessiveness

The villain's apartment was terrifyingly tasteful. Every time they lured the hero back (and the hero had to admit, it was taking less luring every time) the hero was afraid to touch anything, lest they ruin the photoshoot-ready decor. And it was constantly changing. Every time the villain coaxed the hero in, there was some new piece of art on the wall, some new bloom or plant on the shelves, some new silk comforter or fancy bamboo sheets on the bed, sliding beneath them when the villain pinned them down with a toothy smile.

But the most terrifying room of all was the bathroom, and the rows and rows of bottles and jars and sprays. Every time the hero came over the villain would eventually go missing and the hero would find them in here, performing intricate rituals before the mirror.

"You really scare the hell out of me," the hero said, perched on the edge of the marble tub, towel drying their hair. "I mean, corporate sabotage is one thing, but the amount of money and brainpower that you've put into this whole deal..." They waved a hand at the line of products.

"You should be intimidated," the villain said, eye-droppering a pale brown liquid between their eyebrows and at the corners of their eyes and nose. "This serum costs more per ounce than you make in a week."

The hero shrugged cheerfully. "A Big Gulp costs more per ounce than I make in a week."

"You really need a new job," the villain sighed, reaching for the next jar. "Dare I even ask about your skin care routine?"

"Only the finest antibacterial hand soap for this face," the hero said, grin widening.

The villain shuddered as they dipped a finger into a pale pink cream. And then they paused, eyes snapping to the hero with that look that made the hairs on the hero's neck stand up. That predatory look usually meant they were about to fight or... well.

"What?" the hero said, tightening their robe belt and casually sliding onto their feet.

But when the villain rounded on them, eyes dark with intent, it was with pale pink stuff outstretched.

"Wait, hang on," the hero protested, trying to duck away. "You can't put that pricey stuff on me!"

"Oh, but I can," the villain said, easily backing the hero into the corner. They cupped the hero's face, turning it towards the light. "My house. My rules. My things to use as I see fit. Hold still now."

The hero bit their lip and shut their eyes as the villain traced lines across their cheekbones, their forehead, along the line of their jaw. The lotion was cool and the villain's hands warm as their fingers worked small circles across the skin. Not for the first time, the hero wondered if the villain had some kind of secret hypnosis powers. Something that made heroes melt under that piercing gaze and those light, steady touches.

"When you say 'your things to use,'" the hero said through a dry throat and unsteady breath. "You're talking about the lotion, right?"

"It's a cream, you heathen," the villain hummed, tilting the hero's chin higher and stroking a line down their throat mercilessly. 

"You didn't answer the question," the hero squeaked.

"I didn't?" said the villain. At the collarbone their thumb dragged across the first of the hero's scars and they tsked. "How can someone as beautiful as you take such poor care of themselves?"

The hero huffed, pulled the robe a little higher. "I guess that's what I have you for," they said. 

It was supposed to be flippant, but the villain's eyes went darker. "That's a tempting offer," they breathed, fingers tightening into the hero's shoulder, body pressing the hero harder into the wall. "I could take such good care of you..." 

In a flick of light of light and ozone, the hero vanished, rematerializing a step behind as the villain stumbled. "In here," the hero snapped, fists clenched and heart suddenly racing. "Take care of me here. That's not an offer for more, that's when we're... here."

"Of course," the villain said immediately, stepping back, hands raised, only the slightest swallow and blink as they clamped down on themselves with that iron self-control. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep the boundaries of our, ah, arrangement."

Cautiously, the hero unclenched their fists. The villain, moving just a hair slower than normal and careful to telegraph their intentions, leaned past to pick out a different bottle from the cabinet. They were careful not to touch the hero and - dammit - the hero missed that touch. 

"I was going to say the cream is all right," the villain said gently. "But I think we can do better." They popped the new bottle open and rubbed a drop between their fingers. A sharp, spicy scent filled the room. "Yes, that's more like it," they said, and turned to the hero with a startlingly meek look. "If... we can try again?"

The hero took a deep breath. It was easy to forget, sometimes, just who they were dealing with. But no. They had their boundaries and the villain was scrupulous in observing them. In here. 

Slowly, the hero nodded.

The villain's smile turned toothier. "It's a body lotion," they said innocently, eyes drifting downwards.

The hero crossed their arms. "But you still have three jars and that stick thing left," they said, just as innocently. "Won't your face melt or turn green or something if you stop halfway?"

The villain chuckled again and reeled the hero in. "For you," they murmured, fingers working at the belt knot, "I'll risk a wrinkle or two."

Later, the villain slipped the lotion into the hero's bag. The hero slipped it right back out into a fancy looking vase. Boundaries. The hero was going to enforce them if it killed them.

[niieve]

HOLY FVCK LYRIC SENTENCE STARTERS

( 127 sentence starters from demi lovato’s album holy fvck. please like or reblog if you found this helpful! )

freak

❝ pinch me. ❞

❝ ain't gotta spell it out for me. ❞

skin of my teeth 

❝ when is this shit gonna end? ❞

❝ sounds like the voice in my head. ❞

❝ i can't believe i'm not dead. ❞

❝ i'm alive by the skin of my teeth. ❞

❝ i survived, but it got harder to breathe. ❞

❝ go easier on me. ❞

❝ god damn it, i just wanna be free. ❞

❝ i don't need you to keep score. ❞

❝ i'm just a product of the problem. ❞

❝ won't you try and have some mercy on me? ❞

substance

❝ is anybody happy with life in the backseat? ❞

❝ is anyone grasping that nothing lasts? ❞

❝ i know we're all fucking exhausted. ❞

❝ am i in my head, or have we all lost it? ❞

❝ it only left me lonely and loveless. ❞

❝ i don't remember last week. ❞

❝ am i talking to myself? ❞

❝ is anyone out there? ❞

❝ i can't relate at all. ❞

❝ give me the real shit. ❞

eat me

❝ be more predictable. ❞

❝ all that i'm hearing is you want to make the impossible possible. ❞

❝ is this what you'd all prefer? ❞

❝ would you like me better if i was still her? ❞

❝ did she make your mouths water? ❞

❝ i know the part i've played before. ❞

❝ i know the shit that i've ignored. ❞

❝ i know the girl that you adored. ❞

❝ she's dead, it's time to fucking mourn. ❞

❝ i can't spoon feed you anymore. ❞

❝ please be presentable. ❞

❝ would you like me better if i didn't oppose? ❞

❝ choke on it. ❞

holy fvck

❝ i'm an angel, i'm a demon. ❞

❝ i'm the one she was afraid of. ❞

❝ now i'm what your dreams are made of. ❞

❝ i'll show you the light with all the lights off. ❞

❝ you see me begging for permission. ❞

❝ she's a novice, a beginner, i'm the sexorcist, the sinner. ❞

❝ i can guide you, i can teach you. ❞

❝ honey, this is just the preview. ❞

happy ending

❝ i met god. ❞

❝ i tried love, gave me something to believe in. ❞

❝ giving pieces of my heart, just to end up leaving. ❞

❝ am i gonna die trying to find my happy ending? ❞

❝ will i ever know what it's like to be fine without pretending? ❞

❝ i got high. you name it, i've tried it. ❞

❝ sure, i'm sober now, and everybody's proud, but i miss my vices. ❞

❝ i was your poster child. ❞

❝ it didn't fill the void. ❞

heaven

❝ i had a secret, it killed me to keep it. ❞

❝ so close i could almost taste it. ❞

❝ crucified for the life i'm living. ❞

❝ oh my god, hope i'm forgiven. ❞

❝ going to hell 'cause it feels like heaven. ❞

❝ i can't help it, guess i'm a heathen. ❞

❝ if pleasure's wrong, cast me out like a sinner. ❞

❝ i found myself with my two little fingers. ❞

❝ my right hand’s got me singing my praises. ❞

city of angels

❝ been here for fifteen years. ❞

❝ i'm bored to tears. ❞

❝ there's nothing left to do. ❞

❝ this town is heaven-sent. ❞

❝ better when i'm face down under you. ❞

❝ show it to me from every angle. ❞

❝ i want you to make me scream. ❞

❝ you call me they, but i'm still daddy's girl. ❞

❝ come make my day and rock my world. ❞

bones

❝ the second you walked in the room, my legs started to shake. ❞

❝ heart pounding like there's a fucking earthquake. ❞

❝ one look at me and i lost myself in those blue eyes. ❞

❝ so many feelings when you said her name. ❞

❝ i want you so bad that i need restraints. ❞

❝ lemme jump your bones. ❞

❝ no one has to know. ❞

❝ selfishly speaking, i want all of you to my self. ❞

❝ one day i'm gonna leave you needing nobody else. ❞

wasted

❝ i'm scared of the come down. ❞

❝ i don't think i'll know how to live without this. ❞

❝ i'm wiser and older. ❞

❝ i'm clean and i'm sober. ❞

❝ the highest high can't hold a candle to getting wasted on you. ❞

❝ happened so fast, i can't hold back. ❞

❝ i'm addicted, we both know that. ❞

❝ it feels like it's dangerous. ❞

come together

❝ you lead, i follow. ❞

❝ i knew the minute i met you, that i had to have you or i'd die. ❞

❝ no way to hold me back tonight. ❞

❝ don't rush, i love a slow touch. ❞

❝ you're doin' everything just right. ❞

❝ you gotta hold back till it's time. ❞

❝ got me closer to the edge than ever. ❞

❝ we could make it last forever. ❞

❝ paradise is even better when we come together. ❞

❝ your hands send shivers down my spine. ❞

❝ feels like the first time, every night with you. ❞

❝ there's nothing i'd rather do. ❞

dead friends

❝ i watch the sun go down, they won't. ❞

❝ i'm waking up right now, and they never will again. ❞

❝ i made it through hell, and i don't know why. ❞

❝ how am i different? ❞

❝ i miss my dead friends. ❞

❝ we had the rest of our lives. ❞

❝ didn't get to say goodbye. ❞

❝ god only knows where they went. ❞

❝ sometimes i wish that i could jump right into the blue, for a moment with you. ❞

help me

❝ what you think matters isn't up for debate. ❞

❝ you think you're helping, huh? ❞

❝ thank you for your useless information. ❞

❝ what's with your desperate fascination? ❞

feed

❝ i found my soul just to lose my mind. ❞

❝ all of the sinners know my name. ❞

❝ there's scars i've caused and scars i've earned. ❞

❝ still don't know much, but here's what i learned. ❞

❝ some days are diamonds, some days are rough. ❞

4 ever 4 me 

❝ i fell for you, smitten and hopelessly. ❞

❝ maybe i'm healing. ❞

❝ i couldn't be scared if i tried. ❞

❝ nothing's ever felt this right. ❞

❝ i can't hold back i'm falling in love. ❞

❝ take me home, i can't wait to hug and thank your mother. ❞

❝ he's beautifully made. ❞

❝ i can't wait to show you, you'll see. ❞

❝ i promise his heart's safe with me. ❞

❝ they say you know when you find the one. ❞

❝ just a look from you, i come undone. ❞

[thorraborinn]

https://thorraborinn.tumblr.com/post/667292722911199232/some-hot-takes-about-runes

I remembered this post you made and I was pondering it. As an extreme amateur to Norse anything, especially runes, I hope this isn't a dumb question, but is this meant in a historical sense, or in the sense of the runes being used as a divination method? If I understood correctly, you're saying we have to understand the OE and YF before understanding the EF, but is that historical or divinatory? Or perhaps etymological/linguistic? Or are all of these not all that separate? I hope this made any kind of sense lol. 😅

It's all of that except divinatory, because that's even further removed from the Elder Futhark, because divinatory meanings started being made up in the 1920's. This, by the way, is true even if pre-Christian Germanic people did use runes to do divination, because how they did it is so far beyond the horizon of time and evidence.

The rune names and meanings come from taking the Old English and Younger Futhark rune names and meanings, and then every time there are two for the same rune that aren't cognate, going "alright, we gotta just pick one."

In some cases that turns out to be reasonable. If we were trying to reconstruct the name of the Elder Futhark a-rune but didn't just so happen to have the Icelandic rune poem, we'd be fucked. We'd be like "the name appears to be *ōsaʀ but it seems to be used as an a rune sometimes" and reading some of them as standing for "o" and Elmer Antonsen would have have been like "this proves the runes are older than the pre-Germanic *ā/*ō merger." And we know the OIRP is the best witness on that one rune because now we know the linguistic changes that the development of *ansuʀ followed, but whoever wrote it down around the year 1500 didn't, and couldn't have made it up.

But the hypothetical world without it that I just sketched is exactly the situation with ᛇ, which is a consonant sometimes and a vowel indistinguishable from ᛁ other times, and we don't actually know what its name is, and just roll with *īhwaʀ because that word is weird in ways that are similar to how the rune's usage is weird, and because it's either that or ᛉ was always *īhwaʀ (as it is in the same Icelandic rune poem that graces us with incredibly well-preserved knowledge of what the a-rune was) and the name of ᛇ is just straight-up gone forever.

What else was lost? If the loss of one verse of one rune poem would be so catastrophic, what else are we missing by not having an Icelandic Rune Poem verse for *gebu or *dagaʀ? We shouldn't take it for granted that we don't have a gaping hole in the evidence so big that we don't even know to look for it.

If we know for certain that somewhere in the process that led to the Old English Rune Poem that those runes were deliberately systematized and innovated, how can we realistically assume that the runes that are only attested in it are reliable witnesses to an older tradition? Let alone the original tradition?

We can't. Sure, we have to use the evidence we have if we want to make the best guesses possible about the first full futhark. But... why bother? What do we have to gain? Why is it so alien to our sensibilities to participate in an actual tradition, rather than an abstract model? We treat these models as real, and the evidence that we used to make it as a secondary, lesser product of it.

As usual, what heathens have done to runes is to only value the actual attested traditions as valuable only insofar as it helps us "reconstruct" an "original", and by "original" here I mean an abstraction, a selection of bits from that later evidence into a cohesive and systematic whole.

It all goes back to what everyone is surely sick of me saying by now: always know where stuff comes from. Where do the Old English rune names from from? They come from George Hickes' copy of the Old English rune poem, from runic riddles in medieval manuscripts, from the Isruna tract in several manuscripts, etc. Where do the Younger Futhark rune names come from? From dozens of Icelandic manuscripts, from Ólafr hvítaskáld's treatise on poetry from about 1250 or so which describes runic writing, from Icelandic poetry using rune kennings to hide messages, etc.

Where do the Elder Futhark rune names come from? From a comparison of the things in the last paragraph.