#finding yourself within it is the most joyous and wonder-filled experience there is. and you will find yourself / and take your own hand. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kirishibi · 4 years

Text

Kindred Spirits | Bubaigawara Jin (Twice)

My contribution to the BNHArem flowers collab!

Flower: White Chrysanthemum, meaning loyalty and devoted love

Summary: you were born with a quirk that allows you to temporarily take other peoples’ emotions, though it makes it nearly impossible to create your own. every day, you sit out on city sidewalks hoping for people to let you borrow their unwanted emotions. Used to only feeling things like guilt, shame, and disappointment, you find yourself pleasantly surprised when a kind stranger comes along and donates happiness

Pairing: Bubaigawara Jin (Twice) x Reader

Warnings: No manga spoilers! jin smoking a cigarette, light cursing, pining, brief angst (hurt/comfort), sickeningly sweet fluff

Word Count: 4.1k

a/n: this is officially the longest single piece i’ve ever written and my back is feeling it. i’m so excited to have been able to participate in this collab, especially since I got to write one of my all time favorite characters! thank you so much @jojosmilktea for making the masterlist - you did a great job!

You sat against the brick wall of a quaint boutique in one of the busiest areas of the city, a frayed cardboard sign in your hands and rusted tin can beside your feet. The neat, permanent marker words on your sign read, ‘will take unwanted emotions for $’.

Your practice wasn’t entirely legal since you didn’t have a license, but with villain activity rising rapidly in the area, you were the least of the local authorities’ worries. Your tin only held enough change for a protein bar from the corner store and your muscles ached, stiff from sitting in the same spot all day, yet you told yourself to wait a little longer. Maybe you’d get lucky.

A bus rolled by, on its side an advertisement for some hero school at the edge of town, the tagline: ‘You, too, are destined for greatness!’ plastered in bold letters beside a photo of comically fake, smiling heroes. You couldn’t help but scoff as you watched the bus round a corner and disappear from sight, remembering the vain hope you held as a child seeing similar advertisements on T.V. Back then, you truly believed you would become a hero once you got your quirk - in fact, most kids your age did, excitedly awaiting the day they’d discover their unique “super power”.

On your fourth birthday, your quirk came in and tore away any hope you had for the life of a hero. That day, you discovered that you could steal whatever emotion someone was feeling with the touch of your fingertips, taking it for yourself and leaving them without until your quirk wore off. The catch, however, was that it became incredibly difficult for you to feel any emotion without stealing it from someone else.

Your quirk had a habit of activating involuntarily, so at a young age you began to wear gloves. It wasn’t long before rumors spread around your school that you were secretly a witch, or cursed, and you were bullied relentlessly from afar for the majority of your early life.

The treatment only worsened as you grew to adulthood.

In your world where heroes and super powers were commonplace, if your quirk was problematic or - god forbid - nonexistent, you were nothing but a stain on society, a weed in need of pulling. As a kid, you were reluctant to learn this fact, so life beat it into you. You learned a harsh reality very quickly - emotions became addicting once you were unable to feel them by yourself, and in desperate times, even the bad ones were better than nothing. Anything was better than nothing. Hardships hit you in waves until you had nowhere else to go, finding solace in a ramshackle apartment in the middle of the city, begging for unwanted feelings with a side of cash during the day, spending all night searching for a job on the web.

Without a useful quirk, wealthy upbringing, or a desire to turn to villainy, this was your place in society.

After around half an hour, you stood from your spot on the pavement with a disappointed huff, stretching your aching muscles for a moment before crouching to collect your things. “Excuse me!” A gruff voice called out from behind you, the words “Hey, bitch!” following closely after, without pause for you to respond. You thought you heard the person whisper a quiet ‘sorry’ before you whipped around, startled.

You found a tall, blonde man standing at the edge of the sidewalk, his hands shoved in patched jean pockets and his broad shoulders hunched sheepishly, as if he wanted to occupy as little space as possible. The man shifted nervously while you looked him up and down. A large, vertical scar ran up the center of his forehead to just shy of his hairline, and dark blond stubble dotted his sharp jaw. The faint frown lines bordering his lips and creasing the space between his brows told you he’d likely endured a life similar to yours. Most people who spent their time on these streets had, and after a while the signs became easy to spot.

You cocked your head slightly to the side, raising a brow. “Can I help you?” You responded curtly. Living in such an unpredictable area had certainly not made you any kinder.

“You have an emotion quirk, right? I, uh, saw the sign. ‘was wondering if I could donate.” His gaze evaded yours even as he spoke, the man instead opting to watch as his frayed sneakers anxiously toed the ground.

You bent down, grabbing your change-filled tin from the sidewalk and jangling the coins within, wordlessly telling him your service wasn’t free. He stepped closer, huddling at the inner edge of the sidewalk with you, hugging the wall so as not to block the path of those trying to pass by. He pulled a crumpled two thousand yen bill from his pocket and handed it over with a timid smile. To any of the businessmen who walked by, the cash would have been no more than pocket change, but to you, it was a fortune.

Your expression must have shown just how much his payment meant to you, as the man's smile grew wider, stretching to crease the corners of his eyes. He didn’t say anything, only watched as you stuffed the bill into your pocket for safekeeping, slipped off one of your tattered, cotton gloves and held out a bare palm. “Can I see your hand? It only works through touch.” As he slid a hand out of his pocket, you recited the same speech you gave to all of your customers: “Bring forth whichever emotion you’d like me to take from you - really make yourself feel it. I don’t get to choose what I take, so whatever’s at the forefront of your mind is what will be transferred. Effects can last anywhere between three to four hours. Oh, and no refunds. Any questions?”

He reached for your hand, but hesitated, his fingers hovering just shy of yours as he timidly asked. “Is any emotion okay, good or bad?”

You sighed, “Yeah, I don’t judge. Whatever it is, it’s better than nothing.”

He nodded and laid a heavy, calloused palm atop your own. You braced yourself for what you had grown used to - feelings of disappointment, shame, anger, hopelessness; the most common feelings of the dejected businessmen who worked in the area and passed your spot regularly.

As your quirk took effect, however, you didn’t experience any of those things. You felt the corners of your lips pulling into a grin entirely on their own, a joyous giggle bubbling in your throat and spilling from you before you could halt it. Your hands flew to your face, feeling your cheeks as they flushed pink from excitement. “Wh-what?” Was all you could manage in your surprised, giddy state. It had been months- no- years since you’d felt this way.

The man’s kind smile remained, though it no longer spread to his eyes. Like you, he seemed used to faking it. “I knew a kid with an emotion quirk growin’ up. He was a total loser. Uh- it made it harder for him to feel stuff on his own, so I wanted to...” He paused for a moment before timidly continuing, his next word hanging in his mouth as if unfamiliar to his lips “help. Just in case it was the same for you, ya ugly hoe.” With his joy depleted, embarrassment quickly took its place. The man’s teeth found his bottom lip as if to keep himself from saying more, and you thought you could see a faint blush spread along his cheekbones as he turned to leave.

You were startled by the way his tone shifted so quickly, yet his actions had been kind. You couldn’t help but think, maybe his quirk knocked a few screws loose in his head, too. Much to your surprise, you found yourself wanting to talk to him more, or at least pay him back in some way, but the man had donated joy, not courage.

“Thank you, sir!” was all you could manage as he made his way deeper into the city, the distance between you growing with each step.

He waved in acknowledgement before pocketing his hand once again and turning off into a darkened alley.

---

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you awoke the next day feeling refreshed. You felt a slight bounce in your step as you made your way to your typical spot, treating yourself to a cold drink from the cafe along the way. Thanks to the kind stranger from the night before, you could finally afford a refreshing beverage to fend off the ever intensifying heat outside.

You didn’t quite know why, but the sun seemed to shine a little brighter as it rose along the horizon, the colors that sunrise painted across the skyline more vibrant than previous mornings.

Your day went by fast, and soon enough dusk began to fall. The street lights surrounding you kicked on, signaling that it was once again time for you to pack up and return home. You stood, gathered your things, and turned to begin your journey back to your apartment when a vaguely familiar voice caught your attention, “Hey, wait up- get outta here!”

It was him.

You turned on your heel toward the sound of his voice, almost as surprised as when he showed up the night before. “You’re back?”

“Yeah, is that okay? Got a problem with me or somethin’?!” You watched him wince as the second set of words passed his lips. He gritted his teeth, shoulders tensing. Like before, he preferred to watch the ground between you rather than meet your gaze.

“It’s fine.” He glanced back up at the sound of your voice, and you flashed him a reassuring smile. The tension in his shoulders seemed to fade if only for a moment. “My regulars just tend to be angry white-collar businessmen, not, ya know...” You let your words trail off, unsure how to finish.

“Not people like you?” He filled in the blanks with ease, and you nodded in agreement.

A comfortable silence spread between you for a moment before he cleared his throat, pulling another creased bill from his pocket. You realized your hands were too full to take the cash and moved to set your things down on the pavement, but the man reached out a tentative palm, “I can hold your sign for ya. I don’t wanna. I won’t take it. I will. I- I just don't want it gettin’ all dirtied up if it’s your only one.”

You hesitated, “You don’t have to be so nice. I’ve lived here long enough to handle myself.”

“I believe you. Doubt it! But what kinda guy would I be if I didn’t try ta help out a sweet lady like you?”

His genuine kindness was entirely unexpected, but you saw no reason to be distrustful. After all, what use could he have for old, water damaged cardboard. You looked him over once more before handing him the already filthy sign and taking his payment with a newly emptied hand. You stuffed it in your pocket, slid off your glove, and held out an open palm like before. “Need me to debrief you again?”

“Yes, please!” His words betrayed him as he shook his head ‘no’. “I got it, thanks.”

Suddenly, you were grateful that you had figured out which of his voices to listen to, and which to ignore. He rested a large palm against your own. A second later, you felt sparks of joy ignite a fire within your chest. The blond’s touch suddenly felt pleasantly electric on your skin, and you allowed your hand to linger in his, reluctant to pull away.

Glancing back up, you realized that he had been watching you. The tender warmth in his gaze never left as he slowly, hesitantly slipped his fingers from yours. He reached into his jeans’ back pocket, revealed a half empty pack of cigarettes, “Got time for a smoke?”

You began to refuse on instinct, but the words caught at the tip of your tongue. Again, you found that you didn’t want to part with him quite yet. Something about him caught your interest, generous donations aside. A finger tapped your chin as you pretended to ponder your decision, then shrugged, “Yeah, I think I’ve got some time.”

Shoulder to shoulder, you propped yourselves against the boutique’s wall. He offered a cigarette, to which you declined with a slight shake of your head. When you reached to take your sign back so that he could focus on lighting up, he simply swatted your hand away and tucked it under his arm. “Aye, let me be a gentleman. It’s mine!”

Your chest felt fuzzy, heart fluttering. There was something beneath your good mood, something heavy and intoxicating that you’d never felt before, but you didn’t dislike it. Quite the opposite, in fact. “You’re weird” you teased.

“You’re weird” he responded without skipping a beat. There was another brief pause as he lit his cigarette, then spoke again “So, what’s your name, weirdo?”

You giggled, playfully jabbing an elbow to his side at the title, and he laughed with you. It had a deep, melodic timbre to it, hearty, disarming, and beautiful. You wondered how sweet the sound would be under normal circumstances, without your quirk draining him. “(Y/n). What’s yours?”

“None o’ ya business!” He rolled his eyes at himself, frustrated, then took a long drag from his cigarette. “Bubaigawara. You can call me Jin, though.”

“Jin Bubaigawara” You repeated his full name slowly, savoring the way it felt on your tongue, and grateful to finally be able to call him something other than ‘sir’.

“Sounds prettier coming from you, but yeah that’s it.”

At his words, warmth crept up your neck, dusting your cheeks a rosy pink, and tugging the edges of your lips into a shy smile.

Jin felt different from the people you grew up with. He looked at you with eyes entirely void of judgement or distrust, and even if only for a moment, he made you feel like someone understood -- like someone cared.

Hours passed as you talked about everything, yet nothing in particular. The two of you took turns just chatting, occasionally asking questions back and forth. You told one another of how you discovered your quirks, shared stories from school, spoke of your families, or lack thereof. He didn’t explain the scar on his forehead, nor his split speech, but you didn’t think to ask, either. They were a part of him, made him who he was, and you realized that night that you really liked who he was.

---

For the most part, your days passed as they always did, with little business in the mornings and a few agitated corporate underlings stopping by around lunchtime to rid themselves of the bitter frustration their coworkers gave rise to. However, during your long periods of downtime, your thoughts began to wander.

Typically, they wandered to Jin.

Often, as you got bored, you found yourself scanning passing crowds for a tall blond with tired yet kind eyes, sighing disappointedly when you couldn’t find him. As much as your quirk numbed you to most things, you weren’t entirely immune to simpler feelings, like the soft pang of missing someone or the nervous quickening of your heartbeat when you finally spotted him at the end of the day. You couldn’t deny that your draw to him only grew with each nightly rendezvous and slowly, butterflies began to appear in your chest even long after the effects of your quirk had worn off. You found yourself counting the minutes until he came to see you at the end of the day, and feeling melancholy when you parted ways late in the evening.

You had never been able to feel something without taking it from someone else first, but bit by bit that began to change.

---

One night a little over a week after you first met, Jin was ten minutes late to meet you - concerning, considering how punctual he’d always been until then.

When he did show up, he seemed agitated as he tried to make conversation, and the moment his eyes met yours, you knew something was wrong. “Jin?” You questioned. Though he’d been slowly breaking the habit as you got to know one another, his gaze once again glued itself to the ground. He gnawed on his bottom lip as he desperately tried to avoid eye contact. You moved closer and bent down slightly, forcing yourself into his line of sight though he tried to evade. Only then did you notice he’d been biting his lip so hard it had swelled, threatening to bleed. “Jin, are you okay?”

For the first time in your life, you felt genuine concern.

“Back off, bitch!” He clasped a hand over his mouth the moment the words flew past his lips, his eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I-” His voice broke as he repeated the words over and over again. “I can't help it. Yes I can. I don’t mean it. I’ll hurt you. Gah- damn it, shut the hell up, wontcha?!” He yelled at no one in particular.

You took a cautious step back to give him space, though you had no intention of running. You knew how it felt to find yourself stuck in a losing battle against your own mind. No matter what he said, you weren’t about to leave. Not like everyone else had left both of you.

Without a second thought, you reached out, entwining gloved fingers with his and tugging him down the sidewalk. He followed without hesitation, clutching your hand so tightly you thought it may break. You pulled him into a narrow alleyway for privacy, and the moment no one else was around, he hurriedly reached into his pocket, fishing out a two-toned mask. “Shit, I- I’m splitting up! I’m fine! I’m splitting all up- I love it!” Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as his bloodshot eyes finally found yours. “I’m splitting, (Y/n), you don’t understand I’m sp-!”

You put two and two together fairly quickly and swiped the mask from his trembling grasp, roughly tugging the skin-tight material over his head and down onto most of his face. You rattled off a stream of apologies as you helped him unceremoniously slide it the rest of the way on, certain you were pulling tufts of hair along with the fabric.

The moment his mask was fully in place, Jin exhaled a sigh of relief and dropped to the ground. You pushed away the countless questions racking your brain, instead forcing yourself to focus on the man before you. You lowered to sit beside him and placed a gentle hand on his back. Your thumb lightly rubbed the space between his shoulder blades as you sat together on the damp asphalt, barely noticing as small droplets of old rain periodically dribbled onto your shoulders from an overhead windowsill.

You didn’t have to wait long before he turned his attention back to you, shifting so you were face to face and cupping your cheeks with calloused palms. “You’re an angel! Marry me!” he excitedly exclaimed. You leaned into his touch despite the confusion clouding your thoughts, and suddenly you found yourself grateful your quirk only transmitted through your fingertips.

You didn’t know exactly what you were feeling in that moment - worry, adoration, compassion, panic - the lines between them all blurred together in your head, but it didn’t matter. The feelings were there, and they were yours.

Without a second thought, you threw your arms around Jin. He gladly reciprocated, nearly knocking you off balance as he wrapped you in a tight hug. “Sorry, that musta’ been real scary for ya, huh?”

You shook your head ‘no’ against his strong shoulder, “You’re gonna have to do a lot more than that to scare me.” He chuckled weakly at your words, and you reluctantly pulled away to meet his gaze once more. “Are you okay? I mean-” you sighed, “that was a dumb question, but you know what I mean, right? Do you need anything? Water, juice?”

“Juice! Stop stressin’! I’m fine now - when the mask is on, I become whole again! Good as new, see?” He flexed a bicep theatrically. The mask obscured his smile, but the slight squint at the bottoms of his eyes told you he was grinning from ear to ear. You nodded, letting out a breath that you didn’t know you had been holding in.

Hesitantly, you asked the next question on your mind: “Does that happen often?”

The man in front of you shrugged much too nonchalantly for the situation. “Most of the time I’m wearin’ the mask, so I don’t really gotta worry.”

Your brow furrowed. “I’ve never seen you in it before.”

“Duh, I always take it off to visit ya!” You cocked a brow questioningly, and he took the hint to elaborate further. “First time was an accident. You just caught my eye when I was on a walk without it, and I wanted to help ya out a bit ‘cause of that one guy from school.” He shook his head slightly, still smiling. “You’re so pretty, though - especially when you’re happy - I just had to come back. But you’d already seen me without the mask, so I jus’ took it off when I went to see ya.”

Whether his intention or not, Jin’s words forced a smile onto your face. The butterflies in your chest buzzed to life as he locked his fingers with yours, squeezing happily when he saw the blush on your cheeks. “The mask wouldn’t have changed a thing about how you make me feel, dummy!” you confessed before you could talk yourself out of it. “You’re still you-.”

Not willing to let go of your hand, Jin dragged it along with his as he raised an index finger to halt your statement. “Did ya just say ‘feel’? You’re feeling things now? An’ you didn’t tell me?!”

“I didn’t want to interrupt what was going on with you!” You argued, giggles dampening your fake-serious tone.

“Silence, woman! That’s amazing!” He leapt to his feet, pulling you up with him and twirling you around in a circle. The happy tune of your combined laughter bounced off the brick alley walls, only serving to make you laugh harder before he halted you with an embrace. “Good job, you!”

“Good job, you!” You chimed back.

---

Your routine continued normally the next day. The street lamps flicked on at dark and, like clockwork, you spotted Jin in the distance. Unlike previous nights, though, this time he seemed to be carrying something. As he neared, crossing under the bright spotlight of a streetlight, you realized it was a flower - a white chrysanthemum, to be exact. You bounded toward him, meeting halfway down the sidewalk and practically tackling him in a delighted hug.

Jin’s free hand found yours as you separated, so that he could keep holding onto some part of you as you spoke. His other hand slipped the stem of the flower behind your ear, making sure it was secure before pulling away and taking in the view. “Ug-lee! You’re so pretty!”

You blew a playful kiss, “Thanks, to both. How did you know I love chrysanthemums?”

“I just hoped, ‘cause I love ‘em too. Do you know the meanin’ behind ‘em?”

You shook your head ‘no’.

“Devoted love, apparently. I’m pretty damn devoted to lovin’ you!”

You knew Jin was about to nervously ramble, apologizing after his second statement, so you halted him with a finger to his lips. When he fell silent, you detangled your hand from his, much to his displeasure. Working slowly so that he could stop you at any point, you hooked your thumbs under the hem of his mask. His breath caught in his throat as you carefully tugged it up, just enough to expose his mouth.

You found yourself grateful for the desolate streets that late evening provided as you stretched onto your toes and pressed your lips to his. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him as you deepened the kiss. After a few sweet moments, you pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, “Good, because I’m pretty damn devoted to loving you, too.”

#jin bubaigawara #twice #twice bnha #twice x reader #jin x reader #jin bubaigawara x reader #twice bnha x reader #twice fluff #lov fluff #league of villains #lov x reader #league of villains x reader #kiri writes #server collabs #bubaigawara jin #bubaigawara x reader

674 notes · View notes

satan-chillin · 3 years

Text

Here, in this moment

Grand gestures of endearment, touches, and honeyed words in public are Wen Kexing's forte, though it doesn't mean Zhou Zishu doesn't have his moments.

(Or, coincidentally, the times Zhou Zishu discovers a couple of ways to shut Wen Kexing up.)

Also available in Ao3

Despite the growing population within the Four Seasons Manor, it was a known tradition of a sort for the Manor Lord to leave from time to time with his Second Disciple in tow. As far as the disciples knew, Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing had been on the road for too long before rebuilding the sect and had met under fated circumstances that brought them together—the younger students were wont to sigh in the inherent romanticism of it all—and might not have fully adjusted yet to the life with a stable abode.

If Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing were asked, they’d simply say that it was a continuation of their earlier promise of tasting all the wine while they lived, and, really, they had to escape the manor from time to time to get a breather. They couldn’t afford to leave the sect for a long span of time, not while it was still young and the Head Disciple a child still. It was the closest they would get to having several children, they supposed, and the experience could wear anyone down.

A stroll around the town was the best way to stretch their legs, so to speak, and for a moment, Zhou Zishu was taken to earlier days where Wen Kexing would follow him and appear wherever he went with what little time he initially had. Zhou Zishu was prone to deliberation these days, he realized, and often it was to match Wen Kexing’s pace in all the aspects of their lives. He was a little better in indulging him too, he thought, mildly giving his input here and there which tassel Wen Kexing should pick as gifts for two of their disciples who would have been with them for a year in a couple of days. He had been told that there was someone else about to have their birthday next week as well, and Zhou Zishu couldn’t help the slight smile at the thoughtfulness as he listened.

“Ah, how about this, A-Xu?” Wen Kexing picked up a fan from the stall next to the one Zhou Zishu dragged him from. “Do you think the color will suit—”

“They’ll like whatever you choose,” Zhou Zishu interrupted. It was true anyway. If Zhou Zishu was the strict and formidable master, Wen Kexing, while no less capable, was known more as the fond and doting one. Zhou Zishu wasn’t completely unaware of how Wen Kexing was called the mother—would that make him the father then? “Let me,” he said, taking half of the packages from Wen Kexing to free one of his hands.

“Eh. I can carry them all,” Wen Kexing protested half-heartedly but relented. He grinned, nudging Zhou Zishu’s side mischievously. “You just want my hand free so you can hold it, A-Xu.”

Zhou Zishu leveled him with a flat stare. “Yes, actually.” Reaching for Wen Kexing’s hand with his left, he laced their fingers that fit together seamlessly. He ignored the look of surprise he received in return. “Chengling said the newest recruit doesn’t have shoes that fit him.”

“Ah,” Wen Kexing murmured distractedly without looking away from their joined hands. “He might have mentioned that.”

Zhou Zishu squeezed his hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Thinking about it, there shouldn’t be anything complicated in holding Wen Kexing’s hand in the first place, though perhaps he should have done it a long time ago. He was determined not to let chances slide in his second time, however.

Fondly, Zhou Zishu led him away. “Let’s go then.”

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Zhou Zishu had been drinking less than his usual. It wasn’t the alcohol itself, fine quality as it was and not the watered-down kind. Mainly, he attributed it to wanting to soak in the pleasant mood and the overall levity of the atmosphere; it had been years since the halls of Four Seasons Manor were filled with joyous chatter and laughs after all.

To his side was Wen Kexing regaling the enraptured junior disciples with tales of his escapades, and the lack of stumble and slur in his words made Zhou Zishu mistakenly thought he was unaffected by the alcohol even if he was drinking for just as long as him, if not in quicker successions.

As if feeling eyes on him, Zhou Zishu was met with a slight tilt of the head and a raised eyebrow. He noted the all too bright eyes—not entirely unaffected then. Absently, Zhou Zishu inched closer to him. “Don’t drink anymore if you can’t handle it,” he reminded, reaching for a pitcher of water instead and filling Wen Kexing’s cup. “You don’t want to be embarrassed in front of your disciples.”

“Lord Zhou should be heeding his own advice,” Wen Kexing tutted and drank. He frowned. “This isn’t wine.”

“It’s water. See, you didn’t even notice.”

Wen Kexing blankly stared at the empty cup in his hand. “Huh.”

Amusedly, Zhou Zishu pried the cup away. “You’ve had enough, I think.”

“A-Xu, why are you being stingy now? You never said no to overindulging, and what better time than in the New Year?”

“You forget that we better learn moderation from now on to set a good example.” Zhou Zishu remained unimpressed at the pout directed his way. “Think of the headache tomorrow,” he said. “Besides, aren’t you exhausted already after preparing all these mostly by yourself?”

That earned him a sigh and a weary smile. “Worth it.” He gestured at the lively company.

“It is,” Zhou Zishu agreed easily.

He wasn’t sure if Wen Kexing was aware of himself leaning towards him. He must be, though his heavy eyes and the sleepy grunt said otherwise.

“Want to sleep,” Wen Kexing mumbled. “Will A-Xu carry me?”

Zhou Zishu snorted but, inured to embarrassment at this point, allowed Wen Kexing to fall on his shoulder and was practically against his chest. Gingerly, Zhou Zishu encircled his arm around his waist, and, after some adjusting, pulled him by the underside of his knees. Wen Kexing barely registered the fact that he was being carried.

It wasn’t until the evening breeze met them outdoors did Wen Kexing shifted with a mild jolt and stared at Zhou Zishu blearily. “Did A-Xu just carry me from the hall?” he slurred. “In front of your disciples?”

Zhou Zishu valiantly ignored the dopey grin forming on Wen Kexing’s face. Truly, his drunken state was merely his less eloquent default. “Did you already forget that you asked me to?”

Wen Kexing blinked slowly, gaze dropping down by Zhou Zishu’s throat. In a lower voice, he spoke, “I remember.” Slumping further against Zhou Zishu, his chin hooked by his shoulder as he tightened his arms around his neck.

Wen Kexing was light in his arms and, oddly enough, quiet without completely falling asleep. Zhou Zishu was certain he could make this into a habit if only to silence him when needed.

“Lao Wen,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Carrying Wen Kexing this way seemed like an inadequate form of recompense when all was said and done, especially not when Zhou Zishu was treated in return to the exquisite sight of a tender, affectionate smile.

iii

With the kitchen up and running with extra hands, it was common for a pleasant smell to waft over the courtyard from the start of the morning through the evening. Coming from his early meditation, Zhou Zishu followed a unique fragrance and wasn’t a bit surprised to find Wen Kexing at the source.

The first eleven additions of disciples were capable helpers, a fact which Wen Kexing was grateful for since their number grew. And while he still handled food preparation, it had been much easier with the assistance of three to five people. Zhou Zishu observed him putter around the kitchen, intermittently giving instructions to one of the disciples taking inventory of their supplies.

Though careful to move about, Zhou Zishu made enough noise that had Wen Kexing’s sudden attention on him with his arms crossed. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Lord Zhou should wait in the dining hall for breakfast.”

It was a wonder how his demeanor would turn strict when it came to cooking but was otherwise lax in far serious affairs. Huffing, Zhou Zishu ambled towards the cook, glancing at the cauldron with rice. He reached for a spoon. “That smells good.”

Wen Kexing batted his hand away. “It’s not ready,” he chided. “It smells good because of the saffron, but the flavor won’t be settling in for another quarter of an hour.”

Zhou Zishu watched his long fingers sprinkle a pinch of salt and pepper, almost enraptured at the way Wen Kexing was in his own element. Catching his gaze, Wen Kexing’s eyes softened imperceptibly. “A-Xu gets the first serving, of course.”

Zhou Zishu hummed. In a stroke of inspiration, he flitted behind Wen Kexing and hovered by his shoulder before reaching a hand around his waist, palm splaying over his abdomen. With Wen Kexing startled at the gesture, Zhou Zishu took advantage and swooped in with his spoon.

Some bits of the sticky rice were clumped but the hints of spice were already present. Without extricating himself from his position, Zhou Zishu added half a spoon of chili and tasted. He let out a small noise of approval, and if it happened to be right next to Wen Kexing’s ear and caused a vague shiver, well. “Delicious,” he muttered lowly.

From the far side of the room, someone stifled a cough and the moment was broken as quickly as it began. Zhou Zishu was already at an arm’s length when Wen Kexing rounded on him. Laughing, he dodged a smack to his side. “A-Xu! You—”

Zhou Zishu escaped before he could be properly thrown out of the kitchen, though not without reveling at Wen Kexing’s red ears.

Zhou Zishu was not completely unaware of the appreciative stare that followed him upon entering the establishment. He could pinpoint the exact direction it was coming from: two tables to his right situated at the corner where a woman—highborn, based from her posture and rich robes—was dining with an elderly gentleman in equally luxurious attire who vaguely resembled her.

Pretending not to notice, he went on to hail the server for wine and food. Wen Kexing was taking his sweet time fetching a bag of his precious walnuts that Zhou Zishu couldn’t understand why he liked so much. Once he was served, Zhou Zishu started on the alcohol while he waited.

What he wasn’t expecting, though, was the abrupt presence of the same woman now at the empty seat across him. Zhou Zishu politely inclined his head in confusion and belatedly took note of the absence of her companion. “Guniang.”

“Gongzi.” She smiled handsomely in greeting, smelling faintly of lavender and jasmine. Judging from her features, she looked a year or so younger than him. Pretty, with practiced manners and grace, undeniably someone who could turn heads. “Pardon this one’s forwardness, but I noticed that gongzi is missing a company… and so am I after my father left me for the meantime. Might this one invite you to share mine perhaps?”

Zhou Zishu doubted that she had not heard him asking for a serving for two people and was obviously waiting for someone. Forward, that was for sure. Definitely a woman who had never been refused once she knew what she wanted. Zhou Zishu smiled amiably when he answered, “Thank you for the invitation, guniang, but I’m waiting for my companion.”

A flash of a frown crossed her delicate features before they smoothed over when she opened her pink lips to speak further of her insistence. Then, as if summoned, Zhou Zishu spotted Wen Kexing approaching from behind. Hearing what basically amounted to thundering steps, Zhou Zishu hid a grin behind his cup.

“A-Xu,” Wen Kexing called, tone deceptively beatific with an underlying sharpness that only Zhou Zishu was cognizant of. “I didn’t know we’ll be having a guest.”

“Guniang thought I’m eating alone, and she’s generous to offer her company,” Zhou Zishu supplied happily. Staring up at Wen Kexing, he added, innocuous, “What do you say, niang zi?”

Wen Kexing’s head snapped towards him incredulously, coincidental with the woman repeating the endearment under her breath in disbelief.

“What?” Zhou Zishu said in mock indignation. “Am I not allowed to call you that anymore after I protested with you calling me xiang gong? That was one time. Doesn’t mean I don’t like it.”

Wen Kexing hardly shifted on his feet even as the woman excused herself with all her ounce of dignity once the two ignored everything else but each other. Feeling satisfied, Zhou Zishu stood, grasped Wen Kexing’s shoulders, and pulled him down to the now free seat.

“Food’s getting cold,” was all Zhou Zishu said before digging in.

Halfway, Zhou Zishu discovered that red complementing Wen Kexing nicely wasn’t exclusive to his choice of garb alone.

Senior Ye had more white on his hair than the last time Zhou Zishu saw him.

“Old demon, you have more white hair,” Wen Kexing boldly said because, unlike Zhou Zishu, he did not possess a brain-to-mouth filter; that, and he wouldn’t pass up any chance to antagonize Senior Ye.

“And you have more wrinkles,” Senior Ye snarked back, giving as good as he got without putting down his meal. He smirked. “Having trouble handling the sect, I see.”

“We get by,” Zhou Zishu replied, interrupting Wen Kexing’s stewing annoyance. “We have yet to complete the numbers, but managing the household with more than three people can be difficult for one person. He’s been alright so far.”

“‘Alright’?” Wen Kexing scoffed. “I’m doing great.”

“Humble, are you?” Senior Ye snorted, popping a slice of cubed pork. “You’re not built for that kind of task, of course you fare barely.”

“Are you sure you want to tell that to the face of the person who made your food?” Wen Kexing sneered. “Freeloader!”

“I’m an honored guest. I deserve to be honored,” Senior Ye declared, and, fine, Zhou Zishu might have told him that. Shaking his head, Senior Ye turned to Zhou Zishu. “You’re a manor lord and unmarried. Why don’t you find a proper wife to manage your household affairs and serve as a positive influence to your disciples? Don’t let this brat run your sect to the ground.”

If Wen Kexing wasn’t angry before, he was positively fuming now. Zhou Zishu placed himself as a stopgap to a boiling pot and addressed the immortal, “Senior Ye is right. Fortunately, I can forgo the arduous process of searching for one, seeing as someone made a promise of marriage to me some time ago.”

Calmly, Zhou Zishu poured tea and drank before mentally counting down in that brief period of silence.

“Master is promised to someone?” Chengling asked with uncertainty. He looked as if he wasn’t sure whether to be happy at the news or be concerned, given the way he was subtly glancing at Wen Kexing who happened to be staring at his master woodenly. Zhou Zishu honestly felt rather bad that he almost forgot that the boy was also sharing their table and was witnessing this exchange firsthand.

Senior Ye, meanwhile, slowed his chewing and was eyeing Zhou Zishu curiously.

In a snap, Wen Kexing demanded, “A-Xu, who? Who has the gall to—”

It was a battle for Zhou Zishu to keep a straight face as he frowned at Wen Kexing bemusedly. “Didn’t you?” He pointed at the hairpin atop his head. At Wen Kexing’s dumbfounded look, Zhou Zishu made a doleful sigh. “Ah. I must have misunderstood your intention.”

“... A-Xu?”

Zhou Zishu straightened his back, twisting to get a proper look on Wen Kexing. It took all of his strength to not snicker in relish at Chengling’s bated breath and Senior Ye’s show of interest, try as he might hide it.

He was about to rectify a blatant mistake here.

Zhou Zishu tsked affectionately, and in a much softer approach, said, “Lao Wen.” He heard Wen Kexing’s breath hitching before he went in for the attack. “Let’s get married then.”

Someone could have dropped a pin at the hush that ensued; or, someone could have made the loudest of sound and Zhou Zishu wouldn’t have paid it any attention at all, not when he was wholly captivated by Wen Kexing whose stare was akin to memorizing Zhou Zishu’s face and committing it to memory, damn everything else.

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice almost inaudible and yet to Zhou Zishu it was loud and clear as the day, as bright as the blinding smile that bloomed on his face. To think that Zhou Zishu used to believe the beginning of spring around the Four Seasons Manor was the most breath-taking display he had ever seen. “A-Xu, let’s get married.”

If Zhou Zishu was completely lost in his own little world with Wen Kexing in the middle of lunch, amidst Chenling’s triumphant cheer and Senior Ye’s rude grumbling of the manor now having two shameless people living under it, no one could have blamed him.

By fortnight, Zhou Zishu was a wedded man.

And just to be certain that the overwhelming feeling of warmth and happiness that threatened to burst out of his chest wasn’t from a fever-induced dream where he would wake with his heavily-crippled body, drunk and alone, he dipped Wen Kexing, his husband, by his waist and kissed him deeply for good measure.

There was no dream to be woken out of.

#shl fic #shl #shan he ling #wenzhou #tian ya ke #tyk #zhou zishu #wen kexing #fanfic #fanfiction #faraway wanderers #fluff #no angst #word of honor

20 notes · View notes

indiavolowetrust · 4 years

Text

The Obey Me Boys as RPG Bosses: Frostheart

CHAPTERS: Prologue + Beelzebub and Belphegor , Asmodeus, Satan, Leviathan, Mammon, Lucifer, ??? (YOU ARE HERE), ???, Endings

You are one of many hunters in a land cursed with everlasting winter. You yourself have become rime-touched after an attack by your fellow corrupted hunter, an incident that left you traumatized and lame. Even your hunter’s guild has resigned you to a life of mere cleaning and upkeep duties, and you have spent the last seven years in the depths of your guild’s archives.

Then the White Witch spirits your little brother away into her castle, taking with her the only family you have ever known. Armed with your trusty hunting knife and bow – and aided by your senior hunter, Simeon – you set off into the rime-cursed lands to find Luke and end the White Witch’s reign once and for all.

**Very loosely based on The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen.

Word Count: 2,369 words

TW: Blood, Violence, Gore

[???]

Despite the spread of the curse, you find that your skin grows numb at his touch. His hands -- his perfectly carved, crystalline hands -- cup the sides of your cheek with a strange tenderness, his fingers tracing the soft line of your jaw. A gentle sort of scrutiny. Then there is the matter of the man himself: his form appears to have been carved from ice, translucent as he is, and the smile that graces his delicate features shows no sign of cracking the surface of his skin. An ice sculpture brought to life, it would seem. While you’ve heard of the strange corruption that encompasses the White Witch’s realm, you would have never expected it to procure such a being.

The White Witch’s subjects have only ever attacked you. You had fought them off again and again, nearly losing your life every encounter -- and yet you can’t help but feel as if something is missing from the recollection. As if something dear and important has been torn away. You must have an audience with the White Witch, yes, but why? What could have compelled you to undertake such a dangerous journey? Why does your heart feel so hollow?

Stay away, some buried part of your conscience whispers. Your rime-touched eye discerns only an emptiness where his desires should be, the curse somehow barring you from looking within him. He’s --

“What a joyous day!” he cries, pulling you into a frigid embrace. “We’ve been expecting you, my dear. Oh, and don’t mind the castle guards -- I can always conjure up some more.”

You only blink up at him when he finally lets you pull away, confused. While it is nice not being attacked for once, you must have an audience with the White Witch. You try to make the demand in the most polite manner you can muster. Whatever reasons you may have for coming here -- you’ll certainly remember them on the way to the throne room, won’t you?

He only gives you a bewildered look. “You’ve had quite the journey, my dear! I’ll not have a guest see Her Ladyship in such an exhausted state.”

His name is Michael, you learn. While he handles many tasks in the castle -- almost too many, he says in a jesting tone -- taking care of the White Witch’s guests is highest priority. They don’t receive many guests, after all. You are led through massive halls carved from ice, pass windows and walls draped with expensive tapestries, and walk beneath cupolas adorned with reliefs of various animals. Images of serpents, oxen, crows, and more are scattered about the place. It is all you can do not to gawk openly at the sheer opulence.

You are whisked away by servants before you can protest. The ice-carved handmaidens draw a warm, rose-scented bath for you, washing away what feels like weeks of blood and grime from your skin. The clothes that have been set out for you have been sewn from fine silk, the sleeves trimmed with white fur, and it takes no less than a moment for you to note just how perfectly tailored the garments are. As if you are a mere doll, you can’t help but think. The thought settles like lead at the bottom of your stomach, an inexplicable, deep-seated worry making itself known.

Yet your misgivings are completely dispelled an hour later.

You’ve never seen such an array of fine dishes. Calf’s heart in cream sauce, pan-fried liver served with mushrooms, and cold slices of veal. Caramelized onions atop minced beef, grilled lamb with dry herbs, and a whole roast goose with golden skin. Crispy potatoes, egg-cakes, and tarts filled with root vegetables. Best of all, platters of stewed apples and berry compote topped with fresh whipped cream sit just to the side, waiting to be served. It is too much for two people to eat -- much less one person, judging by Michael’s lack of a plate -- but you don’t care. It only takes one encouraging gesture on his part for you to begin picking at the dishes, trying bits and pieces of everything. Each bite is more flavorful and perfect than the last.

A crystal goblet is placed in your hands halfway through the meal, its contents a clear, vaguely saccharine liquid. Mirrorwine, according to Michael. Some part of your conscience tells you not to drink it.

“Oh, there’s no need to be shy,” Michael assures you, handing out his own goblet for a servant to attend to. He raises it in your direction. “I believe it’ll do you some good, my dear. It is said that mirrorwine eases your aches and pains, whatever they may be.”

You wait for him to take a sip before you do -- only to find that it truly does lessen your bodily pains, just as he said it would. A single sip draws away the nagging soreness of your lame leg, and even the strain of carrying the crystalline limb seems to have disappeared. Michael gives you a knowing smile when you all but exclaim in astonishment, encouraging you to have more. If it is to your liking, he’ll call for a servant to fetch another bottle of it.

You take another long sip of the mirrorwine, feeling something like a knot unravel within you. Again there is that hollow sensation -- whereislukewhereissimeonhowcouldyouforget -- but you push it aside, enjoying the coolness washing over you. The carved chamber glistens, and Michael’s ice-like body seems to lose that strange, off-putting quality. There is only an unparalleled beauty when you look upon him, much to your surprise. How had it gone unnoticed before? How could you find fault within such a perfect being?

A third sip. A chill permeates your bones, runs its icy fingers along your spine, and embraces the confines of your weak body. You need to -- no, that’s not right. You don’t need to do anything. Why would you ever want to step outside of the castle again? You belong here. You’ve only ever belonged here.

A hand rests upon your shoulder. You look up to see Michael eyeing the empty goblet with amusement. “I would have never expected you to be such a carouser, small as you are,” he remarks.

You apologize out of embarrassment, but he merely waves it off. A gesture towards an ice-carved servant sends them scurrying out of the room. Another bottle of mirrorwine is to be served, it seems, but you don’t think you need another. Surely that would taking advantage of --

“Nonsense! You are an esteemed guest, my dear.”

A soft kiss is pressed to your brow -- a burst of winter, piercing and unyielding -- and your heart embraces the frost.

* * *

You hum happily as the comb passes through your locks, enjoying the sensation of the carved bone against your scalp. It is a wondrous thing to be tended to so well -- and by such a breathtaking creature, no less -- so you do your best to sit still. The crystallization of your lame leg seems to have spread, but Michael reassures you that it’s nothing to be worried about. It is merely a part of the process.

An ever-present feeling tugs at your thoughts at all hours of the day. You came here for something, didn’t you? You came here to see the White Witch. You must see the witch, and you do your best to remind Michael.

“But you aren’t ready yet, my little doll.” A frown graces his wonderful, perfect face. “You’re happy here, aren’t you? Do I not tend to your every need?”

He does! He does, it’s just that --

“Fret not,” says Michael, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Your thoughts scatter. “You’ll see her when you’re ready. And you do want to be ready, don’t you?”

You nod obediently.

* * *

You gaze upon your reflection in the bath. Has your skin always been so bloodless? So blue? Have your eyes always been afflicted with that strange color? You blink, and your eyelids move seamlessly against the layer of hoarfrost.

* * *

“That Luke of yours has quite the natural talent for baking, wouldn’t you agree?” Michael plucks a macaron from the display, eyeing it with an almost scholar’s interest. “No experience with such delicate ingredients, no training -- and yet he is still capable of such perfection. Isn’t that wonderful?”

You only give him a confused glance. Who is this Luke? Is he a new pastry chef?

“Oh, do forgive me, my dear. That little detail always slips my mind.”

An ice-carved servant enters the room, bows, and whispers something into Michael’s ear. You pout. While Michael always takes his leave at this time, can’t he spare you just a second longer? As if sensing your thoughts -- or perhaps only expecting them, given how he’s learned nearly everything else about you -- he presses a kiss to your temple, promising to return in a moment. That intoxicating chill fills your body once more, and you let out a sigh of satisfaction.

You peruse the options on the table before you. Berry compote seems a bit too sweet to accompany the tea, as are the crepes. The rice pudding is beholden with a bit too much salt, the lemon custard has too little rum, and you’ve had stewed apples too much recently. Your gaze draws to a strange loaf on a plate on the far side of the table, and you ask a passing servant to identify it for you.

“That would be rye bread, miss,” says the ice-carved servant. “Shall I take it away for you? It is most unsightly.”

You were merely curious, you tell her. There’s no need to remove it just yet.

You as you pick up the loaf, turning it over in your hands. The bread is the color of spruce bark and almost as dense, its insides studded with seeds. While you should find it unsightly -- Michael tends to place appearance over taste when it comes to dishes -- you find that you can find no fault in it. There is only a strange sense of nostalgia.

You’ve lost something, haven’t you?

You tear off a piece of the bread with care, staring at it for a moment. Waiting. The seeds crack against your teeth when you bite down.

* * *

He smells like flour, you think, but it’s a nice smell. A comforting smell. The blizzard howls outside, Luke shivers and burns beneath his blanket, you haven’t eaten in days -- and yet you can’t help but be comforted. The baker’s eleven year old son holds you close as he wraps another one of his father’s spare blankets around you, bundling you up. Despite that, the tears still run hot and unending down your cheeks.

Stop being a crybaby, you’re seven! You’re supposed to be a big girl now! You scold yourself over and over again. How’s Luke gonna see you as his real big sister if you can’t even stop crying?

“Don’t cry, it’s okay,” he soothes you. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’m not going to leave you.”

But everyone’s already gone! Mama’s gone, Luke’s parents are gone, and now there’s no one left! If it weren’t -- if it weren’t for that stupid witch and the rime and the monsters, then --

The baker’s son only hushes you again, pulling the blanket tighter around you. You sniffle. You can stay and hide here in his family’s shed, according to him -- but how much of what he said is true? How do you know he won’t be dragged away into the woods like everybody else? How do you know he won’t just leave? The baker’s son rocks you back and forth for a few minutes before finally pulling away. There’s something he needs to get for you, apparently. Something that you’ll like.

The baker’s son returns a few minutes later and hands you something wrapped in cloth. A burnt, uneven loaf sits within it. Despite your hunger, you can’t bring yourself to want it.

“Made it myself this morning,” he says, beaming with pride. “It’s burnt, but I’m pretty sure it’s still good. I can bring more stuff tomorrow.”

You thank him, trying to discreetly wrap it up again -- but a quick glance in his direction tells you that’ll hurt his feelings. Your teeth scrape awkwardly against the burnt loaf, sinking into a particularly crunchy, scorched spot, and you try to chew as politely as you can.

He smiles. “Well, what do you think? Good, right?”

You nod wordlessly. Your mouth is sore enough to take your mind off crying, at least for now.

His name is Simeon, you learn. His name is Simeon, he smells like flour, he’s a terrible baker, and he promises he’ll be one of the best hunters ever. Luke is four and loves listening to his stories when Simeon can sneak away for a night. You get used to Simeon’s terrible rye bread at some point, because you would do anything for the people you love. You would do anything to protect them, even if that means telling them their rye bread is good when it nearly breaks your teeth.

* * *

The tears carve their way down your cheeks, cutting through the layer of rime. Your tea cup lies shattered on the ground, the contents spilled against the icy floor, and the body is horribly, unbearably cold. It is only then that you realize just how thin your clothes are: the silk raiment that Michael has dressed you in is paper-thin, your feet are covered only by a pair of woolen slippers, and there is no cloak in sight. Your supplies are gone.

The crow-beast had taken your dearest, most fond memories in exchange for freeing Simeon. Simeon had been let go, you remember, but where had he gone afterwards? Where exactly is Luke and what have they done to him? That ice golem -- how long has he bewitched you? How much longer do you have until the curse of the rime takes hold of you once more?

The door creaks open. Michael, the doll-maker, has returned. A knife sits beneath one of the platters at the table.

Tip: You are fighting [Michael, the Doll-maker]. Bide your time and pretend to be spellbound until you have an opening. You have only one chance.

[NEXT: ???]

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me!#obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me mc #obey me michael #om simeon #om michael #om luke #om mc #frostheart #blood tw #violence tw #gore tw

17 notes · View notes

ficswithluv · 5 years

Text

The Luv Library: Bookshelves

It had been a stroke of luck, a miracle - or maybe even fate, when you stumbled upon the old, decrepit building. It looked unseemly, nestled between two old buildings - but something about it had called out to you. So, like the ever-curious wanderer you were, you found yourself entering the dilapidated building. What lay inside, however, had completely shocked you. Towering shelves stacked with never-ending various volumes and tombs lined walls. Above each of the shelves, and engraved in fading, dusty gold plates, were the names of each bookshelves’ genre. Something deep within you called out to you, compelled you to seek them out and lose yourself in the different books that littered the walls. In particular, however, none called out more to you than six shelves.

This post is an extension of the Luv Library Project. Within this post, you will find out what genre each admin is running, along with the criteria for the category.

A flash of flame, the sizzling of meat on a grill, wafts of spice and seasoning filling your senses. Whether a professional kitchen in rush hour or home baking on Christmas morning, there’s something magical about food, something that brings us all together. Flavour combinations are infinite, you could stay here forever just trying every single one, experimenting and revelling in perfect pairings and surprising contrasts. It’s so easy to get lost in the focus of perfecting a culinary delight, and the best part yet is getting to enjoy the delicious reward. So; are you going to join us as a sous chef? Find out more information below.

ღ Head Chef: Sora; @honeymoonjin

ღ Genre: Culinary & Cuisine ↳ Stories centered around comfort foods, bustling cafes, the perfect bake, flavour sensations and mouthwatering concoctions.

ღ Requirements:

⏤ Fics can be SFW or NSFW.

⏤ Fics can either be set in a food-related location e.g. restaurant, cafe, etc; or based around food/drink e.g. baker!au, barista!au, etc.

Rose petal covered floors in the honeymoon suite, champagne sitting in a bucket of ice, silk sheets against heated skin. A frenzy of limbs ripping clothes apart in a moment of heated passion; muffled moans intermixed with the sounds and actions of bodies moving as one in a tale as old as time. The focus of so much attention, the centre of a million controversies, the place so many seek as a way to escape, for just long enough. A tangle of lust, desire, and greed, something so gluttonous that only the proud partake, while others look on in envy or glance away, ashamed of their interest. The only question now is: will you be the one looking in, or would you like to be at the centre of the pleasure? Find out how below.

ღ Duchess: Ellie; @hobisgorgeousass

ღ Genre: Erotica ↳ Stories centered around steamy showers, lingering touches, passionate embraces, and any number of compromising positions.

ღ Requirements:

⏤ Authors must be over 18 to be accepted into this category.

⏤ Smut must be included. PWP is more than welcome, but a story with 1 or more explicit smut scenes works too.

In a secluded forest, sequestered from the rest of the world and brimming with the vibrant essence of magic and wonder, live the fairies. Wandering through the forest, they simply look in on the different lives of the people and creatures who inhabit in the forest. From the knights who come to save their princesses from their towers and the dragons that protect them; the mermaids who lurk in the deep, to the witches who would enchant or hex you; the fairies observe them all. And sometimes, if you wish it hard enough, the fairies will tell you the story of a life they have witnessed. Want to become a fairy? Please read below.

ღ Fairy Queen: Nell; @jamaisjoons

ღ Genre: Fairytales & Fantasy ↳ Stories centered around fairytales, folklore, myths, legends, and all manner of fantastical stories we cherish.

ღ Requirements:

⏤ Fics can be SFW or NSFW.

⏤ Fics can either be based on original fairytales; i.e. cinderella, little mermaid, sleeping beauty, or they can be completely original fics with fairytale/fantasy tropes.

⏤ Fics must be written and read like fairytales; whether this be as the newer age happy fairytales or the original style of fairytales by Brothers Grimm is completely up to the author’s discretion.

⏤ Fics must include fantasy elements such as witches, dragons, fairies, princes/princesses, goblins, mermaids etc.

The tinkle of soft melodies with fingers dancing across ivory keys and thin strings to let resounding music reach the air. Handwritten heartbreaks, promises, dreams and aspirations in the lyrics of songs meant for one or millions. You can entrap a soul within a song, a heart in a melody, and a dream in a lyric. Wish to let the music speak to your soul? Read below.

ღ Producer: Anna; @jungtaeyoongles

ღ Genre: Music ↳ Stories centered around songs, compositions, lyrics, artists and the magic that music contains.

ღ Requirements:

⏤ Fics can be SFW or NSFW.

⏤ Fics must be based around: a song, an album, an artist or have music as a central focus of the plot.

With a fast-paced life, we encounter good and bad people in our everyday lives. Barely thinking of the consequences that can affect the people around us. That’s where the good guys come in, protecting and shielding everyone from the dark world. Twists and turns leading you to uncover the truth. Will you be satisfied in the end? Are you willing to investigate? Receive more clues below.

ღ Detective Inspector: Fran; @franklytae

ღ Genre: Mystery & Thrillers ↳ Stories centered around whodunnits, suspense, plot twists and mysteries solved and unsolved.

ღ Requirements:

⏤ Fic can be SFW or NSFW.

⏤ Must have mystery/thriller tropes such as: detectives, criminals, type of crime, murder mysteries, etc.

⏤ Can include fight. blood, or death scenes (must be tagged).

⏤ Victims must have some type of closure e.g. acceptance, treatment, therapy.

A sickly sweet scent of roses in their garden. The gentle crash of waves against a sandy shore. Softly flickering candlelight in a dim room. The quiet cries of those who have loved and lost, intermixed with the joyous shouts of the ones yet to face that particular heartbreak. Dramatic tension paired with that unmistakable passion, all to shine the spotlight on what matters most: romance. Would you like to bring a flush to someone’s cheeks? Be the cause of the smile they try to hide away? Join the ranks of the other cherubs bringing love into someone’s life? Read below if so.

ღ Cupid: Bette; @ddaenggtan

ღ Genre: Romance ↳ Stories centered around whirlwind romances, star-crossed lovers, love at first sight, and every type of love in between.

ღ Requirements:

⏤ Must focus on romance. Can be an AU of popular romance novels, feature popular tropes that are found in romance novels, or read like a romance novel.

⏤ Can be SFW or NSFW, but must ultimately be focused on the romance plot above all else.

⏤ A fluff fest. The fluffiest. There can be angst, because what romance novel is without angst, but it really should be the softest, sappiest, most disgustingly fluffy thing you’ve ever had enter your mind.

⏤ Absolutely must have a happy ending.

Want to apply? Luv Library Project Post | Application*

*Only for those who have read the main ‘The Luv Library Project’ post.

#fwl project #fwl valentines project 2020 #luv library project

68 notes · View notes

i-luv-stars · 5 years

Text

Serendipity (Pt. 1)

You are an immortal who has spent your life travelling, forced to find your home in different places around the world. One day, you meet a certain God of Mischief. What follows is a friendship that spans centuries.

Warnings: a teaspoon of fluff

Word Count: 7.1k

A/N: I have no idea how age on Asgard works, but imagine Loki as 17/18 (in human years) in this chapter. Reader is a couple years older (looks-wise).

Italy. 1480

The sky was impossibly dark. Rain pounded at your back with unnecessary ferocity. In the distance, lightning crackled.

You pulled your hood over your head and continued walking, to where you did not know. The dirt road below you had turned to thick mud, and the scarce trees overhead offered little solace from the unrelenting rain. Your cloak flew behind you in the fierce wind. It wasn't until you tripped for the fifth time that you finally let your tears flow.

You allowed the heavy sobs to rack your frail body. The wind carried away your desperate screams as if they were nothing. Your bones burned and every muscle in your body ached. You knew you were too tired to go on any longer.

And so, you lied down in the black mud and let the rain pelt at your skin freely.

Keeping your eyelids open was not a battle you cared to win. But before you succumbed to your exhaustion, you issued one final plea.

Oh god have mercy, you prayed, and let me die before the sun rises.

Alas, it was not to be.

You were awoken by someone shaking you, roughly. The sound of muttered voices reached your ears. Reluctantly, you opened your eyes.

“Mother have mercy! I thought you were dead!” Two small blue eyes stared down at you from within a very round, pale face.

He was a pageboy, you realised. Beside him was a young girl, dressed in servants clothing.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no voice came out. Your throat was raw and aching, battered from the cold winds the night before. You rubbed at it with your hands.

‘Oh, you poor thing. You must be terribly sick. It’s a wonder you even survived out here.” This time it was the girl who spoke. Her voice was sweet and high pitched, like a bird’s.

Suddenly, the boy was wrapping his arms around your back and hauling you to your feet. Your legs, still stiff and numb, tingled as you stood.

You were up for no longer than a minute before the pageboy began to walk, talking as he did so. “Do not worry, there is no need to speak.” He reassured you. “I am Luce, and this is Sabina.” He gestured to the girl, who nodded with a smile, before continuing, “We are employees of the Amoretto family. Surely, you must of heard of them, yes? They are renown throughout Italy for their immense wealth.”

Unfortunately, you could only shake your head. Your mind was foggy and muddled. The family’s name was certainly not familiar to you.

The girl offered you a reassuring smile. “Lord and Lady Amoretto are generous people. They may allow you to stay with us until you get well again.”

You wondered whether this Lord and Lady were really as generous as the girl claimed. In your experience, wealthy people were hardly the hospitable type.

“Ah, here we are. See?” Luce’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You followed his line of sight.

What met you there was enough to take your breath away.

Just ahead of you was an enormous castle, it’s red brick walls stretching far across the horizon. Two towers emerged from its main body, branching upwards towards the clouds.

Sabina must have noticed your sharp intake of breath. She gave you a quick look and giggled before running off towards the castle. “I will inform the Lord and Lady we have a visitor.” She shouted back at the two of you.

As you and Luce neared closer and closer to the castle, your stomach began to churn. You had a feeling more awaited you beyond those walls than just friendly hospitality.

—————————————————————

Upon first seeing you, Lady Amoretto was certainly not impressed.

“Luce, what is this dirty girl doing here? She is getting mud all over the floor!” She shrieked.

Your cheeks flushed as, with horror, you remembered that you must look atrocious.

However, before you could attempt to speak, Luce explained your awful predicament. He spoke of how he had found you this morning towards the outskirts of the castle grounds. When he had first seen your frail figure and pale skin, he had thought you to be dead. In fact, if it was not for him so gallantly offering his help, you most likely would be.

At this, the Lady turned to you. “You survived out there, all alone, in that terrific storm?” She said, her words tilting upwards in astonishment.

You nodded meekly.

“Child, that is scarcely possible.” The Lady exclaimed, looking directly into your eyes. “My stable-boys have told me that the winds and rain last night were so wicked, several of our horses died as a result. Pray tell, how did a small creature like you travel in that storm and live to tell the tale?”

The answer, of course, was that you were no ordinary human. There was a power, ancient and mysterious, that ran through your veins. But, even if you could speak, you would not divulge any of this to Lady Amoretto. She was already staring at you as if you had performed a miracle.

“My Lady, she has lost her voice.” Luce commented, “Her throat must still be aching from the cold.”

The Lady allowed her eyes to wonder over your face for a while longer, before finally offering you a warm smile. She appeared to have decided what to do with you.

“Of course,” she remarked, “If I were to turn you away after everything you have endured, I feel like I would be ignoring the will of God himself. You must stay with us until you are well again.”

Then, she yelled for Sabina. The girl was at the Lady’s side immediately.

“Get this girl washed and cleaned up.” She ordered, turning to the young maid. “Then, you may show her to one of our guest rooms. Fetch her a gown and have her look presentable by supper. She will dine with us tonight.”

And with that, she exited the room, the large wooden doors slamming shut behind her.

Sabina led you upstairs. Marble statues and richly coloured paintings decorated the hallways. Above you, gold banners and portraits of noblemen and women hung from the walls. In all your years, you had never been inside such a place. As you walked, Sabina talked about Lady Amoretto’s generosity, and how joyous she was that you would be staying with them. What was responsible for her excess excitement, you were not sure. Perhaps she saw in you a potential friend. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that befriending you was not a wise idea.

After you had passed what seemed like hundreds of doorways, you finally came to a stop.

“And this is your room.” The young maid announced, opening the door.

Every last breath you were holding left your lungs as you stepped inside.

The room was enormous. The walls were painted in shades of the deepest blues and golds. The bed was large and made of the finest wood, framed by embroidered curtains. You even had your own private room for bathing. You were not aware that such luxuries even existed.

Sabina noticed your wondering eyes. “I’ve given you our finest guest room,” she giggled, “but I am sure the Lady will not mind. She seemed to take quite a liking to you, earlier.”

You returned her words with a large smile. It was the least you could do.

Not more than five minutes later, you found yourself sitting in the warm water of the bath. This was the second time the bath had been filled, the first lot of bath water, in which you had scrubbed at your mud-caked skin, had become so dirty that it had to be drained almost immediately.

Now, you were resting against the edge of the basin. Sabina ran a comb through your wet hair, preparing the silky tresses to be ready for braiding later. The scent of primrose oil tickled your nose. They must have poured it into the water earlier.

“I sent your old clothes off to be burnt.” Sabina whispered as she gently tugged at a knot. “I hope you don't mind.”

You waved a hand, reassuring Sabina that she was not to worry. Closing your eyes, you sunk deeper down into the warm water.

“You are so lucky…” Sabina gushed behind you. “Tonight, you will get to dine at the Lord and Lady’s table. And meet their son.”

You raised a questioning eyebrow. Son?

“Alessandro…” Sabina gushed. The mention of his name seemed to make her breathless. “He has the most wonderful blue eyes, and long, brown hair. Oh, what I would give to be able to dine at his table. Even just to have a conversation with him…”

You chuckled as Sabina launched into a long recount of the many admirable qualities she believed the man to possess.

It sounded like someone was in love.

Well, you thought, if Sabina was worried about you stealing the heart of the young lord, it was fruitless. There was only one boy you had ever loved. And he had died, many, many years ago.

Your jaw clenched at the memory. You were determined to never love another.

After your bath, you were dressed in a thick, silk gown. The soft material on your freshly scrubbed skin felt like heaven. You had to stop yourself on more than one occasion from letting out a moan of pleasure.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Sabina, who had left for the kitchen earlier, entered. She now held a small cup in her hand, full of steaming liquid.

“I thought this might help, for your throat.” She said, setting the cup down beside you.

You gave her a smile of thanks, gently lifting the hot beverage towards your lips. The sweet smell of honey and spices engulfed you. As you drunk, the harsh aching in your throat seemed to dim.

Sabina watched as you eagerly finished the cup.

“Try to speak.” She said.

“T-thank you.” You whispered. Your eyes widened as you realised the beverage had worked.

Sabina grinned widely, her big eyes lighting up. “I knew it would work. That’s my special recipe, you know.”

“Well, you are very clever.” You spoke, your voice still gentle. “I have never seen such an effective cure for a sore throat.”

The blonde-haired girl giggled. “Now that you are no longer a mute, you must tell me your name.”

You hesitated. “My name is… Y/N.”

Her eyes widened. “It is a very pretty name, but one I have never heard before. Where are you from?”

This was what you had been afraid of.

“I-I can’t remember.” You stuttered. “I must have hit my head the other night. Whenever I try to think back, everything is blank. It’s all very confusing.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Sabina cried, distress lacing her voice. “Do you remember anything about your family?”

You shook your head. On cue, tears began to well in your eyes. You were good at this lie. It was one you had practised many times before.

Sabina wrapped you into an embrace.

“Hush,” she whispered, trailing her fingers through your hair, “everything will be okay.”

You were just about to reply when the sound of bells rang throughout the room.

“That’s the call for supper.” Sabina muttered. “Come, we must get you ready.”

—————————————————————

Like the rest of the castle, the dining room was nothing short of decadent. As you sat waiting for your food, you couldn’t help but admire the artwork that hung from the walls.

Your attention was soon diverted when a servant placed a bowl of soup in front of you. The scent of exotic spices drifted towards your nostrils and made your mouth water.

A pang in your stomach reminded you that you hadn't eaten anything in days.

“Y/N, remind me of where you were from.” Lord Amoretto’s voice boomed from across the table.

“She can’t remember, dear. She has already explained this to us.” His wife said, placing a hand on his arm.

You nodded, picking up your spoon and dipping it into the creamy soup. “I still cannot remember much, but I do not wish to be a burden. I will leave as soon as I have regained my strength.”

“Nonsense.” It was now Alessandro who spoke. “A maiden as pretty as you? You may stay as long as you like.”

The rest of the table was silent.

You offered the young lord a weak smile of thanks before returning to your soup.

After dinner, you were returning to your room, belly full of food, when someone grabbed your arm. You turned around in a hurry.

It was Lady Amoretto.

“Y/N, follow me. I would like to speak to you.” She said, before dragging you by the sleeve into an empty hallway.

“Lady, have I done something to offend you?” You hesitantly asked. Something nagged at the back of your brain, a voice telling you that whatever she was about to say was not good news.

“Offend me? No, no, quite the opposite.” She reassured you.

Your mouth was halfway open, ready to speak, when you felt her soft hands on your cheeks.

“My son speaks the truth. You are very pretty.” She muttered. “When you arrived here this morning, you were as dirty as a peasant. But I saw your eyes and your face, and I guessed that underneath the mud and dirt was a beautiful young woman. That’s why I invited you to dine with us. And now, I see, that I was correct.”

Her hands still clutched your face. Her eyes were unmoving, staring directly into yours.

“My Lady, I thank you for your kind words. But is that why you have brung me here?”

She chuckled at that and finally dropped her hands. “No, if I wanted to simply pay you compliments I could do it across the dinner table. I have brung you here, because I have a proposition.”

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Alessandro,” she continued, “is in need of a wife. He is young, and handsome, and the heir to our fortune. Yet, our options for a suitable bride are limited. Currently, he is besotted with a young girl from Rome. They have met a couple of times. But, I do not like her.”

Your heart started thumping. You didn’t like where this was going.

“Her family is rich, but they are controlling. And Alessandro, he is my only son…” At this, the Lady began to weep. “If they marry, and he leaves for Rome, I know he will not return. But you… you are perfect. You have no family, no home. If he were to marry you, he could stay here forever.”

“I am not sure if that is wise-” you began.

“Nonsense. You are pretty, prettier perhaps than even the Roman girl. And Alessandro has already taken a liking to you.”

You shivered, thinking of the way the man’s eyes had lingered over your body at dinner.

“But, we have only just met.” You added, hoping that she would abandon her idea.

“I will go to my husband now and tell him what I have told you. If Alessandro believes this was his father’s suggestion, he will agree to the marriage.”

No, you thought. This can’t be happening. You reprimanded yourself for ever entering these castle walls.

“My Lady, I appreciate your offer, but I really think-”

But before you could finish, she grabbed your arm tightly.

“You will marry my son.” She commanded, stepping so close that you could feel her hot breath on your face. Her eyes turned to stone. “Because if you do not, you will be out. Out in the cold and the rain. And this time, God will not save you. For I will run you out of these grounds until you are deep within the forest, and if the storms do not kill you, the wolves will.”

Goosebumps rose along your flesh. Your mind screamed at you to run, to brave the dark nights and escape. You had been through worse. But then you remembered last night. How the rain had slashed at your back and how the cold had beat your skin until it was purple. You couldn’t do it again. You would rather die.

“Okay,” you stuttered, “I… I will do what you ask of me.”

Smiling, the older woman let go of your arm.

“Thank you.” She said, her eyes returning to normal. “You will not regret this, I promise.”

You waited until she was out of sight before you let yourself collapse.

—————————————————————

The next morning you awoke before sunrise. With a grimace, you realised that overnight your closet had been filled with gowns of various colours and materials.

A gift from the Lady to her future daughter, you guessed.

Hurriedly, you slipped one over your head. You did not bother to even run a comb through your hair before you wrapped your cloak around yourself and set out.

Close to the castle was a lake. The water that filled it was crystal clear, and the trees that surrounded it were alive with birdsong. It was here, by the lake, where you now sat.

Guided by the light of the slowly rising sun, you clasped your hands together in prayer.

Throughout the centuries you had spent on this Earth, you had heard tales of more gods than you cared to keep count of, and yet, you had never decided on one to believe in.

Now, however, you closed your eyes and prayed to every god you could think of.

“Please,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face, “whoever is listening. Please, help me. I don’t know what to do. I cannot marry this man. What will happen to me when he discovers I do not age? When he sees how my skin does not wrinkle and my eyesight does not worsen?”

Below you, the surface of the lake let out a faint ripple.

“And yet, I cannot run any longer…” You choked out through your tears. “I am too weak. Please, give me a way out. Please… give me an answer.”

You stayed kneeling like that for what seemed an eternity, praying to every god who would listen. When you couldn't take it any longer, you fell to the ground and began sobbing. Your hands covered your mouth as big, fat tears rolled down your cheeks and fell to the grass below.

“It’s always a pity, seeing pretty girls like yourself so distraught.”

What?

It was a voice, from behind you. Hurriedly, you turned around.

There was no one there.

You were not stupid. You had definitely heard something. It was likely one of the servants, teasing you.

“I heard you!” You yelled out, wiping your tears with your sleeve. “Show yourself!”

From deep within the trees came a low chuckle.

You were furious. You rose to your feet and started off towards the trees, determined to find whoever had been teasing you and-

Suddenly, a man appeared in front of you. Your face slammed into his chest and you fell to the ground with a shriek.

The man chuckled again.

Infuriated, you pushed your hair back from your face and looked upwards into the eyes of your tormentor.

You gasped in surprise.

The man in front of you was tall, with ebony black hair, and the greenest eyes you had ever seen in your life.

“Who are you?” You breathed out, staring into his eyes.

“Who am I?” He smirked. “Well, I’m only the god you’ve just been praying to for the last hour.”

You inhaled sharply. He must be insane, you thought. You had seen paintings of God, and they all showed him with a white beard and a glowing halo. Not at all like the man before you.

“I don’t believe you.” You spat.

“No?” The man replied. “Well then, how do I know this? Your name is Y/N. You were born more than two centuries ago, which makes you unusually old for a mortal. And you have spent the last 150 years walking around Europe, too scared to stay in one place in case somebody discovers your little secret-”

You jumped up and covered the man’s mouth with your hand.

“Be quiet!” You hissed. “Anybody could hear you!”

The man moved to lower your arm. His touch was cold.

“There is no need to be worried.” He laughed. “We are alone.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “How did you know all that? Have you been following me?”

“No. Well, not in the way you’re thinking…”

You had heard enough. You grabbed the man’s shoulders and pushed him until he was up against a tree.

“You are going to tell me who you are and how you know everything about me, and you are going to do it now. Do you understand?” You glared into his eyes as you spoke.

Despite being significantly larger than you, the man struggled. “Well, I certainly didn’t know how strong you were…”

You shoved him further into the tree.

“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you. My name… is Loki. And I wasn’t lying before. I am a God… sort of.”

Your eyes widened at this.

“But I didn’t suddenly appear because you prayed to me.” He continued. “I’ve been watching you for a while now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes things get boring on Asgard. I like to come down here and play tricks on people. Then, one time, I saw you. And then, the next time I came down, I saw you again. I remembered what you looked like because, well… you are rather good-looking…” He stopped to smile at you.

“I am not interested in compliments from you. Continue speaking.”

“Fine. I saw you the second time and, at first, I didn’t think anything of it. But then I realised, almost fifty years had passed. And you still looked the same. So, I got curious. I began to visit Midgard- I mean, Earth- more often. I followed you.”

“You have been following me all these years?! Why? What is so interesting about watching me travel from village to village?”

“I’ve already told you.” The man sighed, exasperated. “Asgard can be awfully boring sometimes. It’s humorous to see the mundane lives of humans. And, I wanted to check you were still alive. I was curious about how long a mortal could cheat death. Now, will you please let go of me?”

Reluctantly, you loosened your grip on his shoulders.

“Why have you only decided to show yourself now?” You questioned.

The man, Loki, smirked. “Your crying was getting annoying. I couldn’t stand by and listen to it for any longer.”

You glared at him.

“Relax, I’m only jesting.” He said, smiling. “Besides, I figured you could use my help.”

“You would help me?” You asked, your voice heavy with disbelief.

“Yes. I have a proposition…”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “The last time somebody told me that, it did not end well.”

Loki chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. I think you might agree to this one.”

You turned to look him in the eyes. “Fine. What is it?”

“I will help you escape this castle, and I will take you somewhere where you will never have to hear or worry about that awful family ever again.” He said, meeting your eyes with his. “In return, all I ask… is that you sleep with me.”

“What!?” You gasped.

“Sorry, did I misspeak? Do you call it something else here?”

“No,” you growled, “I understood you perfectly well. I was simply in disbelief that you would dare utter such a thing.”

“You are being unreasonable.” Loki declared. “I am offering you an escape, a respite from this horrible predicament you find yourself in… all I ask is for one night with you.”

The anger that filled your body was so intense you were surprised you didn’t shake with rage.

“I don’t need your help!” You yelled. The god jumped in surprise. “I have survived for centuries without you, and I certainly don’t need you now. You should go and find another woman to spy on, for if I see you again, I will kill you myself.”

“I would like to see you try.” The green-eyed man jeered.

You turned back to him, your cloak whipping behind you. “Leave!”

Loki would have continued to tease you, if it were not for the dangerous glint he saw in your eyes as you turned to face him.

“Fine,” he muttered, “if you don't want my help, that is your decision. But when thirty years pass and your husband’s family discover you haven’t aged, do not blame me when they burn you at the stake!”

And with that, he was gone.

—————————————————————

A week had passed since your strange encounter with the god. Since then, every day had seen you consumed with talk about your upcoming wedding.

There was so much that needed to be done. Fine silk for your wedding gown had to be specially ordered from Rome, animals had to be hunted and prepared for the ceremony feast, and invitations had to be sent out to noble families across the country.

But, the most pressing issue, according to Lady Amoretto, was that you still did not have a portrait.

“Every fine woman in Europe has their portrait painted and hung on their walls.” She had told you over dinner one night. “You will be no exception. I will request one of the masters to come here and do it.”

Alessandro had slung an arm over your shoulder. “What a fine idea, Mother. Of course, we must have my bride’s beautiful face on display for all to see!”

You had smiled and exclaimed that you were very excited.

Another lie.

Today was the day that you were to sit for your portrait. On the Lady’s request, a prestigious painter from Florence had arrived at the castle. He was currently downstairs, arranging his oil paints and waiting for you.

You, on the other hand, were in your room, staring at yourself in the mirror. Sabina had braided your hair and pulled it back tightly, before dressing you in the most elegant gown in your closet. Frankly, you thought the high collar and large sleeves made you look ridiculous. But there was nothing you could do about it now. You were already late.

“Y/N, darling, you look magnificent!” Lady Amoretto beamed as you entered the room.

“Thank you, my Lady.” You replied, bowing your head.

Standing behind your future mother-in-law was an old man. His beard was long and grey, and he wore a paint-stained apron.

“Y/N, dear, I would like to introduce you to Tomasso Vinci, the finest painter in all of Florence!”

The man gave you a warm smile and eagerly kissed both your cheeks.

“Mia bella!” He exclaimed, stepping back to look at you. “My Lady… when you asked me to paint the young woman’s portrait, you did not mention her beauty.”

You blushed and whispered your thanks. As Tomasso turned to sit beside his canvas, you couldn't help but feel there was something familiar about him, something that made you feel like you had met him before…

“My Lady, you must leave now.” Tomasso said, turning towards the older woman. “When I have finished painting, I will call for you.”

“Oh… of course.” Lady Amoretto stuttered, before walking towards the door. You guessed she wasn’t often ordered around.

Once she left the room, Tomasso gestured you over to the chaise lounge in front of him.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” He insisted.

You sat down on the edge of the lounge, placing your hands in your lap. Your dress fanned out around you, displaying the elegant embroidering.

The painter’s eyes trailed over your gown before landing on your face. There, they lingered, taking in every detail of your features.

“Are you going to start?” You asked, growing uncomfortable.

“Yes, yes of course.” He reassured, picking up a brush. “Forgive me, I was getting lost in your eyes.”

You do not know how long you had been sitting there for, but you theorised it must have been several hours, at least. Your back was aching and your neck had grown stiff. Tomasso had been intensely focused on his painting, barely uttering a word to you the whole time.

“My apologies, but do you think we could… take a break?” You breathed out in desperation.

The painter’s eyes immediately went to you. “Are you uncomfortable?”

You nodded.

“Then of course, dear. You may rest. Here, why don’t you come see how the painting is coming along. I believe it may be one of my favourite ones yet.”

Eager to see the work of a master, you jumped up and wandered over. But, when you saw the artwork, the smile dropped from your face.

It was… horrible.

The canvas was covered in chaotic brushstrokes. Colours had been applied messily and blended without care, making it appear more like a child’s attempt at painting than a master’s piece.

You couldn't stop the gasp of horror from leaving your lips.

But, rather than being offended, the old man let out a chuckle.

A chuckle you had definitely heard before.

Before your eyes, Tomasso transformed.

Now, the man sitting in front of you was no longer wrinkled with age.

It was Loki.

“Did you like my Italian accent?” He said, his lips pulled in a mischievous grin.

“You vile beast!” You exclaimed, lashing out at his arm. “I told you to leave me alone!”

“Stop that,” he said, gripping your wrist, “there is no need to resort to violence.”

“You are lucky I do not strangle you.” You growled. “As if you did not offend me enough last time! And now, you have made me sit without moving for hours, all so you could paint that!”

“You don’t like it?” Loki pouted. “I thought it was rather good.”

“What are you doing here?” You demanded.

Loki grinned. “I have come to offer my help, again.”

“I already told you. I am not interested.” You declared, moving to leave. You had heard enough from him.

“Wait, wait!” The god called out as you neared the door.

You turned towards him, your arms crossed.

“I’ll help you for free. You won’t have to do anything. I promise.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “And why should I believe you?”

“Because… I’d feel guilty if I didn’t.” Loki admitted, glancing towards the ground.

You rolled your eyes, moving to grab the door’s handle. But something made you stop. You still didn't trust him, but… you were in desperate need of help.

“Fine.” You sighed, exasperated. “The wedding is due to take place next week. How do you propose I escape by then?”

Loki looked up, a smile playing at his lips. “Do not worry. I already have a plan.”

“Care to share what it is?” You said, lifting an eyebrow.

“All you have to do is go about your life like you already are. Don’t give anybody reason to be suspicious. I will come and get you when the time is right, and then we will escape.”

You weren't sure if you liked the sound of that. But what choice did you have?

“Fine.” You sighed.

A smile lit up his face.

“There’s just one more thing.” You said.

“What?” He asked, brows furrowing.

“You still owe the Lady a painting.” You smirked.

The grin fell from the god’s face. He swore aloud as he turned around to face the mess of a canvas.

You made to leave. “And, I’m expecting my eyes to look perfect, considering you love them so much!” You yelled back at him, before slamming the door behind you.

—————————————————————

For the next week, you spent every day waiting for Loki to come for you. You were suspicious of every stranger you saw, half expecting them to be the god in disguise. And yet, every night, you returned back to your bed disappointed.

Before you knew it, your wedding day had arrived.

You were awoken that morning by the smell of roasting meat. Evidently, the preparation for tonight’s feast had already begun.

“Y/N!” Sabina’s high-pitched voice called, as she ran into your room.

You rubbed at your eyes and groggily mumbled a greeting.

“Today is the day!” The maid exclaimed, throwing open your curtains. “Hurry, we have no time to waste. There is so much to do!”

You were still half asleep as she dragged you out of bed.

As you later found out, ‘we have so much to do’ really meant ‘we must transform you into an entirely different woman by this afternoon.”

After Sabina had woken you up, a trio of handmaidens had poured through your doors.

Instantly, your bath was filled and heated. Before you knew it, you were being stripped of your nightgown and shoved into the warm water. Two of the servants scrubbed at your skin whilst another massaged scented oils into your damp hair.

Once you had been cleaned and dried, every inch of your body was waxed. Whilst Sabina combed your knotty tresses, the other handmaidens polished your nails and plucked at your eyebrows. Floral scented perfume was applied to various areas of your skin.

By the time your dress arrived, you were already exhausted.

The gown was so heavy, it took all four of the girls to lift it over your head. Once it was fitted, they set to work on your hair. Your long locks were braided tightly and pinned back, before being decorated with aubrieta buds and daisies. Finally, your cheeks were powdered and your lips painted with vermillion.

When, at last, you were able to look in the mirror, you did not recognise yourself.

Your gown was elaborate. Made of the finest red silk and embroidered with gold thread, with lace sleeves that draped towards the floor.

The tight style of your hair made your facial features more clearly stand out. You took in your bright eyes, the curve of your lashes, the angle of your cheekbones.

You blinked in disbelief. You had always been told you were pretty, but it wasn’t until now that you had ever really believed it.

“Come,” Sabina said, gently taking your hand, “the ceremony is about to begin.”

—————————————————————

Your heart had never beat so fast in your life.

You stood before a set of large, engraved wooden doors. Once they were opened, you would be met by rows and rows of people. Noblemen and women from around Italy, families from the surrounding villages, even the castle’s servants. Hundreds of people were in attendance, all waiting to see Alessandro Amoretto’s bride, the mysterious girl who claimed to have no family, no home. They would all be judging you, you knew, as soon as you stepped through those doors.

Your eyes began to shine with tears.

You were never supposed to be standing here. You were supposed to be somewhere far, far away by now.

You mentally cursed Loki. He said he would help you escape. He had promised you. The bastard.

But then, you directed your anger towards yourself. How could you be so foolish? You weren't friends with the man, you hardly even knew him. Of course he wasn’t going to help you. He was probably somewhere now, laughing with his friends and telling them about the human girl he had tricked.

Suddenly, music began playing.

You knew what that meant. Quickly, you wiped away your tears.

The doors opened.

As you made your way down the aisle, every head in the hall turned to look at you. You heard hushed whispers, muffled gasps of surprise.

Just look ahead. Focus.

Alessandro stood at the front of the room, staring at you intently. He wore a red tunic and knee-length boots, and his shoulder-length hair was tied at the nape of his neck. His family crest, embroidered in gold, covered his chest.

When you stepped up and took your place across from him, he winked at you.

You gave a weak smile before looking at the ground.

Standing in between the both of you was a priest, bald-headed and wearing a white robe. As he rose his arms to address the audience, the gold sashes slung across his shoulders billowed.

You did not pay attention to the words he spoke. Instead, you stared at your feet, willing away the tears that burned at your eyes.

Eventually, the priest’s eyes turned to you. “Do you, Lady Y/N, accept this man as your husband?”

“Yes,” you whispered, “I do.”

“And do you, Alessandro of the house Amoretto, take this woman as your wife?”

Alessandro smiled, his blue eyes crinkling. “Yes,” he beamed, “I do.”

“Well then,” the priest muttered, “that makes what I am about to do rather unfortunate.”

Your eyes lifted towards the priest in astonishment. Could it be?

“What do you mean by that?” Alessandro demanded.

“I am afraid that I cannot allow this young maiden to marry you.” The priest declared, his voice deepening.

At that, the audience let out a collective gasp of shock.

The priest’s plump figure began to transform before your eyes.

You couldn't believe it. A grin broke out across your face.

Suddenly, Alessandro grabbed you. The sharp sound of a weapon being drawn echoed around the room, and you felt a blade being pressed against your throat.

“Unhand her.” Loki demanded, glaring daggers at your groom. “Now.”

“My wife will not be going anywhere with a demon like you.” Alessandro spat. “I would rather kill her myself.”

“A demon?” Loki cried, incredulous. “You are a fool, aren't you?”

“Leave, you wicked creature!” Lord Amoretto’s voice yelled from the crowd. “Or I will have my hounds set on you!”

The god simply rolled his eyes.

Angered, Alessandro dug the edge of the blade further into your throat. You choked out in desperation.

“I told you to unhand her.” Loki growled, snapping his fingers. Suddenly, Alessandro was sent flying backwards. His sword flew from your throat and hit the floor with a clang.

“You bastard!” You choked out towards the man, rubbing at your now indented throat.

The crowd was yelling now. Some began to run towards you, anger in their eyes.

“You do still want to leave, don't you?” Loki said, turning towards you.

“Yes!” You cried. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

“Just checking.” Loki grinned, grabbing your hand with his.

Then, before you knew it, you had both disappeared.

You opened your eyes.

Your surroundings were mostly dark, save for a few flickering candles.

You had no idea where you were.

Two arms were wrapped tightly around your waist. Loki’s.

You went to step away, but before you knew it, your world was spinning and you were on the ground.

“Don’t worry,” Loki said, lifting you to your feet, “it is normal to get dizzy after teleporting.”

Teleporting?

“Where are we?” You asked, brushing off your dress.

“Paris.”

“Paris?!”

“Well, technically, a village just outside Paris.” Loki clarified.

“Would you mind explaining to me what just happened?” You pleaded. “Everything is… very confusing.”

The god smirked. Something he did an awful lot, you realised.

“I just saved you. Like you wanted. I teleported us, using magic. Right now, we are standing in an abandoned cottage in France.”

You eyed the man suspiciously. “If you could just teleport me anywhere, at any time, why did you have to wait until the ceremony to do it?”

“Two reasons,” Loki answered with a grin, “first of all, I like to make a scene. It’s more fun that way. And second, I wanted to see you all dressed up. It would have been a shame to let such a lovely gown go to waste.”

“Has anybody ever told you how insufferable you are?” You huffed.

“Oh, relax,” the raven-haired man sighed, “I saved you before your wedding night, didn’t I? Be glad you weren't made to consummate your marriage.”

You couldn't help but blush.

Loki turned to you, a smile playing at his lips. You noticed how green his eyes looked in the candlelight.

“Do you think you might have… changed your mind?” He asked.

You tilted your head in confusion. “About what?”

“About my earlier proposition.”

“No!” You answered, whacking his arm.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, rubbing the spot where you had hit him. “I just thought you might be feeling generous…”

You rolled your eyes in his direction.

For a short while, you both sat in silence.

Eventually, Loki spoke. “I guess I better be going, then.”

“Oh.” You exclaimed. “To where?”

“Asgard. My family is probably wondering where I have been.”

“Where is this Asgard you speak of? I have never heard of it.” You queried, intrigued.

He waved a hand. “That is a rather long story.”

Silently, you wished he would take the time to tell you. You thought about the long, lonely nights and days that awaited you. It would be nice, to sit here and listen to his voice for a while.

But, to your dismay, he got up to leave.

“Will I ever see you again?” You asked.

“Maybe. It depends on whether I get bored again or not.”

You couldn't have that be the last thing he said to you.

“Loki, wait.” You whispered.

He turned to you expectedly. “Have you reconsidered my offer?”

“No.”

“Oh.” He said, the excited glint in his eyes fading.

To his surprise, you pulled him into a hug.

“I just wanted to say, thank you.” You breathed. “You really did save me back there. Even though you hardly know me.”

Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around you. “It’s alright, really. It was actually kind of-”

“It was the nicest thing anybody has ever done for me.” You choked. Tears fell down your cheeks.

Loki’s mouth dropped. No one had ever cried about something he’d done before. Well, not happy tears, anyway. He was unsure of what to do.

“It’s okay.” He whispered, hugging you tight. “You’re safe now.”

After a minute, you let go.

“You have to leave now, I suppose.” You sniffled, straightening up.

“Right…”

You glanced at the floor, wiping at your tears with your sleeve.

“Y/N… you will see me again. I promise.”

“When? Next century?” You asked.

Loki laughed. “If you’re still alive by then.”

You let out a small smile. “Oh, I will be. Believe me.”

Softly, Loki lifted your chin up. “I don’t doubt it.” He whispered.

And then, with one final look into your eyes, the god snapped.

Just like that, he was gone.

#loki #loki odinson #loki of asgard #loki x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki imagine #loki fanfic #loki fluff #loki fanfiction #loki fandom #marvel fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel #endgame fanfic #tom hiddleston

210 notes · View notes

imagine-loki · 5 years

Text

Litklœði

TITLE: Litklœði

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 2/5 AUTHOR: Goldtrimmedspectacle ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine that Loki and you have been friends for years. Granted, he’s had his rough patches as you have had yours, but your friendship has been a reoccuring factor through the lasting centuries. However, something hasn’t been right recently. Your chest constantly aches and you keep coughing up petals - sometimes whole flowers. Loki seems none the wiser but you just can’t hide the ongrowing illness. Surely it has no correlation with your love for the dark prince of Asgard.

RATING: M (eventual) NOTES/WARNINGS: Angst and fluff.

Earlier updates on AO3.

_______

Chapter 2: Danzleikr

“My dear, do help me with this pin, would you? It has been digging into my shoulder since the opening banquet,” Frigga called from your side and twisted to show the awkwardly placed clothing pin that stuck out from her blue gown. The sheened cloth was gorgeous in the halls low lighting, the flower patterns winding up from her feet and down her arms, and you smiled with a softly murmured ‘of course, my queen’ as the pin was removed and repined in a more appropriate place on her sleeve.

The palace was warmer now, the snow which had lain mere weeks ago gone and leaving dew-dripped leaves. Spring had begun fully and you could not be happier as the sleet was now replaced by blooming daisies in its place, all which had been swept up and braided into the Allmother’s cascading hair. The entanglement of flowers and ginger strands created waves of vines and waterfalls, all whilst a small tiara was slotted upon her thick hair and reflected a turquoise sheen.

Your chest lurched as another vine dug into your lung.

The palace had been alit with chatter and anticipation the last few weeks. The servants and maids waltzed in the servant chambers, giggles stifled by hands and shoulders as the excitement built, and the cooks practised their new recipes all throughout the palace until no hallway was safe from the sweet aroma of brisket and cake.

Your stomach churned at your prior escapade into the kitchens – followed close behind by Loki, whose eyes had glistened with mischief and absolute delight at the variety of treats that aligned the kitchen counters. He had gathered the treats with quick hands, cookies and cakes stuffed into large pockets as the cooks waved both you and him from the kitchens.

One or two yelled at Loki with thick southern accents.

He had cackled and grabbed your hand, pulling you through the twisting passages of the Asgardian palace, much like he had done at five hundred when his mischief was high and less easily hidden. It was rare for his childish delight replaced the hidden angst which had built in the prior years.

The sight of his dishevelled hair and sly grin had left you breathless in more than one way.

You stifled a cough and smiled.

“You look gorgeous, Allmother. I fear you will push the Allfather into an Odinsleep with your mere presence.”

The queen beamed at your compliment, eyes warm with motherly affection, and she squeezed your hand as another one of her ladies-in-waiting fluttered up in their own attire.

“As do you, my love. I dare say that we will both push the men into fits with our gorgeous appearances. Maybe even cardiac arrest if we speak to them,” Frigga teased and you laughed along with the two other woman that had joined your small entourage. The expulsion of air caused your chest to throb and you gulped thickly, feeling a petal press against the back of your throat.

“Perhaps we should make our way to the ballroom, my queen?” The taller of two, a woman named Maarit, beckoned and Frigga agreed goodhumoredly. She led your small party away from her quarters and down the golden walls of the Royal quarters.

Each step you took seemed forceful and as you passed a mirror, you turned away – ignoring the slightness of your figure in recent days. The sunken pallor of your skin and the darkened veins around your arms and fingers were too much to bear on such a joyous day and completely unfit for such a wonderful spring day. You refused to darken the day with tales of woe and grief, having accepted your fate when the first violet fell from your lips.

Making polite chatter with the Allmother and her two other ladies, you wept inwardly over the unkind fate which had been handed into your young arms. The Gods had seen your chubby cheeks and unkempt hair and had decided that your life would be kept short by an ailment appropriate for unfit lovers, such as the Midgardian pair, Romeo and Juliet – then banished from the arms of the Æsir and into the clutches of Hela before your two-thousandth name day.

“Dear child, those violets look wonderful in your hair. They truly suit your dress and bracelet,” Maarit smiled and linked her arm with yours. Her oval face was a true blend of delight and beauty as she fawned over your hair like a mother would to her child, and her lips were painted pink to match the shimmery red frock that flowed amongst her ankles.

“Thank you, Maarit. You look beautiful also.”

The violets that streamed through your hair had been Frigga’s request rather than your own. In honour of the new flowers and life within the garden, Frigga had servants fetch flowers and entwined each petal into her ladies’ hair softly and with utter care.

You tried to ignore the stinging pain as the violets dug deeper into your scalp.

It had been difficult to hide your growing ailment as each day passed.

Whether you were inside with the Allmother, or outside by yourself, there always seemed to be a constant factor in where you stood. Wherever you moved, wherever you sat to calm your ease, your heart would yearn for the arms of another. For the touch of his hands against your skin. His lips against your own. His body pressed tightly against your heat.

You tried to ignore the physical and mental yearning for the young prince whenever you could, but with the violent retching of petals and blood each night, and your loss of appetite and will to bear such pain – all you could do was cry yourself to sleep at night. Arms tangled in your hair and legs drawn close to your chest, filling the absence of Loki’s body with your own bodily heat as the hours ticked by.

You were ashamed to admit that as the days grew longer and your ailment grew worse, there were hours where you would merely lie on the floor with blood crusting over your lips and petals stuck to the damped tears on your skin.

Loki had noticed your obvious discomfort – his words soft and gentle unlike his snide remarks and growls directed at Thor and his friends.

You had waved his words off, knowing full well that what you were experiencing could not be spoken aloud. But Loki’s eyes, pleading and wet, had only added hurt to the pain you were experiencing. So, you laughed and jested about the recent energy in the palace – your constant too-and-fro tasks as a servant taking their toll, which he frowned at.

You were not surprised to find that Frigga only allowed you to work a half-day that afternoon.

However, your most dreaded experience was when your ailment had almost been revealed to Loki as you sat reading a book, silent as the library clock chimed seven and the prince opened another novel to read. His eyes had met yours from above the book’s cover, eyebrows raised and eyes crinkled with fondness for your dazed expression.

There had been whispered words – lost by your fraught memories.

Loki had spoken of a poet. He had recited a line so crude and brash that you could do nothing but laugh, unsurprised that his book held the dirtiest of ballads to ever grace Asgard’s planes.

His voice had been low and husked. Lines layered by his honeyed tongue and his eyes boring into yours as the lines of crude verse turned to paragraphs of lovelorn desire and hot flushes. There were a few where your heart threatened to burst from your chest and melt on the tongue which Loki used to soothe you with his cloying lyrics.

You had been lucky that Loki was drawn from his verse by his brother, who barged into the library with his hammer in hand and yelling for Loki to join him on a hunt. The brash man had greeted you warmly, lips pressed to your hand quickly and softly, eyes dancing with mirth as Thor promised the quick return of his brother. Unharmed, unlike the last time.

Loki had moaned and howled like a child, his opinion engraved in stone as Thor dragged him from the warmth of your calm company, all whilst Loki glared daggers at the larger of the pair. His eyes had fluttered to you and your heart warmed with the sweet kiss Loki laid on your palm, lingering there a moment longer than you thought was polite, and he walked away.

As the door swung shut, violets racked themselves up fro your chest, finally free after all your time enraptured by Loki’s company. The pain was sharp and grew fiercer with every cough, your throat feeling swollen and tight as the petals sealed your airways and passed again and again.

Your body copied the actions of your past and you discreetly pulled a cloth from your sleeve, allowing the small petals to fall and stay hidden in the white fabric. All whilst Maarit, the Allmother and Ona, the eldest of Frigga’s ladies, remained none the wiser. Yet, you failed to notice the sharp look the Allmother sent your way.

“Do you believe the princes will find wives at this ball, dear blóm?”

Your lungs ached.

“Perhaps, Maarit. I know that Thor has calmed since his trip to Midgard, but there is always something rather sad in his eyes. Have you noticed? He does not spend as much time hunting or fighting as he once did, but rather at the Bifrost with Heimdall and travelling the realms.”

She hummed and remained silent – satisfied with your reaffirmation and the extravagant decorations of the main hall.

The three ladies split as Maarit fluttered towards an old couple by the door, who welcomed her with open arms and excited smiles, all whilst gushing over how beautiful she had grown. Ona disappeared also, hiding in the throngs of Æsir and their intoxicated dancing. Frigga too pulled away and joined the Allfather at his throne.

You smiled as she kissed his cheek and Odin took her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.

“I would know these flowers anywhere. Where have you been today, dear blóm?”

Your body seized up and a loud swallow filled the loud dance hall.

“Loki.” He smiled at your acknowledgement and bowed low, hand elevated much to your amusement.

“At your disposal, dear fae,�� the prince jested and rose from his deep bow, arm still waiting for your hand. You did as he wished and linked your fingers together. “Now, where have you been hiding? Have you been creeping into the kitchens to steal more fairy cakes?”

You smacked his arm.

“You are the sole mischief maker here, Odinson. I am but a misguided accomplice – swayed by your sugar-coated words and lavish poetry.”

He took the bait with a wolfish smirk.

“My sugar-coated words?” Loki pulled you onto the dancefloor and you were swept into the intricate dance of the Asgardian court. “Perhaps I should sway you with a sweet ballad. Then I may be able to convince you to follow every one of my dangerous plans.” His demeanour seemed dark and dangerous but you smirked in turn, which transformed into a smile as Loki twirled you around another couple.

“I have heard you sing, Loki,” you whispered in a hushed tone, “It is horrendous.”

Loki laughed and pulled you closer, arms weaving around your waist.

“Now I know that is a lie. You fail to remember that I am both the God of mischief and lies, dear friend.”

Your throat tickled.

“I have never forgotten.” He rolled his eyes and twirled you out with one hand, pulling you back to replicate the familiar dance moves of the other couples. His hand remained firmly in place as you waltzed under a pair of raised arms and the two of you pulled away, swaying behind another standing couple and re-joining with flared skirts and fast feet.

Your head fell back as Loki led you in a tight twirl, chests pressed tightly together and an arm clutching your body close to his stomach.

“Indeed, dear blóm. I know you have not.”

Pulling yourself up, your eyes caught Loki’s and the skin around his eyes crinkled from his wide smile. The thick eyelashes fluttered as Loki scanned your features, eyes swirling with something incomprehensible under the bright lanterns, and his voice washed off you - a flush of warmth filling your chest and rushing into your stomach.

His forehead pressed against yours and your breath hitched. Loki’s eyes fell shut as the final chords were strummed and fell silent. The music died down and you waltzed with Loki a moment longer until the strings finished. His hands hovered over your hips, fingers digging deep into the skin until they simply slipped from the light fabric and back to his sides. You smiled with watery eyes, chest heaving slightly in a futile attempt to expel the suffocating petals.

Clapping filled the lingering silence and Loki’s eyes opened – stepping back with quick grace and his hand holding yours up in the appropriate walking position. He smirked as you were led off the dancefloor with the other couples, none-the-wiser to the position he had forced you into.

The hall filled with chatter once more.

“Dance or drink?”

You choked out a half-hearted cough and swallowed a petal.

“Pardon?”

Loki quirked an eyebrow and his hand ran to the crook of your elbow – pulling it to slot with his own.

“Would you like to dance again or would a drink be preferred at this current time?”

His lips tugged up into a smirk once more.

You flailed.

“A drink would be appreciated.”

He nodded and dropped your arm, not without lavishing your palm with a soft kiss, and moved to sashay through the parting sea of commons people and members of the Royal court. It was fascinating to watch how men tripped over themselves in their attempts to avoid Loki’s line of sight. It was less fascinating to watch women dressed in emerald gowns chatter excitedly as the man walked past, their dark eyes alight with lust and conniving spirts.

You felt a stab.

A gasp tumbled from your lips and another petal tumbled onto your dress.

You stumbled slightly and were thankful when another pair of arms caught your waist, hands splayed across the chest of another man as the pain was temporarily subdued and your eyes caught the attention of a blue pair.

“Ah,” your name tumbled from the man’s lips kindly and he helped you balance yourself. “I am surprised to see you here. Away from the arms of Prince Loki, that is.” He jested and picked the petal from your dress, placing it on top of your head to match the other violets present there.

“Tamas.” Your smile widened at the friendly servant boy, glad to see a familiar face amongst the crowd, and ignoring the slight remaining twinge in your chest. All panic temporarily forgotten in your tumble. “Thank you. It appears that without our trusted prince, I cannot keep myself up straight,” you joked weakly and stood back up.

You faltered at your own words.

“Where is your brother?”

The younger twin scanned the crowds and shrugged good-naturedly, unbothered by his brother’s absence, as it was a common occurrence in the palace.

“Somewhere. You know how Bas is. Never one to stand with large crowds. I say he is probably hiding in the kitchens with the cook and their help. No thanks to your earlier escapades, I’m sure.”

You failed to hide your mortified blush.

The boy stood proudly at barely nine hundred. His shirt had been freshly washed and ironed, but the armour he adorned was old and dented in places. There was obvious pride in how he wore the breastplate, despite its large size on his wiry figure. Yet despite all this, he never failed to call you out on the wrongdoings of both you and Loki. Always teasing whenever the option was presented.

At least he had not mentioned the chocolate paste incident.

“Uhm,” you tried to change the topic, “are you enjoying tonight’s activities, Tamas?”

The boy blushed lightly and smiled, eyes wavering from you and onto a young maiden across the hall.

Ah.

Tamas looked very dashing for his age and your heart melted further with his sway in heart. The mortification faded as he laughed sweetly and squeezed your arm, much like a younger brother would do.

“I see that you are.”

“Yes, you are quite right. I am. Moreso than I originally thought, perhaps.”

“And did you originally believe the spring ball would be dull then? With all our hardwork? Tamas, careful with your words or else we shall be expelled from the ball and polite company!” You chimed in playfully, eyes glancing back amidst the crowds in search of other servants and lords.

“Oh shush, krútt. Go find your prince and halt your teasing words.” His smiled widened and you slapped his shoulder lightly.

“He is not mine - you must not say so. Now, do tell me more of this young woman that has taken your fancy.”

The boy laughed again, eyes alive with mirth and doubt.

“Her name is Beatrix – “

“Lovely. What is her last name?”

“Valdottir – “

“And what does she do?”

“She is a handmaiden for the guest and extended family quarters. So she does not see much action, however she does get a lovely lady ever so often. It excites her greatly.”

“Verily - ”

A new voice interrupted your reply.

“What a fascinating woman she must be. Although, I can imagine that she would grow tired of Asgardian ladies. There are few women of immense interest in our court, so I can believe that our otherworldly guests would be far more interesting than the many ladies that grace the halls of Asgard.” An arm rested itself around your waist and your hip was pulled to rest firmly against the newcomer’s own.

“Your highness.” Tamas bowed.

“Loki – “ a glass was placed in your open hand.

“That is crediting not Lady Sif and our dear blóm here.” Loki’s hand tugged your own up to his lips. His eyes churned with great joy at the servant boy’s nervous disposition, glad to have interrupted the conversation for slight teasing, and pressed a light kiss to your inner wrist. “For all of Asgard would be far duller without her presence, I am sure.”

Tamas shifted.

You pulled your arm to nurse the glass with both hands – heart pounding wildly at the friendly gesture. Your stomach recoiled at the thought and you could feel the flowers pressing against your throat. Your cloth was used once more to hide the growing flowers.

“Behave.”

“When have I ever been known to behave, dear?”

You sent the mischievous God a warning look, which he took and nodded with slight reluctance. The arm around your waist tightened, showing how Loki had acknowledged his patronising tone and the slight cut of his tongue. A silent apology.

Your attention swayed back to the young boy.

“Tamas, have you asked Beatrix to dance?”

The boy shifted again and shook his head ‘no’.

“I have not. She seems quite happy dancing with her sisters and brother right now. I would hate to intrude.”

“I am sure she would not mind the intrusion, especially if you are close friends.”

Loki choked on his drink.

“Alas, we are but acquaintances,” his smile turned disheartened as the prince coughed. “It would be rude to interrupt her enjoyment.”

You frowned.

“Tamas, fret not. I’m sure there will come a time when the option will arise. For the time being, I am quite certain that I am not engaged.” Tamas laughed at your teasing and his eyes retreated from their sorrowful nature, reflecting the exhilaration of your joke.

“A lady asking for my hand in a dance? How times have changed since I was a little boy.” He teased.

“Indeed, what does that mean, dear Tamas? I am sure you have had many a lady call for you to sweep them off their feet. Do not lie!”

“As much as I believe it would be delightful to watch you two dance – “ Loki cut into the conversation abruptly – “I would not dally with your interests as there has been a stable boy watching your mistress for the past hour.” Tamas’ face fell and followed the direction in which the prince tipped his glass. You could feel Loki’s other hand squeezing your side.

“There is no time like the present, boy. I would woo her with a dance now,” Loki announced with a slight dismissive tone, although his eyes were wide with delight and something darker, “rather than risk it for a later time when she is unavailable to court.”

Tamas moved, unnerved by the God’s sudden change in tone.

He glanced at your face.

“Well… If you believe it would do me well, Prince Loki. Would you excuse me?”

Loki waved his hand.

“I am here to enjoy myself, sveinn. You need not my permission to woo a girl. Good luck and do not trip on her feet.” He smirked at the last jab and took another swig of mead.

You exchanged an exasperated guise with Tamas, who beamed shyly with a hidden eyeroll, and waved as the young man sped his way through the growing crowds.

You watched until he met Beatrix on the other side of the ballroom and abashed, gifted her his hand, which she took with a bright smile. The young girl seemed even more thrilled than Tamas to have been asked to dance by his side.

“Did you truly have to tease him so?”

Loki’s fingers rubbed your side sweetly, reminding you of his light grasp, and hummed.

“Granted, my previous words were poor and I apologise for that. I know you do not appreciate me insulting the other women of Asgard, especially as there – in your words ‘very lovely and intelligent women around each corner’. Not to mention, Mother would ban me from her reading room. However, know that you are one of my most favoured ladies,” he teased and smirked at your dismayed expression – ignoring the twinge of pain that came with the honeyed phrase. “But my other words, I cannot hide my shame for there is none,” Loki grinned and you could not help but copy him. “He dearly likes the maid, so I wished for him to not dally with his affections and ask her to dance before another suitor swept themselves into her circle. Besides, I do believe your next dance is mine.”

Pain.

“No matter how much you wish to hide that soft heart of yours, you are not as sly as perceived, dear trickster. I quite enjoy these displays of odd kindness.”

“Oh really?” Loki mocked with raised eyebrows. “Well, perhaps I should grant another kindness upon your wearied soul, dear.” His arm fell away and your glasses lay forgotten on a stray table as the prince pulled you from the busied hall and into Asgard’s dimly lit halls.

The grand doors slammed shut and his hand engulfed your fingers, thumb brushing lightly over your skin. An eruption of goosebumps coated your arm and your heart thumped so wildly, it hurt to breathe. His presence was overstimulating in its mere existence and you felt faint with how his face looked so chiselled and royal in the shadows.

“My wearied soul?”

Your voice sounded so small in the catacombic building.

Loki slowed his pace to a slow walk, keeping your body close and eyes scanning your face. He turned away and kept walking – hand squeezing yours in a familiar gesture.

“You act as if I would not notice the changes to your figure and skin, dear.” He traced your wrist for emphasise. “If anyone were to see your sudden tiredness and your reliance on that clothed handkerchief up your sleeve, it would be me,” Loki drawled out and squeezed your hand again.

You walked through a set of open doors.

“I refrained from mentioning such things to you after our time in the library and your adamant response on your wellness. But, my dearest friend,” Loki paused at the next junction of hallways. He turned to you. “I cannot sit quietly by your side if you are unwell. It is both against my upbringing and my blatant adoration for you as an admirer and as a most beloved companion.”

He caressed both hands in his own and eyed the open corridors, pulling your body into an alcove hidden by the servant quarters, away from prying eyes.

The lack of room had your lungs in stitches.

“Blóm, what ails you? Tell me and let the healers erase your pain.”

Your breath hitched.

Panic.

“Loki, please. Now is not the time – “ You pushed at his chest as to escape his grasp, but fell prey to your own desire to be near him. Your pushes were far weaker that you would allow yourself to admit.

“Is it dangerous?”

“What? No – “

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it does no – “

“Do not lie to me.”

“Loki, I am not lying.” You knew the words fell flat. “It is a mere passing illness. Nothing more. I am sure the healers could have it removed from my system more quickly, yes, but it is nothing too important to fret over.”

The prince’s scowl deepened.

Silence crept into the conversation.

Loki’s eyes seemed so expressive in the dark hallways – glistening with fear and worry, however hidden under an overlaying film of exasperation and anger. The green of his irises churned with an elixir of moss and seiðr. His pale skin formed a glowing mass of regal air and natural born beauty.

His hand collected your own once more and he took a step closer.

“Dear.” The call beckoned you to meet his eyes.

Loki’s face was so soft.

So vulnerable when compared to the guarded façade he carried most hours of the day.

“What ails you?” The voice whispered, heart-throbbing and pleading in nature.

The flowers stirred.

You inched closer to Loki’s body and let your hands dropped. They slipped around his waist and your head fell to rest against Loki’s shoulder. The pressure of his chin on your head was a welcomed comfort despite the fraught tension of the conversation.

A sigh.

Loki’s hand dug into your hair and pulled the violets from each strand.

“Tell me, blóm.”

His hand ran through the loose strands.

Your head rose and his hand cupped your lower jaw, lips inches apart.

“Loki – “

“Loki! There you are.”

Your bodies pulled away from each other simultaneously. Loki’s hand fell to his side, violet still in hand, and you noticed how his jaw strained with innate tension. His eyes met yours in the darkness and the tension eased ever-so-slightly, which you appreciated and smiled in turn.

“What is it, Thor? I do believe the lady and I were busy with our trip to the library.”

The larger of the two princes frowned as he walked closer and rolled his eyes. His hand gripped yours in a brotherly manner, squeezing the skin in a far harsher grip than Loki would do, and pulled you from the hidden alcove. Thor then slapped Loki’s shoulder in a show of brotherly affection and strength.

Loki stumbled slightly.

“Ah, the party had grown dull then. I am not surprised that our dear lady and you, Loki, would be retreating to the library after a tiresome evening. At least the feast was entertaining, was it not?”

Your eyes met Loki’s once more and his smirk was poorly hidden.

There had been more than a few ‘unfortunate’ instances during the meal, that was certain.

“Indeed. The poor prince of Eslöv. How he had looked so dapper in that violet waistcoat.”

Thor ignored the passing remark.

“Loki, Father requests your presence in the main hall. He did not tell me what for, so I imagine it is a surprise. He was quite adamant for your presence though. There was a smart-looking woman by his side too. I believe she was the heiress of the Innangard kingdom – Vanaheimr’s main ruling sector.”

Loki tutted in distaste.

“Princess Catriona. A distant cousin of mothers.” His body tensed. “We have met before – it was not pleasant.”

Your hand slipped between Loki’s fingers and grounded his thoughts.

A small smile flooded his features.

“Well, if that is the case then I am unsure why Father would require your presence. However, he expressed its great urgency, so I think it best if we make haste to the ballroom. Lady blóm, would you give me the pleasure of your arm? It is best if Loki were to arrive before us.”

You nodded, understanding the courtesy which Thor offered, and slipped from Loki’s fingers - heart breaking at the loss of contact and yearning for his touch once more. For more contact, more stimulation of his skin on yours.

His caresses.

His kisses –

Your body recoiled and a petal grazed the roof of your mouth.

“We will see you inside, brother. It would be unwise to dawdle.”

Your eyes caught Loki’s one last time. He scowled at Thor and groaned rather impertinently, running a hand through his hair and realising the flower in hand.

A pause.

“Fine. But give me one last moment before I have to face Odin’s ire.”

Loki stepped forward and his hand fell back onto your cheek. The hand titled your head up and stroked the lines of your cheeks down to your lips, where he paused temporarily and all attention fell from Thor. His lips were thin but tempting in the darkened hallway. The slight ruffled nature of his hair, which had grown rather long since Thor’s return from Midgardr, fell delicately in front of his face and obscured your view of Loki’s eyes.

A flower was tucked behind your ear and he smirked.

A soft ‘lovely’ passed his lips and his hand fell away.

You faulted and grabbed the offending palm.

Thor remained silent during the exchange and watched with on-growing fascination at the soft display of affection. So unfamiliar with this side of Loki – so soft and vulnerable and new – his mannerisms were so unlike that which Loki displayed at the dining table, that is unless it was their Mother or a particularly kind maid or cook. And the way you handled the turmoiled prince, Thor wondered if he even knew his brother at all – so used to his yells and sarcastic wit, but unfamiliar with his dazed expression of admiration and something he only saw on the faces of young maidens faced with their first love.

Loki froze at your sudden touch and your eyes widened with delayed panic. His pupils dilated as you pulled the hand to your lips and proceeded with a flushed kiss pressed to the skin connecting Loki’s thumb to his palm. He exhaled a breath of air and watched as your pulled away, eyes lidded and cheeks pink with their exhilaration.

“Gorgeous.”

His breath stuttered at your word and you withdrew, afraid of overstepping in your moment of weakness, and mortified by your blatant expression of admiration.

The moment broke and you promptly linked arms with Thor.

“We will see you after the announcement, Loki.” Your voice wavered.

Thor took the moment to pull you away from the enraptured stare of the dark prince. You were lucky that he spoke none of the dizzying encounter and rather, you chose to concentrate on the dull ache that, with every step, grew deeper and heavier.

Drawing further away from the flower’s love, you glanced a quick look back at Loki.

He stood there cradling his palm.

The flowers bloomed once more.

You turned back and your eyes steeled.

What ever happened, at least you had pressed one kiss to your beloved’s iridescent skin.

It was enough.

You lied.

__________

Sveinn - translation: boy, pronounced: s-v-ein

#Loki #Lover #Angst #God of Mischief #Submitted fic #submission #Litklœði #goldtrimmedspectacle #chapter 2

81 notes · View notes

lovehaswonangelnumbers · 5 years

Photo

New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/message-from-the-angels-embracing-joy-no-matter-what/

Message From The Angels ~ Embracing Joy... No Matter What

Message From The Angels ~ Embracing Joy… No Matter What

Via: Ann Albers

Hi Dear Friends!

Today we are visited by a joy angel who reminds us that we can experience joy no matter what is going on. I’ll share some practical examples and useful tips on how to find the joy… no matter what 🙂

Love you all!

♥ Ann

Message from the Angels

This week, an angel I’ve not met before showed up to share her loving message. I hope you can feel her joyful energy!

Greetings dear ones!

Allow me to introduce myself. I have a name that is musical in nature, rather than verbal. I transmit to you via vibration. You might perceive me as feminine in nature and I am, in a sense, one of the many spirits of Joy. If you had to use a name for me, you could call me Ilina (pronounced ee-lee-na) for its vibration suits me well.

All of the angels are simply expression of Divine love, so when you call on me – or any of the millions of other angels – you are calling upon the Spirit of Love that lives within us all. The Divine lives within you me, the masters, and every blade of grass, manifest or as yet to be born! You are calling upon the love that exists within universes and ants, within coffee, cream, and sugar, and within your every breath. You are just simply selecting the variety of love you would like to receive today! Mine comes as a feeling of Joy!

You can work with me easily. Simply sit quietly and call me. “Ilina, please fill me with the spirit of joy.” Breathe and repeat that phrase if you need, and I will come and bring my spirit of joy into your own aura. You might feel a bubbly, or effervescent sensation, a feeling of love expanding within your heart, swirling, or simply a feeling of peace. You might feel as if flowers have been scattered all around you in a beautiful meadow, or as if a puppy has come up to kiss you with unbounded love. Perhaps tears will flow or unexpressed frustrations will be released, thus making way for joy to be experienced in their wake.

Don’t seek these feelings. Simply call upon me and breathe. Allow me to move the the denser energies stuck within your field. Allow me to facilitate connections within your brain that are more joyous in nature than the conditioned negative responses to life.

If you like, you can imagine you are breathing in a bright sunny color – the color of sunflowers, daffodils, or bright morning sunshine! Imagine it filling your heart. Drink that beautiful color into every cell of your body, simply through your imagination and intent.

Joy is a spirit – an energy frequency that you can tap into through your desire to do so. I can assist. Joy can be triggered by external circumstances but you need not depend on these. Joy is a frequency that can be found no matter what the outside world is doing.

Look at your dear animals. A dog can be happy with three legs, limping or even sick, because the dog has no judgment. The animals accept their conditions, observe them, make adjustments as necessary and continue to focus on the love that surround them – food, hugs, kisses, a warm bed, a cozy pile of leaves, or anything they find pleasant.

Can you imagine the joy in the human race if you could simply observe your problems, handle what you can for now, and then go back to enjoying what you can, right here and now? Can you imagine feeling good even while you have bills you don’t know how to pay? Can you be delighted with the sunrise and smell of spring flowers even when your body is not perfectly healthy? Can you allow yourself time to enjoy your life even when your loved ones are not… and are too stubborn to let you (or themselves!) do anything about it?

Give yourself permission, dear ones, to feel your natural state of being! You were originally programmed to focus on love, joyous desires, and the goodness, beauty, and truth within others! You learned to obsess on the rest. You were programmed to focus on what isn’t working – as if that would help you solve the problems. That is unnatural. The soul seeks truth and the truth is that you are loved in every moment of your existence, day and night, 24/7, whether you focus on it, allow it in, or not. The soul focuses on solutions, knowing the focus on desired results draws forth the ideas and assistance to achieve them. The soul is joyous. It loves to create!

Voluntarily seek joy. Voluntarily sit with me and allow me to enliven your energy field. Voluntarily turn off depressing news and focus on the good things people are doing in this world. Kiss your puppies. Laugh with your children. Do the things that breathe life into you, and if you don’t know what those are, start exploring. Give thanks for the breath that gives you time on this earth and then explore as a child would, to discover your particular brand of joy. Steer your thoughts towards all that is beautiful and wonderful in this world.

Life has its challenges, and we do understand. As human beings you will grieve when you lose someone, through death, divorce, or a host of ungraceful ways people leave your life. You will have a momentary survival reaction if you lose a job. You may have a fearful reaction if you discover an illness. You may be depressed if you don’t know how to change your unpleasant circumstances. These reactions are deeply conditioned upon your planet earth.

There are other realities in which the inhabitants hold a grand celebration when a loved transitions from their existence. They throw a huge party and telepathically connect with the newly graduated soul. They send joyous messages of congratulations, knowing that these newly released souls will now be their guides! Can you imagine, there are realities where every loss of form is met with a zeal to create something new? Can you imagine, even upon your planet earth, there are beings connecting deeply with the joy of surrendering to the unknown – knowing that when they don’t know what to do, a higher, more loving force does?

Your reality is not the only one, dear friends. It is however the most challenging.

So while we deeply understand the unpleasant, depressing, fearful, and often upsetting circumstances on your earth, we know a greater truth. You are loved! Beyond reason! Here and now and always. You never lose a soul. The forms of Divine love in your life change but the Divine never leaves you. We in the heavens want to share this feeling of truth and love with all of you.

Sit quietly. Breathe. Ask for my help or the help of any angel master, or spirit of love and joy. Allow us to guide you up and out of any darkness, and into the exuberance of your soul which is deeply grateful to live, breathe, and create there upon your earth.

God Bless You! We love you so very much. — The Angels

~~~~~~~~~

LoveHasWon.org is a 501c3 Non Profit Charity, Heartfully Associated with the “World Blessing Church Trust” for the Benefit of Mother Earth

Share Our Messages with Love and Gratitude

LOVE US @ MeWe mewe.com/join/lovehaswon

Visit Our NEW Sister Site: LoveHasWon Angel Numbers

https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/

Commentary from The First Contact Ground Crew 5dSpiritual Healing Team:

Feel Blocked, Drained, Fatigued, Restless, Nausea, Achy, Ready to Give Up? We Can Help! We are preparing everyone for a Full Planetary Ascension, and provide you with the tools and techniques to assist you Home Into The Light. The First Contact Ground Crew Team, Will Help to Get You Ready For Ascension which is Underway. New Spiritual Sessions have now been created for an Entire Family, including the Crystal Children; Group Family Healing & Therapy. We have just began these and they are incredible. Highly recommend for any families struggling together in these times of intense changes. Email: [email protected] for more information or to schedule an emergency spiritual session. We can Assist You into Awakening into 5d Reality, where your experience is one of Constant Joy, Wholeness of Being, Whole Health, Balanced, Happy and Abundant. Lets DO THIS! Schedule Your Session Below by following the Link! Visit: http://www.lovehaswon.org/awaken-to-5d/

Introducing our New LoveHasWon Twin Flame Spiritual Intuitive Ascension Session. Visit the link below:

https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-twin-flame-spiritual-intuitive-ascension-session/

Request an Astonishing Personal Ascension Assessment Report or Astrology Reading, visit the link below for more information:

https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-ascension-assessment-report

https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-astrology/

Experiencing DeAscension Symptoms, Energy Blockages, Disease and more? Book a Holistic Healing Session

https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-holistic-healing-session/

To read our Testimonials you can follow this link: http://www.lovehaswon.org/testimonials

Connect with MotherGod~Mother of All Creation on Skype @ mothergoddess8

Visit Our Online Store for Higher Consciousness Products and Tools: LoveHasWon Essentials

http://lovehaswonessentials.org/

Request a copy of our Book: The Tree of Life ~ Light of The Immortals Book

Order a copy of Our LoveHasWon Ascension Guide: https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-ascension-guide/

Donate to Love:

We are a Donation based service for the Planetary Ascension. Thank you for showing your support and keeping our website and Love Energies moving forward! Thanks for supporting your family of light in their time of need to fulfill mission. We are Eternally Grateful!

Donate to Love: http://www.lovehaswon.org/donate-to-love/

*Please Indicate the Purpose of Donation: Session or Mission

Donate to Love

~~~When donating via Paypal please select “personal payment”, as opposed to goods and services, this in turn gives more of your donation to LoveHasWon~~~

Use Cash App with Our code and we’ll each get $5! FKMPGLH

Cash App Tag: $lovehaswon1111

Cash App

Donate with Venmo

VENMO

Support Our cause in the creation of the Crystal Schools for Children. Visit our fundraising link below:

LoveHasWon Charity for Crystal Schools

Support Our Charity in Co~Creating the New Earth Together by Helping Mother of All Creation. Visit our fundraising link below:

Support Mother Earth!

Support Us on PATREON

PATREON

Support Us Through Our LoveHasWon Wish List

LoveHasWon Wish List

We also accept Western Union and Moneygram. You may send an email to [email protected] for more information.

***If you wish to send Donations by mail or other methods, email us at [email protected] or [email protected]***

**** We Do Not Refund Donations****

MeWe ~ Youtube ~ Facebook ~ Apple News ~ Linkedin ~ Twitter ~ Tumblr ~ GAB ~ Minds ~ Google+ ~ Medium ~ StumbleUpon ~ Reddit ~ Informed Planet ~ Steemit ~ SocialClub ~ BlogLovin ~ Flipboard ~ Pinterest ~ Instagram ~ Snapchat

#5D Astrology #Angel Numbers #Ascension and Spirituality #consciousness #LoveHasWon

1 note · View note

jswdmb1 · 4 years

Text

Porcelain

“I never meant to hurt you

I never meant to lie

So this is goodbye?

This is goodbye”

- Moby

I know a lot of people are disappointed about holidays like Easter and Passover coming right now. They want to gather with friends and family and cannot. It is obviously much worse for those directly hit by the virus, and millions more are facing financial distress so acutely that whether or not they get through this week is a major question. It certainly does not feel like a joyous time, but I have been wondering if it ever was supposed to be in the first place.

You all know I am not religious and do not subscribe to an organized faith any longer. That doesn’t mean I that I don’t know my stuff. I studied a lot of religion through 17 years of catholic education and paid attention once in a while (more than I let on). When what I was being told didn’t add up, I would check the source information myself by reading the Bible - the gospels to be specific- but I didn’t read them for religious purposes; I looked at them as a biography of someone who fascinated me.

For starters, I always questioned the veracity of the stories. Not whether the man existed, but whether the accounts of his life were really an objective narrative. After a while though, I began to see that didn’t matter. Whether Jesus said and did those things, or if it was someone else, or if some of it didn’t happen at all, the point was the message behind the story and not the facts behind it that seemed sketchy at times. And the messages being delivered were powerful. Love each other as you love yourself. The meek shall inherit the earth. The poor and diseased were to be embraced instead of shunned. Money and material things were the root of discontent and will prevent true happiness. This was all said under the context that these words would cause enough anger that they would get himself killed. And as that happened he couldn’t help but question if it was all done in a vain attempt to save people who didn’t want to be saved. Like I said, powerful stuff.

But somehow that got lost. Maybe it was through time and/or translation, but little of that message has made its way into the modern world. I left organized religion for that exact reason as no one could give me a good reason why that was not being said. That was a deal breaker and I never looked back and am confident I made the right decision. Still, I hold on to those words I did read and do my best to translate them into some explanation as to why they are completely ignored by modern society. There are times that I feel it’s not my place to try and decipher the code. It’s a task beyond my pay grade and I should just do my best with the life I have. Maybe someday I’ll find out why, but maybe not. Either way, it is something that I needed to move on from and I did.

But I have a lot of time to think now, I and went back to reflection on what our current situation might just mean in relation to my problem. If you really read the gospel’s description of the murder of Jesus and the subsequent fall out, it is really dark. The time leading up to Good Friday was chaotic and filled with anxiety. There was denial and betrayal and confusion among the group reigned. In days following much false inspiration spread and the followers were disoriented and scared. It had to be a most unpleasant and unsettling experience. Yet, within days, there seemed to be a cause for hope and even the possibility of redemption. But this hope had to be tempered with the realization that things would never be the same and the weight of carrying through the message would eventually be left to the apostles and carried on through the generations to today and beyond.

And that brings us back to where we are now. When the two situations are compared, some striking similarities cannot be denied. I’m not necessarily saying we have it as bad as the apostles did after Jesus died, but they were people just like us. I’m sure their feelings of doubt and despair were quite similar to what we feel now. That is why this may be the most profound Easter we will ever experience. That’s a big statement, but it sure seems to fit. The question is - what do we do with it.

For starters, if Easter is the ultimate story of redemption, we owe it to ourselves to give ourselves a break. Use this time to forget what has been and focus on what could be. It’s officially time to say goodbye to what was and acknowledge things will never be the same much as the apostles came to realize 40 days from now when the story says Jesus left them forever by ascending into heaven. What does this mean for us? The instructions are in the messages Jesus gave us so long ago. Forget about the rat race and slow things down to enjoy what you have. Help those that need it the most and embrace a more modest and humble life. Spend more time developing relationships with your fellow humans rather than developing the next get rich quick scheme. Have the courage to ignore the noise of those less informed about what truly makes you successful and have the fortitude to do what you know is right regardless of how unpopular that is. In a nutshell, be more like Jesus.

Don’t think I don’t know that it is incredibly ironic that a no-good agnostic who has forsaken the religion bestowed (ahem, forced) upon him is lecturing you on how to be a better Christian. But I don’t think my views on organized religion preclude me from admiring or even following the message of Jesus. Can’t I just take the purity of his message that I learned so long ago and apply it in the best way I can? I’m simply stripping out the filter that often prevents the real truth getting out. Because none of it really matters if we continue our pre-pandemic ways when we have this wonderful opportunity for true redemption. A definite fork in the road is coming up and the path we choose will likely seal our destiny. It’s time to start anew and spend whatever time we have left reestablishing all of those things Jesus died for so long ago.

I have rarely been more curious about what people will think when they read what I have written. My guess is that I have either inspired you or pissed you off, and I’m okay with either reaction. I would be more troubled by indifference because this moment is too big for that and we need everyone on board to this plan if it has any chance to succeed. So, with that, I leave you this Easter Sunday, which is certain to not fade from your memory anytime soon, with a message of hope. And my hope is that our memories will include marking the moment when we all decided that redemption was for us. We may not get it perfect, but we can at least try. Don’t we owe Jesus at least that? Don’t we owe that to ourselves?

I sincerely hope this message finds you healthy in mind and body. Please take care of yourselves and each other.

Peace,

Jim

0 notes

dfroza · 4 years

Text

my reading of the ancient Psalms and Proverbs for january 31 of 2020

with Psalm 31 and Proverbs 31, along with Psalm 42 for the 42nd day of Winter

[Paalm 31]

A David Psalm

I run to you, God; I run for dear life.

Don’t let me down!

Take me seriously this time!

Get down on my level and listen,

and please—no procrastination!

Your granite cave a hiding place,

your high cliff aerie a place of safety.

You’re my cave to hide in,

my cliff to climb.

Be my safe leader,

be my true mountain guide.

Free me from hidden traps;

I want to hide in you.

I’ve put my life in your hands.

You won’t drop me,

you’ll never let me down.

I hate all this silly religion,

but you, God, I trust.

I’m leaping and singing in the circle of your love;

you saw my pain,

you disarmed my tormentors,

You didn’t leave me in their clutches

but gave me room to breathe.

Be kind to me, God—

I’m in deep, deep trouble again.

I’ve cried my eyes out;

I feel hollow inside.

My life leaks away, groan by groan;

my years fade out in sighs.

My troubles have worn me out,

turned my bones to powder.

To my enemies I’m a monster;

I’m ridiculed by the neighbors.

My friends are horrified;

they cross the street to avoid me.

They want to blot me from memory,

forget me like a corpse in a grave,

discard me like a broken dish in the trash.

The street-talk gossip has me

“criminally insane”!

Behind locked doors they plot

how to ruin me for good.

Desperate, I throw myself on you:

you are my God!

Hour by hour I place my days in your hand,

safe from the hands out to get me.

Warm me, your servant, with a smile;

save me because you love me.

Don’t embarrass me by not showing up;

I’ve given you plenty of notice.

Embarrass the wicked, stand them up,

leave them stupidly shaking their heads

as they drift down to hell.

Gag those loudmouthed liars

who heckle me, your follower,

with jeers and catcalls.

What a stack of blessing you have piled up

for those who worship you,

Ready and waiting for all who run to you

to escape an unkind world.

You hide them safely away

from the opposition.

As you slam the door on those oily, mocking faces,

you silence the poisonous gossip.

Blessed God!

His love is the wonder of the world.

Trapped by a siege, I panicked.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” I said.

But you heard me say it,

you heard and listened.

Love God, all you saints;

God takes care of all who stay close to him,

But he pays back in full

those arrogant enough to go it alone.

Be brave. Be strong. Don’t give up.

Expect God to get here soon.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 31 (The Message)

[Psalm 42]

Book 2

The Exodus Psalms

Psalms of suffering and redemption

A Cry for Revival

For the Pure and Shining One

A contemplative poem for instruction, by the prophetic singers of Korah’s clan

I long to drink of you, O God,

drinking deeply from the streams of pleasure

flowing from your presence.

My longings overwhelm me for more of you!

My soul thirsts, pants, and longs for the living God.

I want to come and see the face of God.

Day and night my tears keep falling

and my heart keeps crying for your help

while my enemies mock me over and over, saying,

“Where is this God of yours? Why doesn’t he help you?”

So I speak over my heartbroken soul,

“Take courage. Remember when you used to be

right out front leading the procession of praise

when the great crowd of worshipers

gathered to go into the presence of the Lord?

You shouted with joy as the sound of passionate celebration

filled the air and the joyous multitude of lovers

honored the festival of the Lord!”

So then, my soul, why would you be depressed?

Why would you sink into despair?

Just keep hoping and waiting on God, your Savior.

For no matter what, I will still sing with praise,

for living before his face is my saving grace!

Here I am depressed and downcast.

Yet I will still remember you as I ponder the place

where your glory streams down from the mighty mountaintops, lofty and majestic—the mountains of your awesome presence.

My deep need calls out to the deep kindness of your love.

Your waterfall of weeping sent waves of sorrow

over my soul, carrying me away,

cascading over me like a thundering cataract.

Yet all day long God’s promises of love pour over me.

Through the night I sing his songs,

for my prayer to God has become my life.

I will say to God, “You are my mountain of strength;

how could you forget me?

Why must I suffer this vile oppression of my enemies—

these heartless tormentors who are out to kill me?”

Their wounding words pierce my heart

over and over while they say,

“Where is this God of yours?”

So I say to my soul,

“Don’t be discouraged. Don’t be disturbed.

For I know my God will break through for me.”

Then I’ll have plenty of reasons to praise him all over again.

Yes, living before his face is my saving grace!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 42 (The Passion Translation)

to be concluded by the 31 verses of Proverbs 31

[Inspired Word]

King Lemuel’s royal words of wisdom:

These are the inspired words my mother taught me.

Listen, my dear son, son of my womb.

You are the answer to my prayers, my son.

So keep yourself sexually pure

from the promiscuous, wayward woman.

Don’t waste the strength of your anointing

on those who ruin kings—

you’ll live to regret it!

For you are a king, Lemuel,

and it’s never fitting for a king to be drunk on wine

or for rulers to crave alcohol.

For when they drink they forget justice

and ignore the rights of those in need,

those who depend on you for leadership.

Strong drink is given to the terminally ill,

who are suffering at the brink of death.

Wine is for those in depression

in order to drown their sorrows.

Let them drink and forget their poverty and misery.

But you are to be a king who speaks up on behalf

of the disenfranchised

and pleads for the legal rights of the defenseless

and those who are dying.

Be a righteous king, judging on behalf of the poor

and interceding for those most in need.

[The Radiant Bride]

Who could ever find a wife like this one—

she is a woman of strength and mighty valor!

She’s full of wealth and wisdom.

The price paid for her was greater than many jewels.

Her husband has entrusted his heart to her,

for she brings him the rich spoils of victory.

All throughout her life she brings him what is good and not evil.

She searches out continually to possess

that which is pure and righteous.

She delights in the work of her hands.

She gives out revelation-truth to feed others.

She is like a trading ship bringing divine supplies

from the merchant.

Even in the night season she arises and sets food on the table

for hungry ones in her house and for others.

She sets her heart upon a nation and takes it as her own,

carrying it within her.

She labors there to plant the living vines.

She wraps herself in strength, might, and power in all her works.

She tastes and experiences a better substance,

and her shining light will not be extinguished,

no matter how dark the night.

She stretches out her hands to help the needy

and she lays hold of the wheels of government.

She is known by her extravagant generosity to the poor,

for she always reaches out her hands to those in need.

She is not afraid of tribulation,

for all her household is covered in the dual garments

of righteousness and grace.

Her clothing is beautifully knit together—

a purple gown of exquisite linen.

Her husband is famous and admired by all,

sitting as the venerable judge of his people.

Even her works of righteousness

she does for the benefit of her enemies.

Bold power and glorious majesty are wrapped around her

as she laughs with joy over the latter days.

Her teachings are filled with wisdom and kindness

as loving instruction pours from her lips.

She watches over the ways of her household

and meets every need they have.

Her sons and daughters arise in one accord to extol her virtues,

and her husband arises to speak of her in glowing terms.

“There are many valiant and noble ones,

but you have ascended above them all!”

Charm can be misleading,

and beauty is vain and so quickly fades,

but this virtuous woman lives in the wonder, awe,

and fear of the Lord.

She will be praised throughout eternity.

So go ahead and give her the credit that is due,

for she has become a radiant woman,

and all her loving works of righteousness deserve to be admired

at the gateways of every city!

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 31 (The Passion Translation)

0 notes

ahqueenoh · 5 years

Text

Berlin to Budapest.

If like me you have the travel bug, but equally prefer travelling alone, I couldn’t recommend Contiki more! They are a travel company for 18-35 year olds and they go (almost) everywhere. Every trip is an adventure and the people you meet along the way make every moment worth the long flights and sleepless nights.

This is my third time travelling with Contiki (my 4th is already booked! Bring on January!) and as the title suggests, we went from Berlin through Prague, onto Krakow and finished in Budapest. I had a wonderful time and many delicious meals, starting with Berlin Street food!

During the Second World War a woman called Herta Heuwer would approach US soldiers and swap liquor for ketchup and curry powder. She would combine these together, pour it on top of a sausage and you had Currywurst (pronounced curry vurst)!

Still a traditional street dish in Berlin you can find the kiosks EVERYWHERE. So of course I decided to try this special meal.

In all honesty, I did not know what to expect, I had been to Germany before and was still on the fence about the cuisine, that coupled with the idea of curry powder and ketchup did not fill me with joy.

Nonetheless we queued and paid, I went for Currywurst with chips (fries) and a drink, so if it was inedible I at least had something to last me until dinner.

In our group, we were also surprised to see that the kiosk offered vegan and vegetarian Currywursts so for all you none-meat eaters you too can enjoy this dish.

And enjoy it we did, the first taste to hit you was the sweetness of the ketchup, followed closely by the warmth of the curry powder. Of course you could taste the sausage too which added to the pleasure of this street dish. There’s something unique and indescribable about German sausages but I couldn’t imagine enjoying a Currywurst without one.

Since the dawn of the 20th century, Germany has gone through two world wars, the Nazis, the Soviets and five currencies. It is now one of (if not) the strongest economies in the EU and its capital is a diverse city that boasts being one of the safest cities for solo travel, a hub for street art, nightlife and reinvention. Nothing quite sums up all that history like this eclectic street dish, so should you have the pleasure of being in Berlin I can’t recommend Currywurst enough.

The adventure didn’t stop there, almost as soon as we arrived in Berlin it was off to Prague, which was certainly one of the most beautiful cities on this trip, but one of the biggest highlights for me (of course!) was the food.

We had the joy of attending a restaurant called Michal’s, (organised by Contiki) to enjoy a traditional Czech meal in the heart of this stunning city.

We began the meal with bread, soup and a garlic butter, the butter itself merits an entire blog post, it had the texture of cream cheese, the taste of butter and just the right amount of garlic.

For me, the soup was the real standout of the meal, I will go out on a limb and say, there is nothing more special in east Europe then their soups. Light, rich and full of big chunky vegetables and meats these soups are the cure to your worst break up, hardest heart ache and the most dismal of dismal days. We do not have the equivalent in England and it breaks my heart a little every time I eat Heinz Canned Tomato Soup (which gets far to much glory in the UK).

I could’ve easily eaten ten bowls of the beef soup but I was promptly presented with a platter of meat and potatoes. Again another triumph, so tender it fell apart on the journey from platter to my plate.

Czech cuisine is not for everyone and is rich and heavy to the extreme, but for me it is the sort of comfort food to make your soul sing and to bring all kinds of people together.

The restaurant certainly succeeded in bringing our tour group all together, a band played traditional music while two people danced. Of course there was some audience participation from inhaling enough water through a plastic sword to fill three wine glasses (my personal sucking skills won me a small bottle of liquor) and the dancers selecting some of our group to get up and dance.

Overall a joyous evening, full of food, laughter and copious amounts of wine.

A must do if you’re in Prague.

We waved Prague goodbye and zoomed off to Krakow (well, not quite “zoomed”, one cannot simply “zoom” in a coach containing 31 passengers and their luggage).

Sadly we were greeted by torrential rain which put quite the dampener on our first day and the chocolate box Old Town Square, but! In the spirit of making the best of a bad situation we persisted with a bicycle tour (which was rescheduled to the next day) and wondering the Cloth Hall, now a tourist market hall featuring the finest souvenirs this side of Poland, and generally getting rather soggy.

After drying our toes, Contiki had organised another restaurant extravaganza, this time at Kogel Mogel, rated highly by Michelin and known for their Perogis, we were given the chance to experience fine food and a cooking lesson.

Of course we started the meal with the aforementioned Perogis, almost anything can go in these traditional dumplings, usually they are filled with potatoes, meat or cheese (my personal favourite is red cabbage). The dumplings KM served us were a selection of potato and cheese, deer and pork.

Perogis always baffle my brain a little. While in your mouth the dough feels thick and heavy but the filling is often light and fluffy. You anticipate bloating and stomach ache but instead feel warm and satisfied.

The restaurant was kind enough to show us how to make Perogis and to let us have a go. The recipe and execution was simple enough so we gave it a go, needless to say I was hopeless but I got better, as with most Eastern European food, the key seems to be a caring hand and lots of love, a skill I can utilise when eating Perogis, not so much when making them.

After marvelling at our peers Perogi talent we returned to the table for our main course which was delicious but the standard meat and potatoes.

Now back to the Perogis, we had another dish of desert Perogis which I am ashamed to say I did not enjoy, for the simple reason they were stuffed with plums, a fruit I find so disgusting I am offended at its very presence on my plate.

However this has given me a vocation, I am now on the hunt for more sweet Perogi flavours to try.

Alongside the plums we had a dish that seemed to be like a Creme Brûlée but was not, this compote like desert, was extremely sweet and just hit the desert spot I had been craving since Berlin.

If you ever find yourself in Krakow it would be plain old bad manners to dine anywhere else but KM.

Our last stop on this epic adventure was Budapest. Technically three cities, Buda, Old Buda and Pest (pronounced Peshed) this was our sweetest stop on the trip, which was an ideal ending for me, as a large woman with an even larger sweet tooth I was certainly missing the sweet treats I love to indulge in at home.

Introducing Ruszwurm, a gorgeous confectioners established in 1827 and still going strong today, you can find this little gem on the Buda side of the city, within spitting distance of the Fisherman’s Bastion.

My first tip would be to go in a small group. I decided to go on a day the rest of the group was going to the famous Budapest Baths, another must do, so I was able to find a seat easily.

I was absolutely desperate to try the famous Ruszwurm Vanilla Kreme, a cake that is 90% cream, sandwiched between two thin biscuit/cake layers.

As soon as it arrived I regretted coming to the confectioner alone. It was large and thick and I didn’t think I was going to be able to finish one alone.

How wrong I was! This cake is the most delicious cake I have ever had the joy to taste, it has already had a reoccurring role in my dreams and I went back the next day with a few of my Contiki friends for another slice of this devilish Kreme.

Like Perogis, this cake will mess with your mind a little. It is able to stand securely with a solid thick looking cream centre and the biscuit like pieces, provide a strong hard looking foundation for the cream to sit on, but once on the lips, the cream melts into a light, perfectly sweet, whipped vanilla taste that makes me weak at the knees, the matching wafers crumble and crunch providing an excellent contrast to this sweetest of sweet treats.

This Vanilla Kreme was clearly made by a man who sold his soul to the devil and I thank god we cannot find this cake in London otherwise, within a week, I’d be bleeding cream.

If you take nothing else from this post, you must go to Ruszwurm when in Budapest.

Honourable mention:

Beetroot Soup- a delicacy in Poland that also contains little meat Perogis. This vibrantly coloured soup has a mild pickle taste that I deeply enjoy and with the accompanying Perogis is a must have lunch dish.

Central Market Hall- located on the Pest side of Budapest, this old market hall plays host to excellent street food and souvenir stands alike, an excellent stopping point for food and presents (for all the haters at home who wish they were in a city like Budapest). The “must have” street food is Langos, essentially fried bread with sour cream and cheese (most places will allow you to add various other toppings as well). Goulash is also a popular choice in Hungary and makes for a convenient lunch. Neither of these meals are a Burger Queen approved “must” I found Langos too doughy for my taste and strikes me as a pretentious pizza (not quite why I travelled all the way across Europe.) and goulash has nothing on my favourite Polish or Romanian soups.

For me, the must have is Cabbage Rolls, a dish I had the delight of eating when I worked with some fantastic Romanian women and went to Bucharest. It is the must eat meal of choice in the iconic Central Market Hall. You are served a huge portion with a side of additional cabbage. The “roll” is pork and rice (vegetarian options available) wrapped in pickled cabbage I love them so much I would marry them if I could.

Needless to say Romania and Hungary share a border and a close history so the Cabbage Rolls are (almost) as good as Romania.

#belin #burgerqueenblog #budapest #prague #krakow #food #delicious

1 note · View note

kateemmerson · 5 years

Text

CHAI CHATS: Insights from India Yoga Teachers Training

A new ritual has developed between my soul sister and me. Once family by paper, we are now family by heart … but with our busy lives and my location free living for the past few years, our connection was often relegated to shorthand Whatsapp messages, a gulped cup of coffee when our paths crossed in CT or JHB, or if lucky, a more extended lunch every now and then. Speaking on the phone never quite cuts it, you know? So in 2018, we decided, in our 50’s, to carve out a new annual ritual of dedicated time together.

Even when we attended our first Yoga Spirit Fest (um, to be honest, it was more of a dance fest just no booze or meat), we were already calling it annual!

Precious time for the two of us to connect – lingering conversations over cups of chai tea and coffee, no rush to cover big headlines only, time to slow down and be with each other. All relationships and friendships need this to feed each other. My recent lifestyle in the past few years have felt like a conundrum – loving the gallivanting and adventures but also skating on the surface of many things in my personal quest to live location free. Some of the insights from our conversations that unfolded in between yoga in 2018 have since transpired and come to fruition in my life. New steps were taken, new business decisions put into action and deeper emotions processed. That’s the unbelievable power when someone who cares, just sits and listens without judgment. Simply lets your words land on their heart. Most times, I can find the solution or feel the next step emerging, just in the speaking and the hearing of it land softly. Do you have that person in your life?

Travel takes an inordinate amount of time and energy for me now. I am never in one place long enough to settle into a routine and BE, to immerse or to rest. Some things have definitely suffered –like knowing that I am not always truly present and patient as a partner or friend when truly needed. Also my lack of deeper connection into a community other than fleetingly popping in before waving goodbye again; or never knowing where my next hair cut might turn out (come on gals, you know the stress of that one right?), The lonely downside of gallivanting globally and another plane to catch. Sounds glamorous when I say I live #locationfree, but it is honestly taking its toll where it really counts.

What if what I really want is the thing that is eluding me? How do I make sure I take the right steps to fulfillment and a way forward that is aligned, and not just skip on to the next place that beckons my gypsy soul?

For our annual connection time, “let’s go to India” we said. Soul Sister has been there many times, but this was a bit different for us, my virgin trip. Our ritual for 2019 was to be a Yoga Teachers Training in Rishikesh, even though neither of us is necessarily rushing out to become a full-on teacher, we wanted a deep IMMERSION and better yoga instruction, more than a pampering retreat experience. “Let’s be bold,” we said, “Let’s aim high,” we said. “Dive right in.” Deeply unprepared, just saying yes and showing up, not really knowing what was in store for us as most of the girls and guys were less than half our age. 8 hours of instruction every day in 33-degree humidity. I sweated half my body away. (darn ….I wish)

Here are some personal insights from 7 short nights in Rishikesh, India…

Get Up and Get Out On our very first morning, we both jolted naturally awake at 6 am, like little kids on Divali. Knowing we only started our training at ten am on the first day, we could not resist the pull of the mighty River Ganga a few u-bends below us. The most revered, sacred river in India was just at the bottom of our hill. Flowing like a river in flood, even though the monsoon season is over, this immense gushing river speeds past mountains and villages spreading hope, purification and faith to all. Albeit highly polluted to a western brain, it is the pure liquid that is celebrated in full by everyone. Everything centers around it – and the energy from it was honestly joyous and mesmerizing!

We just pulled on clothes, started walking down the hill, jumped in a tuk-tuk, instinctively negotiated the price to a local rate, and followed our nose down the hill. A few kilometers later we realized we were heading away from the bridge we wanted to walk across, so we just jumped out and started walking back, in the morning cacophony of the streets.

In a country where folk are so compassionate and treat each other with the utmost respect, I felt unbelievably safe. Walking with my bag and camera and not one iota of fear or threat. Just huge smiles were greeting us at every turn – and a few amused looks at my mop of silver hair. All Indian women (unless about 80) have thick black, coconut smelling hair. Even the older men dye their silver hair all sorts of colors. Oh well, best I own my silver dowry proudly as it was fun being asked to have my picture taken with locals.

Before most people on our course were even awake, we had already experienced the colorful context of the sacred Mama Ganga in Rishikesh and where we were spending the week. Do you just get up and out and are you brave and bold when you travel, or shrink away from the experience?

Witness the Synchronicities While mindfulness is becoming the trendy buzz in the western world, the East just LIVES within this philosophy. It’s in the water, the rivers, the food, the air. Nothing to think about – it just seeps out every pore of the locals. It’s why I have always been drawn to it, I guess. But for Westerners, we often have to force ourselves to be wide-awake, mindful, and in gratitude mode to see what’s unfolding in the magic of each moment.

From screeching with laughter at magically appearing bananas in airports, to a profound 45-second sighting of the Dalai Lama floating past us in Delhi domestic airport, to a loved Ashram literally just down the road from our yoga school, to closed doors being unlocked and opened for us in sacred spaces, To caves of profound silence, to intense conversations from all the teachers we experienced that just kept saying the right thing at the right time for me (offering several objective teachings for me personally) ….we just kept noticing and laughing at all the love and life that showed up for us.

Do you witness all the little wonders of synchronicity in life that show up in each moment? Sometimes you just have to lift your eyes and look, deeply look, with soft eyes. Soft eyes will laugh! Soft bellies will laugh. We shouldn’t have a six-pack, just one pack that knows how to live, love, and laugh!

Take it as it Comes You either love it, or you hate it – there is just NO grey in India

India is honestly hot, smelly, chaotic, dirty, and everything else in between. Loud, colorful, generous, poor and sacred. You can either embrace it all, inhale deeply and let it seep into your bones for the full experience, or you can be precious and tiptoe through your time there and hate every minute. And you can never know that until you go! Reading about a place, dreaming about a place, making plans to visit a place, watching movies about a place do not do anything to replace BEING in a place. No short cuts – not even with high definition movies or virtual reality. The power is in the experience of it. Always. We attempt to pre-empt too much with our western brains.

India will likely push your buttons – it pushed mine. But I chose to sink into the experience and surrender. The true art of letting go right? The very darn thing I teach with my de-cluttering and concept of #livelightlivelarge. We cannot control everything in life, but I can do my best to control how much I squirm or delight in response to life and just be ok with it all. That’s within my realm of control. Living in our little haven of Swiss Cottage above Rishikesh was humid, hard, loud and dirty – yet utterly delightful, sacred and filled with unbounded love and respect for life, each other and yoga. 33-degree rooms have no aircon – we’ll still breathe, and I love Bikram, right?

No shoe policy indoors means kinda dirty feet all the time. Who cares. I and my grubby clothes literally smelled all week, no matter what I tried. You know it’s bad when you catch a whiff of yourself! Banknotes than probably have ten diseases present – well bless the money and just pass it on. Weak instant coffee for my daily fix was like gold – until I see a gleaming coffee machine on day 5! The delight in my eyes lit up the whole village! Bikes, cars, tuk-tuks, buses, cows, monkeys, dogs and people all one trail – just keep your wits about you!

Can you honestly allow yourself to immerse fully? If not, then perhaps regroup and get the heck out!

Impact of gratitude Gratitude in India appears a different concept – they see everything they do as an act of service, of love, of serving their faith. With no expectation other than to serve and help. No gratitude needed. I have so much to learn here – I am far more Westernised in my thinking of in and out, give and receive, thank you and showing appreciation. Maybe I need to surrender into service more, to do for the joy of doing, give for the joy of giving. The selflessness oozes out of their pores and shows me up to me!

Our yoga philosophy teacher says when a family makes chapattis, they offer up the first three: one to the gods, one to the cows and one to nature. If very poor, they will split one into three to give the first “three” away, and only then feed the family. Sacred ritual. So often when we as westerners show our thanks by “tipping,” we feel we have helped the other person. But actually, they have allowed us to serve and help them. We are the lucky ones in being able to give, not them for receiving!

This is such a personal test for me – when I saw the look on our teachers’ faces when gifting them something for the week– not even knowing what was in the envelope money wise- it was humbling to see the honest gratitude of being appreciated when no expectation is present. It’s filled with pure love. No airs and graces, zero expectation. I witnessed such a transition of the ego into the spirit. What we all aim for, right?

These are powerful, dedicated teachers who devote their lives to healing and teaching – and within them runs a deep humbleness that was profound to witness. A small thank you brings so much joy mostly I feel because they see the joy in our giving too. The cycle of life?

So the question I ask is am I honestly being grateful for everything I have and can I do more in service, without expectation of return, or is the western way of always wanting ‘more’ detrimental to inner peace? Seeking more love, more fun, more attention, more sharing. More peace. What about acceptance of what is? I need to understand the balance of giving with no need for anything in return and balance that with seeking and living with joy and passion. Going where energy flows and spirit is free. I’m finding this is my lesson at the moment.

What’s your current lesson in life?

The amount of money, number of houses, or jewels on our fingers does not a happier, more peaceful person make. That comes from within. I have really attempted to be more satisfied with less, to be living without a home, without too many possessions and needing less generally. Living mostly from a suitcase in the last 3.5 years, ever moving, ever restless, ever traveling, I have been trying my best to tread lightly as I go. Leaving somewhere a little better than when I arrived.

But I still seek lots of experiences in the world. Always wanting more, India taught me about being grateful for every little thing that IS, not what could be. Who can you give to today, who can you be thankful for, who can you acknowledge – whether by saying something or offering a token of your thanks? It’s all about the smile – make people smile and let yourself laugh from your belly!

Different Teachers, Different Strengths Everyone I came across had something to teach, prod, nudge, or remind me about. There was no getting out of it when 8 hours of every day were immersed in some aspect of the training. The power of ego and how it shows up, the power of purification in the morning even when I was apprehensive of the neti pot, the anticipation of a hard class that landed up being delightful, the blessing of hearing that looking after your own passion and walking away when something doesn’t bring you deep joy, is ok. Truly ok. Everything is perfect just as it is, and you must follow your heart and try to do no harm in the process.

And often it was about how to find the JUICINESS in your hamstrings! Can you imagine – juicy hamstrings? My legs just light up at the thought of being juicy. Learning how going back the most basics of basic yoga positions is often harder than doing the complicated asanas. But all spoke the same thread – it’s all about preparation and purification for meditating, in order to reach enlightenment and compassion. Simple.

My overall take away is that everything and everyone counts – each and every perspective make up the matrix of the whole, and we have to choose what we need at each step along the way. I was left with the conundrum of understanding and knowing in my soul where I am, juxtaposed with how to remain patient, kind and trusting that we each have to walk our own journey. My eternal dilemma in life.

I also remember that we don’t have to be all things to all people – we each resonated and gelled with different teachers during the week. Just like we resonate with different people in our line of work – yet often we take it so personally if we feel like we aren’t reaching enough people, or getting enough business. I am in charge of MY life, and if I can help you change yours because we resonate, fantastic. If not, there is someone better to support your journey professionally.

Do you live your life with this knowing – that the right people will find their way to you and vice versa?

How can I have such tolerance in some areas and zero in others? I realized with a revolting jolt that I can feel 200% patience with strangers, and yet complete intolerance for my near and dear. No matter how many times people might tell me that I am impatient, and too fast, I still have to internalise the lesson. What’s that about, hey? I think that when any of us humans are feeling un-appreciated, un-seen, and un-loved, every part of our small-minded pettiness, aka the ego, comes up for grabs. Well, mine does! As impatience and intolerance. Mostly for myself, then for others. So my more in-depth attempt is to find a way to be more graceful and a little less ego-driven. Yikes, that’s a blooming tough one! My personal double-edged sword!

How often in life that my / your energy, action, and kickass-ness translates in the very next breath to impatience, intolerance, and judgment, for myself and those closest to me. Knowing how to walk that fine line takes wisdom. The whole week in India, all I felt from our teachers was grace, patience, and compassion. What a joy to behold, and I realize how much I have to learn from their presence in my life.

India was a transitional gift to my soul, and a time where CHAI CHATS with Nats are forever etched in my heart.

I simply have taken the next step on my journey, trusting I am truly where I need to be, no matter what. Because there is simultaneously also deep joy – the essence of both that life requires!

I trust in the bigger picture that …

…if something is meant to be, nothing can stop it, and if something is not meant to be, nothing can make it so.

Namaste

CHAI CHATS: Insights from India Yoga Teachers Training was originally published on Kate Emmerson - The Quick Shift Deva

0 notes

phynxrizng · 7 years

Text

SURRENDER TO LOVE...

What if you just surrendered to love? You ARE love, after all. You are made from it, you are a channel of it, and you dwell in a sea of it. Beneath the seeming chaos, love flows through and animates all like a gossamer web: birthing everything, holding everything together, and (if you look with clear eyes) causing everything to shimmer and glow. No matter how it may seem, there is never a shortage of love. That's why it feels best when we surrender to it. When we allow ourselves to be what we already are in truth: pure love in temporary human form. But how do we surrender to love? There is a soft surrender in the breath. When we place our attention on the in-breath and the out-breath, again and again, the breath goes deeper into our being. It taps into the hidden caches of energy that have been posing as tension and blocks. Will your mind wander from the breath? Yes. A thousand, a million times. Every time, no matter how long its been - even if it's been months or years - bring the attention back. Over time, like water dripping on a stone, an open space will be created, and rivers of pleasure and light will begin flow through you endlessly: clear, joyous rivers that can never be drained or depleted. And whether you are in a relationship or not, or whether your relationship presently feels harmonious to you or not, you will never want for love. Because you will be love. Other ways to surrender to love? Dance. Make yummy food for people. Walk in nature. Have a garden. Sing. ...As always, thank you for being here and for the magical light you shine in the world. Love and Blessings, P.S. Happy Valentine's Day! The NEW BOOK is here! Check it out on Amazon and order your copy here. ...And after you read it, would you please write me a review? (You can review it here or here.) Sunday, February 26, 8PM Mountain Time (7 Pacific, 9 Central, 10 Eastern) Free New Moon Ritual Live on Facebook Let's virtually gather for this watery new moon to set intentions for the fresh new lunar cycle ahead. To prepare, light a blue or a white candle, and compose one or two intentions in the present tense, as if they're already true. Optionally, obtain a sea shell or watery crystal (such as sea opal, moonstone, aquamarine, or labradorite) to set on your altar afterwards as a symbol of your intention(s). LIVE at facebook.com/ Every Tuesday, 6:30 PM Mountain Time (5:30 Pacific, 7:30 Central, 8:30 Eastern) As a part of our Good Vibe Tribe membership program, we convene live every week to do rituals and meditations together. Participants can send in questions and comments. A recording is provided after the event. These events are available to basic members at just $10 per month. ...and you can try an entire month for only a dollar! Flower Reading for February 6-12, 2017 A Message for Survivors of Sexual Abuse 4 Secrets to Manifesting Abundance (For a digest of the newest blog posts delivered to your inbox every Monday, subscribe to the weekly newsletter!) Simple Sandalwood and Rose Love Spell Super Powerful Romance Ritual 8 Ways to Make The Most of the Year of the Yin Fire Rooster Simple Love Spells for Every Situation I know I'm not the only one who likes to keep my spells simple. It's not about memorized invocations or hard-to-find ingredients after all, but about the heartfelt intention you bring to your magical work. When it comes to love spells, there are all kinds of conditions we may like to draw in. (Or cast out!) Scroll down until you find one that matches your romantic goal. Please note that this Friday (tomorrow!) is an excellent day for any of these. Friday is ruled by Venus, and this one happens to be a full moon eclipse! Valentine's Day would also be a good choice. If you want to... Attract Lots of Fun Romantic Attention Maybe you're not quite feeling the one-and-only life partner thing right at this moment - but you are in the mood to meet some folks and have some fun. If this is the case, find yourself some lingerie or intimates that you feel amazing in. Take them home, lightly anoint them with rose absolute, put them on, light some candles and incense, and dance to music that makes your body want to move. While you do, feel that you are activating a magnetic force and dazzling light within your body and energy field that will cause you to be an irresistible force of romantic attraction. Call in a Beloved Life Partner Clear clutter from your bedroom and wash all your sheets, as well as your duvet, mattress pad, and any other bedding. Do all of this with the intention to energetically clear the way for an ideal life partner to make his or her way into your life experience (and, eventually, bedroom). Replace the bedding, make any changes you feel called to make in your room to make it more conducive to romance, and then scatter the petals from 6 pink roses and 6 red roses across the top of your bed. Leave for at least 4 hours. Love Yourself More The more we love ourselves, the more harmonious our romantic relationships become and the more attractiveness we exude. This spell starts at your favorite perfume counter, herbal apothecary, or fragrance shop: take some time to find a new fragrance for yourself: one that you absolutely adore. Then wear it every day, reminding yourself with each application that you are an exquisitely lovable and beautiful being, deserving of every wonderful thing. Clear Challenging Relationship Karma Whether you want to cut the cords to an old relationship, clear limiting thoughts or beliefs related to love, heal a broken heart, or release a painful relationship pattern for good, this spell has got you covered. Light your bathroom with one or more white or off-white candles and draw a warm bath. Dissolve 1 cup epsom salt, 1 cup sea salt, and 1/4 cup baking soda in the water. Stand outside the tub and say, "Great Goddess Aphrodite, foam born, Goddess of water and the sea, I call on you. Thank you for cleansing away old relationship karma, and transforming it all into the golden light of love. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Blessed be. And so it is." Then soak for at least 40 minutes. Create More Harmony in an Existing Relationship Of course, magic works best when we have the ongoing intention to get into our most positive possible flow. This means that when an intention is not actually for our truest good, it gets overwritten by what is for our truest good, even if we don't consciously realize it's for our truest good at the time. To work magic in any other way is to invite disharmony in the long run. Now, when it comes to love spells, this means that working magic on a specific relationship will only create more harmony in the relationship if that relationship is for our truest good. Otherwise, it's likely to accelerate its dissolution. Also, harmony in relationships sometimes demands the appearance of disharmony for a time, when previously unarticulated feelings come out into the light. All that being said, to create more harmony in an existing relationship, obtain or print out a small picture of the two of you together. Put a small amount of honey in the bottom of a small, attractive jar with a cork stopper. Place the photo face up at the bottom of the jar, on top of the honey. Cover the photo with even more honey, filling the jar to the top. As you do so, envision the two of you surrounded by sweetness, harmony, and golden light. Close the jar with the stopper and place it on your altar. (Or, if you want to keep it hidden, you can place it in your lingerie drawer.) Announce to the Universe That You're Ready for Love Take a shower. Before you dress but after you dry off, safely smudge yourself thoroughly with the smoke from a bundle of dried white sage. Extinguish the sage. Dress simply and comfortably and sit in front of your altar or somewhere secluded that feels right. Write a note to the Universe, speaking from your heart about the fact that you really and truly are ready for romance, and all that comes with it. If it feels right, you could simply write, "I am ready for love." (You could even write it in glitter glue if you're feeling crafty.) Place it on your altar or somewhere special. Then anoint your belly, heart, and forehead with essential oil of sandalwood diluted in Jojoba oil. SOURCE, TESS WHITEHURST.COM Tess Whitehurst, PO Box 3352, Nederland, CO 80466-3352 SafeUnsubscribe™ [email protected] Forward this email | Update Profile | About our service provider Sent by [email protected] in collaboration with REPOSTED BY, PHYNXRIZNG

1 note · View note

inkwellco · 7 years

Text

FOCUS ON... SIMONE SAULT

Australian Simone Sault, star of stage and screen, has taken time out on her return home to Australia to chat with us.

Hi Simone, how’s your visit home been? Beautiful thank you. It’s always glorious coming back and seeing my family and friends here in Australia. Plus the sunshine is what I bottle up and take back to the UK, especially this time of year!

You’ve had quite a career. Can you tell us a bit about your earlier life, both in what drove you to choose dance, and the training you completed? I studied classical ballet from the age of 7yrs at the National Theatre Ballet School. I was blessed to have been taught by wonderful artists and teachers, including the late Kathy Gorham, Gailene Stock, Eileen Tasker, Jonathan Kelly, Joanne Michel, Terese Power, all incredible dancers with Australian Ballet at the time. I trained daily and after leaving school at 14yrs old (I know!) I studied dance, still at the National, full time for 3 years before entering the professional world. As clichéd as it sounds, I don't recall a time where I didn’t want to dance. It just clicked, even at 7yrs old, it felt like breathing.

And you worked quite a bit in Australia with the Sydney Dance Company, what was that like, and how did that help set the foundation for working overseas? I adored my time with Sydney Dance Company (SDC). I had come from the Australian production of Phantom Of The Opera, back into the dance world (what I had trained for) and I was so consumed by my work, tours, and opportunities that I soaked it up daily for the 7 yrs I was there. My work with SDC was unique in the fact that, under the direction of Graeme Murphy and Janet Vernon at the time, it was a classically based contemporary Company, but with a strong emphasis on the actor/character /personality side of each member. Graeme is wonderful at extracting from you what only YOU can bring to a piece/role with the movement almost seeming secondary. I have always loved the storytelling side to a role. With this in mind, my experience with the Company aided me to continue to pursue my career overseas as I just didn’t have an agenda, I literally landed here in the UK and made a promise to myself, to say yes to any and all opportunities that came my way. Ones that assisted me in furthering my development as an artist…dancer, actor, collaborater, creative. A pact that, thus far, has held me in good stead. -Touch wood-

How do the two compare? Working in Australia versus working overseas? It’s really hard to compare the two I feel. Something I have always said is, I believe the training in Australia is second to none. However the opportunities are not always there, or indeed as plentiful as they are here in London and New York for example. Hence why I feel very lucky to have the best of both worlds, be an Aussie and take the rest of the world for everything it’s got! London has been so very good to me. There’s not a day that passes where I don't feel humbled, and above all grateful for the jobs and in particular the talent that I work with and for.

You’ve been involved in some major productions, including Phantom of the Opera, Chicago, Sinatra and On The Town, productions one can only hope to be involved in. How do you go about preparing for roles, and how do you approach each audition? Auditions are never easy, nor that enjoyable if I'm going to be honest! Why do we do it to ourselves?! It’s taken me a while to figure it out, but I do honestly believe that if the job/role is meant to come your way, it will, good audition or not. The best advice, the only advice actually is, BE yourself. Prepare of course, but just trust in what will be will be. I find that takes a lot of the stress out it. And what has always been the case for me is, if I have missed out on something I really wanted, something else from left field always shows up and I think, “thank God I didn’t get so and so because NOW I’m doing this!”

You’re also quite an accomplished choreographer, with credits including: Love Never Dies, Strictly Come Dancing and the London Olympic Games ceremonies, what a diverse range of opportunities, what were some of the standout moments from each? Oh wow, yes, I feel very lucky to be working for Graeme and Janet once again (original Choreographers of Love Never Dies) and working for someone like Danny Boyle for the London 2012 Games was rather surreal I must say. Opening Ceremony with the World watching was as good as it gets I think! That is definitely a highlight, he was/is extraordinary. I love working creatively as it continues to open my eyes to a craft that I have been involved in for a long time now, yet at times, depending on what I’m working on and who with, I feel like the student all over again… keeps you fresh!

We’ve also seen you venture on to screen, both TV and Film. Can you tell us a bit about your work on Alice in Wonderland, particularly working with Director Tim Burton, whom you’ve previously worked with on Sweeney Todd? Other credits of yours include work on Rob Marshall’s Nine, Kath and Kimderella and the TV show Galavant. That’s quite a range of diverse productions, how did you prepare for these varying roles? Tim Burton is exactly how you think he would be, brilliantly colourful and a real visionary. A gorgeous woman by the name of Francesca Jaynes choreographs nearly all of his movies, we worked very closely with her as well. With Kath and Kimderella, I had just finished working with the incredibly talented Gina Riley on the Australian production of Chicago when she offered me the role of an Hispanic lesbian that flirts with Magda Zubanski’s character, Sharon Strzelecki… as you do! It was short and sweet but I had an absolute blast. My opportunity to work with Rob Marshall on laying down the rehearsal track “Take It All” for his Nine was another surreal moment, recording it with the legend that is Maury Yeston. Rob Marshall was genuine, honest and very normal, which is always a good thing! Can you tell us how you balance work, and your other amazing role in life, being a mother? Arrr, my [not so] little Luca! He’s everything to me! He has just turned 4 and is incredible in every sense of the word. I was pregnant with Luca right through my time working on London 2012 Olympic Games. By the time we wrapped the Ceremonies I was 8 and a half months pregnant! There would be times where I was still out on the field of play rehearsing until way after 1am of a day, and he’d be kicking and hiccupping away like a trooper. The travel and nomadic lifestyle is all he has ever known, so fortunately for me he is a dream when it comes to travel and new places/work spaces. I worked in Russia for 3 months when he was around 9 months old and there has been a lot of further travel and new environments since then. Luckily he loves the theatre, rehearsal space and music, so, so far so good. I literally feel like I strap him to my back and off we go! Having said that though, he started school in September last year, so this requires a tad more planning and organising around work and travel, but fortunately I have a wonderful friend/ Nanny situation so it works beautifully. We’re about to see you in one of the most highly anticipated films of the year, Beauty and the Beast (BATB). And whilst we know you can’t give too much away, can you tell us what it was like working on set? A little bit about your role and what scenes you were involved in? On Beauty I worked with the choreographer, Anthony Van Laast, and Director Bill Condon. Working on set for over 4 months was a magical experience. We recorded the soundtrack also, so can not wait for it to release! In the early days, Anthony set us a task of filling in our back stories for our characters which then in turn added to our connection with Belle and within the village where we lived. Gaston’s Tavern (with the delicious Luke Evans as Gaston) was a wonderful scene for us all. I have a lovely moment with him…but that’s if it doesn't end up on the cutting room floor!

What was it like working with Director Bill Condon? Bill Condon is a complete class act. Knew our names from day one and just a wonderfully genuine, talented man. So much so, that during the filming of Beauty, I lost my beloved Mum, and had to subsequently leave 2 days early. After shooting wrapped, a few weeks later I received a gorgeous email from him expressing his sadness and thoughts and love. I remember how ecstatic my Mum was when she found out that I got the job, so it goes without saying Beauty is for her. Having worked on stage with a variety of performers from different countries, can you tell us a bit about working with actors and dancers from around the world on the set of BATB? It really is a case of no matter where you're from and /or what gender, there is an unmistakable bond and kinship with the people you work with. And in this case especially with Beauty. The experience and careers of so, so many are hard to fathom. I arrived on set each day so very humbled, privileged and grateful for the day that lay ahead. You knew right from day one that this was/is a very, very special moment in cinematic history.

And from what we’ve seen on social media, what was the experience like bringing the iconic music to life through dance for the big screen? Pure Joy! Anthony and Bill worked so closely together and seemed on the same page, with the same vision…which isn't always the case! The movement and staging happened so naturally, in the tavern scene especially Anthony has created a robust, energetic joyous scene. We all had a ball! Is there anything you can tell us about the film or perhaps one of your favourite moments on set? All of it really, but Gaston’s Tavern is probably my favourite! If you could describe the film in three words, what would they be? 1. Life changing (I know that’s two) 2. Humbling. 3. Magical! What advice do you have for any aspiring performers/creatives? If you want it, go get it. It’s not written anywhere in this world that you can’t have or achieve what your heart desires. Be persistent, be focused, work your butt off, stay disciplined and be nice to everyone, whether they be directors, creatives, behind the scenes, teachers, dressers, anyone and everyone. We all breathe the same air and you are only as good as your last job!

And finally, what can we expect from you next? Involved in a show I have worked on creatively and its tour to America this year! Any excuse to head back to NY.

Thank you so much for your time Simone. We can’t wait to see you on stage, TV and on screen in 2017! Thank YOU lovely Katerina for your time and bravo. Images courtesy of Simone Sault Instagram

1 note · View note