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alittlebitmaybe · 4 years

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comme un écho

AKA whoops i talked to @yoursummerfrost about orpheus and eurydice and then tripped and fell on this very weird ficlet that is only sort of what i meant it to be. uh oh. (title lifted from “it’s never over (oh orpheus)” by arcade fire because i’m incredibly literal sometimes)

warnings: off-screen major character death

The mage had told him to perform the ritual in a field of wildflowers.

“Plenty of life,” she said.

Jaskier had asked, “For what?”

“To feed it,” she said, and did not elaborate.

And as he follows her instructions, surrounded by blooming weeds and swaying grasses, he sees that she was right. As the herbs and other unmentionables in the bowl burn, scorching the wooden sides, the green around him darkens to black. He feels the magic tugging at his energy and resists it. The ruin spreads from his epicenter, cursing the very dirt on which he kneels. A slow but inexorable exchange, and Jaskier thinks it fair. Geralt had watered the earth with his blood and now the earth must give back.

“You’re out of your depth, bard,” the mage had said as he turned to leave, her lips pursed. Was she amused or disapproving? Jaskier didn’t care, nor, he suspected, did she. Her pockets were full, and his own empty.

He hefted the lute higher on his back, clutched at the strap across his chest.

“And yet,” he said.

“He will not come easily,” she said.

“He never did,” Jaskier replied.

The flame in the bowl burns out with a flare of noxious smoke that stings Jaskier’s eyes, makes him cough. The world hums. It’s a tune of his own, as of yet unsung, plucked from his consciousness. It reaches out to him and burrows under his skin. Pulling. He follows it.

Between two gnarled, ancient trees, in the arch of their overlapping branches (Which belongs to which? Where does one stop and the other begin? If one was broken, would the other suffer for it?) the air shimmers.

The tune fades and in its place is a whisper saying, Come.

The stairs spiral downward for hours, days. Jaskier’s legs do not ache and he does not hunger, but it is ever so quiet. He takes the lute from his back and plays every song he’s ever composed in Geralt’s honor. Maybe Geralt can hear them. Maybe he will know Jaskier is on his way.

“Get ready, Witcher,” Jaskier says to the darkness. “Gather your underworldly things. You won’t be coming back any time soon. I can promise you that.”

And he says, “I’m sorry that you were alone. I’m sorry that I was too late.”

And he says, when the darkness presses upon him, when it seems the stairs will never end, “I don’t know when I began to love you, but it has been long enough that I don’t know how not to.”

And he says, “I’ve done this for you. You deserve to have a better life. You deserve to live.”

And he takes one more step and trips, for there is no stair where he expected there to be one. He taps the toe of his boot against the ground. It’s solid. He lifts his hand in front of his own face and it is invisible. There is no breeze, no sound, no smells, no light. There’s nothing down here.

In the face of such vastness, Jaskier is insignificant. He is nothing. You are nothing. You are less than a flea clinging to the fur of a great beast. You will be mine. You will become a part of me. You will cease. You will be forgotten.

“Hold on now,” Jaskier says, head whipping around. “Who’s there?”

I am everything that has been. I await everything that is. I anticipate what will be. I am.

“You’re Death,” Jaskier realizes, perhaps belatedly.

There is no such thing. I have no name. I have no need of it.

“That’s okay,” Jaskier says. “I don’t give a rat’s arse who or what you are.” His heart thumps arrhythmically, and sweat drips from his brow. He swipes it off on his sleeve. He is far under water. His lungs fill. He ignores it, swallows. Throws back his shoulders. “I’m here for Geralt of Rivia.”

There is no Geralt of Rivia.

“Bullshit.”

You are insolent.

“I’ve been told.”

You will be mine.

“Perhaps.” Jaskier licks his lips, an unbreakable habit. “But I will live on.”

You will not.

He laughs a little, despite himself, a nervous little giggle that he stifles as quickly as he can, clearing his throat. “On the contrary, I am an artist. I shan’t die as long as my art lives. And art does not die.”

Art? Art is not living. I have no use of it.

“Exactly,” he says. “Yes, precisely. It does not live or die. It simply is. Whatever you—whatever you are, being of, ah, all-ness…or what have you—whatever you are, whatever comprises you, you have none of art. You have no music, no stories, none at all. You will always lack it.”

There is a thoughtful pause.

I desire it.

“I can give it to you. Did you hear? I played my whole way down.”

I heard.

“Did you enjoy it? Three words or less.”

It was pleasing.

Jaskier exhales. “That’s actually a decent review, as these things go. I’m glad. I mean, would you like more? I could write you a song. Got a decent hand at improv, me. Won’t take a moment.”

A song. For me?

“Yes,” Jaskier promises, feeling the weight of it as it passes over his tongue, “a song, only for you. I shall never play it again. Well, um, on one condition.”

You want Geralt of Rivia.

“Oh, you were paying attention. Smart one, you are, Your…um, Majesty.”

I can retrieve him. If I am careful. He is me. I am him.

“Truly, I understand. His loss, for me, was…” Jaskier struggles for adequate words. “Irreconcilable. But you will always have the memory of your song to take his place.”

You sang of him.

“I do. Rather habitually. Every day of my life, in fact.”

Hmm.

“You sound like him already. So, whaddaya say?”

Play for me.

He plays, and every note that vibrates out from his lute, every note that leaves his mouth disappears from his mind. It is absorbed from him upon conception. He doesn’t know what the last measure was, nor what the next will be. He does not know what key or time signature his song is in, but he knows it’s a song. And that is all he promised.

It ends, and Jaskier does not notice. Possibly his jaw hangs open stupidly for minutes after it is over. He closes it.

“Was, um, was that…”

Yes. I will give you your reward.

“You will?” Jaskier asks, surprised despite himself.

I will release Geralt of Rivia, for you have given me something in return. And I will regain him, as I will gain you. We will meet again, bard.

“I—How do—”

You will walk forward. You will ascend, and he will follow. Until he emerges above, he is still a part of me. You may not look upon him, as you may not look upon me. You must not look back.

“How will I know he is there?”

He will follow.

“How will I know it is him?”

You must have faith.

“How—” Jaskier chokes now, tears welling up. He is glad no one can see. “Will he be—himself?”

Entirely. Once he emerges.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispers.

It is time. Walk forward. In three paces, you shall begin to ascend. Be well, bard.

Jaskier climbs. The stairs remember his tread, the shape of his feet. It’s easy.

There are footsteps behind him. Are they Geralt’s? Do they match the way he shifts his weight, the deliberate heel-toe steps that Jaskier has been hearing for decades? He’s not sure.

Jaskier is afraid. More afraid than ever before. There could be anything back there. Anything at all. He must not look.

But he is not forbidden to talk.

“Geralt?” he says, tentatively. “Geralt, is that you?”

A grunt. “It’s me, Jaskier.”

And it is, thank the gods, it is. “Sounds like you,” he says, voice carefully measured, lest he sob in relief.

Silence. Four, five more stairs. They will not end. When will they end?

“How’ve you been, Witcher? It’s good to hear you again, my friend.”

“Where are we?”

“Well, who’s to say,” Jaskier says lightly. “Tell me, what do you last remember?”

“Bleeding out in a forest. I couldn’t get up. I waited to die. I…died. I died, didn’t I, Jaskier?”

Jaskier chooses to take that as rhetorical, and does not answer.

“Anything else?”

“Not until now. Is this a dream?”

“To my knowledge, no, Geralt, it is not. I pray that this is not a dream.”

“Then where—?”

Jaskier picks up his foot, sets it down. One stair at a time. There have been hundreds, there will be more. Is that light above? No, a trick of his eyes. He is still blind.

“Not to worry. We’ll soon be outside. It’s a beautiful day, you know. Big blue sky. Everything in bloom. Your favorite time of the year. We’ll have to do some foraging, stock up for potions. I have your things, of course, but I don’t know the shelf life of your concoctions.”

“A quarter year.”

“Ah, might have to make fresh, then.”

But no, it is growing brighter. Jaskier can see the faint silhouettes of his hands, the edges of the stairs to come. If he were to turn back he might be able to see the gleam of Geralt’s eyes, but he mustn’t.

Why mustn’t he? Oh, yes, the warning. He—can’t look back. He must not—

“Jaskier,” Geralt says again. “I’m dead.”

“You are, Geralt, yes, is that what you would like to hear?” Jaskier says, a little hysterically. “But you won’t be for much longer, if we just keep going.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Where? Where?” His pitch climbs with the staircase. Around and around. Dizzying. So many circles. “Above, Geralt. Back home, of course.”

“Why?”

Jaskier has to stop himself from whirling around. “Good gods, you ask me why? I follow you for decades, I immortalize you in song, and the witcher asks me why.” He draws in a great lungful of air, releases it. “I love you, you great idiot. I have loved you.”

The response comes, so softly, a mere rumble, “I know. That’s why I asked.”

The stairs are made of warped stone. He can see that now. They are well worn, dipping in the centers. It can’t be far. “Please, Geralt, we’re almost there.”

“You haven’t answered me. Why you would do this.”

“I was supposed to let you rot, huh? I was meant to live on as if it was fine? As if nothing was missing?”

“Yes,” says Geralt. “You didn’t ask me if I wanted to come back.”

“Of course you did. Of course you do.”

“I don’t,” says Geralt.

Jaskier stops, and behind him the second set of footsteps also halts.

“It was peaceful. It was my time.”

“It wasn’t,” Jaskier whispers. “Don’t tell me that.”

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

There is a touch to the small of his back, a gust of air across the nape of his neck. So familiar. He aches.

“Jaskier.” A strong hand closes around his wrist. He doesn’t look down at it, not even a glance. “The world doesn’t need me anymore.”

“What about the monsters? The wars?”

“There is Yennefer, and Ciri, and Eskel and the rest. There will always be someone.”

With dread creeping through his limbs, Jaskier says, “You’re telling me you don’t want to come back. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

He can almost hear the creaking of the intertwined, ancient trees above. It is just a few more steps.

“You can’t tell me that, not when I—”

Arms come around him, and he shuts his eyes. “Jaskier, I would rather have done what I have done and no more, than continue on and overstay my welcome. I would rather have my peace.”

“What if I need you?” Jaskier breathes.

“I am with you.”

“You weren’t.”

Geralt’s hand comes to rest over his heart. It is not cold nor hot through Jaskier’s doublet. It simply isn’t much of anything at all. There, but insubstantial. It trails its way up his jaw, traces over his bottom lip. “You forget,” Geralt says, “that I am in your words. That I will live on. Isn’t that what you said? Art does not die.”

“You heard.”

“I must have.”

“That’s not fair.” Jaskier sniffles, knowing full well he sounds like a child. “I came all this way. I have always followed you. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Whatever you wish.”

“I will sing of you until I can’t any longer, to anyone who will listen, and to many who will not.”

A smile, pressed to his ear. “I can think of no better way to be loved.”

Something nags at Jaskier, and he can’t say what. He is surrounded by a body he knows as well as his own, yet it’s not right. Why?

The body releases him. It says, “Look at me, Jaskier. That’s all you have to do.”

“You’re not Geralt, are you,” he says with trepidation, eyes still squeezed tight. “Are you? Don’t lie.”

“Jaskier.”

He breathes in. Opens his eyes. Grips the lute strap in both hands. Turns.

Silvered hair, sad golden eyes, a sharp nose, wispy around the edges.

“Geralt,” he whispers, reaching out even as the form dissipates. Called back to the bottom of the stairwell.

“Thank you, Jaskier,” it says, and then it is gone.

#the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #how tag???#anyway orpheus!jaskier and eurydice!geralt deserves to be a real fic #not like whatever the fuck this is #i humbly invite someone to write it and nourish me #my fic

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sserpente · 5 years

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A/N: Request from anon. I loved the concept… and then I couldn’t stop writing and it went so well with some other ideas I had and it escalated and ahhh, you guys were supposed to get this Imagine three days ago. Anyway… enjoy reading! ♥ Words: 4628 (oops) Warnings: gore/blood, fluff (the combination doesn’t sound right, now does it)

Here’s an extra warning: I got a bit inspired by “Coriolanus” so there will be a very bloody and graphic scene… stuff I usually don’t write myself. As I said though, I really got inspired by the play so I just went along with it, if anything to not repeat myself with this one scene we all hate so much. It thus also might rip open the wounds Infinity War caused. Therefore, the scene will be marked with “*” at the beginning and the end in case you prefer to skip it.

“It’s a myth.”

“It’s not a myth. They are omens of death.” Thor argued. Grinning smugly, he leaned back and took a sip of his beer.

Tony buried his face in his hands. “You know I started believing in many things when you fell out of the sky to help us fight aliens but… there’s a line. ‘Black angels’? With shimmering wings? Please, Point Break.”

“Well, you wouldn’t know. They say only those before their imminent death can see their wings.”

“Have you ever seen an angel then?”

“No! I told you, they are omens of death. Volstagg’s father… he saw one. He swore he did. One week after, he perished.”

“Coincidence.”

Loki rolled his eyes. He had known before that mortals were ignorant and refused to face reality, Stark’s stubbornness however surprised even him. Many creatures shared their stories in the Old Norse myths, stories which his mother had told him before bed when he was a child.

Angels… omens of death. Black, shimmering wings… they said whoever saw one before death, their soul would leave their body contently… that they were of such beauty it would not compare to any other being in the nine realms. As a young boy, Loki had told Frigga he wanted to see one for himself—and Frigga chided him for wishing for such an atrocious thing.

Shivering, you wrapped your black coat around yourself tighter. You had bought it from a street market for little money which you had stolen from a peasant. High up in the sky, you were never cold. You were free. Those human sensations were downright irksome.

Perhaps it was your own fault you had ended up on Midgard of all places. Stranded and stripped off most of your powers, they had cast you out and forced you to live a mortal life—knowing you would never find friends on a planet inhabited by beings that would not grow half as old as you.

Perhaps you should have joined your people when they swore their allegiance to the purple titan. But you knew you would have made the wrong decision. What Thanos wanted was impossible—and you sincerely hoped he would fail. His lackeys were already spreading dread, fear and death across the planet. You had seen them lurking about, watching his evil plans unfold and wreak havoc when it was fun.

A high-pitched scream ripped you from your thoughts. Turning straight on your heel to see what had caused it, your instincts kicked in. Altruistically saving humans wasn’t high on your priority list, kicking Thanos’ monkeys’ arse, however, was. It felt good to ram your poisoned dagger into their hearts… and it least gave you some satisfaction.

You frowned when you reached the dimly lit alley, scanning the area to analyse the situation. Somebody had beaten you to it. Clenching your fists, you recognised both Tony Stark and Captain America along with a raven-haired man with a sharp jawline and the most stunning blue eyes you had ever seen—Loki, God of Mischief.

Thanos’ lackeys were nowhere in sight. Instead, what part of the Avengers… and Loki put up with was a dirty burglar who seemed to have tried to rob a young woman who was currently shaking on the cold ground like autumn leaves in the wind.

“Are you alright, Miss?” You heard Steve Rogers ask her humbly, all the while the burglar—terrified for his life—scrambled to his feet, abandoning the knife he had held. Loki rolled his eyes. With but one effortless movement, he kicked him in the stomach the moment he attempted to run and proceeded to grab his collar to lift him off the ground.

“Please, please… please don’t kill me!” The burglar whimpered. You suppressed a chuckle.

“Let him go, Reindeer Games.”

“Let him go? What did we intervene for? Mercy? I disagree…”

“Nope. FRIDAY has already saved his fingerprints and appearance. The police will get him soon enough. Now let him go. I think he peed his pants.”

Loki’s face distorted when he spotted the wet spot between the burglar’s legs. Disgusted, he did as he was told and threw him back to the ground. He swallowed thickly before hurrying away clumsily. Then, he looked up—and his blue eyes locked with yours.

Paralysed, he captured you in his both scrutinising and fascinated gaze. Your lips parted when you realised that he could see your wings. Dark, shimmering and as soft as a crow’s feather dress they framed your form—petite compared to his—and complimented both your (Y/H/C) hair and (Y/E/C) eyes. You were beautiful.

Neither of you paid attention to the young woman who had stood again by now, approaching Loki timidly. Her ‘thank you’ went unnoticed even when Steve called his name.

“Who are you?” You blinked, reluctantly tearing your eyes away from Loki’s to face Tony Stark.

“(Y/N)… my name is (Y/N). I am what other beings would refer to as… a black angel.”

Tony snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

One heated discussion after your confession led to another and Captain America and Iron Man—for Loki had remained completely silent—decided to take you back to the compound to speak to Thor. You did not take kindly in spilling your secret to strangers. Hundreds of years ago, humans, Asgardians and other species had hunted you down for amusement, using poison to make your wings visible and cutting them off to sell them on the black market—an ironic name, really.

But this… was different. Loki—the Loki, God of Mischief and Lies, Trickster… son of Laufey and Farbauti and Prince of Asgard—he could see your wings. Legends had been told about connections alike. They said that every living black angel in this universe served a purpose, was meant to follow a path and fulfil its destiny—and to be with one person who loved them dearly for the rest of their existence. Only those that fate chose to be a black angel’s partner would be able to see their wings—to see all of them—in their full glory and true beauty. Loki’s blue eyes were practically glued on you; and if you were not mistaken, there was a hint of panic glistening in his irises too.

Did he feel the connection, perhaps? That you seemed to have found the man your heart would likely belong to for the rest of your life? Strangely enough, you felt… oddly exposed. Only other black angels had ever been able to see your gift, unwillingly sharing it with someone you had but heard of and never met made you vulnerable… and it made you self-conscious.

“How exactly did you end up here on Earth?” Thor leaned forward, crossing his arms on the vast glass table in the middle of the conference room. Around him, the remaining Avengers which you had not officially met yet, squinted suspiciously in a desperate attempt to spot your wings as well. One of them—you believed he was called Rhodey—had even examined your back but found nothing.

“I was… banished. My own people abandoned me because I refused to join the new force.”

“Does that force answer to the name of Thanos by any chance?” Tony tossed in. You nodded.

“You have heard of him. He means to wipe out half of the universe. We have to stop him whatever it takes.”

You could feel Loki’s presence behind you. He was still silent, pacing up and down the room like a cunning predator waiting to strike.

“How do we know we can trust you?”

“You don’t. I am merely warning you. I don’t have the powers to stop him but you might. And I certainly did not ask to be invited to your humble home.” You snapped. They were hostile towards you, you could tell. Something about you unsettled them. If only you knew what it was.

Be that as it may, the Avengers decided to let you stay for a while. They hadn’t locked you in a room but if you were to try and leave without anyone accompanying you… then the Norns beware.

You sighed. You should have never mentioned you were a black angel, pretended to be human instead… pretended that Loki was hallucinating. His eyes had made you forget all reason. The invisible force pulling you to him was destructive. You wanted to be close to him, be with him, be there for him… lay your life, soul and heart in his hands… all the while he seemed to painstakingly ignore you.

You barely knew but you could sense that Loki was everything you could ever wish for. An intelligent, powerful, cunning and charming man, tall, blue-eyed and so outrageously handsome he even outshone his brother Thor. You had never spoken to him personally and yet, you felt like you would die for him. Now what if he never reciprocated those feelings? Tragic stories were told about black angels who found love and yet had to live without it.

At the very least, so you figured, you had access to a fully furnished kitchen tonight. It was your first warm supper in two weeks and bit more nourishing than a mere apple or a handful of nuts. It was almost midnight now and hunger had gotten the better of you… or maybe it was the prosperity of food being available to you at any time without you having to steal hard-earned money for it first.

Passing through the hallway, your tread entirely mute, you stopped dead in your tracks when you heard two familiar voices talking in the living room.

“Big… imposing… no, I did not imagine it, Thor. They were there. A pair of shimmering black wings…” Loki sounded worried, yet you could tell he was trying hard not to let it show. He had already seemed to have panicked a little when he first laid his eyes upon you.

“So what do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“How much time do you have left?”

“I don’t know, Thor.”

“Don’t you… worry, brother… I’m sure everything’s gonna work out fine.”

There was a moment of awfully painful silence. Then, somebody left.

Frowning, you knocked. You were unsure of what they had been talking about. Loki’s expression darkened when he spotted you entering the room shyly, his eyes focused on the wings on your back.

“You… seem to be avoiding me, Loki. Have I… done something?”

Loki smirked—it was bitter. Now that he had told Thor, by tomorrow… they would all know he was going to die soon.

“You have not, dear. It is not something you did. It is your purpose.” Your heart skipped a beat. You had not expected such an honest answer.

“My purpose? I don’t have a purpose here on Midgard.” His eyes were ice cold when he looked up to meet your gaze.

“You are an omen of death.”

Your lips parted. “I am… I am not.”

“No man who sees a black angel’s wings survives. I can see yours.”

“B-but… but that… you’re not going to die.”

His bitter smile returned. “We are facing Thanos. If I was doubtful about my fate before, I am no longer now.”

“Loki, that’s not what it means…” It felt like your heart was shattering, to a million tiny little pieces. He thought you were his death… no wonder he felt uneasy around you. Where had that stupid superstition come from? Why would you be an omen of death?

You longed to tell him what it really meant. Only right now, in this very moment, it did not feel right. Would he even believe you? Probably not.

“Good night, Loki.”

When you returned to your room, you sent your pillow flying through the air all the while suppressing a scream of anger.

The following days were equally frustrating. Loki seemed to be avoiding you at all cost and even Thor and the others only spoke to you when it was absolutely necessary. They were scared. All of them. Dreading that at some point, they might see your wings too. You had already given up attempting to explain it to them. There were much more important things to take care of.

Figuring out your own feelings, for example. It was impossible to love someone you had just met, even for black angels… right? The invisible force linking you to Loki’s body and mind was so strong it almost physically ached to not be near him. You were worried. Loki thought he was going to die. It was obvious he had a past with Thanos, one that was about to catch up with him.

You had your dagger—it was the least you could fight with to protect his life. After all, that one superstition was indeed true. Yet when you stood in front of him, the purple titan who had stolen away your people, and the black angels you had thought of as friends and family… you were terrified.

All of them were ready to fight. Man against man, woman against woman and you… somewhere in between. You had never agreed to destroy him, had never promised to help. It was not in your nature to intervene in such things; even though you would not exactly call yourself a pacifist, wars held a bitter connotation. All you cared about was Loki—even if he did not care about you.

Proudly and arrogantly, he lifted his chin in pure defiance. You could feel he was anxious. His heart was beating so fast your own almost stopped. Thanos wanted the Tesseract—and Loki was denying he was in its possession.

The whole Avengers compound had become a bloody battlefield. There was debris, there were screams and the sounds of metal clashing. Clutching your dagger tighter, you watched how Thor was hurled through the air and landed on the hard ground.

“We don’t have the Tesseract! It was destroyed on Asgard!” He growled, spitting a mouthful of blood into the grass before two of Thanos’ lackeys managed to restrain him.

Loki briefly closed his eyes, guiltily. One single moment of negligence—and enough for Thanos to grab his head forcefully and throw him on the ground before Ebony Maw’s feet.

Loki gasped in pain but the ugly sorcerer did not hesitate. He raised his hands, fingers crooked… only to send shockwaves of agony through his blood. As a Frost Giant… the heat pumping through his veins was pure torture.

“The Tesseract…” Thanos remarked, seemingly unimpressed. Your eyes widened. Loki really had it. Of course he had it.

“Please, stop…” You heard yourself whisper, the pain he felt cursing through your own body. Only yours wasn’t physical. “Stop it! The Tesseract is not here. Let him live. Whatever he has done in the past, he did it to survive, wouldn’t you do the same?”

“He disappointed me,” the titan argued. “He failed.”

“We all do. It was not his fault. Look around you. Look at your forces fighting against a bunch of mortals. If they are having difficulties defeating them now, then how would you expect Loki to do it all on his own?”

Loki’s stunning blue eyes widened upon hearing your words. He kept grunting, growling and panting as Maw intensified the spell, making you panic slightly.

“I am not merciful, little one. If I were, I wouldn’t be where I am standing now.”

“You… don’t have to be.” You swallowed. “His life in exchange for mine. I shall serve you if you let him live.”

“Why would I want your allegiance?”

“I am an angel, too.”

Thanos raised his eyebrows.

“You would give your freedom to save him? Him?”

“Yes.” Blinking frantically to scare away the tears in your eyes, you watched the titan nod slowly. With a start, Ebony Maw stopped, earning him another pant from Loki. In his ugly hands… he held the Tesseract.

“You have a good heart, little one. Unfortunately… I don’t like being lied to.”

*It happened fast, almost too fast for you to comprehend. Thanos’ sword slashed through the cold air and Loki’s neck, blood spurting from the freshly cut wound and staining his skin and armour. His blue eyes closed, the downright repulsive sounds of him choking on his own blood filling your ears.

Then, he stopped moving, the red liquid still pouring from his neck.*

You screamed, both in pain and indescribable grief when Loki’s heart stopped beating. He had been right. You had been his very personal omen of death.

You didn’t sleep. You didn’t eat. You didn’t speak. Thanos was gone, two Infinity stones along with him. And while the Avengers were busy figuring out a plan to stop him once and for all, you spent your time sulking away in your room, your eyes red and swollen from the many tears you shed for the man you had never had a chance to love.

You had meant to save him. Loki had trusted you to seal his fate and when you had attempted to lay down your own life so he would survive, you had caused the exact opposite. It wasn’t your fault, not really and yet… it felt like it.

It felt like your heart had been ripped in pieces, like Thor had driven his beloved hammer into your chest repeatedly and shattered all of your ribs.

Dead. You had found the one man your poor existence as a god damn black angel had made sense for, the one man who could have made you happy. And now he was dead.

You were ready to do anything to get him back. And so you were plotting.

Whether Thor was grieving, you did not know. But you had heard of Ragnarok, the destruction of his home world, of Asgard, the realm of the gods. Hela had wreaked havoc and claimed the throne. Hela, the goddess of death… Hela, who could resurrect the dead and bring them back to life.

“Tony.” Your voice carried only feinted politeness. You simply did not care how worn out he was, noodling around in his lab. Neither did you care that Thor did not even look up when you entered.

“Can I speak to Thor, please? In private?”

He was his brother. If anyone was going to help you bring Loki back, it was him. Thor had complained about having lost Loki before. That he had thought him dead before. Whether he could not accept he was truly gone this time or had simply moved on, you could not tell. But you sincerely hoped Loki was important enough for him, worthy of saving.

The God of Thunder looked up, his brows raised in surprise. Nodding mutely, he stood and left the room, allowing you to close the door to Tony’s lab behind you.

“There is a way to bring Loki back alive.” You stated straight away, swallowing thickly. Thor crossed his arms before his chest, a defensive posture.

“What do you mean?”

“Loki is not in Valhalla, his soul did not… ascend. He should have been… he would not give Thanos the Tesseract to Thanos, he was enduring torture, he… wanted to save you. All of you, stop the titan himself. That… that means…” Again, you swallowed, forcing back the tears forming in your eyes. “It means he is in Hel. I’ve been there before, black angels… we are immune to… well, it doesn’t matter. But… the goddess of death. Hela, she could…”

“No.”

“What?”

“No.” Thor repeated sternly. “Hela is my sister. She caused the destruction of Asgard, she killed my friends and hundreds of innocent Asgardians.”

“I have heard the stories… but Thor, Loki is your brother.”

“Do you truly think she will resurrect him without asking for something in return? We barely managed to banish her again, I will not risk the subjugation of the nine… the eight realms.”

Angrily, you narrowed your eyes at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“If Thanos gets a hold of the remaining Infinity Stones, say goodbye to the entire universe. He will be ten times worse than Hela. If anyone can help you defeat him, it’s your brother. Your brother, Thor.”

Why did he hesitate? As a black angel, you had never had brothers or sisters but if you did… if you did you would love and cherish them dearly. Did Thor not love Loki? Did he not love him as much as Loki loved Thor? You could see it in his eyes. Loki had a good heart, vulnerable and tainted but good.

“Why would you want to bring him back? You don’t know him. Loki’s been dead before, if it’s true this time… it is what it is.” Thor mumbled. “Look, (Y/N)… Loki is dead because of you. Your appearance… it was the sign… there is no way around that.”

“That’s bullshit, Thor,” you snapped. All of a sudden, the truth spilled from your lips uncontrollably. “I’m not an omen of death, who came up with this? Loki was the only one who can see my wings because he was meant to be my soul mate. I… I fell in love with him the moment I first looked him in the eye. I was going to sacrifice my life to save him, those were not empty words, you heard them!”

Thor paused. “That’s… impossible. All my life… I grew up believing black angels were deadly.”

“We can be. My blades of my daggers are drowned in poison but we do not promise death to those we show our wings to. It wasn’t my decision, Thor. Please… help me bring your brother back.” This time, you were unable to hold back your tears. Sobbing quietly, they ran over your reddened cheeks.

The God of Thunder took a deep breath.

“I can take you to the portal. The rest is up to you. But if you endanger this realm by setting Hela free, you will live with the consequences because we will kill you. I have to protect these people, (Y/N).”

Determined, you nodded. “I will make this right, Thor. I promise.”

The portal was a church. At least, it looked like a church. Home of the angels… you snorted. If only you could live in a richly decorated church. The more you approached, the more of the dead energy did you feel. Helheim was near.

You had a plan, of course. It was risky and bold and perhaps a bit reckless… but at least, it was a plan. Thor had held his promise and he made sure to stay until you returned—with or without Loki.

Then, with one final deep breath—for there was no reason to breathe in Helheim—you stepped over the threshold of Durham Cathedral and disappeared into nowhere, an invisible force sucking you into another realm.

The stench of death filled your nose before you had even opened your eyes again, corpses, skeletons and bloody soil staining the dark landscape. Like you had expected, your presence in the realm of the dead as a living being did not go unnoticed.

“I’ve met black angels before. But they were dead.” Hela’s voice echoed through the minging air, her blue eyes, complimented by dark coal, boring into yours.

“I came to warn you.”

“Warn me? Child… Look around you… this place is dead. What do I have to fear?”

“Thanos. He means to wipe out half of the universe. Killing half of every single living being.”

Hela raised her eyebrows, seemingly unimpressed.

“Where do you think will most of these souls go? Half the universe… crammed in one realm. Your realm.”

“The Gauntlet. He has it then.”

“And he is collecting the stones. There is a force on Midgard… across the universe to stop him. They need all the help they can get.”

It was then the goddess of death began to smile cruelly. “Who is it you want me to resurrect?”

“How familiar are you with the powers of black angels?”

Hela shrugged. “They are meant to find their soul mates, the only beings they unwillingly reveal their true nature to.” As the goddess of death, she knew a lot more than the rest of the Asgardians then.

You nodded. “My powers were taken from me when I was cast out. They will return once I am reunited with mine.” That was a lie. But if Hela was Thor’s sister, you could imagine she did not exactly take a liking into Loki. “I need you to return Loki to the living. We stop Thanos, we stop this realm from destruction. And we both know that even Helheim could not take the masses of murderers and villains once the titan snaps his fingers.”

Snarling, she turned her scrutinising gaze away from you. “Loki?” She snorted. “You know what? Take him. Take that little cockroach and leave. Hel will be better off without his smug remarks.”

You were almost surprised by how calm you managed to speak with her. The prosperity of seeing Loki again filled your broken heart with joy and love, even if the God of Mischief himself, so you imagined, would hardly feel the same.

Hela narrowed her eyes. With but a flick of his wrist, she summoned Loki like a demon. Your heart skipped a beat when you spotted him. He did not look harmed, the atrocious wound on his neck luckily gone completely.

“I was trying to sleep. Forewarn me before you—“ Loki stopped his mocking complaint mid-sentence. His lips parted when he saw you—that’s when you had already thrown yourself into his arms and buried your face in his neck, inhaling his wonderful scent and enjoying the touch of his body, beginning to heal you instantly.

“Husband…” You murmured, knowing that Hela was still watching you intently.

Loki froze. “What?”

“Just play along. Please… I’m gonna get you out of here.” You whispered mutely. Then, you timidly pressed your lips against his, triggering an explosion of chemistry between you. You almost flinched… and apparently, Loki felt the same.

Hela rolled her eyes in a disgusted manner. Clearly, she was convinced. “Leave. Make sure not to return.” She flicked her wrists once more, almost as if taking a spell on Loki—whatever had been necessary to allow him to travel through the portal and back to the living.

Confidently, you reached for his hand, a touched smile spreading on your lips when he accepted it and followed you back to Midgard and into Durham Cathedral.

“Husband?” He repeated, ignoring Thor who received him with his mouth wide open.

“There is a lot of explaining I need to do, I’m afraid.” You began apologetically.

“Indeed.” He was still holding your hand, not pulling away. It filled your chest with a cosy warmth which you had never felt before.

“You… only you can see my wings.”

“I still do.”

“You… you can because… because I am your soul mate. I never was an omen of death, Loki. I.. love you.”

The God of Mischief’s face fell.

“What you said to Thanos… you did attempt to…” You nodded quickly.

“I… I had to try. Contacting Hela, convincing her to resurrect you…”

“Thank you.” He interrupted, looking you deep in the eye. It was surprise which you found sparkling in those blue irises. Surely… never had anyone done this for him. Surely, nobody else would have done this for him. Thor still went ignored.

“I… I can understand if you… if you don’t want me to stay. I can leave. Being my soul mate, it doesn’t… it doesn’t link you to me if you don’t want to.”

Your heart jumped when Loki began to smirk mischievously... but genuinely.

“Oh no, my dear. I think I am going to keep you.”

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on KoFi! kofi.com/sserpente

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pamphletstoinspire · 5 years

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This E-mail was received by me from San Giovanni Rotondo, Italy. It initially was directed to all Padre Pio Prayer Group leaders (currently sponsoring 6 groups). We were instructed to make all spiritual children of the Prayer Groups aware of its content, and, then to share this information with others.

PADRE PIO AND THE PRAYER GROUPS

Witnesses of the Gospel spirituality

Nurseries of faith, beacons of love in whom Christ is present everytime we are united through Prayer and Holy Eucharist, under the guidance of their Shepherds and Spiritual Directors.

It is Prayer that is the unifying force of all good souls, which moves the world, renews conscience, which sustains the "House" which comforts the suffering, which cures the sick, which sanctifies work, which elevates medical assistance, which gives moral strength and Christian resignation to human suffering, which brings a smile and the blessing of God on weakness and frailty. - Padre Pio

Prayer Groups ministers of consolation

Lectio Magistralis of Monsignor Matteo Zuppi Metropolitan Archbishop of Bologna Prayer groups represent the soul of Pastoral life and are an instrument of evangelization: From the beginning of his mandate Pope Francis called for evangelizing our suburbs, he asked us to go out of our small communities inviting us to approach our neighbour in a more intimate and personal way, advising us always to speak the truth, but in a way that reaches the heart.

Today those who are far away from Jesus, face their own suffering in a more tragic manner feeling lost and useless to the point of thinking; that life is over and so it is better to end it once and for all.

How can Prayer Groups evangelize this tragic reality? They must present themselves as places to accompany, to invite and above all to support the sorrowful journey, the Prayer groups must become places of true consolation, they cannot simply say "I pray for you" they must also show care and closeness. One must combat the idea of uselessness which is born in the mind of those who suffer and combat it, with the strength a Christian has: the strength of the heart.

We must carry friendship which we like and have amongst us in moments of prayer, outside of the Church. Men who know how to pray but above all how much to care, because to pray means to wish others well and prayer is the highest level of a Christian.

There exists so much suffering in solitude that it becomes unbearable. Our objective is to change this suffering making it lighter; there is no need for many gestures of many words: suffering needs the presence and not words. Let us abandon talks of convenience and carry to the suffering our hearts, the Word of God, prayer. You must be ministers of consolation. Let us seek to envelope love, beauty and sensitive to who is nearby in solitude and suffering. With our prayers we begin to give hope, we begin "Holy Resignation" which is not to content ourselves but to abandon oneself to someone, we begin not to give up but to accept not being able to do everything, accepting our limitations, and to leave to God because we are certain He will help.

Prayer nourishes us and is the nourishment of the Word. Prayer and Communion. Prayer Groups must not only pray but must invite others to pray, they must carry prayer of consolation to who is lonely, they must show leadership and be a Shepherd's crook to those who are crossing the valley of darkness. They must give hope. Who suffers wants someone to be close to them and truly care about them. All of us have the power to win over solitude.

All of us know Padre Pio was an outspoken man, very direct and used to avoid trivial and superficial things, he used to send chatty men and women out of the Confessional. We like Padre Pio must transmit true consolation through prayer, correction, visit ,to be close and caring, we must live the Gospel with joy, we must write in the heart of our neighbour the most beautiful thing: Jesus loves you.

Gospel according to Matthew - Mt 18, 19-20

In truth I say to you; if two of you on earth will agree to ask for anything, My Father who is in heaven shall grant it to them. Because where there are two or three united in My name I Am amongst them.

Meditations on Prayer Groups - Reflection of Padre Pio

In the Groups, when my children unite in prayer, it is Jesus in the midst of them, there will be the Mother of Jesus, even I will be present in spirit and united in prayer.

Remember that communal prayer is a powerful weapon in the hands of the Church and the faithful. Alone a weak man can do very little but if he unites with another man and more men, prayer becomes a power. A soul which prays alone when it invokes God, is weaker than if more souls unite together in prayer. They form a formidable force, consolidated and empowered by Christ.

Reflection of Giovanni Gigliozzi

Live your prayer group, you are yeast, live around your priest and Bishop. Be true Apostles in your Parish. The group is not a small orchard, give, be generous with all, in your environment, in your families. The value which Padre Pio wanted to give to the Prayer Groups is eminently a spiritual value: to dilate the impetus of love which comes from Padre Pio, who is a priest of Christ, spreading it in all frequented environments.

Prayer to Saint Pio of Saint John Paul II

Humble and beloved Padre Pio, teach us, we pray, humility of heart, so that we may be counted among the little ones of the Gospel to whom the Father promised to reveal the mysteries of His Kingdom. Help us to pray without ceasing, certain that God knows what we need even before we ask Him.

Obtain for us the eyes of faith that will help us recognize in the poor and suffering, the very face of Jesus. Sustain us in the hour of trouble and trial and, if we fall, let us experience the joy of the sacrament of forgiveness. Grant us your tender devotion to Mary, mother of Jesus and our Mother.

Accompany us on our earthly pilgrimage toward the blessed Homeland, where we too, hope to arrive to contemplate forever the Glory of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen

#padre pio prayer groups

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teamwave11 · 4 years

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What's a Professional Sales Manager?

I was in the profundity of a major depression. As a third year salesclerk with a good company, I was doing well, and was on my resources to getting the vertex salesperson in the countryside for that company. But company had slowed down a little, and I didn't have my vertical number of tender out for consideration. So, I wasn't as busy as usual. As my liveliness slowed, I began to worry. My doubts increased to the kernel where I had theory myself into a actuality depression, stuck on the investigation of "What's the utility of trying?" The more negative my thoughts became, the less energy I had. My misses of energy led to fewer and fewer sales calls, which of course, led to less activity. And that led to more depressing thoughts. I was caught in a powerful downward spiral.

It was then that I caught a glimpse of what a professional sales manager is like.

Ned was my boss -- a sales steward of the highest caliber. He could see the indication of my sour kingdom spilling over into universe I was doing. So Ned intervened. He arranged to have dinners with me, and listened patiently as I rambled on and on approx my problems, my doubts, and my failure of activity. Finally, after I had dumped all my depression and negative thoughts on him, he looked me straight in the eye and said, with all the authority and intensity of someone who is absolutely sure of what they are saying, "Kahle, that's enough."

I was stunned. I was expecting empathy, an uptake shoulder to discharge on. Instead, I got a simple, straightforward mandate. Ned knew me well enough to cut through all the fluff and come benefit to the soul of the matter. He said, "That's enough. That's enough perceptions sorry for yourself. That's enough thinking all these negative thoughts. That's enough sitting back and not working as hard as you're used to. Stop it. You're better than all this. Stop it privilege now, today, and get your ..... back to work."

He saw my job clearly. And he provided me the direction I needed. That discussion turned me around. I left my depression and negativity at that lunch table, and started back into my job with a renewed sense of the possible. A year later I was the mathematics one salesclerk in the state for that company.

What made the difference in my merit was the skillful intervention of an astute and professional sales manager. He made the difference in my job performance, and that made a difference in my places with that company. And that made a diversity in my career. And that lead me to my turning practice. It's entirely possible that I would not be deed what I do now, speaking and consulting with sales forces around the world, if it weren't for his timely intervention.

All of us have become what we are, at least in part, due to the touch other group have had on us. A professional sales steward is gifted with a rare and precious chances -- the risk to play a pivotal role in the activity of his/her charges. I so value the incumbency that Ned played in my career, that the end passages on the "Acknowledgment" page of my first notebook reads, "Finally, I must type special, post-humus declaration of the contribution made by Ned Shaheen, the best manager I ever worked for. It was Ned who, era ago, urged me to 'write the book...'"

So what does this have to do with creature a "Professional Sales Manager?" During my 30 + years of sales experience and 16 years of complexity as a sales consultant and sales trainer, I've encountered many sales managers. Some of have been good, many mediocre. But Ned was the best sales manager I ever met. He serves as a patterns for me. We can learn a tally of lessons from him.

First, Ned knew the diversity between the siting of a salesclerk and that of a sales manager. He had been a great salesperson -- like lots sales managers around the world -- and had been promoted to sales manager. Yet he knew the jobs of sales steward and salesclerk are completely different. A salesperson is responsible for building explanation and making sales. A sales manager, while ultimately responsible for the same results, understands that his/her location is to achieve those stipulation through other people. A sales steward builds people, who in turn build the business. Salespeople focus on selling; sales director focus on building salespeople.

As a sales person, I could comfortably take Ned into any account, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't try to income over the performance or usurp my association with the customer. I knew Ned was more concerned with me than he was roughly any one sale.

Ned knew that a salesclerk was essentially a loaner, an individual who did mass of his/her mass important work by themselves, while a sales manager was a coach, whose only luck derived from the fate of his team. A sales manager's best work is always done, not with the customers, but with the group he/she supervises.

Ultimately, a sales manager is measured by the conseguenze achieved by his people. Sales, gross profits, market share, key product selling, -- all these typical measurements of sales performance are also one of the rulers by which a sales manager is measured.

So, an excellent sales manager, like a great soccer coach, is ultimately measured by his numbers. It doesn't matter how empathetic he is, nor how his gambler respect or like him, if year after year he output a losing team. So it is with a sales manager. Ultimately, an excellent sales manager output excellent numbers for his company.

In the five era that I worked for Ned, my own territory grew by $1 million a year, and the branch for which he was responsible grew from closely $6 million to approx $30 million.

Ned was excellent at one of the key competencies of the professional sales manager -- he had an eye for talent. He knew how to hire good people. After all, he hired me! Over the years, I watched him proceeds his time, allowing a sales area to go vacant for months, if necessary, while he waited for the right person to bubble up through his pipeline. Only one of his hires didn't occupation out -- which gave him an incredible harvesting percentage.

A professional sales manager understands the thanks of configuration the right hire, is always recruiting in order to obeying the pipeline of prospective salesclerks full, and spares no payment to type sure the fellow he hires meets all the necessary criteria. When I was hired, I went through four interviews, and a full 10-hour day of experiment with an industrial psychologist.

With all the time he took to type sure he was hiring the benefit person, Ned confided in me one day that, "It is more important to glow well then it is to hire well." He went on to explain that hiring sales people is an extremely difficult task, and that even the best sales director fail at it frequently. Therefore, it was important to recognize your harm quickly, and act decisively to predicament it.

A professional sales manager, then, understands that when it is clear that a salesperson is not advantage for the job, he acts quickly, kindly, and decisively to terminate the individual, allowing both the individual and the undertaking an risk to find a better match. Acting quickly to terminate a salesperson who isn't procedure out is both good firm as well as good ethics. To allow a mediocre position to fester to the detriment of the company, the salesperson, and the customers is to persist in a dishonesty.

Understanding that he works only through his sales people, and that he has the opportunity to make a great effect on his people, a professional sales steward type it his undertaking to know his people. Ned spent era with me in the field, talking not only about business, but also performance at understanding the person I was as well. He'd arrange to meet me for breakfast or lunch regularly, even if he weren't disbursement the day with me. He wanted to get to know my wife as well, and paid close consideration to her opinions. Several times over the five years we went to dinner as a foursome.

I could never stop in the legislature without entity expected to sit in his legislature and talk about things. And, of course, there was the annual pig roast at his house, where all his salespeople and their families were invited to spend a fun day while the pig roasted over the spit. I was always a homme to Ned, never just a "salesperson."

Because he took the time to get to know me, he was equipped with the wisdom of exactly how to best manage me. And he always saw the potential in me, and was ready to correct me when necessary. In the first year of my employment, I was earning the regard among the inside customer nourishment and purchasing people of entity difficult and demanding. I was a hot-shot superstar who didn't proceeds their feelings into consideration, and came into the legislature and dumped vocation on them. Ned let me know that my ways needed to change. At first, I didn't salaries much attention. My numbers were too good for anybody to be concerned. So Ned let me know a assistant time that I was departing to have to change. The post was so acute, that the venture manager was lobbying to get me fired! Guided by his boldness hand, I swallowed my pride, adopted a more humble attitude, and bought all the customer service reps a six pack of reward beer as a gift. My inventory inside the enterprises spring up dramatically, my method corrected, and my future assured.

A professional sales steward guides and corrects his charges in lineup to help them achieve their potential.

Ned never stopped learning. He would often tell me closely seminars he'd attended, books he'd read, or impression he'd picked up by talking with other people. He knew that he never "knew it all." So it is with every professional sales manager. A actuality professional never stops learning. He understands that the world is changing rapidly, continually demanding new skills, new ideas, and new competencies from him. At the same time, his salesclerks and their buyer are changing also. So, he understands that he has a challenge to continuously grow and improve, to learn more and become btter at his job. Sales direction isn't just a job, it's a challenge of a lifetime of improvement.

One more observation. Understanding that a professional sales steward is only successful when his charges are successful, an excellent sales steward supports, encourages and gives his sales people the credit.

It was the fourth year of my tenure, and Ned was lobbying for me to be awarded the "Salesperson of the year" award. It was given not only for sales performance, but for more subjective things - encouraging the company's purpose and ethics, becoming along with other clan in the company, etc. The endowments was a great honor, and extremely difficult to win. Each sales manager nominated their preferences salesperson, and lobbied for one of their charges with the company's executives, who made the final choice.

The annual awards celebration was held at an exclusive land club, where the men wore tuxedos and the women formal evening gowns. When feast was done, the speeches were finished and the lesser awards announced, it came time for the big one, the one I wanted.

The climate was tense and expectant. The entire room silent as the time approached for the announcement. Then, as the enterprises leader announced my name, it was Ned who thrust his hand in the shred and shouted "YES!"

The shooter that hangs on my bedroom wall shows me tremor flippers with the chief and tolerating the award. Look carefully and you'll see Ned places proudly in the background.

There is a ballad that I find particularly moving. Perhaps you know the words made popular by Bette Midler. It goes like this, "It must have been lonely there in my shadow... Without the sun upon your face I was the one with all the glory You were the one with all the strength.

I tins fly higher than an eagle Because you are the appearance beneath my wings." Want to excel as a sales manger? Want to be a true professional? Look at your place as a unique risk to touch others, to select, correct, maintenance and encourage your salespeople, to achieve your company's goal by become a positive strengths in their lives. It's not a job, it's a mission. Be the air beneath their wings.

And perhaps, one day, fifteen years from now, someone will write about you.

About Dave Kahle, The Growth Coach®: Dave Kahle is a consultant and handler who helps his clients increase their sales and improve their sales productivity. He speaks from real burrow experience, owning been the quantity one salesperson in the manure for two guests in two distinct industries. Dave has trained thousands of salesclerks to be more successful in the Information Age economy. He's the composer of over 500 articles, a monthly ezine, and four books. His latest is 10 Secrets of Time Management for Salespeople. He has a present for creating powerful training events that get audiences thinking differently closely sales.

For more about visit our site [ https://teamwave.com/features/sales-management ].

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restless-in-paris · 5 years

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Jojoba in my hair

and other rituals for self-care…

One breezy morning, towards the end of my first month after moving back to Paris (September, 2019), I noticed that the dandruff in my hair was starting to get out of hand. My hair was severely dry and badly in need of some nourishment. Which is why, a certain Friday evening, I went to a store in Gare du Nord - the Indian/Sri Lankan neighbourhood of Paris - to look for some hair oil. I entered this particular store called VSCO Cash and carry - if I remember correctly. The store was full of people, full of familiar and not-so-familiar sounds, smells and skin tones. I spent some time just making my way through the crowded aisles just to get a gist of the place initially, before finally looking for what I actually came there to buy. In the second aisle, towards the corner, I finally found a shelf with a variety of hair oils. The regular ones - coconut and almond - as well as more exotic ones - tea tree oil, cactus and jojoba. I started doing a little pro/con, SWOT analysis in my head to decide which oil I should get and how much of it. I often go into deep pondering states like this while shopping, to be REALLY sure of my choice. Which is why I prefer to shop alone I guess. After much thought and deliberation (and some ad-hoc googling) to choose between the regular Parachute oil and a new, Vatika jojoba oil that I hadn’t seen before, I went with the latter. I bought two bottles of it. While at the cash counter, I made sure to follow my instilled french étiquette of wishing bonsoir and bonne soirée. All this while the khayali pulao in my head was seasoned with sounds and syllables from Marathi, Tamil and Mandarin by the other people waiting in the queue. I stepped out of the store, and took the metro back to place de la Nation.

That night, before going to sleep, I opened one of the small bottles of Jojoba oil to massage some of it into my hair and let it stay overnight. There was a sweet, rich smell that emanated from the chartreuse yellow liquid. I took some in my palm and rubbed it gently into my scalp and the roots of my hair. My roommate asked me what the smell was. He didn’t seem to particularly like it. There are some people in this world who have different tastes, and then there are some who don’t have any at all. I replied it was the oil, and he asked me to open the window to let the smell dissipate. I did so.

The next morning, I washed my hair with some egg shampoo, dried them and put some oil back again. It felt nice. It seemed as though my hair had been thirsty since a long time and that now their thirst was finally quenched. I stepped out into the Saturday morning air and walked towards the Carrefour store near my house. As the wind blew over my hair and by my face, I felt grateful for that moment. And for all the million moments of self-care, repair and reflection that living in this city allowed me.

After a week or so of applying the jojoba oil to my hair, my dandruff had virtually vanished! I was amazed at how effective it was. And that’s why to this day, every morning or night, I rub a little jojoba into my hair to keep them nourished and healthy.

Self care ritual #2 Cooking with love, eating with gratitude

In a couple of months, I have progressed enormously in terms of what I cook, and how much attention I pay to what I eat and how I make it. Being inspired from the international environment that I get to live in - whether it’s seeing a spanish girl using ‘Laurier’ leaves as a seasoning, or seeing my Czech friend Markéta make a zucchini tarte - I have started experimenting and creating recipes of my own, combining Indian cooking techniques (the little that I know thanks to my mother) with local ingredients that I find here. Last year I posted about my Poha made with hazelnuts. In this section I’ll take you through some of the other food I’ve been cooking for my meal prep routines.

#1 Pulao with laurier (bay laurel leaves) and échalotes (shallots)

This was a pulao that I made where I just replaced the onions with french shallots and bay leaves (tejpatta) with laurel. The result was this rich and flafourful rice with a beautiful harmony between hints of European and Indian tastes.

#2 Pâtes Gratinées (Gratin of pasta)

This was a gratin of pasta that I had made because I didn’t want to make regular, lazy student-pasta. Making a gratin is a rather french cooking technique in which you cover something with béchamel sauce and top it with a layer of cheese and then bake it. Undoubtedly, a gratin of anything becomes very filling and acquires a rich creamy texture (along with fats, but that’s okay as long as your portion sizes are humble). And this turned out to be a very successful experiment because this was literally the first time I was even using an oven. It tasted pretty good and the persil (parsley) added just the right kind of seasoning it needed. The next day when I made my boss taste it, he was visibly delighted as well and commended me on having upgraded my cooking to a new level. Ah the little joys of life.

#3 Tarte aux légumes du soleil (Tart with vegetables of the sun)

This one is partly a combination between a recipe I found on marmiton.org (a french recipe website), a recipe by my friend Markéta (from the foyer where I live) and my own taste. I made this quiche with a combination of vegetables known as ‘légumes du soleil’ (vegetables of the sun) for some reason. This includes zucchinis/courgettes, bell peppers, aubergines and tomatoes. It might be interesting to find out why it is called so. Perhaps because these vegetables are grown in sunnier parts of Europe? In any case, the resulting quiche again made for a nice, creamy and fairly healthy meal. My own twist on the recipe was to add oregano seasoning, mozzarella cheese and replace the aubergines with mushrooms.

Self care ritual #3 Mental and emotional self-care

When you move to a new place, no matter how much you love it and how eager you are to integrate yourself, there are some emotional and mental bumps that you need to take care of along the way. Currently I am working on creating mental and emotional self-care routines to deal with these. Different people have different coping mechanisms for managing their emotional and mental health. Some people meditate, others do drugs, alcohol or other substances, some people might binge-eat, indulge in social media, have boyfriends/girlfriends, exercise, or engage in a hobby and so on. This year, I have decided to engage in writing, exercise and introspective walks to create new self-care mechanisms for my emotional well-being. Along with talking to friends of course. Which goes a really long way.

One of the mental bumps I’m currently facing is dealing with the phenomenon known as french "humour". The french sense of humour seems to primarily rely on a sort of irony that’s always expressed with an extreme poker-face and is intertwined deeply with the language itself. This makes for some tricky situations at work with a colleague of mine who is particularly adept at this sort of humour and prides himself in it. The key difference between this kind of humour and the anglo-saxon and indian influences on my sense of humour is the almost complete lack of self-deprecation. Using techniques such as ‘second degré’ which is the french term for speaking ironically, french wit seems to consider itself as a sort of verbal jousting where the objective is to bring down the opponent with pointed and nonchalant sarcasm. Whereas a more Indian/American (?) approach would be to invite someone in ridiculing a third-element, a situation or a circumstance, instead of targeting one another. I’m not sure if describing this difference as the same as ‘laughing at someone’ vs ‘laughing with someone’ would be completely correct, but it does seem to be the case a lot of times. To illustrate with an example, say, you’re walking on a street with a friend and they accidentally step on some dog poop. Now, a typical french reaction to this incident would be to say ‘Oh no, watch out, I’m gonna start smelling irresistible now’. You see the kind of extreme lack of self-deprecation and an abundance of the opposite that I’m talking about? Following this, how you react to this phrase will be key in judging your ‘frenchness’ of sorts. And mind you, it’s all the more difficult to process sarcasm and absurdity when it’s in your second or third language. Maybe a decent reply, following the guidelines of french humour, would be to suggest to your friend to give away his bottle of Dior perfume to you since he doesn’t need it anymore?

Does this sort of explain the subtle, verbal back-and-forth that I’m talking about? Now the reasons why this is creating some mental hang-ups for me are: 1) Personality dissonance In English, I’m used to being fairly (somewhat?) quick-witted and funny. Or maybe I’m not. Who am I to judge? Anyhoo, my personality in french is yet to catch up to the one I have in English. Which makes for some dissonance and angst when I am not able to express or react as effortlessly as I would in English. But, at the end of the day, this is just a matter of time and patience I guess.

2) Integration Anxiety As a fresh, new immigrant (am I allowed to call myself that yet?), I am extremely eager to integrate myself culturally to the fullest. Which becomes kind of counterproductive because of the self-doubt that this eagerness creates. Counterproductive because, being french and being funny in french seems to be all about being EXTREMELY confident in oneself and bringing the other down with shade that would be considered dad jokes by anglo-saxon standards, but a heritage of Molière by french standards (which kind of makes sense given he’s considered the dad of the french language. Like father, like son). This sort of bring-the-other-person-down attitude doesn’t work too well with my kind of self-deprecating humour and also because I’m a nice person okay? who likes to laugh WITH others and not AT other people :p. Anyhow, the point is, I need to be patient and appreciate this attempt of understanding the french funny bone that I’m currently doing. Maybe my knowledge of shade-throwing, which I’ve been blessed with as a gay man might be of help? I just need to figure out how to translate this shade-sense into french. Another crucial thing I need to do is to believe in myself and my abilities, and NOT let this dissonance and anxiety affect my sense of self because you are worthwhile and adequate regardless of the language you speak, and just the way you are. I think I have reached a point in this article where my rambling has sort of stepped into the incoherent territory. So I’ll stop here for now. Sorry for the abrupt ending but don’t worry, there’s some more exciting writing planned for this page. Keep an eye out, my few dear readers and feel free to let me know if you have any ideas for what you would like to read about.

Until later!

AJT

#france #paris #lifestyle #humour #self-care #self-love #cooking #haircare

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laliofficial · 5 years

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LALI ESPÓSITO - FROM ARGENTINA TO THE WORLD

Argentine singer-songwriter, and actress. This year 2019, Lali embarks upon something she had never done before, a tour of the United States with her Brava Tour, No.1 in Argentina and certified as a “Gold” album the first week of its release. Over her career, Lali has received thirty-nine awards and more than seventy-one nominations. She was awarded the Best Artist of the South, by the MTV Europe Music Awards 2018. Lali is in the Top 5 of the global Social Artist list of Billboard magazine, with 6.5 million followers and her music as well as music videos counts millions of reproductions in the different digital platforms.

She has been invited to open the concerts with Ricky Martin, Julio Iglesias and Kate Perry, among many others. She recorded a duet with Mexican singer Thalía “Lindo pero Bruto” which won a Gold award. And on September 2018, Lali was nominated at the Venice Film Festival for her performance in the movie “Acusada” along with Mexican actor Gael García Bernal and Argentinian actor Leonardo Sbaraglia.

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THE QUEEN OF ARGENTINIAN POP

Her name is Mariana, but her brother baptized her with the name “Lali” as he could not pronounce her name as a child. She began her career as a child actress in Telenovelas, soon after that she became part of the Teen Angels, a youth musical group, later going on her own with her first solo album entitled “A Bailar”, at a time when Argentina did not have a woman present that type of pop musical shows, with choreography and costumes.

She transformed herself from being a youthful actress into a musician as an adult. Lali is a spectacularly beautiful woman and along with her charismatic personality you will find a sensitivity that may well make you start dancing when you hear one of her songs such as “SOY” or listening to another, such as “TU SONRISA” find yourself enveloped in a profound nostalgia, deep enough to make you cry a little. Her concerts are heavily attended, full houses most often, with an impressive number of fans in Argentina, Chile, Mexico, Israel, Russia and Spain. Lali is conquering the world, one stage at a time.

The first thing that you realize when talking with Lali, is that she loves conversation and the words fly at a meteoric speed, as if one word invites another without halt. You feel her energy burns at one hundred percent while you are speaking with her. She makes you feel as if you have known each other from a long time, and remembers your name without a wink, only to become part of her vocabulary instantly.

In a lively whirlwind of words, I had the pleasure of interviewing Lali during her tour in the United States, just before starting her concert in Nashville, TN. With her contagious energy, she conveys herself as a warm and humble person, the first thing he said was: “Lilia, thank you for your time and your interview.” Here below, Lali talks about her tour, women, the cinema and her next projects.

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Lali, what a thrill you are with us. What does it mean for you to be on tour for the very first time in the US and precisely opening with a concert in San Antonio, Texas, a predominantly Hispanic community?

Well, for me, as a woman from the South, the hemispheric south, it’s like the American dream,- it’s a big step! Singing in Spanish and meeting an audience with people from everywhere that there is representation and familiarity, brings a strong sense of brotherhood.

It is being away from home and getting live and feeling your music. We come as we say in Argentina “with the backpack behind” and go out into a new world. The audience in New York, responded wonderfully, with great empathy, they identified with me.

WORK, RESPECT AND RESULTS

You had already taken Brava through Argentina, what were the differences you have to consider when setting up a tour with an audience in the US?

Perhaps this tour and concert is different from what I do in Argentina. Everything is very new, it is a challenge, I like to try on new stages, it doesn’t bother me, in fact I really want it, it is a rich experience and it nourishes me a lot as an artist .

It means a lot to me for someone to go buy a ticket here, where I’ve never been, and come to see me. It is coming here as an artist with a version that also allows you to show all your charisma. To a super new audience. Conquering other worlds.

How does the name “Brava” for this tour come up, and what message you convey in all this new material?

It means many things. I had a lot of material that I gathered in one album, and I realized that almost all the songs define a very positive force. I started when was a child, at ten years old and I discovered myself as a woman and as an adult. I realized that as a woman you have to impose yourself in this industry that is run almost entirely by men.

You have to get tough or “brava”, but in a positive way, in certain things in life, to asset yourself. Take out either the sexy, or intellectual side, a whole world of sensations that makes us women very unique.

What do you want to convey with “La Ligera”?

This is kind of part of my biography. To show you something from Argentina, but we are also “porteños” from Buenos Aires, from the city, show a Buenos Aires neighborhood. I was born in Parque Patricios, a humble neighborhood “barrio” of Buenos Aires, near 25 de Mayo Avenue.

I loved to go rollerblading on these tracks in the gymnasiums of the schools and the first audience I had was there at the age of five performing with my skates and continued until ten. From there I continued in the soap operas and continued growing as an artist as the person I am now.

It’s like claiming the dreamer, because the world is sometimes a bit hostile. In my family, nobody was an actor, leaving that example that with work, with respect and with results, you can go forward. I had this opportunity and maybe that can inspire others.

CELEBRATING BEING A WOMEN

Do you feel that the current movement about women and feminism has influenced you to write songs?

Undoubtedly, as a woman, it means being able to say what grandmothers could not do, today it is something else, to express ourselves about what makes us happier. Also openly talk about issues such as the law regarding abortion, gender inequality, which also exists in the music industry.

Being a public figure and a woman, you have a platform to express yourself individually, what message do you want to leave?

Summon more women to give them more spaces. Re-educate. I just turned 28 this October and I think it is a very important age, one of the best. My generation has to change even more, and for me it is “cool” to be part of that generation. Anyway, my global message itself is that I want to build a better place and a better country.

CINEMA

You surprised us with the movie “ACUSADA” with the leading character of “Dolores Dreier”, and being nominated at the Venice Film Festival. How did the idea of making movies come up while you’re busy as a singer?

It was a super cool experience. I like working in my music one hundred per percent, but diversification is also important to me. I want to deliver other things to the public. Another facet of mine. I don’t want to be labeled in only one thing. This reflects my intention to show the public other ways of expressing myself as an artist.

It is a strong theme, and your image is radically different on the screen, very short hair, washed face and simple clothing.

Yes, it is about a young woman accused of murdering her best friend. It was a unique experience to work with actors like Gael Garcia Bernal and Leonardo Sbaraglia as well. How does the family suffer the judicial process, the problem of a crime and how it affects society. An internal disorder. What happens to a father? This movie was like playing other keys on the keyboard for me, as an actress.

What’s next after finishing the Brava tour?

Continue with acting and immediately after the tour we have new singles in a week – “La Ligera” has a partner. Then I will be one of the presenters of the LATIN GRAMMY awards, and that is the second time they have invited me. It will be super interesting.

===============

The echo of the choreographers and theater staff is heard as background music during the phone conversation with Lali, and they let us know that the time is up for the interview. So we asked Lali to quickly answer the following “POP” questions:

DO YOU PREFER BLOND OR BLACK HAIR? Blond, for now …

RICKY MARTIN OR JULIO IGLESIAS? Ricky!

KATY PERRY, OR RIHANNA? Uff, this one is difficult, but I’m going for Katy Perry!

FAVORITE SINGER WHEN YOU WERE A GIRL? Queen Freddie Mercury

HOW MANY PAIRS SHOES ARE IN YOUR CLOSET? More than 400! I am a declared “Shoe Queen”. (laughs)

THE HIGHEST HEEL YOU HAVE WORN IN YOUR LIFE? Mmm I think 25 cm, high (about 9 inches) – I think!.

AS AN ARGENTINE AMBASSADOR WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE YOU RECOMMEND?

My country is very rich in everything! – either in the North, or in the South, Buenos Aires. Ahh, but the South is magical, like Patagonia, you can’t leave without visiting the South of Argentina!

http://larevistamujer.com/lali-esposito-from-argentina-to-the-world/

#lali esposito #la revista mujer #lali

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seekfirstme · 4 years

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Meditation: When you encounter misfortune, grief, or tragic loss, how do you respond? With fear or faith? With passive resignation or with patient hope and trust in God? We know from experience that no one can escape all of the inevitable trials of life - pain, suffering, sickness, and death. When Jesus began to teach his disciples he gave them a "way of happiness" that transcends every difficulty and trouble that can weigh us down with grief and despair. Jesus began his sermon on the mount by addressing the issue of where true happiness can be found. The word beatitude literally means happiness or blessedness. Jesus' way of happiness, however, demands a transformation from within - a conversion of heart and mind which can only come about through the gift and working of the Holy Spirit.

True happiness can only be fulfilled in God

How can one possibly find happiness in poverty, hunger, mourning, and persecution? If we want to be filled with the joy and happiness of heaven, then we must empty ourselves of all that would shut God out of our hearts. Poverty of spirit finds ample room and joy in possessing God alone as the greatest treasure possible. Hunger of the spirit seeks nourishment and strength in God's word and Spirit. Sorrow and mourning over wasted life and sin leads to joyful freedom from the burden of guilt and oppression.

The beatitudes strengthen us in virtue and excellence

Ambrose (339-397 A.D), an early church father and bishop of Milan, links the beatitudes with the four cardinal virtues which strengthen us in living a life of moral excellence. He writes: "Let us see how St. Luke encompassed the eight blessings in the four. We know that there are four cardinal virtues: temperance, justice, prudence and fortitude. One who is poor in spirit is not greedy. One who weeps is not proud but is submissive and tranquil. One who mourns is humble. One who is just does not deny what he knows is given jointly to all for us. One who is merciful gives away his own goods. One who bestows his own goods does not seek another's, nor does he contrive a trap for his neighbor. These virtues are interwoven and interlinked, so that one who has one may be seen to have several, and a single virtue befits the saints. Where virtue abounds, the reward too abounds... Thus temperance has purity of heart and spirit, justice has compassion, patience has peace, and endurance has gentleness." (EXPOSITION OF THE GOSPEL OF LUKE 5.62-63, 68).

No one can live without joy

God reveals to the humble of heart the true source of abundant life and happiness. Jesus promises his disciples that the joys of heaven will more than compensate for the troubles and hardships they can expect in this world. Thomas Aquinas said: "No person can live without joy. That is why someone deprived of spiritual joy goes after carnal pleasures." Do you know the joy and happiness of hungering and thirsting for God alone?

"Lord Jesus, increase my hunger for you and show me the way that leads to everlasting happiness and peace. May I desire you above all else and find perfect joy in doing your will."

OUT OF EGYPT

“The world as we know it is passing away.” —1 Corinthians 7:31

The Israelites in the desert preferred the food of slavery rather than the food of freedom (Nm 11:5). It was apparently easier for God to get the Israelites physically out of Egypt than it was to get Egypt out of Israel, that is to detach the Israelites from their attachment to the benefits and foods they had while they were slaves in Egypt.

Is anything holding you bound so that you cannot follow God? Ask Him to break those chains and set you free. Ask Jesus for the grace of detachment required to be set free of any attachments to the material things, blessings, and pleasures of this world, both good and bad. Earth will pass away, but the Word of God will never pass (Mt 5:18).

Since “the world as we know it is passing away” (1 Cor 7:31), “now is the acceptable time” (2 Cor 6:2). The Lord invites us: “Come now, let us set things right” (Is 1:18). “Why delay, then?” (Acts 22:16) “You are not to spend what remains of your earthly life on human desires but on the will of God. Already you have devoted enough time to what the pagans enjoy” (1 Pt 4:2-3).

Prayer: Father, may “our relation to this world [be] just like [that of Jesus]” (1 Jn 4:17).

Promise: “Blest shall you be when men hate you, when they ostracize you and insult you and proscribe your name as evil because of the Son of Man. On the day they do so, rejoice and exult, for your reward shall be great in heaven.” —Lk 6:22-23

Praise: St. Peter, the patron of the mission to slaves, truly imitated Christ. In Cartagena, Columbia, he sought out the African slave ships. In humility, he entered the infested holds to care for the sick and the dying.

Reference: (This teaching was submitted by a member of our editorial team.)

Rescript: "In accord with the Code of Canon Law, I hereby grant the Nihil Obstat for One Bread, One Body covering the period from August 1, through September 30, 2020. Most Reverend Joseph R. Binzer, Auxiliary Bishop, Vicar General Archdiocese of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, Ohio October 1, 2019"

The Nihil Obstat ("Permission to Publish") is a declaration that a book or pamphlet is considered to be free of doctrinal or moral error. It is not implied that those who have granted the Nihil Obstat agree with the contents, opinions, or statements

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[FN] Fantasy - Visitors Chapter 1

It's lonely up here, at the top of the world. Especially when the view is blocked by clouds in every direction.

I never wanted to be the strongest. I just wanted to protect people. I just wanted to save people.

Unfortunately I was terrible at it. So I left. I ran away.

I left the world I knew, and I didn't even seek another world to know. I just... found a mountain top to call home. I wasn't the most skilled carpenter, but I wasn't terrible at molding particles either. My teachers would have chided me for my lack of control, and “moderation of flow,” I think was the terminology used. After many failed attempts, and some manual labor, I had a dwelling, and even a sōzu. I felt at peace. Satisfied. I could simply sit, think, and not pay attention to anything else in the world.

Of course this is a lie. Mortal minds wander, even if you're dead. And there are always other people. Even in the farthest, most inhospitable tips of the world, where no sane human would venture, because really, there aren't /steps/ to climb, and if there are handholds you'd have to be a madman to grope in the mist for them.

But of course people exist, and there are some mad, venturous people who will visit you.

So it was one morning, that while I enjoyed some tea from my limited stock, my meditations were interrupted.

Truly you'd never have thought that this idiot would've made it up the mountain. Surely, anyone this foolish should've died to numerous other events that they dared venture into previously. But no, fate had spared him long enough for them to reach my humble abode.

"Can I help you?" I spoke, curious if this foreigner could even understand my tongue, or I his.

"Uhhh..." The word coming out of his mouth as he scanned the mountaintop was most likely stalling so he could conjure up something to say. I suppose I felt a certain pride that he was either impressed, or dumbfounded by the location. Anyone that needed to use feet to move certainly would have a hard time setting up a domicile here.

I maintained my kneeling position, bringing my hand up to my mouth to let out a polite cough, attempting to further along his brain processing. He took the cue, and finally managed to let out sentence, "Hey, do you live up here, all alone?"

I immediately suspected him of having a predatory nature, not that I should have anything to fear from this individual. If I had been at a disadvantage I may have lied, or refused to answer.

"Indeed. I dwell here by myself. Do you desire tea?" My stock was limited, but it would be rude not to offer such to a guest. And the language barrier apparently was no problem, though I was sure that we were both speaking tongues foreign to each other.

"Sure! Sorry for intruding like this, but, I didn't think anyone else would be up here! Like...I can't imagine living up here. Does... someone helicopter up supplies for you or something?" Amusing. I suppose it would be possible for a living person to reproduce the isolation in such a fashion. Such devices would break the tranquility, and I'm sure ruin much of the reason to be in a place such as this. My initial suspicion of him faded, it was an artifact of a mind once plagued with keeping order in a world left behind.

"Please, sit." I half invited, half ordered him to do. Truth be told I was looking forward to a chat. Also I did not want to explain to him what I had just explained to you about my nature. so I moved to one of my own questions. "What brings you up here?"

"Oh, I just thought that this looked like a good mountaintop to climb. Never really thought I'd find anything up here." He took a sip from a spare cup. "You know you could make a killing, catering to people who climb to places like this. Having something refreshing like this before the climb down, without having to lug it up here. It's a godsend."

Although it wasn't past certain agents to disguise themselves innocently like this to approach subjects, I did not detect a hint of treachery from this individual. Still, Second Branch had always been good at their jobs. "Do you plan on returning here?"

"I was going to climb a lot more mountains before the end of my vacation. But if any mountain deserves a return visit, it's definitely this one. Oh, I'm Ben."

I allowed my eyes to give a look of... scorn? Suspicion? I'd always been good at keeping my emotions in check, but perhaps I felt like such a carefree soul should be given some reminder that he may have wandered into a spider's den... or more fittingly a hawk's nest.

"Sen. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Feel free to rest as long as you need before your return journey. The stone can be quite slippery due to the mist, I would caution against climbing up again. The climb down will be treacherous as well." If this person called a helicopter for rescue it would be annoying for more people to be aware of this place. My smile returned and I did my best to dispel whatever impression I may have imparted with the previous gaze. "I do not mean to insult your skill, but are you sure you wish to risk it? Would it not be safer to call for a helicopter?"

"Nah, I've been doing this for a while. I'll be fine. Hey... do you actually live up here? I mean this is pretty out of the way. What do you do up here? Pretty sure you don't have wi-fi." Some passing concern in his voice. Adorable.

"I sit, I meditate, I relax. I contemplate the world, and everything I know, and imagine." It was most of the truth. I had gotten bored once, well, twice, and wandered down to a village or two just to finally explore the surroundings. And sample some food. Despite not needing typical nourishment, the human mind never forgets the taste of sweets.

"Hah, I guess that makes you a wiseman of the mountain, Wisewoman. Yah. Have any spiritual insight to share? Could always use more wisdom." If he actually believed in his own words, he wasn't an idiot. Unfortunately I was fairly certain that he was just making conversation.

"What meaning does death have, if there is just life after? And why is life so painful?" I was ambiguous of course about which life I was speaking of. I mean both had been painful I was sure, although I only had memories of this second, spiritual life.

"I don't know. I don't think it has to be though. Just gotta let things go." One of the old me's might've thrown him off the cliff just then. Or at least have given him a good toss into the air. Then again he was alive, and I'm sure he couldn't take the punishment, unlike my fellow spirits. I missed them. All of them. All of my friends from back then.

"And if you can't?"

"Well, if I had a guess. I'd say that even if you can't, hiding in the middle of nowhere won't help you try to let them." He looked a bit apologetic after he said those words, and I believed it sincere. "Sorry. I'll leave now."

"No need." I stood up and turned my back. "Stay as long as you like." I was definitely impolite in leaving him to sit alone, as I attended to some cleaning that happened to be available to distract myself with.

Wisely, he finished the tea with a gulp, and headed for a cliffside. There was no chance that I would try to kill him, but I did feel the impulse, and maybe so did he. More likely he was just cognizant enough to realize he had outstayed his welcome, and wished to avoid anymore unpleasantness. Perhaps now he wouldn't return. That would be for the best.

He did not say goodbye, and I listened to him scale back down, making sure he made it.I heard no cry for help that might've come if he had his grip, so I could've assumed he made it. Just in case I darted down, and peered from a distance to make sure he was walking away from the mountain along a path. He was fine.

(Upon reflection for finishing this part, I was always told to limit "I" and "me" and other pronouns back in school. However I want to talk from first person naturally, and it feels like I would use those words if writing from that perspective. Should I still try to avoid them? Thank you for your time if you do read this.)

-D.Xi

submitted by /u/D-Xi [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2I8d7wH

#Blogger #Story

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theplattexperiment-blog · 7 years

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Pray for: The world Reading: Proverbs 1-5 Purpose and Theme 1 The proverbs of Solomon son of David, king of Israel: 2 for gaining wisdom and instruction;  for understanding words of insight; 3 for receiving instruction in prudent behavior,  doing what is right and just and fair; 4 for giving prudence to those who are simple,[a]  knowledge and discretion to the young— 5 let the wise listen and add to their learning,  and let the discerning get guidance— 6 for understanding proverbs and parables,  the sayings and riddles of the wise.[b] 7 The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge,  but fools[c] despise wisdom and instruction. Prologue: Exhortations to Embrace Wisdom Warning Against the Invitation of Sinful Men 8 Listen, my son, to your father’s instruction  and do not forsake your mother’s teaching. 9 They are a garland to grace your head  and a chain to adorn your neck. 10 My son, if sinful men entice you,  do not give in to them. 11 If they say, “Come along with us;  let’s lie in wait for innocent blood,  let’s ambush some harmless soul; 12 let’s swallow them alive, like the grave,  and whole, like those who go down to the pit; 13 we will get all sorts of valuable things  and fill our houses with plunder; 14 cast lots with us;  we will all share the loot”— 15 my son, do not go along with them,  do not set foot on their paths; 16 for their feet rush into evil,  they are swift to shed blood. 17 How useless to spread a net  where every bird can see it! 18 These men lie in wait for their own blood;  they ambush only themselves! 19 Such are the paths of all who go after ill-gotten gain;  it takes away the life of those who get it. Wisdom’s Rebuke 20 Out in the open wisdom calls aloud,  she raises her voice in the public square; 21 on top of the wall[d] she cries out,  at the city gate she makes her speech: 22 “How long will you who are simple love your simple ways?  How long will mockers delight in mockery  and fools hate knowledge? 23 Repent at my rebuke!  Then I will pour out my thoughts to you,  I will make known to you my teachings. 24 But since you refuse to listen when I call  and no one pays attention when I stretch out my hand, 25 since you disregard all my advice  and do not accept my rebuke, 26 I in turn will laugh when disaster strikes you;  I will mock when calamity overtakes you— 27 when calamity overtakes you like a storm,  when disaster sweeps over you like a whirlwind,  when distress and trouble overwhelm you. 28 “Then they will call to me but I will not answer;  they will look for me but will not find me, 29 since they hated knowledge  and did not choose to fear the Lord. 30 Since they would not accept my advice  and spurned my rebuke, 31 they will eat the fruit of their ways  and be filled with the fruit of their schemes. 32 For the waywardness of the simple will kill them,  and the complacency of fools will destroy them; 33 but whoever listens to me will live in safety  and be at ease, without fear of harm.” Moral Benefits of Wisdom 2 My son, if you accept my words  and store up my commands within you, 2 turning your ear to wisdom  and applying your heart to understanding— 3 indeed, if you call out for insight  and cry aloud for understanding, 4 and if you look for it as for silver  and search for it as for hidden treasure, 5 then you will understand the fear of the Lord  and find the knowledge of God. 6 For the Lord gives wisdom;  from his mouth come knowledge and understanding. 7 He holds success in store for the upright,  he is a shield to those whose walk is blameless, 8 for he guards the course of the just  and protects the way of his faithful ones. 9 Then you will understand what is right and just  and fair—every good path. 10 For wisdom will enter your heart,  and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul. 11 Discretion will protect you,  and understanding will guard you. 12 Wisdom will save you from the ways of wicked men,  from men whose words are perverse, 13 who have left the straight paths  to walk in dark ways, 14 who delight in doing wrong  and rejoice in the perverseness of evil, 15 whose paths are crooked  and who are devious in their ways. 16 Wisdom will save you also from the adulterous woman,  from the wayward woman with her seductive words, 17 who has left the partner of her youth  and ignored the covenant she made before God.[e] 18 Surely her house leads down to death  and her paths to the spirits of the dead. 19 None who go to her return  or attain the paths of life. 20 Thus you will walk in the ways of the good  and keep to the paths of the righteous. 21 For the upright will live in the land,  and the blameless will remain in it; 22 but the wicked will be cut off from the land,  and the unfaithful will be torn from it. Wisdom Bestows Well-Being 3 My son, do not forget my teaching,  but keep my commands in your heart, 2 for they will prolong your life many years  and bring you peace and prosperity. 3 Let love and faithfulness never leave you;  bind them around your neck,  write them on the tablet of your heart. 4 Then you will win favor and a good name  in the sight of God and man. 5 Trust in the Lord with all your heart  and lean not on your own understanding; 6 in all your ways submit to him,  and he will make your paths straight.[f] 7 Do not be wise in your own eyes;  fear the Lord and shun evil. 8 This will bring health to your body  and nourishment to your bones. 9 Honor the Lord with your wealth,  with the firstfruits of all your crops; 10 then your barns will be filled to overflowing,  and your vats will brim over with new wine. 11 My son, do not despise the Lord’s discipline,  and do not resent his rebuke, 12 because the Lord disciplines those he loves,  as a father the son he delights in.[g] 13 Blessed are those who find wisdom,  those who gain understanding, 14 for she is more profitable than silver  and yields better returns than gold. 15 She is more precious than rubies;  nothing you desire can compare with her. 16 Long life is in her right hand;  in her left hand are riches and honor. 17 Her ways are pleasant ways,  and all her paths are peace. 18 She is a tree of life to those who take hold of her;  those who hold her fast will be blessed. 19 By wisdom the Lord laid the earth’s foundations,  by understanding he set the heavens in place; 20 by his knowledge the watery depths were divided,  and the clouds let drop the dew. 21 My son, do not let wisdom and understanding out of your sight,  preserve sound judgment and discretion; 22 they will be life for you,  an ornament to grace your neck. 23 Then you will go on your way in safety,  and your foot will not stumble. 24 When you lie down, you will not be afraid;  when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet. 25 Have no fear of sudden disaster  or of the ruin that overtakes the wicked, 26 for the Lord will be at your side  and will keep your foot from being snared. 27 Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due,  when it is in your power to act. 28 Do not say to your neighbor,  “Come back tomorrow and I’ll give it to you”—  when you already have it with you. 29 Do not plot harm against your neighbor,  who lives trustfully near you. 30 Do not accuse anyone for no reason—  when they have done you no harm. 31 Do not envy the violent  or choose any of their ways. 32 For the Lord detests the perverse  but takes the upright into his confidence. 33 The Lord’s curse is on the house of the wicked,  but he blesses the home of the righteous. 34 He mocks proud mockers  but shows favor to the humble and oppressed. 35 The wise inherit honor,  but fools get only shame. Get Wisdom at Any Cost 4 Listen, my sons, to a father’s instruction;  pay attention and gain understanding. 2 I give you sound learning,  so do not forsake my teaching. 3 For I too was a son to my father,  still tender, and cherished by my mother. 4 Then he taught me, and he said to me,  “Take hold of my words with all your heart;  keep my commands, and you will live. 5 Get wisdom, get understanding;  do not forget my words or turn away from them. 6 Do not forsake wisdom, and she will protect you;  love her, and she will watch over you. 7 The beginning of wisdom is this: Get[h]wisdom.  Though it cost all you have,[i] get understanding. 8 Cherish her, and she will exalt you;  embrace her, and she will honor you. 9 She will give you a garland to grace your head  and present you with a glorious crown.” 10 Listen, my son, accept what I say,  and the years of your life will be many. 11 I instruct you in the way of wisdom  and lead you along straight paths. 12 When you walk, your steps will not be hampered;  when you run, you will not stumble. 13 Hold on to instruction, do not let it go;  guard it well, for it is your life. 14 Do not set foot on the path of the wicked  or walk in the way of evildoers. 15 Avoid it, do not travel on it;  turn from it and go on your way. 16 For they cannot rest until they do evil;  they are robbed of sleep till they make someone stumble. 17 They eat the bread of wickedness  and drink the wine of violence. 18 The path of the righteous is like the ‪morning sun‬,  shining ever brighter till the full light of day. 19 But the way of the wicked is like deep darkness;  they do not know what makes them stumble. 20 My son, pay attention to what I say;  turn your ear to my words. 21 Do not let them out of your sight,  keep them within your heart; 22 for they are life to those who find them  and health to one’s whole body. 23 Above all else, guard your heart,  for everything you do flows from it. 24 Keep your mouth free of perversity;  keep corrupt talk far from your lips. 25 Let your eyes look straight ahead;  fix your gaze directly before you. 26 Give careful thought to the[j] paths for your feet  and be steadfast in all your ways. 27 Do not turn to the right or the left;  keep your foot from evil. Warning Against Adultery 5 My son, pay attention to my wisdom,  turn your ear to my words of insight, 2 that you may maintain discretion  and your lips may preserve knowledge. 3 For the lips of the adulterous woman drip honey,  and her speech is smoother than oil; 4 but in the end she is bitter as gall,  sharp as a double-edged sword. 5 Her feet go down to death;  her steps lead straight to the grave. 6 She gives no thought to the way of life;  her paths wander aimlessly, but she does not know it. 7 Now then, my sons, listen to me;  do not turn aside from what I say. 8 Keep to a path far from her,  do not go near the door of her house, 9 lest you lose your honor to others  and your dignity[k] to one who is cruel, 10 lest strangers feast on your wealth  and your toil enrich the house of another. 11 At the end of your life you will groan,  when your flesh and body are spent. 12 You will say, “How I hated discipline!  How my heart spurned correction! 13 I would not obey my teachers  or turn my ear to my instructors. 14 And I was soon in serious trouble  in the assembly of God’s people.” 15 Drink water from your own cistern,  running water from your own well. 16 Should your springs overflow in the streets,  your streams of water in the public squares? 17 Let them be yours alone,  never to be shared with strangers. ‪18 ‬ ‪May your fountain be blessed,‬  and may you rejoice in the wife of your youth. 19 A loving doe, a graceful deer—  may her breasts satisfy you always,  may you ever be intoxicated with her love. 20 Why, my son, be intoxicated with another man’s wife?  Why embrace the bosom of a wayward woman? 21 For your ways are in full view of the Lord,  and he examines all your paths. 22 The evil deeds of the wicked ensnare them;  the cords of their sins hold them fast. 23 For lack of discipline they will die,  led astray by their own great folly.

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