#for henna *blows a kiss to the wind*

[seungkwanis]

MC sunwoo 🦝

[pa-tr0-clus]

LGBTQ+ book recc master-list:

(Cause the last time I did this was in 2018 and a LOT of great queer books have been published since then)

Lesbian:

1) The lies we tell ourselves by Robin Talley

2) Girl <3 Girl by Lucy Sutcliffe

3) As I descended by Robin Talley

4) Lumberjanes by Noelle Stevenson

5) Our own private universe by Robin Talley

6) Paper Girls by Brian K Vaughan

7) Giant days by Allison, Sarin, Fleming, and Cogar

8) Princess Princess by Katie O’Neill

9) Goldie Vance by Hope Larson

10) CREMA by Johnnie Christmas

11) High class homos by Momozerii

12) You should see me in a crown by Leah Johnson

14) Laura Dean keeps breaking up with me by Mariko Tamaki

15) Love Frankie by Jacqueline Wilson

16) Girl from the sea by Molly Ostertag

17) Hani and Ishu’s guide to fake dating by Adiba Jaigirdar

18) The good girls by Claire Eliza Bartlett

19) The love curse of Melody McIntyre

20) Always human by Ari North

21) Afterlove by Tanya Byrne

22) I think I love you by Audriane Desombre

23) Tell me again how a crush should feel by Sara Farizan

24) Who I was with her by Nita Tyndall

25) She drives me crazy by Kelly Quindlen

26) Some girls do by Jennifer Dugan

27) Trouble girls by Julia Lynn Rubin

28) Royals duology by Rachel Hawkins

29) Patience and Esther by Sarah Winifred Searle

30) Margot & me by Juno Dawson

31) The henna wars by Adiba Jaigirdar

Gay:

1) Carry On by Rainbow Rowell

2) Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

3) Simon VS the homosapiens agenda by Becky Allbertalli

4) Will Grayson, Will Grayson by David Levithan and John Green

5) I’ll give you the sun by Jandy Nelson

6) Hold me closer by David Levithan

7) Two boys kissing by David Levithan

8) Aristotle and Dante discover the secrets of the universe (+ unreleased sequel) by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

9) Heroes of Olympus series by Rick Riordan

10) The raven king by Maggie Stiefvater

11) Blood bank by Silb

12) Heartstopper series by Alice Oseman

13) Nick and Charlie by Alice Oseman

14) Openly Straight by Bill Konisberg

15) Honestly Ben by Bill Konisberg

16) The perks of being a wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

17) Wayward Son by Rainbow Rowell

18) Any way the wind blows by Rainbow Rowell

19) Date me, Bryson Keller by Kevin van Whye

20) Sonnet by Emily Cheeseman

21) Castle Swimmer by Wendy Lian Martin

22) Tripping over you by Owen White

23) Starfighter by Hamlet Machine

24) Long Exposure by Kam Heyward

25) Obliviously in love by Jiaoski

26) I’ll be home for Christmas by Mason Denver

27) Liebestrasse by Greg Lockard

28) Check, Please! By Ngozi Ukazu

29) Always raining here by Bell

30) I was born for this by Alice Oseman

31) Red white and royal blue by Casey McQuiston

32) The gravity of us by Phil Stamper

33) They both die at the end by Adam Silvera

34) Dreamer trilogy by Maggie Stiefvater

35) If this gets out by Sophie Gonzales and Cale Dietrich

36) Fifteen hundred miles from the sun by Jonny Garza Villa

37) You spin me right round by David Valdes

38) As far as you’ll take me by Phil Stamper

39) Darius the great is not okay (+ sequel) by Adib Khorram

Bi:

1) Leah on the offbeat by Becky Albertalli

2) Odd one out by Nic Stone

3) We are young by Cat Clarke

4) Brightsiders by Jen Wilde

5) Everyday by David Levithan

6) Paris Syndrome by Lisa Walker

7) Beneath the citadel by Destiny Soria

8) Ship it by Britta Lundin

9) Home and away by Candice Montgomery

10) Ink Mistress by Audrey Coulthurst

11) Reign of the fallen by Sarah Glenn Marsh

12) The Gentleman’s guide to vice and virtue by Mackenzi Lee

13) The gentleman’s guide to getting lucky by Mackenzi Lee

14) The doctors are out by Blauerozen

15) Fence by C. S. Pacat

16) Be more chill by Joe Tracz

Trans:

1) George by Alex Gino

2) The art of being normal by Lisa Williamson

3) The Magnus Chase series by Rick Riordan

4) What we left behind by Robin Talley

5) Gracefully Grayson by Ami Polonsky

6) If I was your girl by Meredith Russo

7) Lily and Dunkin by Donna Gephart

8) I am J by Cris Beam

9) Symtoms of being human by Jeff Garvin

10) A + E 4ever by I. Merey

11) All I am by Chaaistheanswer

12) The weight of them by Noelle Stevenson

13) Dream Daddy vol 2 by Lee C.A.

14) Fluidum by Layla E.

15) Magical boy by The Kao

16) The passing playbook by Isaac Fitzsimons

17) Sasha Masha by Agnes Borinsky

18) The deep and dark blue by Niki Smith

19) Cemetary boys by Aiden Thomas

20) All boys arent blue by George M. Johnson

21) Detransition, baby by Torrey Peters

22) Felix ever after by Kacen Callender

Other/ambiguous:

1) Dear Evan Hansen the novel by Val Emmich (Connor describes his sexuality as something fluid)

2) The lady’s guide to petticoats and piracy by Mackenzi Lee (Felicity is implied aro/ace) (sequel to the gentleman’s guide but I’m not sure it can be read as a stand-alone)

3) The Magnus Chase series by Rick Riordan

4) The Trials Of Apollo series by Rick Riordan

5) How they met and other stories by David Levithan

6) Deadpool comics (pansexual)

7) Nimona by Noelle Stevenson

8) Final Draft by Riley Redgate (pansexual)

9) Lets talk about love by Claire Kahn (ace/biromantic)

10) Lost on plant earth by Magdalene Visaggio

11) Youth by Curt Pires

12) The backstagers by James Tynion IV

13) Loveless by Alice Oseman (aro/ace)

14) Six of crows (+sequel) by Leigh Bardugo

15) Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

16) How they met and other stories by David Levithan

17) Rock and riot by Chelsey Furedi

18) Kiss number 8 by Colleen A.F. Venable

19) This is how you lose the time war

20) Upright women wanted by Sarah Gailey

21) The wicker king by K. Ancrum

[poems-and-pillows-and-puppies]

Song of the Sea: Chapter 1- Bow

Hello there. I decided to make a fanfiction based off of @thenerdyalchemist‘s amazing pirate!AU! Here’s the link to the Ao3 page- https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967113 

Chapter 1- Bow

     Walking along the beach of Alorminia, Ethari felt the wind blow its sea-salty breath onto his already salt-encrusted clothes. Rayla giggled, letting the waves’ spray pelt her face. The colors of the pier rushed in, a whorl of blues and browns and yellows on the winding beaches. The sound of children laughing echoed in Ethari’s ears. Children rolled in the sand, making miniature dust-storms in their wake, as parents, disapproving and encouraging alike, followed in tow. The sand felt like satin under their callused, well-worn feet. Rayla smiled at the other children’s antics, but made no move to follow. Ethari wondered when their little girl went from exploring everything and escaping his and Runaan’s grasps to mellowly holding onto their hands as they went exploring through new towns and cities beside the sea. As he stood there, lost in memories of long, long ago, Rayla turned her eyes toward him and tugged on his shirt. He turned his gaze to her, and she beamed at her adoptive father with the warmth of a sunbeam on a cloudy day. Ethari returned the favor, giddy from the feeling of stable land- at least, as stable as sand can be- underneath his heels. He could see Runaan making his way towards one of the sandside stores, already haggling for a better price on a pair of bandanas. At the moment, Runaan looked deep in thought, his brow furrowed like the loose plank he had fixed at sea the night before. Sweat glistened on his brow, reflecting off the blue henna-like tattoos that defined his entire identity, his silvery-white hair untied and flowing off his shoulders like the many waterfalls he and Ethari have passed by under the light of the moon. Ethari’s gaze moved down towards his waist and noticed that Runaan’s purse had already shrunk, albeit not by much, the leather rope that bound the pocket was a little slack and Ethari had a slight pang of anxiety overtake him. ‘What if he had been pickpocketed?’ Ethari shook his head slightly, his slightly spiked hair swaying in time with his head movement. ‘No,’ he said to himself, ‘the king of the pirates wouldn’t possibly allow himself to be pickpocketed.’ He strolled toward his husband, the sand shifting beneath his feet to accommodate his weight. Runaan snapped out of his trance and turned slightly to look at his first mate. “Runaan?” 

“Ethari.”

“What are you haggling for?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

    Despite his cold and harsh words, Ethari could sense his affectionate tone. ‘What a grouch I married. Can’t even show his love. Well, two can play at that game.’

“Dear, we don’t need to distract this merchant anymore. We can get a cheaper bandana at the other store.”

    He kissed his husband’s forehead, ignoring the faint saltiness of his sweat, for the sake of the performance. The recipient looked at him with confusion in his eyes but caught on in a split second. He faked acquiescence. His blush from the kiss, however, was genuine. They acted like they were moving on. The merchant spluttered. 

“W-wait! I can give it to you for 10 coppers! 10!”

   Runaan stopped in his tracks. Ethari, sensing that this was an exponentially better deal than before, based on his spouse’s actions, waited for his husband to pay for the clothing. Rayla bounced up and down on her heels, violet eyes wide and sparkling, taking in the hustle and bustle of the town. Now that he was closer, Ethari took a good look at the merchant. The merchant was well-rounded, as if he had eaten a few steaks too many for his body to have handled it nicely. His voice, though rough-sounding at first listen, was oily and sent uncomfortable shivers down his spine. The next time the two had eye contact, Ethari gave a half-lidded glare at the shopkeeper, making the man’s wattle tremble. After Runaan had finished his purchase, the group plodded on with the nearest produce shop in mind. As the ground turned from sand to hard-packed mud to cobblestone and the open airs of the beach turned to crowded wooden stalls and people from all sides, the two pirates argued over what to buy for the ship with playful tones, with Rayla adding her own two cents every once in a while.

“...so there, Runii! Fruits are a must!”

“They’re expensive, you big buffoon.”

“Hey! I’m only a little bit taller than you!”

   Rayla chipped in, “You guys are both the same height to me! You two are so silly!”

   The group laughed, each in their own ways. Runaan looked forwards. “We’ve reached the produce stalls. Why don’t you two go look for some treats or something? I heard Alorminia has the best sugared apples.” Ethari and Rayla bobbed their heads up and down like birds, making Runaan chuckle. He made a shooing motion. “Go on, you two.” The two scuttled off, disappearing into the crowd. 

   Ethari and Rayla strolled through the marketplace, searching for the sweet stands. People who noticed their markings kept a wide berth around them, much to their degree of comfort and space. Rayla frowned at the looks of fear on some of the people’s faces. “Why are some of them scared of us, Papa?” Her wobbly voice caught him off guard and he crouched to her eye level. “My little Rayla, you mustn’t be afraid of them. They may seem afraid of us, but that’s just because they’ve been taught to do so.” He winced inwardly at the lie. “Really?”

“Yes, my little albatross.”

   “Okay!” Her smile came back full force. He stood up, searching for the stands once more. Much to their annoyance, there was a large crowd of people in the way of the streets stand that were watching a group of dancers pirouette in the square, stopping their adventure in their tracks. The jolly music of harmonicas and banjos filled the air with whoops of joy and yelling. Rayla sighed in disappointment. “I guess we should go back to Dad now.” Her ears drooped. She turned around and started walking back. A call from Ethari stopped her. “Rayla! I’ve found a little passageway. Wanna try?” She did a full 180 to see her father point to a narrow streetway. Her ears went back to full mast. “Yeah!” She ran to Ethari, renewed delight scrawled onto her features. 

   The streetway was narrow, but it was still full of people. Elves of all kinds strolled through it, but more humans than elves manned the stalls. Ethari began to suspect something was wrong when he accidentally bumped into someone and a small, bejeweled dagger fell out of the hooded stranger’s clothes. His mind whirled with worry, but he tamped it down for the sake of his daughter. ‘Why am I so scared, anyway? This is an elf-friendly town and nobody is foolish enough to attack the family of the most famous pirate of this time. What is there to worry?’ As the streetway narrowed even further, his anxiety rose, until it reached his throat. ‘Something is wrong!’ He whirled around in a hasty frenzy, but nothing caught his eye. A tug on his clothing turned his gaze back downwards. “What’s wrong, Papa?” Rayla’s confused eyes acted as an anchor point for the antsy elf. His breathing slowed. His pulse stopped beating in his ears like a frantic drum. “N-nothing, sweetheart. I thought I-I saw something,” he stuttered. The road had narrowed to a one-person space only and alarm bells were ringing in his head like a death knell. He turned around. The hooded stranger from earlier was not far behind them. His mind raced. “H-how-”

“Did you think that we humans couldn’t do magic, too? Too bad. Hand the girl over.”

“N-no. This is my daughter.”

   The stranger chuckled. “Really, now? Then why does she have the pirate king’s markings and you don’t?”

   Ethari did a double take. “What?”

“Come on. Did you think that I would be that foolish?”

“I have the markings too.”

   Ethari bared his arms, showing off the faintly-glowing markings. The human gasped quietly, a noise that Ethari barely heard, even with his sensitive hearing. The human shook their head. 

“Unfortunately, my client told me the girl, and the girl only. If you won’t cooperate, we’ll take her by force.”

   Ethari’s heart stopped. “We?”

   The human looked at him, eyes glinting electric blue in the shaded darkness of the alley. “Yes, we. Who do you think was the first alerter to your presence? The people who were peddlers in the so-called ‘streetway’? We were all waiting for you, and you walked straight into our traps.”

   The figure held their hand out. “Now, hand her over.”

   Ethari bristled. “No! How dare you! We have not done a single thing to you or your city!”

“Very well then, we’ll do it the fun way. Suit yourself.”

   Men began to surround the way the two came from. Ethari glanced back to see men cover the other way out of the alley. He raised his arms into a guard position, poised to fight. Rayla cowered beside him, trembling in fear. 

   The human raised their arms and stood there, static, unmoving. Ethari waited, breath held, ready for their first word. The human exhaled, and Ethari tensed. The slightest word fell from their lips. “Move.” And the men came from all sides. Ethari fell under a flurry of punches and kicks. He was strong, as he was a pirate and a former blacksmith, but even then, he could not fight against so many assailants unarmed. Pain flared from every point of contact, and Ethari cried out in pain whenever someone hit him in an extremely painful spot. His sight began to flicker, and with one last burst of strength, he reached out to his daughter, miraculously untouched other than a few jostles here and there. Rayla grabbed his hand one last time, and his mind went dark. His limp body fell to the floor, unmoving. Rayla shrieked in fear, concern, and sadness. “Papa!?” Hands grabbed her from all angles. She fought with them, desperation leaking into her features. A sharp tang assaulted her nostrils, and within a few seconds, she had followed her father into the realms of unrestful rest. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Ethari awoke to sharp pain all over his body and the concerned face of his husband. He hazily sat up, much to Runaan’s relief. “Oh my Xadia! Are you okay?” He drowsily smiled at his husband. He slurred, “Sure. I ‘eel fine. ‘ere’s ‘Ayla?” He looked around in confusion. “Yeah, that was my next question too. Where’s Rayla?” With those words, his anxiety skyrocketed. He shook himself out of his daze with a predatorial growl. “That little bastard- I’m gonna’ put ‘im in a barrel-” Ethari muttered, eyes taking on a deadly shade of anger. Runaan, confused, inquired, “What do you mean? Who are you talking about?” Ethari looked up at his concerned partner, and with a deep undertone of outrage at the hooded human, retold his story to Runaan. As the story went on, Runaan began to growl himself, and by the end of the tale, was already on his feet. “And that’s it? He’s just.. Gone? You let him?” Incredulity filled his tone and Ethari hissed in annoyance. “You blockhead. I just said that I tried my best to fight back! There were too many-” 

“You still let him!”

“I tried my best!”

“It wasn’t enough!”

“I couldn’t do anything!” 

“Rayla’s gone!” Ethari snapped his mouth closed. “She’s gone, Ethari. And it’s all your fault.”

Rage clouded his husband’s features. The face he had grown to love, to cherish, to care for with all his heart- Tears welled up under his eyelids, threatening to spill out onto the ground below. He turned around, sobbing, and ran in the direction he had entered. Tears altered his vision. His ears heard nothing but the echoes of “It’s all your fault.” His mind, usually full of words and thoughts, was silent, as if punishing him for his failure. ��It’s all your fault.”

“It’s all your fault.”

“She’s gone….And it’s all your fault.”

[thehelplessbookworm]

List of books I read in 2021:

Hi, so I usually post this on January 1st but I kept forgetting to update the list on my phone with the books I would read on my school laptop. So here we are about halfway through January but better late than never! I surprisingly enough finished every book I started this year so yay! (I also reread the same books multiple times but they are not listed multiple times)

Of Fire and Stars by Audrey Coulthurst

The Love Curse of Melody McIntyre by Robin Talley

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

The Henna Wars by Adiba Jaigirdar

I Wish You All the Best by Mason Deaver

Heartstopper Volume 2 by Alice Oseman

The Extraordinaries by TJ Klune

Our Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

Pumpkin Heads by Rainbow Rowell

The State of US by Shaun Hutchinson

These Witches Don't Burn by Isabel Sterling

Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me by Mariko Tamaki

How (Not) to Ask a Boy to Prom by S.J. Goslee

A Complicated Love Story Set in Space by Shaun Hutchinson

You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson

Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas

If We Were Us by K.L. Walther

Kiss Number 8 by Colleen Venable

The Truth Is by NoNieqa Ramos

One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston

Anyway the Wind Blows by Rainbow Rowell

A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J. Maas

I Kissed Alice by Anna Birch

Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating by Adiba Jaigirdar

In Deeper Waters by F.T. Lukens

Cool for the Summer by Dahlia Adler

Stay Gold by Tobly McSmith

Sam and Ilsa's Last Hurrah by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan

It's Not Like It's a Secret by Misa Sugiura

May the Best Man Win by ZR Ellor

Kate in Waiting by Becky Albertalli

Love, Creekwood by Becky Albertalli

Flash Fire by TJ Klune

She Drives Me Crazy by Kelly Quindlen

Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo

All Eyes On Us by Kit Frick

The Sky Blues by Robbie Couch

Perfect On Paper by Sophie Gonzales

The Gentleman's Guide to Getting Lucky by Mackenzie Lee

Everything Leads to You by Nina LaCour

Fans of the Impossible Life by Kate Scelsa

Highly Illogical Behavior by John Corey Whaley

She's Too Pretty to Burn by Wendy Heard

The Girl From the Sea by Molly Knox Ostertag

[talfvenstormvine]

Memory

Memory. Mind clear, it allows Talfven to be in several places at once. He unspools recollection, analyses, deciphers, untangles bright balls of knowing.The images are overlaid, with a distance of hours between them.

Henna with a knife, bedraggled and exhausted, cutting into his back and planting a black seed there. Agony. Something moving in the wound, bone scraping as it is pulled back together. His stomach twists. Not again -  becomes Henna with a watermelon segment, chunks of pink flesh caught in her teeth, a black seed. A smile.

With an hour to go before the dawn the waves crash against the cliff below. The wind like a slap, salt spray against his face. Back in the cave-cottage Veramis sleeps, hair spread out against the pillow like unwoven silk.

Markus frozen in the act of rolling the dice, pink canid lips stretched in a broad grin, it is good, it is fun - To Markus lifting him and the moment stretching, white hot pain with no way to escape and feeling his spine separate, vertebrae floating. ‘Roll’ says Veramis ‘Finish the game’ her voice distorted because everything is running too slow.

A drag on his cigarette, a firefly flare against the black forest. The sky greys as the stars vanish out of sight of the sun. He blows smoke into the wind, purple white and gone like a ghost.

And there is Vasserath, running ahead with the board in his hands, the road broken and his hair flying like a white pennant in the wind of his passage. Racing to the end and leading the way. Winning - and there is Vasserath, enigma with a sense of fun, towering over the goblins as they walk toward him, drinks in hand. He tells them who they are searching for. Leads the way. A strange man.

There is a ribbon of pink on the horizon. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. Yet now there are two silver streaks in his hair and an enduring queasy feeling roiling in his gut.

Rory’s expression thick with distrust turned shock as Veramis plants a kiss on him. He doesn’t know what to make of her and she plays with him like a bored cat might play with a mouse. His bottle of rum clasped in her hand - shifts to Rory’s expression thick with false sympathy. No. Vague with shock. Even through pain he recognises insincerity and watches, powerless, as Veramis takes the bottle. Anger, pain and fear, all howling his mind as his body lolls useless and broken in Markus’ arms.

The cottage windows are still dark when he glances back. He can imagine her, curled now into the warm spot he left behind, slowly gathering the blankets to herself. Her hand will be on the bump, dreams… perhaps not peaceful, but safe with the wards hanging in the air. His chest feels tight, heart constricted, bruised and tender.

The drink has made her hazy and irreverent, features tinged with the Fel glow of Argus but still beautiful. Always beautiful. Memory within memory of their afternoon there, warm mineral water, cocktails and greasy goblin food. Her pale toes in the sand and a smile touched by starlight.

Time truly slowed, like a cliche from an adventure novel, rocks flying around them. He saw it from the floor, shooting upward, calculated the distance and arc and knew. He knew. It was going to hit her. The baby. Them. Magic would not serve him, would not save them, all he had was his body. And he gave it. And he saved them. He didn’t know it at first. The world turned white, his eyes blind, a strange absence in his body. Opening his eyes he saw her, whole, and knew they were fine. He couldn’t feel his legs.

None of it was real but the memories are as sharp and present as anything from earlier in the evening. The whole thing, from steaming water to alien jungle, to dancing in the firelight, to the blur of silver hair through water, to blazing, searing pain and back to hot water against his feet is one long, cohesive narrative. He wishes for the blurring of a dream, a distortion against the sight of the rock falling toward her. There will be no such solace.

[shiftingpath]

Towersong Book 3: The Wheel of Fate is Turning Chapter 2: Diplomacy Episode 1: Skree of the Kreeha (Part 1)

Lark met with Brugad, the emissary from Karash, a second time in the Pendulum. He had spoken with Elmira and Manus about the situation, and had to turn it down formally. He didn’t want to get pulled into the politics, and he didn’t want to leave Karash unprotected, but he could make no formal agreement with them, and was forced to turn down Golden Flower Altheia’s offer. However, he asked about the situation in Medo, unfamiliar with the area, and Brugad explained it a little more thoroughly. In the control of the Realm but with no help from them forthcoming, Karash’s dangerous home in the mountains was getting ever more dangerous. There was no tidal wave of dead coming as for the Karnese; instead, Karash suffered endless small terrors. The mountains were full of dark things, and there was no respite from them. One of Brugad’s two giant muscled bodyguards burst out against Lark- he already turned down Altheia’s offer, and dishonor was brought on their clan. What more did he need?

Lark turned a grim eye on him. Entirely serious, he explained how he had fought the dead in Karn, in Towersong. He could see a spirit and speak to them through the veil, and he could deliver a blow no spirit could rise from. But he required information to understand them, if he was to combat them. And he had no intention of leaving Karash to its fate. He promised that he would travel in his own time, borne on the wings of spirit rocs, to Medo, and deal with the threat of the dead there, as soon as his time allowed, and he would deal with them as thoroughly as he had the Tear-Eaters, and ask nothing of Karash but the knowledge it had of the dead. Shamed, the bodyguard stepped back into position, and his ward Brugad thanked Lark, and gave him all she knew of the ways of the shambling dead and dark things of the mountains of Karash.

= = =

Elmira had worked ceaselessly at the promise she had made the automaton Proof, who had once been the gladiator Armin Two-Blades. With delicate blades and files she crafted articulated hands instead of the solid ones carved around his swords, and turned his mask-like face into one that could blink, express, moving lips and sculpted eyebrows. They were wonderous things of brass and ivory, and his eyes were ivory and emerald. She performed the delicate surgeries herself, with only her two friends to observe, and she created bars to prevent him from reverting to his fully obedient automaton state. When she had completed it, Proof spent a little time experimenting with the movement of the pieces, but quickly gestured for a mirror. He had not seen and understood himself. He looked in it a long time, and rose quickly to leave. He was clearly grateful for the ability to move, gesture, express… but his existence was a murky and conflicted one, and he required time. The Solars promised to give him whatever help they could, and watched him walk off into the darkness of the clock, swords now hung at his sides. Before he vanished, he raised a hand to wave once, though he did not turn- Armin’s signature salute.

- - -

It was not Elmira’s only work inside the clock, though. With the help of the Clockmakers and Horologists, she was creating her greatest work yet. She was a woman, very tall and strong, made of brass and jade and orichalcum, and she would be the Kingslayer Queen, leader of Elmira’s guard and their defender. Elmira had crafted every step of her creation with utmost care, and employed the members of both cults and her Kingslayers to finish the task. Even her little dingbot was helping, working inside the small casings to ensure every inch of Elmira’s masterpiece was ready.

In its last moments, Elmira took from its case the great scintillating crystal heart she had harvested from the broken Toy Oramus. Each of the Kingslayers held it in turn, affirming their loyalty to their Uhrgraf, and passing it along to their fellow warriors. Elmira laid it, exposed and brilliant, in the chest cavity left for it, clicking it into place seamlessly, and laying a deep kiss on the brow of the clockwork woman.

Her eyes blinked, then flared open, and Amentas said her first words, in a voice resonant and powerful. “Praise be to the Sun,” she affirmed, and the gathered cultists, Kingslayers, and Elmira’s own fellow Solars watched in stunned silence as Elmira greeted her defender. She introduced Lark and Manus, and gave Amentas her orders, defending, protecting, summoning the Kingslayers when they were needed, watching the borders of Elmira’s lands. Amentas welcomed her tasks, and took up her tools: her armor Faith in Stone, of white jade and orichalcum, which had belonged to Dolem, the leader of the Wyld Hunt, and her weapon, the healing staff once used by the clockwork goddess Barnvorthr. She left on her first patrol, escorted by Kara and the Kingslayers, and Elmira addressed the gathered cultists, telling them they’d talk on the significance of the event the next day, and then fell back, exhausted from her efforts, to take a break.

Manus was approached by the Keen-Edge, Yamagata Hisoki, who asked him a little baffledly whether Elmira really intended them to have something reasonable to say on her creation of a person by craft and magic, a miracle, and Manus assured him and the small collection of Horologists gathered that he was sure they would be talking about it for years to come. He suggested they all get lunch and collect their thoughts, and on the way, ran into Lark and Amentas, talking in the hallway.

Lark had run to catch up with her, realizing that the new woman knew almost nothing about Towersong or anything else. He explained a few small things to her- for instance, they were inside a giant clock set on angle into the ground, Elmira’s kingdom, but the city surrounding it was important to Elmira and the lands of her wife, and surely Elmira would wish Amentas to be familiar with those also, in time. Manus, arriving with a set of Horologists, sent for a set of maps for Amentas to study and familiarize herself with, and then took Lark out to lunch, where the two of them engaged in a spirited debate over Amentas’ magical nature, much to the bewildered amusement of the Horologists.

= = =

Finally, Elmira had also completed the tower for the dangerous and mysterious man Kimbal. It was a tall structure of wood, far higher than the typical watchtowers scattered around Towersong, and sturdier. The three met there, and as Manus winged there on Zephyr he could hear the movements of something swift in the bushes below, like the movements of a relentless, intent animal. But when he landed, it was only Kimbal who came strolling out of the woods to meet the three Solars. All three were nervous, as they always were dealing with unpredictable Kimbal, but they welcomed him warmly to what they hoped he would make his home. He was, in his rambling, mild way, delighted by it, surprised and pleased as Elmira showed him around, and touched that she’d included things like a table and a bed, and a large hearth for his stew pot. Manus and Lark called up from below for permission to come up, which Kimbal found funny, and Manus brought him a “housewarming gift” of a casserole.

In exchange, Kimbal offered to listen around for them, and Elmira asked him if he could tell her about the Bull of the North. He gave a long listen, murmuring about how much better he could hear from up here, and told her of him. He had not turned his eye towards Towersong yet. But he moved, still he moved, and he would come in time. The three urgently debated plans of action and other questions, but Kimbal had picked up another thread. Their little town of Cherry Blossom, he mused- they might want to get over there. There was a massacre happening.

= = =

In Cherry Blossom, two Air-Aspected Dragon-Bloods were having tea. They spoke very politely to each other, though the conversation was laced with subtle tension and testing. Blind Heron wore his red scarf over his eyes, and Volan his blue-lensed spectacles. Blind Heron found it a little funny, really- he was used to Henna making exactly these threats on his own behalf, and here was Volan making them for Manus. He was not explicit with them, certainly, but Heron could recognize them easily: back off, play nice, don’t make the mistake of damaging this man or his property again. He grinned wide, and promised that Volan would not like it if he had to call in Henna, to counter his offer.

Things were on the edge of getting violent when they heard the screams begin at the edge of the village. Coming out to investigate, joined by Quickrivers, Henna, and most of Cherry Blossom’s population, revealed the cherry tree spirit Konohana standing at the edge of the village, her petals forming a line against an oncoming horde; a hundred Kreeha warriors riding summer devils, vicious lizards the size of ponies. They bore spears and swords, shrieked like a terrible wind, and bore down on the village across the clearing between it and the forest. The assembled reached for their weapons, but it was Henna who stepped forward. She clapped her scabbard between her legs and pulled forth her sword. Then she delivered a single cut to the horde.

It was the Cut of Three Thousand Worlds.

At the end, she waited a long time, then flicked blood from her weapon, sheathed it, and turned around and walked back inside. The rest stood motionless, watching an entire small army bisected before them. It was then that the three Solars of Towersong arrived, descending in their chariot with weapons ready. Manus rushed to Volan’s side, asking pointedly about his blue spectacles, which he knew his father reserved for assassin business. Volan remarked mildly that his business here had gone very well and amicably, and the two turned their attention back to the field of slaughtered Kreeha.

Elmira was moving among them, their bodies burning and ensuring their spirits would not rise as ghosts. She murmured prayers to the Sun as she went. Manus, too, moved among the bodies, categorizing their dress and paint, the woven spears and the well-crafted steel swords. He took what he could piece together and reported it to Elmira, Lark, and Volan: this was truly meant to be the end of Cherry Blossom, for these were all true warriors as best he could tell. The swords had been traded to the Kreeha back when they still took slaves among their own tribes, given by the Guild. Now that they no longer took slaves, the swords were probably in shorter supply; the fact that every fighter here was outfitted made it likely this was a dedicated effort that was very important to the Kreeha leaders. Elmira asserted that each soul she passed on was laden with a hatred of Towersong, from weak to great; it seemed propaganda was in full effect over the united Kreeha peoples.

They decided to scout out to make sure there were no more troops waiting in the woods beyond. Elmira continued to work among the bodies, and when she had finished, she began to craft a statue of warning from some of the swords of the fallen Kreeha. While she worked, Lark and Manus took the chariot over the woods to the Bridge of Strangled Serpents. In the forest below, they could see the swift form of the man they referred to as the Hound, one of the Kreeha who wore a carved mask with a spirit imprisoned there to grant them great skill. The Hound had been very keen of smell and hearing, and quick besides, though now as they rode above him it was clear he was not quite a match for a gale roc in full flight. Still, he moved through the woods rapidly.

They beat him to the Bridge by a matter of minutes, finding that the Kreeha had moved not only up to the edge of the Bridge but across it, making camp on the Towersong side of the chasm. They descended, not fully to the ground but low enough for all the assembled to hear, and Lark spoke, vehemently declaring that the Kreeha had lost! Not a single one of their warriors would return from this battle, which should have been an easy mark against the helpless craftsmen and merchants of the little village. They had been driven back. The Hound was even now bringing word of their failure. They must be wary and fearful of Towersong’s reply.

Then they swept away into the sky, as the Hound emerged from the forest and was swamped by his people, urgently yelling questions about news that had travelled faster than he had.

[solomonfiore]

The Beast

"People talk sometimes of a bestial cruelty, but that's a great injustice and insult to the beasts; a beast can never be so cruel as a man, so artistically cruel."

Fyodor Dostoevsky

I became so accustomed to people that I began to feel as if I were one of them. Whether or not there was ever anything human about me is debatable. It goes without saying that I was no more than a beast according to my co-workers. The circus’ menagerie of exotic animals had all died off save for me, leading me to view myself as an important figure. Maybe that’s why I began to see myself as more than just an animal. I thought I was unique. Alas, I got cocky. I didn’t know my place and acted out of line. I brought about my own downfall. That’s what they tell themselves. That’s what they tell each other and members of the audience in those rare instances when my absence is brought up.

I kept to myself ever since I was a cub, but all of that changed when I fell in love with my boss. My paws muddied by the footprints of tourists on the trammeled ground, I was sauntering back to my tent when the trapeze swinger and first-in-command of the circus called out to me one dusky evening. She was getting high and drunk with the carnival workers around a bonfire. Empty pill bottles, broken crack stems, and used syringes were strewn about the site. Surveying the valley of the Arizona desert, the moon was an aquamarine cataract sewn into a sky defaced by fuchsia and ocher claw marks. The skulking vista of sandy bluffs enshrined the trapeze swinger’s resplendent aspect as she stood over the rusty canister of flames at the encampment. Having traded her diamond-studded leotard for a flannel shirt in the wake of that day’s show, her beauty was only further enhanced by the vivacious temperament of her garb, recalling autumnal mornings and the heartache of precocious lambs.

I waded through the swamp of clowns and freaks in her retinue to where she’d beckoned me, placing myself loyally at her feet as if praying before an altar of roman candles. I saw that she and her wacky entourage were playing a game of sorts. She pointed to an empty bottle of absinthe lying on its side on the ground between us. Its spout was pointed in the direction of Zorax the Strongman who was donned in a shaggy one-piece with his lips eagerly puckered in anticipation of a smooch from the sultry daredevil. With a pristine toe delicately wrapped in a black slipper, she altered the direction of the bottle, turning it to face me.

In a bundle that trickled through the spaces between her gentle fingers in luscious tendrils, she pulled her smooth locks of hazelnut hair over her forehead to gaze at me with diaphanous eyes more piercing than the stars of twilight. “Have you ever played Spin-the-Bottle, Kitty Kat?” she asked me, her mouth still moist from the 240 milliliter container of hydrocodone syrup she’d just downed in one swig. “Every once in a while I’ll give the old bottle a spin and offer to kiss whoever the lucky chap it happens to land on. It looks like your lucky night, Kitty Kat.”

Not just because she’d cheated him out of an intoxicating kiss, but as a gesture of honest concern for his superior, Zorax voiced his apprehensions. “Be reasonable, Miss Aida!” he protested. “Don’t you dare let those precious lips make contact with that atrocious beast. Do you know what parasites those dreadful creatures are known to carry? With all due respect, at least stick to the civilized members of your ranks. That abominable furball shouldn’t even be wandering the grounds freely. Its master Peg Leg Paul has become too lenient in his old age. There’s no telling what savagery you could incite if you rile up this animal’s passions with a kiss.”

Oppositional by default, the young lady took the bodybuilder’s admonitions as a cue to rebel regardless of whether or not they held any validity. She leaned forward and planted a kiss on my velveteen muzzle, leaving the imprint of an iris where her lips had made contact with my fur. Traceable by the finest sprinkles of glitter produced by the spectacle of that enchanting instant, the sweetest scent of lavender emanated from the salivary stamp on the crest of my nose. She eased away from where I faced her and the euphoria of this fleeting embrace bordered on unbearable to me. I gathered the courage to express my gratitude for this invigorated display of affection, but my vocal cords could only muster a growl.

She recoiled from me as if she had accidentally touched a maggot-infested carcass. “That beast growled at me!” she cried. “Take it away before I have it euthanized!”

Having emerged from his drunken stupor to find me missing from the stable, Peg Leg Paul had been conducting a search. He stumbled upon the scene at the encampment at an ideal time to intercede. Vicious beatings from his cane of thick, gnarled wood served as assurances to the crowd of entertainers and hired hands that I would be dealt with severely. When the blunt instrument broke into splinters over my skull, he removed the wooden appendage extending from the stub of his knee and bludgeoned me with that. My mangled hide of broken bones was escorted back to our tent with my master dutifully in tow, sparing no lenience when it came to extolling punishment via a battery of blows from his artificial limb.

But Peg Leg Paul’s unwavering discipline failed to curb my desire for the ravishing trapeze swinger from that night henceforth. I took to combing the bristles out of my fleece every morning and dyed my hair with henna to give it more flare; I practiced walking on my hind legs to appear more human; I studied the history of Tutankhamun and the Great Pharaohs with the sole intention of telling the object of my ardor about a time when my breed was worshipped. Most crucially, I did everything in my power to give a voice to the passel of thoughts running through my lovesick mind, but not so much as a ‘meow’ was issued from my frustrated maw whenever I attempted to speak.

Much to my master’s consternation, I no longer accommodated my training with the usual deference and patience. Jumping through fiery hoops and opening my fang-ensconced jaws for him was too commonplace for me. These tricks failed to challenge my intellect and keep me stimulated. Rudely indicating my boredom, I would yawn or smack my leathery lips during his long-winded tutorials. These absent-minded displays of ennui cost me dearly. Bedtime was greeted with every inch of my body throbbing with excruciating pain from my exasperated keeper’s wallops.

I frequently snuck into the main tent to watch Aida practicing her death-defying stunts. My heart would rev up to a rumbling flutter at the sight of her twirling around in whimsical circles high above my head in defiance of the laws of gravity. I would watch this angel in ebony tights fly through the air with baited breath, her body as nimble as the exoskeleton of a butterfly. Observing these aerial dervishes were glimpses of eternity itself. Throughout my day, I could think of nothing but the irrepressible joy I experienced every time I’d borne witness to one of her performances.

After a particularly enthralling show, I followed her into the tent where everyone was having lunch. To communicate my admiration for her, I sat by her side and attempted to lick the back of her hand. She withdrew from me with a flinch before my tongue could make contact with her smooth skin. Annoyed, she found her place at a separate table where she proceeded to rifle through her fan mail. Seized by a flush of humiliating despair in reaction to this cold and dismissive gesture, I summoned up all my will to express to her the dejection I’d just sustained. Flashing my razor sharp incisors inches away from her face, I let out a blood-curdling roar.

The opiate-addled mumblings and inbred drawls of her hungry employees bustling about the dining area were hushed as she stared at me with a mixture of indignation and terror. I immediately recognized the terrible error of my conduct. I bowed my head and lowered my eyes to her submissively, but it was too late to rectify the appalling offense.

“That is the last straw!” she hollered. She pointed at me and yelled to her bodyguards, “That creepy cat has been stalking me! Forget issuing a restraining order. I’m the judge and jury of this circus. Lock up that perverted puss and throw away the key!”

After a thorough flogging, I was confined to a cage and could no longer participate in the festivities. My master was so fed up with my unruly behavior that he wouldn’t even grant me the attention of a daily beating. My only friends were the birds that came to snack on the nests of fleas in my coat. I was treated like the most verminous genus of the mammalian order by staff and visitors alike. Spectators made fun of me. They threw beer cans and firecrackers into my cramped domicile. My health took a turn for the worst in captivity. Dr. Goreslime, a traveling quack and distributor of some of the finest sizzurp in the states, diagnosed me with mange, distemper, renal dysplasia, peritonitis, feline leukemia, and a congenital bone disorder hitherto unknown to the medical profession.

For such a cruel master, Peg Leg Paul must have been struck with an epiphany of sympathy. For he knew of the adoration I harbored for the lovely trapeze swinger while predicting the impending extinction of the last of his pets. Knowing me as soon to depart this cursed popsicle stand of human exploit, he implored the young woman to visit me. She agreed to his invitation after some cajoling.

Carefully stepping over the droppings and puddles of urine dotting the cement floor, she looked down upon my sad visage when she reached the corner of my cage where I lay dying. Their lids encrusted with marmalade beads of mucopurulent discharge, my giant emerald eyes had been sanded down to a dull olive hue; my once regal mane took on the rusty grain of a Jewish toupee; and my golden flanks were caked with milky diarrhea. A pinch of girlish sympathy roused her, and she let out a sigh. “You were roaring like you ruled the world the other day, Kitty Kat,” she kidded. “You no longer want to come out and play? What’s all this fuss about, silly?”

She ventured to wrap her arms around my colossal head and that delicious lavender scent from her flowery pores once again caressed my ruby nose. In a final exhalation, I summoned up the strength to speak to her. “I just wanted to talk to you,” I purred before the most merciful of all the ancient gods came to transport me from this mortal hell to where I would find eternal sanctuary - my heavenly den in the Egyptian azure.

Solomon Fiore – January 15, 2016

<photo: Aida Rodriguez of the Kitsune Klan>

Special thanks to Aida Rodriguez.

Solomon Fiore is the nom de plume of

Oliver Lodge, an author who lives in New York. He has been published in “Sirens’ Call Publications”, “Ravenwood Quarterly”, “Whorror House”, “Living Paranormal Magazine”, “Creepy Campfire Quarterly”, “Aaduna”, “ANON Magazine”, “Blood Puddles”, “Yellow Mama”, “Inner Sins”, “Gutter, Grimy, Scum”, “Body Parts Magazine”, “Blood Moon Rising Magazine” and a slew of other rags he’s too lazy to list. A selection of his works can be accessed here in addition to the following links:

https://solomonfioreauthor.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100019080735694

Further inquiries: solomonfiore@yahoo.com.

[clothestop]

from https://ift.tt/2fzNu8Y https://ift.tt/2wWIx5h

reading poetry in different languages: aesthetic impressions

Spanish: juice dripping from your mouth as you bite into fresh fruit; honeyed skin incessantly kissed by the sun; long laughter and shadows of summer; a red rose on a bedside table in a white room, where a single petal falls; the silhouettes of lovers sitting at the end of a dock, everything the deepest blue.

French: a river running smooth as silk; pale mornings, watching cigarette smoke slip away like a scarf in the wind; a drink which singes your throat as it slips down into your core and warms you; hot tears stinging your face, then the cold water that washes them away; the agony of orgasm.

German: storm clouds rolling in; the fear of god in the eyes of painted sinners; a long black coat for hiding every secret; shoes clacking on a wooden floor; purple veins on eyelids; the dial tone ringing and ringing when no one is taking your call; an uncapped pen which has bled all over the page.

Irish Gaelic: a whip of raven black hair; lying awake with only the moon to console you; high sand dunes punctuated with brushstrokes of green, green grass; how a first kiss feels so bright, like walking on air; the crash of the ocean, always running into the soft limitless arms of the shore.

Pashto: pomegranates, always and always, and the way they open endlessly; a woman blossoming in front of herself; a purple sunset over mountaintops; children singing songs together under the shade of a fruit tree; a bucket splashing water over your feet; whispers in the dark, a taunting dialogue.

[christianitywithouttheinsanity]

Song of Sol 4-6; 2 Thess 1

Discuss in the comments section.

The following text is from the English Standard Version.

Song of Sol 4-6

1:1 The Song of Songs, which is Solomon's.

She

2 Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth! For your love is better than wine; 3 your anointing oils are fragrant; your name is oil poured out; therefore virgins love you. 4 Draw me after you; let us run. The king has brought me into his chambers.

Others

We will exult and rejoice in you; we will extol your love more than wine; rightly do they love you.

She

5 I am very dark, but lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem, like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon. 6 Do not gaze at me because I am dark, because the sun has looked upon me. My mother's sons were angry with me; they made me keeper of the vineyards, but my own vineyard I have not kept! 7 Tell me, you whom my soul loves, where you pasture your flock, where you make it lie down at noon; for why should I be like one who veils herself beside the flocks of your companions?

He

8 If you do not know, O most beautiful among women, follow in the tracks of the flock, and pasture your young goats beside the shepherds' tents.

9 I compare you, my love, to a mare among Pharaoh's chariots. 10 Your cheeks are lovely with ornaments, your neck with strings of jewels.

Others

11 We will make for you ornaments of gold, studded with silver.

She

12 While the king was on his couch, my nard gave forth its fragrance. 13 My beloved is to me a sachet of myrrh that lies between my breasts. 14 My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blossoms in the vineyards of Engedi.

He

15 Behold, you are beautiful, my love; behold, you are beautiful; your eyes are doves.

She

16 Behold, you are beautiful, my beloved, truly delightful. Our couch is green; 17 the beams of our house are cedar; our rafters are pine.

He

4:1 Behold, you are beautiful, my love, behold, you are beautiful! Your eyes are doves behind your veil. Your hair is like a flock of goats leaping down the slopes of Gilead. 2 Your teeth are like a flock of shorn ewes that have come up from the washing, all of which bear twins, and not one among them has lost its young. 3 Your lips are like a scarlet thread, and your mouth is lovely. Your cheeks are like halves of a pomegranate behind your veil. 4 Your neck is like the tower of David, built in rows of stone; on it hang a thousand shields, all of them shields of warriors. 5 Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle, that graze among the lilies. 6 Until the day breathes and the shadows flee, I will go away to the mountain of myrrh and the hill of frankincense. 7 You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you. 8 Come with me from Lebanon, my bride; come with me from Lebanon. Depart from the peak of Amana, from the peak of Senir and Hermon, from the dens of lions, from the mountains of leopards.

9 You have captivated my heart, my sister, my bride; you have captivated my heart with one glance of your eyes, with one jewel of your necklace. 10 How beautiful is your love, my sister, my bride! How much better is your love than wine, and the fragrance of your oils than any spice! 11 Your lips drip nectar, my bride; honey and milk are under your tongue; the fragrance of your garments is like the fragrance of Lebanon. 12 A garden locked is my sister, my bride, a spring locked, a fountain sealed. 13 Your shoots are an orchard of pomegranates with all choicest fruits, henna with nard, 14 nard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense, myrrh and aloes, with all choice spices— 15 a garden fountain, a well of living water, and flowing streams from Lebanon.

16 Awake, O north wind, and come, O south wind! Blow upon my garden, let its spices flow.

She

Let my beloved come to his garden, and eat its choicest fruits.

He

5:1 I came to my garden, my sister, my bride, I gathered my myrrh with my spice, I ate my honeycomb with my honey, I drank my wine with my milk.

Others

Eat, friends, drink, and be drunk with love!

She

2 I slept, but my heart was awake. A sound! My beloved is knocking. “Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my perfect one, for my head is wet with dew, my locks with the drops of the night.” 3 I had put off my garment; how could I put it on? I had bathed my feet; how could I soil them? 4 My beloved put his hand to the latch, and my heart was thrilled within me. 5 I arose to open to my beloved, and my hands dripped with myrrh, my fingers with liquid myrrh, on the handles of the bolt. 6 I opened to my beloved, but my beloved had turned and gone. My soul failed me when he spoke. I sought him, but found him not; I called him, but he gave no answer. 7 The watchmen found me as they went about in the city; they beat me, they bruised me, they took away my veil, those watchmen of the walls. 8 I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my beloved, that you tell him I am sick with love.

Others

9 What is your beloved more than another beloved, O most beautiful among women? What is your beloved more than another beloved, that you thus adjure us?

She

10 My beloved is radiant and ruddy, distinguished among ten thousand. 11 His head is the finest gold; his locks are wavy, black as a raven. 12 His eyes are like doves beside streams of water, bathed in milk, sitting beside a full pool. 13 His cheeks are like beds of spices, mounds of sweet-smelling herbs. His lips are lilies, dripping liquid myrrh. 14 His arms are rods of gold, set with jewels. His body is polished ivory, bedecked with sapphires. 15 His legs are alabaster columns, set on bases of gold. His appearance is like Lebanon, choice as the cedars. 16 His mouth is most sweet, and he is altogether desirable. This is my beloved and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.

Others

6:1 Where has your beloved gone, O most beautiful among women? Where has your beloved turned, that we may seek him with you?

She

2 My beloved has gone down to his garden to the beds of spices, to graze in the gardens and to gather lilies. 3 I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine; he grazes among the lilies.

He

4 You are beautiful as Tirzah, my love, lovely as Jerusalem, awesome as an army with banners. 5 Turn away your eyes from me, for they overwhelm me— Your hair is like a flock of goats leaping down the slopes of Gilead. 6 Your teeth are like a flock of ewes that have come up from the washing; all of them bear twins; not one among them has lost its young. 7 Your cheeks are like halves of a pomegranate behind your veil. 8 There are sixty queens and eighty concubines, and virgins without number. 9 My dove, my perfect one, is the only one, the only one of her mother, pure to her who bore her. The young women saw her and called her blessed; the queens and concubines also, and they praised her.

10 “Who is this who looks down like the dawn, beautiful as the moon, bright as the sun, awesome as an army with banners?”

She

11 I went down to the nut orchard to look at the blossoms of the valley, to see whether the vines had budded, whether the pomegranates were in bloom. 12 Before I was aware, my desire set me among the chariots of my kinsman, a prince.

Others

13  Return, return, O Shulammite, return, return, that we may look upon you.

He

Why should you look upon the Shulammite, as upon a dance before two armies? (ESV)

2 Thess 1

1:1 Paul, Silvanus, and Timothy,

To the church of the Thessalonians in God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ:

2 Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

3 We ought always to give thanks to God for you, brothers, as is right, because your faith is growing abundantly, and the love of every one of you for one another is increasing. 4 Therefore we ourselves boast about you in the churches of God for your steadfastness and faith in all your persecutions and in the afflictions that you are enduring.

5 This is evidence of the righteous judgment of God, that you may be considered worthy of the kingdom of God, for which you are also suffering— 6 since indeed God considers it just to repay with affliction those who afflict you, 7 and to grant relief to you who are afflicted as well as to us, when the Lord Jesus is revealed from heaven with his mighty angels 8 in flaming fire, inflicting vengeance on those who do not know God and on those who do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus. 9 They will suffer the punishment of eternal destruction, away from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might, 10 when he comes on that day to be glorified in his saints, and to be marveled at among all who have believed, because our testimony to you was believed. 11 To this end we always pray for you, that our God may make you worthy of his calling and may fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by his power, 12 so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you, and you in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ. (ESV)

The reading plan I’ve chosen is from Bible Class Material and it’s a 5 day plan, with weekend days to catch up or get ahead or just take a break!

http://ift.tt/2hfNLzf

[theplattexperiment-blog]

Pray for the world. Reading: Song of Soloman 1-4 1 Solomon’s Song of Songs. She[a] 2  Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—
    for your love is more delightful than wine. 3  Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfumes;
    your name is like perfume poured out.
    No wonder the young women love you! 4  Take me away with you—let us hurry!
    Let the king bring me into his chambers. Friends We rejoice and delight in you[b];
    we will praise your love more than wine. She How right they are to adore you! 5  Dark am I, yet lovely,
    daughters of Jerusalem,
dark like the tents of Kedar,
    like the tent curtains of Solomon.[c] 6  Do not stare at me because I am dark,
    because I am darkened by the sun.
My mother’s sons were angry with me
    and made me take care of the vineyards;
    my own vineyard I had to neglect. 7  Tell me, you whom I love,
    where you graze your flock
    and where you rest your sheep at midday.
Why should I be like a veiled woman
    beside the flocks of your friends? Friends 8  If you do not know, most beautiful of women,
    follow the tracks of the sheep
and graze your young goats
    by the tents of the shepherds. He 9  I liken you, my darling, to a mare
    among Pharaoh’s chariot horses. 10  Your cheeks are beautiful with earrings,
    your neck with strings of jewels. 11  We will make you earrings of gold,
    studded with silver. She 12  While the king was at his table,
    my perfume spread its fragrance. 13  My beloved is to me a sachet of myrrh
    resting between my breasts. 14  My beloved is to me a cluster of hennablossoms
    from the vineyards of En Gedi. He 15  How beautiful you are, my darling!
    Oh, how beautiful!
    Your eyes are doves. She 16  How handsome you are, my beloved!
    Oh, how charming!
    And our bed is verdant. He 17  The beams of our house are cedars;
    our rafters are firs. She[d] 2  I am a rose[e] of Sharon,
    a lily of the valleys. He 2  Like a lily among thorns
    is my darling among the young women. She 3  Like an apple[f] tree among the trees of the forest
    is my beloved among the young men.
I delight to sit in his shade,
    and his fruit is sweet to my taste. 4  Let him lead me to the banquet hall,
    and let his banner over me be love. 5  Strengthen me with raisins,
    refresh me with apples,
    for I am faint with love. 6  His left arm is under my head,
    and his right arm embraces me. 7  Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you
    by the gazelles and by the does of the field:
Do not arouse or awaken love
    until it so desires. 8  Listen! My beloved!
    Look! Here he comes,
leaping across the mountains,
    bounding over the hills. 9  My beloved is like a gazelle or a young stag.
    Look! There he stands behind our wall,
gazing through the windows,
    peering through the lattice. 10  My beloved spoke and said to me,
    “Arise, my darling,
    my beautiful one, come with me. 11  See! The winter is past;
    the rains are over and gone. 12  Flowers appear on the earth;
    the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves
    is heard in our land. 13  The fig tree forms its early fruit;
    the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come, my darling;
    my beautiful one, come with me.” He 14  My dove in the clefts of the rock,
    in the hiding places on the mountainside,
show me your face,
    let me hear your voice;
for your voice is sweet,
    and your face is lovely. 15  Catch for us the foxes,
    the little foxes
that ruin the vineyards,
    our vineyards that are in bloom. She 16  My beloved is mine and I am his;
    he browses among the lilies. 17  Until the day breaks
    and the shadows flee,
turn, my beloved,
    and be like a gazelle
or like a young stag
    on the rugged hills.[g] 3  All night long on my bed
    I looked for the one my heart loves;
    I looked for him but did not find him. 2  I will get up now and go about the city,
    through its streets and squares;
I will search for the one my heart loves.
    So I looked for him but did not find him. 3  The watchmen found me
    as they made their rounds in the city.
    “Have you seen the one my heart loves?” 4  Scarcely had I passed them
    when I found the one my heart loves.
I held him and would not let him go
    till I had brought him to my mother’s house,
    to the room of the one who conceived me. 5  Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you
    by the gazelles and by the does of the field:
Do not arouse or awaken love
    until it so desires. 6  Who is this coming up from the wilderness
    like a column of smoke,
perfumed with myrrh and incense
    made from all the spices of the merchant? 7  Look! It is Solomon’s carriage,
    escorted by sixty warriors,
    the noblest of Israel, 8  all of them wearing the sword,
    all experienced in battle,
each with his sword at his side,
    prepared for the terrors of the night. 9  King Solomon made for himself the carriage;
    he made it of wood from Lebanon. 10  Its posts he made of silver,
    its base of gold.
Its seat was upholstered with purple,
    its interior inlaid with love.
Daughters of Jerusalem, 11 come out,
    and look, you daughters of Zion.
Look[h] on King Solomon wearing a crown,
    the crown with which his mother crowned him
on the day of his wedding,
    the day his heart rejoiced. He 4  How beautiful you are, my darling!
    Oh, how beautiful!
    Your eyes behind your veil are doves.
Your hair is like a flock of goats
    descending from the hills of Gilead. 2  Your teeth are like a flock of sheep just shorn,
    coming up from the washing.
Each has its twin;
    not one of them is alone. 3  Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon;
    your mouth is lovely.
Your temples behind your veil
    are like the halves of a pomegranate. 4  Your neck is like the tower of David,
    built with courses of stone[i];
on it hang a thousand shields,
    all of them shields of warriors. 5  Your breasts are like two fawns,
    like twin fawns of a gazelle
    that browse among the lilies. 6  Until the day breaks
    and the shadows flee,
I will go to the mountain of myrrh
    and to the hill of incense. 7  You are altogether beautiful, my darling;
    there is no flaw in you. 8  Come with me from Lebanon, my bride,
    come with me from Lebanon.
Descend from the crest of Amana,
    from the top of Senir, the summit of Hermon,
from the lions’ dens
    and the mountain haunts of leopards. 9  You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride;
    you have stolen my heart
with one glance of your eyes,
    with one jewel of your necklace. 10  How delightful is your love, my sister, my bride!
    How much more pleasing is your love than wine,
and the fragrance of your perfume
    more than any spice! 11  Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride;
    milk and honey are under your tongue.
The fragrance of your garments
    is like the fragrance of Lebanon. 12  You are a garden locked up, my sister, my bride;
    you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain. 13  Your plants are an orchard of pomegranates
    with choice fruits,
    with henna and nard, 14      nard and saffron,
    calamus and cinnamon,
    with every kind of incense tree,
    with myrrh and aloes
    and all the finest spices. 15  You are[j] a garden fountain,
    a well of flowing water
    streaming down from Lebanon. She 16  Awake, north wind,
    and come, south wind!
Blow on my garden,
    that its fragrance may spread everywhere.
Let my beloved come into his garden
    and taste its choice fruits.

[savvywriting]

The Time of a Healer

Hey there. This is a story I wrote for my creative writing class, enjoy!

January 4th, 2017

I was used to staring at the floor by now. I seemed to be able to hide myself by memorizing the dents and scratches on the school’s tiled floor. I’d like to believe that by keeping my head down I was invisible. Of course, that’s not realistic. I’m still found. Her voice slashes my view away from the school’s shoe base. When I say “her” I refer to the vain of my existence, the one person whose words are equivalent to being stoned with rocks.

Kata.  

           She’s the bully loved by many. Kata somehow tears down my self-esteem on a schedule, but is still applauded for her stellar grades, and above beyond volunteer hours. You’d think that someone with that royal level of popularity would have something better to do than verbally shred me like an expired license. She’s always able to make a window of time for me. She’s able to because I’m me. Julia Azar. Julia whose skin under her eyes are darker than a haunted house on Halloween. Julia who’s not seen for her talents, but for her small physical abnormality pointed out by the champion of beauty at school. Julia Azar is the girl who’s under eye skin resembles a night sky without stars.

           “Do you just not sleep or something?” Kata laughs, “or are you clumsy enough to get two black eyes?” Her words move the tectonic plate layered in my brains, resulting in a violent shake of my confidence.

           Later on, my mom finds me in a fort of self-hate. The mirror in my ballerina pink room is covered with a bedsheet, and I’m reading a magazine article on painting my face with concealer. Her soft drum beat of her footsteps becomes louder, and somewhere in my mind I register it. Though, I am too engrossed in a feeling of familiar failure to react. My mom’s French manicure grabs the teen-beauty-heartthrob-collage of words from me. I’d say my reaction of teenage annoyance is valid.

            My mom is always the person who I come to, and she still manages her composure. She’s always so strong for other people, therefore my hero. Yes, my mom is my hero.

           Her eyes bounce to the magazine article, the concealer in my hand, and then to me. Only now there’s something new sparkling in her eyes, and I can’t decide if I like it or not.

           “We need to discuss something” her eyes announce with the words dancing in her exhale of breath. I don’t think I like this new gaze.

           My mom sits me down and over the next hour I realize that my family is either certifiably insane, or thinks I’m very gullible. My mother says that according to my genetics my dark under eye circles makes me some kind of ancient healer. This type of healer tends to injuries and emotional damage of those hurt in selfless acts. If this was true, I’d basically be a mythical badass. Sadly, I think my mother is doing some weird analogy to make me feel better; deeper truth to trigger confidence. Throughout my mother explaining my glorifying Lebanese heritage she sees my expression of continuing disbelief.

           Finally, she sighs out “I understand you think I’m lying to you,” I let out an eye roll, “but you’ll see the truth tomorrow.” I’m then wrapped in a comforting awkwardly positioned hug. I’m separated from the loving embrace as my mom lightly walks out of my room, closing the door behind her.

           Hours later, I’m staring at my ceiling. It’s funny how at school I look down, but I end the day looking up. With my tranquilizing floral duvet neatly creased around me, my pillow opens my dreams.

           I feel the light on my eyelids before they open. I feel the hot sun resting on my skin. I feel the warmth dancing through my bones. I do my typical morning routine of procrastinating through thoughts to opening my eyes. As I think I realize that my room is always cold in the morning. Anxious curiosity tears my vision open.

Horror seeps around me as I realize this is not my room.

I’m covered in a light cotton sheet, now sitting up on an oak bed. As my vision focuses I see that the room I’m in is covered in patterned curtain like fabrics. If I wasn’t horrified, I’d probably recognize the beauty of the room. However, I am terrified. Suddenly over aware of every one of my senses, hear feel a gush of wind and the quiet sound of someone walking in through the curtain.

“Hi Julia” a soft yet confident voice says as I sharply whip my head around. It’s a young woman speaking, she can’t be older than nineteen. Her stained oak hued hair goes to her shoulders of the small frame. A stormy sky gray contrasting silk and linen dress covers her lightly tanned body. What I notice most is her face. What I notice immediately is that under her dazzlingly shaped hazel eyes are darkly tinted skin. That’s a first to see, I think. Despite her peculiarity of a facial feature, she is absolutely beautiful.

“I’m assuming you’re confused” she smiles. I slowly nod my head, unable to have the paralyzing intimated thoughts roll off my tongue.

“I’m Beth,” she begins “I know your mother told you the story of your eyes last night. I don’t blame you for not believing her, it sounds like a prank a first.” No kidding. “I can tell you’re putting the piecing in your head together right now” Beth kindly humors, “Your mother told you the truth. You’re a healer, you have abilities to make the world a stronger and loving place. You can heal the heroes, you’re a true gift.”

“I’m really overwhelmed” I’m able to admit. I can admit it, because despite the insanity of the situation I feel so right­.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on, and then you ask away,” Beth sits on the bed I’ve unknowingly occupied “although I doubt you’ll have any questions. Our girls rarely do.”

She speaks swiftly yet comfortingly now. “You’re currently here with eleven other girls, two mentors, and I –the guide. We’re all bound together by our spirit, physically shown through our under eyes. Outside this structured tent is a hidden dessert. We’re invisible to the outside world and provided with everything we need. Despite the climate surrounding us, you’ll never be too hot, or too cold for that matter. Starting today, you’ll be learning how to capture your gifts and control them to heal our patients. When you’re training here is complete, you can choose to go home or travel where needed as an official healer. Training usually lasts eight days. Any questions now?”

Despite the confusion that an outsider may acknowledge, I have no questions. It’s almost is I’ve always known this, and I just got a refresher.

So I shake my head, feeling my lips tug up while doing so. Beth back beams at me.

I’m then given a small tour of the site and introduced to the rest of the group. After I’m given an identical outfit to Beth and all the others, the training begins.

The training hasn’t been brutal. In many narratives, the protagonist will talk about how much harder the training is than they would ever expect. At first I was mildly concerned that I would be put in a situation that I couldn’t handle, but that didn’t happen. I’ve been here for six days now, and so far everything has come naturally to me. Every tradition and ritual has easily floated through me, empowering me. For the first time in so long, I’m not thinking about my appearance. Instead I’m thinking about who I am on the inside, and how I have a purpose.

I actually feel beautiful, which is why I’m making the decision to continue my work as a healer.

I’m now sitting with Beth and the two mentors, Roan and Maxine. Around me are curtains similar to the ones in the tent I woke up in. Fascinating patterns that leave me curious are blowing towards me by the presence of the wind. Everything feels so right.

“Today we’ll be discussing your test, should you pass the journey of healing may begin” Maxine addresses. Maxine had the darkest shade of red hair, and always sported a new henna tattoo every day. Roan had long wavy sandy blonde hair running down her back, and had her always had her nails painted. The nail polish reminds me of my mom back at home. I’ve noticed that I’m seeing people for more than just their under eyes. I see so much more in people, which I pride.

“This will test your ability to heal both mind and body, and use will power in your emotions” Maxine finishes.

“There are some girls who are unable to complete this test, it is extremely difficult” Roan warns.”

“I’ll do my best,” I smile through my anxiety.

“Julia your test is to heal the spirit of Kata Anderson,” Maxine’s voice cuts through my newly found confidence. I’m gazed at with empathy by the three women in the room.

“Julia, your final test is to be selfless to someone who has been selfish” Beth informs me calmly.

“She’s the reason I hated my appearance a week ago” I find myself whispering, horrified.

“She has been horrible to you, we know” Roan tells me softly, “but the true value of a healer is being able to help anyone and everyone.”

“Julia, she has problem which will be releveled.” Beth says quietly as she lightly squeezes my shaking hand, “if you help her you will become a healer.”

I take deep breath full of knowledge and nod my head, feeling insecurity resurface.

 I’m sitting on a bench in a park. I think it’s kind of funny, because so many event happen at parks in stories. A first kiss, a heart to heart, friends making up, slow walks, playgrounds… it just keeps going. This however is none of that. What’s about to happen is not the Disney land fireworks of a first kiss, or romantic comedy where you run into an old love. This is going to be a forced interaction of misery. I don’t even know why I’m here, but I’m here. I’m here sitting on a wooden bench breathing the crisp Sunday morning air, and I’m waiting.

Time ticks and steadily continues, and so does the waiting. I’m watching a toddler playing with her mother. She’s dressed in an outfit she obviously picked out herself, and can’t be more than three. Her father is pushing her on the swing, calling her beautiful princess, while her mother takes pictures with her phone. The little girl’s giggles and squeals surround my mind, reminding me of my family dinners. The dinners filled with laughter and horrible puns about food, the rare time when I don’t think about my appearance.

I’m still contently watching the family dynamic when my eyes focus in on Kata sitting on a similar bench watching the scene too. Only while I have a small smile on my lips, she has small tears on her cheek. Kata’s face is blotchy like kid’s painting experimenting with reds. Small dots of mascara dot under her lower eyelashes, and her blonde hair is limply falling past her back. For the first time ever, she doesn’t look like the arrogant yet loveable perfect student. She’s not on her perfect stand, instead Kata’s on a bench crying.

The hardest part is forcing myself to stand up. My bones are trying to glue me to the wood, and my brain is screaming “DANGER”. Somehow though, once I start walking it becomes easier. The same feeling that happens when I’m in the secluded desert while I’m healing overcomes. Before I know it, I’m sitting on the bench with her.

Kata looks at me, and for a half second looks as if she’ll throw an insult at my face, but she doesn’t. Instead she speaks in small curiously quivering voice.

“Where were you last week?”

I wasn’t expecting that. Why would the sun of the solar system notice a small ring around Saturn?

“I was visiting somewhere I might be moving to soon” I half-truth.

           Kata’s eyes grow as big as the Grinch’s heart.

           “You’re moving?” she asks, shocked.

           “Well yeah, I mean maybe.” My mind is swimming in more confusing waters now.

           “But if you move… what will I do?” her voice is in a whisper, more to herself than me.

           Here it is, what might help me pass my test and be rid of her forever, “What’s going on?”

           I expect her to darkly laugh or roll her eyes. Instead she looks over at the playground family, who are now beginning to walk away. The girl on her father’s back and the mother throwing her head back in laughter off of something that was said.

           “I’ve never had something like that before,” gesturing towards them “my mom still has to approve my outfits.”

           “Why?” I ask, my voice now expressing my confusion.

           “Appearance is everything, my family lives by that. My appearance never seems to match up though.”

           “But Kata, I mean… you’re perfect.”

           Now she lets out a dark laugh, but it’s quieter than expected. Honestly the laugh resembles an ironic chuckle. Kata doesn’t respond to that verbally, instead shaking her head once while a few salty tears make their way down her face.

           My shock is wearing off and I’m able to say something that has more than a ‘W’ word.

           “I think you’re beautiful,” I start off softly as she continues looking at the playground, “I mean everyone does… If anything I’ve envied you for years.”

           Kata’s head stays bowed but she whispers “That was the point.”

           “Wait-what?” I find myself saying out loud instead of in my head.

           “I wanted someone to be jealous of me, to think that highly of me,” Kata looks at me before she continues, “You were shy and seemed insecure, I thought a jab or two might boost my confidence. And well- it did. The way you’d look at me like I was above you, it made me feel beautiful when nothing else did. I guess I got a little carried away, and before I knew it middle school and most of high school had gone by. It went by so fast, too fast.”

           I don’t know what I feel, let alone what to respond. Is this real?

           “God,” Kata throws her head back in a groan, “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this! We’ve never even had an actual conversation.”

           Right then and there I’m hit with an odd type of energy, like I know exactly what to say. So I say it. “I’ve recently made some new friends who’ve helped me realize that life has so much more to offer than looks. When I surround myself with people like that, I feel unstoppable.” I say honestly. “And you have so much more than your looks. Maybe that what your family thinks comes first, but it’s not. The teacher’s like you because you’re a good student and volunteer a lot, other kids like you because your funny and just likeable. I mean even after the stuff you’ve said to me, I can’t help but like you,” I chuckle, “pretty weird.”

           Kata then lets out a laugh, the same genuine one you can hear from across the cafeteria.

“People really think that?”

           “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true” I laugh back, “it’s not like I owe you anything.”

           Then Kata looks at me, not in the judgmental eye glance way. In a humanizing big eyed childlike way.

           “I never thought you were ugly, to be honest I didn’t think about you in a physical appearance way at all. Just a selfish intention on my part.” She admits.

           My ears ring at those words. “Just remember that there’s a lot about you other than you’re looks, and you’ll be just fine.”

           Kata smiles at me,

           I smile back.

  It’s not until later that I realize that I had done my job, I healed. I didn’t even notice I was doing healing either, it all just happened. I know I can go back to my mom, back to school, back to Kata, and things would be different. Now though, that’s just not my home. My home is where my gifts are needed, and there’s nothing left for me in a building for eight hours a day. As I’ve told my mentors, it’s time for me to move on.

           I’m ready to start my new voyage through the waters of change.