#(foreign on the tongue of spring) and embraces a world of unknowns

[hellenhighwater]

Gold and garnets for Persephone and Hades! This pair is going to be listed for sale on my website but it's also slated for exhibition at the Garrett Museum in the fall, so it's booked until then.

[nyxdelanuit]

My Kingdom for a Bath (Ojiro x Reader)

This is for the BNHarem’s Apocalypse NSFW Collab!! THE MASTERLIST CAN BE FOUND HERE! Be sure to check everyone else’s out c:

NSFW BELOW~ 

It had been two years since the world you had known disappeared. No one could come to an agreement on what had happened. Some said that a quirk had raged out of control, some said that it was an act of terrorism, and others said it was an experiment to fight global warming and deforestation gone awry.

 All you knew was that two years ago, you were visiting your parents in their modest suburban town one moment, and the next, the ground was splitting apart under your feet. It was pure devastation, a reclaiming of the earth sped up by a millennium. From the fissures grew giant redwoods, consuming houses and breaking people along their boughs. Those that were able took to the skies, leaving those like you scattered among the broken ground.

Few lived through that, and fewer still survived the days to come. So dependent on the culture of convenience, not many were able to find ways to feed and shelter themselves. Those with quirks closely related to nature flourished until people flocked to them, relying on their energies to sustain groups double or triple their limit. Those groups tended to die out quickly, the leader succumbing to their frailties or abandoning them altogether. People that were used to farming struggled to till the overgrown soil, barely able to pull together crop enough to feed what was left of their families. And then there were those like you, who lost everything in the fall: no family, no ties, no way of finding out if your friends survived elsewhere.

 You wandered, the only way you were sure you'd survive. It was a surprise to you that you'd been able to survive this long on your own, but while everyone else had tried looting the remains of grocery stores and cafes, you had focused on raiding the bookstores. Books on survival, camping, memoirs of people lost in deserted areas, as many as you could carry, were cradled in your hold. The most useful for this new world were compiled, using a stray pair of scissors you found to carefully cut out the needed pages and bind them to the others with twine. You had tried for the first few weeks to carry them all, covers and all, but the weight on your shoulders prevented you from finding enough food to keep you going.

 They were invaluable, teaching you how to find clean water and how to make simple snares for small game. More than once, you had held a plant close to your mouth before deciding to check your notes, finding it the more poisonous cousin of a mild vegetable. It made you wonder how many others passed that way before you.

 Now you wandered through the central city, normally an hour's drive from your parent's home. It had taken you months to trek here, through the skeletons of cities devoured by ivy and teeming with wildlife not seen in centuries. They were becoming more brazen as of late, and you had wondered how long you'd be able to stave them off with no more than your survival knife at your hip.

 The city looked more eerie than any town you had traversed. The concrete below your feet was reduced to no more than pebbles providing you traction. Redwoods and cedars towered where buildings used to kiss the sky, the structures that still stood consumed in creeping vines and sinking into the loamy soil.

 You weren't immune to missing the comforts of your old life, that is why you were here after all. On the other side of this sprawling city was an old road, tucked into what had been quaint woods. Following the path took you to a modest hotel, one that you hoped was moderately untouched, for that hotel had been known for the only hot springs within your area. Thinking about it only made you aware of the grime that clung to you like a second skin.

 It was so close, you could almost feel the warm embrace of the water against your skin. Washing yourself in the cold rivers and streams only to be covered in pollen and debris the moment you set foot on land had driven you to the edge of sanity, and those outdoor baths would be your only solace. You felt a surge of energy that hadn’t graced you for months, trekking through the ruins of the places you used to visit. It was a melancholy sight, like seeing the places you walked during the day in the lens of the night. It used to be bustling, always busy, and now you were the only soul in sight scrambling over tree roots the size of cars and through brambles that threatened to embed their thorns into your legs as you passed.

 You had made good time on trekking through the overgrown city. You assumed you were a good few miles into the city proper by the time night started to descend. While you weren't able to wait for unassuming prey to fall into one of your snares, you had hidden away a few portions of meat you had smoked in your bag, enjoying your full belly as the embers of your fire lulled you to sleep.

 That was your intent, at least, until the rustling around you started to sound less like the usual small animals scurrying around you and more menacing, larger. Your hand flew to the knife at your side, dulled from daily use, but the only defense you had.

 You wished you still had enough faith in humanity to feel relieved when a man walked into your clearing. You wish you hadn’t seen how far people could fall when their survival was no longer ensured. But your hand stayed planted on the blade as the blonde-haired stranger made himself known. It eased your nerves a little that he was purposefully making himself known. He made no further attempts to placate you, however.

 “Fire is dangerous around here.” The words he spoke were rough, as if he hadn’t needed to use his voice until now. Your eyes narrowed as a tail swung behind him, kicking up dirt and smothering your sad excuse for a fire. The moon was bright enough that it only took moments for your eyes to adjust. The stranger was already turning to leave.

 “The animals around here will not hesitate to turn on you if you keep making yourself known.” With that, he nodded, moving to leave.

 "Wait…" You called out, not knowing why you were trying to reach out to this man. You had gone so long without relying on others, so why were you teasing yourself with the thought of his company? You watched him pause, turning to you. It seemed that something changed within, and he looked over you once more. For a moment, you thought you could see the shadow of who he was before all of this began.

 “How far is it to your group? I could lead you to them if you wish.” His voice was soft, as if he was speaking to a victim of some great tragedy. You supposed you all were, at this point.

 “I don’t… I’ve never had a group.” You stuttered out, your throat catching on words unused for months. “I’m… not from around here.” He nodded, eyes unfocused as he thought.

 "Neither am I. I was stationed here maybe two weeks before…" Before whatever this world had become. It was funny how, when the world falls apart, people became so xenophobic. Anyone unknown turned away to shelter those they had grown with. What a lousy time for you to be so far from your home. "Would you like to come with me? At least for the night?" A fire burned in his eyes, a desire to protect that you had all but forgotten. You found yourself nodding before you could process his request—anything but staying in the ghost of this place, the dark moving in like an unwelcome visitor.

 He moved quickly, naturally, through the undergrowth. His tail, thick and sturdy, providing him extra support as he glided near silently through fallen leaves. He made you feel clumsy and loud despite how far you had come these past few years. He at least had a mind to make sure you were following him alright, adjusting his pace once he realized you had fallen behind.

 The silence of the night, filled only with the chattering of bugs, unnerved you. Unable to take the creeping quiet, you spoke your name. A small offering to the person saving you from solitude. "Ojiro Mashirao." His voice was tenuous, as if the name would offend. It sparked some dull memory in your mind's recesses, some small thread that you were unable to follow. Your rolled his name in your mouth, savoring the syllables as they fell from your tongue.

He turned to you with a soft smile. How long had it been since he's heard his voice from someone else's mouth? How long had it been since you had heard yours? It felt almost foreign at this point. Ojiro had led you to a massive cedar, the branches reaching out to shelter the area with a pitch-black canopy. You watched in awe as he swiftly launched himself onto the lowest limb, his tail propelling him higher and higher.

 He seemed confused when he realized you weren't following. Even if you had wanted to, the nearest branch fell perfectly out of your grasp. You had doubted the large fungi that littered the bark would hold your weight if you tried to scale the tree using them. Ojiro looked almost ashamed as he watched you struggle below.

You were just a lone citizen making your way through this unforgiving world, you didn’t have the advantages of all the training he had. Snaking his way back down to stand before you, he looked down apologetically.

 "May I?" He held his hand out to you, timidly. Touch. Something else you had almost forgotten. Not like you had much of a choice as you placed your hand in his. With no hesitation, he perched you on his back, adjusting his hold before he vaulted into the sky. It was a strange sort of adrenaline that filled you as he raced through the branches. You hadn't felt the wind upon your face this way since the last time you had been in a car.

 He brought you into the main boughs of the tree, thick enough to relax without falling to your death. It seemed as if he had been here for a while. Things littered the branches, sets of clothes, buckets of water, personal effects salvaged from the town. From up here, the animals hidden at your approach wandered around the trunk, as small as ants.

 You weren't ready to let go of Ojiro's firm shoulders, wanting to keep sinking into the warmth he exuded. Yet some sense of propriety still spoke within you, ushering you from his hold. To distract yourself from these feelings, you took the time to really look at your surroundings. Luminescent plants littered the trunk of the tree, and u were so high up that the air started to feel just a touch thinner.

 "Come, I'll set up a place for you to rest. I can't make a fire, for obvious reasons, but if you stay close, I can keep you warm. It gets cold this far up." You nodded, it was logical, but you were still nervous—two years since you had been this close to someone. You watched as he pulled fabrics from branches, settling them in the cradle of the boughs. It was easily big enough to keep a handful of people nestled in its hold. Your eyes stayed glued to his back, watching the muscle tense beneath his shirt. Even that was enough to send a shiver down your spine, so touch-starved that you were aching to run your hands over his back for a taste of someone else's skin.

 He must not have been kidding, laying blankets and scraps of cloth next to the bundle that must have been his. He patted the fabric as he sat in his nest of blankets, ushering you to his side. You slid into the makeshift bed, not bothering with your boots or your clothes. Sure enough, the air turns cold as soon as you stop moving, driving you closer to Ojiro's heat.

 "So, where are you heading, if not to a group?" His voice was barely a whisper, trying to not startle you from your half-awake state.

 “It’s going to sound really dumb… but there’s a bathhouse on the other side of the city. I just wanted an actual bath, even if it’s in a hot spring.” Sure enough, Ojiro chuckles.

 “And after that?” You dazedly shrug, the lull of another body next to you dragging you into sleep.

 “There is no after that.” The last flutter of your eyelashes before they fell still revealed Ojiro looking at you, concern written over his face.

 You awoke with the sun, something your body had gotten used to. Ojiro was nestled into your side, the two of you tangling together in the night. He blinked awake slowly, not making a move to extract himself from your hold. On the contrary, he looked to your eyes, searching for any discomfort. With the part of you that screamed you were acting impolite hushed by the sleep still heavy in your eyes, you moved closer, burying your face in his chest.

 You didn't speak of the morning once the two of you got moving. Ojiro insisted on accompanying you to the bathhouse, and you weren't eager to rid yourself of his presence just yet. His touches became more assured, helping you over obstacles with the support of his hand, wrapping his tail around your waist when you stumbled. Brushes of hands left unspoken but not ignored.

 With Ojiro's help, you were able to get through town much faster than you expected. If you had been by yourself, you would have traveled the roads you used to know, but Ojiro only knew the paths naturally carved into the landscape. Two years of memorizing this city-turned-forest, and by noon you were almost halfway to your destination. It was bittersweet, you weren't sure how you'd react once this taste of his company disappeared. As much as you had adapted, you missed the touch of another. You could only imagine your hands intertwined as someone else's so many times before you started to feel pathetic.

 As you walked, you shared stories of how you had survived this long on your own. Ojiro listened, enthralled, and worried all at once. You had made so many mistakes, had so many close-calls. The fire he had thought burnt out suddenly blazing in his stomach—the need to protect, to cherish. Still, you impressed him with how you swiftly collected edible plants, giving Ojiro ample time to take down a fresh kill for the both of you. It was such a relief, having a decently balanced meal for once. Something both of you were so thankful for, despite the lack of words to voice it.

 The edge of the city was in sight by nightfall. You had hoped that this night would be as peaceful as your first together, but as Ojiro stiffened, you knew it wouldn’t. His hands flew to your waist, gripping you close as he hopped into the nearest tree. While he focused on finding the areas that would best support the two of you, you watched the sounder of boars scrounge through the roots of the tree. You held your breath as they passed underneath. Boars were known to be terribly aggressive, especially in groups. You could only imagine what would have happened without Ojiro by your side.

 You didn't have the luxury of sprawling out that night, instead you were tucked into Ojiro's arms as his tail wrapped around the tree. The two of you had used the knives you carried to cut the green branches into strips, threading and braiding them together to make enough of a rope to secure the two of you together.

 Sleep didn't come easy between the noise below you and your heart pounding against Ojiro. You could feel his heart echo under your fingertips, and could tell he was trying to adjust without jostling you too much. The morning sun warmed your back, the heat of Ojiro's chest dueling with the flush of your face. It was too much, being this close and not being allowed to touch. At this point, you weren't sure what stopped you, yourself, or the fear that Ojiro wouldn't reciprocate.

 It was easy going, wandering through the fields outside the city. It seemed like every place outside of the towns had just become wild instead of the crazy growths that blanketed the buildings behind you. Ojiro still followed you dutifully as you tried to enjoy the calming warmth and dancing grasses around you. It was even harder to find the road that slithered into the adjoining woods with how broken up the path had become. Yet you still soldiered on, the call of the springs ringing in your ears.

 For a moment, you were disheartened. The hotel wasn’t as bad as most buildings, but it still showed the effects of disrepair. Signs hung off the walls, ivy’s climbed and crept through windows, the masonry started to crumble apart. But your hope renewed as you crept around the side towards the back.

 The fences were all but destroyed, some floating through the bubbling waters. Besides that, everything looked… functional. It wasn't as glamorous as you remembered, but the appeal still stood. Ojiro sent you into the dilapidated structure with explicit instruction to avoid any upper floors and to look for some towels while he quickly got to work clearing the debris from the baths. Much of the building had grown damp and musty, the fabrics inside eaten by the bugs inhabiting the walls, but you finally happened upon a room. The doors were cracked ever so slightly, bringing a fresh breeze through the musty air. Hidden in the storage lockers were towels, once fluffy and smelling of lavender, but still usable. The plush against your hand brought another onslaught of excitement coursing through you, running back to Ojiro.

 You breath caught as you returned. Ojiro had done his best to restore the hot springs, and he had stood in the waters, pants rolled up to his knees, trying to place the bamboo fence back into place. His shirt already thrown to the side, letting you admire every dip of his chest and the pull of his muscles as he maneuvered the fencing into place.

 "To give you some privacy." He offered as an explanation after he caught your stare. It could have been the heat of the water, but you swore you caught the hint of a blush as he turned away. You retreated to separate sides of the fence, and you didn't have the heart to tell him that you could see straight through the missing slats. You turned your back to the opening, gratefully peeling the clothes from your body and throwing them into another nearby pool to wash later. Standing bare to the expanse of nature, you slipped into the water. You tried to hold back the groan building in you as you sunk to submerge up to your shoulders in the warm embrace of the water. All the sweat and dirt lifted from your skin, and you couldn't resist moving to stand under a mild waterfall built into the side. In your search, you stumbled upon some real shampoo and various other cleaning supplies, leaving half for Ojiro with his towel. Now you opened the shampoo, scrubbing viciously against your scalp. You repeated this until your hair felt silky against your fingers, running through quickly with conditioner. This was the closest to heaven you could remember, standing under warm water and smelling of lavender and jasmine. Your skin was rubbed a sensitive pink, but pink, all the same, no longer stained by the grasses crushed under your touch or dirt under your nails.

 You had a chance to really look at your body in the dull reflection of dirty glass nearby. You had grown considerably more lean as you learned to survive, but surprisingly not just skin and bone. It gave you a quick rush of confidence. You looked pretty damn good now that you had gotten a chance to wash away all the years of struggling.

 Finally you could just relax, and relax you did. Propped up against the cleanest edge you could find, you let yourself take in the natural wonder around you. You were truly at ease until your sight slipped to the break in the fence. Ojiro faced away from you, body freshly cleaned and shampoo in his blonde locks. The reach of his arms showed off the muscles in his shoulders, and you couldn’t help but admire how the muscles twitched in response to his tail swishing against the surface of the water. Rivulets of water streamed down his body, contouring to the dips and curves as he rinsed the suds away. So lost in following the water down his body, you almost hadn’t noticed Ojiro turning.

 You rushed to hide your staring, ducking your head under the water. You took the time to calm yourself down, to fight the stirring in your stomach at how good Ojiro looked, before breaching the surface once more. Something that was ultimately worthless, as he stood in front of you, reaching out to you in worry.

"Sorry, I saw you slip, and I-" Ojiro's voice faltered as he finally took you in, body not at all concealed by the water around you, and lust blowing out your pupils. It seemed he had also forgotten how bare he was in front of you, the effects of your body on show for you to see. And see you did, eagerly drinking in every facet of his body. The confidence you had found earlier returned, urging you to stand. The cold air enveloped your upper body, sending goosebumps spreading across your arms and pebbling your nipples. Ojiro watched, enraptured by the reactions of your body, but came no closer.

 He didn't mean to at least, but his tail almost seemed to have a mind of its own, slithering towards you. You accepted it with a brush of your hand, lewd thoughts running through your mind. You allowed his tail to trail down your thigh, the tip tickling your sensitive skin, before you slipped your leg around it. Now his tail lay between your knees, and you watched his face as it slowly trailed up your inner thigh. It seemed that this was all he was going to do as his tail pulled away, the red on his face no longer able to be brushed away as a result of the heat, but then he surged towards you. His hands lay on either side of your waist, effectively pinning you to the edge of the hot spring. His head dipped towards yours, a chaste peck placed on your lips. His eyes searched yours, unspoken questions dancing before he allowed his eyes to fall closed, returning to your lips in earnest. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged him close enough to hook your legs over his lips.

 The water was doing you no favors as he bucked against your heat, and Ojiro could tell too. He wasted no time lifting you out of the water and setting you to sit on the edge. He chased the water dripping down your neck with his tongue, dipping to lap the valley of your breasts. You pushed his hair back from his forehead to watch as he reached up to guide a nipple into his mouth. The warmth of his swirling tongue settled the chill, adding another layer of pleasure to the act. He dropped kisses along your chest as he made his way to the other, a hand trailing down your stomach to prod at your slit. Your legs opened quickly to allow him in, and he groaned against your breast as he dipped a finger into your slick.

 He pulled away to watch your face as he dipped fingers into your cunt, easily stretching you out. You braced yourself on his shoulders, his free hand falling to the small of your back to bring you closer. Ojiro's patience was growing thin if you could judge by how he stole your breath with a kiss, his tongue tracing the seam before dipping in, molding his mouth fully to yours. The sensation of his tongue against yours and his fingers eagerly pressing into your dripping slit.

 The water splashed around his hips as he rutted into the air, quickly pulling his fingers from you. You whined at the loss, eagerly pulling him closer with your legs. He took your suggestion early, adjusting himself to line up with you before plunging in mercilessly. The stretch burned, the water dripping from his cock not a decent lubricant, but it eased with every shallow thrust. You felt yourself grow wet around his length, easing the passage for the both of you, but it still wasn’t good enough. Ojiro’s hands gripped your thighs almost painfully, lifting you from the edge only to settle himself on it, plunging you down onto his lap.

 You were finally full of him, wrapped so wholly around his length. The stone surrounding the sides of the hot spring bit into your knees, but you could hardly care as you rocked yourself on his length. Ojiro groaned, his face falling to place kisses and nips on the juncture of your neck. You were startled as you felt his tail wrap around your waist, the furry tip falling between your breasts. His muscular tail lifted you up, slamming you back onto his length with as much ease as breathing. Your legs fell limp, letting Ojiro use you as a glorified fuck toy. His hands tangled in your hair as he devoured the moans falling from your lips. With his tail fucking you onto his cock, his hands were free to position your legs as he wished, pulling them up to your chest. He was deeper now than anyone had been before, dragging the head repeatedly against a spot that made you writhe in his hold.

 “Please.” He panted against your neck, “Please cum for me, please.” One of his hands drifted in between your bodies as he placed sloppy kisses on your shoulder. He looked almost in pain as he started to draw sloppy circles over your clit, the calloused fingers dragging you to the edge quickly. Your nails bit into his shoulders as you moved in earnest, pleas and moans falling from you like water from the springs.

 The clench of you around his length only spurred him on further, forcing you harder on his cock and rocking your hips against yours before lifting you again. With the rough movement of his tail at your waist, the fingers circling your clit, and his desperate prayers to you, you came with a cry. Ojiro lost himself to your gasps of pleasure, driving himself quickly in and out of your heat until he spilled himself within you, tears pearling on his lashes.

 He was careful with you as he placed you onto the rocks, looking you over for any spots he may have been too rough with you. You heard more than saw him move through the water, coming back to your side quickly. The rough texture of the torn towel in his hand was only slightly softened by the warm water as he took his time cleaning his spend from your legs, laying chaste pecks over every reddening mark on your hips. Ojiro cradled you like something precious before allowing both of you to sink back into the soothing water, enjoying the contrast between the crisp wind and your heated skin.

 “So where are we off to next?” Ojiro murmured against your shoulder.

 “We?” You turned to look at his face over your shoulder.

 "If you'll have me, that is?" You flashed him a soft smile.

 “I don’t think I’m quite ready to leave you behind.” His arms curled around you tighter.

 “I’ll spend every day making sure you won’t want to.”

[gaslightgallows]

500 Prompts

I’m resurrecting an old chestnut from LJ/DW. Some of the best things I’ve ever written started as prompts from this list. Send me a character or a pairing and let’s see what I can do. (Or several! Multiple prompts are A-OK!)

The vacuum of time.

Terror in the night.

Flashes of euphoria.

Dancing with the devil.

Fatal accident.

Haunting melody.

Black ice.

Breathtaking reality.

Sensation of loss.

Shooting star.

Broken spirit.

Aurora Borealis.

Left behind.

Unguarded touch.

Last time.

Dying sun.

Devastating explosion.

Alone in a crowd.

Fragmented truths.

Gaping chasm.

Arise from the ashes.

The end of the beginning.

Remember me.

Flash of lightning.

Emergency evacuation.

Immortal laughter.

A whisper on the wind.

Electrifying sacrifice.

The calm before the storm.

A life of lies.

The winds of change.

The hand of fate.

Desperate plea.

Nightmare.

Whitewashed walls.

Caught in the act.

Wake up, the day is dying.

Close your eyes.

Beyond the horizon.

Finality.

Releasing the sparrow.

Something's out there.

Golden miracle.

I covet you.

The eye of the storm.

Screaming silence.

Her body was found...

I used to remember you.

Gasping confession.

Betrayal.

Uncontrollable wrath.

Dragon of shadow.

Natural disaster.

Leap of faith.

Faceless and nameless.

Harsh revelation.

A path to follow.

The power of goodbye.

Through a child's eyes.

One final look back.

Crumbling heart.

Ignored instinct.

Seductive danger.

Jumbled truths.

Shallow grave.

Why they call it falling.

Volcano.

Dying land.

A child's truth.

Antiseptic air.

Chained to mortality.

Dim as an ember.

Acid tears.

Unexpected emptiness.

Miraculous relief.

Letting go.

What Earth once was.

Frantic search.

Tragic moment.

Beneath the smiles.

Across the worlds.

In the still of the night.

Counting years.

Kidnapped innocence.

Tears of desire.

Ring of sunlight.

Trembling cold.

Missing planet.

Suffering rain.

Parched ego.

Toxic tease.

Horrific distortion.

Miracle ruin.

Wailing shadows.

Barren abyss.

Ravenous time.

Approaching doom.

Eternal danger.

Vacant arch.

Recoil.

Vehement grace.

Urban legend.

Gentle warmth.

Rippling tide.

Fallen haze.

That's all I ask of you.

Think of me.

Promise me.

A white rose.

Never let go.

Ghost of a rose.

Fire.

Enchanting surrender.

Cowering sunrise.

Deliverance.

Resisting temptation.

Leaves of amber.

I remember when she loved me.

Heart of a child.

Don't scream.

Bereft confusion.

Mysterious stranger.

Subconscious reality.

The truth about forever.

She's burning up.

You were supposed to be watching her!

Lost soul.

Wandering spirit.

Touched by an angel.

Shattered reflections.

Central power.

Lightning fast refusal.

Don't you dare.

Emerald eternity.

There will always be a monster.

Infinite embrace.

It's too late.

Cabin by the sea.

Guardian.

Amusingly inconsequential.

Ignited illusion.

Forsaken stealth.

Corrupted intrigue.

Kindle my soul.

Majestic memories.

Breathe, baby, breathe!

Resonating hunger.

Relinquished radiance.

Transcendent joy.

Silent watcher.

Her eyes believed in mysteries.

Last breath.

Sweet nothings.

Unfinished tale.

Endless darkness.

Suffocating darkness.

Passing warrior.

Shield maiden.

Old oak.

Ancient willow.

Off the map.

Deserted riverbank.

I never thought...

A walk along the shore.

The valley of echoes.

The family nobody wanted.

Dancing in the fountain.

Laughter from the flames.

A time for tenderness.

Sleeping storm.

Islands in the sky.

Unheeded warning.

Voices in his/her/my mind...

Spellbound.

It wasn't his/her/my/your fault...

Tempting enigma.

His/her/my/your compassion is like a shadow...

Even he/she/I have forgotten his/her/my name...

I hate love.

Irresistible coercion.

I offer no excuses...

Tumbling clouds.

Blue mists.

You think you have it bad?

His/her/my pain was like a desert...

Nothing could bleed that much.

Nothing lost, nothing gained.

Delicious tragedy.

The in between.

Into the river.

You're/He's/She's/I'm/They're only sleeping.

What can you see?

They're calling me/you/he/she/them home.

The end.

Somewhere out there.

Lamentation.

The moment…

Suddenly…

Childhood's end.

Broken weapon.

Gazing upon the sky with dampened eyes...

Vast horizons.

Entrapment.

Quaking need.

Memory of a dream.

Dangerous illusion.

Firestarter.

Enraged superstition.

Guilty morals.

Fragile as a dream.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

Portals of discovery.

Fall from grace.

Balance of power.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Diamond in the rough.

The essence of life.

Nostalgic numbness.

Desire, ask, believe, receive.

A fate worse than death.

The razor's edge.

Reach for the stars.

Touch me.

Unrequited accusation.

Tragic shadow.

Forbidden laughter.

Starved for affection.

Between a rock and a hard place.

No man is an island.

Critical vengeance.

Rough hands.

Mystery.

After tonight.

Farewell.

And the edges blur.

One thousand promises.

A broken sensitivity.

A curling shadow.

A darker pride.

A deluge of dancers.

A fallacy in your head.

A four leaf clover.

A golden shield.

A love remembered.

A lustful lie.

A magical time.

A perfect rainbow in Hell.

A queer sort of clockwork.

A secondhand heart.

A story never to tell.

All sorts of complicated.

All the tears of God.

Alone I break.

And that's when I stopped believing in gravity.

No one mourns the wicked.

Die alone.

Asleep at dawn.

Assassin for hire.

Based on a dream.

Once upon a December.

Before the next tear falls.

The beginning of goodbye.

A lonely tomorrow.

Beneath the blue.

Better left unsaid.

Between a rock and your mother.

Beyond the galaxy's walls.

Birthing black and white.

Blood and moon.

Blood wars.

Bribing the Devil.

Broken promises and broken hearts.

False gold.

By midnight's favor.

By the light of a million stars.

Castles in the sky.

Catastrophe in the making.

Crawling nightmare.

Crimson orchid.

Crown of ivy.

Call of the wild.

Darkness becomes me.

Dawn of night.

Dawning upon a crimson ruin.

Death becomes you.

Demon tongue.

Desolation row.

Destined jealousy.

Burning star.

Do you remember the end?

Don't look into its eyes.

Dragons in your eyes.

Make a wish and toss a penny to the moon.

Ecstatic pain.

Edge of sanity.

Elemental rain.

Equinox rising.

Ethereal blood.

Evening shadows.

Exquisite and unforgivable.

Face down I cry.

Fallen fae.

Light step.

Faery-eyed child.

Fail with honour.

A childhood dream.

Fields of dust.

Final breath.

Finding infinity.

Flame in the twilight.

For the child I will sing.

Foreign serenade.

Lost beginning.

Forgotten, not forgiven.

Fractured reality.

Fragile hearts and candy-coated dreams.

Angels among us.

Haunting lonely pools.

Portrait in black.

Approaching Flood.

Technological reality.

I am the night you die.

I believe in God. I can hear him laughing at me.

I appeared here to vanish there.

I close my eyes and you disappear.

I loved you mommy, the day I killed you.

I miss who you were...

I thought you were alive.

I was here two days from now.

I wish upon tonight.

I write sins, not tragedies.

If looks could kill...

Illuminated darkness.

Death by imagination.

Pierce the sky.

Unfathomable truth.

Shackles of the mind.

Growing fonder.

A time to grieve.

Fire in your eyes.

Tales of long ago.

Live on your toes, love on your knees, die on your feet.

Prisoner in her mind.

Hold still, I'm trying to kill you.

Breath of the devil.

The innocent can never last.

Too wide to cross.

Arrogance and beauty, painted in ugliness...

Falseness in acquaintance.

Beneath the shade of the Sycamore...

One summer's/autumn's/winter's/spring's eve.

In the shadow of Mount Gloom.

Intoxicating the mind.

Island of light.

It ends tonight.

Jilted dreams.

Night of fire.

Knowledge in death, wisdom in immortality.

Liberating release.

Life on white wings.

A beacon of hope.

Like shattered glass.

Listless winter.

Little girl's downfall.

Lonely by candlelight.

Silent angels.

Gazing out a broken window.

You cannot lose what you never had.

Blood and tears.

Love's pretty follies.

The gift of lucidity.

Mint and lilac.

Missing Heaven and roses.

Mother Earth's last stand.

How do I/we/you say goodbye?

Where does the sky end?

Breathtaking innocence.

Dangerous stranger.

Lost in dreams.

Found in reality.

Forgotten sanctuary.

Treacherous deceit.

Warped.

Disenchanted crystal.

Laughing at the moon.

Yesterday's tomorrow.

Future of the past.

Supernova.

Whispers in the dark.

Letters from nowhere.

The one no one sees.

Beautiful disaster.

Passionate desires.

Remnants of darkness.

The bitterness of mortality.

An exquisite extreme unknown.

More Heaven than a heart could hold.

Flames of disaster.

Miraculous discovery.

Trusting in a soul.

Twilight surrender.

When love turns to hate.

Lost and alone.

When the river runs dry.

Lapping at the shores of sleep.

Landing among the stars.

Reaching for the moon.

When stillness descends.

On the brink of forever.

Clinging to the edge of control.

Abandoned resistance.

Eyes within the Heart.

Heart within the eyes.

When forever fades away.

Grave acceptance.

Flying amidst a rainbow.

Falling from a cloud.

Alone with forever.

Sunrise upon a soul.

Prisms of a fragmented whole.

A glittering cavern.

Disembodied voices.

Dancing beneath the moon.

Dancing on the water.

Gliding over glass.

A tale rewritten.

Exiled child.

Letters and vowels, spinning and tiles.

I'll try violence.

Who named the stars?

Mysterious beyond.

Ocean tears.

Sleepy death.

Sea bed.

Whispering nightmare.

Bound by silence.

A twinkle in the night.

A waking slumber.

See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

My lips are sealed.

Sometimes it is better not to follow your own destiny.

An invitation to Heaven.

Attacked by a dream.

Caressed by a nightmare.

The ravages of time.

Ancient tale.

Faces in the clouds.

Ripped apart.

The end of something better - The beginning of something worse.

The space between.

Look beyond.

Edge of the knife.

A human voice.

Dream the impossible.

Forgotten roads.

Flowers in the ashes.

A bitter pill.

Another fine mess.

The life inside.

Still crossroads.

Frozen bridges.

Fear of the fall.

Illusions of the darkness.

Sacrificial tension.

Path of a child.

Imitation of life.

Behind the mirror.

Through the fire.

Echoes of bondage.

Freedom in chains.

Parting regrets.

Something unheard of.

Hidden tales.

Laughter of the ages.

Frozen fire.

White shores.

Lights out.

Liquid sunset.

Silver glass.

When words fail.

A death of a thousand screams.

Those who do not remember the past.

When laughter's lost in peaceful silence.

The sands of time.

When death's lips left mine.

Cataclysm.

When Earth dies.

When worlds collide.

A mortal's forever.

Flight of disaster.

When tomorrows run out.

Kisses of a night terror.

Dashed against a rock.

Invisible defender.

The tattered, the torn.

A little happiness.

London by gaslight.

He sees the map back to her in the scars of his hands.

She never really leaves him...

And the thunder rolls.

[dfroza]

Love will turn the dial back to innocence and pure trust

by moving forward with a new start, an end of what is the past (tense) to shape a new beginning.

and we have to be as children before our heavenly Father no matter what this world acts like, and this is our humility. we are not to fear man and the craziness that exists here, and this is our bravery to trust and believe. and this since this world is not our True Home, but earth is promised to be restored to fully cleanse all that has been done here.

and so for now, we have to keep letting go and keep moving on…

but also remembering the pure genesis root of how our Creator made us on earth in His image, equally as male & female to inhabit garden earth.

and we need to share these truths which is why we have these Scriptures documented.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 14th chapter of the Letter of First Corinthians where Paul describes church meetings and prayer, both in unknown tongues and language that is understood:

It is good that you are enthusiastic and passionate about spiritual gifts, especially prophecy. When someone speaks in tongues, no one understands a word he says, because he’s not speaking to people, but to God—he is speaking intimate mysteries in the Spirit. But when someone prophesies, he speaks to encourage people, to build them up, and to bring them comfort. The one who speaks in tongues advances his own spiritual progress, while the one who prophesies builds up the church. I would be delighted if you all spoke in tongues, but I desire even more that you impart prophetic revelation to others. Greater gain comes through the one who prophesies than the one who speaks in tongues, unless there is interpretation so that it builds up the entire church.

My dear friends, what good is it if I come to you always speaking in tongues? But if I come with a clear revelation from God, or with insight, or with a prophecy, or with a clear teaching, I can enrich you. Similarly, if musical instruments, such as flutes or stringed instruments, are out of tune and don’t play the arrangement clearly, how will anyone recognize the melody? If the bugle makes a garbled sound, who will recognize the signal to show up for the battle? So it is with you. Unless you speak in a language that’s easily understood, how will anyone know what you’re talking about? You might as well save your breath!

I suppose that the world has all sorts of languages, and each conveys meaning to the ones who speak it. But I am like a foreigner if I don’t understand the language, and the speaker will be like a foreigner to me. And that’s what’s happening among you. You are so passionate about embracing the manifestations of the Holy Spirit! Now become even more passionate about the things that strengthen the entire church.

So then, if you speak in a tongue, pray for the interpretation to be able to unfold the meaning of what you are saying. For if I am praying in a tongue, my spirit is engaged in prayer but I have no clear understanding of what is being said.

So here’s what I’ve concluded. I will pray in the Spirit, but I will also pray with my mind engaged. I will sing rapturous praises in the Spirit, but I will also sing with my mind engaged. Otherwise, if you are praising God in your spirit, how could someone without the gift participate by adding his “amen” to your giving of thanks, since he doesn’t have a clue of what you’re saying? Your praise to God is admirable, but it does nothing to strengthen and build up others.

I give thanks to God that I speak in tongues more than all of you, but in the church setting I would rather speak five words that can be understood than ten thousand exotic words in a tongue. That way I could have a role in teaching others.

Beloved ones, don’t remain as immature children in your reasoning. As it relates to evil, be like newborns, but in your thinking be mature adults.

For it stands written in the law:

I will bring my message to this people with strange tongues and foreign lips, yet even then they still will not listen to me, says the Lord.

So then, tongues are not a sign for believers, but a miracle for unbelievers. Prophecy, on the other hand, is not for unbelievers, but a miracle sign for believers.

If the entire church comes together and everyone is speaking in tongues, won’t the visitors say that you have lost your minds? But if everyone is prophesying, and an unbeliever or one without the gift enters your meeting, he will be convicted by all that he hears and will be called to account, for the intimate secrets of his heart will be brought to light. He will be mystified and fall facedown in worship and say, “God is truly among you!”

Beloved friends, what does all this imply? When you conduct your meetings, you should always let everything be done to build up the church family. Whether you share a song of praise, a teaching, a divine revelation, or a tongue and interpretation, let each one contribute what strengthens others.

If someone speaks in a tongue, it should be two or three, one after another, with someone interpreting. If there’s no one with the interpretation, then he should remain silent in the meeting, content to speak to himself and to God.

And the same with prophecy. Let two or three prophets prophesy and let the other prophets carefully evaluate and discern what is being said. But if someone receives a revelation while someone else is still speaking, the one speaking should conclude and allow the one with fresh revelation the opportunity to share it. For you can all prophesy in turn and in an environment where all present can be instructed, encouraged, and strengthened. The spirits of the prophets are subject to the prophets. For God is the God of harmony, not confusion, as is the pattern in all the churches of God’s holy believers.

The women should be respectfully silent during the evaluation of prophecy in the meetings. They are not allowed to interrupt, but are to be in a support role, as in fact the law teaches. If they want to inquire about something, let them ask their husbands when they get home, for a woman embarrasses herself when she constantly interrupts the church meeting.

Do you actually think that you were the starting point for the Word of God going forth? Were you the only ones it was sent to? I don’t think so! If anyone considers himself to be a prophet or a spiritual person, let him discern that what I’m writing to you carries the Lord’s authority. And if anyone continues not to recognize this, he should not be recognized!

So, beloved friends, with all this in mind, be passionate to prophesy and don’t forbid anyone from speaking in tongues, doing all things in a beautiful and orderly way.

The Letter of 1st Corinthians, Chapter 14 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 49th chapter of the book (scroll) of Isaiah that unveils the promise of God’s restoration:

Listen to this, everyone—near and far:

The Eternal One singled me out, even before I was born.

He called me and named me when I was still in my mother’s belly.

Even then, God was preparing my mouth to speak like a sharp sword.

He kept my purpose quiet, kept me safe in the shadow of His hand,

He crafted me into a sharp-tipped arrow and tucked me away in His quiver;

God said to me, “You are My servant, Israel.

Through you, I will be glorified.”

I said, “I’ve worked hard for nothing.

I spent my strength, and what have I accomplished—nothing,

Yet my justice and reward are secure with my God, the Eternal One.”

And now the Eternal who watched, shaped, and made me His own servant

from the womb has determined to restore Jacob’s family;

Israel will be made right with the Eternal again.

For God has counted me worthy and He has been my strength right along.

Eternal One: As My servant you will do even more than this,

even more than restoring Jacob’s family to Me

And making Israel right with Me again.

I will make you a light for the nations,

And You will illumine them until My salvation reaches to the ends of the earth.

This is what the Eternal One, the Redeemer and Holy One of Israel,

told to the one who is despised and loathed by the nation,

To the servant of national leaders.

Eternal One: At the sight of you, kings will rise and princes will bow down,

for I, the Eternal, faithful and true, the Holy One of Israel, have chosen you.

The Eternal has this to say:

Eternal One: When the time was right, I answered you;

on the day you were delivered, I was your help.

I will watch over you, and give you

as a promise, a binding covenant to the people.

Through you, My gift to the people, the land of promise will recover.

Ancestral ground, once deserted, will be entrusted to them.

Through you, My gift to the people, I will declare to the prisoners,

“Come out. Now you are free”;

To those who are held in darkness, “Come out into the light.”

They will find sustenance wherever they are—

Along the roads or in the open hills—

with peace of mind, in comfort and security.

Wherever they are, they will be fine, never hungry nor thirsty.

They will be protected from oppressive heat and the burning sun

Because the One who loves them—as a mother loves her child—will be their guide.

God will lead them to restful places, rejuvenating springs of water.

I will make their going easy, level the mountain road

and smooth the path that leads them home.

Look! Even now, they are coming from lands far away,

some from the north, others from the west, these from the land of Sinim.

Oh joy! Be glad—sky! Take joy—earth! Burst into song—mountains!

For the Eternal, moved to compassion, has comforted and consoled His people.

Zion: The Eternal One has abandoned me. God has walked out the door;

my Lord left me alone. He has forgotten all about me.

Eternal One: Is it possible for a mother, however disappointed,

however hurt, to forget her nursing child?

Can she feel nothing for the baby she carried and birthed?

Even if she could, I, God, will never forget you.

Look here. I have made you a part of Me, written you on the palms of My hands.

Your city walls are always on My mind, always My concern.

Now sweet Zion your children are running pell-mell back to you

Just as fast as those who destroyed you are leaving.

Raise your head, lift up your eyes,

and watch your heart’s desire come—

All your children, gathered and returning to you. As I live, so I promise.

You will wear them with pride all like shining ornaments;

you will put them on as a bride on her wedding day.

Because of all of your destroyed land—the barren fields and abandoned farms—

you are now too small, too cramped for all your citizens;

And those who tried to swallow you whole will be far, far away.

The children you mourned, those born in exile, will return and say,

“It is too cramped and crowded for us;

We’re going to need more room if we are to live here.”

You’ll say to yourself, “Where in the world did all these people come from?

Could these really be mine?

I thought I’d been desolated, left empty.

Where have you all been? Where did you come from?”

This is what the Lord, the Eternal, has to say:

Eternal One: I will lift My hand and signal every nation that holds your people

And they will bring your children back again:

boys bundled in their arms, girls riding on their shoulders.

Kings will tend the children of Zion, and their queens will nurse and nurture them.

These greats will humble themselves before you.

They will bow and lick the dust off your feet,

and in the course of it all, you will remember that I am the Eternal.

Whoever trusts in Me will never be put to shame.

Jerusalem: Can the spoil of war be taken from the mighty?

Can the captives be freed from the hand of a tyrant?

Eternal One: Hard to believe, but it shall be so.

The captives will be taken from the hand of the mighty,

And the spoil of war will be rescued from the tyrant.

I will liberate them from their captors and contend with your enemies.

I will save your children.

I will turn your enemies’ violence back on themselves,

and they will suffer their own atrocities:

They will feed on their own flesh and drink their own blood like wine.

Then every person on earth will know for certain that I, the Eternal, am your Savior.

I am your hero, the strong One of Jacob from whom you come.

I will rescue you, whatever the price.

The Book (Scroll) of Isaiah, Chapter 49 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

There are many kinds of love—and not enough words to tell the differences. Hebrew has a word for “love” that is related to its word for a woman’s womb. English has no such word. It is too bad, for it is difficult to describe womb-love, the bearing-and-birthing love of a mother, the kind of love that the Lord has for the people of God’s promise, Jacob’s children. God shaped this people as His own and bound them with no ordinary promise. God loves them in the same way a mother loves the child growing in her womb. It can’t be said so neatly and completely with one “love” word, but that is the idea that threads its way through this text.

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Tuesday, july 27 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about the need of having eyes that are open to the wonders of life:

"Only watch yourself, and watch your soul diligently, lest you forget..." (Deut. 4:9a; Deut. 8:11). We are in constant and great need to remember the greatness of God, for when we forget the truth, we lose sight of who we are and why we exist... Therefore we are earnestly admonished to guard our hearts with all diligence, for from the heart flows the streams of life (Prov. 4:23). Forgetfulness leads to apathy and indulgent thinking - a sure recipe for idolatry and despair... On the other hand, as we "practice the presence" of God, we encounter daily miracles and realize that our life comes from above: "In Him we live and move and have our being" (Acts 17:28). If we do not know God in all our ways, we lose touch with the purpose for our lives. If we close our eyes to the wonders of life, we forget both their source and the source of all that exists...

C.S. Lewis related that during his college years he "played with" philosophy as way to show off or gain prestige among his fellow students. One day, however, he overheard a conversation between a Christian acquaintance who was discussing Plato's thinking with another person. As he listened, it suddenly dawned on him that they were discussing philosophy as if it really mattered, as if it could somehow change their lives. Questions about reality, truth, beauty, justice, and so on suddenly became weighty and existential - matters of life and death - and that realization marked a key point in his conversion to Christianity. [Hebrew for Christians]

7.26.21 • Facebook

and another about facing truth:

Just as grace is inaccessible for someone who refuses to be honest with himself, so is forgiveness. If a person refuses to confess the truth about his condition, salvation itself is impossible, since God literally cannot save the soul that denies its need for Him. Therefore the Scripture does not vainly declare: "Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but the one who confesses and forsakes them will find mercy" (Prov. 28:13).

A person who “conceals” his sin denies it, either by outright disavowal or by explaining it away by offering self-deceptive excuses. This person simply cannot prosper – in the spiritual sense of the word – because he is not living in reality... Indeed, his conscience is burdened with a “secret ban,” an inner voice of condemnation that must be suppressed and squelched. It is only the person who comes to the light, who acknowledges the truth of his sin and who is anxious to be free of its effects, who will be shown mercy (i.e., rachamim (רַחֲמִים), which comes from the word rechem (רֶחֶם), “womb”).

Note that God alone has the prerogative to cover or atone for sin, as an expression of His grace, but it is never fitting for someone to atone for his own sin in order to exonerate himself. God’s anger over sin is not appeased when sin is minimized, dismissed, excused, or rationalized away (though the LORD delights when we overlook the offenses of others). This is because all sin is an offense against God and represents a breach of the relationship between the sinner and God. Your sin, in other words, hurts not only yourself and other people, but most significantly, it wounds the very heart of God Himself by causing a breach or separation in your relationship with Him. Therefore we see Yeshua forgiving others for sins they have committed against other people as if He were the offended party in the sin. As C.S. Lewis once wrote, “He told people that their sins were forgiven, and never waited to consult all the other people whom their sins had undoubtedly injured. He unhesitatingly behaved as if He was the party chiefly concerned, the person chiefly offended in all offenses. This makes sense only if He really was the God whose laws are broken and whose love is wounded in every sin” (Mere Christianity, 1952).

In this evil world, it may sometimes seem that crime “pays,” but certainly not before the Divine Presence, and in the world to come, every word and deed will be fully accounted before the bar of God’s justice and truth. But even in this world, the sinner is secretly haunted by his conscience; he is driven to madness, hidden despair, and lives in dread and anxiety over the truth he conceals... It has been said that the problem with “getting away with it” is that you indeed “get away with it,” meaning that your sin will follow you as doggedly as your own shadow in this world... Ultimately sin is a form of cowardice, since it hides in fear from the light of truth. Unconfessed sin leads to anxiety, paranoia, and weakness of the soul...

I have mentioned that one of the reasons God announced the Ten Commandments was because it was His way of saying, "I know who you really are, I see you..." This is why the people drew back in terror, because they realized that God saw the inner condition of their heart, exposed it, and shined the light of moral truth upon it. Nonetheless it is a great and ongoing credit to the Jewish people that they were willing to receive the revelation at Sinai, since it demonstrates that they were genuinely willing to be honest with themselves. Despite their many subsequent failures, they still revered the truth of God’s Torah and meticulously preserved the revelation for future generations (Rom. 3:1-2).

Again, a person who denies or excuses his sin simply cannot prosper – in the spiritual sense of the word – because he refuses to live in reality... Confessing the truth about yourself – owning your behavior, taking personal responsibility, refusing to blame others, and so on, leads to real prosperity, spiritual blessing and true inner peace. [Hebrew for Christians]

7.27.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

July 27, 2021

A Debtor to Grace

“For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not.” (Romans 7:18)

All too often we find ourselves as frustrated as the apostle Paul in that we often know to do the right thing, to abstain from a particular sin, but we quickly fall right back into that sin. We must daily recognize our sinful habits and determine in our hearts, with strength from the Holy Spirit, to withstand the sin, to overcome temptation. “I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord. So then with the mind I myself serve the law of God; but with the flesh the law of sin” (Romans 7:25). The writer of “Come Thou Fount” had the same frustration.

O to grace how great a debtor daily I’m constrained to be!

Let thy goodness, like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to thee.

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love;

Here’s my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above.

Scripture tells us we are secure in Christ, never to be separated. Christ informed His disciples that “my sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand. My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father’s hand” (John 10:27-29). We are safe in Christ’s hand surrounded by the Father’s hand. And then the transaction is sealed by “the Holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption” (Ephesians 4:30).

Take courage. We are secure in Him. JDM

[swishandflickwit]

living in color 1/4

Summary: A year following the events of ACOWAR, Feyre tries to build a better world but struggles to cope. How is she supposed to heal the world if she can't even heal herself? Luckily, words are not the only form of expression.

Post-war AU in which the Court of Dreams use art as a form of healing.

WARNING: ACOWAR SPOILERS AHEAD!

Rating: Mature for language and mentions of sexy times.

Read: part i | part ii

Also on: ff.net | AO3

AN: This is my first ACOTAR fan fic. I hope you enjoy it! Next part coming up soon.

If you want to cry about all things ACOTAR (which I pretty much do everyday) with me my chat’s always open :)

part i. green & yellow

“The world is my canvas and I create my reality.” -Unknown

She doesn’t start painting till a year after the war’s end.

The High Lords rarely see eye to eye but despite their differences, peace negotiations finally start to become productive, and Velaris slowly but surely stitches itself back together. She hasn’t been home in weeks, opting to split her time between the private residence in the Night Court and Vassa’s court in the continent instead of winnowing to the town house at the end of every day. Her obligations as High Lady dictate that she be present for nearly every (if not all) meetings amongst the seasonal and solar courts. Her vow to help severe the spell that bounds the rebel human queen to transform into a fiery winged creature during the day means that her pursuit as Cursebreaker is never far behind.

The titles have never felt more prominent as they do now, not even during the war – weighing over her shoulders like an anvil along with all the responsibility they bear. And while she wouldn’t trade her life, her experiences, all of it, for anything… still, Feyre is hard-pressed to find room in her daily routine to catch a break that even nights with Rhys are spent laying side by side and just breathing.

So it’s no surprise that the sight of a paintbrush laying innocently on the sidewalk of the shops that line the Sidra startles her so badly that it stops her in her tracks. She stares at it like it’s a foreign object cause it might as well be, given how long it’s been since she last held such a thing.

Mor doesn’t notice that Feyre is no longer beside her till she’s more than a couple steps away. A small panicked shriek escapes her before she whirls towards the direction they came and she spots her friend hovering in front of an opening of an alley.

“Feyre,” she huffs as she jogs back to her side, “you could at least warn a girl before you drop off like that.”

“Where did this come from?”

The humor falls from Mor’s face at the seriousness in her tone. She frowns.

“It’s a paintbrush.”

Feyre rolls her eyes and gives the blonde a flick on the forehead. “Thanks, genius, I got that.” Mor sticks out her tongue in response. “But what’s it doing here?”

Mor examines the paintbrush, then quickly glances at the alley yawning ahead before the dawn of recognition lights her features.

“Oh!” she exclaims. “They must be moving onto the next phase.”

“The next phase?” Feyre just stares at her in confusion. “The next phase of what?”

“Well, with all the damage inflicted during the Hybern attack, Velaris has been hard at work restoring the parts of the city that were affected the most. The process has been slow, unused as they are to such things but,” a small but proud smile graces her lips, “it appears they’re at the tail end of their plans, if they’ve already moved on to putting on fresh coats of paint.”

Feyre shakes her head, in admiration of her people but mostly in shame. She had no idea this was still going on, the attack having been a little over a year ago. Had she really been that far from home? For so long?

“Show me.”

Mor, who had been ready to resume their walk, whips her head towards her.

“What?”

“Take me to where the reparations are heaviest.”

“Now?”

“I’ll only be a minute.”

Mor looks at her with incredulous eyes. “But Feyre, we’re due to meet with the Palace governors–”

“Please.” She places her hand in Mor’s arm and squeezes. “Please.”

Mor studies her – eyes the tremble in her hand as she withdraws her touch to the haunted gleam in her gaze – and reads the truth etched into the lines of her gaze.

She nods.

“A minute,” she concedes, though they both see it for the lie that it is.

Still, they exchange smiles as they link arms and step into the alley, where Mor leads her through a couple of turns to one of the busy squares of Velaris.

A burst of sunlight hits her face and she has to shield her eyes against the blinding brightness. But when her vision clears, the sight that greets her takes her breath away.

Fae of all kinds, high and low, old and young, different shapes and sizes and color – are scattered about the square, holding various tools necessary for construction and, even this early in the morning, covered in sweat, paint and grime.

But still bright-eyed. Still standing tall.

The ring of laughter, strong and loud amidst what was once a site of destruction, is as much a symphony to her ears as it is a balm to her frayed nerves. The fume of paint is heavy in the air and almost dizzying in its intensity yet it is nothing compared to the proud smiles that are etched upon the expressions of the citizens of Velaris. She eyes the groups that are mixing buckets of paint and rolling fresh coats of their desired colors onto their walls. When was the last time she had even an inkling of a desire to paint something, anything? Surely, longer than Starfall – the itch to hold onto a paintbrush even longer than that.

(She doesn’t count her time playing spy in the Spring Court, every movement, word and image wrapped in a deception then – even her desire to paint.)

The once absent urge to paint, truly paint and not just a wisp of an image, now flares hot and irresistible in her veins. Like a beacon, her gaze is drawn to the lone roller brush nestled innocently amongst the unopened cans of paint and paint trays laid haphazardly in the middle of the square. Perhaps she should have hesitated and reconsidered her presence in the square. She definitely should have never made the venture from the start – her duties call to her, after all.

Yet all it takes is a single heartbeat for the brush to be in her fingers, two to approach a fae and ask if there might be “room for one more set of hands” and just another to dip that brush into a tray of paint – lub – and make an experimental sweep up the length of a wall – dub.

Her heart beats a thunderous rhythm in her chest but in lieu of the wariness she expects to fill her as she holds the brush aloft, she finds anticipation coiling in her bones. Excitement.

“Are you alright, High Lady?”

In this instance, the title makes her blush and automatically she replies, “It’s just Feyre.”

The fae, with yellow-skin and upturned eyes that remind her of Amren save for the soft smile that covers her lips, merely continues with, “I could show you, if you’d like?”

Feyre, heavy with an emotion she cannot place, nods. “Please.”

She’s painted on canvas for sure and on the furniture of their old cottage, but never has she painted walls or storefronts. So she listens and observes with apt attention as the fae, Tyla, instructs her on the basics of wall painting and demonstrates the direction with which she should drag her roller brush, up and down, till her lines form the letter ‘W’ in wide, sweeping strokes.

When she finally does it herself, well… she must look a fool, for all she can do at the moment is stare at the lines of paint she’s swabbed upon the wall, at the brush she holds aloft her, and find wonder in how so simple an action can turn another into something different, something so purely made… anew.

And she did that.

So she stays. She stays in the square, with Mor as she runs amok with the village children (causing more mischief than assistance, much to the adults’ amusement and fond exasperation) and with Tyla, Feyre tailing after her and following in her tasks – till every roughened surface is sanded to silky smoothness and every chip and gap is made whole again with the right plaster. Then she paints. She paints one coat to patch up the uneven coloring of the current store’s building materials, two for evenness and three for protection and reinforcement. She paints till she can no longer see the cracks that once lined the walls, as if every stroke of her roller brush brings with it the ability to heal and mend (she ignores the voice within that asks her if she’s still talking about the wall, or is she referring to herself). She paints till her mind quiets and the brush is nothing but an extension of herself and she paints and she paints and she paints.

Lub.

Paint.

Dub.

Brush.

Lub.

Stroke.

Dub.

Breathe.

It’s probably why she doesn’t notice him till he’s directly behind her. She jumps at his smooth voice whispering silkily at her ear.

“That looks wonderful.”

She lets out an undignified shriek, the hand holding the brush flailing as she reaches up to cup her throat and she squeaks out his name. He laughs.

“Hello, mate.”

He winds an arm around her waist and kisses her brow. She sighs into his embrace. “Hi,” she breathes into the skin of his neck, and they stay just as they are – the noise of the square fading into a dull thrum as they remain wrapped up in each other and they share their day in an exchange privy to just the two of them.

What are you doing here? She asks.

I missed you. The words are a soft whisper in her mind and she hums in response. His voice is laced in amusement though, when he continues with, as did the governors, when you didn’t show up at their meeting.

She abruptly pulls away at the words, her eyes wide as saucers when she lets out a curse. Rhys only laughs harder, pulling her close and nuzzling into her neck even as she groans miserably into his shoulder.

“Oh Cauldron, I must have lost track of time! And the governors…” She shakes her head. “Are they angry?”

“More worried for you than anything.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s the High Lords of Prythian I’m more concerned about.”

“The High Lords?”

“I thought that the meeting could wait another day, and I told them as much. Beron, of course, threw a fit.” Rhys rolls his eyes again, an action she happily mirrors. She makes a mental note to discuss with her mate their bargain with Eris and his plans to depose his father, later. “Regardless, I told them they were free to carry on without the Night Court present.” She raises her eyebrows expectantly, as if knowing that isn’t the end of it. Her thoughts are confirmed when the look she gives him urges him to divulge, “All right, so maybe I gave them a…” he smirks, “gentle, reminder of who they were dealing with.” An image of the most powerful High Lord in centuries in his true form echoes through her mind, and she shakes her head in exasperation. What she’s come to realize about her mate is that some days, the mask is harder to shake off than other days. He huffs at her look. “What? Like they know what to do with themselves without us!”

He shakes his head then turns to her, a sudden seriousness overcoming his features. “When I heard of my High Lady’s absence, naturally, I was concerned.” Sorry, she whispers sheepishly. He just holds her to him even closer and places a chaste kiss to her neck. Nothing to forgive. You come first. Our family and our court come first. Always, is what he says with a warm smile before continuing. “Even if I’d already arrived at the Dawn Court, I was ready to winnow back here, but I figured I should check with Mor first. She told me where you were, what you were doing.”

She frowns. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Your shields were up.” Her eyebrows raise in surprise. “Nothing I couldn’t get through, if I really needed to.” Even as he says it she can feel him there, a gentle hand caressing the walls of her mind that she’s barricaded – quite loosely, now that she’s aware.

“But there was something calm about their presence, peaceful. Like the solitude was a comfort, a way for you to center yourself.” He shrugs, as if the action of leaving her alone when he was probably worrying himself sick isn’t a big deal. “It didn’t feel right to intrude.”

He shifts so that her back is to his front and his arms encircle her. “I’m glad I didn’t.” He rests his chin on her shoulder. “Look at everything you’ve accomplished here, on your own.”

“It’s just paint,” she mumbles, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks at the praise, “and I was hardly alone…” But even as she says the words, pride seeps into her veins at the work she’s done, small as it may be, here in the city and with the people that she loves so much.

“I mean it you know, this place looks even better than it did before.” It’s true, the fresh paint of the square glistens beautifully under the afternoon sun. But Feyre thinks it’s not so much the look of the buildings but rather, it’s the expressions in everyone’s faces as they, too, admire the square and beam at the storefronts – pride and healing outweighing the exhaustion of a hard day’s work.

“Rita better watch out,” he jokes and they share a laugh, content to let the hustle and bustle of the city pass by them. He entwines their fingers. “You’re painting,” he whispers, his breath hot against the back of her hand as he brushes his lips on a smear of dried paint there. She swallows heavily.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “It felt…” she struggles to convey just how much this moment means to her, how burdened she’s felt the past year – trying to fix so much of this broken world when she hasn’t even gotten a moment to catch a breath and process. Yet every stroke of the brush felt like a brush on her soul, patching up the parts of her that have been battered and hurt by the events of the war. The closest she could compare it to was –

“Like flying,” she utters, recalling their first ever flight together post-war and the feeling of freedom and hope it had given her – that her promise to the Suriel of building a world that would be better than she left it now, would be fulfilled. Yes, the events in the square that day were ones she’d akin to, “healing.”

“It’s been a hard year,” Rhys says in quiet understanding, the prior assumption (or should they have known it was mere fantasy?) that things would be easier after Hybern left unspoken but weighing heavy in the air between them. She agrees.

“It has, but…” She catches Tyla’s eye and the fae gives her a happy wave before bounding over to Mor, who remains engaged with the children but this time accompanied by the remaining paint, drawing figures and colors on the young ones’ faces. Feyre smiles. “I guess I just forgot…”

A burst of laughter erupts somewhere in the square and Rhys turns at the catch of her breath. His concern fades when he catches the expression on her face. Feyre laughs quietly when a group of fae shriek. The children have apparently tired of the art aspect of the day and begun a paint fight amongst themselves, their dreaded next target the older faes. At the head of their assembly stands who else but Mor, the biggest child amongst them – leading her little paint warriors into the fray of adults.

Despite his confusion, his lips melt into a crooked smile. “Forgot what?”

Another ray of yellow sunlight bursts through the clouds and the brick of the square floor glimmers.

“I’ve been so focused on trying to purge all the bad from the world,” But Feyre’s gaze is brighter – like all that is light in this life was born right there, right in her eyes. “I forgot about the part of it that was already good.”

She nods to herself. “I’m going to paint again.”

He grins excitedly. “Yeah?”

“Uh huh. In fact, I’m going to start…” a calculating look overcomes her face and it doesn’t occur to him to sift through the bond till it’s too late and she’s shouting, “now!”

A bucket of paint appears in Feyre’s hands just as Mor winnows behind him and all at once – The most powerful High Lord in Prythian, Night given form and Death Incarnate, finds himself soaked all the way through.

With paint.

And nothing so flattering on his color like the violet of his eyes or the jet-black hue of his hair or even the golden brown of his skin. Rather, the two demons have doused him in the most mortifying shade of green paint ever created in all of existence.

Rhys can only stand in shock, the latex already stiffening onto his skin, his hair (thank the Cauldron he didn’t have his wings out), as Mor cackles behind him. Then she saunters, saunters, to his wife’s side.

His wife. His mate, his queen and his equal in every way… who is now doubled over laughing her ass off. At him.

The High Lady and his cousin are bent at the waist, Mor’s hand on Feyre’s shoulder like she needs the support lest she falls to the ground. She wipes a tear from her eye.

“Oh Feyre, I admit I’ve yet to see any of your paintings but,” she takes one look at Rhys before erupting in giggles again. “But this,” she hiccups once she catches her breath and makes a sweeping gesture towards Rhys, “has got to be your greatest masterpiece yet!”

Feyre bites her lip. “You’re not wrong.”

His jaw drops. “Brazen, wicked thing.” She waits till he rubs the paint off his eyes to shoot him a feral grin.

Strangely, he purrs down the bond. I am both angry and aroused. Her grin widens. He shakes his head, as if it will dislodge the lustful thoughts circling his brain. He makes a show of command by glaring. Mostly angry, make no mistake.

“You two, are in big trouble.”

Feyre smirks, outwardly unruffled despite the sizzle of heat that tingles down her spine. “Is the big, bad Illyrian coming out to get us?”

“Oh I’m so scared!” Mor adds, feigning a faint as she leans against Feyre. The two break out in laughter again and Rhys, in annoyance, shakes his head at the pair, causing paint to fly everywhere. The girls hardly flinch, flicking off splatters from their skin as they snicker between themselves and comment about how the green clashes horribly with the wounded look in his eyes, which flash as their teasing only serves to raise his hackles.

He summons his magic, intending to splash them with the paint from his body, when this time his cousin yells, “Attack!” and the kids launch a handful of paint at him.

And, High Lord he may be but Rhys is not ashamed to admit that the girlish shriek heard across the square comes entirely from him as he runs from the pint-sized cavalry, and for his life.

(Dramatic as always, my lord, Feyre teases down the bond.)

Just as Rhys manages to free himself from the clutches of the little ones, he launches himself on Feyre who, caught off guard, slips on a small puddle of paint, and though Rhys manages to wrap his arms around her and take the brunt of the fall, the trip down remains as unpleasant as ever.

You’re going to pay for this, he says. This time, it’s Feyre who says with a purr, I look forward to it.

At this point, the older faes have joined the brawl – using their magic to build forts and find creative ways to launch paint bombs at each other, much to the children’s (and, admittedly, the adult’s) entertainment.

The square becomes a battlefield – albeit a joyful one – to replace the more horrifying one that took place before because today, they paint a new memory here, onto the walls, the loam and the very foundation of this square.

Rhys, ever the general, commandeers his own battalion of young and older faes and Feyre takes a moment to just stop and appreciate the scene before her as she sees everyone having such a grand time – her family members included, because it seems to hit her over again that there was a time when she could have lost this, lost it all.

And the square is a mess, true.

Still, she finds.

It could not have looked any better.

(That night, Rhys makes good on his promise that she “pay” by using his entire sexual arsenal on her – tongue, fingers, cock, everything – only to pull back just as she reaches the very brink.

The blessing – or in this case, the damn curse – with being immortal is that they have the leisure of time, and each fucking time she gets close to completion …

The payoff, however, is amazing – when the light of dawn breaks and they chase the shadows from Rhys’ face. It reminds her.

There is no light without darkness.

And her dark, fallen prince is all aglow when he enters her just as she least expects it and brings her to the edge of that golden peak once more. With that one, swift move she shatters around him in an orgasm so powerful.

This time, it is her keening that makes the mountains tremble.)

[literarysencha]

The Battle of Karbala

A Marthiyaa of Anis, translated into English verse by David Matthews, Rupa Co.

The sun had run his journey o'er the night;

Unveiled, the Dawn revealed her glorious face.

The King who rides the heavens saw her light

And called his brave companions to their place.

'The time has come at last; to God give praise;

Arise! In fitting prayer your voices raise.

Brave hearts! For strife and slaughter dawns this day;

Here the blood of Muhammad's race will flow.'

Zahra's darling, honoured, seeks the fray;

The night of parting fades 'neath union's glow.

'We are those for whom the angels weep;

To live this day we sacrificed our sleep.

This morning brings an evening ever blessed;

We who depart for Paradise will slake

Our thirst by Kawthar's spring, and there find rest.

May God exalt our names for honour's sake.'

Unequalled, each of them to joy gave birth.

'Let martyrs rise in glory from this earth.'

At this the faithful friends rose from their beds,

And donning glorious raiment combed their hair;

Then tying turbans on their noble heads,

They faced the peerless Lord and gathered there.

Wrapped in coloured cloaks, their fear grew less;

Rose perfume, musk and civet filled their dress.

Brave warriors dwarfing heaven with their height,

In battle Solomons, in Sheba lions;

The bravest fighters bowed before their might;

No pangs of hunger pained these stalwart scions.

For their great hearts the world was less than nought;

To the vastness of the sea they gave scant thought.

Their dry lips sang the praise of God; and light

Shone on their faces; fear was put aside.

No grief or panic clouded o'er their sight;

They joked and laughed and shared their skills with pride.

Their charming accents gladdened every ear;

Each word they uttered was a joy to hear.

Beyond compare the figures of their speeches;

Each point they made with rare magnificence.

Their rhetoric the art that knowledge teaches;

Their dry tongues shed the honey of eloquence.

Arabian poets marvelled at their art.

Lips like pistachios gently prized apart.

Laughing voices, faces like the rose,

Their bodies smelt as sweet as Joseph's cloak;

Devout, abstemious; their saintly pose

In Heaven's slaves would servitude provoke.

Such rubies are not found, such pearls are rare.

'They are angels', cried the Houris, 'born of air.'

There was no water for the heavenly crowd;

Before the prayers they washed in shining sand.

Their faces gleamed like sunrays through a cloud.

Sons of the Father of the Dust, this band

Became as radiant as the silver moon;

Their faces mirrors in a hazy noon.

The kinsmen of the King stepped from their tent,

Fatima's darlings all of beauteous face;

Qasim the fair and Akbar heaven-sent,

Aqil and Muslim, Ja'far's valiant race.

Their countenances lit the sky around.

The flower of eighteen suns stood on the ground.

That morning 'neath the shadow of the stars!

If Moses, who called God on Sinai,

Had seen their light that with the vision jars,

He would have swooned. Celestial majesty

Was echoed by the birds' song in the bowers

Of the desert valley filled with fragrant flowers.

That dancing brilliance wafted by the breeze!

The russet satin sky was put to shame.

Rosy dew-drops hung on swaying trees;

Diamonds were abashed and pearls found blame.

Each bush was crowned by glittering diadems;

The leaves of every tree wore precious gems.

How fine the art of the Creator's pen!

On every leaf embellishment was shown;

A skill beyond accomplished poets' ken,

Which to the simpler mind remained unknown.

All stood in awe of the Lord of Servants' craft;

Enamelled richness o'er the valley laughed.

The light, the fresh, cold desert and the sky!

The pheasant, quail and peacock made their call;

The sweet-voiced birds intoned their plaintive cry;

The morning breeze brought coolness to the soul.

Red petals clothed the trees and sought their arms

Then gathered in the- ditches round the palms.

The desert and the morning breeze that blew

Amid the branches swaying in the bowers,

Scattering on the blooms rare drops of dew;

One nightingale addressed a thousand flowers.

The primroses of Zahra's garden drank

The dew, collected on the rosy bank.

The ring-doves gathered round the cypress tall;

The pigeons cooed: 'The Lord alone holds sway!'

Then came the cry: 'Our God is blessed by all.'

The birds pursued their worship in their way.

Not only flowers sang their adulation;

The tongues of thorns gave praise in exultation.

Lifting up its hand, the ant cried out:

'Oh Cherisher of the weak, who rule our fate!'

'Eternal One! Almighty!', came the shout,

'There is one God, and He alone is great.'

The deer called in the woods, the birds in the air;

The jungle lions roared within their lair.

And here amid the thorns the Prophet's flowers

Imparted fragrance to the desert lands;

The house of Fatima faced its last hours

In the garden planted by Muhammad's hands

This garden cut down in those ten sad days,

By traitors wasted, cruelly set ablaze.

Ah God! The autumn and the flowers of spring!

Muhammad's sons could scarcely hold their breath.

Like bridegrooms they had dreamed of joy to sing;

But their red garlands were the blooms of death.

Awake all night, their eyes were drunk with sleep.

Their perfumed smiles caused closed bud's' hearts to leap.

The glory of that russet-coloured tent!

A fresh sky o'er the earth had been unfurled.

To the canopy no pole's support was lent;

This ancient house! Faith's pivot in the world.

For Allah's loved-ones dwelt beneath this sky

Like stars in the empyrean on high.

The desert land smiled mocking at the skies;

The seventh heaven thought it dwelt above.

Its curtains were the veils of beauties' eyes,

And heaven plucked its stars from it with love.

The morning thought the sun a wretched sight

When it compared it to that desert's light.

Then suddenly the dawn's white light came in;

To lead the prayer the King came from his throne.

All stood behind the Lord of Men and Jinn;

Ali Akbar called the prayer in Hasan's tone.

The eyes of everyone were filled with tears.

As if the Prophet's voice fell on their ears.

The birds fell silent; trees in ecstasy

Rocked to an' fro; their buds and fruit sang praise.

The towns and deserts joined in harmony,

And ocean-beasts emerged to hear their lays.

The darling of Shabbir to all lent weight;

O'er land and sea they cried: 'Our God is great!'

The women of the King wept hitter tears;

While Bano of renown stood silently,

Zainab repeated blessings with her prayers:

'My muezzin, I give thy life to thee!

They call in praise of God; oh, hear their joy!

As beautiful as Joseph is my boy.

He reads from the Quran; what majesty!

His grandsire once for speaking held the prize.

Ah, may his voice remain eternally!

The strains of David, who was called The Wise!

Those melodies like petals of a flower!

A nightingale chirps in the Prophet's bower.

Let someone take these blessings on my part;

May God protect him from the evil eye!

His eloquence would capture any heart,

Although for two long days his throat is dry.

In foreign lands misfortune strikes Husain.

Three days of hunger torment him with pain.'

'Make ready for your worship!', came the cry.

'The King of all Creation leaves his seat.

In ranks of light the Leader passes by;

Salvation's path bows down to touch his feet.

His radiance in the highest heaven will reign.'

The Quran became a prayer-mat for Husain.

The company's prayers were verses from that age;

Like bismillah the King stood at their head;

The ranks were lines of writing on the page,

And proudly stood behind the one who led.

The dawn blinked at the whiteness shown between

The rows of words that Ali once had seen.

They magnified the Lord in glorious tune;

All heaven's angels blessed them for their sake.

In faith their faces shone bright as the moon;

In fear of God their limbs began to quake.

Their necks were bowed in humble adulation.

Like the crescent moon they folded in prostration.

Haidar's scions, Muhammad's noble kin,

Eighteen brave young men stood in one place;

All peerless, righteous, humble, free of sin,

The friends of the Imam in wisdom's grace.

Theirs the praise of God in all directions.

Theirs the beads that told their benedictions.

They stood, then bowed; their prayers flew to the sky;

To the One Existing Lord they showed devotion.

Prostrate upon the ground, their time passed by;

Their hands, their arms, their feet betrayed no motion.

But of their own dire plight. they made no word.

They prayed beneath the shadow of the sword.

They raised their heads and pointed to the air;

The gates of heaven received their adulation.

Their hands, the pinions of the bird of prayer,

To the trembling sky sped on their supplication.

In humble pose they fell upon the ground;

In Gabriel's domain their words passed round.

The prayer of the King of Men was now complete;

His thirsty friends came forth to shake his hand.

One kissed his cheek, another touched his feet;

What stalwart spirits had this hungry band!

His soldiers pledged their faith with every breath;

Embracing on the feast-day of their death.

Here one fell upon the ground in thanks;

Here the Quran was read in doleful strains.

Praise of the Prophet echoed in their ranks;

Here power to the Almighty 'mid their pains.

Husain cried out: 'Have pity on our plight;

On us who thirst and hunger in our flight!'

Here sad laments and pleading supplication;

But there oppression, cruelty, wicked deeds.

Umar, son of Sa'ad cried, 'Keep your station!

Watch the river, guard the banks and meads !

Husain is without water for two days.

Let him not drink a drop until he pays.'

The Celestial King gave orders from his place,

When arrows suddenly began to fall.

Towards the evil foe he turned his face.

Weighing his sword Abbas obeyed his call.

Like moths around the torch of the Imam,

They rallied to protect Husain from harm.

To Ali Akbar he made this behest:

'On treachery our evil foe is bent.

[continued at https://www.al-islam.org/articles/battle-karbala-marthiyaa-anis]

[hellenhighwater]

About the Pomegarnets, since some of you had questions! The rinds are made from brown clay, rolled into a little ball, pressed to make the calyx, and scooped out to make the hollows inside. I waited until they were bone-dry, and then painted white clay slip inside for the membrane. All of them were painted outside in Kemp Red glaze, and fired upright on a bed of nichrome high-temp wires. The arils are tiny teardrop lab-made garnets, set in place with a bead of clear UV resin; they're adhered to Persephone's hand the same way. For display purposes, the pomegranates will be attached with museum wax, so they don't get lost but can still be removed.

[whimsypeddler]

hope you dont mind me screenshotting the tags bc im completely obsessed w the poem you wrote there.

[Image Description: a screenshot of tags that read "#Death comes only once

#but spring comes every year

#An inevitable and a constant; a perfect match

#Not fated but chosen.

#Nothing so simple as love; nothing so easy as destiny.

#Persephone tastes the pomegranate sweetness of early winter

#(foreign on the tongue of spring) and embraces a world of unknowns

#And trusts she will love the ending.

#Spring; life eternal; limitless growth #Deciding again to go underground in the confidence

#That darkness would never harm her.

#Hades; trusting her enough to let her go #Persephone; returning." End ID]