#Biblical Fragrances

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i’ve always loved the way you eat ; suguru geto

synopsis; suguru is a morning person. he likes the serenity of it all; the quiet of the early hours, the expensive feel of his coffee pot. more than anything, he likes bringing you breakfast in bed.

word count; 4.9k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, just comfy morning vibes, fluff fluff fluff!!, suguru being a good soon-to-be husband, lots of petnames, reader is whipped (and so am i) but suguru is even worse, i need him biblically.

a/n; this is my personal essay on why suguru geto is the perfect man and wife. bon appetit !!

something smells good.

as your eyelids flutter open, and you gradually slip out of sleep’s fuzzy embrace, you are engulfed by that one thought. that one sensation.

there’s a sweet fragrance in the air, an unnamed something you can’t place. a force of love.

soft sunrays flit in through the haphazardly closed window blinds of your bedroom, cascading across the floorboards and bouncing off the walls. splotches of sunshine envelop you in a hazy kind of glow; gentle and coaxing, stirring you awake. it feels good on your skin.

indulging in a few more slow blinks, you shift to lie on your back, halfheartedly attempting to chase the sleepiness away. tangled up in silken sheets and fluffy blankets, you stare at the ceiling — but even such a mundane task feels so nice. just wallowing in the tantalizing scent drifting through the bedroom, the flurry of little kisses that the sun smothers you with. 

it’s still early, and you’re still sleepy. outside the walls of your apartment, the sun is rising to its feet, dyeing the world in warm colours; violets and blues melting into pinks and oranges, like an egg cracked open on the canvas of the sky. everything is quiet, not a sound to be heard except for the very distant chirping of cicadas from the trees outside your window. utter peace. like time isn’t even passing.

in the midst of such a precious moment, all you want is to laze around. it’s just that kind of pleasant, mellow morning; the kind that makes you wish the sun would never fully rise.

a satisfied little sigh slips from your lips. content to soak in the heavenly feeling until it passes, your eyes flutter shut — you’re just so sleepy, and the sun just feels so warm. soothing you, making it even harder to stay awake, cradling you in its hazy embrace. sunlit and saccharine.

with the morning fatigue clouding your senses, you don’t even notice the other presence in the room. 

suguru smiles, from his spot by the door — leaning against the wall and gazing at your relaxed expression, an immense fondness reflected in his eyes. taking a moment to silently admire you.

you look so content. tangled up in blankets and pillows, with your limbs outstretched and starfished across the mattress. your hair is a little messy, and you’re drooling just a smidge, wearing his shirt; it’s a couple sizes too big for you, slipping off your shoulder and exposing your sunkissed skin. as suguru’s eyes trail over your features, the fond smile on his face only grows, shifting into something honeyed and giddy. 

you’re perfect, he thinks. absolutely perfect.

a moment passes. then another. suguru continues to stare, as if trying to etch the image of you into his memory. trying to prolong the moment for as long as he can. 

until, finally, he’s had his fill. simply admiring you from afar isn’t enough — he needs to see you up close, needs to hear the sleepy little tilt of your voice. so he opts to make his presence known, voice gravelly and sweet, echoing softly throughout the room.

“good morning, sweetheart.”

softly, your eyes flicker open. the familiar voice sends a tremor of something running through your chest — and suddenly, it feels as if some of the sleep clinging to your skin has been washed away. it’s a little easier to make yourself move, shifting to your side to get a better look at the source of the sound.

and the warmth that blossoms in your chest when your eyes meet suguru’s is almost overwhelming.

(god, he’s pretty.)

suguru looks perfect, in the morning. he looks like the rest of your life. hair a little messy, tied up into a lazy half-done bun, silky black strands cascading down his neck. and wearing a pair of comfy sweatpants that hang a little low on his hips, but no shirt — showing off the curve of his tiny waist, the slight twitch of his arms when he indulges in an idle stretch. 

you try to restrain yourself from ogling his bare chest and arms too much, but it’s tough. frighteningly so. with the sunlight embracing his skin, muscles on full display, he looks a bit like a sculpture. a little too good to be real.

but he is. and he’s yours. and he’s smirking at you, lazily, affectionately — eyes half-lidded as he balances the tray that’s making the room smell so sweet. just standing there, looking so unfairly gorgeous. waiting for you to muster up the energy to respond to his greeting, more than happy to watch the way your eyes soften as they trail across his features in the meantime.

“morning,” is all you can rasp, eyes closing as your cheek sinks deeper into the mattress. a bit too tired to talk to him properly, and a bit too unguarded to look at him without feeling as if your heart is about to leap out of your throat. 

he’s a little too pretty, like this. framed by the hazy sunshine, like something out of a dream. all soft clouds and gentle caresses, the scent of dried lavender, the pitter patter of rain against a windowsill. all things kind and comforting. 

you’re afraid that your heart might give out, if you look at him for too long.

suguru doesn’t seem to mind. he only chuckles, voice deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. his lips quirk up into a smooth kind of smile, and he’s quick to make his way to your side; crouching down to meet you at eye level after placing the tray on the nightstand.

a hand comes to caress your cheek. the rough pads of his fingers smooth down your jaw, gentle and doting, as if coaxing you out of hiding. as if you’re made of porcelain. suguru always treats you like you’re fragile, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

(because you are, he thinks. more precious than the expensive vanilla extract he used to make the waffles on the tray, more precious than the diamond-clad ring he’s hidden away in a drawer of the guest room. more precious than anything this world has to offer.)

a blissful little sigh slips from your lips, as you nuzzle into his palm. suguru leans forward to smear a kiss against your forehead, overcome with fondness; warm lips lingering on your skin.

the sensation strikes you as just a little heavenly. his touch is so tender, every caress so full of love. instinctual, the way his love bleeds into his touch, trickles down his veins to the tips of his fingers — smoothing along your skin. such a heavy thing, but he just makes it feel so light. 

“still sleepy?” he hums, a little teasing. eyes crinkling, voice bordering on a coo.

and it’s infuriating. the amusement that flickers through his eyes, the way you can tell he’s itching to tease you for being so groggy and tired.

between the two of you, suguru’s always been the one to get out of bed first, to your grave annoyance. and he’s so smug about it. you want to tell him that waking up so early on a saturday isn’t normal, that he’s the weird one for not being sleepy — 

but when he’s cupping your cheek so gently, all you manage is a meek little murmur of mm. one that has suguru stifling a coo, lips curling up into an adoring smile. 

look at you. his sleepy little baby, dyed in sunrays and tiny specks of dust. so effortlessly pretty, tangled up in fluffy blankets, an image so precious he almost feels like he shouldn’t be looking at it. yet he continues to do so, mesmerized.

(suguru doesn’t mind being a little greedy, when it comes to you.)

“i made you breakfast,” he continues, as you melt into his touch. an absentminded action, but almost brimming with trust; the trust you have in him to treat you well. one he’ll always, always affirm. “your favorite. wanna eat with me?”

breakfast.

something in your brain visibly reacts to the sound of the word, shooing away a little of the morning fatigue still clouding your senses. before you know it, you’ve forced yourself into a sitting position, with groggy movements and a soft groan. rubbing the skin beneath your eyes and kicking the blanket off your legs, a little clumsily.

suguru breathes out a soft bout of laughter, low and amused, as you lazily stretch and indulge in slow blinks. his hand goes to ruffle your hair, and all you do is lean into it.

“i’ll take that as a yes,” he teases, eyes full of fondness. you crack a sleepy smile at his amused tone of voice.

suguru’s hands are big, and a little rough, but still so very soft. you could spend hours tracing them — from the tips of his fingers down to the veins of his wrist, across his knuckles littered with small scratches and barely visible scars. stories of his childhood, that he loves telling you about, almost as much as you love hearing them.

you love his hands. they’re so pretty. so warm and grounding, as they smooth down your hair, unmistakably caring. the weight of them is a comfort, as his fingers card through your bedhead, scratching softly at your scalp. a sensation that makes you feel all fuzzy inside.

suguru is just so good to you.

and you’re only further reminded of that fact when your gaze trails over to the assortment of breakfast foods he’s prepared, neatly stacked on the nightstand. all your favorites, made with so much love; and it’s so evident, even just in the presentation. the freshness of the strawberry slices, the perfect amount of syrup spread over the waffles. the cup of coffee made just the way you like it.

maybe it’s the morning fatigue, or just the softness of the moment. the intimacy, so palpable you can almost reach out and touch it. or maybe it’s something else entirely — whatever the cause, you feel your eyes get somewhat glassy. 

a meek little sniffle leaves your lips, and it catches even you off guard.

suguru blinks. suddenly alert, his morning-fatigued brain trying to comprehend the sight of your teary eyes. brain spinning in circles, not sure if it should be telling him to panic just yet. something in him constricts, twists and turns, a desperate kind of yearning to protect you.

but before he can even reach out to wipe away the wetness with his thumb, you’ve latched yourself onto him.

arms snug around his waist, face tucked under his chin. fitting into him like a puzzle piece. breathing in the remnants of the cologne on his neck; a nice bergamot mix that you like, so he sprays on a little extra just for you. so close to him that you can feel the patter of his heart against you, as you soak in his body warmth. 

and his arms find their way around your form just as naturally, without him even having to think. like every bone in his body was born with a desire to cradle you close. like he was crafted in the image of someone made to soothe you. 

being in suguru’s arms is pure bliss. the most grounding sensation you know, one that never fails to calm you down, no matter how stressed or anxious you’re feeling. with his broad chest and strong arms, his bergamot-scented skin. so doting, pressing little kisses to your shoulder, trying to console you. his hair tickles your cheek a little, but it’s comforting.

”what’s wrong, honey?” he questions, voice set on a low, particularly soothing lilt. coaxing, almost cooing — a tone that buzzes with safety. his big hands go to rest on your head and back, smoothing down your spine.

”nothing,” you sniffle. feeling a little silly. ”you’re just too perfect. ‘s not fair.”

a pause. 

then, a chuckle bubbles up from suguru’s throat. something fond and delightful unfurls in his chest, a kind of relief; a feather-light amusement.

(you’re so ridiculous, he thinks.)

but you only nuzzle further into his neck, all sleepy and affectionate — and it stirs his heartstrings in a way that makes him feel rather helpless. crumbling beneath your touch. gazing at you with soft eyes, a happy little hum buzzing in his throat.

he takes you in, in all your clingy glory; so impossibly sweet. maybe he should have sprinkled some sugar on the strawberry slices, just to see if the taste could ever measure up.

”ah, is that so?” he drawls, a lazy amusement flickering through his eyes. playful. ”i’m sorry, baby. i should be the one saying that to you, though.”

but you just shake your head, arms tightening around his midriff. as if offended that he’d have the audacity to brush off your objectively correct statement, to even think to deny how perfect he is. 

and suguru raises a brow at you, in tandem, a mild protest resting on the tip of his tongue — offended at your blatant disrespect, shaking your head at his factually correct words, as if disagreeing with your own evident perfection. 

but before he can even begin to fight you on the topic, you part your lips to speak.

”thanks for breakfast, sugu,” you sleepily murmur, biting back a yawn. still a little meek, but oh so loving. ”i would die for you.”

he stills, once more. then another soft bout of laughter escapes his lungs, rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm. it makes you feel so terribly safe.

“there’s no need for that,” he assures you. ”don’t you wanna eat instead?”

to his surprise, he’s met with another soft shake of your head. so snug in his embrace that you could practically live there, only clinging to him a little tighter with a huff.

”just wanna hug you first…” you yawn, arms squeezing at his waist affectionately. shifting in his hold until your lips find their way to his neck.

”i love you,” you mumble, kissing down his jaw and collarbone. sleepy, open mouthed pecks, trailing over the expanse of his pretty skin. ”so much.”

it tickles, a little. suguru digs his teeth into his cheek, ever so slightly, just to hold back the giggle that threatens to break out from his throat.

and it’s maybe just a little too sweet, the sensation that blossoms in his chest, something honeyed and flowery; fluttering deep within his ribcage, like a dragonfly buzzing and trying to break free. it gets him a little weak in the knees.

to distract himself from the voice in his head urging him to go get the ring in the guest room drawer right this instant, suguru scoops you up. cradling you close, as he plops down on the mattress, legs crossed to give you space on his lap.

you don’t protest, only snuggling a little closer — as if yearning to tuck yourself away within his ribcage. 

and suguru chuckles, the deep tremor of his voice reverberating through his chest, echoing in your head as you listen to the rhythmic beating of his heart. rubbing your back with a teasing smile, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head.

“i should make breakfast more often if it’ll get you like this,” he grins, basking in the warmth of your body against his. 

a little whine falls from your lips. muffled into the curve of his shoulder, against his bare skin. “it’s not about the breakfast,” you pout, looping your arms around his neck. “it’s everything you do…”

a heat rises to your cheeks, a little embarrassed at the sappiness you’re exuding. but the sun feels so nice on your skin, and the bedroom smells so good, and the whole world feels so kind. 

inhaling the fragrance of bergamot and coffee, you can only fall apart at the intimacy of the moment. 

“i’m really grateful…” you murmur, resting your lips against his skin. buzzing with a warmth that has him shuddering. “‘m just bad at expressing it.”

suguru’s eyes soften. melting into a tender hue, like that of a creamsicle sunrise sky. a dreamy look smoothes over his features, and a fond hum buzzes in his throat.

“nah, you’re fine,” he drawls, squeezing at your hips affectionately. pulling away ever so slightly, just to plant a kiss on your forehead, brushing your bangs away with a certain bleeding tenderness. “you don’t need to say it out loud. i know, anyway.”

and he does. suguru understands you better than anyone; a point of immense pride, for him. knowing you so deeply that he can practically hear your thoughts before you speak them, knowing what you need at a single glance. just from a certain furrow of your brows, or the slight tilt of a smile you’re trying to hide. 

always one step ahead, folding your laundry on days you’re feeling particularly stressed out, or giving your hand a comforting squeeze when he notices that you’re nervous. always so attentive. it’s a little overwhelming, but also so comforting — to be so thoroughly understood.

his eyes are warm. full of pure affection, a devotion so heavy it makes your heart stutter in your chest. all you can do is glance down, shyly, slumping your forehead against his bare chest. 

your voice comes out a little strangled, still raspy. a little wobbly in the wake of your adoration.

“i wanna appreciate you…” is muffled against his skin, your lips curled down into a soft pout. and suguru breathes out a flustered little breath, amused — somewhat delighted.

“you can appreciate me by eating a hearty breakfast,” he suggests, a teasing tilt to his husky voice. cradling you just a little closer, as if even the miniscule distance between you is unbearable. as if he needs your hearts pressed together to keep himself intact. “how about that, hm? or would you rather give me a kiss?”

a moment passes, and a sleepy hum slips from your tongue. he feels your lips touch the soft skin of his neck, once more; then you muster up the strength to pull back from his embrace, slumping against his shoulder with your back against the headboard. it takes concentrated effort.

and suguru chuckles, again. odd, how a man who’s normally so put-together can’t seem to ever hide his joy whenever you’re around. but suguru is just a little too weak for you — he can’t help but let you strum his heartstrings along, however you want. any kind of melody you desire.

(it just so happens that no melody sounds prettier than a joyous one, when it’s falling from his lips.)

a lovesick smile painted on his face, suguru watches as you finally dig in. and he thinks it’s precious, the strawberry juice smearing your lips, the contentment in your features as your eyelids flutter shut. a mellow kind of pride swells in his chest with every satisfied hum that you grace him with, every giddy declaration of how delicious it all is. 

there’s something about it he can’t quite explain, can’t put his finger on. something almost otherworldly, in how fulfilled it makes him feel, like he’s lived his entire life just for this moment. just for the sake of making you breakfast and watching you wolf it all down.

suguru doesn’t think there's a single better way to show his love for you than this; cooking for you, putting every last drop of his love into everything he makes. from beverages to pastries, each of them carefully chosen to suit your tastes.

there’s an intensity to the labour, something that brings him great joy. the care and excitement in something as small as the flick of his wrist when he pours sugar into your coffee, or the weight he puts on the kitchen knife while cutting the fresh strawberries he spent four minutes picking out at the market.

there’s something about it that’s just so, so tender. that earnest wish to see you happy and healthy, to make sure you never go hungry. taking care of you. it's pure, domestic, love incarnate. he’s so weak for it, so sappy, but he just can’t help it — suguru loves watching you eat his cooking more than anything.

that, and your blissful little expression is a sight to behold. sunkissed by the morning rays flitting in through the window blinds, suguru thinks you look something like an angel, soft and fleeting and so beautiful it makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. heavy thumps of blood; warmth trickling from his heart to his wrists to the pads of his fingers, as he rubs absentminded circles into the skin of your thighs.

and he thinks to himself that all the happiness he needs is right here in front of him. in this moment, with you tiredly munching on the breakfast he made, sipping slowly from your cup of coffee and savouring every last drop. smiling at him so sweetly, so positively precious that he simply can't resist leaning down to taste the caffeine off your lips. 

everything feels so wonderful, so completely and utterly right. the world feels so kind, like this. a world where all that exists is you, and him, and the sun. heaven on earth.

all of it sends a tremor running through his heart, every slight change of the scene reflected in his eyes. the soft smile on your lips, the way you lean your head against his shoulder and bite back a yawn, the expectant look in your eyes as you feed him pieces of your food with a giddy grin —

suguru thinks to himself that he’d sooner die than give it up. 

as much as he loves sleeping in, loves indulging in your warmth until the sun sits comfortably on the blue canvas of the sky, he loves this even more. loves dragging himself out of bed before the sun even has a chance to peek out beneath the horizon painted pink and purple, tired and groggy, and so disgruntled at the warmth that leaves him when he pulls away from your skin. loves making his way to the kitchen almost in a daze, moving around the open space so very naturally; fingers curling around the lid of the espresso machine, and the crinkled paper bag of pastries, and the carton of orange juice he bought just for you.

just watching the world wake up, basking in the peace and domesticity of it all. basking in the thought of you — you, with your messy bedhead and droopy eyes, always blinking up at him so sleepily when he returns to you in the morning. he loves it all.

the soft little frown that sometimes tugs at your lips when you’re still lost in dreamland, blindly and subconsciously reaching for the empty side of the bed when he gets up to stretch. the weight of your arms around his waist, hugging his back on the somewhat rare occasion that you make your way to him before he makes his way to you. the grumbles against his skin about how he always abandons you on your days off, even if he only does it so he can make you both coffee.

you, in all your glory — now resting against his shoulder as you plop the last strawberry into your mouth, closing your eyes with a blissful little sigh.

and suguru feels so lucky. so very honoured, to be the one you chose. the one and only person who gets to see you like this, when your voice is still raspy and your hair is still messy, and you have crumbs sticking to your soft lips that you're too sleepy to wipe away.

he does so, himself, with an amused little huff that’s really more of a sigh laced with adoration. thumb smoothing over your skin gently, a silent i love you hanging on the tip of his tongue. his fingers find their way to your skin so effortlessly. like they belong there, like they exist solely to trace the softness of your jaw and to cradle your cheek.

”thank you,” you beam up at him, grinning sweetly. 

and suguru knows that you mean it. he knows that you’re grateful, knows not a moment goes by when you don’t notice his affections, no matter how subtle. he thinks you're a little bit silly for worrying that he doesn't. but he thinks you're even sillier for not realizing that you deserve all of it and more, that just that sweet smile of yours alone is more than enough to make up for it.

more than anything, he hopes from the bottom of his heart that you know the opposite is true as well. that he appreciates every single thing you do, notices everything you do for him, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem to you.

you're so good to him. always have been. how could he ever bear to not repay you in tenfold?

”you’re welcome,” he smiles, soft and saccharine and genuine. his lips brush against your forehead with a soft peck, one that has your body melting into his just a little more.

breakfast passes you both by in a flurry of warmth, splotches of sunlight and content hums, until you’re lying side by side beneath the blankets once again. curled up close to each other, with you resting on suguru’s chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart. his arm rests on your back, cradling you closer.

”that was delicious,” you chirp, something soft buzzing in your voice as you bite back a yawn. stretching your limbs out lazily, a honeyed smile on your face. ”as always.”

suguru’s a little too tired to fully hide the soft grin that crawls up to rest on his lips, almost smug. awfully happy with himself, and your words of earnest praise.

“yeah? ’m glad,” he hums, looking at you with affection swimming in his eyes. ”i haven’t lost my touch yet, then.”

”of course not,” you exhale, somewhere in between a huff and a chirp. “you could start a whole breakfast diner with your skills!”

the words are teasing, a little much, but laced with a syrupy sweet sincerity that has suguru’s heart doing laps in his chest. thump, thump, thump — strumming his heartstrings along as you please, conducting the orchestra inside his ribcage. but he’d much prefer to think of you as his muse.

a low chuckle rumbles through his body, akin to a purr. buzzing right by your ear, as his fingers curl around yours, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin of your hand. ”you think so?” 

an eager nod, as you gaze up at him happily. the sight makes his lips twitch upward, and he can only hope you don’t catch the way his heart skips a beat.

smoothing a large palm over your head, he tousles your hair fondly. ”yeah?” he chuckles, again. “you'll be my first customer, then.”

the smile on your face widens. ”will i get a discount?” you ask, a fuzzy contentment in the way your eyes glimmer. ”since i’m your favorite.”

suguru grins. a husky puff of laughter seeps out of his throat, filling the air with a palpable fondness. it’s almost overwhelming, the affection that simmers in his chest, a cup overflowing. he wants to reach over and smother you in kisses, wants to coo at you. wants to tell you how irresistable you are, like this; so cute and sleepy that he thinks you could probably coax him into giving you every star in the sky.

but that can all wait for another time. he doesn’t want to break the peace of the mellow moment, the subtle intimacy that lingers in the air. the playfulness in your words.

”of course,” he simply says, indulging you with a sweet smile. ”you’ll get all the discounts you want, baby. nothing less for my favorite customer.”

suguru’s eyes crinkle, brimming with love when he hears the happy little giggle that tumbles from your pretty lips. so pretty that he can’t resist pulling you a little closer, to give you another kiss — relishing in the way you soften against him. like you could fall asleep just like this, so safe and comfortable. breathing him in.

sunlight shines in through the window blinds, engulfing you in that familiar heavenly hue. your bedroom almost seems to glow, like a hazy polaroid, a moment that feels too precious to put into words. 

you look stunning, he thinks, with your droopy eyes and sleepy yawns. absolutely breathtaking. soaked in a brightness rivaling that of the sun herself, the most precious thing this world has to offer.

and suguru thinks to himself that this might just be it. that this might be all that he needs, all that he’ll ever need — but he already knew that.

he thinks of sunrises. of soft embraces and fluffy blankets, of expensive coffee pots and diamond rings, of the way your lips curl up every time he kisses you. he thinks of the light of morning, how it always seems to devour everything else. how it makes every sliver of darkness seem so inconsequential.

he thinks of how your presence always seems to do the same. 

when suguru looks down, pulled out of his lovesick stupor by the sound of a little snore, you’ve fallen back asleep. cheek squished against his bare chest, drooling a smidge as you dream so prettily, your chest rising up and down in a rhythmic serenity.

his heart flutters. fleeting and giddy, a little dove trapped in his chest. with a sweet coo, he reaches over to caress your skin with the back of his hand, careful not to wake you — so gentle that he holds his breath, as if afraid that even a single exhale could disrupt your well-deserved rest. 

butterflies dance in his stomach, when he sees the way that makes you smile. a whirlwind of them, wings fluttering eagerly, as if attempting to fly out of his throat. he gulps them down again, but he can still feel them. just like he could when you first met.

butterflies that still haven't gone away, despite how long you’ve been together. butterflies that never will go away, as long as there are plates to fill and breakfasts to be made.

in other words, they're there to stay — forever and ever.

(suguru’s gaze falls on your ring finger. he thinks of the secret in the bottom of the drawer, and wonders what kind of breakfast he should make for you when it’s time to bring it out.)

#im normal abt him!! i swear i am!!!!! #smth about extremely devoted malewives with black hair just do it for me #suguru geto n aki hayakawa are like this🤞in my brain #i think suguru was like. crafted specifically to look good in the morning #like that deep voice……. his hair in a messy bun………. wearing sweatpants w no shirt……………….. i am on my hands n knees #this ended up almost as a parallel to my gojo fic…. it wasnt even intentional blame stsgs soulmatism #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto x reader #geto fluff #geto suguru x you #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jjk

[meowkn]

𝐹𝒶𝓁𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓉

Warnings- light smut, use of cannibalism as a metaphor for love.

Word count- 5kish

          𓍯 ִֶָ .「 ✦ False saint ✦ 」

I want you to always remember me. Will you remember that I existed, that I stood next to you here like this? You were always so fragile in the morning, unable to hold onto anything long enough to care about it. You can’t pretend that we always keep what we find.  Everybody splits apart, living in the wake of the overwhelming changes. We’ve become strangers, even to ourselves. I believed you, when you told me that we’d never be apart. And so maybe that was more my fault than it was yours. We were once evidence of a love that transcends hunger, I still remember what you told me, “To be loved means to be consumed. To love means to radiate with inexhaustible light. To be loved is to pass away, to love is to endure.” You said that after our first night together, and so those words remain biblical to me.  I still miss you to pieces. 

You’re somewhere with light touching you. 

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

  I dipped my hands in holy water just to touch him. 

The first rain shower was always the gloomiest, especially in this town. They always told you that April showers bring May flowers, but for you it just brought back the aching feeling of fruitlessness. You’ve gotten used to the emptiness over the years, the sound of the hollow floorboards creaking underneath your feet as you walk around the pier, the wooden boards weathered and worn, familiar and comforting. This is how a girl becomes holy; she becomes empty. The pitter patter of the rain echoed around your feet, the gentle breeze blowing around you like a mothers caress. You felt a hand grab your wrist, pulling you out of your thoughts. The blur of soft blonde hair awakened your senses as the fruitless sensation left your chest. His bright blue eyes and mellow aura blurred in your blurred vision stood out to you as he spoke to you. 

“I knew I’d find you here.” His voice rang out, flashing you his usual boyish smile. Recently you’ve grown acquainted with a boy, for the first time, in what? Years? It was strange, you saw him next to the pier, your pier, that has now become his as well. He muted the aching feeling that was in your head, so you kept him around. He was nice enough, a little sheepish, but still undeniably charming. 

You looked up at his face, the dim light caressing the contours of it. The sound of his voice immediately filled you with a sense of solace. His words rang through your ears as he spoke to you. He knew where to find you. Of course he did. He had learned you and your habits well enough to know that in times of melancholy you’d be found out here; on the pier; watching the rain fall as the baroness of the town enveloped you. Without you realizing, he had learned your secrets, and now he was taking what he had learned and using it to seek you out. Have you really become this easy? 

This boy was dangerous and you knew it. 

He held your wrist tightly, pulling you away from the pier and taking you further down the shore. The rain had slowed down to a gentle drizzle and the clouds were beginning to break away. You were surprised at the suddenness with which he was dragging you so far away from the pier, but you went along with it, curious to see where he could be taking you, or maybe it was the feeling of comfort his hand around your wrist gave you that made you follow him. “Armin, where are we going?” You asked, your voice quiet from not using it all, you were getting more curious as he  continued to lead you away from the pier, dragging you deeper and deeper into the woods. Your senses were beginning to sharpen as the rain and clouds cleared, and the forest around you was becoming more vivid and detailed. The trees were tall and thick, and the dirt path under your feet soft and loamy, the scent of the lush greenery around you filling your nose with a fresh and gentle fragrance. You’ve always enjoyed the smell after it rains. 

“I want to show you something.”  He said, flashing you a lazy smile over his shoulder, his hair falling perfectly into his eyes, you never understood how someone could look so, seraphic. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before quickly leading you further into the woods. Armin finally came to a sudden stop, turning to look at you with an expectant expression. You had no idea what he wanted to show you, or even why you followed him blindly into the woods. The wind had kicked up and the trees were swaying in the breeze, the birds singing softly in the branches. There was a small clearing, covered in rich green grass, which was dotted with patches of clover and wildflowers. It was idyllic. He led you through the clearing before stopping once more, pulling you closer to him and bringing you to a sudden stop. His eyes locked with yours, and a soft smile of longing crossed his features. He was staring at you with such intensity, it felt like you could get lost in those eyes of his. The thought made you dizzy.

“Look up here, look towards the sky.” He said softly, his hand wrapping around yours and pulling you with him as he reached up towards the sky. “Can you see it?” He whispered softly, leaning even closer to you and bringing his face within inches of yours. His eyes were shining brightly, they looked like heaven.  Whenever you looked at him you realized just how fragile and unholy you truly were, you wanted him to make you holy, with that little boyish smile and curls of blonde that could only be described as the purest thing.  “You wanted to show me… The sky?” You hesitated, looking up at the sky, there wasn’t anything notable about it. The clouds were clearing up and the stars were dim in the vastness of the early night. You could hear the laughter in his voice as he pulled you down with him, sitting on the grassy floor of the forest. “You never look at it.” He whispered, drawing you even closer. His arm falling over your shoulders as he pointed up to the sky. “Do you know why they call it a skyline? Because it’s the edge of the horizon, you can’t see any further than that. But if you look up, you can see much, much further than that. There’s so much beauty in the night sky, so much promise.” He says, his voice longing for something, something that belonged to him, his eyes brighter than the stars themself. He was pointing at the stars but you were looking at his hand. 

Armin thought you had a lot in common with the stars; it’s light and it’s beauty, and how distant they were. But he would never tell you that. He gently kissed your hair as you tried to see the beauty in what the two of you were looking at. He wondered if you knew that he wasn’t talking about the stars, and instead was talking about you. 

Swoony type, soft hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine, lips of honey. He adored you, you were so soft, so diabolically angelic looking. 

“I don’t get it.�� You sighed, leaning back on your hands as you glanced over at Armin. He smiled at you like you had missed the most obvious thing in the world, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes and return your gaze to the sky.  “Just trust me alright? It might not be something that everyone always sees, but it’s still there. It’s always there, waiting for you to notice it.” He said, sitting up as the wind danced through his hair. He chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling, and dimples appearing on his cheeks. “Maybe if your head wasn’t always down you’d understand.”  He flicked your forehead, enjoying the way your eyes widened and cheeks flushed. “Never looking up to see the world from a different angle.” He was teasing you, Armin Alert was, actually, teasing you. You scoffed and rolled your eyes at his audacity. “And you really ought to look up more often, I can see it now, the stars reflecting in your eyes.” He said, tilting his head as he analyzed you. 

“Yeah, sure whatever. I can’t believe you dragged me away from the pier for this.” You replied sarcastically, nudging him. He smiled, his lips curling up into a boyish grin. “I promise, you don’t mind.” He said softly, bringing his face closer to you and your eyes once again locked with each other. His breath was warm against your skin, his eyes shining in the darkness. He was still holding your wrist, the way his hand held yours made your heart beat faster. He was good at that, playing with your emotions in this way, never letting anything happen completely straight to the point, there always had to be some sort of push and pull between you both, a little game you’ve been playing. You snort and roll your eyes, your eyes drifting away from him, the dreamy look in his eyes is starting to get to you. “Oh come on, as if you’d rather be watching that dreary view of the ocean instead of having a bit of fun by the moonlight.” He said, gently shaking you by your shoulders, as if trying to shake the thoughts of calamity out of you.  “We all deserve a little bit of magic in our lives, even you, Ms. Cynical.”

How could someone cynical be ready to bleed at your hands? You could have shown me your thorns and I would’ve showed you hands ready to bleed. I desired very little, but the things I did always consumed me. I can still remember when too much was never enough. I wonder if I still remain the cynical one to you after everything? 

“I am not cynical.” You groan softly, you wanted to be annoyed at him, but you never really could, could you? His starry eyes that shined brighter than the stars you were supposed to be watching, always brought the smallest of smiles to your face. “Oh, come on.”  He says playfully, lifting his hands from his shoulders and tucking your hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing against your cheek. “Of all the things I’ve said tonight, that’s the one you take umbrage with?” He chuckles softly, the twinkle in his eyes returning. “It’s kind of cute.” 

You roll your eyes again, looking away from him. 

“Don’t be like that.” He whispers softly as he scoots closer to you, the scent of his cologne filling the air and the heat of his body radiating off of him. He cups your face with both hands, his fingers caressing your cheeks, guiding your gaze back to him as he pulls you in close. “The way your eyes glint in the moonlight, the way your hair spills down your back- it’s like staring into a million stars. I can’t take my eyes off of you, so please, please don’t look away.”  

You gulped. 

He was so pure, he was practically glowing as he stared into your eyes. 

I shall eat your heart. 

He chuckled softly, the sound like a chime from the heavens. He continued to lean closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “I make you nervous, don’t I? Am I making you nervous? I like making you nervous.” He whispered. He could feel how breathless you were, the way your eyes dilated whenever your eyes met his. The heat of his touch was almost overpowering. “I’m not…” You muttered, you wanted to say more, but your words were lost in your throat, choking you.  He hummed in response, obviously taking your words with a grain of salt. His mouth hovering just an inch away from your own and his breath filling the space between you. His eyes staring deeply into yours. “Don’t look at me like that…” You whisper, each breath you take catching in your throat. But his eyes were already locked on you, his gaze holding your own, and his mouth already hovering just inches from yours. It was surreal, the tension rising between the two of you like pressure of an oncoming thunderstorm. 

I can’t look into your eyes, but they’re all I think about. I memorized your face as if it’s my mirror, or a prayer that needs to be said every night. I will forget my name before I forget you. My days are consumed by this impotent longing for you, and my nights are riddled with insufferable dreams. . . . . I wanted you. I wanted you hungrily, frenziedly, passionately, I was starving for you, I still am, if you must know it. What lived and died between us — haunts me still.  

His breath whispered across your lips, you could feel it on your skin, hot against the cool night air. His hands had slowly moved to the side of your face, and they now cradled it softly, holding you in place so you could not move, his thumb brushing against your cheek. Every sense you had was heightened, and you could feel everything; the soft grass under your feet, the scent of flowers mixing with his cologne, the warmth of his breath, the vibrant intensity of his eyes, the subtle contact his clothes were making with yours. All your thoughts of reason had faded away, all that remained was the two of you standing underneath the pale moonlight. His blonde hair blurred in your vision as his lips met yours with a soft passion that could have been misidentified as a promise. Armin had fallen in love with you long before your first kiss, though. He loved you more than he had ever loved anyone before that moment. He thinks he loved you more than he’s ever loved anyone after that moment. The stars will go out before he ever forgets you. Just as your mind caught up with your heart, a sudden flash of thunder and lightning in the distance jolted you out of the moment. He laughs as he pulls away, his smile lighting up the night around you, his face glistening with the rain. “It’s raining.” He states, holding his hand up to catch the rain in the palm of his hand. “Thanks for stating the obvious.” You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. As you looked up at Armin, you noticed his hair was soaking wet and hanging lazily over his face, still with that boyish grin, in this moonlight he looked angelic. 

“Well, someone had to, since you seem incapable.” He chuckles softly, his light hearted tone masking the more tender thoughts behind his words. He takes off his jacket and gently throws it over your shoulders and pulls it tightly around you, almost as if it’s second nature to him. “I should get home.” You whispered softly, brushing a strand of wet hair out of your face.  “Let me walk you.” He says, his hand grabbing your wrist and guiding you out of the forest and down the path. The rain continues to pour down around you, the wind blowing softly, brushing against your skin, and you can feel your clothes clinging to your skin as they soak up the rain. Armin doesn’t speak as he leads you home under the cover of the night. His hand felt warm on your wrist, giving you comfort even as the rain came down in droves. The sound of the raindrops hitting the ground and cars driving by in the distance filled the silence, and the smell of dirt and grass permeated the air.   

You looked up at him as he walked, and for the first time you didn’t feel like the only way to become holy was to be empty, holy, to you, was loving him. With him things are both holy and sweet, something you never thought could coexist. 

 ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚  

It was a long, quiet walk from the pier to your house, but with Armin it was nothing, the thunderstorm a distant memory as his hand stayed wrapped around yours, the warmth of his jacket enveloping you like a hug from Armin himself. You stepped up the porch to your house, your eyes meeting his as you turned around to say bye, but he was already staring at you, like he hadn’t seen anything more beautiful. 

“Do you want to come in, I mean, I’d hate for you to walk all alone in this rain?” His answer was immediate, his face lighting up like a golden retriever who’s owner had just come home from work. “Yes, thank you.” He smiled, walking into your house with you, shaking the water out of his hair before he entered. You walked inside and he sat down on the couch as you went to turn on the light, this wasn’t the first time he’s been over, or the second, or even the third. It was a familiar scene, seeing him look up at you from your couch, that same grin and innocent twinkle in his eyes.   

It was the same every time, you’d sit down next to him and you’d talk for a while about everything and nothing at all, your head resting on his shoulder and his fingers twisting through your hair. Telling stories of your childhood and tales of your futures, sometimes you’d be together and other times not. But it always ended the same, you pinned to the couch and his mouth on yours, that hand that was in your hair now sliding in between your pretty thighs, reaching for a place that shouldn’t be touched, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist. The way you craved each other couldn’t be described as anything as shallow as ‘physical desire’, because it wasn’t shallow at all. You wanted each other in the way of flesh wanting to knit itself together over a wound. 

He felt warm and familiar, he felt solid and safe. You wanted to cling to his shirt, bury your face into the warm curve of his neck, and never let go.    

“I want you.” He was breathless, his lips leaving marks on the skin of your neck, you can feel the soft smirk on his lips as he sank his teeth into the flesh. He liked the sounds you made when he did that, something in between a whine and a gasp.  You stuttered over your next words, your nails digging into the fabric on his back. “I need you.” You muttered, moving your head so your neck was more accessible. 

“Yes, but do you want me?” His tone was gentle, but there was something else in there, something you couldn’t put your finger on, something that made you want to flinch. 

“Badly.” 

His fingers were undoing your bra, pulling it from underneath your shirt, and tossing the pink fabric onto the floor. You feel a soft kiss land on your neck., just below your ear, and his breath is hot against your neck. His blue eyes, darkening with something you could only pinpoint as desire. 

          “I want you to want me as I want you. I want to make you shiver from my touch. I want to hear your voice, breathless and shaky. I want you, all of you. Your bones. Your body heat. The bite marks your teeth leave. To see how bad and beautiful those eyes look beneath me. I want you to say my name like a prayer.”

 He whispered against your skin, shivers running down your spine. This was more than desire, it was something primal, wild. 

You kissed him passionately, possessively, it wasn’t soft or subtle anymore, no, it was rough and wild, it was a hunger that couldn’t quite be filled, it was sinful. 

His lips were warm and violent against yours, his fingers sliding underneath your shorts, grazing against your underwear, a quiet moan escaping your lips into his mouth. His eyes were open and locked on yours, he wanted to see you, every flutter of your eyelashes, the red spread across your cheeks, everything. His eyes were like the sea. . . This is how people drown.

You realized this man wasn’t a saint at all, rather a fallen angel, handsome devil. 

His kisses became harder, more urgent, and his hand moved faster underneath your shorts, his fingers probing at the sensitive spot on your skin, a whisper of a moan escaping your lips. His lips were like a hot flame, burning away everything but your desires, his mouth consuming you with a deep and desperate hunger. The way he touched you was rough and almost cruel, with an intensity that was almost unbearable. Your body responded to every thrust, every bite, every kiss, every touch, and he knew exactly how to take you to a place where there was no such thing as pleasure and pain. Every moment was just another opportunity for him to touch you, worship you, and leave his mark on your body. 

Your clothes were on the floor, mixed with his next to the piles of books you had laying around, his hips pressed against yours, your nails dug into the skin of his back as he painted another hickey of red and purple on your neck. His skin smelled of ash and wild strawberries, sweat glistening off of him. Your hips carve into his like your Michelangelo and he’s something holy. His actions were desperate and primal, but there was a certain tenderness to them, as if he was savoring every moment he had with you. Your body was flushed, drenched in sweat, and he could feel your breath coming faster and faster. Your bodies were becoming one, almost like you were melting into each other. It was so hot and humid and you could feel the tension steadily rising between the two of you. Every touch was like a knife cutting into you, every kiss like he was eating you whole. 

“You're heavenly.” He whispers against your skin as he thrusts into you. You can only whimper in response, your lashes fluttering over your cheeks as your eyes rolled back into your head. 

༘ ೀ⋆｡˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You slept next to him as he sat up in your bed, analyzing your girly room, lace curtains, linen bed sheets, the small  desk next to your bed with your makeup and books, and a singular stuffed animal on your bed. He couldn’t help but chuckle softly, taking the time to brush the strands of hair out of your eyes. If only he knew how to love someone without swallowing them and consuming them fully. Then maybe he could’ve loved you properly. Armin was carnivorous about love, eating it to the ankles. 

He presses his lips against your forehead, careful not to disturb you from your sleep. He’s gentle, letting his lips linger and rest against your head instead of pressing together. He just wants to taste you without needing to eat you whole. 

He was gone the next morning, he left the smell of coffee and freshly baked pancakes on the kitchen counter for you. And that was the last time you saw him all spring, you sat by the pier, hoping, waiting, praying, that you’d hear his giggle behind you and his bright eyes and boyish smile, but it never came. His touch still lingers on your body, as if he’d blurred into you. Why can’t you keep anything good? God, you would have let him eat you up, drain you of everything you had to offer, just to keep him with you. 

They asked me, ‘Do I love her to death?’ and I said, ‘Speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life. You were obsessed with the color red, this dangerous girl with scarlet lips. With sweet kisses written in blood on a page I couldn’t turn. I remember when you said that love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love, that it was life a religion. And that was terrifying. It is dreadful how I miss you, but I see you in lilies, misty mornings, angelic smiles, and pink skies. Because of you something in me wants more. I can’t rest. My thoughts filled with you, my angel. 

Pale spring becomes dazzling summer with a tender, capricious sky, and the fading flowers buried in a wash o the summer grass, and you've got a new guy, he’s strong and real, and undeniably a sin, the complete opposite of Armin, but you’ve grown to forget all about him. 

Someone had to leave first for the story to blossom. This is a very old story, with no other version. It’s a tragedy the way your story goes; maybe, perhaps, almost.

You sit in the arms of the brunette who picked you up and put you together, his arms wrapped around your waist as he peppered kisses across your neck as you read. 

“Read to me.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you always go somewhere else when you read. I want to go there with you.” He said, his arms tightening around your waist. 

“Don’t be silly, Jean.”

#meowkn 📝🌠 #೨౿ani’s work೨౿ #warning:frisky ᠀𓏲 #armin x reader #armin aot #armin arlert #armin smut #armin x y/n #armin x you #armin attack on titan #aot fic #aot #help I’m losing my mind

[archivalofsins]

It's Haruka's Birthday! Happy Birthday to him~ Unlike someone who didn't say it at least I did.

Now onto flower languages! Yamanaka tweeted this for Haruka's birthday. Since we have all the Milgram characters birthdays except Es and Jackalope. We can look up the remaining birth flowers.

A hint to which flower chart he's using is in the flower he lists for Haruka. Where I'm from Haruka and Amane's birth flowers according to the old farmer's almanac would be Rose and Honeysuckle.

So, what's he using? Well, the more in depth Korean one of course~

Unlike the farmer's almanac which covers the month wholesale the Korean one has a flower for each day of the month.

Haruka June 22

Viburnum 가막살나무 - Love is stronger than death.

Outside of the meanings listed by Yamanaka Viburnum is used to symbolize pride and is given to someone to honor their achievements.

Amane June 27

Passion Flower 시계꽃 - Divine love.

Amane even has a piece that resembles the flower on her cake art. Outside of meaning Divine Love it has heavy ties to Christianity.

"The name 'passion flower' refers to the passion of Jesus and the genus therefore has a particular relevance at Easter. Spanish Christian missionaries adopted the unique structure of the plant as symbols of the last days of Jesus and especially his crucifixion."

Mu July 5

 Lavender 라벤더 - Strong fragrance

To the surprise of no one outside of meaning Strong Fragrance Lavender has strong ties to France.

"The term lavender comes from the old French word, lavender which is imitative of the Latin word lavare (“to wash”). This flower represents serenity, grace, and calmness. The biblical meaning of lavender symbolizes purity, devotion, and love; that’s why lavender is referenced more than a hundred times in the Bible by the name of nard or spikenard by Hebrews."

"Lavender’s purple color also represents calmness and serenity."

In the Old Farmer's Almanac Mu's birth flower would be the Larkspur and Water Lily.

Kazui August 5

 Heather 엘리카 - Loneliness, solitude

Through the power of k-pop-

I've found out that the website I was getting the birth flowers from spelled the English name of Kazui's flower wrong. Also, it can mean loneliness, beautiful solitude, or soulmate. In the west, this flower would be referred to as Heather and its meaning would be good luck, admiration, and protection.

Kazui's birth flower according to the farmer's almanac would be Gladiolus and Poppy.

Yuno September 2

Mexican Ivy 멕시칸 아이비 - Change

Look I'm not even going to hold you finding the meaning of this specific version of ivy in English is difficult. At least for me it is maybe someone else can find it. However, when I look it up all the internet is giving me is the meaning of ivy which is a completely different flower. So, moving along.

Yuno's flowers in the farmer's almanac would be Morning Glory and Aster.

Mikoto October 6

Hazel Tree 개암나무 - Reconciliation

Yeah, you and I read that right it's a tree. A tree that has been tied to Celtic myths and was said to line the border between the human realm and that of the gods.

"Hazel has a reputation as a magical tree. A hazel rod is supposed to protect against evil spirits, as well as being used as a wand and for water-divining. In some parts of England, hazelnuts were carried as charms and/or held to ward off rheumatism. In Ireland, hazel was known as the 'Tree of Knowledge’, and in medieval times it was a symbol of fertility."

Mikoto's birth flower according to the Farmer's Almanac would be the Marigold and Cosmos.

Shidou October 24

Chinese Plum Blossom 매화 - Noble heart

This is also considered a tree, just not such a normal one.

"In Chinese philosophy, the Plum tree’s blossom is a symbol of winter ending and a herald of spring. The tree’s pale pink blossoms are cherished because they bloom vibrantly and so bravely amidst the winter chill. They symbolise perseverance and hope, as well as, beauty thriving in adverse circumstances."

"Plum blossoms represent good luck, prosperity, hope, courage, beauty, and purity in China. In Japanese traditions, they also symbolize hope in addition to renewal and vitality."

Good plant for the guy lying and replacing with hope, huh? Shidou's flowers in the Farmer's Almanac would be the same as Mikoto's.

Kotoko December 15

Winter Daphne 서향 - Immortality, honor.

Winter Daphne was also used as,

"A way of telling a love, “I would not have you otherwise.”."

Here's some more information on the flower.

Mahiru January 17

Rumex 수영 - Friendly

Rumex doesn't just mean friendly it has been stated to mean,

Affection, Matrimonial Tenderness, Close Relationships, Friendships and appears again on December 4 meaning Love.

Mahiru's flowers within the Farmer's Almanac would be Carnation & Snowdrop.

Last but certainly not least-

Futa April 19

Larkspur 참제비고깔 - Clear, fair.

Futa's was also misspelled in English on the website I was using so I corrected it.

"The Pawnee tribe of North America believed in a mythological figure, "Dream Woman," who cut a hole in the sky to look down on Earth beings. Crumbs from the blue sky fell to the ground and became larkspur. And like lily of the valley, larkspur is also associated with the Virgin Mary and is said to represent her tears. Larkspur is symbolic of a beautiful spirit, swiftness and generally of positivity and strong bonds of love. It is also associated with lightheartedness and youth, possibly because it grows in summer where carefree days are spent away from school."

"In the language of flowers, the larkspur holds the symbolic meaning of strong love bonds, dedication, sincerity, positivity and an open heart."

Open this door and check if you want to.

Futa's birth flowers within the Farmer's Almanac would be Daisy and Sweet Pea.

#milgram #sakurai haruka #kusunoki muu #fuuta kajiyama #kayano mikoto #kirisaki shidou #shiina mahiru #kashiki yuno #momose amane #kotoko yuzuhira #mukuhara kazui

[gelican-gelicant]

Chapter 4: A Little Closer, So to Speak

"I've been waiting," says Astarion, stepping into the pale light, backlit by the deep blue star-speckled sky with his shirt conspicuously amiss.

She thinks of rolling her eyes, but unfortunately, he looks stunning.

"Waiting,” he continues, his crooked smile twisting the knife, “since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you."

She forces to her eyes not to drift to his chest, bouncing moonbeams off itself like a gleaming aegis.

"Since the very moment you set eyes on me? Could have fooled me," says Aysla. "I've had to eat my own heart out whilst you and Wyll eye-fuck each other all day."

A cackle cuts through the cool stillness of the clearing. "Oh darling, don't play coy," Astarion says. "I've been the one tortured with longing. You're cruel. Flitting around, breaking hearts of  devils and companions alike, right before my eyes."

“Jealous? You?" She holds a hand over her heart.

His eyes un-crinkle, turning hypnotic and sultry. "I needn't be, now. You’re here, after all, aren't you? And I don't think you just want to talk."

He steps closer to her, closing the gap, and his arms encircle her lower back. 

"There are better things I can think to do with my mouth." She flutters her eyelashes. "What do you want?"

She waits for the unimaginative answer, her cue to kiss him and begin the old routine: 'you.' But instead, he hits her with a line. "What do any of us want? Pleasure. Yours, mine. That's what you want, isn't it? To lose yourself in me?"

Aysla is taken aback, a little. Does he expect her to 'lose herself' - in the biblical sense? She's never known a man who could make her come. Sex, to Aysla, is and has always been a service she provided. She portrays her best impression of avid enthusiasm, and in exchange, she receives approval, forgiveness or otherwise favor. The lovers she had known had always been satisfied with their own pleasure, never pretending to care for hers. She always assumed it was an open secret. She assumed that it was written on her forehead. Use me.

She barely likes most of the people she beds, but she does it anyway for the cheap thrill of approval it grants her, and the small false semblance of control over her own body. She can't be a victim, after all, if she's an active participant in her own desecration.

Don't know what to say to that, she thinks.

So she leans in closer, tilting her head. He meets her halfway and crushes his lips against hers. His kiss is cool and steady. His tongue flashes against hers, just enough to tease, before it is gone. His smell makes her head swirl - citrusy, boozy, familiar. Like bergamot, she realizes - a note in her own fragrance, too. Underneath it, there is a light note of something sick-smelling and rotten, though she doesn't dislike it. It suits him, heady and sweet, with just enough of a note of wrongness to make it interesting.

He hums into her mouth. Against the toxic and sickly sweet note of alcohol that she can never rid herself of completely, her amber scent mixes with his, their kiss a bouquet of ambrosial undeath.

He lifts her deftly, pulling her thighs up around his waist. When he walks her forward to press her back against the bark of a nearby tree, she can feel his hardness through his pants. She smiles and rolls her head to give him access to her neck - whether he'd like to kiss it, or bite it, she leaves to him. She thinks to herself that she’d like him to leave a trail of hickeys, evidence of her night together. A mark of affection, a ward of protection; a sign that says ‘I belong to someone.’

He seems to approve. He laughs darkly, nuzzling her neck, and slowly lowers her to the soft grass of the clearing beneath her. He looks up once, asking permission with his eyes, and she simply tilts her head to give him access. 

He bites down with a soft “hmm,” and she feels a pinch. First comes an icy sting, then a dull, throbbing numbness.

After a few seconds, he laps her neck, then his own lips, glossy with her blood and kiss-swollen.

Aysla holds his ruby gaze while she tenders her hand forward, fumbling for the hardness at the front of his pants - a move she's usually rewarded for. She hopes he'll take the hint and move on to fucking her expeditiously. 

But he doesn't. He halts her hand, moving on to the lacing at the front of her own trousers. "Not yet, my sweet."

She holds back a sigh, steeling herself to fake her way through an inept attempt at cunnilingus. The pretty ones are usually the worst at it, and she never comes anyway - it's just extra work for everyone involved, at the end of the day. But she keeps in character, rolling her hips beneath him alluringly, and holding his gaze as she undoes her clothing.

"Good girl," he purrs, before helping her to peel off her shirt. 

Kissing down her naked body, he pauses at her breasts, caressing one while taking the other in his mouth.

She didn’t realize she was tensing. Her body steels itself, remembering the mouths that had tried to bite there, rough and clumsy. 

But he’s exceedingly gentle, handling her lightly, preciously. Relief floods her; then, a strange yearning in her chest, in addition to the novel sensation of her arousal deepening in earnest. A coil tightens in her abdomen - a gear that she never feels turn other than when she’s alone.

He switches sides, lavishing her other breast with his mouth now, and leaving open mouth kisses, sucking - still, so softly - on the swells of her breasts as he continues his path downward.

A few light kisses on her navel and he looks up at her. She fixes her face, realizing that she’s looking at him with something too close to tenderness. But the expression that meets hers is focused.

He gives one long, slow lick, from the bottom to the top of her slit. When he lifts his face, everything below his nose shines wetly. 

Taking his fingers, he pushes them slowly into her. And the tension rises again - she winces at memories of hands aggressively rubbing bruises into her; then relief, gratitude, pleasure - his handling still feels good, still feels safe.

His touch is expert. He licks her once more before placing his mouth over her clit, and then hums into her, his tongue circling, and his fingers moving in and out at a torturously slow pace. She feels her core, surprisingly, continue to tighten.

He looks up again through his eyelashes and says, "Mmm, so pretty darling,” and she melts, a little.

“Such a pretty pussy," he murmurs, before putting his tongue back to work. 

Gods, she thinks, has head always been good? Is this the first competent man to meet my cunt?  

Shuffling through memories, none of her past partners ever made her feel like this. None of them had made her feel particularly good, at all. But she would muster on through it as if it were her job.

His lavishing tongue grounds her back to reality. She usually attempted some show of swirling her hips and moaning, at this point, but now in the thralls of genuine pleasure, her hips stutter and her whimpers come out jagged.

After a minute or two of this, she realizes nervously that she feels close.

She never relaxes enough to get here, let alone does anyone ever touch her like this, just right - 

Aysla wracks her brain to find an explanation as to how in the world she is dancing this dangerously close to coming undone. What makes this different?

The answer that she finds is equal parts embarrassing and sad.

The element causing her to swoon and stutter, she realizes, is what is commonly known as ‘being treated with basic human decency’. She's been tensing, waiting for the other shoe to drop - waiting for him to fuck her like a brute, and discard her - but he's still being considerate and gentle. An entirely foreign concept; the bar is low.

She allows herself to hope for a moment, greedy to see if she might actually be able to get there, for once, for the first time, with someone else. It would give her some evidence, finally, that she is not broken - there is nothing wrong with her -

And then he looks up at her again, groaning into her clit, and hooks his fingers inside of her. He coaxes them back and forth motion, eliciting sloppy, wet sounds. The edges of her vision blurs. 

"A - Astarion, I'm-" is all she's able to get out before her body seizes with pleasure as she gasps - not faking a pornographic for once, but whimpering quietly.

His tongue keeps its pace as the waves roll over her, and he gently coaxes the last of her orgasm from her. 

Looking at him as he crawls back up towards her, he looks pleased with himself, but not fully in the moment. She wonders for a moment what she did wrong - was he turned off from the taste of her? But then he licks the last of her slick off of his fingers before kissing her.

Through the kiss, she's still puzzled, still trying to make sense of him; why does he seem so cool and distant? Does he not want to fuck her?

And then it clicks. He's already told her - he's been alive for over 200 years; Cazador’s slave; ‘Luring people’ was code for fucking people. Her heart twists a little.

She was not the only one, it seemed, who walked into this clearing prepared to be used, hurt, and objectified, in no specific order.

She breaks the kiss, murmuring to him, “Will it sound like a line if I tell you I don’t usually come, from that?” she says. “Actually - I don’t come at all during sex, or with someone else, ever. It’s a first,” she continues.

His eyes light up a little at the ego boost.

“You’ve ruined my plans now. I was ready to fake my way though a mediocre forest fuck - for the sake of our strategic alliance, of course - but now, I’m forever in your debt,” she says wistfully.

But she already knows how she'll pay him back, she thinks - she can be gentle too, just as he’s been to her.

An infinite parade of lovers, and not a one of them has ever just been fucking sweet to me - have they to you? she wonders. Let me. I’ll give you an ocean of tenderness, just for you -

She kisses his cheek, softly as she can. Her hands trail lightly across his body, and stop to tug at the seam of his shirt.

Her statement earns a hearty laugh, before he leans back to shuck off his shirt. "Darling, it’s the least I can do, but I think I quite like you being indebted to me," he says, smiling wickedly.

She realizes, uncomfortably, she likes it - when he smiles. When she earns his approval.

Sometimes, during the worst of the times with Davidus, she would disassociate - a habit she continued with her subsequent lovers. She would think of their body like a game or puzzle; reading reactions, testing what felt good, what would make them come.

She wanted to play that game with Astarion - but with his smile. What would he like to hear? What makes him laugh? What made him cry?

Her mind flashes again to Davidus - it was so different. She was often slapped, hit with a belt, had drinks poured on her face - and she would pretend to like it, to please him, at first - but then she found with horror, it didn’t matter when she stopped pretending, nor when she asked him to stop.

Sometimes he would apologize afterwards, and tell her he loved her, and she thought that maybe it was supposed to be like this. Maybe she was just being precious. Maybe something was wrong with her.

Based on all his suave banter, she had assumed that Astarion would be the same - rough in bed, or ‘kinky.’ Only now, she realizes that maybe her gut was right those years ago - and what was done to her was wrong. She had been fucked with malice and cruelty, and here was another, sweeter way.

It dawns on her that she was probably a bit more brainwashed than she realized; how did it only just now become apparent to her that being ‘good in bed’ didn’t necessarily have to involve being hit?

He stands for a moment to get his pants off as well. His cock springs free proudly, and, seeing it for the first time, she realizes with a pang that this man, physically, has no flaws.

She spread her legs wantonly as he lowers himself back down onto her. Running her hands along his back, she notices bumps under her fingers - everywhere. She quickly moves her hands up to his shoulders, her heart twisting as she instantly registers scars; lots of scars.

As if he couldn't be more tragic. There is that aching feeling in her chest again.

Slowly, she trails one hand down his chest, his navel, to his cock, which is hovering tantalizingly close, just above her entrance. Call it infatuation, or the after-effects of her first non-solo orgasm - but she yearns to feel him inside of her. 

She locks eyes with him, and guides him with her hand, pointing him towards her center. 

She’s treated to the sight of his blown out irises, eyelids fluttering as he slowly pushes home, burying himself inside her throbbing, wet core. Her mouth opens in a soft gasp once he reaches the depth of her.

“Oh,” he moans, still looking at her through hooded eyes, “You’re so tight, my love.”

He begins pumping in and out, slowly, and she squeezes her walls around him, timing it so that she tenses around his cock every time he bottoms out, earning a desperate groan from him. 

"Mmm," she hums back approvingly, spreading her legs wider. She coos into his ear, “You feel so good inside of me."

She takes his arm and guides it to under her thigh and he takes the hint and shifts so her legs can lift and rest upon his shoulders. Her hands drift down his side, landing on either side of his ass, lightly coaxing him deeper inside her. She feels the rhythm of his thrusts falter for a moment, as they both adjust to the position - she’s able to take him so much deeper at this angle, and their bodies make wet, smacking sounds that echo through the clearing.

"Fuck,” he breathes. He slams into her a little harder now, and she moans.

He just hums his approval and closes his eyes. He reaches down to play with her clit as he fucks her in earnest now, his pace quickening.

He leans down to kiss her, and she whimpers into his mouth. She feels a tenderness she can’t express with words; so she writes him a love letter with her hips, with her hands, with her tightening hole. Her hands tangle in his hair, and he growls in response. 

He pauses to guide her to turn over, on her elbows, her ass against him. He places one hand underneath her - lightly supporting her and giving him access to her clit. He strums it with fervor, and she, to her own disbelief, feels the possibility of another orgasm loom.

Bending over her, his other hand gingerly cups her jaw, gesturing for her to turn her head for another kiss, this one impossibly sweet. She can’t help but tense up, waiting for the moment when he will roughly slam his cock back into her from behind, steeling herself to not cry out.

But he doesn’t - he carefully realigns himself with her, and pushes in slowly, torturously so, causing her to moan happily, gratefully, approvingly; a stifled “hmfph” into his mouth.

He’s met with no resistance as he slides in and out of her, and she falls forward, meeting his thrusts with her hips. The hand that isn’t working diligently on her clit moves to clutch her hip as he leans back.

He bucks into her, faster now - she feels herself coming close to the precipice again. He slows slightly, pulling her tightly towards him with the vice grip on her hip, and thrusts deeply, once, then again.

He lets out a broken moan that seems like it almost surprises him, and, still buried inside her to the hilt, his cock pulses. She feel it twitching inside her, and he moans one more time as he loses the last of himself in her - the sound of his voice, of his pleasure, sends her over the edge for the second time, too, and she clenches around him, milking the last of his orgasm from him with her own.

Finally, he collapses next to her, spent. 

They lay motionless, touching, but not quite cuddling. She waits for him to gesture for her to lay on his chest, or to turn to spoon her, or to get up altogether, but he simply lies still. She feels like they’ve never gone so long without talking, but she hesitates to ruin the moment. 

After several minutes pass, he slowly begins to extricate himself from her touch. He moves carefully, and she realizes that the length of their silence must have given him the impression that she'd fallen asleep. He doesn’t get up, though. He simply turns his back to her, laying on his side. She sees the scars fully for the first time, then. They’re awful - some kind of runic pattern etched into his back. She wonders if he trusts her enough at this point to divulge their origin, opting to save the question for later, if at all.

He could have been a brute, like she was used to, and she would have let him. She would have even pretended to like it, to keep the whole thing going. He would still have been be a welcome distraction on her journey. She feels reluctant to let the night end on this aloof note. She hesitates, then turns and slowly scooches closer to him. Gently but firmly, not wanting to spook him, she wraps hers arms around him, hugging him from behind with her chest pressed against his back. She covers the scars like a living backpack.

He tenses for a few moments before settling into the embrace. 

She runs her fingers up and down his forearm, lightly tracing them with her nails in a sweet and soothing gesture that she doesn’t recall the origin of; nothing of the sort has ever been done to her. He sighs. After a minute or so, he takes her hand in one of his own, and presses it to his chest. She responds by giving his back a light kiss, then lies her cheek against the cool skin of his shoulder.

There are few things someone could do in bed that would be novel to her, at this point. But this, she thinks, is better than sex.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For all the tenderness the moment holds, it passes. He doesn't hold her hand when they walk back to camp in the wee hours of the morning.

Just another fling. Maybe a bit better than the rest, but just one more, nonetheless.

That’s what they both think to themselves, as they return to their tents, and lock their hearts back away in their cages.

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x oc #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 smut

[liminalpebble]

Violet: Chapter 17, Song of Songs and Saint Augustine

Masterlink

Minors DNI. (Seriously, it’s all smut this time. They’re sacrilegiously delicious!)

He shook his head in wonder, still grinning like an idiot. “Will you ever stop surprising me, Miss Vespero? Is there anything on God's green earth that you're not good at?” he fawned.

She let out a breathy laugh and unleashed that stunning smile upon him as she glided smoothly to the library door and locked it. Then made her way back to him dimming each light along the way. Her clicking footsteps on the marble brought her directly to him, a hair's breadth from his flushed face. She purred into his ear, “When you're around, Padre...self-control.”

He hummed. “That reminds me of something from our lessons. Might I test you, Miss Vespero?”

She felt her pulse race at the thrill of this little game. “Certainly, Father.”

He gave her a mischievous smirk before he resumed the act of the controlled schoolmaster. “Who was it that said...” his hand grazed her check, his palm flattening over her chest, thumb finding its way to stroke between her plump breasts. He had to pause a moment to hiss in a bated breath, before continuing in a deep authoritative voice, “ 'Oh Lord, give me chastity, but do not give it yet'?”

He moved behind her now, speaking very near her ear, kissing and nipping at it occasionally. One hand circled around her waist. One slid over her shoulder and into her bodice, snaking in to meet the warm flesh of her breast and squeeze her nipple. Her breath caught in her throat, unable to speak her answer. He paused his tongue's journey over her neck to say, “I'm waiting, Miss Vespero.”

She gasped out, “St. Augustine, Father...it was St. Augustine of Hippo.”

“Very good, Violetta,” he purred into her ear. “Very good, indeed.”

“Thank....ahhhh....Thank you, Padre.” he chuckled as his ministrations on her skin interrupted her words, caused her breath to hitch and sigh. Violetta could feel his cock, achingly stiff against her backside. He was surprised at how enormously it aroused him to make her try to maintain concentration while he toyed with her. It gave the vicar a wicked idea.

He removed his hands from her and laughed as she whimpered adorably at the lost of his touch. In response to her quizzical expression, he only gestured to her, curling one long finger to indicate she should follow him. She felt excited seeing a new devilish glint of creativity in his eye.

As they entered a back room, an archive parlor of antique Bibles, Will elaborated a bit more, “You see, Miss Vespero, it's come to my attention that you find no interest in biblical studies...that they in fact, have had a negative influence upon your person for many years. No wonder you're so adverse to them.”

He strode nearer to her, like a large cat stalking prey. When he was finally close enough, he burrowed his hand into her hair, dislodging the pencil she had been using to hold it up. The cascade of shiny black locks fell to her waist. Delighted, he stroked the full length of them while he kissed her with an animistic passion. Suddenly he pulled away with a prim expression.

“Stand at the podium there Miss Vespero. Turn to the first Song of Songs, and recite to me.”

There was a pause as she approached the wide podium in the center of the room, flipping the sweet-smelling antique pages to the chapter her teacher had assigned her. Her heart beat like a hammer against her chest as she heard the floor boards creak with his approach.

She took a deep breath, reciting:

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth— for your love is more delightful than wine. Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfumes; your name is like perfume poured out. No wonder the young women love you!

Take me away with you—let us hurry! Let the king bring me into his chambers.

“Ahh!!,” she suddenly gasped out, surprised by his hand running up her legs, bunching her skirts around her waist. One palm pressed the small of her back, urging her down to her elbows. She complied readily, ecstatically, but became concerned when she heard Will undoing his pants. She looked behind her saying, “Will...I can't do that yet..I.”

He leaned down over her, cradling her head to meet his eyes.“Shhh...Shhh. I won't darling. I know. May I spend myself on your perfect skin instead?”

“Mmm..Yes...yes!”

He smiled warmly before donning his cool professors persona once again. Standing tall behind her, he said, “Very well, Miss Vespero. Continue...verse 5.”

She resumed dutifully:

How right they are to adore you!

Dark am I, yet lovely, daughters of Jerusalem, dark like the tents of Kedar, like the tent curtains of Solomon. Do not stare at me because I am dark, because I am darkened by the sun. My mother’s sons were angry with me and made me take care of the vineyards; my own vineyard I had to neglect. Tell me, you whom I love,

“Ahhh!” she gasped again, as his fingers snaked between her thighs, while the other large hand caged her hip firmly. He had found her wet center and was swirling his fingers carefully, moaning as he felt the cusps and valleys of her mound, her lips, and finally rolled gentle presses over the precious smooth pearl of her clit, swollen with need for his touch.

He said, in a cold voice, “Continue,” as he released his hold on her hip, beginning to stroke his freed cock in a gentle motion. He gathered wetness from between her legs, painting his cock with it. She could hear the rhythmic sound now of him pleasuring himself, as well as his soft moans. It ignited her like a match to gunpowder. The student rested her head against the podium briefly,  head spinning, eyes closed and hands gripping hard at the edges, purring with a filthy, animal ecstasy as he pleasured her and himself.

He repeated in a stern voice, “I said, continue, Miss Vespero.”

Her eyes shot open and she resumed her position saying, “Forgive me, Father.” Scrambling to find her place and splaying her palms on the hard wood for balance, she swallowed, then recited:

where you graze your flock and where you rest your sheep at midday. Why should I be like a veiled woman beside the flocks of your friends?

“Skip ahead...verse twelve.” He had lost his semblance of composure now, panting and flushed. He roughly pulled her skirt higher and her undergarments lower, baring the beautiful violin curve of her back and ass; the soft skin he would soon paint with his seed.

Violetta struggled to concentrate as the words swam before her in a haze. As her pleasure rose, nearing its crescendo and her voice shuddered and faltered as she recited:

While the king was at his table, my perfume spread its fragrance. My beloved is to me a sachet of myrrh resting between my breasts. My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blossoms from the vineyards of En Gedi.

“Ahhh!” She gasped out sharply, unable to continue reading, head yet again lowered to the podium, the sweat of her palms slicking the hard wood as she panted. So close.

Will whispered sweetly, “not yet...when I finish the verse...let go for me, darling.”  Then he continued the rest of the verses from memory, closing his eyes as he recited in his vicar's timbre...

How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful! Your eyes are....

But Will wasn't able to finish the line, as his own climax overtook him, releasing over the curve of her spine and ass. “Now, Bella,” he commanded and she couldn't help but oblige with a shuddering sigh as she rode and rolled upon his long fingers where they filled her up entirely and gripped him tightly.

As their breathing stilled, Will fished a handkerchief from his pocket. “Just a moment, darling, stay there,” he said with a little embarrassed chuckle, gently cleaning where he'd spent himself on her skin. He put himself back together, then helped her put her many layers back in place.

The professor smiled to his clever student, and took her hand gently into his own, as if asking her to dance, but instead, he guided her to a leather arm chair. He spread his long legs wide as he patted his thigh indicating that she should sit on his lap. The student obediently curled on top of him, forehead resting on his as he licked delicately at the wet flavor of her on his fingers, eyes closed in a perverse rapture. When he had eaten his fill, she gentle turned his head to kiss her, running her fingers through his hair and tasting herself from his lips. She smiled here broad red smile and said, “Father, I think I'm beginning to enjoy bible study.”

Will chuckled and blushed, unleashing that wide boyish grin that made him seem decades younger; unfetter by rumination, happier than he usually ever seemed. He replied cheerfully, “I thought that might spark your interest.”

Taglist: @coldnique @muddyorbs @goblingirlsarah @acidcasualties @jennyggggrrr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @icytrickster17 @pati52 @marcotheflychair @ladyofthestayingpower @gigglingtigger @alexakeyloveloki @letsg00000honey @bitchyexpertprincess @lokisgoodgirl @sweetsigyn @lovelysizzlingbluebird @talklokitome @dragonmurray @peaches1958

#will ransome #will ransome fanfic #the essex serpent #the essex serpent fanfic

[nicosraf]

Hello!! Not sure if this is a dumb ask but what is the rose of Sharon in the biblical sense? And what was your thought process when deciding to use it for the scene ? And thank you for writing abm it’s a great book!

Not a dumb ask at all!!! The "Rose of Sharon" is from the Song of Songs/Solomon. It's debated what the exact meaning is and what it's purpose in the passage it comes from is.

Here are two translations of it:

A Country Girl in a Palace 1 I am the rose of Sharon, And the lily of the valleys. The Beloved 2 Like a lily among thorns, So is my love among the daughters. (Song of Solomon 2:1-2, NKJV)

Young Woman 1 I am the spring crocus blooming on the Sharon Plain,     the lily of the valley

Young Man 2 Like a lily among thistles     is my darling among young women. (Song of Solomon 2:1-2, NLT)

So the Song of Solomon is the erotic book in the Bible — basically, it's a celebration of love between man and woman, and it's explicitly sexual. Here is another passage, which you might notice is a little similar to certain ABM lines:

How much better than wine is your love, And the scent of your perfumes Than all spices! 11 Your lips, O my spouse, Drip as the honeycomb; Honey and milk are under your tongue; And the fragrance of your garments Is like the fragrance of Lebanon. 12 A garden enclosed Is my sister, my spouse, (Song of Solomon 4:10-12, NKJV)

The lines in ABM that I'm remembering:

Gabriel: He opened you like a citrus and planted a garden of budding flowers inside.

Lucifer: Michael, Michael, Michael, I want to say it forever, I can’t stop, it’s sweeter than honey on my tongue.

Michael: I feel drunk. Your mouth— When you were created, your lips must have been laced with liquor.

Interlude: I want to be soil. I want to be wet earth, needy to be sowed.

So, I'm really inspired by the Song of Solomon, clearly. I have an ugly relationship with it though, too personal to talk about. I've read a million times about the book being a representation of Jesus (and, thus, God) and the Church's relationship as comparable to marriage and, in this case, sexual union. (I have a lot of feelings about God as a sexualized being in the Bible, as you might guess.) But, at the surface and in the minds of most Bible readers, it's just a celebration of cisheterosex and little else.

There's 2 main reasons I included it in ABM:

An explicit reference to the Song of Solomon. Turning the celebration of cishet sex around into a messy queer sex scene. You could call it reclamation, I think.

"The Rose of Sharon" is associated with hibiscus flowers. In case you've never seen one:

Flower imagery has historically been associated (in erotic poetry/art) with vulvas, but I like to turn that around, also, and turn it into phallic imagery. (This is why I say "pistil of a flower" in the Interlude, too, by the way, which I think is extra fun: the pistil is the female part of the plant, but it looks phallic. Associating that to angels makes it extra genderqueer I think)

Thank you for reading ABM! I'm glad you liked it :) Sorry my thought process is kinda crazy. I get lost in my head a bit with this stuff

#mine #ask

[hiswordsarekisses]

You know that meme going around that says (something like) there are people who can’t stand us because we aggravate their demons? The actual biblical reason is below...

“But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life. Who is sufficient for these things? For we are not, like so many, peddlers of God’s word, but as men of sincerity, as commissioned by God, in the sight of God we speak in Christ.” 2nd Corinthians‬ ‭2‬:‭14‬-‭17‬

[fierysword]

Lady Wisdom in Song of Songs

The idea that God is the man and the church is the woman in Song of Songs never resonated with me. While reading Rabbi Rami Shapiro’s Embracing the Divine Feminine, I discovered the interpretation that God (in the form of Wisdom - Sophia in Greek) is actually the woman in Song of Solomon.

This just feels right, especially considering the woman does the majority of the talking in the book and she offers the definition of love (in other words, she's the one who imparts knowledge about God). Lady Wisdom is also called Solomon’s bride in Wisdom of Solomon. Furthermore, Proverbs 7:4 says to call Wisdom your sister, which is used as a term for endearment for the woman in Song of Songs.

Here are my reflections as I read through the book with that interpretation.

Scarcely had I passed them when I found the one my heart loves. I held him and would not let him go till I had brought him to my mother’s house, to the room of the one who conceived me. (3:4)

As Rabbi Rami Shapiro writes, “Wisdom leads you into her mother's house, indeed onto her mother's bed, deeper into the feminine mysteries, the dark interior where all opposites unite and where Wisdom and the seeker of Wisdom become one. Wisdom's Mother is YHVH [Proverbs 8:22-25], the Unknown and Unknowable Is-ing that gives rise to all things.”

This makes a lot of sense. Why would the church be guiding God into its mother’s house? It's also notable that while fathers are not mentioned once, mothers are mentioned seven times throughout Song of Songs. Seven is a biblically significant number believed to represent wholeness. God is said to have seven spirits (Revelation 4:5), including the spirit of Wisdom (Isaiah 11:2). The woman in Song of Songs (Lady Wisdom in this interpretation) is called Shulamite, which Rabbi Rami translates as "wholeness". I don't actually know what I'm getting at here, but I do believe the connections are significant.

But my dove, my perfect one, is unique, the only daughter of her mother, the favorite of the one who bore her… Who is this that appears like the dawn, beautiful as the moon, bright as the sun, majestic as the stars in procession? (6:9-10)

This reminds me of Proverbs 8, which says that Lady Wisdom was given birth by God and that she is God’s delight. There’s also the dove symbolism, which is used in the Bible (and was used throughout the surrounding cultures) as a symbol of the divine feminine (more info here). We also see associations of Sophia with the moon, sun, and stars, reminding me of the Woman of Revelation, which many interpret to be an appearance of Sophia.

I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys. (2:1)

Flowers have often been used as symbols for the divine feminine.

I opened for my beloved, but he had turned and gone. My heart sank at his departure. I sought him, but did not find him. I called, but he did not answer. I encountered the watchmen on their rounds of the city. They beat me and bruised me; they took away my cloak, those guardians of the walls. (5:6-7)

This reminds me of the abuse of Christ, which offers support to the idea of Christ as an incarnation of Sophia (I personally think Christ incarnated male for cultural reasons).

“You are a garden locked up, my sister, my bride; you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain. Your plants are an orchard of pomegranates     with choice fruits, with henna and nard, nard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, with every kind of incense tree, with myrrh and aloes and all the finest spices. You are a garden fountain, a well of flowing water streaming down from Lebanon.” “Awake, north wind, and come, south wind! Blow on my garden, that its fragrance may spread everywhere. Let my beloved come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.” (4:12-16)

Several thoughts: This reminds me of Wisdom as the Tree of Life (Proverbs 3:18) and the fruits of the Holy Spirit (Galatians 5:22-23). This is also reminiscent of Sirach 24:13-19. Lastly, we see here that Wisdom is associated with the elements of Earth, water, and air.

For love is as strong as death… Its sparks are fiery flames, the fiercest blaze of all. (8:6)

God is Love, so this rounds out the association of different elements with God.

I would lead you and bring you to my mother’s house— she who has taught me. I would give you spiced wine to drink, the nectar of my pomegranates. (8:4)

This reminds me of Proverbs 9:2 which says Wisdom has “mixed her wine”. I’m also interested in the symbolism of the pomegranate, which was used culturally as a yonic symbol. Wisdom is also described as a Tree of Life, which the Book of Revelation says bears its fruit each month (22:2), reflected by the menstrual cycle.

Regardless, the concept of Wisdom offering us the nectar of her pomegranate is cool to me, and I’m happy to have a biblical basis to incorporate the symbol of pomegranates into my spirituality.

Your navel is a rounded goblet that never lacks blended wine. (7:2)

The yonic imagery is even more explicit here. Since Jesus offered wine as representative of his blood, I’m thinking of how Julian of Norwich compared the blood of Christ to the blood of menstruation and childbirth, as well as the medieval depictions of Christ’s wound as a vulva from which the church is born.

#christian mysticism #song of songs #Sophia in song of songs #biblical symbolism #divine feminine #Jesus Sophia #Lady Wisdom #Christian Goddess #menstruation #pomegranates #sophia #tree of life #divine feminine in the bible #christian feminism

[worthless-weight-in-gold]

starter for @draconisa

    A small glance up from the kitchen island when the door opened to let Dany in, and then Hakeem did a double-take at her with his eyebrows raised before he settled into a serious expression and let out a deep sigh, putting the culinary injector down onto the marble. "We talked about this." Serious tone, betraying nothing more than the underlying warmth of affection in his voice every time he spoke to her. "If you look more gorgeous every time I see you, eventually you'll burn my eyes out like a biblical angel."

Hakeem just gave a little shake of his head, lip twitching at the edge almost giving away a smile, and he picked the injector to return to his task of getting Cajun butter infused into the fried crab legs. "Pastalaya should only be a few more minutes -- mind checking the timer for me?" His back was to the stove, where a covered pot was letting out enticing fragrances. The table was already set, the small one he kept right next to the big windows for the view of the city, with an embroidered tablecloth and the traditional burning candle and single champagne rose between dishes -- including an amount of silverware that implied there was a dessert already made and hidden away somewhere.

#draconisa #dany & porter | domestic bliss #he simply must cook up a storm whenever she comes over for dinner. its the LAW

[dailyaudiobible]

08/28/2023 DAB Transcript

Job 28:1-30:31, 2 Corinthians 2:12-17, Psalms 42:1-11, Proverbs 22:7

Today is the 28th day of August welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it is wonderful to be here with you today. We stepped into a brand-new week yesterday and so here we go. We gotta live it now. And what a gift…what a gift that we can. And one of the ways that we find out how to do that is to come around the Global Campfire every day and orient ourselves to God through the Scriptures. And, so, we’re in the right place and we’re here at the right time. And, so, let's do the right thing and take the next step forward. Our next step leads us back to the territory that we’ve been moving through, which is the book of Job. And we will arrive at the conclusion of Job not too many days hence but we’re not there yet. Job and his friends are duking it out about Job's innocence. And we pick up the story today with Job, chapter 28, 29 and 30.

Commentary:

Okay. So, if I walk into my house and my wife is making dinner, and I don't know she's making dinner and I walk into the house I am greeted by the scent of dinner that is being made and that immediately evokes in the whatever it smells like and whatever she makes is delicious. It makes me think about the food that she's preparing and then that's attached to so many other meals throughout all of my life. Or I…I have a have an essential oil diffuser here in the studio. I get my coffee to my left and my essential oil diffuser to my right. And on many days I’ll pour water into that, drop some essential oils into that and flip it on and then I'll…I'll forget about and just kinda get moving into the day, interacting. And at some point I will have…I will have left the room and have returned and will be greeted by this pleasing calming aroma, even to the point that I’ve looked for biblical aromas for my diffuser. I’ve even looked like, how…we should…someday we should figure this out. We should bring this into…into the community. I digress. I leave the room. I come back into the room. I encounter the aroma and the atmosphere is changed in some kind of subtle way. And this isn't like hocus-pocus or anything like, there’s science behind all of this. Like we know that a certain scent at a certain time can take us right back to a certain moment as if like we’re right back there. So, if it's…you know…walking to a house and there's cookies baking and that reminds you of grandma and you’re back there and you’re four again…aroma can change the atmosphere. And before you start thinking about…wow…thanks for that life hack. Thanks for the…thanks for the tip. What had that got to do with the Bible? It just so happens that that's exactly what Paul’s talking about today from the Bible. And, so, I quote the apostle Paul. “I thank God always leads us in victory because of Christ. Wherever we go God uses us to make clear what it means to know Christ. It's like a fragrance that fills the air. To God, we are the aroma of Christ among those who are saved and among those who are dying. To some people we are a deadly fragrance while to others we are a life giving fragrance.” Have you ever thought about your life in those terms before, that you are giving off a fragrance, an aroma whereever you go and people are picking up on it as we interact with each other in the same ways that you pick up on things as you interact with people? I mean, think about it for a second. If they could have a smell, an aroma. What would your words smell like? What atmosphere altering fragrance do your actions give off? Every week we step into a new week and we call it shiny and sparkly and we say it's a reset and we can step into it and we get to live this right. And this is what we’re talking about. Do our thoughts, do our words, do our deeds emit the aroma of Jesus? Do we bring us subtle shift in the atmosphere because the presence of Christ is with us and in us or do we get out of bed and basically spray on the repellent to keep everybody away? Let's give it some thought today. Let's watch ourselves today. Let's think in these terms today as an exercise as a practice. Everything I do, everything that I say is creating the atmosphere that I live in. Do I bring the aroma of Christ? Does the atmosphere get altered because of Jesus or is this just another day to go out and to hate humanity and try to survive? You know maybe that smile that you give to that stranger is a kiss from Jesus because they haven't had a good word spoken to them and week. We never know. But what we are picking up from the apostle Paul is our lives smell like something. Maybe they should smell like shalom. Maybe they should smell like heaven. Let’s give it some thought today.

Prayer:

Holy Spirit, we invite You into that. This exercise allows us to look at our lives framed in a different way which can bring all kinds of insight. And, so, Holy Spirit come and bring insight into our lives. What aroma are we putting into the world? Is it the aroma of Chris? May it be so we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base and that is where you can find out what's happening. The Daily Audio Bible app does that and a lot more and that's free and you can download it from the app store that works of your device. So, check that out.

Check out the different sections. Check out the Community section. This is where you can get connected on social media, but also this is where the Prayer Wall lives. And the Prayer Wall is just us, just ours, just here for the Global Campfire community. It's a place where we can always go, where we can always pray, where we can always ask for prayer. So, check that out. It is…it is good to know that there is a place when the bottom falls out or when you're on a mountaintop experience and you want to share and pray for others. The Prayer Wall is there in the Community section. So, check that out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, thank you. Thank you so humbly. We couldn't be here if we weren’t here together. So, if what we’re doing, bringing the spoken word of God read fresh each day and offered freely to anybody anywhere anytime and to build community around that so that we show up for each other each day. If that matters, that is life-giving, thank you for your partnership. There is a link on the home page at dailyaudiobible.com. If you’re using the app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner, or the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement you can hit the Hotline button in the app or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Coming soon…

[sailorrose19]

Do you ever look at your calendar and see that February 22nd the day after Mardi Gras is marked as Ash Wednesday, I already did. Countless times to be honest.

If you're eager for the start of Lent then good for you or if not then that is okay as well just make sure to take care of yourself.

If you're in the religiously abused category and see Lent and the whole idea of fasting, giving alms, praying and giving something up for 40 days as a big trigger like I do then let me be the one to help (if that is okay with you)

If you're ex Catholic and no longer identify or associate yourself with Christianity like I am especially after making my faith renunciation loud and clear but are still stuck in a strict religious environment where the family is still stuck in a stage of denial that their child young or grown is no longer in the faith and attempting to reconvert and "bring back to the flock" unaware that their futile attempts will only push the child away instead genuinely accepting things as they are then you came to the right post.

This time of the year can be difficult for all of us and some of us don't have the capability to fast or abstain for 40 days since we need food and drinks to keep up our strength in the physical and mental sense especially in the physical side due to health conditions that make it impossible to do so and Christianity does not see that unfortunately and some don't even have the right to make the choice of not doing Lent at all.

Very unfair if you ask me. So very unfair. I devised a list for Anti-lent to use and feel free to reblog and add your own to the list

Instead of giving something up why not indulge in it. It could be food, a new drink you wanna try but the church says "No way, you're practicing abstinence whether you like it or not!" screw that and do the opposite.

Pick up a new skill. It could be writing, reading that is not biblical scripture, trying a new cooking recipe in the kitchen(please be careful if you do so. No one likes coming home to a kitchen set on fire.)

Question Church teaching and the rules. This may seem like a very hard one and heavily discouraged in Catholicism. I've done a lot of questioning as a child and there were a lot of rules that never sat well with me at all. Blind faith and blind obedience is not a good look on anyone

On Fridays, instead of not eating meat or going to a fish fry, eat meat anyways you need the protein(unless you're vegetarian or a vegan there are other means of getting protien). Treat yourself to hamburger, steak, any meat will do. The same applies for Good Friday instead of one meal have your 3 square meals of the day.

Practice self-care. This one, is a super important one! If some priest in his sermon says to give self-care for lent don't listen and do the opposite instead. Cut your hair, go for a mani-pedi, try a new fragrance, take an extra long bath or shower, meditate, do what makes you happy this goes with the indulgence portion.

Instead of giving alms, use that tithing money on yourself or donate to a more worthy cause because the church does not deserve even a single cent from either of us no matter how much they try to guilt you into dropping your hard earned money in the offering basket. If you have a paycheck splurge some but save a portion for whenever that urge to splurge comes up leave some as a "Don't touch until next payday or future adventure travel fund".

Set boundaries. If folks ask why you aren't giving anything up for Lent, don't answer because you don't owe anyone an answer as to why. That applies to families no matter how hard some don't believe in the concept of boundaries.

Take care of your mental health. As someone who was emotionally and mentally abused by the Catholic Church, this felt like something I should've done a long time ago. Find a good therapist or psychiatrist especially one that specialize in treating folks with religious trauma. I've been seeing a therapist and I'm still in the recovery process since I got mental and emotional scars that won't heal right.

If you're pagan like I am. Look into Easter's origins before Christians came and ruin everything like they always have for milenia. Self-reflect on Ostara and the arrival of spring means to you meditate on that.

You're free to reblog and add more to the list and you can hashtag it as well in your reblogs so be sure to enjoy Mardi Gras, dance, eat, drink(responsibly), catch some beads and maybe engage in as much debauchery possible just don't let the debauchery doesn't land you in jail.

Hey guys, love you guys ❤

#Anti lent #indulge #indulgence #ex catholic #ex christian #not fasting #no abstinence for this gal #self care #take care of yourselves #Not a christian anymore #not a catholic #religious trauma #religious abuse #religious recovery #mental health care #look after yourself #no sin in loving yourself #heathen #baby pagan #baby witchling #Ostara #spring is coming #fuck christianity #fuck catholics #do whatever you want #do what makes you happy

[yhwhrulz]

Morning and Evening with A.W. Tozer Devotional for January 22

Tozer in the Morning Three Faithful Wounds

"Faithful are the wounds of a friend," says the Holy Spirit in Proverbs 27:6. And lest we imagine that the preacher is the one who does the wounding, I want to read Job 5:17,18: "Behold, happy is the man whom God correcteth: therefore despise not thou the chastening of the Almighty: for he maketh sore, and bindeth up: he woundeth, and his hands make whole."

You see, the one who does the wounding here is not the servant, but the Master Himself. So with that in our minds, I want to talk to you about three faithful wounds of a friend.

In order to get launched into my message let me introduce a little lady who has been dead for about six hundred years. She once lived and loved and prayed and hadn't much light and she hadn't any way to get much light, but the beautiful thing about her was that with what little Biblical light she had, she walked with God so wonderfully close that she became as fragrant as a flower. And long before Reformation times she was in spirit, an evangelical. She lived and died and has now been with her Lord nearly six hundred years but she has left behind her fragrance of Christ.

England was a better place because this little lady lived. She wrote only one book, a very tiny book that you could slip into your side pocket or your purse, but it's so flavorful, so divine, so heavenly, that is has made a distinct contribution to the great spiritual literature of the world. The lady to whom I refer is the one called the Lady Julian of Norwich.

Before she blossomed out into this radiant, glorious life which made her famous as a great Christian all over her part of the world, she prayed a prayer and God answered. It is prayer with which I am concerned tonight. The essence of her prayer was this: "Oh God, please give me three wounds; the wound of contrition and the wound of compassion and the wound of longing after God." Then she added this little postscript which I think is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read: "This I ask without condition." She wasn't dickering with God. She wanted three things and they were all for God's glory: "I ask this without condition, Father; do what I ask and then send me the bill. Anything it costs me will be all right with me."

All great Christians have been wounded souls. It is strange what a wound will do to a man. Here's a soldier who goes out to the battlefield. He is full of jokes and strength and self- assurance; then one day a piece of shrapnel tears through him and he falls, and whimpering, beaten, defeated man. Suddenly his whole world collapses around him and this man, instead of being the great, strong, broad-chested fellow that he thought he was, suddenly becomes a whimpering boy, again. And such have even been known, I am told, to cry for their mothers when they lie bleeding and suffering on the field of battle. There is nothing like a wound to take the self-assurance out of us, reduce us to childhood again and make us small and helpless in our own sight.

Many of the Old Testament character were wounded men, stricken of God and afflicted indeed as their Lord was after them. Take Jacob, for instance. Twice God afflicted him; twice he met God and one time it came as a wound, and another time it came actually as a physical wound and he limped on his thigh for the rest of his life. And the man Elijah, was he not more than a theologian? He was a man who had been stricken; he had been struck with the sword of God and was no longer simply one of Adam's race standing up in his own self-assurance; he was a man who had an encounter with God, who had been confronted by God and had been defeated and broken down before. And when Isaiah saw the Lord high and lifted up, you know what it did to him. Or take Ezekiel, how he went down before his God and became a little child again. And there were many others.Let's talk about these three wounds in their order.

THE FIRST IS THE WOUND OF CONTRITION. Now I've heard for the last thirty years that repentance is a change of mind, and I believe it, of course, as far as it goes. But that is just what's the matter with us. We have reduced repentance to a change of mind. It is a mental act, indeed, but I point out that repentance is not likely to do us much good until it ceases to be a change of mind only and becomes a wound within our spirit. No man has truly repented until his sin has wounded him near to death, until the wound has broken him and defeated him and taken all the fight and self- assurance out of him and he sees himself as the one who nailed his Savior on the tree.

I don't know about you, but the only way I can keep right with God is to keep contrite, to keep a sense of contrition upon my spirit. Now there's a lot of cheap and easy getting rid of sin and getting your repentance disposed of. But the great Christians in and out of the Bible, have been those who were wounded with a sense of contrition so that they never quite got over the thought and the feeling that they had personally crucified Jesus.

Let us beware of vain and over hasty repentance, and particularly let us beware of no repentance at all. We are sinful race, ladies and gentlemen, a sinful people, and until the knowledge has hit hard, until it has wounded us, until it has got through and past the little department of our theology, it has done us no good. Repentance is a wound I pray we may all feel.

THEN THERE IS THE WOUND OF COMPASSION. Now compassion is an emotion identification, and Christ had that in full perfection. The man who has this wound of compassion is a man who suffers along with other people. Jesus Christ our Lord can never suffer to save us any more. This He did once for all, when He gave Himself without spot through the Holy Ghost to the Father on Calvary's cross. He cannot suffer to save us, but He still must suffer to win us. He does not call His people to redemptive suffering. that's impossible; it could not be. Redemption is a finished work. But He does call His people to feel along with Him and to feel along with those that rejoice and those that suffer. He calls His people to be to Him the kind of an earthly body in which He can weep again and suffer and love again. For our Lord has tow bodies. One is the body He took to the tree on Calvary; that was the body in which He suffered to redeem us. But He has a body on earth now, composed of those wh o have been baptized into it by the Holy Ghost a conversion. In that body He would now suffer to win men. Paul said that he was glad that he could suffer for the Colossians and fill up the measure of the afflictions of Christ in his body for the church's sake.

Tozer in the Evening THE CROWD TURNS BACK

Our Lord Jesus Christ called men to follow Him, but He plainly taught that "no man can come unto me, except it were given him of my Father" (John 6:65). It is not surprising that many of His early followers, upon hearing these words, went back and walked no more with Him. Such teaching cannot but be deeply disturbing to the natural mind. It takes from sinful men much of the power of self-determination. It cuts the ground out from under their self-help and throws them back upon the sovereign good pleasure of God-and that is precisely where they do not want to be! These statements by our Lord run contrary to the current assumptions of popular Christianity. Men are willing to be saved by grace, but to preserve their self-esteem, they must hold that the desire to be saved originated with them. Most Christians today seem afraid to talk about the se plain words of Jesus concerning the sovereign operation of God-so they use the simple trick of ignoring them!

Copyright Statement This material is considered in the public domain.

[24-role-0301-x]

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where ls the water jug ln the lll van fully charged ?

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1936.295.6331

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v isa twelve hans holliday rolex river sun times vtwelve ℠

gulf of mexico octanes aer actually very expensive fragrances

and highly addictive ln the smelling of

which counters

the unpleasant odor from the ponytail

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which signals death

so

when we say gas [ we ] actually mean the pump

and not its contents

lll troy mi [ lil troy ]

or lll directory

stated that these were colombians here [ so the dream ]

was a new spanish harlem

the life of houston never traveled any further beyond

that album of which the lord was jungstar [ yungstar ]

george yung mj enterprises

[ cmaroonga maroon cangaroo ]

thee west hollywood burberry cangaroo

parfrum wes hollywood burjberry kobalt un ltd 90067

[ west hollywood burberry kobalts unlimited ]

wes hollywood new york new york 90067

bmwillinois grangerland illinois

what ls that noise att bmw rear sphinx rear ?

grangerland dusS illinois du Ss alfas [ sdsu ] grangerland illinois

[ 1936.231.3989 ]

grangermland usc limousine jr high 78 6 grangerland illi

lnloinć pmonwillisi [ bmwillinois loowe ] linćoln loowheel

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so you would be speaking with King

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9 state high school titles and 3 national titles

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which spells first round draft pick

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[ my players here aer already professional athletes ]

hired lnto the oil industry 67

six and seven figures

parfrum steve jobs biblical passages

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parfrum oj ac

philadelphia lincoln jr high 1993

scearchers [ archer schecherz ] philadelphia pennsylvania 90093

so lma diamond dealer

[ and ]

my days of going out on double dates are long gone

[unfoldingmoments]

The Sluggard

“The first line of this poem calls to mind the Biblical phrase “the voice of the turtle” (Song of Songs 2:12); actually it is a parody of the opening lines of “The Sluggard,” a dismal poem by Isaac Watts (see Note 5 of Chapter 2), which was well known to Carroll’s readers. ’Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain, “You have wak’d me too soon, I must slumber again.” As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed, Turns his sides and his shoulders and his heavy head. “A little more sleep, and a little more slumber;” Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number, And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands, Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands. I pass’d by his garden, and saw the wild brier, The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher; The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags; And his money still wastes till he starves or he begs. I made him a visit, still hoping to find That he took better care for improving his mind: He told me his dreams, talked of eating and drinking; But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking. Said I then to my heart, “Here’s a lesson for me,” This man’s but a picture of what I might be: But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding, Who taught me betimes to love working and reading.

Song of Songs 2:11-13 English Standard Version 2016 (ESV) The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. The fig tree ripens its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come away.

Excerpt From: Lewis Carroll. “The Annotated Alice.”

#thesluggard #isaacwatts #theannotatedalice #book #poem #poet #aliceinwonderland #songofsongs #voiceofaturtle

[kureitnow]

Divine Fragrances: Tapping into the Therapeutic Potential of Biblical Healing Oils

In the realms of ancient wisdom and natural remedies, the essential oils stand out as extraordinary gifts from nature. These aromatic essences have been revered for centuries for their unique healing properties and their spiritual significance. From biblical times to the present day, these oils have captured the imagination and provided solace to those seeking physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being. This article discusses about the qualities and benefits of these divine fragrances, exploring their therapeutic potential and shedding light on their remarkable role in ancient healing practices.

Read The Article :

https://rollbol.com/blogs/1617521/Divine-Fragrances-Tapping-into-the-Therapeutic-Potential-of-Biblical-Healing

[wolint]

FRESH MANNA

MADE TO FLOURISH

Psalm 92:12-15

To flourish is to have a healthy or vigorous way of growth or development, and the only things that can flourish are microorganisms, especially when exposed to a stronger and more fertile environment.

The vigorous growth, longevity, utility, fragrance, and beauty of the Christian life depend on what and where they are planted. As a Child of God, planted in Christ with God as our source, we can flourish wherever God plants us.

Although we may not initially understand why God has planted us where we are right now, God understands, and He also knows why. It will all make sense in the end.

When God finished creating the world He said it was, “Very good.” He intended for us to flourish. As part of God’s creation, being made in his image, we feel this desire to flourish deep within us.

And there’s always a place of flourish in God.

To Flourish does not only mean to thrive in the natural sense as in the case of Isaac in Genesis 26 but also to thrive in a spiritual sense in our spiritual walk with God.

Believers are to be like palm trees and flourish like the cedars of Lebanon which are known for their strength and used in the construction. The metaphor used to convey the idea of flourishing is that of a palm tree planted beside an abundantly flowing river. Such trees grow vigorously and have healthy leaves that produce through all seasons. Biblical flourishing encompasses all of our being, including our material, psychological, spiritual and emotional aspects. The palm tree is a symbol of victory as seen in the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem in Luke 19:28-40. That’s what happens to a believer planted like a palm tree in God, triumph and victory!

The scripture says the righteous shall flourish like the palm tree. Comparing our lives to the palm tree. The leaves represent the overall state of health of our bodies, souls, and spirits. Green leaves represent good physical and emotional health and abundant fruit are what scripture calls success referred to in Joshua 1:8. We were created to flourish but only in God! Christ has promised us a flourishing life implying that He’s brought healing and health to us because we are planted beside the river of living water.

The Christian walk doesn’t just provide a set of values or a vision that we should pursue to flourish, it provides the heart cure and renewal of our souls that enables us to pursue and experience flourishing.

The decisions we make will determine whether we flourish or not. A flourishing life is a blessed life. Jeremiah 17:8 likens it to a tree planted by waters – something that flourishes is alive, healthy and growing. Just like the palm tree, if we are to flourish and produce fruit, we must have our roots down to receive regular nourishment.

Are you established in walking with God to receive guidance, and encouragement and to thrive in your gifts and talents?

Would you like to flourish like a palm tree and grow like a cedar in Lebanon today? Right now? Then plant yourself in the Lord, as a priest unto God, ministering to the Lord, and you will most certainly flourish in the courts of our God. Outside of God, we cannot flourish.

PRAYER: Oh Lord, gardener of my life and soul, prune and make me flourish in every area of my life in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Shalom

Women of light international prayer ministries.