Monthly Archives: July 2013

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who-locked-the-impala:

{4/? myths}: Red String Of Fate
– The red string of fate (also called the red thread of destiny/red thread of fate) is an East Asian belief originating from Chinese legend. According to the legend, Yuè Xià Lǎo (often abbreviated to “Yuèlǎo”), the old lunar matchmaker god, ties red strings on the ankles of two people who are destined to be together. The Japanese variation of this myth is that the red string is often tied around a person’s pinkie finger. The two people connected by the red string are destined lovers; regardless of time, place, or circumstances. The string may stretch or tangle, but can never break.

Summer knelt in front of the low altar, pausing for a second to fish the ends of her hair out of the way. Normally she didn’t work skyclad, but Lammas was particularly important to her, so she put in a little extra effort. Then again, she didn’t celebrate this part with anyone else, normally.

Four candles sat in a perfect diamond, oriented to each cardinal direction. Disdaining a lighter, she touched each one and called it to light, then folded her hands in her lap. Maybe other pagans did things differently, but fire magic was part of her, and this was how she chose to be grateful for her gifts — by using them.

Staring into the flames, she fell into meditation. She shaped the thought of her patron god — dark hair, green eyes, a sly smile: Loki.

the-ladies-call-me-torch:

iamthefirechild:

the-ladies-call-me-torch:

“Oh, much better.” Summer would have succumbed to him far more quickly if he had begun by asking her to dance. He was a good dancer. “Are you always this warm?” Oooh, that smile was dangerous. And contagious. She smiled back up at him, wondering what made him smile so.

“Glad to know I’m improving,” he said sardonically, “And yeah. You know being the Human Torch and all. I do run a little hotter than everybody else.”

Even though he knew he had a biased opinion, he thought she looked far prettier when she wasn’t refusing his advances. It could be just him.

“Now don’t be like that. You’re getting what you want, remember?” She tapped her fingertips against his back sharply, admonishing. “I like heat. I like fire, too.”

“That’s good, cos as you know I’ve got fire to spare,” he smirked down at her, and dipped her down and back up again as quickly as possible, just so that he could get that surprised yet indignant look on her face etched into his memory.

“You and me both.” Johnny didn’t get his wish, only because his emotions gave her a moment’s warning of mild mischief, and she laughed up at him from the nadir of the dip. “Oh, do that again!”

the-ladies-call-me-torch:

iamthefirechild:

the-ladies-call-me-torch:

He made sure to wrap his free arm as far around her as possible whilst he held her hand in a gentle grip. They swayed to the sound of the music, and he found that he couldn’t keep the grin off of his face. He enjoyed the women’s company who didn’t take his bullshit more than the others. They were always funnier.

“How am I doing so far?” he asked casually as he twirled her around slowly.

“Oh, much better.” Summer would have succumbed to him far more quickly if he had begun by asking her to dance. He was a good dancer. “Are you always this warm?” Oooh, that smile was dangerous. And contagious. She smiled back up at him, wondering what made him smile so.

“Glad to know I’m improving,” he said sardonically, “And yeah. You know being the Human Torch and all. I do run a little hotter than everybody else.”

Even though he knew he had a biased opinion, he thought she looked far prettier when she wasn’t refusing his advances. It could be just him.

“Now don’t be like that. You’re getting what you want, remember?” She tapped her fingertips against his back sharply, admonishing. “I like heat. I like fire, too.”

differentmasks:

iamthefirechild:

*facepalms* Maybe I should just ask Tony if I can have an advertising campaign, so the rest of you will stop acting like I’m some kind of fragile flower normal mundane. Remy can chase me in circles while he /tries/ to kick my ass ten ways to Sunday. Same for you.

Maybe you’re not getting this. I’ll talk slower.

Don’t care who you are.

Don’t care what kind of shit you’re trying to pull.

Not chasing you. Don’t care about your goddamn flowers or inferiority complex or what kind of goddamn polish you use on your goddamn nails.

I’m tellin’ you to go away.

Now.

Conversation’s over, tinkerbell. Move it along.

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She wants very badly to kick the door, or something, anything, to let off the frustration. She settles for growling at it, giving it the finger, and resists equally hard the temptation to set a nearby plant on fire.

“Stupid mutants,” she mutters, stalking off, ignoring the fact that she’s a mutant too.