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doodle-pops · 3 months

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Elrond With A Modern Medical!Reader in Valinor

Request: Not sure if this is fic or just headcanons but: Modern!reader in middle earth who was a neurosurgeon in her old life and is now in Valinor working with Elrond to translate medical concepts to elven language before she dies and help advance their medical practice. Some differences between elven and human biology are found out in the process, it’s all quite fascinating to them both. She assists in a few operations but I imagine they don’t have many surgical operations to do in times of peace because people just aren’t getting injured like they used to during the famed battles against Morgoth and Sauron in middle earth. She helps on occasion but them elves are graceful and not injury-prone. - Anon

A/N: I was having trouble turning this into a fic, and since you gave me the option, not minding if I did a headcanon, I went with the latter. I had fun writing this, I also made their relationship ambiguous. Enjoy!

When you happen to arrive in Valinor, dazed by its eternal beauty and tranquillity, Elrond, with all his calming presence and wise demeanour was the first to greet and help you settle down. He was kind to welcome you into his new home.

During your time there, you and Elrond spend countless hours in his extensive library, trying to translate complex medical texts and concepts into Quenya, while he marvels at the intricacies of human detail in neurosurgery. To him, the ability to heal the brain by getting so practical and up close was fascinating.

“You humans certainly love your precision and details,” he would say as he smiled while reading through a description of a delicate brain surgery. You on the other hand would laugh and tell him that not all humans are so meticulous, following up your comment by sharing more medical mishaps from your world.

It is when you discover the biological differences between elves and humans, that things in the work become all the more interesting. You discover that elves’ regenerative abilities allow for healing preparations to be cut down and rushed to the healing wing, unimportant. Just knowing this, leaves you speechless as he casually mentions recovering from an injury that would have left a human incapacitated.

“So you’re telling me that you can heal from a stab wound in a matter of days?” you ask, incredulously with jealousy lingering. Elrond would simply nod along with a serene smile as he continued to translate the prewritten text on the paper you provided. “I wish I had that. Would have saved me all those trips to the ER.”

Assisting in medical practices in Valinor is rare but rewarding. Elrond’s precise, yet holistic approach to medicine complements your surgical expertise perfectly. Together, you manage to save a few elves who came in with nasty injuries, mostly from hunting trips gone bad.

As time passes, you are further blown away when Elrond teaches you their famous art of healing through song and rare herbs, enchanting your understanding of medicine. You do find the elves’ ability to enter healing trances particularly fascinating.

“So you just…sing them better? Like kumbaya and poof! Healed?!” you asked one day as you attempted to wrap your head around the concept, prompting Elrond to chuckle. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

As time passes, your collaboration deepens both your understanding and respect for each other’s knowledge and expertise. Elrond is continually impressed but your surgical and modern techniques, while you are captivated by the elves’ natural form of advanced healing practices. This welcomed late nights in the library often turning into philosophical discussions as Elrond is thrilled by your stories of modern technology, and you are equally captivated by his tales of Middle-Earth.

You even meet a few of his family members during your stay as words of another human dwelling in Valinor. “Wait, you all fought a literal Balrog? Those fiery beasts?” you asked one evening as you sat around a table chatting with those who encountered the creature. “If you all were in my world, you could have used a fire extinguisher to put the flames out, or just douse water on them.” You leave most of them in laughter and confusion.

Due to meeting other elves beside him, you get the opportunity to practice your healing methods on them, though, they rarely allow you to since they usually appear fine even when injured. “So you couldn’t have hit your head a little harder for me to have something to examine instead of magically healing?” you disappointedly asked one of Elrond’s family members.

That has been the relationship for most of the encounters when an elf decides to come in sporting an ‘injury’. “You said you cracked your skull four days ago while hunting but I’m not seeing any injury. Do you mind if I hit you so I can have an actual injury to work with?”

Like you, even Elrond has his moments of being light-hearted, despite his dry sense of humour, when things don’t go according to plan. If the technique is too complex, he’ll jokingly say, “Of course, if all else fails, we just use magic.” Of course, you blink at him wondering if he was being serious or joking.

The partnership between you and Elrond as your work in Valinor developed certain areas of elven magical was tedious but also worthwhile. Even the relationship between you brought each other comfort and upliftment. “I suppose I’ll be remembered as the strange human who brought surgical scalpels to the Blessed Realm and threatened to beat people in their heads,” you joked.

Elrond usual response is filled with a sense of gratitude as he makes a toast in your honour. “You will be remembered as a pioneer and someone we are grateful to have encountered. I am glad you were brought here,” he fondly cheered.

Even as your time in Valinor progresses, you and Elrond continue to explore new ways to incorporate your medical practices into their elven healing. Each time an elf stops by for healing, you sometimes have to threaten them to come in with noticeable head injuries or you’d give them, while other times, you are lucky to have something to deal with. At least, during your years there, you managed to get a lot done.

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welcomingdisaster · 1 year

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Ok so I’m rotating ideas about elves and mythology and decided to drop some ramblings in your ask box because of all the wonderful theatre-related thoughts you’ve been sharing!! The thing is that the silm is a mythology right. Like it’s written in that style, and the heroes of LoTR and the later Ages in general are always explicitly looking back to the stories of the First Age (see: Aragorn wanting to cosplay Beren and Lúthien with Arwen). But what were the myths, the cultural stories, of the Elves of the First Age? In Tirion what were the stories that Maglor might write a play retelling or subverting, that Elemmírë might make a new song about, that Míriel might have woven into a tapestry? All cultures have ancient myths – but these characters are a) living at the very dawn of the world, and b) are all going to become mythological figures themselves! It makes me a bit insane. My thoughts are that they told a lot of stories about the war the Valar made on Melkor, and also about Cuivienen and the awakening of the elves, but honestly I don’t KNOW. What do you think? (No pressure to answer this is very random I realise) ❤️❤️

NO I love these thoughts!!! My thoughts generally go along the same vein as yours in terms of the general themes of elven myths. Here are some possibilities I imagine:

Whichever continent the elves in question are not seeing is often the center of the stories. The Sindar and Avari in middle-earth myth-make a lot about the lands in the west; the Eldar in Valinor myth-make about middle-earth. Since we're talking about Elemmírë, Míriel, and Maglor I'll stick to the latter.

I imagine there's aways the pervasive idea of secret Ainur no one has discovered yet. No matter how many times the Valar go "no we promise we're all here in Valinor, there's no other Valar left" there's 100% an elf somewhere going "have you heard about the Vala of bogs? yeah they live in middle earth and they're in charge of all the bogs there and if you aren't careful you'll be stuck serving in their bog court"

Not to mention elves who know Aulë and have heard that his people sleep under the earth, waiting for their time to awake. I'm sure for some elves tell it as simply that, but over time another pervasive myth develops -- stories of great dwarven kingdoms under the earth, kingdoms they're barred from seeing, stories of seven great dwarven kings, each much like Aule in face, each possessing a specific sort of magic.

Imin, Tata, Enel, etc! Not only do we canonically get them as a counting story, I imagine their fates are also something that ends up being talked about? They do not seem like they ever ended up in Valinor -- what happened to them? I feel like elven stories can tend to go along the lines of "and then he turned into a tree" or "he still dwells by the sea where he was born" or "he fell into the cracks of the mountains during the war and became one with the earth."

Myth as a way to explore cultural taboos! Elves coming to Valinor, a land with no pain or crime, with the shadows of war and suffering behind them -- I imagine they must explore taboo and pain through storytelling. What happens to an elf that leaves his wife for another? What happens to an elf who poisons her sister? I imagine there's some gruesome/creepy stories that come out there, but are told with a naïveté to the actual truth of what violence looks like. Something along the lines of "and then the servants of Melkor hacked the elven king into bits, so his wife had to go looking for each piece of him in every corner of the world and sew them back together"

The sea!! Must I say more. The elves emerged from the sea, and they long for it -- yet they cannot go too far into the waves without drowning, and they do not know what lurks under the waves. I imagine myths centering around sea-creatures, around the souls of the drowned, around elves (mer-elves?) who never left the sea and make their kingdoms underneath the waters, etc.

Just some ideas!! If anyone else wants to contribute headcanons for early elf myths to his post, please do!

#lena speaks #theghostinthemargins #thank you for this ask this is something i think about a lot #one of my fave things to think about :)

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chiropteracupola · 11 months

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it's the time of year again for another original spooky story... and thus we present to you:

"THE RAT PIPER"

“…..Now, all you who’re here, what story would you hear? Shall I tell you the tale of the boy who taught himself to speak to bees? The story of the sailor who won a mermaid’s heart? The story of the old inn and the ghostly hand?” The storyteller looked down at the children surrounding them and watched as they clamored, each cheering for a different old favorite out of all her tales. She smiled, teeth still bright in a worn, warm, age-freckled face.

“Oh, but those are far too often told, I think. I’ve another story, just right for a winter night like this one…”

“A new story?” asked one of the children, his eyes wide with hope.

“In that you have not yet heard it told, it’s new. But I shall begin first off by telling you just how old this story is.” The storyteller nodded to the boy, and began her tale….

——

Listen. There was, and there wasn’t, and there was a girl called Tamsen, and she was a child of only a few more years than you back when your grandfathers were young. She was a piper’s daughter, and went with him when he traveled to play the flute and the fife at betrothals and weddings and dances and sometimes funerals, for some people like that sort of music for a dirge. When her father was not piping away at music that would make trees shake their leaves just as you nod your head and clap your hands, Tamsen played the flutes as well, and even what she piped on an old tin whistle felt like a song that might make a forest lift up its roots and dance.

But Tamsen was a hungry-hearted girl, as many children are, and the space between her father’s notes never seemed enough to please her. So off into the woods she went, when the work of the day was done, and on the battered whistle her father had used as a boy, she played his songs and her own for no one but the forest. Or, so she thought.

The woods have a way of knowing when someone is wanting, and cascading through the branches above and the roots below and in every network of the forest, the song of such a hungry heart traveled far and wide. And something that had been waiting a terribly long time for such a tune to be played heard, and oh, how quickly he came skittering.

In that clearing in the forest where Tamsen went to whistle, a stump of an ancient tree served well enough to stand on. It was cracked across in places, all hollow beneath where its roots once had fed deeply from the earth of those woods. And up from one of the cracks came clambering a man barely the height of Tamsen’s two hands put together. He scrambled to stand a little in front of her on the stump, expression sour as he dusted splinters of wood from his fox-red hair and long blue coat.

Tamsen looked down at him with more curiosity than apprehension at first, cataloguing him as if she could manage to fit him into any notions she’d had before of the sort of creatures that might dwell someplace underneath a tree stump. The little man had a sharp face like a weasel’s and a pointed beard, and bright, clever eyes like a pair of polished silver buttons, which looked back at Tamsen with just as little worry as she’d felt. Tamsen, being a rather over-bold girl at the best of times, reached out and grabbed at the back of his coat, hoisting him up to her eye level.

“What the hell are you?” said Tamsen, holding out the little man in front of her at arms’ length.

“Do you kiss your grandmother with that mouth, tall girl?” said he, smiling like a knife blade.

“My grandmother lives two villages past the edge of the forest, and I only see her when my father is there to pipe at a betrothal or a wedding or a dance or a funeral, for some people like that sort of music for a dirge, and even then, I don’t kiss her at all, with this mouth or any other. What’s more, I don’t see what you mean, talking of grandmothers when I asked a question of you.”

The little man crossed his arms and pouted, kicking his feet in the air as if to emphasize his point.

“If we’re aiming for politeness now, one ought not to shake their acquaintances about like sacks of potatoes!”

“Oh. My name is Tamsen. How do you do?” she asked, and as she made her clumsy, father-taught bow, she made the mistake you must never make if you happen to be a character in a story. She gave her name to a creature of a sort she did not know, and so swung open a door to a place she had never intended to visit.

“Gannet will do for now, if you must call me something,” said the little man. That was not his name, of course — the sort of thing that he was did not have names as we know them to be, but we shall call him that as we tell the story. We are not that sort of thing, and we are fond of names. Now, we shall go on with exactly what he was doing, and the sort of power he liked to offer.

Gannet held up an ivory whistle, as long as he was tall, and Tamsen took it. It was carved all over with animals, long and twisting and tangling tails and legs together in a marvelous woven pattern.

“Now, tall girl, that’s no flute for betrothals and weddings and dances and funerals, even though it can play the right sort of music for a dirge. Play it just right, and you can pipe down a thunderstorm that will rain so long and hard that the mountains themselves will be washed away.”

Tamsen raised the whistle to her lips and blew, a note as sweet as coming inside from the cold, as sharp as an autumn wind all braided with dry leaves.

“Why did you give this to me, just like that? I haven’t got any money, I can’t give you anything in trade for it.”

“The whistle must be played, tall girl! And I cannot do it myself,” said the little man, pointing out his height with a sweeping gesture of one hand. “You’ve got the music to play it properly, so play it you must! Now, a tune, if you would, and we shall see who comes to dance.”

She played again, a song quick and merry as any young person running to visit their lover, and the wind came up and sang along with a voice all its own. The little man shivered within his coat, for the day was cold, and with a rush of wings, a thousand birds slalomed through the trees and spiraled around them. Tamsen gasped, nearly dropping the whistle, and the whirlwind of wings slowed.

“Tall girl, it’s you who’s called them up! Play on, they want their dance!”

Tamsen, you know, had a piper’s soul, and all the cleverness in her little finger that most have in all their body. So up she stepped, and making the same bow and scrape that her father made before he played, whistled up a song for the birds to dance to.

Scarlet and ash, black and white, a swirl of feathers patterned out a dance Tamsen knew. This song was a courting song, the sort played when the young folk just grown-up enough to be thinking of sweethearts would be dancing the night away. Tamsen had often stayed up to see them, and now, found the beating of wings and the fluff of feathers just as marvelous as the tapping of boots and the swish of skirts as the couples joined and turned and parted. For as long as she played, the birds danced for the two watchers in the clearing, and just as the song ended and Tamsen lowered the whistle from her lips, they were gone again in a flurry of color. She stared after them, breathless with awe, the surging pride at what she’d wrought filling her from the soles of her boots to the tip of her nose.

“With a talent like yours, no doubt you’ll find fortune in no time!” said the little man, bright and self-assured. Tamsen considered for a moment. She was the sort to like being petted and praised a good deal, and she got little enough of that as it was.

“How exactly might one go about doing that?”

“Well, say you were to set out on your own, see a little of the world, have a try at finding out just what that whistle there can do. And I’d come along of you, of course, for on one hand I should very much like to see you try your paces and on the other I have rather an interest in finding out some fortune for myself as well.” Now, to Tamsen’s mind, that sounded just the sort of thing she should like to do, and her hungry heart, which had begun rather to gnaw at the inside of her ribcage, bit a little harder in her chest as if to say “yes, yes!” But a bit of her father’s instruction beyond the methods of the music had worn on her, though not enough to keep her home.

“I’ll get my coat, then, for I’m not supposed to go far off without it. And then we shall go a-fortune-seeking!” And off she ran back to the little house where her father the piper dwelt, slamming into the front-room as brisk as the autumn wind. Tamsen took her coat from the hook by the door, put a loaf of bread in its pocket, and laced her boots up tight once more, for one bootlace had come a little loose in running.

“Pa, I’m leaving to seek my fortune!” she called, for her father was beside the hearth in his usual chair, not quite expecting her to be home or to be away.

“You’re doing what now, Tam?”

“Leaving to seek my fortune! Tell Grandma I love her! Bye!” And with that, she stepped out the door and back into the wind.

“What took you so long?” said the little man, who had been waiting at the hollow tree until she returned.

“I was hardly five minutes.”

“Well, everything’s slower when you’re small. Slower to get from place to place, slower to get attention…”

“What if I carried you, then? If we’re traveling together, it would be better if you could keep up.”

The little man paced back and forth, considering.

“Fine, then, but carry me careful. I am more fragile than you think.” Tamsen snatched him up by the collar and set him on her shoulder. “Not so rough, tall girl!” He wavered, wobbling, for a moment, then got a hand around the shoulder seam of her coat and held on tight.

“Onward!” said Tamsen, and off she went, running along the path with the wind at her back and the little man clinging to her shoulder like a rat to a railing. After a few minutes, she paused and turned to him. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Over the edge of the world and back again, even to the deep waters below where Chance and Luck swim like fish in a fishbowl. But you know the stories well, tall girl! Bold knights and brave ladies must quest first before they find where Fortune dwells.”

“That’s all?” said Tamsen, and gave a little hop and skip that made the man squeak with surprise.

“Of course not! We shall meet with adventure and you shall play the whistle for a betrothal and a wedding and a dance and a funeral, and you shall play the whistle for Fortune itself and see what comes of it!” And so they went, and the sun turned about the sky as it spun hand in hand with the moon, and the road passed beneath Tamsen’s feet as easily as the notes of the tune she played as she walked.

But before too long had passed, she came to a fork of the path, and what had been the road that led from the wood now was two, one that led down to the water and the other to the town. Down the road that led to the town, the miller’s daughter and the smith’s daughter were walking arm in arm, the smith’s daughter smart in her blue Sunday coat and fine silk cravat, and the miller’s daughter with her white petticoat all showing where the hems of her faded skirts came short. They saw Tamsen as soon as Tamsen saw them, though Gannet had seen them earlier and yet said nothing.

“Where are you going, little girl?” said the miller’s daughter, looking down the length of her nose at Tamsen.

“I’m not a little girl, I’m a piper!” said Tamsen in return, with a sharpness she regretted.

“She’s the piper’s daughter, that she is,” said the smith’s daughter, “and I’m sure she is as good a piper as ever her father has been. He played at my father’s marriage, you know."

“I’m a better piper than ever my father will be,” said Tamsen, sour and eager to defend herself, and behind her braid, Gannet laughed a little laugh to himself. “I can whistle down the birds from the trees and the rain from the mountains, so I can!” And she spun the ivory whistle between her fingers as her father had taught her, and made it shine so that every carved creature all down the length of it seemed to twist and dance in the last of the sunset’s light.

“Sing me a dress, then, Tamsen?” asked the miller’s daughter, then, with a little hope behind her haughtiness, and smoothed down the faded front of her skirts where water and wear had half washed the print from the calico.

“Well, it may not keep you warm, but I shall see what I can whistle up for you.” Tamsen blew the whistle, and remembered a song that her father had played at a dance, years and years before. It was a rollicking, rambling song, and her fingers flickered up and down the flute and made the tune ring out, just as bright as ever it had been. The wind came up, and whirled a gown of fallen red maple leaves, weaving stems and vines into a trim bodice and a wide skirt.

“Tall girl, don’t dawdle! Fortune’s waiting, come along!” Gannet tugged on one of her braids, and Tamsen turned and put away the whistle.

“Won’t you come with us instead and go dancing?” asked the miller’s daughter, plucking at her crackling-bright hems, her smile shy but just as bright.

“Let her go her own way, my apple,” said the smith’s daughter, and took her by the hand.

“I’m going to find my Fortune,” said Tamsen, “and perhaps I’ll come back some other day when I’ve got it in my hand.”

“You can’t just go around saying such things out loud!” said Gannet, half-offended, into her ear. His breath was very cold, and Tamsen shivered as though the wind had crept in and laid its cold fingers all along the edge of her cap. But she ignored him, and, standing up on her tiptoes, tucked a last bright leaf into the smith’s daughter’s buttonhole.

“There. Now you match, and may be on your way, and we will be on ours.” The smith’s daughter grinned and bowed, and the miller’s daughter curtsied, and Tamsen made her bow in return before they parted ways. Down the road to the river they went, Tamsen with her heart light and Gannet’s fingers clutching at her collar, and the whistle at her mouth all the way. As it had not been a long way from home to the turning of the road, it was not far to go to reach the water, and Tamsen was glad of it, for she had begun to tire of running, for all that the road to the place where Fortune dwelt seemed to be a smooth one indeed.

“This way, tall girl!” said Gannet, all sprightly and sharp, and pointed down the hill and out toward the broad horizon. The water lay out before them both, wide and dark and as smooth as the road had been, but Tamsen could not run down the current of it as she had run down the road, and beneath her coat, a shiver stroked her spine at the sight of it.

“I haven’t money for the ferry,” said Tamsen, in an attempt at practicality, and Gannet scoffed.

“Show them what you can do, and there’ll be reward in it for the both of us!” So down to the docks Tamsen skipped, and halted just before the ferry.

“I can play for my passage,” said Tamsen, drawing herself up as tall as she could. Gannet made a fierce face. The boatman smiled slow, and the boy perched near the prow put out a tar-smudged hand and hauled the two of them over the side.

“Would you whistle us a wind, lass?” asked the boatman, pointing to the whistle in her hand. Tamsen nodded, and played a shanty that spun up the waves to whiteness and sounded like a seagull’s call.

“I know this one!” said the boy, grabbing at Tamsen’s sleeve. “Do you know the words to it, miss?”

“No,” said Tamsen, setting down the whistle as the wind went on. “My father taught me the tune of it, but I’ve never heard it sung. Has it got a story to it?”

“It ends unhappy,” said the boy.

“Lots of songs do,” said Gannet, smiling sharp as ferrets’ teeth.

“Aye, but some don’t. Why don’t you play a happy song, the kind where everyone ends up all right at the end and they have a feast?”

“Feasts are a tricky thing too, lad. Oh, when you’re serving up and it comes time to carve in, you never do know just what’s on your plate. Meat’s messy, and it goes rotten quick as false-told tales. Better dry bones for me, strong and simple just as songs are.” Gannet snapped his teeth and smirked, and the boy shivered away and didn’t speak to them again, although Tamsen could always see him just at the edge of her vision, keeping a fixed look on Gannet out of the corner of his eye.

The boy did not speak to Tamsen or Gannet again, and his father did no more than smile softly as Tamsen played the last sweet chorus of the song, but sang the verse that told of sorrowful shipwreck, and the king’s fair bride dead before she ever was married, and all the captain’s bravery come to nothing. But though the shanty that Tamsen had chosen was no story of a smooth sail, they came to the other side of the water in good time, and the boatman wished them well as they went on their way, but the boy said nothing, and Tamsen clambered down alone.

And now that the further shore of the water lay before them, there was nothing else for Tamsen to do but to walk, and to play the whistle, and to walk again. To another town they came, larger than any one that Tamsen had ever seen, and so it was nervously that she passed the slow-swinging gates and into the empty avenues within.

“Where is everyone?” she wondered, but there seemed to be no one else but Gannet to hear her, and no sound but the padding of her own footsteps. That, and something more. A rustling, a skittering, a scratch-of-nails-on-slate sound, coming from everywhere at once. Tamsen spun, and saw a crooked shutter swing out on its half-rusted hinge, the wind picking at paint gone cracked and peeling with heat and sun and the fingernails of time. Her feet felt unsteady on the cobblestones, and scraps of paper and sackcloth blew about before her.

Tamsen knelt, plucking a bit of paper from the ground, the back of it dark and yellowed where glue had gone long dry. It was a label, but the writing of it was a mystery to her, for the paper seemed to have been chewed half out of existence by a myriad of tiny pointed teeth.

“Gannet, do you—“ she asked, the wind clawing at her coat and rolling dust over the toes of her boots, but before she could finish, Gannet shrieked “Tall girl, here!” and she snapped upright as if tugged by a marionette-string. Now the cobbles were all too solid, though Tamsen wished that they were not, for down through the windows and out through holes in the plasterwork and from every crevice of those long-left houses came a flood of rats, skittering and scuttling so that the streets rang with the sound of their claws all a-scrape against stone. Rustle and scratch and down came rats from roofs of moldering thatch, creak and squeak and clatter and out came rats from the cracks between boarded-over doors. Tails twined together in a wriggling mass of scaled skin, mangy fur showing through the spaces in between.

Tamsen put the whistle to her mouth, the instinct to do so as quick as a lightning-bolt and just as snapping-bright, but her fingers were frozen, and everywhere around them the rats were running. Gannet got a foothold in her braid, and climbed atop her cap, his sharp little fingers digging into her scalp, and Tamsen nearly shouted with the start of it, for his hands were clay-cold in the sun of that town that had been left to the rats.

“I don’t know what song to play!”

“Whistle, tall girl! You’ll know!” And so Tamsen placed her fingers on the whistle and played, and the rats rose like a river. They flowed up out of gutters and drains, poured out of windows and doors, scampered in a tidal wave of skittering feet and piebald fur. Gannet slipped down, but clung to Tamsen’s coat collar, pressing himself up against her neck with all his strength. All around Tamsen’s feet, the rats swirled and spiraled, dancing to her tune. She breathed in, and played faster and louder than before, and stepped up, up onto the backs of the rats, dancing with them light as leaves.

“Tall girl, have you lost your mind?” Gannet grabbed hold of her hair with sharp little fingers, but Tamsen only laughed into the whistle and played on.

“They’ll take us to find Fortune!” And the rats did, cascading along under Tamsen’s feet as she strolled along their backs. Rats can run a long time, if they’re caught up in such a thing as music. And human children can run a good long while, just the same. They’re not so fragile as one might think, both children and rats, though their bones are more brittle and their bodies smaller.

And so the day turned to night, and to day again, and the rats ran on, and Tamsen played the ivory whistle far past the point where she’d have gasped for breath before. But something new and wild had come up like the wind now, in her lungs and in her mouth, and over and over she played that song that told of lost loves and the fading ends of summertimes and bright beauties faded.

At last the rats slowed, for the town was long gone by, and the forest had faded first into chaparral, and then to plain, and then to nothing but sheer white stone, marked with deep and gaping cracks. Just as quick as they had come up from the houses and the holes, the rats scuttled down between the stones, and hardly before she knew it, Tamsen was all but alone again. The last notes of the song rang hollow on the empty air, and she looked to Gannet, questioning.

“What am I to do now?”

“Why, play on, tall girl! What else?”

“And Fortune?”

“The whistle must be played, the year must spin! With summer’s end, the piper calls the harvest in! There are to be dances, and betrothals, and weddings, but in the autumn must the funerals be held.”

“What—“

“You’ve had your betrothal and your wedding and your dance and your funeral, and now it’s time to play your dirge. Party’s over, tall girl.” The man crossed his arms, his face skeletal, his teeth sharp. There was an odd light to his eyes, once which Tamsen had rarely seen before. He clawed his way back to her shoulder, and though she tried to shake him free, he only dug his sharp fingers the more fiercely into her coat-sleeve. As he spoke again, he was right against her ear, shrill and demanding.

“Now, play the whistle, play it well! Pipe me one last tune!”

And Tamsen put the whistle to her lips and played a song her father had played after nearly every funeral. Not mournful, and something you danced to, to be certain, but slower, softer, the song the coffin-bearers might walk in step with as to the grave they went. The last song of all.

The wind came up, and the ground shook beneath her feet. Tamsen nearly lost her balance, and felt Gannet’s sharp hands grab at the back of her neck as he slipped off her shoulder.

The stones cracked and split, heaving up to reveal deep chasms beneath. Tamsen clambered to perch atop a spar of rock, missing a few notes as she played one-handed. And up out of the earth came the dead, dressed in bones clean and clattering, and danced. First a cascade of birds, somehow still flying despite their wing feathers having long rotted away, then people, of all ages, bones rattling as they stepped from foot to skeletal foot. Tamsen noticed one skeleton missing a leg, others with cracked-in skulls or fractured rib-cages, though it seemed not to impair them as they dipped and turned. Watching the dead in their dance from her place atop the jutting stone, she began to recognize familiar movements, familiar steps, though all danced to the same tune. Some made the box-step of a hornpipe, while others twirled their partners back and forth, skeleton after skeleton rising up to join the swirling rings of dancers.

Then, last of all, a new tide of bones, smaller than the rest, shook from the earth and solidified, scampering underfoot. A hundred million skeletons of rats, their bones bleached and shined, their tiny toe-bones skittering and clicking on the stone.

“You made this place.” The certainty settled on Tamsen’s shoulders like a pall, heavier yet than Gannet’s weight on her shoulder. “You’re not Fortune, are you.”

“Oh, but I am, tall girl! Fortune’s as much me as it is anything else, you see. There’s a fortune that’s your luck, and a fortune that’s your fate, and a fortune last of all, that is your death. The world turns, tall girl, and Fortune turns it, but my hands are small, small! I cannot gnaw through the threads of life all on my lane!”

“And exactly what is it you do, then?” Tamsen’s sharpness served her well, even as Gannet preened and smirked so near to her ear.

“Every year I take one, a clever tall girl or a bright tall laddie, no matter who so long as they can play. And every year they play the flute, and down at Fortune’s hands they go to clay.”

“It’s them, isn’t it?” Tamsen asked, but the certainty of the truth was already on her lips. Gannet only smiled, and she played on. The music came harder and faster and sputtered and crackled in her lungs, and her fingers moved so that she feared they might slip from their sockets entirely. If she did as Gannet asked of her, she’d die here too, and the next year, her skeleton would be among the dancers. But the music had her in its grip, Fortune had its hand wrapped tight around her shoulders and— and she was the piper. She called the dance with her tune, left right left right, hop and step and cross and back with every note. And just as she had begun it, Tamsen could end it.

She took a deep breath. Then Tamsen dropped the whistle from her mouth. The dance went on without her playing, the rattle and clatter of the skeletons keeping time in perfect morbid percussion. Tamsen watched for a moment, ignoring Gannet as he tugged at her hair and shouted at her to keep playing. She got a hold on either end of the whistle, then, and brought it down on her knee. It snapped in two with a crack, and every empty-eyed skull out of all the dancing dead turned to look at her.

The house of Fortune went silent. Not a clatter or a creak of bones, just a thousand empty sockets pointed like eyes, and Tamsen, her face set, staring back. Gannet, still clinging to her coat, shrieked, more shrill and piercing than the whistle had ever been. The world seemed to shiver under the weight of such a sound as that.

Tamsen reached up and caught him by the coat collar, and ripped him from her shoulder. He dangled from her hand, limp, eyes shut tight. Then he opened his eyes, steely-silver, and then, as if he had opened another set of eyes, somewhere else, he was gone, and Tamsen’s hands were empty. She let out a long breath that she hardly realized that she had been holding, and the silence broke, too, as she dropped the shards of the whistle to the ground. A clatter and a crack, and all the twisting and twining of the carved ivory creatures was no more movement than the wind blowing low over the drought-cracked ground.

The wind came up, catching at her coat-sleeves and her braids, and the skeletons turned to one another, looking lost. Tamsen watched them stumble about, then put her hands to her mouth and shouted.

“Go home!” The skeletons turned to face her again. “You found your fortune, all of you, didn’t you? Your families are waiting for you back in the world — go there! I think…” and at that, her confidence slipped a little, her voice half a whisper. “I think they miss you.”

Then, gaining confidence again— “What are you waiting for! Go!” Tamsen stared, standing, panting, and a hundred pairs of empty eye sockets stared back. The foremost of the skeletons cocked its head to one side, as if in confusion, and turned to its fellows, gesturing wordlessly. There were a few sharper cracks amid the general clatter, as of bones being hastily snapped, and when the spokesman turned back to Tamsen, it had in its hand a long leg-bone, all drilled with holes to make a flute.

“Oh,” said Tamsen, all the air knocked from her lungs. “Oh.” She took the flute carefully from the bony hand that held it — bowed over that hand as best she could as she did so. The skeleton, though it always had shown its teeth, seemed to grin at the prospect.

“…I’ll give you a dance for the way home, if you’ll have me.” Tamsen said the words very quietly, but the skeleton appeared to hear her, and curtsied, knee-bones clattering. And so she placed the flute of bone to her lips and blew, and the wind stayed where it was, but Tamsen was a piper down to the hungry heart of her, and all the wind she needed to dance the rest of the way was the breath curling in her lungs.

——

“And what happened to Tamsen afterwards?”

“Well, friends, this story is over, you see. The tale is done, the mouse has run, and whoever catches it shall make themself a fur hat out of it. That is the way of the world. But perhaps, if you are good and quiet, I’ll spin another story and show you the weaving of it.”

#em writes stuff #oc time again hehe #the rat piper #HAPPY HALLOWEEN LADS I'VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS ONE FOR TWO YEARS #and the cover art? well it is from two years ago when I started writing it. but What of It. go! read!

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plotandelegy · 1 year

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Unleashing Creativity: Top Ways to Generate Unique Fantasy Story Ideas

Photo: Standard License- Adobe Stock

Welcome back,

There's no denying that fantasy has been at the core of some of the most enchanting, daring, and downright unforgettable tales (for one reason or another) that have shaped the literary landscape. Who doesn't love the thrill of journeying to some new adventurous place with otherworldly creatures and epic battles between the forces of dark and light? Personally, I'm all about the dark side. Even for the most seasoned writers sparking the imagination can be difficult. Things like inspiration seem elusive as a dragon hiding in a mist-covered mountain. Today, I will cover a few ideas to find your muse. My muse sometimes hides in a dumpster...so let's find better ways to do this, shall we?

People Watching, with a Twist: Observing people in everyday situations can be a great source of inspiration. Now, add a layer of 'What If?'. What if the barista at your local coffee shop could control elements? What if the older woman feeding pigeons in the park was a retired warrior queen? This exercise allows you to create complex characters with intriguing backstories, ripe for the world of fantasy.

Travel Through Time: History is brimming with periods that, with a little twist, can become fantastic settings for your story. Victorian England's social hierarchies, the Renaissance's scientific innovations, and the fierce battles of Feudal Japan offer fertile ground for fantastical tales. Weave in elements of magic or mythical creatures, and you have an intoxicating cocktail of historical fact and enticing fantasy.

Bioinspiration – Fantasize with Flora and Fauna: The natural world is a veritable treasure trove of inspiration. Let's call this approach 'bioinspiration.' Start by exploring Earth's biodiversity's peculiar traits, behaviors, and survival mechanisms. Why not envision a species that communicates like whales but hunts like a pack of wolves? Or perhaps a plant that blooms under the moonlight and has the power to manipulate time? The possibilities are endless when you fuse the wonder of our world with a dash of fantasy.

Take a Hike (Literally!): When was the last time you truly engaged with the wilderness, the mountains, or the sea? Natural landscapes are rife with potential for fantasy storytelling. As you walk through a dense forest, consider the creatures that might inhabit such a place in a fantasy realm. That murmuring stream could be a water nymph's dwelling, and the wind howling through the canyon might be a dragon's call. Try to visualize your surroundings through the lens of fantasy — you may be surprised at what your imagination conjures up!

Harness the Power of Music: Like music, few things can stir the soul and spark the imagination. A piece of music can evoke many emotions and images depending on its rhythm, melody, and harmony. Try listening to music without lyrics (like classical, orchestral, or ambient music) and let your mind wander. Picture the scenes that the music evokes. Is that tranquil harp melody the song of a peaceful elven village? Does the tumultuous symphony represent the climax of an epic battle? Use these mental images as a springboard for your fantasy narrative.

So there it is, everyone. Five unique ways to draw up some inspiration. Go find your muse!! Probably shouldn't have said mine hides in a dumpster. I'm all about being superstitious, so I'm sure she'll never speak to me again.

Happy Writing,

Indigo Everly

P.S. Need more? Check out this post!

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tolkiens-middleearth · 2 years

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Might and Magic in Songs

“Therefore I say that we will go on, and this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda.”

I have many thoughts about this line spoken by Fëanor in response to the Doom of Mandos. It's so fascinating that this is the part that Fëanor focuses on, and it's very much in line with everything else that Tolkien wrote about Middle-earth. I love it.

At the moment (and this might change the longer I think about it) I believe the main aspects connected to this statement are memory & history, and art and its relation to magic, subcreation and power in general.

My ramblings about this got a bit too long, so more under the cut…

Memory and history

This is probably the easier one to explain: throughout Tolkien's stories in Middle-earth and Aman, songs play a major part in remembering history. All cultures have various songs, sometimes shared ones even, and they use them to remember and also learn from the past. It keeps the past alive, it keeps past deeds relevant, it connects what people do in the future with what people have done in the past. Sam said about this:

“But that’s not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually – their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn’t. And if they had, we shouldn’t know, because they’d have been forgotten.”

Both Sam and Frodo draw courage from stories like this, it helps them understand why they are doing what they are doing. These songs are therefore a great inspiration.

Remembering stories from the past is relevant to all cultures in Middle-earth, but it's especially important to the Elves, even in the First Age. Finrod in his conversation with Andreth says that memory is the “great talent” of the Elves, and that it is both a heavy burden and a great wealth. He also states that “the life and love of the Eldar dwells much in memory”.

So it's no surprise that Fëanor puts such a high value on being remembered in song. If they wouldn't continue with their quest, from his perspective, how would the song go, how would the world remember this part of history? The Silmarils, Fëanor's most precious creations – stolen by Morgoth and never retrieved? Finwë, the King of the Noldor and Fëanor's father whom he loved even more than the Silmarils – killed, his death never avenged, and his murderer never brought to justice? For someone like Fëanor that's hardly an acceptable memory to create for eternity.

Magic: art and subcreation

What interests me even more is the connection of art, subcreation and magic in Tolkien's work, and all the implications for Fëanor's statement. Tolkien has described art as a form of subcreation several times, and within his works the most prominent example is the Ainur singing the world into being (with Eru's guidance and power of course).

Art is of course a way to create things, even in our own world, but in Middle-earth they can have a stronger impact on the world. Simple words can hold great power, even when spoken by people who don't have magical abilities by themselves. Aragorn for example uses songs when healing the wounded. Frodo was able to call Tom Bombadil for help through words alone – so a large part of the power for this call must come from the words and the song itself, because Frodo doesn't usually have that kind of magic. Both Frodo and Sam use the name of Elbereth several times to great effect, against the Nazgûl or Shelob.

But my favourite examples when it comes to the power of songs are Tom Bombadil's songs against the Barrow-wights, and Finrod's song contest with Sauron.

Tom Bombadil against the Barrow-wight is a fascinating part in The Lord of the Rings. The Barrow-wight has captured the hobbits, and when it sings its song Frodo at first “felt as if he had indeed been turned into stone by the incantation”. The words used in the incantation are “grim, hard, cold words, heartless and miserable”. They are about cold hands and hearts, the failing of sun and moon and the death of the stars, dead sea and withered land, and the dark lord.

When Frodo calls Tom for help, he uses a very different image: in his song he calls Tom by water, wood, hill, reed, willow, fire, sun and moon – many things that Tom seems to value or that could be connected to him.

Tom himself constantly uses songs, by himself, together with his wife, just to pass time or to tell stories. In many of these songs he sings about himself, and I keep wondering if this is in part why his songs are so powerful: in his songs Tom is constantly building a picture of himself, he is defining himself as he wants to. When he comes to the Barrow-downs, he describes himself once more before asserting that his songs are stonger:

“Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow, Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow. None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the master: His songs are stronger songs, and his feet are faster.”

The contest of Finrod and Sauron in song is the other famous example of such extraordinary magic. Like Tom and the Barrow-wight, both evoke powerful images with their words. Of Finrod it says in the song:

“Backwards and forwards swayed their song. Reeling and foundering, as ever more strong Thû's¹ chanting swelled, Felagund fought, and all the magic and might he brought of Elfinesse into his words.”

And for a while this works. But eventually, the history and memory of the Noldor is also Finrod's weakness: the Elvenland is not completely free of stain – it is marred by the First Kinslaying at Aqualonde.

“Then the gloom gathered: darkness growing in Valinor, the red blood flowing beside the sea, where the Gnomes² slew the Foamriders, and stealing drew their white ships with their white sails from lamplit havens. The wind wails. The wolf howls. The ravens flee. The ice mutters in the mouths of the sea. The captives sad in Angband mourn. Thunder rumbles, the fires burn, a vast smoke gushes out, a roar - and Felagund swoons upon the floor.”

This is the part where the song fails in power and where Sauron gains the upper hand, leading to Finrod collapsing before Sauron's throne.

A matter of song

I am sure that Fëanor wasn't necessarily thinking of someone like Finrod to begin with when he talked about being remembered in song, but the bitter irony is that his and his people's deeds in Alqualonde were remembered in song, and it strenghtened the enemy and weakened the Noldo that was fighting them. But who knows, given Celegorm's and Curufin's attitude towards Finrod's quest, it might be that this is even a desired outcome for them?

No matter the outcome – is this what Fëanor had in mind? That whatever he and his people would do, it would be such a powerful memory that naming it in song would have such an impact on the effectivess of the song?

Tom Bombadil can evoke is own name, Frodo and Sam call to Elbereth, Aragorn draws his sword with the name Elendil on his lips – but who would call Fëanor's name? This really made me think if anyone of his sons or his people did so…

Footnotes

¹ Sauron ² Noldor

#Tolkien #Middle-earth #LOTR #The Lord of the Rings #The Silmarillion #SILM #Feanor #Tom Bombadil #Sauron #Barrow-wights #about songs #about spells #or more accurately #ramblings #my posts #repost because poll posts can't be edited :(#essay

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naminethewriter · 2 years

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Between Two Lives Chapter Three: Wrath

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next | Ao3

Story Summary: Written for Intrulogical Week 2022 @intrulogicalweek

Logan is stuck in Limbo until the Afterlife Registration Bureau processes his case so he can properly move onto a afterlife, whether that is heaven, hell, reincarnation or something else. While wandering around aimlessly, he’s approached by a demon that introduces himself as Remus and offers him a quicker way to the next life.

Content Warnings: Conspiracy Theories, Yelling, Rage Room

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Welcome to Sector W, Prof!” Remus cheerfully announces as they appear in another rather nondescript street in Limbo.

“This… is not as obvious as the last one. Who is this sector for?” Logan asked, looking around. There were a lot of apartment buildings like in his own sector but also a lot of wide buildings he could only guess were either community centers or gyms.

“You’ll see,” Remus grinned mischievously. “Come along, we’re going to attend a lecture.” That certainly peaked Logan’s interest.

“A lecture? What about?”

“Have some patience, doc. We won’t have to go far,” Remus answered with a quiet laugh, leading the way. Logan frowned – frowned, not pouted – and followed without another word. There were a lot of people around here, often talking in groups and waving their arms around like they were trying desperately to get a point across. Something about the sight made Logan uncomfortable. But before he could dwell on it for longer, Remus stopped.

“Here we are!” he said joyfully. Logan followed his gaze to the entrance of a wide, one-story building. And his blood ran cold when he read the sign posted in front of it.

“Please tell me not here to attend that meeting,” he groaned. But Remus smile crushed his hopes before the demon even opened his mouth.

“I could but that would mean lying to you! And you don’t want me to lie, do you?”

Logan sighed audibly as his eyes returned to the sign that read: ‘Flat Earth Society, Meetings Every Day, Starting at 1pm’.

“How would they even know if it’s 1pm?” he asked, already developing a headache. “Time works differently here.”

“Oh, you’ll see soon enough!” Remus sing-songed, grabbing Logan’s arm and dragging him along. “Your challenge is to sit quietly and listen to them for two hours. No arguments, no rebuttals, no nothing.”

“Isn’t one hour enough? Please, Remus, their believes go against everything I worked for my entire life!”

“Nope, sticking with two! And that’s me being generous. I promise I’ll take you somewhere fun after if you can hold it in.” He shimmied his shoulders and Logan had a suspicion that he’s missing something but he rather not ask. Instead, he takes a few deep breaths before letting Remus drag him inside.

At the entrance their given pins by a way too happy woman asking if it was their first time attending which Remus gleefully confirmed. Delightful to see new faces, she explained to them the schedule for the day and that they were free to grab drinks and food from the tables at the side. Logan did grab a water bottle, if only to keep himself from screaming.

They took their seats and thankfully were left alone by any other conspiracy theorists because Logan might have punched whoever tried to discuss with him the flaws in his life’s work. They would listen to two speeches that would both last around an earth hour and then they could leave. Thankfully, Remus had timed their arrival well and soon the first speaker stepped up to the podium.

Thirty minutes in, Logan was contemplating smashing his head against the backrest of the chair in front of him. And the first ten minutes was just introductions to today’s speakers, thank yous to the organizers and volunteers, as well as a memorial to a guy called ‘Mad Mike’ Hughes who died trying to go to space in a self-built rocket and crashed. Logan had had tears in his eyes and not because he was sad.

“They can try all they want to keep us from the truth,” the current speaker boasted, “they can confide us here in this facility all they like, but we will not be shaken!” Loud applause followed his proclamation, but Logan tuned them out. He turned to Remus.

“What does he mean ‘facility’?”

“Oh,” Remus giggled, seemingly having waited for Logan to ask him just that question. “A lot of the people here believe they aren’t actually dead but that they came too close to figuring out the truth so the government locked them in here so they can’t gather any more followers.”

Logan stared at him like he had grown a second head.

“Wha- How? What government? How would anyone be able to afford that?!” Remus just shrugged and put his finger against his lips, motioning for Logan to continue listening. Taking a big gulp from his water bottle, Logan swallowed down all the curses and questions he had. Arguing with people like this won’t work, he knew that, but that made listening to them any easier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as the second speaker ended his speech and applause broke out in the audience, Logan was on his feet, walking towards the exit. Remus followed him, the biggest grin on his face. The woman that had greeted them earlier wished them a good day and said that she hoped they would come again but Logan didn’t even look at her. He just wanted to leave and get away from all of these people as soon as possible.

He didn’t stop outside though but kept walking stubbornly down the road. Remus followed him silently, wondering what was about to happen. They continued like that until they reached the end of the sector. Logan stopped at the border, standing ridged and still.

“So,” Remus began after a few moments of silence, but was cut off as Logan started loudly screaming into the void.

“FALSEHOOD! YOU ARE ALL IDIOTS! FUCKING IDIOTS! EVEN ARISTOTLE KNEW THE EARTH IS ROUND! IMBECILES!”

Silence fell over them again as Logan took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

“Damn, Wristwatch,” Remus said eventually. “That was fucking hot.” Logan ignored his comment.

“I pass your challenge, I presume?”

“Yeah, you did. I’m impressed, I thought you would blow up in the first hour.”

“It was a certainly a close call. Now, I believe you said you would take me somewhere fun?”

“Sure thing! Gimme your hand and we’ll be on our way.” Logan did so without another word, just wanting to get away from that cursed place. The two reappeared in a plaza of some kind, with imposing buildings surrounding it. It reminded Logan a lot of old city centers in Europe.

“Welcome to the neutral zone! Or Sector Zero if you want. This place is not really for undecided souls like yourself, but nobody should question you as long as you stick with me. Now, no need to pop your eyes out of their sockets, we’ll be back here soon.” Remus again dragged Logan with him, this time towards a café.

The inside reminded Logan vaguely of Starbucks and the place had a few customers but wasn’t unbearingly full. Remus didn’t hesitate to approach the counter where a man in a leather jacket and with sunglasses stood, staring at his phone. He didn’t have any characteristics that would identify him as a demon or angel but somehow Logan doubted he was just any random soul.

“Remy!” Remus greeted cheerfully. “We need the bashing room.” The man looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“Remus, babe! Long time no see. And you brought someone new along.”

“Yeah! This is Lo Lo. He’s an astronomy professor and I just made him listen to flat earthers for two hours, so he needs to hit some things,” Remus explained, jumping up and down.

“I would, too, if I had to sit through that. Kinda harsh, gurl. Follow me.” Remy led them through a door off to the side and through a few corridors before he stops in front of a door with a sign on it that read ‘free’. He flips it over so that it instead said ‘occupied’.

“You know how it works, Rem. Don’t break each other and no making out. It’s not that kind of letting off steam and you know it.” He points an accusing finger at Remus who flips him off. With a roll of his eyes, Remy leaves.

“What are we doing?” Logan asked as Remus opened the door and ushered him inside.

“Rage room! The unlimited kind! You can bash whatever you want with whatever you want as long as it isn’t alive. Get out all that frustration you just built up.” Logan looked skeptical.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I just told you yesterday. You don’t have a flesh prison anymore; nothing can actually hurt you. Except some very specific stuff that you won’t find here. But if you’re too much of a scaredy cat, you can have some protective stuff. Now what do you want to hit and what do you want to hit with?”

Logan hesitated for a moment more before shrugging. Might as well.

“Give me a bat.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You should’ve seen him, Janny. I could’ve traced the veins on his head. If he still had an actual body, I might’ve feared they would pop.” Remus rambled about his day while Janus stroked his hair.

“So he was predictably furious. I hope you didn’t torture him for too long.”

“I didn’t! It was just two earth hours, that is basically nothing!”

“I am so proud of you for showing such restraint,” Janus commented dryly, causing his boyfriend to giggle.

“Thank you, it was really hard.”

“Yes, I’m sure it was.” He fondly rolled his eyes. They fell into silence for a moment. “You’re really starting to like him, aren’t you?” Janus asked quietly.

“I mean, kinda. He’s fun to be around.” Remus played with the seams on his shirt, not looking his boyfriend in the eyes. Janus sighed.

“Just be careful not to push him too far, Muse. He’s just a human, after all.”

“Yeah, I know.”

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tahomawhisperingwind · 21 days

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The Protective Powers of the Gaan Spirits: Guardians of Apache Culture

Introduction: The Whisper of the Ancients

Imagine standing atop a sunlit mesa, the wind whispering ancient secrets through the sagebrush. Below, the rugged terrain stretches out, a mosaic of earth’s colors—ochre, rust, and green—while a soft melody of a flute floats through the air. This is the Apache landscape, steeped in rich tradition and ancestral wisdom, where the Gaan spirits dwell. These ethereal beings, revered and respected, are more than just figures of folklore; they are the protective powers of Apache culture, embodying strength, resilience, and an unbreakable connection to the natural world. But what exactly do these spirits represent, and how do they shape the lives of those who honor them?

Cultural Mascots: The Guardians Among Us

The Gaan spirits are far more than mere symbols; they are the embodiment of Apache identity, a lifeline connecting the community to its ancestors and the earth. In Apache culture, these spirits are often depicted as powerful guardians, fierce yet nurturing, capable of warding off malevolence and instilling courage. Rituals and ceremonies invoking the Gaan are not just acts of remembrance—they are vital practices that fortify the community’s bonds and affirm their place in the universe.

Apache wisdom teaches that the Gaan spirits act as intermediaries between the physical and spiritual worlds. When invoked, they provide guidance, protection, and healing, forming a sacred bridge that enriches the lives of those who call upon them. For the Apache people, the Gaan spirits symbolize a profound trust in the interconnectedness of all life—a belief that resonates deeply in their everyday existence.

The Protective Powers of the Gaan Spirits in Apache Culture

Historically, the Gaan spirits have played an integral role in Apache life, serving as a source of strength and moral guidance. Through stories passed down from generation to generation, Apache families recount the deeds of these spirits, embedding them in their cultural identity. During periods of hardship—be it environmental challenges, conflict, or personal strife—the Gaan spirits have offered solace, reminding the Apache people that they are never truly alone.

Consider the story of a young mother who faced the devastating loss of her home to a wildfire. In her despair, she turned to the Gaan spirits, invoking their protective presence. Through traditional rituals, she found renewed strength—not only for herself but for her entire family. In the aftermath of the fire, she emerged as a beacon of hope, embodying the resilience that the Gaan spirits represent. This story is just one of many that illustrate the enduring legacy of the Gaan in nurturing community strength and continuity.

Cultural Significance: Weaving Harmony into Community

The Gaan spirits are not merely protectors; they are also catalysts for communal harmony. Apache ceremonies that invoke the Gaan are vibrant celebrations of life, filled with song, dance, and stories that bind individuals together. These gatherings serve as a reminder of shared heritage and collective responsibility, reinforcing the notion that every member of the community contributes to its strength and resilience.

In one particular ceremony, the Gaan dancers—adorned in intricate regalia—move rhythmically to the beat of drums, their bodies fluid and expressive. The air is electric with energy, and the scent of sage fills the atmosphere, creating an immersive experience that connects participants to their ancestors and the spirits that watch over them. It is in these moments that the Gaan spirits become palpable, their protective powers felt in the very marrow of the community.

An Apache Story: Taxa and the Bear

One poignant tale that encapsulates the essence of the Gaan spirits is that of a young warrior named Taxa. Facing a period of uncertainty, Taxa sought the guidance of the Gaan as he prepared to confront a fearsome bear that threatened his village. In a dream, the Gaan appeared to him, their eyes glowing with wisdom, and imparted crucial lessons about respect for all living beings.

With renewed courage, Taxa approached the bear, not with aggression, but with understanding. In an extraordinary moment of connection, he recognized the bear as a powerful spirit in its own right, deserving of reverence. This encounter transformed Taxa, illustrating how the Gaan spirits foster personal growth and encourage harmony with nature. The story of Taxa is a testament to the enduring wisdom of the Gaan, teaching that true strength lies not in domination but in respect and understanding.

Examples and Expert Insights: Nature Spirits in Action

The Gaan spirits are deeply embedded in Apache healing ceremonies, guiding the deceased safely to the afterlife and safeguarding individuals during illness. For instance, during the Gaan dance, participants invoke these spirits to protect against natural disasters and conflicts, reinforcing their status as guardians of the land and its people.

Experts like Dr. Elizabeth H. McCall and Professor James R. Serrano have studied the role of the Gaan spirits, emphasizing their profound connection to Apache identity. According to Dr. McCall, “The Gaan embody the resilience of the Apache people, serving as a reminder that we are part of something much larger than ourselves.” Their insights highlight the importance of the Gaan in fostering community resilience and continuity in the face of adversity.

Practical Applications: Invoking the Gaan in Daily Life

The teachings of the Gaan spirits extend beyond ceremonial gatherings; they offer practical guidance for everyday living. Apache individuals often invoke the Gaan for support in navigating life's challenges—be it personal dilemmas, health issues, or environmental concerns. By engaging in rituals that honor the spirits, individuals cultivate a sense of protection and harmony, both for themselves and their community.

Practices such as mindfulness and meditation can also serve as pathways to connect with the Gaan. In doing so, individuals may find themselves more attuned to the spirit world, fostering a deeper sense of belonging and purpose. This connection not only uplifts the individual but also fortifies the bonds that hold the community together, echoing the Gaan's protective powers.

Modern Relevance: Lessons from the Ancestors

In an age where spiritual well-being often takes a backseat to the hustle and bustle of daily life, the teachings of the Gaan spirits hold profound relevance. Apache traditions encourage holistic practices that promote connection, healing, and a respectful relationship with nature. As contemporary society grapples with environmental crises and a disconnection from the earth, the Gaan spirits' emphasis on harmony and stewardship becomes increasingly critical.

By embracing the wisdom of the Gaan, individuals can find guidance in overcoming both external and internal challenges. The spirits remind us that we are not isolated beings but part of a vast, interconnected web of life. This understanding fosters a sense of responsibility—both to ourselves and to the world around us.

Conclusion: Embracing the Guardians Within

The Gaan spirits serve as powerful guardians within Apache culture, symbolizing the sacred bond between the physical and spiritual realms. They remind us of our inherent strength and the importance of community and tradition. By honoring these spirits, Apache people cultivate resilience and unity, ensuring that the wisdom of their ancestors continues to guide them through life's complexities.

As we reflect on the protective powers of the Gaan, we are invited to consider our own connections to the world around us. Are we mindful of the spirits that guide us? Do we nurture the bonds that hold our communities together? The Gaan spirits inspire us to embrace our heritage and forge a deeper relationship with nature and each other. In doing so, we not only honor the past but also pave the way for a more harmonious future.

Glossary: Key Terminology

Gaan Spirits: Ancestral figures embodying protection and wisdom in Apache culture.

Apache: A Native American tribe known for its rich cultural heritage and traditions.

Rituals: Ceremonial practices that invoke the Gaan for guidance and protection.

Additional Resources

For those interested in exploring Apache wisdom and its modern applications, consider engaging with local Native American organizations, literature on indigenous spirituality, and workshops focused on traditional practices. By deepening our understanding, we can honor the teachings of the Gaan and integrate their protective powers into our lives.

AI Disclosure: AI was used for content ideation, spelling and grammar checks, and some modification of this article.

About Black Hawk Visions: We preserve and share timeless Apache wisdom through digital media. Explore nature connection, survival skills, and inner growth at Black Hawk Visions.

#BlackHawkVisions #Gaan spirits #Apache culture #ancestral wisdom #cultural guardians

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esters-notepad · 6 months

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Ring the bells for church to start!

Elder or young,

called by the steeple;

heart, hand and tongue,

country and people,

duty and deed,

all things, adore Him!

Earth shall be freed,

bow down before Him.

Forget your doubt and fear,

for good things strive and search.

The Lord is always near.

Ring the bells for church!

Sing a song and do your part.

Tales from the past

give inspirations:

Christians stood fast

through generations,

prayed as they fought,

wrote of God's glory.

Courage is sought:

Ours is a story

of tears and sweat and blood,

but faith will make us strong.

Go forward, go with God!

Sing a working song.

Pray for peace in every heart.

Here as above,

sisters and brothers,

each walk in love,

helping the others.

Misdeed and sin

make the heart troubled;

grace, when let in,

brings joy redoubled.

Dwell not on past discord,

let all your worries cease.

Have mercy on us, Lord!

Grant eternal peace.

-Nathan Söderblom (translated by me)

#poetry translation #i love rhyming poetry #I FINISHED SOMETHING!#i actually finished a poem #it's been so long you guys

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spirituallesbianblog · 7 months

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LGBT Lesbian Couples - Love Etiquette

'Love is the divine soul of our universe'

A consciousness of pure purpose and light garnished with loving intent for their masterful creations we know as humans who dwell on a planet of desire and dreams. A garden of infinite beauty where love dwells in the hearts of man and womankind as conditional, unlike the creational plan of infinite and limitless. Through the ages, we have accumulated a ton of programming that feeds into our mind's conditional thinking in all areas of our lives including how we love and navigate our emotional experiences. The human psyche is like a storage room of past trauma, happenings, and loves we thought were 'the one' but turned out to be a karmic experience of stormy magnitude. A mash-up of drama, euphoria, great sex, and conflict. Whether you are heterosexual or same-sex orientation, the song remains the same. Karmic interludes test your ability to transcend unhealthy attitudes in relationships and the part you play in them. Forest fires burn in your grand love affair as tactics like control, manipulation, and abuse crash and burn the initial spark that attracted you to a new lesbian or bisexual lover. What happens next is an emotive pullback from one or both partners confused by the level of dysfunction and having no clue how to repair the incompatible split. This dynamic is not unusual in heterosexual and same-sex relationships in a world of themes taught by parents and all-knowing relatives. These influencers planted the seeds of malfunction through the example of their partnerships based on what they inherited from their role models and generations that came before. Armed with little knowledge of what makes a union healthy, we fall in love and then dive into a same-sex relationship without prior knowledge of what our beloved has learned from their family's positive or negative interactions. Love etiquette defines how we treat each other and ourselves in a romantic union where two people hear the frequency call that magnetizes their hearts to a place of remembrance. This may come in the way of soul mates who show us how to feel through the power of emotion and in this arena of feelings, we find our true essence unless we have chosen to understand pain and the art of healing through karmic unions. Here to teach us self-love and release outdated thinking. Every habit or pattern added is always up for review and when we do the work, our soul feels the energetic freedom.

'My soul has given me experience and a kindness that shines from within'

I feel good knowing I have a compassionate lesbian heart and a spirit inspired to give. I have walked through the fire of darkness and come back to tell the tale. Surviving a journey through the underworld adds character, strength, and growth. There is a resilient belief in your power and certainty you will prevail. All the things that have happened to my life are part of a bigger story, orchestrated before I was born, as I wrote a script for the life I would lead, in human form on Planet Earth. In this storyline were the friends, lovers, and family I was destined to meet and grow from their unique interactions. Through the mysterious medium of reincarnation I have come to appreciate the grandeur of this cosmic creation and how we get to meet people we may have been in love with from former lives. You know when you meet that special; one as your heart feels the unforgettable tale of romance. The emotion is undeniable and the more connected you are the stronger the magnetic pull. This is the glory of a creator who imagined such things and manifested them effortlessly into reality. The divine has a romantic spirit that inspires the most radiant of love as unconditional and always available for those who shake off the rigid vision of love often played out on this planet. Our global home is holding space for this higher love amidst the measure of well-earned patterns that crush the spirit of love with false chronicles that require a partner to be controlled, abused, or co-dependent. The level of persuasive intent manufactured from eons of loving another the way our mother loved our father or religion dictated it should be has twisted the narrative away from the original incentive of unconditional love. The source of true power and ability to reach into the soul of another with no restriction. We are masked with a deficit of fear and an inability to express what our heart secretly knows and desires. Our love is tempered and when two people feel the majestic light of love they often stay guarded as a way to protect the brokenness created over time. This disallows the young lesbian to abandon her armor of protection and offer a small gift of love as she fears the backlash of heartbreak the way her father felt when his wife cheated and walked away from the family unit. These memories are potent and unalive the freedom to love with wild abandon and intimacy. The intense emotive closeness we all long for but hold at bay as the subconscious alarms ring loudly reminding us of how love can be painful and hurt. We are creatures of habit and continue to endorse the negative patterns of love etiquette brought forth by the conditioned thoughts we protect as if our lives depend on it. When in fact it is these defeatist views of how we navigate love that prevent us from loving unconditionally in the most divine and free-spirited way.

'This often requires healing the wounds inflicted by those who were walking a path of self-sabotage in the name of unrequited love'

As humans, we hold on tight to the programs instilled by those closest to us never questioning whether they make sense or not. This is the hard wiring of humanity that needs to awaken so the purest form of creational love can flood the earth healing the ancestral wounding we deliver to each generation through our genetics marred by a fake impression of how we love. The challenge is to explore our inner sanctum where healthy love etiquette has been poisoned by the trauma of childhood neglect, abuse, or past love destruction. The hurts of yesterday cut deep and if not attended will bleed into your current relationship choices. You see the allure is karmic and in place for mutual healing as each person reflects the wounding in the other. When these two lovers collide the vibration of shared hurts can create a bond of trauma that feels like love. There is something so familiar in the attraction they are drawn together without understanding why. There may be a sense of true love but the shared and unresolved abuse both people have endured will rise to the surface begging to be nurtured and healed. If not the play of programs could be greater than the willingness to restore internal health. For some, it may be painful to find themselves face to face with a narcissist spawned by the internalizing of earlier trauma causing the shutdown of their heart and capacity to feel empathy. This is a closed door that can only opened by bringing forth the original sin with a trained therapist as narcissism can be a lifelong condition. The heartbreak that can ensue from falling under the spell of a seasoned narcissist who may seek control of their partner can be devastating for the one who did not see the signs. The truth is it's difficult to see what lies beneath a mask your new love may be wearing to reel you in. The fallout from this unconscious union is a lesson in discernment as we walk through the fire of red flags and stand too close to the flames. Relationships are challenging and a test often of what we think we know. With little knowledge of the patterns we might encounter in ourselves and others, we walk blindfolded into minefields of tactics that bruise the heart and self-esteem. With so much dissension in the ranks of lesbian and bisexual unions, we see the value of a woman's worth entangled in her ancestral lineage of unhealthy behavior heralded in through eras of female submission and expectations supplemented by societal pressures of how a woman should conduct herself in times where her value was diminished. It is hardly surprising we fall into the traps of self-sacrifice when for centuries our female counterparts played the role of compliance.

'We need to forgive our divine feminine selves for enacting our ancestral DNA when we allow a woman to control our every move or bow to the abuse bestowed upon us'

It's an age-old issue that continues to deter feminine, same-sex relationships from attaining a higher frequency of love. A consciousness of purity and free-spirited exchange blessed with an intimacy only attainable when two souls are authentically aligned with themselves and each other, The light of love and truth shines brightly on this union as each partner has a deeper wisdom of what makes a healthy relationship work and how we have at some time been burdened by patterns handed down or acquired by parental or lover abuse. We live in an internally injured world highlighted by the continuance of dysfunctional themes that create an aura of suffering as people on Earth try to navigate love from a place of hurt and past wound hauntings. The ghosts of our subconscious greet us with triggers when we emotionally connect with another soul who has similar upset stashed away in the recesses of their psyche until a karmic lover arrives to aid in the healing or create a loop of never-ending anguish. Sadly the latter is more often the case and the reason is a lack of knowing why they feel the way they do. Lesbian couples are not immune to the karmic entanglements that leave each partner wondering how love slipped so silently away amid the collision of incompatibility and strife. A classic combo in relationships that lack a solid foundation to build on. You see falling in love is an insatiable desire we all share to unite with one another most eloquently and intimately. A birthright offered unconditionally by a divine spirit whose romanticism we feel when our eyes meet a stranger across a crowded room evoking a feeling of familiarity and closeness. As love blooms like a flower meeting the morning sun on a warm spring day, our hearts are enlivened and enriched with the prosperity and optimism we have met someone of significance. A magical emotion that can only be translated as the purest meaning of our soulful, human lives. Love is amazing but comes with conditions and these may include the wanting of one person to control or verbally curse the other. This is how the ambiance of love is altered when the cracks begin to show and love is officially a testing ground of each partner's ability to transcend the patterns formed from past events often so traumatic they have etched their influence into the human psyche. And why I am an advocate for basic training in psychology so karmic interactions do not escalate to the point of no return or cause the demise of what seemed a promising love story.

'These karmic partnerships have immense value and can heal the wounds of this life and past in the midst of what might seem like a battlefield of amour'

These conflicted lovers may part in anger not knowing their issues ran deeper than the Nile River and paved the way for this unhappy ending. A split that may not have been necessary had there been a greater insight available in terms of psychological know-how. Armed with a toolkit of answers to past trauma questions the light might shine brighter on a same-sex karmic union that fell apart due to patterns that were entrenched into the hearts and subconscious of one or both partners. Instead, there is anger, confusion, and heartbreak. A common karmic reaction to issues that need the gentle hand of healing so each party is aware of what happened earlier in their life and how it is impacting their current relationships. The ABC law of attraction is often weaponized with traits picked up by the broken hearts of parents and peers showing up in a lesbian couple dynamic as remnants of sexual assault or programs played out by guardians who present the darker side of love as emotional and physical abuse. In a world of diverse attitudes and ideals, it is not surprising we breathe in the rhetoric or actions of others as good or bad although they are merely perspectives honoring a universe of distinct contrast. Where there is dark there is also light and as the sun lights up the day the moon governs the darkness of night. This universe has a precise order that qualifies difference as the curiosity of a creator who saw the beauty of a planet inhabited by people of various looks, cultural stances, belief systems, and sexuality. The latter is my calling as a lesbian who embraces her desire to love another woman romantically and sexually. There are many ways I can do this through the medium of a learning karmic relationship, soulmate, or a rare twin flame that encompasses one soul meeting a mirror of their own soul here on earth. An experience not for the faint-hearted as you encounter yourself in human form. This cosmic union is made in the stars of unconditional love with the challenge to match each other's unique and divinely orchestrated frequency on a higher level of spiritual consciousness. Lesbian couples blessed with this exacting blueprint will light up the world with their holy presence if they can make it through the enchanted forest of karmic chaos gathered from earlier interactions.

'These chosen ones from the halls of creation are the creme de la creme of relationships designed in the spirit of higher love as a shining example of how stellar divine love is'

Sidling up to the lesbian or bisexual twins are the goddesses of a high-level soulmate connection who have come to a place of spiritual and human maturity by attaining their stripes as up-market heavenly messengers from past lives ready to take the stage as a divine couple in their current incarnation. A deeper understanding of the path they have already walked and their psychological self allows this same-sex couple the beauty of a partnership that transcends the karmic platform of learning as they transmute their life hurts with healing, The high-level soulmate alliance has a purity that can only come from doing the inner work required by each partner to ascend to a vibration divine enough to be heard by another through the energetic waves of time. LGBT lesbian couples who attain this level of New Earth love are the hallmarks of healthy and happy relationships. A beacon of light needed on a -planet of painful same-sex relationships marred by the shadow of prejudice and bias. My lesbian and bisexual sisters are weighed down by societal and religious viewpoints that can impede a loving coalition here to inspire empathy for what is deemed different or unique. I am a lesbian empress of light who has reached into her inner spirit and transgressed the programs motivated by people's limiting beliefs and ethics instilled by ancestors throughout Earth's history. Some of us have arrived to smash the paradigms of predisposed ideas about same-sex relationships and how romantic karmic unions are the mainstay as opposed to divine partnerships. Relationship Nirvana is achievable by LGBT lesbian couples and the way forward in understanding we can live the life of our dreams with a partner that ticks all the boxes of a compatible soulmate free of the karmic zone as she has met her shadows and waved the wand of healing across all aspects of her early trauma. This divine feminine is a sparkling role model of hope for a globe entrenched in relationships that are embedded with classic programs of control, co-dependence, and physical and emotional abuse brought about by hurt people who passed their pain to another setting up a human pattern of dysfunction. It's time to turn the wheel and purify the brokenness of this conditioned planet. That is by seeking help from trained therapists or learning how others healed their programs of impaired thinking due to repressed emotions caused by damage inflicted by another's inability to heal their own hurts. It's cyclical and ever-increasing, but we can shift this heaviness by understanding why we feel the way we do and how we can stop bleeding out from our constant wounding. This is how we climb the ladder to relationships that glisten with love, peace, and contentment. Let us LGBT lesbians and bisexuals change the way we perceive love. It is an inside job and requires an introspective look at our negative habits and patterns so we can heal and move on to stronger and more intimate alliances with soulmates who have also delved into their shadows. It is then we rise above the vision of karmic turbulence. The mainstay on planet Earth and in our same-sex relationships. The wheel is turning and opening the gates to healing and a desire for higher-level romances that offer counterparts the beauty of a mature and loving union steeped in the divinity of unconditional love and light.

Author ~ LInda E Cole {The Divine Feminine}

'Lesbian and bisexual twin flame and high-level soulmate relationships all have a unique love etiquette of their own ~ The quest is to walk through the fields of karmic and ascend to a higher love. ~ An internal land of love and New Earth'

#lesbian couples #lesbian relationships #lgbt #twin flames #karmic relationships

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dianaleaghmatthews · 3 years

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Hymn Story: All People That on Earth Do Dwell

All People That on Earth Do Dwell was written by William Kethe. Kethe was born in Scotland and fled to the continent during Queen Mary’s persecution in the late 1550s. While living in Geneva he traveled to visit other English refugees. It is believed he was one of the translators of the Geneva Bible–which was favored by the Pilgrim fathers. He died in 1594 Dorset, England. Mary, Queen of…

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#All People That on Earth Do Dwell song story #behind the hymn #hymn story #Old Hundredth hymn #William Kethe

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nemeseos-noctua · 4 years

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hello!¡ idk if you guys have wrote for angst but i’ll req one since the reqs are open,, can i req for xiao, zhongli and venti where their [mortal] s/o slowly dies on their arms. yk since they’re basically immortal and how they’d react to losing another loved one. ty!

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: xiao, zhongli, venti (separate) x gn!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: venti and zhongli story spoilers, not proofread

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: the way i teared UP while writing venti’s (also i love this request. i spent like 40 minutes writing it during a class but AGHH I LOVE THE FREEDOM I HAD WHILE WRITING IT)

a part of him hates himself for loving you

he knew. he knew you were but a mortal, a fleeting love and a fleeting life. and yet, he lowered his guard. he let himself love, he let himself feel joy and bask in your warmth that the lingering thought of ‘temporary’ left his veins

but holding you like this—in his arms, in his cold cold arms that already missed your missing warmth, his bloodied gloves and sunny irises:

he hates you. he hates you for loving him. he hates himself for loving you. he should’ve never subjected himself to this pain—

but he’ll never stop loving the memories of you

“Sorry, Xiao,” You smiled weakly, chest heaving with restrained coughs as the Yaksha winced, cradling you in his arms as the moon began to rise.

“Don’t speak. Conserve your energy,” The Adeptus disregarded your words, his heart pounding against his chest with a pain so unfamiliar, a pain of heartache he wish he never experienced.

Maybe, if he had rejected you that fateful night—he’d feel this pain still. He’d feel it, just, earlier.

Would it be worth it? To sacrifice your memories, your love— for an easier farewell. Maybe, if he had never fallen in love with you, maybe, if you had just stayed in your mortal life and never seeked him out—maybe it would be you who was crying on his behalf.

Gazing down at you, Xiao’s grip on the fabrics of your shirt tightened. You had changed since he first met you—wrinkles adorned your face, [e/c] eyes drooping and your bones were stiffer and more fragile than his ever was.

And yet, he loved you like the first time he met you—though he’d never admit it, appearance never really mattered to him anyways. Though he held a youthful visual, he knew that if his true age was put into a look... it’d be nothing more than skin and bones.

“I love you, Xiao.”

“Don’t.”

Don’t. Don’t make him love you even more, don’t make him miss you before you had even left.

Don’t. Don’t leave him—don’t leave him stranded again, destined to fight against demons and protect Liyue even after its archon’s passing.

Don’t, don’t make him cry uncharacteristic tears. Don’t make him long for a love that was gone.

xiao would put you to rest once the beat of your heart comes to a stop

he is painfully familiar with the traditions of a passing. he is familiar with the way he’d set someone down into the earth. he is familiar with the soil and the rain and the moon and the stars

he—adeptus xiao—was familiar with death. in fact, he dealed in it

this is most likely xiao’s first time watching someone die from old age

or—someone he loves

he is used to the realm of immortals, he is used to watching them be murdered or sabotaged. but never has he seen old age take someone

and he wished to never see it again.

xiao would close his heart from the world—if it wasn’t closed already, it’d be barricaded by twice the amount. thorns used to block the outside world would stab his own heart, and xiao would only know grief for a period of time

he’d find himself coming back to your final resting place, he’d find himself planting glaze lilies and flowers at your grave as he mourns a lost love

he—still hates you. he hates the love you gave him and the love you shared... but now it doesn’t hurt so much anymore

your death would only prompt him to become stronger. to become colder, to hate the world even more than he already does

zhongli would sometimes visit xiao, and even he is pained by your death. the world—it twisted and turned, it moved and wove tales with the strings of fate...

but never before has xiao wished he was mortal. if he were mortal, he could pass peacefully. if he were mortal, he could meet you again

mortals.

xiao hates mortals.

he hates them because being mortal was what took you away from him

the touch of death has numbed to zhongli

he has experienced it far too much, but watching you fade in his arms was probably the worst yet most bittersweet way to go

on one hand, zhongli is relieved. he is relieved that you passed peacefully, he is relieved that you left without any pain

yet on the other hand, he is heartbroken. he is broken to watch yet another loved one go, he is broken to have to arrange the casket that you will sleep eternally in

zhongli is grateful. he is grateful to ever meet you, he is grateful to have the honor of putting a ring on your finger and being able to lock your lips with his. he is grateful for so many things and yet he still wants more

he wishes to hold you until time itself fades, he wishes to experience the present with you instead of dwelling on the past that you so regrettably will become apart of

he, zhongli, consultant of wangsheng’s funeral parlor—wished for time. a time he so selfishly held as an immortal.

“The glaze lilies are beautiful today, are they not?” Zhongli hummed, sipping on some tea as he gazed fondly out of the window. His warm coat did nothing to prevent the cold of his side, the lack of your voice or the missing light from your eyes.

Everyday was the same. Everyday was him sitting—alone—in the funeral parlor, the pungent smell of death and cremations flooding his senses as all he could do was watch. Watch the world go by, watch his friends and loved ones die one by one as he was subjected to an eternal dance of loss.

Though, Zhongli knows that you will never truly die as long as you are in his heart. He remembers your smile, your laughs, your growing pains and complaints, your eventual wisdom and hearty laugh that you shared with him moments before your time.

He remembers so much, he loves so much, he loves you and who you were, he loves you and all of you.

“I must admit, I miss you terribly,” The consultant’s voice softened, his fingers setting the tea in his hands down as a lump formed in his throat.

“Yet I would never regret loving you.”

zhongli would stay painfully normal

he does not want your death to hinder him—he knows you would not want that. so he lives life, he carries on—but your memory never leaves

your stories and triumphs will be the topic for one of his best stories. and that otherworldly traveler... he hopes they carry on your legacy with each and every world they visit

and he hopes you... you and your beautiful smiles, you and your love and your kindness and your ambitions—

he hopes you are resting peacefully in the flowers he prepared for you

venti would strum you your favorite tunes as you pass

a bittersweet smile paints his face as your back rests against his chest, frail and weak coughs leaving your system as you heave for a single breath

do you remember? do you remember the way the two of you used to climb the tree at windrise? do you remember how you’d drag him from the late diluc’s tavern? do you remember how you’d stay up late at night listening to his songs and mindless chatter?

he remembers. he remembers watching you grow, he remembers standing beside you as you ran for your dreams. he remembered gliding with you aboard the strange island of time you insisted on exploring

“I love you, so so so so so much, [Y/N]...” Venti would muster, wiping his tears as you couldn’t even turn around to gaze at him. To gaze at his youthful form and unchanging appearance, to gaze into those azure eyes you had fallen for and his scheming tactics.

Burying his nose into the crook of your neck, Venti took one deep breath. He loved the way you smelled, how it seemed like you rolled in a field of sweet flowers (though he knew your stiff bones would never allow such a thing), how you used to play along with his schemes when you were younger.

Venti loves you, and all of you. He loved you when you were a young adult, he loved you when you were middle-aged, he loved you when you were an elder.

He love love love love loves you, so much so that it seemed to overpower the pain.

He knew your time was up, he knew his time with you was gone, but he persists on with your memory.

mondstadt has surely changed ever since your passing

venti finds himself waddling into angel’s share twice a day, even if he can’t afford it. he finds himself on the receiving end of pitied gazes and free drinks (for no reason, though everyone knows the reason). he finds the way klee is no longer a child and the way the honorary knight never visits mondstadt anymore quite jarring

he finds himself—lost. he has lost so many, watched so many go, held so many fallen friends in his hands that he can no longer count

though, he misses you. a lot, actually. when klee is busy being an adult and bombing abyss mages instead of fish, venti finds himself weaving tunes of your valor and honor at the statue of—himself

he finds himself longing for you, loving you as if you were still by his side. he sings and sings, strumming his lyre so much that he hopes you can hear them from the heavens

and after—after he has made his and your mark on the newer generation, venti, the windborne bard, falls into a slumber

he sleeps. he sleeps in celestia in hopes of dreaming a dream with you. he sleeps in hope of finding you in a neverland so beautiful

he hopes that one day when he descends once more amongst his people—he hopes you will be there. just like the first time he met you.

— constellations!

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #venti x reader #constellarations

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folkloreguk · 3 years

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Moving Antics (M)

A/N: This was requested a while ago and I hope you will enjoy it! I always welcome feedback of any kind! Have a good day x

genre: smut, optional bias (m) x reader (f), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, overstimulation (a tiny bit), dom!bias, very lowkey roleplaying??, reader wears a maid outfit (not in a degrading way)

words: ~ 5.4 k

tag list: @mochi-ficz (let me know if you wanna be tagged when I post new fics!)

People had told you over and over. Moving is a stressful, exhausting process. It would take a while for you to settle in. Until everything had found its perfect place, weeks could pass. At least that’s what everybody said. What they all failed to understand, though, was that being in love could make the most tiring experience fun. Was it stressful? Sometimes. Exhausting? Why don’t you ask yourself that, when you fell into bed like a walking corpse at night? But all it took was a glimpse at your boyfriend as he carried inside the box that said ‘anniversary gifts’ and it was all worth it. You were confident in one thing at least. In the settling in department you were both ranking foremost.

You had lived in the apartment for only a week, and you couldn’t have been more all-over-each-other. Somehow there seemed to be an unspoken challenge you had both taken on. Maybe you two could set a record for most surfaces in a flat someone could have sex on. Or perhaps you should have started marking the rooms and spaces you hadn’t been able to add to your list yet. There wouldn’t have been many left. At the moment, there was only one downside to being so head-over-heels in love. A lot of the boxes in the apartment had been left unattended, as if you only waited long enough, the things would start flying out of the cartons and miraculously sort themselves out while you could stay there, in bed with your lover between your legs.

But this wasn’t Hogwarts and you weren’t some magician. And so one rainy Saturday noon you decided it would be thatday. The day you finally put away all the things that were still in the boxes. Not that the day had been successful so far. It was 12 pm and you were in bed. The shower was running in the bathroom next door, and you wondered how you would convince your boyfriend and yourself that getting things done would be a worthwhile pastime. Telling yourself you would come up with a tactic with your eyes closed, you tricked yourself into daydreaming for a little while longer, cuddled in the blankets that still smelled like him.

When you heard footsteps approach, your mind snapped back to reality. He strut through the door like a nude model, searching for some clothes to wear. His smirk when he saw you eye him was prominent and made your stomach flip. It took every last will of yours to not ask him to come back into bed with you, forget all your earlier plans and live like you were the last people on earth.

“Do you want breakfast?” he asked, finishing his outfit by pulling a shirt over his head. “I’ll make you some.”

You hummed, starry-eyed at his perfection. “Thank you,” you said. Quickly, he kissed your forehead and then walked off, presumably in the direction of the kitchen. Twenty minutes later, at the kitchen table, you finally brought up your wonderful idea.

“I think we really should unpack some more stuff today,” you said, “Don’t you think?”

“You’re right,” he said, “We’ve really been procrastinating.”

“You can say that again,” you laughed.

“Although I wouldn’t describe our scientific research of the last few days as completely pointless.”

“Our what?” you asked. You were getting up to put away the plates of your late breakfast.

“Us testing which room of the house is the most fun to have sex in,” he stated, matter of fact. “I vote for the bathroom.”

“You just love the mirrors,” you grinned, and he mirrored it.

“I do,” he said. His arms snuck around your waist from behind. “Almost as much as I love you.”

“I love you too, babe,” you said, “You know, there’s one room we haven’t tried yet.”

“The office,” he said. You turned your head and you kissed him deeply. In agreement you hummed, your arms wrapping around him. He pulled you closer, hands ghosting over the back of your thighs and up to your hips. You felt like jumping onto the counter and having him there, again, just like you had done it two days ago. But then you remembered you had other projects for the day. If you gave in to him now, you’d end up back in bed for the rest of the day, probably. Guilt was already setting in at the mere thought.

“Wait,” you pulled away and said, “We have things to get done.”

His nod was dilatory but then he seemed to recall his own determination from around two minutes ago. You wished you could have motivated him otherwise, but you were already struggling to spur on yourself to be productive. Then, you suddenly remembered something. Your eyes must have widened in surprise because he furrowed his brows at you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Stay here,” you announced, “I’ll make sure we get through with this today.”

And you were off to your bedroom. You pulled the box out from the far back of your closet. Memories flashed your mind, of when you and your boyfriend had been watching a show together. One of the characters had been wearing a provocative maid outfit, and you still thought about the way he had grinned at it, or how he had said he found it cute, which you believed translated to sexy, but he had been a little shy back then.

Long story short you bought one. And what better occasion to put it to use than now? You went all out, stockings and heels as well as your attempt at fixing your hair quickly, which you knew didn’t really matter, since you would want it out of the way if you were really going to be emptying boxes. You strut down the hall, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The black and white costume just about covered your ass, and on your chest was a cutout in the shape of a cat’s head. The ruffles of the material bounced as you walked, excited to see your boyfriend’s reaction.

“Close your eyes!” you shouted. “No cheating!”

“I never cheat,” he said. You rolled your eyes, remembering his video game antics from the past.

“Before you say anything…this is supposed to be a motivation for us to empty the boxes. If we do that, we can have our reward,” you said.

“What reward?” he asked, eyes still shut.

“Open your eyes and you’ll know,” you said. Oh, how dearly you whished you could have captured his face on camera.

“Babe…,” he said. Then his mouth just stayed agape, as he ogled at you shamelessly. Just because he could. Because he was just thatlucky to have you.

“Do you like it?” you asked.

“Yes. Of course I do,” he said. His tone was emotionless because he was way too busy sorting out his own thoughts in his head. “But do you really think this is a good idea? How am I supposed to focus on anything but you?”

“We’ll figure it out,” you said. “Don’t you want to feel accomplished at the end of it all? If we don’t start working now, we’ll just end up feeling guilty. Again. Come on, let’s do this.”

“Alright,” he said. “Let me have one kiss.”

You laughed and granted him that one wish. His lips lingered on yours for a while. You knew he didn’t want to pull away. Neither did you. But at last, he had enough control to remove himself from you. It was the office that still needed the most work to be done. Cardboard boxes were piled on top of each other, labelled with some sort of theme or room of belonging on the outside. When you looked his way, he was only eyeing your legs. But then you grabbed the closest box to you and handed it to your boyfriend, and he snapped out of his trance.

Believe it or not, there were up- and downsides to the maid costume in this situation. The pros included feeling unnecessarily sexy whilst doing an unbelievably humane task, not getting too warm since you were already wearing little clothing and having your boyfriend virtually drooling over your appearance. The downsides were mostly reduced to one word: heels. Climbing a ladder and balancing three boxes on top of each other in your arms was an arduous task to begin with. Now add the possibility of twisting your ankle on the top step of a ladder and crashing to the floor, probably breaking your back or worse. You really couldn’t endanger the prospect of the fun you were planning on having later by taking that risk.

That’s why you chose to abandon the heels somewhere on the floor about half an hour into the process. And you came to the conclusion that finally getting over and done with what you had been procrastinating for the last week wasn’t all that bad. You were a whirlwind, running from room to room to make sure everything had its place. At some point he had turned some music on, and it was making everything even better. After all this time, you finally had your own place to decorate however you desired. As you admired how nicely things were coming together, you hummed to yourself quietly.

You weren’t sure whether he was having as much fun as you were. Especially not when you walked past him in the doorframe, carrying four pillows. Your ass – maybe not all that accidentally – brushed against his front as you entered the room. Innocence and feigned ignorance were on your face but you noticed exactly the way his eyes dwelled on you for a little longer until he got back to work.

But everything you could do he could do just as well. Fifteen minutes later, you were occupied with stacking books onto a shelf. Wanting them to stand in a very specific order turned out to be more time-consuming than you had anticipated. You heard his steps behind you, assuming he was going to walk past you. Suddenly his lips brushed against your exposed neck.

“Remember this song?” he asked. You hadn’t been focused on the music for a while now, but of course you remembered. “Remember when I fucked you to the beat of this? Because I do.”

“Babe,” you said. There was a little part in your brain that had the glorious idea of him having you right there, against the bookshelf. You wouldn’t even need to remove your clothes. With him, it took nothing but a few magic words and you felt like giving him all of you. No. It’s not time for that yet. Your rationality vanquished that little avid thought and pushed it away, back into your unconscious where it had come from. It wasn’t gone yet, only not so urgent anymore.

“You’re right,” he said. “We’ll save that for later. Just wanted to remind you of how much of a good time we can have.”

You only shook your head and grinned as he walked off, pretending to be blissfully unbothered. What goes around, comes around, after all. And you deserved that for pushing up against him earlier. It took a minute and you got back to sorting your book titles. Time passed surprisingly fast when you were being productive. Box after box emptied itself, almost as if your wish for magic powers had become reality. But it was just two people, who were so excited about their reward that they forgot to even take a proper break in between the chaos. And soon you were down to the last cardboard box. It was full of decorations you didn’t need for the current season.

Just a few more climbs up and down the ladder to the very top of the closet and you were done. He stood next to the ladder, handing you the things so you didn’t have to go all the way down each time.

“Last one,” he said, giving you a box with holiday lights. Successfully, you placed it in its new spot. When you finally made eye contact with him, he was already staring at you like you were the only thing in the room worth looking at. To be fair, from where he stood, there wasn’t much left up to his imagination. With your stockings on display, his eyes could probably go all the way up to your garter belt.

“Is this angle too revealing?” you asked.

“Absolutely,” he said, making you laugh. Smirking, he took your hand as you stepped off the ladder. You stumbled into his body as you grinned at each other. You both had the same thing on your mind, without a doubt. It was like a little inside joke you had made up just now, making you flirt through looks and small touches. His hand rubbed the small of your back as he bent to your ear.

“My pretty maid, haven’t you worked enough for the day?” he asked. “All that teasing you did today must have been soexhausting.”

You nodded overly seriously, as if riling up your horny boyfriend was physically tiring work. “I hope I did a good job. Did I?”

“No one else could have done it better,” he said. “Now let me treat you, baby.”

You hummed with your mouth already too close to his to say anything. Then your lips finally crashed onto his. It was a little ridiculous how much you missed his touch after only hours of being without it. People had told you you’d get tired of being with each other all the time. But it had been years and you still wished you could have cuffed his wrist to yours because you loved him just that much.

Your tongues fought playfully as you pushed him against the closet front. Small noises came from both of your mouths, quietly agreeing that this was what you had been waiting for – more or less patiently. Your hands became busy with the buttons of his flannel. When you came across his bare skin underneath instead of a shirt, you smiled into the kiss. Every layer less to remove meant you were one step closer to what you wanted.

“We’ve never done it in here,” you muttered against his hungry lips. “That table looks nice, doesn’t it?”

He grinned. Your hands had already messed up his hair, but nothing came close to his dark eyes in moments like these. His look never failed to make your heart skip a beat while you wondered how you had ended up with the most handsome guy in the world.

“Will you think of us, if you ever sit there and work in the future?” he asked, leading you over to the office table. He dropped his flannel on the ground on the way.

“I always think about us,” you said. “But you can make sure this one stays especially prominent in my memory.”

“There’s nothing I’d rather do,” he said, and kissed you again. Your ass was backed against the edge of the table and one of his legs pushed between your thighs. It made you whimper quietly in anticipation. He touched the little part on your thighs that was bare, playing with your garters. With your eyes closed, his tongue on yours and his hands being so close but so far from where you needed him, your head spun with dizziness. He was like a drug, like alcohol dripping straight from his lips and the more you kissed him, the less control you had over yourself. His attention gave you loose lips and the impulse to be risky, all whilst feeling so high up in the clouds you weren’t sure you’d ever find your way back down. You hissed when he pressed his fingers against your underwear.

“You’ll keep the dress on,” he said. “Will you?”

“Of course,” you obliged. “If that’s what you want.”

“Good girl,” he said, and he pulled aside your panties to slide his finger over the slickness that had formed between your thighs. As if on command, your hips moved closer to his hand as you whimpered at the too gentle friction. All afternoon you had been thinking of his hands on you. When you had watched him peel away the tape from the boxes, when he was taking your hand to help you down from the ladder and when he had run his fingers through his hair absentmindedly – all you could think about was how much you wanted those hands to grab your hips and for him to have his way with you.

“Take these off,” he ordered. His stern but gentle voice turned your insides into mush. It made you behave almost like a robot, no ifs ands or buts. When you usually liked to tease him, you knew not to test your limits when he spoke in this tone. Your underwear dropped to the floor and you kicked it a few meters away. Again, his hands ghosted under your dress and found your center. You felt like your knees would buckle from the way he rubbed small circles on your clit. Moaning quietly, you wrapped your arms around his neck for support, leaning your forehead against his chest for a moment. You let out small huffs and whimpers against his skin and nuzzled especially close to him when he touched that one special spot for a few seconds.

“Look at me.” He watched intently as your eyelids fluttered like your eyes were going to roll to the back of your head. You tried your best.

“Put your hands on the table by your sides,” he said. You hummed in disapproval but didn’t dare say so. After all, he could have also told you to put them on your back. And holding on to a wooden edge was still better than not holding on to anything, when you felt like a child standing on its feet for the first time. When he hooked his free hand under your thigh, lifting up your leg a little, your grip on the table tightened. You swore under your breath when he plunged two of his fingers into you. He curled them, pushing hard against your sweet spot and you curled your back in response.

All day you had gone without any sort of attention, when your head had been so full of things you knew you could do with him. The most release you had gotten – which was basically no release at all – was from pushing your legs together tightly when the dirty thoughts had become too much for your brain to handle. You knew it was your own fault for setting yourself up with this challenge. But now with your chest heaving and your head feeling like a tsunami of emotions was raging inside of it, you didn’t regret it as much as you thought you would two hours ago. Maybe you should play this waiting game more often, instead of jumping onto each other any chance you got.

“You look so hot like this,” he said. At the sound of his voice your eyes opened. Those eyes. While they usually held loyalty and playfulness, they now only spoke of authority. He used his thumb to rub your clit whilst his fingers were still inside of you, making you feel like floating. You were his favorite sight, by far. Above all times he watched you, from waking up in the morning to falling asleep in his arms at night, right now was the most mesmerizing. Your parted lips were the entrance to heaven and the glow in your teary, desperate eyes was putting the evening sun to shame.

“I’m so close,” you moaned. Your chest was alternating between short puffs and not breathing at all. Maybe your brain was too focused on the bliss you were chasing to care about breathing for now. You couldn’t blame yourself.

“Don’t make a mess, baby,” he said.

“No, I won’t,” you said. “Can I touch you when I come, please?”

You gave him your most entreating eyes, knowing that even though he liked telling you what to do in the bedroom, not even the strictest boyfriend was immune to your puppy eyes. You suspected that if he had declined, you might have held on to him anyways. Too overpowering was the clamor inside your head that was telling you to be close to him.

“Only when you’re coming,” he said. “Not a second earlier.”

You nodded obediently as your eyes shut again. Good thing you were mere moments away from just that. His fingers moved quickly, now that he knew how close you were to your high. It robbed your breath all at once. And it did the job, after a short while. You whined and arched your back, your hands flinging around his shoulders. Your little noises came out muffled against his skin as you closed your legs around his hand. He barely moved his fingers anymore, but kept the pressure on your most sensitive spots, making sure you could relish in every last second of your orgasm. Only after a while your grip on him loosened, and you realized how your nails had been digging into his skin.

“Sorry,” you said, rubbing over the moon-shaped marks on his shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, baby,” he said. When he removed his hand, you shuddered one last time, but missed his touch already. His magic was always working on you. Even when he had just made you come, the mere sight of the bulge in his pants, ready to spring free, made you want to pull him right into your body again.

“You came so fast today,” he said. Softly, he kissed you, but you noticed the hint of hunger that he must had been feeling as you were coming down from your high.

“That’s what you do to me,” you admitted. “Do you think you’re the only one who felt tortured all day long? It was driving me crazy, too.”

“You seemed to have a lot of fun, messing with my head,” he said, smirking.

“You’ll find that it was worth it, after this,” you said. He raised his eyebrows in question. You were already stepping forward, dropping to your knees in front of him. Like a child on Christmas morning, his eyes lit up at the sight of you.

“Aren’t you the prettiest maid?” he asked, the question obviously rhetorical. To him, you were the prettiest person in the whole universe. You tugged on his pants and pulled them down, along with his underwear. Your mouth watered at the sight of his member, hard and red from all the waiting he’d had to endure. The way he looked at you from above made you feel small, but he stroked your hair out of your face gently and you knew this was exactly where you wanted to be right now, and any other day.

“Hands behind your back,” he said. You smiled and did as he said, holding your right wrist with your left hand on your back. He caught on to your reaction right away.

“You don’t even mind, right?” he said. You were already sitting straight, mouth open, your tongue protruding slightly. “You like it when I make it more difficult for you, don’t you?”

You only nodded and hummed a small yes, then he placed the tip of his dick on your tongue. At first, you only closed your mouth around it, not taking more of him. Your tongue licked over the swollen tip almost shyly. He groaned as he watched you test the waters. After all, he was the one who could control what you did to him. For now, however, he seemed to leave you your freedom to do what you felt like. You pressed your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, licking over the tip ever so slowly. Then, you sunk your mouth further onto his length, taking as much as you could. It was so quiet you only noticed his uneven breathing as he eyed you from above.

“Shit, you’re so good for me,” he said. “Now stop with the teasing, will you? You know what happens if you don’t.”

You knew exactly. And so you shifted from your slow movements to quicker ones. You made sure to keep your tongue on him, especially when you moved your head away, swirling it around the tip now and then. His moans were music to your ears and only motivated you further. You had always loved his voice, when you sang to the song on the car radio or hummed his latest favorite song under the shower. But nothing compared to the way his voice sounded when you sucked him off. He seemed to be the most unrestrained then, not caring who heard him because he was way to obsessed with you sitting by his feet. The way he looked at you then made your stomach turn in pleasure. He didn’t even need to say anything or touch you. His overseeing eyes alone made you want him more than anything else.

His fingers in your hair curled, pushing your head further down on him. You focused on not gagging, your eyes closing. Tears brimmed behind your eyelids, but you were determined not to let them fall. Instead, you opened your lips a little wider and stuck your tongue out to make it easier for him to use your mouth however he desired.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, sighing in relief. You were awaiting treatment a lot rougher than the one he gave you, though. He thrusted into your mouth rather slowly, giving you enough of a break to remember to breathe. When you looked up at him with your sweetest eyes possible, his expression was a mix of strain and pleasure. You suspected he was trying not to overdo it just yet.

“Baby…can I fuck you or is that too much for you?” he asked. You perked up at his request. When you started humming around his length, he pulled away to let you speak.

“Please,” you said. “Fuck me. On the table.”

“Alright, my baby’s making the rules now, is she?” he said. “Come here.”

“I thought that’s where you wanted me to remember you, wasn’t it?” you asked, getting up.

“You’re right,” he said. You sat down on the edge of the office table with your legs parted for him to stand between them. Just once he kissed you. You wanted him to hurry, so you linked your heels behind his back, pulling him closer.

“Take me like a good girl.” He ran his cock over your slick folds, and he groaned when he felt your warmth on him. In response you nodded willingly, unable to wait a second more for him. Luckily, he didn’t plan on dragging out the anticipation any longer. With ease he slid into you, finding a familiar rhythm right away. As if you hadn’t just come ten minutes ago, you whimpered pathetically at the satisfaction. You leaned your weight onto your hands behind you, watching his cock enter you over and over. There was no limit to how many times you could have him inside of you. Every time it felt the same. Like he was completing you, all whilst simultaneously ruining you. His thrusts were sharp and as you raised your legs and changed the angle slightly, your eyes rolled back for a moment.

“Harder,” you asked, even though you were already overwhelmed.

“You want more?” he asked. You hummed a yes and nodded quickly. His grip on your waist tightened as he pulled you closer to the edge of the table. He didn’t disappoint. He never did. Swiftly, he pushed your legs further open and pounded into you, making your body shake every time his hips slapped against yours. It drove you borderline mad. A part of your brain urged you to praise him, to let him know what he was doing to you. But then, those unspoken words between you were inconsequential. You didn’t need to tell him how good he was. He could read it in every part of your body. He saw it in the arch of your back, in your curled toes and in your lip that was captured between your teeth. He heard it in the way you moaned and said his name like he was your savior.

Plus, you would tell him all about it afterward. But that wasn’t what your mind was focused on momentarily. It was the way he hit your sweet spot every time and you could barely breathe normally amidst your whimpers. You hadn’t even introduced yourself to all your neighbors yet, but they most certainly had taken notice of your arrival in the new apartment.

“Can you use your hands for me?” he asked. “Show me touching yourself, baby.”

His words and the look of dominance in his eyes was all it took, and without second thought your hands went to your center. You sucked in a breath at the added pleasure. It was almost too much at first, but then you let it all in. Like a wave was crashing over you, your eyes closed, and you hummed from the intensity.

“That’s it. Make yourself come again,” he said. “You can do it again.”

“Yes,” you said, almost breathed with the weakest voice. Your body had other things to focus on at that moment, letting your vocal chords do whatever they felt like. You clenched your walls around him and the knot in your stomach tightened with every little circle you drew on your clit. His usually tender eyes were everything but that as he watched you revel in the pleasure.

“So fucking hot,” he groaned. You tried hard to uphold eye-contact through fluttering eyelids and furrowed brows. “Good girl, keep going. Tell me when you’re coming.”

You hummed a yes as one of his hands cupped the side of your neck, the other remaining on your hips so he could push your body against his own with every thrust. After all this time of being with him you knew what it meant when his moans became higher pitched and he seemed to not realize his mean grip on your skin – not that you minded. You loved seeing the marks he left on you, especially when you had nowhere to be the next days. It always made him hungry, when he saw the dark spots on your skin, like a fading memory of what you had done.

A curse fell from his perfect lips and his thrusts turned sloppy as he came inside of you. His face, all twisted in bliss and from exhaustion, was all you needed.

“Stay inside of me. Just for a little while, please,” you plead, fingers on your clit rubbing at the quickest speed you could muster. “I’ll come if you stay.”

“I’m right here,” he said, slowing his actions until he was just filling you up, but now moving anymore. “It’s okay. Come for me.”

Just having him there, stretching out your walls and making you feel so close to him was all you really needed. And his words of affirmation sent you over the edge in no time. It was a toe-curling, mind-bending surge that overcame you at your release. Stars danced delightfully behind your closed eyelids while you tried to process all of it. He gripped your hand that was touching your clit and pressed it down, urging you to go on for a little while longer. You whined in sensitivity, feeling like your legs would give in, even though you were already sitting down. For just another while, he dragged out your orgasm as you struggled to control your overwhelmed senses. He distracted you by bending forward and letting his lips graze yours.

“You did so good,” he said. “My pretty maid.”

You whimpered and then sighed when he finally lifted your hand away from between your legs. Only then you could scrape together some words.

“We both did good today,” you grinned. “And I mean not only the last half hour.”

“Agreed,” he said. “Tomorrow we could tackle those last boxes in the kitchen. What do you think?”

“Can the maid outfit make another appearance?” you asked.

“I was hoping it might,” he said, kissing you softly. Your tired limbs and mind welcomed his gentleness as your hands went to his hair. You could already guess how the next day would go, then. But truth be told, you didn’t mind it one bit.

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 3 years

Text

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

The Shepherd Psalm (Psalm 23)

"The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever!"

The Twenty-third Psalm is the most familiar passage in the Bible. It is the children's Psalm, memorized first of all the Scriptures by countless thousands. It is the Psalm of the sick room, dear to the hearts of sufferers, because of the divine tenderness revealed in the words. It is the Psalm of the deathbed. Rarely does a Christian pass from earth, without repeating the words, "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." It is the Psalm of old age .

"The Lord is my SHEPHERD." Shepherd seems a homely name for God, yet when we know the story of shepherd life in the East, it is a very fitting name. The shepherd lives with his sheep. He guards them by night He defends them when they are in danger. He leads them out to find pasture. He takes the little lambs and the weary ones in his arms - and carries them. He seeks the lost or straying ones. He even gives his life in protecting them. When we know all this about the shepherd, we see how the name interprets God to us.

"The Lord is MY shepherd." It would not be the same to us if the words ran, "The Lord is a shepherd." He might be a shepherd to a great many people, all that that rich word means, and yet not be anything comforting to me. But if I can say with joy, "The Lord is my shepherd," I can sing the song through to the end.

"The Lord IS my shepherd." The present tenses of the Bible are rich in their meanings. That is the way the promises and assurances of the Scriptures are written. "The Eternal God is your refuge" - not was. It might, then, have been true a year ago, yesterday - but not to be true now. The other day, one was speaking of a person and said: "He used to be my friend. He was a great deal to me, did much for me. I went to him with my perplexities, my trials, my questions. But he is not my friend any more. He passed me yesterday on the street and did not even look at me." That is not the way with God. "The eternal God is my refuge; underneath are" - not were, not will be - that is too indefinite, "Underneath are the everlasting arms." "The Lord is our refuge." "Lo, I am with you always." "My grace is sufficient for you." "The Lord is my shepherd." There will never come a moment when you cannot say this. "Loved once" is never said of Christ. He loves unto the end.

"I shall not WANT." The other day a man said, "I have a good portion of money laid up for my old age, enough to keep my wife and me as long as we expect to live." Yes - but that is not a sure portion. Earth's bags all have holes. The writer of this Psalm did not say, "I have plenty of good investments; therefore I shall not want." This is what he said, "The Lord is my Shepherd, and therefore I shall not want." When we have God, there is nothing we may ever need - that He cannot and will not give us. When we do not have God - we are pitifully poor, though we are millionaires. When we can say, "God is mine!" we are rich.

"He makes me to lie down in GREEN PASTURES." Pastures are for nourishment. In the East the matter of provision was always a serious one. There was but little rain and ofttimes the fields were parched so that pasture could not be found. Then the shepherd would lead his flock away, mile after mile, until they found in some quiet nook, in some shaded valley, green, lush grass.

But also is implied in these words - "He makes me to LIE DOWN in green pastures." The sheep are fed and satisfied, and then they lie down to rest. We cannot go on forever in strenuous activities, and God is gracious and kind to us, giving us many quiet resting places on the way. Night is one of these places. We leave the toil and struggle of the day and draw aside to rest.

Sometimes there are enforced rests. "He MAKES me to lie down in green pastures." We do not want to rest. We think our work needs us, that we would be losing time if we stopped even a day. Then the Good Shepherd makes us lie down, because He knows we need the rest to renew our strength. Perhaps we are not doing our work well - and the joy is fading out of our heart. One was speaking the other day of a Christian man who was formerly a model of patience, kindliness, and peace. "He is growing irritable and querulous," the friend said. "He has none of his old patience with people. He seems cold and stern." He has been living so strenuously, driven by his work, that he has grown nervous and easily vexed. He needs to lie down in the green pastures. Perhaps more of us need to be made to lie down to feed and rest. Perhaps we are doing more work, running to more meetings, giving more money, talking more about religion - yet losing in peace, in sweetness of spirit, which is the real test of spiritual life.

The shepherd makes his sheep lie down - that they may get rested and grow strong and beautiful in their spirit. That is what the Good Shepherd does with us sometimes, when we fall sick, for instance. We think we have not time to rest - and yet He calls us aside and draws the curtains, and shuts us in. Notice, it is in the green pastures that the shepherd makes his sheep lie down - and we find our sick room a bit of pasture. A friend who had been in the hospital several weeks and was convalescing, wrote, "I have found my little white cot here in this quiet room, a bit of God's green pasture." He never makes us lie down on the rough hillside, or on the dusty road, or among the rocks; it is always in the soft, rich grass, where we may feed while we rest.

Be sure you do not miss the blessing of sickness, of sorrow, of trial of any kind. God wants you to grow in sweetness, in patience, in trust, in joy, in peace, in all gentleness and kindness; whenever He makes you lie down in the green pastures.

"He leads me beside the STILL WATERS." Green pastures suggest provision - the sheep must be fed. The streams of water suggest drink - the flock must have water. So the shepherd leads them to where the brooks flow. Often in the Old Testament, we have the picture of the shepherd watering his sheep. Jacob found Rachel watering her father's flocks at the well. Moses found his future wife drawing water for the flocks of Jethro. Our Shepherd leads His sheep to the waters of quietness, that they may drink and be refreshed.

The Syrian shepherd sometimes led his flock up steep paths, over rough roads, through dark gorges - but it never was to make the way hard for them - it always was to take them to a bit of green pasture or beside still waters, that they might be fed and refreshed. Sometimes we fret and chafe when we have had hard experiences. We are sick, or our work is hard, or we have keen disappointments or sore losses. We wonder why God takes us by such a painful and wearisome way. Have you ever thought that He is leading you along these rough paths - that you may come to green pastures, to streams of water? At the end of every steep pinch of road, beyond every day of struggle or pain, a blessing waits for you, something that will enrich you, make you stronger, holier, less selfish, more helpful.

"He RESTORES my soul." There may be several meanings in these words. A wolf may fly upon the flock and one of them may be torn. The shepherd takes the poor hurt sheep into his tender care and nurses it, as if it were a child, until it is well again, its wound healed, and the sheep restored. Or, in the hot sun one of the flock may faint in the road and sink down, unable to go any farther. Does the shepherd leave it there to perish, while he leads the stronger ones on in the way? No, he cares for the fainting one, he takes it up in his arms, lays it in his bosom, and carries it until it is rested and able to walk again. Or, one of the sheep may drop out of the flock and wander away. Does the shepherd let the lost one go, giving it no thought, not even missing it? No, one of the most touching stories in the Bible tells of the shepherd leaving the ninety-nine and going away to the mountains to find the one sheep of his that was lost. Then, you remember that exquisite picture, at the end of the story, of the shepherd finding his sheep, laying it on his shoulder, and carrying it back to the fold.

All these are illustrations of the words, "He restores my soul," and all suggest ways in which our Good Shepherd restores us. We are fallen upon by the prowling wild beasts of temptation ; wounded, torn, hurt almost to death. The Shepherd with infinite gentleness and patience heals us, restores us. Or we faint by the way, get discouraged, and sink down. The Shepherd comes, bends over us, comforts us, speaks brave words of cheer to us, not giving us up - but getting us on our feet again, with a new hope and courage. Or, we err and go astray, like lost sheep, and the Shepherd follows us to the mountains and seeks us until He finds us, and then restores us.

If this little clause had been left out of this Psalm, much of its beauty would have been lost. It is because the Shepherd restores my soul, not once - but a thousand times, that I am going to dwell in the house of the Lord forever!

Very beautiful is that line in Dr. Matheson's hymn, "O Love, that will not let me go." No other love would suffice. If our Shepherd ever wearied of us - we could not be saved. "He restores my soul."

"He LEADS me in the paths of righteousness." We need guidance. We do not know which way in life to choose. We do not know where this path or that one will lead us - if we follow it. We all need guidance. If we will, we may have it, too, and walk in God's right way. It may not be the easy way - but it will lead us home.

"Yes, though I walk through the VALLEY of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil - for You are with me." This means a peculiarly dark and gloomy valley, a deep gorge, into which the sunlight never pours. We have grown accustomed to applying this verse to death. But there are darker valleys in this world, than the valley of death. There are sorrows worse than bereavements.

Here are two homes where hearts are bowed. In one there has been no death-crape on the door. None of the neighbors know there is any grief there. Things are going on, to all external appearance, just as usual. But in that household there is a sorrow black and terrible. One life, fair and beautiful heretofore, honored and happy - has been touched by shame, and all the home lives are stricken with a bitterness which no comfort can alleviate.

The other home has been marked recently with death-crape. People passing felt their hearts grow tender and lowered their voices. One day the house was thronged with neighbors and friends who came together to say their farewell. But there was no bitterness in any heart in that household. The sorrow was turned to joy by the Christian hope that filled every heart. Which of these two homes is the real valley of the shadow of death?

"For YOU are with me." The sheep need never fear any evil - when the shepherd is with them. A Christian man tells of an experience of his boyhood which illustrates this. He worked several miles from home. Saturday night he worked late, and then went home to be with his loved ones for the Sunday. On the way was one very dark valley, between two hills. No star shone into it, and there was no light from any window. It was called "the valley of shadows," and sometimes men lay in hiding to rob people passing through. The boy was at the blackest point of this lonely, dreary way one Saturday night, brave yet trembling, fairly leaping over the road, when he heard - a hundred yards before him - a voice strong, clear, and full of cheer, calling, "Is that you, John?" Instantly he knew the voice. It was his father's. The good man knew that on that black night, that his son would have a hard ordeal in coming home through the valley, and so with a father's love he was there to meet him at the blackest point in the way. All fear vanished, when the boy heard the voice and recognized it. Does not this illustrate how God's children are comforted when they enter the valley of shadows? The way seems dark and strange. They have never passed through it before. But as they enter it - they hear a voice calling their name, and then see a Presence of Love. "Fear not!" the voice says, "I am with you!" Then all fear vanishes. As human faces fade out, the face of the Good Shepherd will appear, radiant with peace and warm with love, and all dread will vanish. "Yes, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil - for You are with me."

We need not linger on the remaining words of this Psalm.

"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." There are dangers on every side - but the shepherd is not deterred by these from caring for his sheep. Our Good Shepherd is Master of the world, stronger than all enemies, Conqueror of all, and is able to provide for His sheep in any place! We remember that Jesus spread a table for His disciples the night of His betrayal, and we know in what peace He fed them - with enemies plotting, scheming, gathering for His arrest. No one could disturb Him or them until the meal was over.

"You anoint my head with oil." God does not want us to go through this world with sad faces. He wants us to rejoice.

"My cup runs over." A writer tells of a friend who literally kept a daily book account with the Lord. On one side he put down all he did for God; on the other side he put down what the Lord did for him. If a friend helped or cheered him, he put that down. If he was sick and then was restored, he put it down. All favors and mercies he recorded. After a few weeks of this book-keeping he gave it up. "It's no use," he said, "I can never get a balance. I am always hopelessly in debt." That is the story of every life - the divine goodness overflows.

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life." All the past has been goodness; all the future will be goodness. Goodness and loving-kindness from God all the days - the dark days and the days of pain, the days of disappointment, the days of sickness, the day when death comes to your home, the day of the funeral - goodness and loving-kindness all the days of my life - then - "I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever!" All the days of this life, goodness and loving-kindness - but that is not the end; indeed, that is only the beginning. "I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever!"

A mother came a thousand miles to the hospital to see her boy, who was dying. When she reached the office the doctor said the boy was sleeping and must not be disturbed. It might kill him. She must wait until he wakened. The mother begged to be allowed to go in and sit beside his cot - she would not speak to him. As she sat there her heart grew hungry and she reached out her hand and laid it gently on his brow. He did not waken - but instead he said, "Mother, you have come." And at once he began to recover. Christ lays His hand of love on the heads of suffering ones, weary ones, burdened, sorrowing ones, today. This Psalm is the blessed hand of Christ to you. Do you not feel it!

#James Russell Miller #Devotional Hours Within the Bible #Psalm 23 #The Shepherd Psalm #March 9 #2022

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thefallenbibliophilequote · 3 years

Text

Wildest Dreams

Loki x Reader

1989, chapter 9

"He only saw her in his dreams."

Summary: It's hard to find the one, but even if you do find him it's always going to be a daily struggle to make it work. Can you even make it work after he broke your heart? The answer to that is complicated, but it all started when you found each other again in the stark tower- and that's where our story begins.

Word count: 3,695

Warnings: language as always, angst and some tiny fluff (probably not in the way you want), alludes to sex, Odin. one malec reference.

A/N: okay so, this chapter is different since it is mainly introspective about Loki's time in the 6 months he has been back in Asgard- so that's that about the timeline.

A/N2: I really hope you'll like it so let me know by reblogging and commenting! If you want to be on my taglist let me know by sending an ask! Thank you @chrissquares for the dividers! and the amazing @nacho-bucky

No one is allowed to repost my writing or steal or copy my work! Reblog on tumblr is fine.

Series masterlist

Song on Spotify and YouTube

Month one in Asgard.

"Brother I assure you all will be well. I'll make sure she will be safe." Thor had told him that before he left for Midgard.

The gesture was nice but while he did want you to be safe he didn't want to know who you are hanging with.

You'll find a way to move on and so will he. Once this all will be over Loki will finally get some peace and his life will return to normal, nothing lasts forever after all.

Life as a prince was supposedly comfortable, and so a prince's chambers should be as well. But as he was lying on the big soft bed in his large room, he couldn't have felt more alone. The bed was too big, the sheets were too cold, and the surfaces of the room were too empty of life- he could find a million faults to his room if he tried.

Loki didn't stay in his room often then, as a prince he could do whatever he wants and he could go anywhere he wants- well, almost.

Sparring was a great hobby he developed when he was angry, having a chance to politely beat down another person often sounds delightful to him then. It was almost empty now at the sunset but he found an opponent.

He could feel and hear his own heartbeat as he took in a breath and looked into the sunset as the warrior took his stance in front of him.

'The Norse Gods are almost immortal.'

The sentence lingered in your head. Maybe buying this book was a bad idea. At the knock on your door you quickly shut the book and shoved it under the sofa cushion.

A moment later Loki walked in with a batch of freshly picked flowers, they didn't look like they were from around here, you only hoped these flowers can survive on their own so you wouldn't kill them.

"Hello my love, are you ready for our date?" you got up to him with a smile, he put the flowers in a vase that appeared on your table, once he was in your reach you gave him a peck on the lips.

"Yes, let's go!" The relationship was still new but you were happy that you still had that same chemistry that the two of you had before.

That sentence kept your mind busy as you drove out of the city, away from the crowd of people and into a high solitary space.

"I could've just teleported us there my love, you know that right?" he looked at you as you drove, the sun was shining over you and he couldn't look away. The view of you in the sunlight with your best dress and red lips is easily more stunning than anything he had seen in all the realms.

"Yes, but it's more fun this way." You insisted on having some of the dates be normal and human.

"How is driving for such a long time fun?" you saw him shake his head from the corner of your eyes.

"Just relax Loki, I'll put on some great driving songs." He groaned but you only laughed.

It was an hour or so later that you reached your destination- it was an amazing view seeing all the trees and rocks as you finally parked on the dry ground of the mountain hill spot you found for Loki and you.

Loki stepped outside and laid out the picnic you packed up as you looked down on the beautiful horizon as the sun began to set.

Loki came up behind you and curled his hands around your waist.

You could've stayed in that content moment forever. The sentence still lingered in your brain.

"Loki?" you called to him and he only hummed in response, his lips kissing your hair.

"Yes, darling?"

"Say you'll remember me." You asked him in a low voice.

"What?"

"Say you'll remember me, here at this moment, standing in a nice dress and staring at the sunset with you."

"I promise you my dear," he kissed your shoulder and you felt him smiling. "Every time I see you, I'll remember this moment. I'll relish it forever."

•

Month two in Asgard.

It was different, spending the time with her here was nothing like being with you there- but maybe that's a good thing.

He was trying to get used to all the same emotions he felt all those years go. The regret, the knowing that he has to let go completely, the anger and temporary solutions, and then there's the sadness.

It was a familiar process, but having you again just reminded him of everything he lost and how everything has changed after he first let you go.

The first time he let you go, it almost killed him. And now he didn't know how his own mind would work to survive this.

He spent days in meetings and peace negotiating. His father kept him busy whether it was with Iyllir or work, it didn't matter.

She was excited about the wedding- their wedding. He chimed him whenever she asked for his opinion.

"What do you think about the flowers? Besides the ones I already picked of course." The lady smiled at him and waited for his answer. Anything besides your favourite flower would be fine.

The only real thing in this month for him was the work he was doing- negotiating peace was not an easy task. Granted, he could've solved it long ago but where is the fun in that?

"It was a wise choice to listen to my advice. I'm sure your decision to marry soon to be Princess Iyllir will make everyone happy." Odin told Loki as he followed the Allfather into yet another meeting. Entering the room, Loki looked at the blonde who sat next to his seat- he wasn't supposed to be in this meeting.

Taking the seat next to him, Thor smiled at his brother.

"Brother," Loki greeted him and continued to look forward at the table. "Are you not supposed to still be in Midgard?"

"I am, but I returned for a bit," Thor lowered his eyes then. "I heard about the marriage, I'm happy for you."

His pat on the back felt gentler than the usual forceful ones. To Loki it was quite unsettling.

"To be quite honest, I thought you won't do it because-"

"Thank you brother, I look forward to the marriage, it's the right choice."

"Is it?" Thor asked his brother lowly, the meeting was already starting and Loki didn't respond but it was probably best to leave this topic for now. Thor had never seen his brother the way he was when he was with you, it was clear that you mean a lot to him, so it made it that much more worrisome that Loki was going to go through with the arranged marriage. Thor knew Loki would've easily gotten out of it if he wanted to.

•

Present day on Midgard.

"Why are you all staring at me?" Thor stood there with all of his friends from work looking at him silently.

Natasha was the one to break the silence, "Y/N has been kidnapped and we think the Asgardian problem that we have on our hands right now was the cause of it."

"Y/N has been kidnapped?" His brows furrowed and he put his hammer on the table. "When did this happen?"

"Last week, you weren't here."

"I had to attend a ball for my brother and…" he trailed off.

"Right, I'm sure the wedding was lovely." The captain retorted.

"We really don't need to talk about," Wanda started and looked between Pietro and Clint.

"The wedding hasn't occurred yet." Thor settled in a seat right in front of Steve. "Did you manage to find out where she might be?"

"If we did then she would've been home by now."

"No, we've got nothing so far." Nat glared at Steve before she returned to look at Thor.

"Well you could've told me sooner, I'm sure my brother will be able to help."

"What? Are you crazy?" Steve let out a bitter laugh and stood up. One of his hands was a fist on the table and the other was pointing at Thor. "He is not coming anywhere near here."

The dark tone in Steve's voice left no room for arguments. Tony only heard it once before and so he took Steve out of the room before anything could happen.

•

Month three in Asgard.

"I see that you've read the books that I recommended you already." Iyllir sat next to him on the dark blue couch in the large palace library. Gold and blue were all around and the smell of old books filled the air.

"Yes they were very interesting," She put a hand on his arm delicately. "You have incredible taste in books my prince."

He nodded at that and quickly picked up one of the books from the pile that was set aside on the table. The guide to the old weapons of the nine realms- he remembered reading it as a child, he used to sneak into the vaults and look around at all the hidden things he found there that he read about in his books. Whatever he didn't recognize he would pick it up and study it. There may have been a couple of accidents there- but come on, what did you expect?

Now the book let his mind wander to the happenings on earth. He heard Thor talk about how it is going there in hushed whispers, but he never stuck around to actually hear anything in fear it would be about you.

He didn't need to know how you were doing, who you were hanging with or what you were up to.

"Loki?" He got snapped out of his thoughts. He looked back at Iyllir who had an unreadable look on her face, he found it hard to read people when he was so caught up inside his own mind, but her face soon took on a gentle smile. "You drifted off a bit. You're here with me now, there's no need to dwell over anything- so let's leave this book aside, it seems to put you in a bad mood."

Iyllir took the book from his hands and put it behind her. She then linked her hand with his and caressed his arm, her head leaning on his shoulder.

His mind now wandered to her and their wedding that was coming soon. Iyllir did manage to put herself in his mind where you should be, so maybe this was the right call after all.

Loki smiled at her and they continued to engage in conversation.

•

Month four in Asgard.

It was hard to admit that he enjoyed Iyllir's company.

Her lips were soft, and he appreciated the way they made thoughts disappear from his brain.

"Did you really turn into a snake?" Iyllir's laugh joined his as he recalled the memory.

"He was quite shocked, we were eight at the time."

"That was quite clever of you, my prince." She laughed and let her head fall onto his chest as they lay in his bed, covered in green silky sheets.

"Well, I'm always clever."

"Now you're just giving yourself too much credit, you are not always clever." You laughed at him.

He shook his head and turned back to her.

"What do you think about going out of the castle for a bit, go for a couple of days to a small cabin far away from other asgardians just the two of us?"

She nodded enthusiastically and leaned up to a kiss.

•

"This place is beautiful, but I wish we would've brought maids with us- you shouldn't do any of these things, you're a prince. I sent a letter so hopefully the servants will get here soon."

"Oh, I was quite content with using my magic, but how thoughtful of you."

"Now you'll get to spend more time with me." She whispered to him and walked over to him, putting her hands around Loki's neck.

He pulled her closer.

"That is true." He said in between kisses, moving the two of them backwards until Iyllir's knees touched the bed.

"You know, it is not really proper for a man and woman to be in bed together like this before their wedding night." She moaned at the kisses he trailed down her neck.

"When did I ever care about such formalities, my dear?" she let out a breathy laugh as he laid her on the mattress and he hovered above her. "And I know for a fact that you don't either."

Loki was in bed, opening his eyes and seeing the redheaded girl still sleeping next to him, her bare back shone in the sun. They were twisted in bed sheets, and Loki looked back up at the ceiling and tried to go back to sleep, closing his eyes.

"Loki, come cuddle me, I'm cold." Your sleepy voice called out to him.

"Okay, love." He moved himself closer to the body next to him. Opening his eyes for a second, he got snapped back to reality when he realized that you weren't the one in his bed, he was cuddling someone who wasn't you.

He shook his head and tried to fall asleep when Iyllir pressed back against him.

•

Month five in Asgard.

The ballroom was massive and adorned with gold and touches of green. The people there were ecstatic about the upcoming wedding.

The crowded room was full of people drinking mead and eating and dancing. But it all seemed just a bit too much for him.

Never in his wildest dreams did he think this will happen to him that this would be his life. Every girl was here with the most beautiful dresses but all he could remember was you, dancing with him in your best dress, you could easily beat any girl here with that dress and your beauty.

Loki was seated next to the Allfather and Iyllir, watching over the room as more and more new asgardians came to pay their respects and congratulate the happy couple. Thor came up behind them and patted Loki on the back before he took him away to drink.

According to Thor it was a necessity.

After that he had a dance with his soon to be wife, only a few kisses were engaged, Loki didn't like being as affectionate out in the open, in front of so many people.

The dance ended and the mead started to kick in, and if he was honest it was quite amusing to see Thor drunk as he talked, or more so yelled, to his friends.

After the ball he didn't see Thor as much, he must be busy with… whatever that was happening on Midgard. He won't let himself think too much about it, so he kept himself busy with wedding preparations and council meetings.

He spent the month buried in work during the day, and clearing his head during the night.

•

Present day in Midgard.

"Tony, I already told you that her powers don't have any energy trackers that we can build on."

"Bruce, we already scoured hydra bases. We found no information about her." Tony looked at the screen in front of him before pushing it aside, startling Bruce. "Sorry."

The doors to the lab opened and they turned to see Thor coming in with a short smile.

"Have you got any news about Lady Y/N?" he looked around the room anxiously, his next words would certainly get a reaction from the two scientists. "Do you need my brother's help?"

"Thor, I don't think that's a good idea." Tony exchanged a look with Bruce and he rubbed his eyes. "But no, we still don't know where she is."

"Why refuse his help?" Thor's voice grew louder. He then looked at the door when it opened for Steve and Wanda.

"We already told you Thor, we don't want his help." Steve chuckled darkly, so Wanda put her hand on the captain's shoulder then, trying to ease the tension.

"Thor, this isn't something Loki can help with, this is hydra."

"He will still do whatever he can, he still cares for her-"

"Besides, he is probably busy preparing for his wedding, isn't that right?"

"You are being judgmental Steve," Thor came towards Steve. "You're not thinking rationally."

"Oh I am judging him just right. If you're only here to try and vouch for your brother than you may as well go."

"Steve!" Wanda called him but he didn't budge his stare from the Asgardian prince.

Thor left shortly after.

Steve ignored the stares.

•

"Father, the elves are calming down, if we send some aid we could make sure peace is settled." Loki talked to his father in the throne room.

"If we send aid, they could use it against us. They could just be faking submission." Loki held back a laugh.

"I'm not the god of lies for nothing father, I'd be able to tell if they were faking it. Trust me about this." The doors opened with a bang, shutting behind the blonde prince as he strode towards Loki.

"My son, what are you doing here?"

"Loki," Thor ignored his father and Loki got up and looked at Thor at the strange occurrence. "Y/N has been kidnapped, you need to come back."

"She what?" His heartbeat sped up and he could feel the warm sensation of anger rise in him from the fear.

"Who is this girl?" Odin looked between his two sons when none answered. "Thor?"

"A girl from Midgard, she's an Avenger." He looked over Loki and nodded his head, he needed to be the one to talk.

"She's just a girl that I knew from Midgard." He said to his father with his jaw clenched, then he turned to Thor. "Thor, what happened?"

"They think she's got taken because of her powers, or because of the Asgardian technology that was stolen."

"My sons, you will answer to the questions I pose. Now tell me, what powers does she posses? If she has a part in the problem we have on Midgard then I deserve to know that."

Thor nodded, encouraging Loki to speak up.

"She has the power to insert herself into people's minds and control what they see and feel." He shook his head at his father. "She has no role in this father, she should not be mixed with Asgardian business."

The Allfather was quiet then before he shifted in his throne.

"Son, you know her for quite some time isn't that right?" Loki nodded and looked down.

"And you seem to care for her, too." He was no longer asking but Loki found himself nodding anyway. "Did she know about you being an Asgardian?"

"Yes, she knew who I was."

"So have you ever used your magic on her?" Loki was halfway into shaking his head before he stopped and remembered that night he spent comforting you, sitting on the tile of your bathroom.

"Only once," he thought back at the ancient spell.

"Tell me now my son, has it ever crossed your mind that such powerful magic as the one you have will affect a mortal immensely?"

"What are you saying father?" Thor looked up at Odin.

"It was a powerful spell…" Loki was still in thought about his actions that night, he must have been emotional.

"Her powers can be of Asgardian source, the mortal's powers sound like old Asgardian magic- the reality stone that was stored here long ago. The spell must have been from those ancient time, and so it stored immense powers- the kind that a mortal could not bear."

"So is that why they took her? Because of my magic, they took her because of me." Loki mumbled to himself.

"Loki, no don't say that-"

"It's true Thor! I'm going to get her back." Loki didn't wait for Odin to object before he all but ran out of the door. Odin didn't object.

"Thor, go after him. If he finds her, he will find the rest of the stolen weapons." Thor nodded to his father before following his brother.

•

Steve looked at the papers scattered on the lab.

"This is a nightmare."

"I've had better nightmares." Natasha spoke from next to him. "You should go rest a bit, you look like hell."

He smiled at her but it barely reached his eyes. You were a part of his family, losing you is not an option. He didn't know where you were and he didn't want to think about what you may be going through.

He wasn't the only one who cared about you, he knew that, but it still felt like they don't understand.

He turned around to go get water, when he almost ran into someone.

Looking up he saw the blue eyes of the raven haired prince. His tiredness suddenly disappeared when he took in the cold demeanor and rage filled eyed.

"I've been away for six long months and meanwhile you let her get kidnapped just like that?" Loki's voice was low and Steve didn't notice Thor walk in right after Loki, he didn't hear Bucky calling him.

"You are not welcome here Loki, and don't talk about it as if it isn't your entire fault."

The answer he got was in a dark laugh.

"Oh captain, I'm afraid I'm way past asking permission." Loki moved past him. "How long was she gone?"

"Almost a month," Bucky replied, looking between Steve's clenched posture and the same one that Loki held. "Can you find her?"

"I'll do whatever it takes." He nodded to the soldier and Bucky recognized the vulnerability in his eyes.

"Her powers are Asgardian, they came from me." Loki looked at the different screens, the room was quiet. "Doctor Banner, do you think you could track my energy signature? She should have some part of it inside her."

Loki looked back at the doctor, awaiting a response.

"Yes, I will just need to take some of your-"

"Take what you need."

•

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skullsandwineglasses · 3 years

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Arsenal Military Academy (2019) Full Review

My first impressions of episodes 1-13 can be found here. I think I was a little dubious at first, but now that I’ve finished the drama, I have to say that I really enjoyed it. This is going to be a short(ish) review because I just don’t have much to complain about. [SPOILERS AHEAD]

The Leads

Xu Kai shines as Gu Yanzhen. Much more than he did as Mo Qing in The Legends. Gu Yanzhen is just such a fun character. While yes, he is an overgrown and spoiled rich kid, he has a great character arc. He learns how to be responsible, caring, devoted, and considerate. Whether it’s love or serving his country, once he’s devoted to something, he’ll put his whole heart into it, which makes him a great friend and leader. And despite his maturation and all that he’s been through, he still stays cheeky and playful until the end.

That’s what I really like about this drama. It’s consistent. Both in terms of plot and character. And for cdramas, consistency is something that’s often butchered. This drama is 48 episodes long, which was perfect for developing all the plot points in the story. At first I was worried about the length. But the plot is so well-paced. There was no filler, and if there was, then I didn’t even noticed because I enjoyed all of the scenes and interactions between the characters.

Bai Lu was great at switching between cross-dressing as her brother, and being her “true” self. She carried off being both masculine and feminine, and I enjoyed seeing these two sides of her character. What I also appreciated about this drama is how even when she is revealed to be a girl, nothing really changes in terms of how she acts or how she’s treated by others. Her classmates still call her by her brother’s name. She wears the same clothes, talks the same, walks the same. Of course, by that point, most people have already found out, but for the characters who haven’t found out yet, they don’t dwell on this revelation. They don’t say sexist things about her appearance or mannerisms. They treat her the same as they always have. At first, I was worried that the drama would have a dramatic plot shift after her identity is officially revealed, but there wasn’t a shift. Her reveal was actually not that big of a plot point. (Yes, she was put in prison and accused of killing the chief, but this was resolved in like 2-3 episodes). It blended in seamless with the rest of the plot, and there were bigger issues in the story to address.

In my First Impressions review, I complained that Xie Xiang was a bit of a flat character. I still think she’s a little underwhelming in comparison to some of the other characters in the drama, but she was watchable and relatable, and she definitely grew on me more as the drama went on. I also applaud her for recognizing her feelings for Gu Yanzhen (I was worried that the drama would make her be conflicted between them), but she did frustrate me a little with how she couldn’t be upfront with Shen Junshan and just strung him along.

Again, I liked seeing the different sides of her character. Xie Xiang was never a tomboy growing up. She likes theatre and the arts. She likes acting, dancing, and singing. She likes dressing up and accessorizing (when appropriate). Her best friend, Tan Xiao Jun, acts as a foil and shows us what Xie Xiang is really like (or used to be before joining the academy). But her brother was a huge influence and inspiration for her. She learned how to fight from him. She learned what is means to be righteous and fight for justice from him. But she doesn’t want to become him; she just wants to fulfill his dreams. In the academy, she isn’t the best student, nor does she want to be. She doesn’t want to compete with the others, but she just wants to best the best cadet that she can be. It’s all about challenging herself and pushing her own limits, not comparing herself to everyone else in the class.

Supporting Characters

All of the secondary characters are great. Side characters and villains all served a unique purpose. Villains, such as Jin Xin Rong and the bully in the academy, were sympathetic characters. They all had their own backstories and development arcs, but they didn’t detract from the focus on the leads. In fact, the drama never strayed from the leads, unlike some cdramas were sometimes the focus would move away from the protagonists as the drama dragged on. Importantly, all the subplots were interwoven, and each mission that they completed progressed the plot and developed character relationships. I had a lot of praise for Qu Manting in my First Impressions review, so I won’t go into it again here, but she was a great second female lead (even though I did wish that she had less scenes with Gu Yanzhen). I was also surprised that she’s my age (and also Xu Kai’s age). She’s such a mature and steady actor.

Edit: Just found out that Toby Lee who played Shen Junshan was the guy in Soulmate?? Didn’t recognize him at all.

Plot

I loved the humour in this drama. It was quick, witty, and smart. But the drama did take a serious turn in the last arc where there were deaths of 3 prominent supporting characters, which was really surprising. I thought the drama would be a light-hearted comedy all the way through. So when I saw that it was possible for a prominent supporting character to die, I realized that there could be some real and serious consequences for characters in the drama.

Speaking of deaths, I was also surprised by the amount of violence and liberal killing in the drama. The cadets at the academy never hesitated to kill, and murdering people never affected them. The writers justified the deaths by dismissing the victims as being traitors to the country, whether they were just a driver or security guard for the Japanese or a Japanese nurse or doctor. If they were affiliated with the Japanese and got in the way of a mission, then the leads would kill them. At times it felt like a video game because the cadets would use so much gunpowder to just plow through anyone who was an inconvenience to the mission. The drama also really advocates revenge, which was also really shocking. Revenge can be engaging to watch when it’s fictional, but I don’t morally agree with revenge, so I was surprised that a drama with so much killing and a revenge fetish was allowed to get past censorship.

Overall, the plot was really good. The drama rarely ever dragged, except for maybe episodes 22-26 where it felt like Gu Yanzhen didn’t really have anything to do with the main plot, but the drama recovers quickly after that. Episodes 16 and 31 are probably my favourite in terms of interactions between the ML and FL. 17-22 are when they’re separated and bond with the supporting leads instead. That was clearly a purposeful move by the writers. They gave us peak sweetness between the leads and then separated them immediately afterwards. Those episodes made me worry that they would be angst, but there wasn’t. Those episodes showed that even when the leads were separated and went through hardships with someone else, they still thought about each other. Again, another example of how every mission progresses the plot and develops character.

In terms of the romantic plot, I would say that about three quarters of the drama is about characters liking people who don’t like them back, and what you get is a convoluted love rectangle that expands to a pentagon. What I like about Gu Yanzhen is that while he can be childish and obnoxious, he gives Xie Xiang a lot of space. There were some scenes when either Huang Song or Shen Junshan was trying to pursue her and I was like, why isn’t Gu Yanzhen here to intervene? But then I realize that it’s actually good that he isn’t constantly stalking her. Gu Yanzhen may seem possessive at the academy, but he doesn’t prevent her from doing things either on or off campus. On the other hand, when Shen Junshan figures out Xie Xiang’s true identity, he acts entitled to her to the point where it feels manipulative. He would tell Xie Liang Chen that he’s meeting Xie Xiang for lunch, knowing that this would prompt Xie Xiang to dress up and rush off campus to meet him. He changed her room without asking her first, saying it was for her own good. I might have to rewatch the earlier episodes, but I don’t think Gu Yanzhen ever used her secret to underhandedly leverage power against her like that. I don’t think he ever tried to “test” her. It was only after she found out that he knew when he started to teasingly blackmail her with her secret in order to get her to wash his clothes or be nice to him, but this was done upfront to her face, so she knows what she’s dealing with. And also despite being constantly annoyed by him, Xie Xiang feels very comfortable with him. She trusts him. She knows that no matter what, he would never share her secret, so she was able to be herself with him from the beginning. In contrast, there was always a distance and formality between Xie Xiang and Shen Junshan, even though they went through a lot together.

The bigger question is why Gu Yanzhen fell for Xie Xiang instead of Qu Manting. I think it has to do with how Gu Yanzhen likes who he is whenever he’s with Xie Xiang. Manting is too much like his playboy self, so it always feels like he’s putting on an act or playing a game when he’s with her. They clash too much and both have huge egos, even though Manting has done so much for him and has seen him at his most vulnerable. But Xie Xiang is someone whom he wants to unconditionally protect and support. He teases and flirts with her, knowing that he’ll get a scolding and a beating. He wants to expend energy with Xie Xiang, but is fatigued with Manting. Xie Xiang is simple, down-to-earth, and has a purpose. She’s everything he isn’t. She anchors him, while he gets her to open and loosen up in what is otherwise a threatening and uptight environment. A classic example of how opposites attract.

The Ending

The main character of this drama is the academy. Go figure since that’s the drama’s name. So it made sense that the final shot would be of the academy. Gu Yanzhen and Xie Xiang are shown walking off into the sunset just before that. And while I was really curious to see what their life would be like beyond the academy (I mean, what skills do they even have besides military prowess? What are they even going to do in terms of careers?), it made sense that the last shot we see of them is them leaving the academy. Their future is left to the imagination, almost like a fairy tale. That’s because their story is only one of many that comes out the academy. Their future is uncertain, but the future of the academy is certain. The academy is like a beacon, and it will continue to be here even long after the leads are gone.

The deaths of Huang Song and Instructor Guo were just tragic. Huang Song never got to find out Xie Xiang’s true identity despite being her closest friend, and he had such a bright future and so many goals. Instructor Guo, who spent the last 2 decades in depression, never got to have his happily ever after. Li Wen Zhong finally redeemed himself, and yet the writers had him sacrifice himself. I thought their deaths were needless, but I did see how their deaths had narrative purpose. It still really, really sucks though.

I think I’ll give this drama an 8.5/10 if not a 9/10. It’s been a while since I last watched a drama with consistent pacing. Wish I could watch this drama for the first time again.

Going to end the review with some pictures.

The worldbuilding was really immersive thanks to the costumes, colour grading, OST, and set designs.

Look at the power stances of this ensemble cast. They’re unstoppable.

I can’t get over these two. Such a different dynamic from The Legends, but still so much chemistry.

And deleted scenes though!! I don’t remember this sit-up scene in the drama.

#arsenal military academy #烈火军校 #xu kai #bai lu #cdrama #白鹿 #许凯 #cdrama review

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