AN II Not Sure What This Is, But I Might Expand On It At Some Point.

Imagine 141 moving into a quaint little town post retirement and you’re the only baker in town. You love making sweets, breads, and desserts and own a cute bakery to show for it, know everyone in your town so these four new men who come early morning to try your breakfast deal immediately excite you because- new perspectives and tastes and opinions! It’s become a habit of yours to share bites of whatever new item you plan on adding to the menu, so the more diverse opinions the merrier in your opinion.

And you are glad you didn’t let their demeanor- big gruff men, especially the one with the black surgical mask- scare you away because they are sooo nice, calling you sweetheart, doll, birdie, and bonnie. So many nicknames, it has you blushing the sweetest pink shade. And they are all too happy to help taste-test for you, giving you lots of praise.

(Though you never quite notice their immense disappointment at seeing the little ring on your finger.)

Still, at the very least one of them comes over to your bakery once a day. Sometimes they come together, sometimes only two of them- but they come anyways and tip you every time despite you insisting otherwise. It’s a lovely friendship you build with them. But they do note you never mention your partner much.

Until Simon drops by one day, intent on buying one of your apple pies and maybe fluster you enough to turn the same shade as an apple, and he sees the bruises that peek out just so from your sleeves and the collar of your outfit. Puffy eyes, more makeup than usual, your smile not quite there…

And he understands. He knows this all-too-well. And the fact that it’s happening to an embodiment of sunshine like you? Unfair. Unbelievable. Unacceptable.

Simon gently takes your hands, squeezing them so lightly. “Everything’ll be well, luvie. Promise.” And that’s all he says.

And maybe it’s cruel of you to be happy when you receive a call a few days later, the sherrif of the town telling you your husband was found mauled to death by one of the bears that roam around the woods occasionally, but you just… don’t care.

A week later, when it seems appropriate enough, you open up the bakery again and your smile is blinding as you greet the 141 men and tell them for today, everything’s for free.

Question for the next part

I've had a lot of instances lately where I've felt a pull towards Freyja, but I don't know a lot about her. Could you share a little bit about her to help with my research??

Sæll (eða sæl) vinur,(Hello friend,)

Unfortunately, Freyja seems to be quite allusive in our sources, especially in the Prose Edda. Her brother Freyr gets far more direct attention in them. In the sources that I am most familiar with, here is where she appears in them (from a database post I am currently working on):

Freyja: Vanir, Fertility Goddess (multiple roles):

The Prose Edda (Faulkes trans.):

Gylfaginning: pages 24, 29, 30, 35, (36), and 50.

Skaldskarpamal: pages 59, 60, 75-8, (85), 86, 94-5, 98-9, (119), and 157.

The Poetic Edda:

Seeress’s Prophecy: stanza 26 (kenning).

Grimnir’s Sayings: stanza 14.

Loki’s Quarrel: prose; stanzas 30 and 32.

Thrym’s Poem: stanzas 3, 8, and 11ff.

Oddrun’s Lament: stanza 9.

The Song of Hyndla: stanza 6.

Heimskringla:

Ynglinga saga: chapter 4 and 10.

Fornaldarsögur:

Bosi and Herraud: chapter 12.

Íslendingasögur:

Egil’s Saga: chapter 79.

The Saga of the People of Fljotsdal: chapter 26.

That list, of course, has not yet been completed, but it should still serve you and others rather well. I will provide some information directly in this post, though, because some of these texts are less easily accessible. I will also share the bits that contain the most helpful information contained in those texts.

THE PROSE EDDA: (1.)

Snorri Sturluson does not give us a lot of detail about Freyja, but he does provide a basis for us to work with. Honestly, the Prose Edda is a bit of a condensed snapshot of Norse mythology – a slice of time and a slice of place. Without spending too long on source-related debates, here is some of the most satisfying bits of information from that text:

Freyja is the daughter of Njord, and the sister of Freyr.

Freyja, along with Freyr, is “beautiful in appearance and mighty.”

Freyja is “the most glorious of the Asynjur (goddesses).”

Her dwelling is called Folkvangar.

Whenever she rides to battle, she takes half of the slain. The other half goes to Odin. (This is pretty big).

Her hall is called Sessrumnir, and it is “large and beautiful.”

She travels in a chariot drawn by two cats.

In terms of prayer, she is the most approachable goddess.

She is “very fond of long songs” and it is “good to pray to her concerning love affairs.”

She is married to Od.

She has a daughter named Hnoss, who is also beautiful.

Od went off to travel, and Freyja weeps because he is gone, and “her tears are red gold.”

Freyja has many names because of her travels in search for Od: Mardoll, Horn, Gefn, and Syr.

Freyja owns Bringsing’s necklace.

Freyja was once almost married off to a giant.

Freyja can apparently grant people a “falcon shape.” She does this for Loki when he must go retrieve Idunn.

Freyja is bold. She was the only one who was brave enough to serve drinks to a giant named Hrungnir.

Later Snorri includes more of her names: Thrungva and Skjalf. He also mentions a second daughter named Gersemi.

THE POETIC EDDA: (2.)

The reference in the Seeress’s Prophecy is a bit vague, but worth bringing up. I have not spent a considerable amount of time carefully contemplating the verse, but it clearly has an important role in Freyja’s story. I believe most internet it as how Freyja was given as a hostage to end the war between the Æsir and Vanir, but since I am not confident enough to say that as ‘fact’, I’ll just give you the stanza itself:

“Then all the Powers went to the thrones of fate,the sacrosanct gods, and considered this:which people had trouble the air with treachery,or given Od’s girl to the giant race.”

Other information regarding Freyja in the Poetic Edda:

“Folkvang is the ninth, and there Fryja fixesallocation of seats in the hall;half the slain she chooses every day, and half Odin owns.” (Grim., 14)

Loki calls Freyja a witch, suggesting that she dabbles with magic. The Vanir, in general, have connections with magic.

Loki suggests that Freyja and her brother Freyr had an affair.

The “falcon shape” she can grant is also referred to as a “feather-shirt.” She loans this to Loki so he can help Thor retrieve Mjolnir. It allows the bearer to fly.

Freyja is often the object of undesired marriages, often with giants. Yet, she is also often independent and bold enough to object them.

Freyja plays a pretty central role in the Song of Hyndla, but the information about her is not very direct. It would be best to read this poem in its entirety before drawing any conclusions about Freyja from it.

HEIMSKRINGLA: (3.)

This is another work by Snorri Sturluson, but it is treated much differently than the Gylfaginning. From a down-to-Earth perspective, Snorri retells the tale of the gods in an earthly sense. Here are some of the portions about Freyja in Ynglinga saga:

“Njord’s daughter was Freyja. She was a sacrificial priestess. Shewas the first to teach the Æsir black magic, which was customary among theVanir.”

There is also this:

“Freyja kept up the sacrifices, for shewas the only one of the gods left alive, and she became the best known,so that all noble women came to be called by her name, just as now the namefrúvur (‘ladies’) is used. Similarly everyone was called freyja (‘mistress’)of what she possessed, and húsfreyja (‘mistress of a household’) if she is incharge of a dwelling. Freyja was rather fickle. Her husband was called Od.Her daughters were called Hnoss and Gersimi. They were very beautiful.The most precious treasures are called by their names.”

FORNALDARSÖGUR: (4.)

These are sagas about legendary heroes and kings, and a great deal of mythological material gets tied up within them. There are likely others, but I do not have copies of all of them, so I am limited to knowing only of references made in my own small collection. I would share the reference for Freyja that appears in Bosi and Herraud, but it is not very satisfying. All that is said is that there was a toast to Freyja on a wedding night, but little more. Again, there are likely a few other Fornaldarsögur that contain information about Freyja, but they are not my specialty. In time I will hunt down more.

ÍSLENDINGASÖGUR: (5.)

These sagas are a bit different from the Fornaldarsögur. They are much ore realistically toned, in that there is much less supernatural activity taking place. They are still good sources for information, though! Even in terms of mythology. There is a decent amount of information preserved in these texts about rituals and practices associated with certain figures, such as Freyja. Of course, there are problems with the sources that need to be addressed before taking certain bits of information too far, but that is not a concern until you really start to dig and contemplate the text.

In Egil’s Saga, a woman named Thorgerd says this: “I have had no evening meal, nor shall I do so until I go to join Freyja.” 

This is interesting because it suggests that a woman, at least, can choose to go to Freyja after death. Given further context, there may be a way that she suspects she might be able to make this happen, but regardless there seems to be an acceptance that Freyja has privilege over dead, and not just the half she gets that are slain in battle. Food for thought.

The information in The Saga of the People of Fljotsdal is even less fulfilling, at least when looking to learn more about Freyja herself. If you are interested in the attitudes of Icelanders in regards to conversion, then more information awaits you in the saga.

In the end, there really is not much else to be found regarding Freyja. Most of what we know comes from the Eddas, but there is information scattered around elsewhere. I have not even included archaeological materials and runestone in this situation, but that is because I am a medieval literature kind of guy. Despite the lack of information, I hope what I have shared with you turns out to be helpful in some way or another. Surly something will be of interest to you.

Otherwise, I hope for the best in your endeavors. Freyja is a rewarding subject.

Með vinsemd og virðingu,(With friendliness and respect,)Fjörn

FOOTNOTES:

1. Snorri Sturluson, Edda, translated by Anthony Faulkes. (repr., 1987; London: J.M. Dent, 1995). Online version. All specific references are contained above, at the beginning of this post.

2. Carolyne Larrington trans., The Poetic Edda. (repr., 1996; Oxfrod: Oxford University Press, 2014). All specific references are contained above, at the beginning of this post.

3. Snorri Sturluson, Ynglinga saga, in Heimskringla, Volume I: The Beginnings to Óláfr Tryggvason, 2nd ed., translated by Alison Finlay and Anthony Faulkes. (London: University College London, 2016). All specific references are contained above, at the beginning of this post.

4. If you are curious, this is the citation for the collection that I own: Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards trans., Seven Viking Romances. (London: Penguin Books, 1985).

5. Bernard Scudder trans., Egil’s Saga, in The Complete Sagas of Icelanders: Including 49 Tales, Vol. I, edited by Viðar Hreinsson, Robert Cook, Terry Gunnell, Keneva Kunz, and Bernard Scudder, (Reykjavík: Leifur Eiríksson Publishing, 1997), 150. (Chapter 79)

We all know what erectile dysfunction is but literally no one is ever taught what vaginismus is and it can cause people to feel extremely lost, broken, and cause people to take their own lives. Raise. Awareness.

Shattered under your skin l Azriel x reader

Part 2 of ???

Chapter Summary: You gather the pieces.

The sun has not yet risen but the darkness has yielded to a soft grey light. You were still slumped against the tree. Fingers mindlessly trailing over the bark you stare at nothing in particular. In the matter of one night your life had been uprooted. Betrayed, alone and cold you wonder how long until someone found you. Surely the inner circle was looking for you, alarmed either by Elain or Azriel. Everytime your gaze snagged on the mark on your wrist, a misty band climbing up your hand to your ringfinger, your tears come back. Your innitial panic attack had ebbed after a while, leaving you raw and empty.

Staggering to your feet you start walking. You had winnowed into a forrest, one you hadn't visited in years. Still, it was familiar. You had lived here once, before your life in the night court. Before Azriel. Before you had helped your best friend carry a dying blonde to the border. It's the same spot you stand at now. One foot in the night court, one in autumn.

"I didn't think that this would be the place we'd meet again." you'd known him there for hours. Eris had been watching from the distance, kept various creatures from approaching you while you took your time. You played his game.

"It's been a while." your voice betrayed your hours spend crying. Not that he hadn't been there for it. From the corner of your eye, you see him step forward until he was at your side. He didn't look at you but with a flick of his wrist you felt warmth wrap around you.

"What brings you back? That bat of yours bore you?"

"Apparently he's not my bat." At that, he turns his full attention to you. Eyebrows raised he waited for you to continue.

"Well I didn't expect that-"

You laugh dryly:"Yeah me either. Really ruined my night."

"What happened?"

By the time your tale is finished the tears were back and finally you threw yourself into Eris warm embrace. It's been years since you had spoken but somehow your friendship hadn't broken. He still smelled like smoke and cinnamon and safety. He drew you into his chest tightly, stroking your hair and waiting for you to tell him how to fix this.

But there was no fixing this. There will be an aching hole in your chest for the rest of your life. Because after this, how are you supposed to ever trust Azriel again? If he is capable of hurting you while loving you? No, you had been prepared to walk out on him the second you discovered the betrayal. You had held onto relationships before in your life and had only been hurt for it. So you hardened your heart, drawing strength from Eris embrace and set your shoulders.

"Thank you. I have to go back."

"You're going back to him?" Eris is understandably outraged, holding you a small distance away by your shoulders. He's barely been holding onto his temper for hours, planning misery and death for whoever hurt you. But you place your hands on his wrists soothingly.

"My life is in Velaris. I wont just run away." You hold his stare. Eris knows the look in your eyes. A slow smile forms on his lips. You are petty. You wont let Azriel off easy and disappear. No, you'd force him to look you in the eye and face what he did.

"Kick his ass properly or I'll have to." he says as a way of goodbye, kissing your hair and stepping back.

"I'll send you a letter with all the details." Your grin is still a little wrong, too heavy. But Eris eyes twinkle:"I'll hold you to that."

You step back into nightcourt territory and winnow to Verlaris.

Hey kid, look at me.

I want you to T-pose. Turn your right thumb up and your left thumb doen and look at your right thumb. Move your arms up and down a bit until you feel a nerve running from your armpit to your palm. Now turn your right thumb down and your left thumb up, and look at your left thumb. Keep your chest facing forward and your shoulders back. Move your arms again until you feel that nerve again. Keep alternating between these two for a minute, or look at each thumb thirty times each.

Now sit down. Put your left hand firmly under your left buttock, palm down. Keep your shoulders back and put your right hand over the crown of your head, very gently pulling it to the right. Do this for thirty seconds, then do it again but with your right hand under your right buttock.

These are stretches for the nerves in your arms, and are very good for people who sit behind a computer a lot, or fibre artists, or you name it. Do them daily. They will hurt in the beginning, but keep doing them, even after the pain has gone, or it will return and you'll have to start all over.

February is right around the corner, which means it’s soon time for Funguary 2025! The drawing event where we draw a bunch of mushroom based characters during the month of February.

Rules are super simple, just draw art related to mushrooms! No need to complete all the prompts, just pick and choose from the ones you feel inspired by🍄

Burglar in the house

Summary: The boys were trying to surprise you by coming home early from a deployment. They end up being surprised themself.

Authors note; I'm really rusty, if anyone can give me tips I'd appreciate it! (Shut the comment section if you have nothing usefull to say though <3)

Soap

-gets so offended

-secretly impressed

-milks it for attention

Soap nearly trips over the coffee table in his attempt to navigate the dark living room. He's trying to be quiet, trying not to wake you. The plan was to slip into bed without you noticing so he could be the first thing you see when you woke up early in the morning. Two days ago you had whined to him on the phone how you had to wake up at the crack of dawn to come pick him up from base. Lucky for you, the mission had ended just a bit early, giving him the opportunity to take a cab and surprise you.

His hand wraps around the handle of the bedroom door, blood pumping like he's on a mission. It's thanks to that adrenaline that he can avoid the gass bottle you swing at him as soon as the door is open. He can't react fast enough to keep from loosing his balance when you barrel into him, the momentum of your attack causing you to slip.

The air is knocked out of him first by the impact with the floor and then by you landing on his chest. He hits his elbow and curses when the funny bone in it starts singing.

"What the hell. Bonnie?" his eyes squint in the dark, hands warm against your waist.

"Johnny? What are you- I thought you were a burglar! What are you doing here?" you try to scramble off of him, conscious of your full weight on him. His grip tightens and you give up all too easily. Your hands tremble from the fright he'd given you.

"So you try to kill me? And I thought I meant something to you..."

"I wasn't trying to kill you, I thought-" you ramble on until you catch the way his lips quirk up with supressed laughter. His eyes glint with humor even in the little light coming in through the window. Slapping at his chest, you finally pull away and reach to switch on the light. And there he was, the man you missed for almost five weeks now, pinned under you and looking all smug after giving you the scare of your life. "It's the middle of the night, what are you doing sneaking around the house you idiot?"

Still straddeling your boyfriend on the ground, you try to stand, planning to return to your warm bed but he pulls you back down to him.

"You wouldn't leave me all alone on the floor now, would you bonnie?" he's giving you wounded eyes, lips pouty and unbelievably kissable. "See, I hit my elbow!" he lifts it next to his face. You squint at it, leaning close to assess the damage. Only he surges forward and steals a kiss from you, eyes twickeling in delight as you glare at him. In the end you can't stay mad at him when he looks at you like that, but you do insist on taking the smooching to bed.

Ghost

-so proud

-loves that you'd be able to defend yourself in case of an actual break-in

-thinks it's really hot

The house is too quiet when he kicks his boots off, low lights on, meaning you were still awake. You always had some kind of background noise running, silence setting you on edge like it did him. He had planned on surprising you by coming home for your two year anniversary. The mission had run a bit dry with the leads going nowhere and he had convinced Price to give him two days off to spend with you. The flowers he had bought for you now lay forgotten on the bench in the entryway, freeing his hands for a knife.

He's creeping through the house trying to find you when you dart out of the kitchen, roaring a battle cry, slashing at him. He sidesteps you, narrowly avoiding the second attack and disarming you on the third. Your bread knife and his combat knife clutter to the floor as he presses your back to his chest, arms caging you in. You struggle against him, spitting curses at what you think is an intruder. His blood is roaring with adrenaline and the relief of having you safe in his arms

"Bloody hell love, it's just me." he grunts in your ear as you kick at him, arms pinned to your side. You still in his grasp, vibrating with energy.

"Simon? But you aren't supposed to come back until-"

"Couldn't let you spend our aniversary alone. Didn't expect this greetig though." if you didn't know him as well as you did, you might take the rasp in his voice as annoyance. Luckily, you recognize it from many times spent entangled with each other. That and you can feel him poke your ass.

Gaz

-s h o c k e d

-thinks it's the funniest thing in the world

-will not let it go, teases you forever (lovingly)

The music is blasting when he comes home. He kind of expected you to come running, excited to see him after two month of absence. Then again he supposes you didn't hear the door fall shut over your own singing. He follows the sound to the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe to watch you sing and dance to your favourite music. You are busy whisking batter in a bowl, hips swaying. When he can finally tear his eyes from your ass, he sees your cookbook, the recipe for his favourite cake open.

The soft smile on his lips quickly fades when you decide to twirl with the bowl in your arms, loud singing turning into a startled screech as you spot the man in your kitchen. You hurl the whisk at him quicker than you can recognize him and it plaps harmlessly against his chest. You both stare at each other, deers caught in a headlight, music still blasting. Slowly, he looks down at the stain on his tshirt, meets your eyes again and you both just double over in laughter.

"So I make it the whole deployment without getting hit only to be attacked by my partner..!" Gaz is wheezing with laughter, pulling you into him. You jokingly hit his chest, shaking with your own amusement.

"Stop, you're getting it all over me!" you grin up at him, loosing yourself in the molten brown eyes you know so well.

"Only fair my little assassin." he plants kisses all over your face and you wrap your arms around his neck.

He will tell this story to the team and all of his friends and your friends. He'll bring it up at every family get together too, just to see you blush and squirm.

Price

-sort of reassured that you can defend yourself

-has to comfort you, you feel so guilty

-trains you in self-defense

When Price opens the door to the bedroom, he has no chance to duck away from the book that comes flying at his face. You have the bedside lamp raised over your head, ready to strike the intruder but recognize him in time. The hardcover book you had thrown at him as a distraction had hit his face, a corner digging into his cheek. He's still not quite sure of what happened when you let the lamp fall to the floor and rush at him.

"John! I'm sorry, I thought you were trying to rob me- You're bleeding, I'm so sorry, let's get you fixed-"

You're shaking as you turn his head this and that way, hands gentle against his cheeks. Tears are gathering in your eyes, guilt swallowing you whole. You're trying to drag him to the bathroom where the first aid kit is when he gently cups your face.

"I'm fine love, look at me." all you can see is the drop of blood from the wound you caused. You watch as it seeps into his beard.

"I didn't mean to hit you, but there's been so many break-ins recently and I heard someone creeping through the house and you aren't supposed to be home until-" he cuts you off with a gentle kiss, slightly chapped lips moving against you until you have to part for air. Foreheads pressed together, you marvel at each other.

"You're good. I'm good. Your book might have a few dog ears though." his eyes crinkle when you blink at him all dazed.

Hi yes, please:

Instead of using bruised skin, use tender skin

Instead of using blushed/reddened, use heated, warmed, or blood rushed/ing

Instead of using pale/d, use faint or sickly, even nauseous works

Instead of saying pink nipples and pink pussy… use literally anything else. There are a million words to describe these parts.

There is a reason the weddings I write are only in a courthouse…

Also if your characters have kids… skip the descriptions. Just say those little fuckers are cute and squirmy.

Skip hair descriptions all together. And eyes. Sink your desire to wax on about the depth of color in someone’s eyes to the other character (the one you’re writing the reader with)

It’s really not hard to make an effort. White is not the default.

Please, i'll even feed it (as if I dont already)

reblog the money pigeon for a financially stable future

The moon is beautiful reblog if you agree