All along I knew it was my fault that things weren’t going the way we had planned together. I knew he was frustrated with me and I knew I couldn’t keep this from him much longer. But how do I tell the man who constantly tells me that he loves me more than the air he breathes and relentlessly says that I’m the most exquisite in his eyes, that I don’t love myself and that’s why I can’t see him?
They said that distance makes the heart grow fonder but what they didn’t say was that the ache in your chest would reach its epitome. You thought this would get easier as your relationship with Harry progressed. This wasn’t the first tour that One Direction has done since you and Harry have been together and you both knew that it wouldn’t be easy.
If there was one attribute that Harry Styles was known for, it was his gestures. Whether they were kind and caring or downright cheeky, he’d never hesitate to make someone’s day a little bit brighter. Make your day brighter is just what he did.
As long as you can remember, you’ve always had one rule for yourself. When you were five and your dad walked out on you and your mum, you made a rule that you would never be friends with boys because they were mean. When you told your mum about your new rule, she chuckled and told you to make sure you steered clear of boys because the ones that weren’t mean probably had cooties.
You knew it was something he wanted and now you had to break his heart. How was he going to keep loving you if you couldn’t give him the one thing he wanted more than anything? If you could avoid this conversation for the rest of your life you would. But you knew you couldn’t.
“You’re the worst, yeh know tha’? The. Absolute. Worst.” Harry couldn’t keep his own grin away no matter how hard he tried. He really did want to make a delectable dessert for tonight, but right now he had something even more desirable to feast on.
so, my friends, the time has come I finally got around to making the second part, this time about main male Deities in slavic paganism. Bear the first part in mind when approaching my description - or sometimes, to some degree, interpretation- of Old Gods. Many differences, many varying ways to understand and worship them.
The Gods and Goddesses are accepted as those that have been actually worshipped by slavic pagans when they’re confirmed by two or more preferably independent sources; when there is a source that out of the blue presents difficult to verify new names of gods etc (as Jan Długosz did, for example) its genuineness is doubted.
Authors and historians I rely most heavily on are Gieysztor, Brückner, and Strzelczyk.
Gods listed here will be desribed in greater detail in their own, respective posts.
Perun (Перун; Perkun) - one of the main Gods of slavic pantheon; God of Lighting and Thunder, and God of the Sky; Giver of Rain and Storm; the one that throws the blinding bolts upon our earth - the place where the bolt hits becomes sacred. Perun is the great balancing force for Veles; he’s the warrior, he’s the one that Overlooks, but also the one who Punishes (”hits” as his name shows - linguists agree that the first part of his name is widely recognized in many indoeuropean language forms as meaning “to hit”; and that it’s his name that influenced words like polish “Piorun” - lighting bolt). Oak is his sacred tree, and the Axe of Perun his symbol and weapon.
There is abelarusian tale described by Gieysztor that shows the nature of Perun and his everlasting fight/conflict with Veles.
Veles (Велес; Weles) - another main God, the second part of the neverending conflict - or balance - that affects the slavic faith to a great degree. God of Magic and Witchcraft, Oaths; Underworld and Afterlife, but also the God of Wealth and Merchants, Art and Crafts. Connected to cattle, mainly through linguistic connotations; called the Horned God; While Perun punishes the oathbreakers with “death by their own weapon”, Veles punishes them with terrible diseases - a death with no glory. He’s associated with the slavic Żmij, and just like Żmij, interpreted either as benevolent - or the opposite. Still, held in great respect, and worshipped.
Sometimes, Veles is associated with another Deity - Triglaw/Trzygłów, the Three-headed God.
Svantevit/Świętowit- God worshipped by the slavic tribe of Rani, the main God of Arkona, one of the most known and most important sacred places of worship for Slavs; he was connected to magic, horses, warriors and war. He was shown as having four faces, and overlooking the whole world; the one that Rules and Overlooks, brings good crops and good health. Wine was crucial for his rituals - many of which are well described in sources and offer a great insight into Old Faith.
Jarilo (Яри́ла; Jaryło) - the God of Spring and Fertility; young and fair, he brings sun and soft wind, and the rebirth of nature when he comes back, riding on his white horse ; he’s the one granting good vegetation and good crops. But there is another association which hides in his other name, Jarowit - and shows him as a warrior and fighter, and his white horse not as a docile animal, but a warrior’s mount. Through this, he’s also often associated with Svantevit.
Svarog (Сваро́г; Swaróg) - associated with Swarożyc and Radogost, God of Fire also connected to Sun as the “heavenly fire/ fire from the great sky; often treated as one and the same with Dażbog, the Sun God, and many scholars assume it’s the same Deity but with a different name, worshipped by different tribes (always remember the issues I described in the first part of the guide). These Solar Gods are often connected, sometimes by familial ties, but also treated as one: Gods of Fire in all it’s form (Fire, Sun, Hearth, Smith’s fire )
I hope these short and simple descriptions of main male deities of Old Faith might serve as a good source of general knowledge for beginners interested in slavic faith. More info on every one of them is coming in the next posts, just like a description of other deities!
BtVS season 3 and 6: I’ve never noticed just how many similarities and noteworthy parallels there are between the beginning of season 3 and 6 before.
I’m currently doing a rewatch and was floored by how much of it I’d like to consider either parallels or foreshadowing, just from the first 4 episodes of each season. I’ve mentioned parallels here and there before, but this requires it’s own post.
The very first scene of both season 3 and 6 is of the scoobies fighting off vampires in the cemetery without Buffy. With Willow seemingly being in charge of the operation.
Willow delivers a poorly constructed come-back that gets called out for being bad, much like what happens with Buffybot in Bargaining Part 1.
Everyone’s upset over Buffy being gone, while having taken on her responsibilities as their own, feeling the burden of them.
The scoobies try their hardest to keep their spirits up about Buffy coming back, particularly Willow.
Giles leaves town, the first time in hope of getting her back. When in season 6 it’s because that hope is gone.
Buffy being forced to get spirit crushing jobs.
In Anne we see Joyce telling Giles that he’s responsible for Buffy leaving. In Bargaining Part 1 Giles implies that he blames himself for her death; “I did what any good Watcher would do. Got my Slayer killed in the line of duty.”
Buffy goes to hell instead of heaven, which is a pretty neat parallel in general. But she was also in hell both times; “What is Hell but the total absence of hope?” - Ken, 3x01 Anne. “Is this hell?” - Buffy, 6x02 Bargaining Part 2.
Buffys attitude is almost the same. The main difference with Buffy in Anne is the anger and bitterness (much like in The Wish). And Buffy in After Life has replaced the anger with shock and additional numbness from depression. Yet we get similarities such as; Seeing her sit on a bed in a depressed, miserable state. Same sense of not belonging, wanting an out from her life and the responsibilities that come with it, and is too emotionally drained to put on her trademark “I’m ok” face at first (x).
Buffy having a lot of troubles adjusting to her new life once she gets back. Everything around her is letting her know that she doesn’t belong anymore. She goes back to an environment that used to be part of her normal everyday routine, but now feels very different, tainted (the dream of her walking through the empty school in Dead Mans Party. Then walking through the cemetery in After Life).
The scoobies first instinct is to help Buffy, but in empty ways that she doesn’t actually need or want. Like the party they throw for her in Dead Mans Party. Or like how they come barging in, offering things like pizza in After Life. They aren’t willing to be there for her, really be there and listen, when she’s obviously going through a hard time (x).
Early on in both Dead Mans Party and Flooded, Buffy undergoes unpleasant things in the basement (finding the dead cat, flooding the basement). Then later in the episode the Summers home suffer severe damage.
Creepy things happen in the master bedroom after Buffy’s gone to bed (the mask lighting up in Dead Mans Party, and the fake ghost Buffy in After Life).
Giles giving Willow a stern talk about the dangers of Magic; “These forces are not something that one plays around with,
Willow. What have you been conjuring?” - Giles 3x03 Faith, Hope & Trick. “The magicks you channeled are more ferocious and primal than anything you can hope to understand.” - Giles, 6x04 Flooded.
The introduction of Faith, which ends up being a mirror/foreshadowing for both Buffys and Willows behavior in season 6 (I could go into an essay long rant about this, but to make it as short as possible; They apply her motto of “want, take, have” to their own lives and explore the darker sides of themselves).
Buffy ends up venting the secret aspect of her traumatic ordeal to her current confidant. Which in season 3 is Giles and Willow. She confesses only to them that Angel had his soul when she killed him. In season 6 her unlikely confidant is Spike, and she confessed only to him that she was in heaven.
I lied. I said it would be a week or two before the next installment, but I found I needed to exorcise this demon promptly and get it out of my system so I don’t completely ignore my other life priorities like, I dunno, my job, my husband, or my masters thesis.
This installment completes Section One of my Adult Faith AU. The story will have 3-4 more sections, each broken up and posted in parts. I also anticipate some follow-up ficlets, so you’re stuck with me spamming you with this universe forever, I’m afraid.
All that to say, this will probably be the last installment for a little while (for rilz this time) as the next chunk of the story takes us WAY off the canon reservation and will therefore take me much longer to craft.
If you enjoy these stories, be sure to follow me so you don’t miss the next installment! Feel free to reach out with questions or feedback. You guys are the best readers a girl could ask for.
My Master List (I’m the new kid on the block, so this is the only story you’ll find there at present)
Part 1 (Snapshot: Claire and Jamie are in Paris in 1766 (mid-Voyager) preparing for the trip to the Indies to seek Ian. They run into the–gasp, not dead?– Comte St. Germain, who drops a major bombshell about meeting their daughter. Faith.)
Part 2(Snapshot: Jamie and Claire must grapple with the news that their firstborn daughter may in fact be alive.)
Part 3 below the break.
Hold on to your hats, its a long one and angst abounds.
I'm also very confused about what the term 'Islamophobe' even means. 'Phobe' pertains to having a phobia or 'fear' of something. So why, when we discuss Islam (which is NOT a race, rather an IDEOLOGY), do we get called Islamophobe? This term is thrown around so much today it makes me laugh. I give up. Tumblr celebrating Macron's win, they have no idea how France is gonna to go down the drain in the near future. (part 1)
“And for any aggressive so-called ‘liberal’ scofing rn, trust me.
I’m an ex-Muslim who has lived in Saudia Arabia for more than half her
life, under Islamic urf Sharia Law. I know the real side of Islam. Even
after 'leaving’ the religion I still get death threats from my family,
who have abandoned me because they believe I am an apostate who should
be 'killed’ for leaving her faith. (part 2)”
The term doesn’t mean anything, it’s like the words “racist” or “nazi” or “bigot”, they have no meaning anymore because Leftists applied them to anyone and everyone to the point that people stopped caring.
You guys!!! I am so overwhelmed with the response to Part 1! I never ever expected that so thank you!!! Not gonna lie, it felt really good to get some writing posted after a little break.
If you haven’t read Part 1, you can find it right here. The story will make more sense if you read that part first.
“Harry, please just listen to me,” you pleaded.
“Why? So you can tell me something else you’ve been keeping from me? What is it? Huh? Is there someone else?”
Not believing the words that were spewing out of his mouth, you got up from the bed and began to walk towards the door.
“Where do you think you’re goin’? We’re not done here!” Harry shouted.
“Yeah, Harry, we are.” Phone in hand, you walked downstairs to the entrance to the garage, slipped into a pair of flip flops, grabbed your car keys and soon enough you were driving away with no destination.
Only after staying upstairs for half an hour after you left, he’d finally cooled down a bit and decided he needed to listen to you. But it was too late.
The first couple steps Harry took down the stairs, with senses on high alert, he could tell something was wrong. He couldn’t hear the tv playing some random show that you watched out of boredom, there was no clanging of pots and pans against the sink as you washed them, there was nothing.
There was no way you could have left. You’ve had arguments before and although they weren’t as serious as this one, neither one of you had ever left. You gave each other space, but it had never gone so far as someone leaving. There was no way you could’ve left, right? Wrong.
After standing at the bottom of the stairs just staring into space, hoping you’d make a sound and come around the corner, the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Harry fell to his knees and let out a cry that most definitely would’ve alerted his neighbors, had he had any around.
“No! God please, no! Fuck!” Harry rocked back and forth on his knees, pulling at his hair. He didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was going to be sick, he was so upset. His cries were so violent that he was choking on air and his head began throbbing, inducing dry heaves. Harry managed to make his way to the bathroom just in time before emptying the contents of his stomach.
To all you lovely readers, first let me thank you for your outpouring of comments, follows, likes, personal messages, and reblogs, and especially to @sapphiresassenach for the amazing initial signal boost to get me out there to begin with. As I mentioned at the top of PART 1, I was very nervous to post this at all–this is my first ever stab at writing fiction of any kind and I had all the doubts. In return, you guys have astounded me with your welcome and encouragement, so thank you!
The next installment is below. Hope you enjoy!
Spoiler alerts for Voyager, Space Between, and more.
I envision this story in 3-4 sections, each with several scenes/parts. So while I will absolutely string you along with cliffhangers, I promise you that this story has a longer arc and I intend to see it through to the end!
I would highly recommend you read Part 1 first, as this story diverges from canon significantly.
Quick recap: Claire and Jamie are in Paris in 1766 (mid-Voyager) preparing for the trip to the Indies to seek Ian. They run into the–gasp, not dead?– Comte St. Germain, who drops a major bombshell about meeting their daughter. Faith.
Light rippled far above me on the half moons of the waves. It didn’t occur to me to struggle. Just as well. My feet were cemented to the bottom, anyway. Dark blooms of hair billowed up around my face, swaying almost soothingly as I surrendered to the cold silence. The back of my head was warm, somehow, though. I was rocking back and forth; steady, but out of rhythm with the waves above.
Reality snapped into place, and I came to with the visceral gasp already ripping from me, centered fully on the need for air. The hand was firm on the back of my neck. The tone urgent. A question, though I couldn’t make out any words.
I blinked several times. Our bed at Jared’s. My shift damp and twisted about me. And I could breathe now. But the strangled, acidic burn of panic remained.
“Where—” I struggled to my knees, pushing free of the tangle of Jamie’s limbs around me. “Where is he?” I gasped, half-expecting the Comte’s jeering face to emerge from the shadows.
“About his business, I expect.” Jamie shifted closer, studying me with deep concern. “Are ye alright, mo chridhe?”
I stumbled to my feet by the bedside, slackjawed and stuttering. “You—you just l-let him go?”
“Ye were out cold for hours, Sassenach,” he said, with a clear note of exasperation. “Of course I didnae just let him go. I arranged for Willoughby to transport ye to Jared’s while I continued my conversation wi’ the Comte.”
He gave a small, rueful smile. “Had to wait for the bugger to rouse, of course, and get him to some place more private in which to conduct our interview. Good thing the wee cat cannae talk—he’d have quite the tale to tell about the great red Scot and the bitty chinaman dragging a fine lady and a Count unconscious across the cobbles.”
Catching my eye, he very wisely abandoned all attempt at levity. He rose next to me, placing his hands softly on my hips.
“No, love. I didnae just let him go,” he repeated, low and gentle this time. He placed a kiss at my hairline and rested his head against mine. “Not until I got all the information he was able to give about… her.”
Feeling her kicking. Kicking, and dying inside me. Watching our blood pool around me in the Bois de Boulogne. Her body, cold and heavy as a stone in my arms.
I lurched back from him, wrapping my arms tight around myself at once. “Tell me.”
Jamie was leaning slightly forward, clearly uneasy. “Well…It wasnae much in the way of useful details, mind—”
“Tell me,” I repeated. The voice was sharp. A commander on a battlefield, seeking reports. It calmed me to hear it.
He nodded, and after a moment’s pause began, in the steady rhythms of a born storyteller.
“The Comte tells that Master Raymond quitted Paris several years after we did, and wasnae to be seen for many years. The folk whispered of him long after he’d gone, though. You know what they’ll have said: sorcerer, fairy, or a demon, perhaps. Anytime a crop would fail, or sickness take the city, there would be such talk. All rubbish, of course. Only, in the last several years there were rumors that he’d been sighted once more.”
He poured two tumblers of whiskey from the bottle on the mantelpiece, holding one out to me. I shook my head, still clutching myself. He drained his glass in a single gulp.
“The Comte took great note of these sightings, tracing them so far as could be in hopes of finding the man. Seems he’d questions to ask of him—namely why he didnae kill him that night after all.” I shuddered, remembering. “All amounted to naught, no sign of him to be found. Four weeks ago, though, the Comte got word that the fish sellers on Ile de la Cité had spotted a man that resembled the frog, so he went.”
He paused at length, steeling himself.
“He…saw her. She walked by him in the street, in the Marché Neuf…He thought she was you.”
L’original, cette fois, he’d said. This time, the original.
“When he saw ye—her—he was stunned (for he had thought ye long dead), and she slipped away before he could speak to her. Melted into the crowds around the cathedral. But it didnae take long to find others who had sighted la dame blanche abroad in Paris again.”
Jamie was facing me now, but his eyes were closed, brows furrowed. I experienced the most bizarre flashback to a young Bree in a Pilgrim costume, speaking carefully, nervously, trying to recall her lines word-for-word for the audience.
“He tracked her down to a place—he gave me the address—where she’d been said to have been seen. She was there, and Raymond, too, though he’d not known it. There was a—confrontation of some kind, during the course of which Raymond explained that she was your daughter, not you yourself. Hoped it would deter the Compte, for he’d tried to carry her away wi’ him. Violently. She struggled when he tried to lay hands on her, and he dealt her a blow that drew blood. Knocked her out cold.”
Jamie looked up, searching my face. “But before he knew it, the Comte was knocked out himself, and when he came to… they were both gone.”
He exhaled deeply. I waited. “That’s all,” he said, dolefully. “The Compte’s an evil bastard, but I believe he told me truth of what he’d seen and heard, if not fully of his own motivations.” He scoffed darkly, “Got my ‘paternal vengeance’ in the end, I did. Just blows,” he added, gesturing to his knuckles, swollen and freshly scabbed. “I didnae think it prudent to do away wi’ him entirely, much as I’d have liked to, him our only source of information.”
He downed the second whisky, speaking very quietly now. “So then…as of four weeks ago, she was here, in Paris…. and Raymond confirmed to him she was,” he swallowed, eyes closed “…ours.”
The fire crackled. I was suddenly aware that the tight hold around my middle had drifted downward, now sheltering a remembered swelling. I stared at it, unseeing. My ears were filling with a low, vibrating sound. Mechanical, almost. Like the massive generators at the hospital, whirring eternally.
I was barely listening now, but Jamie’s tone made me look up. The expression matched it, equal parts longing, pain, and hope. So like the one I’d seen just weeks before in the small room above the Edinburgh print shop.
“The diamond mark,” he repeated, “ye dinna remember if she had—?“
“No, I don’t.” I spoke sharply, trying to silence the sounds of both my fire-eyed conscience—How couldya no’ remember? Or no’ have noticed? Yer own child— and the humming. It was growing louder now. Not machines, though. Wings. The whir of insects. A swarm, approaching fast.
“But…Brianna has?” he pressed. A curt nod.
He rubbed his jaw, expression full of wonder, “God, both of them, then…”
Higher. Louder. Closer. I curled my hands into tight fists. Millions upon millions of papery wings, so fragile, so sharp, boring into my ears and into my consciousness.
Jamie was beside me now, reaching for me, eyes soft. “Claire—”
“No.” I squeezed my eyes shut, braced every muscle in my body to keep this out.
“No!” I repeated, louder, harshly deflecting his touch, “I don’t believe it….I won’t bloody believe it!” God, this house. These walls. They had seen. They held the memories. They taunted me with them, and I prayed fervently for the dark water to take me down again.
Jamie, though, wasn’t a man to give in easily. “Sassenach, If ye’d heard him talk of her—”
“—and you trust his word over mine, do you?”
I rounded on him, panic finding sweet release in fury. “I held her dead in my hands.” I shoved both of them hard against his chest, and he staggered. “Do you hear me, James Fraser?”
I shoved him again, eyes blazing directly into his. “She’s been dead for over twenty years. Dead. And you’d KNOW that if you’d—”
If you’d been there.
I’d stopped myself just in time, but the words echoed between us as surely as though I’d screamed them.
He hadn’t shied from my blows, nor did he move now, his expression an inscrutable mask. I could see his Adam’s apple bob. Ashamed, I smoothed his shirtfront gently in meek apology. I could hear the servant girl tending the fire in the next room. The distant peal of the tiny bell that signaled the arrival of the dinner hour. My hands were shaking violently against his chest.
Get a fucking grip on yourself, Beauchamp.
I went hastily to the table, arranging papers with an alarming energy. My controlled commander’s voice was back—finally—and I clung to it with all my might. “It’s just like you said in the alley. This is just trickery and lies; the Comte getting his sick revenge at last for his damned ship. Just—lies.” My desperate need to believe the word perverted the “s” into a long, grotesque hiss.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Jamie nod, mutely. He had settled on the end of the bed, hand resting on his jacket. His thumb stroked the packet of Brianna’s pictures through the sturdy fabric.
I turned to the window, breathing heavily. My bravado was forced; surely that much was obvious to us both. But he couldn’t know what lay under that flimsy façade. A long-dormant memory, now festering, the tell-tale red streaks creeping up to infect rational thought.
Master Raymond and a blue light, healing a body broken beyond repair. Mine.
Jamie’s voice was husky. Even above the thundering of blood in my ears, the tiny quiver of eagerness in it nearly broke my heart.
“But we’ll seek out Raymond… just to make certain, aye?”
The tent was full almost to bursting with people
looking for seats. Dean had found 3 seats together toward the back, but Sam
insisted you take the seats in the front. You didn’t argue, although you were
really more on Dean’s side in this. You didn’t believe in faith healers, but
you would have done anything to save Dean. “Peace, love, and trust all over.”
Dean muttered, gesturing to the cameras lining the tent. You forced out a fake
laugh, and kept walking to the seats Sam was holding for you both.