#hand warming

[ikuneko]

Once again @the-kunogi has delivered the loveliest art of my dear boys 💕

Such a sweet, cozy scene of Jin Ling warming Lan Sizhui's hands after he's been waiting for him ❄️🩵💛❄️ I love seeing Jin Ling caring for Sizhui~🫶

[newyorkthegoldenage]

They had freezing temps in 1940, too.

Photo: Andrew Herman via seeoldnyc.com

[violettduchess]

Chevalier 10 fall fluff

A/N: Getting an early jump on these requests! (The Fall Fluff Autumn Angst CCC runs Sept 15 - Nov 15)

Thank you anon for the request!

Chevalier x f!reader

Word Count: 1247

It had taken so much planning on your part, but as you hurry back towards the palace over cobblestones slick with rain, you know it was worth every single agonizing minute. Even the sudden fall drizzle with its tiny cold darts of water doesn’t dampen the glow inside your heart. Because you have managed to do something impossible. You have found a book Chevalier wants….and has not read. 

As you zig-zag your way around puddles, you remember the evening a few weeks ago. 

You were curled up on his lap, reading aloud from a list of book recommendations sent by a professor friend you had remained in touch with since moving into the palace. Chevalier’s arresting blue eyes were on his own novel, listening with as much attention to your reading as he was to his own story, a skill that at first had seemed like some kind of black magic but was, in fact, just the magic of Chevalier and his incredible mind. 

He murmured acknowledgments as you read the list out loud,  his expression never changing. ….Until you mentioned the final book, a rare novel from the Northernmost region of the Jade Empire. At its name, he had raised his gaze from the pages of his own story to glance at the letter.  

“I’ve never read that,” he murmured, his expression almost thoughtful. 

Surprise caused you to look up. It was a rare book indeed that had not yet crossed Chevalier Michel’s path.

“Do you want to?”

He adjusted you slightly in his lap, his arm holding you securely to him as one shoulder lifted in an elegant shrug.

“I wouldn’t reject it if it appeared in my bookshelf someday.” He returned his gaze to his book and you found yourself fighting back a grin. He wanted to read it. That singular piece of information started a roaring fire inside your heart. Come hell or highwater, you would not rest until you got him that book. 

Weeks of correspondence, of charming and cajoling Clavis to help you, of promising palace visits and donations and one very desperate letter to Prince Keith had finally paid off. A copy of the book had arrived at the bookshop where you formerly worked, wrapped protectively in the finest black velvet, like a queen’s favorite jewel.

This is the package you clutch so tightly to your chest as you hurry onto palace grounds, your boots squelching with every step. A few words with a passing servant direct you to Chevalier’s study. You burst through the wide, white doors, dripping with rain and excitement.

“I have something for you!” 

Your words are breathless with the pace you set to get there and the anticipation of the look on his face. Chevalier pauses his writing, carefully laying down his feathered quill. You are one of the very few people allowed to interrupt him when he is working. He shifts his long limbs, turning to face you. You are bright-eyed and soaking wet and holding something so tightly in your hands, your knuckles are white. You’re also starting to shiver, a fact that you yourself are not even aware of. 

He rises from his chair, long legs taking him to you in a matter of seconds.

“It is autumn now. Only a simpleton would be caught in the rain and not seek a fire immediately.” He reaches out, taking your elbow and roughly begins guiding you out of the study.

“But Chevalier-” You leave a trail of tiny puddles in your wake as he firmly leads you out of his study and to the main salon, with its plush furniture and most importantly, large fireplace.

At this hour, most of the other princes are either out or conducting business over drinks. The salon is empty when you both enter. The warmth of the room wraps itself around you, the heat a shock to your cold skin.

“Chev-” You try again, wanting so desperately for him to open the treasure you have procured. But he ignores his name on your lips, his expression etched with annoyance as he deftly removes your wet cloak.

“You are soaked. How foolish.” He takes your arm and pulls you with a bit more finesse closer to the fireplace where a generous fire is crackling, tiny sparks twinkling like fiery stars as they rise and then fade away.

Your cloak soaked in most of the water but he still undoes the hooks of your corseted vest, tossing it aside. A shiver runs through you, not entirely from the cold. His hands start at your shoulders, surprisingly gentle as they run down your arms, feeling the sleeves of your blouse, fingers touching your bare skin when he gets to your wrists and your hands, still clutching the velvet-wrapped gift.

“Put that thing down. You’re still chilled.”

Frustration bubbles up inside you like the fizz of champagne. You step away from his touch, eyes narrowed.

“Would you just take a look at-”

“Not until you are warm.”

Frustration dips, overrun by a wave of genuine anger.

“It’s ‘The Death of King Arthur’,’” you snap at him. He stops, taken by surprise. Whatever he was expecting you to say, that was certainly not it. You move toward him again, holding the package out. “First edition.” 

His eyes, frostfire in the warm light of the flames, move from you to the velvet in your shaking hands. He reaches out, taking it from you and you feel your anger begin to ebb. There, now he has heard what it is. He’ll probably want to unwrap it immediately and dive into the book right away. The thought makes you smile to yourself.

Your lips part in surprise as he turns, setting the unopened parcel down on the couch. He steps toward you and reaches out, taking your hands in his. Despite the warmth of the fire, they still feel cold, tense from the way they had been gripping his present from the moment it was handed over to you til now.

He wraps his long, elegant fingers around yours and begins rubbing your hands between his. His touch sends warmth through you in a way that no flame could ever match.

“But….the book. Don’t you want to read it?” Your voice is small, pin-pricked with uncertainty. You were sure he would immediately dive in, no matter what.

He continues to rub your hands between his, his gaze now meeting yours. What you see in them stops the very air in your lungs and quickens the rhythm of your heart: love the breadth of the sky, the depth of the sea; eternity in the sapphire of his eyes.

“We’ll read it together. After you are properly warmed.” His voice is softer now, much like his touch. He lifts both of your hands to his lips, dropping his head down to place an endearingly awkward kiss on the place they meet. You exhale, a dreamer living out the sweetest of dreams. He raises his head to see your smile and the world fills with light when he returns it, a sight that is yours and only yours. 

You lean in, stepping as close to him as your joined hands will let you, your chin tilted up to look into his eyes, as blue and radiant as the wings of a blue Morpho butterfly.

“Well, Prince Chevalier….” You rise onto your toes, pressing an inviting kiss to his lips, “Properly warm me then.”

🍂

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing @scorchieart

[fandom-related-me]

Im working on some sketches for something but it might take a long time since I lost practice and dont have a lot of time, It’s a scene of the novel that I’d like to see illustrated (I know Im messy lmao)

[focusmatters-blog]

Antedote to performance anxiety:Drug free, and natural

Anxiety sucks. Skilled, well trained, passionate about music, she could not play her loved cello in public. A salesman needing to commute anywhere anytime could not drive over a bridge. She ran like the wind, a runner by nature but she could not run in front of a crowd. An expert in her field, she knew her material thoroughly, but place her in front of a live microphone and her lips quivered, her saliva disappeared and her brain shut down.

Their common enemy? Anxiety. Fear and anxiety grip most of us at least some of the time. Anxiety can be aroused with, or without a real or imagined threat, with or without an identifiable trigger. Public speaking or flying are the most commonly identified triggers. Anxiety can push us to perform at our best. The adrenalin rush can sharpen our performance, focus us, however too much and it degrades performance.

Anxiety attacks physically, palms sweat, hearts pound, chests pain, nausea, shortness of breath, headaches, we tremble, as the blood races to the extremities to strengthen the fight or flight response faces turn pale. It leaves an emotional and cognitive imprint. We feel fear. We can’t concentrate or think. We become irritable, we pace, bite our nails, throw up or are suddenly overcome with fatigue.

Anxiety changes the brain and body chemistry. It is well named ‘an attack’. As the body temperature drops under stress, raising it, especially in the hands, lessens that anxiety.

Test taking anxiety, performance anxiety, stage fright, anticipatory anxiety, social phobia whatever you call it, which ever forms stalks you, is debilitating. There are many interventions available including meditation, mindfulness, paradoxical intention, positive psychology, medication and biofeedback. No one intervention works with everyone.

Musicians, speakers, actors and athletes find performance anxiety impedes their abilities. One student’s test taking anxiety was so severe he failed his degree program. He knew the material. But when he was timed, in a class room, seated before a blank piece of paper, under the scrutiny of an examiner his fund of knowledge left him. Frightened flyers, anxiety ridden speakers who froze before a microphone or a crowd find their fear set off by unique triggers. A salesman could not drive a route if he encountered anything unexpected like road works. Sweat soaked his shirt; his hands shook, he had to turn back. Fear prevents others from taking elevators or escalators.

Whatever the source of the anxiety, in my practice I found that one approach relieved more symptoms than any other. Anxiety locks our shoulders. A hot knife blade slices our upper spine and our hands become cold. Fear feelings drown our ability to reason our way out of the dilemma. That is the bad news. The good news is that it is physiologically impossible to have warm hands and be anxious. However if you focus on the locked shoulder muscles with say Jacobson’s deep muscle relaxation techniques while in a highly anxious state those muscles will lock up further. We have to circumnavigate them. Ordinarily I do not believe in short cuts, but this case is an exception. Here is a short cut that works.

In a resting state your hands temperature will usually be in the 80’s. A finger temperature of 80 F is cool, 75 F is cold, and 70 F is exceptionally cold, 90 F is warm. The goal, for the purposes of “think your hands warm” exercise is 96F sustained for 10 minutes. If your hand temperature is in the 80’s you will see a rapid increase in temperature. If your hands are warmer the temperature will rise more slowly, this does not mean you are failing, it is just the way it is.

If you 'thought warm' your hands the neck and shoulder muscles unlock and relax, the blood flows to the hands and brain and you can think. With your thoughts back in gear and the fear contained rational thought leads you out of the dilemma to perform your task.

It is not difficult to do. Put aside at least 15 minutes for your “think your hands warm” sessions. Sit quietly, breathe deeply, make sure you are relaxed and comfortable. Aid your relaxation by being in a resting position either laying down or half laying down. Rest your hands on your diaphragm. Breathe deeply until you move your hands up and down with the breathing alone, not your muscles. Imagine your hands being hot, imagine the sun upon your hands, imagine the warm blood flowing down your arms to your hands, think “warm hands” repeatedly. Put them together at first if this helps with initial warming. Focusing your attention upon their warming can raise their temperature a few degrees. And a few degrees are significant. Your fingers plump up and become mottled as if you just taken a brisk walk or a run.

A biofeedback specialist can train you to do this, or, you can train yourself. It does take time and persistence but mastery occurs surprisingly quickly even for children. An inexpensive thermometer will help you gauge your progress.

Behind closed doors the musician, eyes closed, lost in music, played like a gifted professional. Add a crowd and her cello slipped from her sweating hands. Resistant to warming her hands she argued that the sweat meant they were already hot. They were not, they were cold and clammy. Once she was persuaded to ‘think her hands warm’, and she became proficient at it she controlled her fear. She joined the symphony with dry hands

The more you practice it when you do not need it, the more readily available it will be when you do. Like the driver who became anxious at the sight of road works, as soon as you identify the trigger, see your version of the “Men at work” signs begin thought warming your hands. Ignore the counter thoughts of “I have to turn around, I can’t do this”, shut the mind off, focus on your hands. The anxiety will subside. The first time the driver attended session, with his shirt fresh and dry, having driven through a work zone he celebrated the joy of success.

That joy can be yours. Happy hand warming.

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