#sun dried apricots

[malatyaapricots-blog]

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[inayva]

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[apiswitchcraft]

altars for kemetic/egyptian gods

hi yall, another purely based in UPG, new agey post! historically, deity offerings for the ancient egyptians often took the form of art/sculpture/hymns, incense (like frankincense or myrrh), or offerings of food (especially meat and bread) and drink (wine/ale, mostly). dialogue with the gods was often facilitated through the pharaohs or funerary rites, but your average person had access to daily magic and regular temples as well.

RA

Colors: yellow, orange, red for the sun

Offerings: eye of ra, dates, figs, grapes, apricots, sunflowers, morning glories, chocolate, pastries, orange juice, honey

Crystals: sunstone, yellow/red jasper, citrine, carnelian, honey calcite, angelite, kyanite

Animals: falcon

SHU

Colors: white, blue for the air/sky

Offerings: feathers (especially ostrich), sandalwood, gardenia, anise, paper fans, cornflower

Crystals: white/clear quartz, angelite, selenite, blue calcite, fluorite, blue lace agate

Animals: lion, ostrich

TEFNUT

Colors: white, blue for water

Offerings: sea salt, reeds, shells, water, coral, water (especially dew), lotus root/flower

Crystals: blue calcite, sodalite, lapis lazuli, amethyst, larimar, ocean/blue lace agate, aquamarine

Animals: lioness

NUT

Colors: blue, black for night. white for stars

Offerings: amber, sandalwood, sycamore, moonflowers, morning glories, milk

Crystals: lapis lazuli, star jasper, azurite, obsidian, smokey quartz, black tourmaline, labradorite, sodalite, moonstone (especially black)

Animals: boar, cow, sow

GEB

Colors: green, brown for earth. black for the underworld

Offerings: grain, beans, yarrow, cinnamon, coffee, egg shells, foliage, dirt, rocks, snake shed, milk

Crystals: jasper (various types), aventurine, moss/tree agate, unakite, obsidian, jade, malachite

Animals: snake, goose, rabbit, bull

OSIRIS

Colors: green for renewal, black for death, white for rebirth

Offerings: bandages, dark chocolate, dried fruit (especially oranges or dates), dark chocolate, coffee, cedar, vetiver, bones

Crystals: lapis lazuli, moss agate, jasper (various types), malachite, obsidian, smokey quartz, pyrite, jade, howlite, star jasper (for his astral form)

Animals: heron, ram, cow

ISIS

Colors: white, grey for the moon. blue, black for the night. green for life and resurrection.

Offerings: the tyet symbol, cow horn, milk, sycamore, feathers, dried fruit (such as raisins or dates), pomegranates, nuts, pastries

Crystals: star jasper, moonstone, rose quartz, amethyst, fluorite, bloodstone, red jasper, carnelian, labradorite, aventurine

Animals: birds (especially a kite hawk or vulture), cow, cat, scorpion, sow

HORUS

Colors: blue, purple for insight and intuition. white and red for pharoahship.

Offerings: eye of horus, weaponry/iron, lotus flower/root, feathers (especially hawk or falcon), yarrow, chocolate

Crystals: malachite, aventurine, pyrite, amethyst, lapis lazuli, jasper (various), howlite, sunstone, aquamarine, labradorite, hematite

Animals: falcon

NEPHTHYS

Colors: black for darkness and funerary rites

Offerings: beer, linen, feathers (especially of a crow or vulture), bones, coffee, nuts, milk

Crystals: obsidian, smokey quartz, black moonstone (because of association with Isis), black tourmaline, red jasper, bloodstone

Animals: vulture, crow

SET

Colors: red, black for chaos and storms

Offerings: lettuce, sand, alcohol, dragon's blood, patchouli, yarrow, vetiver, charcoal, dark chocolate, black pepper

Crystals: red jasper, black tourmaline, howlite, obsidian, labradorite, sodalite, bloodstone, malachite, pyrite

Animals: the set animal (which resembles a canine, giraffe, and aardvark), donkey

THOTH

Colors: grey, blue for intuition/intelligence. white for the moon

Offerings: quill, ink, pieces of writing/books, feathers, rosemary, citrus, sage, moon water, lavender, nuts

Crystals: amethyst, lapis lazuli, malachite, moonstone, selenite, howlite, angelite, sodalite, fluorite

Animals: ibis, baboon

ANUBIS

Colors: black, grey for funerary rites/death

Offerings: bones, ash, charcoal, red/black peppercorns, marigold (associated with the dead), linen, yarrow

Crystals: hematite, obsidian, black tourmaline, howlite, jasper (various, but especially red), smokey/rutilated quartz, bloodstone

Animals: canines, especially a jackal

BASTET

Colors: white, red for pharaohship

Offerings: ointments/perfumes of most types, cedar, anything cat related, rosemary, black salt

Crystals: tiger's eye, cat's eye quartz, bloodstone, red jasper, black tourmaline, howlite, milky/smokey quartz, pyrite, carnelian

Animals: lioness, cat

SEKHMET

Colors: red for war. grey for justice

Offerings: sand (especially red), scales of justice, iron, cypress, red pepper, black salt

Crystals: bloodstone, red jasper, carnelian, garnet, ruby kyanite, jade, smokey/clear, hematite

Animals: lioness

HATHOR

Colors: pink, red for love/sexuality

Offerings: dancing, dried fruits (especially figs/dates), pomegranates, sycamore, milk, honey, pastries

Crystals: rose quartz, amethyst, citrine, carnelian, fluorite, jade, aquamarine, garnet/ruby

Animals: cow, lioness, cobra

KHONSU

Colors: white, grey for the moon. blue, black for the night.

Offerings: lavender, sage, mugwort, dried fruit, moon shaped items, moon flower, ash

Crystals: moonstone, selenite, sodalite, obsidian, black tourmaline, smokey/milky quartz, jasper (various), blue lace agate, lapis lazuli

Animals: falcon

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Another List of "Beautiful" Yupik & Iñupiat Words

for your next poem/story

Anetmun - toward the outside, downriver

Aŋmaaḳ - flint, firestone

Atsaruaq - chamomile

Ayagturainartuq - he is finally leaving after not being able to

Ciutnguaq - dried fruit, particularly dried apricot or apple

Ikpaksraaḳsugruk - many days ago

Ilutequq - he is emotionally pained, grieving

Im’utuunrituq - it is not as before

Ḳatraḳ - echo

Merr’aq - holy water

Mitḳuḳ - feather

Nangtequq - he is in pain, is ill

Nautchiaḳ - flower

Niġiŋa - rainbow

Pisuktuḳ - wants, desires

Qimugta - dog

Siḳiñiḳ - sun

Suŋauraaḳtaaḳ - blueness

Tangrruartuq - he is having a vision, hallucination; he is seeing something in his mind’s eye; he is watching a movie

Tuqutekluta - dying for us

Tuutaruaq - rose hip

Umyuaq - mind

Uvlaaḳ - morning

Uyumiḳsuḳ - misty, blurred

Yuurtuq (also yug’urtuq) - he became a person; was born

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or send me a link. I would love to read them!

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ Part 1

[dicaeopolis]

an elderly woman from Maine tottering out to the porch, smiling up at the morning sun with a face as soft and wrinkly as a dried apricot, and then taking an enormous bong rip as her live-in caretaker watches in quiet horror

[tadpolesonalgae]

Raspberry Lips

Elain x reader

a/n: sapphic playlist to read along to, if you’d like 🧡💛

word count: 896

The sun shimmers atop the rippled surface of the Sidra, glittering gold undulating between soft pinks and peachy oranges, mixing with the aquamarine blue of the painted houses and the warm magentas from storefronts below. The two of you remain quiet as you take in the wonderful vista from atop the small balcony, held up on oxidised copper, pale blue and a little patchy in places but tinged with an almost mossy green, artfully curved into bars that swirl and wrap around to form a railing.

Her sundress flutters in the late evening breeze, the floppy straw hat she’d chosen sitting pretty atop her gently curled hair, forming soft ringlets of golden brown, like the tops to the perfectly baked goods she makes. Small wildflowers are tucked behind her elegantly pointed ears, left over from your lunch in her carefully cultivated garden—picking a few of the unplanned but not unwelcome flora that had cropped up in the grass.

She opens up the wicker basket, pulling out something swaddled in pale cream cloth, setting it down between you, carefully revealing the contents to be two slices of pie. The pastry looks perfectly flakey and crisp, with powdered sugar dusting its surface, sun-dried raspberries lining the circumference. The cross-sections appear a mix between a spongey and custard-like texture, rhubarb baked into the main body of the pie.

“I made this yesterday,” Elain pipes up, raising a slice from the fabric, perching it upon her dainty fingertips, offering it up. Your heart flutters a little as it usually does around her, your lips helplessly curving into a smile as you lean forward across the chequered picnic blanket. It’s easy to bite into, teeth and tongue able to effortlessly pry it apart with little effort, slightly crumbly on top but soft and plaint in your mouth.

You hum, hand coming to cover your mouth as you chew, pulling back a little, swallowing. The setting sun sparkles in her cocoa eyes, like melted chocolate that swirls as it sinks into gently simmering milk. Rosey lips soften, curving to reflect your own as matching grins broaden your mouths.

“You like it?” She asks through her laugh, eyes crinkling as her cheeks warm with an apricot flush, rounding as the corners of her mouth lift upward, smiling with her slightly uneven teeth. It has your own smile broadening, eyes gleaming with affection as you manage a nod. “It’s perfect,” you reply through your smile, meeting her twinkling gaze. “Just like you,” you murmur, vaguely aware of how her hands have lowered the slice, making room for the two of your to gravitate toward one another.

Her lids lower a little, lashes obscuring some of the fascinating colours of her irises, but then her head is tilting a little, and you’re only a few inches apart.

Your lips tingle with heat as they settle against hers, soft and plush, and you’re almost certain some powdered sugar has gotten between you. Maybe she’s just that sweet.

Your hand raises, cupping her jaw as you kiss her, feeling how she pushes against your touch, mouth slanting against your own as she copies your movement, her thumb brushing the crest of your cheek, middle and forefinger tucked behind your ear. Lips stretch out, smiles playing on soft, sugared mouths as you pull away, keeping close.

Elain blinks, smile fading a little before widening into a sunshine-filled grin that has your heart aching, throat tightening.

“What?” You ask, voice lilting with laughter at her smile. “You’ve got sugar on your cheek,” she whispers over your mouth, thumb stroking over the area. The two of you crane together, mirth ringing between you as your stomach flutters.

“I should’ve known that’d happen,” you mumble, fingers gently wrapping around her wrist to ply it away. Her laughter is still prominent as you swipe the tip of your tongue over the pads of her digits, removing the sweet powder she’d so carefully dusted the pastry with. “That tickles,” she laughs softly, watching as you move to her thumb, sliding it over your lower lip as she presses down a little.

Her flush deepens as you press a soft kiss over her skin, observing with a quiet heat that has your skin warming.

“I love your hands,” you murmur into her palm, raising it higher until her fingertips could brush your brows, nosing at her skin. “They’re so clever.” Her flush deepens, neither of you really able to look away. “So good at making things,” you mumble into her palm, feeling the slight roughness that’s begun to surface from the incessant pruning of the plants in her garden.

“I like yours more,” she says breathlessly, leaning closer again, making your eyes twinkle as she pulls away, cupping your jaw. “Why’s that?” You reply, so eager to press your mouth to hers again. To feel them. To taste them. Taste her.

“You’re so gentle with them,” she answers, feeling as her words take shape on your lips, so, so, close. “I love it.”

Your mouths push together, slow, soft motions echoing between you, lips parting to feel the other, flicking gently—as she’d wanted. Elain makes a small noise, breathy and hot as she applies more pressure, opening a little wider, food forgotten as a new appetite is stirred within her.

Stirred within both of you.

Soft and sweet.

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Gentile. | Chapter XLI

Jesus is back in Capernaum, where you witness yet another miracle. Quintus apologises during a rare moment of vulnerability.

Chapter list

Your tongue has been sticking to the roof of your mouth for the past hour no matter how much water you consume, your head spinning as the baby has been uncomfortably twisting and turning. A servant noticed the lower position of it whilst helping you tie your sandals earlier this morning, yet another cause of concern for you. Your due date approaches more rapidly than you can handle, having wanted a better world for your unborn child. 

You allow yourself to grab a cloak to head out into the city without an escort at your side. You had considered trying to find Gaius but found Marcus at his post instead, who had given you an odd and judgemental look that consisted of a hard line in his brow that you figured wouldn’t leave his features any time soon. Instead, you had made sure to not appear too visible to the crowds by donning something less expensive although you doubted you didn’t stand out like a sore thumb, and led yourself through the roads of Capernaum without the safety of a chaperone at your side.

The streets are abuzz with something tense — a spark in the air, as if something big is about to happen. You munch on a light breakfast consisting of a handful of dried apricots and some nuts as you traverse the village where everyone seems to be too preoccupied to pay your hooded figure any mind, causing you to take a seat on a small wall just outside the synagogue, a part of town where you don’t often go to, to rest your sore back. 

With a sigh, you caress your itching belly, trying to relieve some of the straining skin that has been killing you no matter how much oil you’ve been applying to it. Your dresses have risen up your body to the point that your ankles are visible now. You don’t mind the cool breeze it allows under to help you with the spells of profuse sweating you’ve been suffering through. It is clear Quintus doesn’t like this exposure of your legs, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Perhaps that he’s seeing reason for once, or he doesn’t want to order a dozen new outfits just for the final stretch of your condition. 

You sit there for a while, drinking in the sunlight no matter what it might do to your skin. You enjoy the less familiar scenery, watching the people navigate the streets as they go about their day, but you keep your eyes peeled for Jesus nevertheless. Even though nobody seems to know where He is currently at, you are just as excited to catch a possible glimpse of Him. 

After sitting in the sun for a while, flipping through a book that you’ve brought with you but finding little energy to actively read, you hear a familiar voice fly over the synagogue wall, belonging to someone you didn’t really expect to find there. Tucking your book back into the bag over your shoulder, you stand up and waddle over to the front gate of the synagogue, where the main yard is located.

There, Primi Gaius sits with one of Jesus’ main students, fixing the cistern. They seem to be in conversation and you don’t mean to impose, so you wait for a while, leaning a bit against the wall to support your stomach. Your current condition makes it so that not even the rabbis give you a weird look for using the gate for support, figuring you a heavily pregnant woman simply passing by and resting in spite of her surroundings.

“You have gods, festivals, no?” the Disciple of Jesus asks. If you recall correctly, his name is Simon. Quintus had mentioned him a few times and you had pieced two and two together with your few visits to Matthew’s booth back in the day. You can barely believe that these outings are nearly a year ago, now.

“Yeah, sure,” Gaius breathes. “But not anything like you. Just… Parties, auspices.”

The two men are busying themselves pushing mortar between heavy bricks. 

“We have parties, too.” 

Gaius scoffs and smiles a bit. “From what I can tell, they do not look as fun as ours.” 

“Depends on the definition.” Simon finds, “Another thing we have is prophecies.” 

“So I’m told,” says Gaius.

“I’m beginning to think I’m living in one.” 

Gaius pauses in his actions. “What, with the Preacher?” 

“No uh, this.” Simon gestures at the cistern in front of them, “Our prophet Jeremiah, he said ‘My people have committed two evils. They have forsaken Me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves. Broken cisterns that can hold no water.’” Simon concludes with a little chuckle as he loads another bit of mortar onto his trowel. They continue working for a few seconds before Gaius looks up again, a frown on his features.

“That sounds like a riddle.”

“You know, you’d make a good Jew.” You have to stifle a laugh at Gaius’ expression. “We love riddles. We call those ones metaphors.” Being an avid reader and dabbling in writing from time to time, your interest is piqued; after all, you’re no stranger to the phenomenon of metaphor.

“So, have you?” 

“What?” Simon questions.

Gaius clarifies. “I mean… Forsaken your god of water? It sounds like your god identifies as a source of water and the broken cisterns are a sign that you turned your back on him.” 

You understand Gaius’ perspective. It is a common concept within your culture that if something goes wrong, it is likely because one of the many deities you worship is displeased about something. 

“We only have one God. Of water, fire, wind and everything else.” 

“That’s efficient,” Gaius mutters, “Maybe a little boring.” 

“It’s a lot easier than a pantheon.” You can’t help but agree to that, you think to yourself as you consider letting your presence known to them. After all, you’d love to join in on the conversation to find out more just what exactly Gaius believes. 

“They’re not that hard to keep track of. Jupiter, Juno, Mars, Mercury, Neptune, Venus, Apollo, Diana—” 

“—All right, all right, stop. I’m exhausted already. What… Sacrifices to all of them?” 

Gaius shrugs. “It depends on what you want. I mean, uh… Safe travel, Mercury. Victory in war, Mars. Fertility, Juno.” 

The Primi continues working whilst Simon gives him a curious look. “A big catch of fish?” 

“Neptune.” Gaius immediately knows. 

Brief silence between the two of them. Before Simon can speak up again, as he is about to do so, you step forward. “Gaius? What are you doing here?” 

The Primi, as if caught red-handed doing something he is not allowed to, stands up quickly, straightening out his back. “My lady.” You smile a bit as you look him up and down, not used to seeing him out of his usual set of armour. “What are you doing here?” 

“I just asked you that same question. I was just out and about, taking a different route this time.” 

Gaius clears his throat. “I’m helping this man fix the cistern, per your husband’s request.” 

For a moment, you look at Simon, who gives you a wary look. You give a small smile in return. “I can see the two of you are making good progress. Are you working together well?” 

“Of course, my lady.” Gaius says, “You can report back to Praetor Quintus that—” 

“—I’m not here on Quintus’ behalf.” 

A sigh of relief seems to flood him. It is almost as if he has forgotten about the careful friendship you’ve been trying to form with him.

“Good. Then what compelled you to take a detour this time? I don’t see an escort with you.” 

You smile a bit half-heartedly, your gaze going to Simon, who is watching you with a suspicious narrowing of his eyes. 

“My husband doesn’t have to know everything I do, nor my reasons behind my actions.” You turn to the former fisherman. “You’re Simon, right?” 

He gives you a small nod. “Yeah?” 

“Did you hear anything from my friend Joanna lately?” 

“Joanna…?” Simon seems to turn over the name inside his mind a few times. “I know her… She’s a Roman, like you.” 

“Roman, like me,” you parrot with a small smile. There is no judgement or anger in your voice, nor disdain or mistrust, which is odd to Simon. He tries to make sense of it, as well as of your confident stride into the yard of the synagogue, even though you aren’t really allowed here. Usually, Romans would turn from here at any given opportunity with a look of disgust on their face.

“Your friend, you said?” 

You nod, smiling a bit. “Yes, she’s my friend. I was wondering if you know anything about any upcoming sermons so that I could inform her about them.” Frankly, the question is meant for yourself more than for her.

“How do you know that she—” 

“—As I said, she is my friend.” 

Simon’s jaw tenses a bit. “Look, how can I know that you aren’t just here because you are trying to get intel on her, hm? I know how you snivelling Romans can be—” he points at Gaius, “—Not you— but I can’t know for sure whether I can trust you. You’re Quintus’ wife, right?” 

Gaius steps forward. “Simon, I know her better than you do. Lady (Y/n) has been displaying an interest in your Preacher for a while now, and—” 

“—And she might be handing all that information right into the Praetor’s lap.” 

You sigh and lower your gaze. “Look, I get it. I wouldn’t trust me, either, especially someone in a position like myself. But I have genuinely started to look forward to Jesus’ sermons, and—”

You are cut off as restlessness suddenly seems to swell over the city, the people rushing through the yard towards the streets. 

“Woah, woah, woah, what’s going on?” Simon mutters, the three of you turning to a man stumbling by, who is leaned onto a walking stick. 

“Where are you going?” Gaius calls out to him. 

He halts and pivots towards you. “The Preacher! They say He’s going to do a miracle!” Simon instantly jumps to his feet as you feel your heart skip a beat at the mention of Jesus being back in town, “Even you should be there.” The man’s enthusiasm is contagious and you smile, supporting your tummy as you turn to Gaius. His expression is equally as puzzled.

Simon meets with two of his friends, fellow Disciples of the Messiah. “James, John, what is this?” The more often you see them, the more names you learn. 

“We don’t know more than you do,” the tallest of the two admits.

“Come on!” urges the other with a gesture of his arm.

“Primi,” you say when Simon speeds away and Gaius shrugs on sash over his tunic, “Will you bring me with you?” 

A small smile spreads over his features. “Of course, my lady.” The two of you head right towards the commotion, both of you curious to catch a glimpse of the Rabbi. 

A crowd has gathered around Him and your heart sinks upon realisation, knowing that you’ll hardly get a look at anything He will say or do. Amidst the chaos, one of His followers is  pushed over and nearly trampled, quickly brought back onto his feet by Matthew. There is shouting, people desperately trying to reach out, vying for the Messiah’s attention. 

You hadn’t been the only one waiting for His return. 

“Look at them,” Gaius mutters, “They barely know what to do with themselves. Of course He won’t hear you better if you yell over all the other shouting…” 

“I understand,” you admit, “After waiting for Him for so long, you’d be keen to see Him again too, no?” 

Gaius nods and halts in his step underneath a small stone archway. “You wait here, my lady. Stay away from the masses. I need to see if I need to intervene or not… Duty calls.” You hum and lean against the wall, giving a small smile. 

“I’ll find my own way back home later,” you tell him, and he gives a small nod. 

“Just make sure to call for my aid if you need it.” 

You nod and support your stomach as the Primi rushes off, the crowd drawing closer to you as Jesus moves through the streets of Capernaum. Two men and a woman pass by and halt in their tracks right in front of you. “What’s going on?” one of them asks as they worriedly gaze at the unfolding chaos. 

“Simon’s house…” the other mutters. 

After a moment of observation, the woman seems to catch a glimpse of Jesus’ face. “It’s Him. It’s your Rabbi!” There is a paleness on her face that makes you wonder if she is ill. She nervously looks at Jesus’ followers, who rush in His direction. 

“Stay here,” the one wearing a yellow tunic says, leaving her behind for a moment. 

For a few moments, she stands there, noticing your presence behind her and she offers you a wary look, which you answer with a small smile. Her eyes turn to your stomach, then back up to your face, realising you are no threat in spite of being Roman, and turns back to look at Jesus. “Teacher!” she suddenly calls out, her arm reaching over the crowd as if it would be long enough to touch Him, “Teacher!” 

The group of people pushing and pulling one another draws closer, desperation on the woman’s face, the hollowness in her cheeks showing in her sorrow. “Teacher…!” she once again exclaims, defeat on her face as her lips part. The woman reaches for her lower abdomen, pressing her legs together. “No, no, no…” she whispers, “Please, no… Not now…” Stranger or not, you are inclined to comfort her, only held back by the fact that Gaius told you to stay here and not get closer to the crowd. 

She then straightens her back. Taking a deep breath, she whispers something to herself and you resist the urge to step closer to hear what it is, until a bit of it carries in your direction through the wind: “Just the fringe. One touch.” 

In the distance, you notice Gaius instructing the soldiers to keep their posts and not intervene just yet. Seeing him still out of his usual uniform, you feel some relief wash over you. The woman stands with her gaze suddenly fixed on the Rabbi, a line in her brow that resembles determination. 

“Just the edge,” the Jewish woman in front of you mutters, “Only a thread!” 

Suddenly, a man points accusingly at her, “You! I know you! Get away from Him!” 

“No— No, stop it, please—” 

The man tries to call out to one of the rabbis of Capernaum whilst the woman tries to stop him. “Rabbi Yussif! Rabbi Yussif!” 

A Pharisee clad in black and white heads your way and you take a step back to stay out of sight, in spite of your instincts to comfort the woman being accused of something terrible.

“This woman bleeds. She is unclean. We removed her—”

“Please, I promise, I won’t touch Him, I just need—” 

The Rabbi cuts her off. “—Woman, please, we can help, but not now.” 

She shakes her head at Rabbi Yussif, not giving in just yet. Just at that moment, the Disciple dressed in yellow passes by the gate. “Sorry, we’ll try tomorrow,” he apologises. 

“No, please, just a moment!” The Jewish woman is crying now, “Just His garment!” 

Before she can be stopped, she rushes forward, and a gasp leaves your lips at the sight. She pushes her way through the crowd with an outstretched hand. For a moment, you lose sight of her in the crowd, just looking at the back of Jesus’ head, until He halts, shoulders and arms moving in a way as if all air is being pushed from Him. 

Everyone draws to a stop around Him, His followers holding His arms to steady Him as Jesus holds onto their shoulders. “Back everyone!” 

All shouting instantly ends as people wait with bated breath. Against Gaius’ wishes, you step closer to the crowd to hear what is going on. A circle forms around Jesus as He converses with His Disciples, one of them suddenly crying out: “Everybody, back!” 

Slowly, Jesus turns around. “I asked a question. Who touched Me?” There is such authority in His voice that you nearly shrink in your position at the back of the masses surrounding Him. Silence as many gazes fall onto something — or rather someone — sitting on the ground next to Jesus. Simon leans closer to his Master and mutters something you don’t catch, but Jesus doesn’t agree with him. 

“Someone touched Me. I felt that power went out of Me.” Now, His gaze also lowers. You walk past the back of the group of people, finding a small gap through which you can see the woman who had just been so desperately crying out for the Teacher seated on the sandy road, a small smile on her face, immediately seeming healthier than she did a minute before. 

However, a feeling of guilt creeps over her face as she looks up at Jesus, Who steps closer to her. “Whoever touched Me, come forward.” He asks, even though it is obvious that He knows. 

You flinch in slight discomfort as you feel a sharp kick to your ribs. You breathe away the sudden heartburn. 

“Teacher…” Rabbi Yussif mutters, but Jesus simply gives him a small nod. 

“It was me,” the woman admits. “Just the fringe of Your garment, only the edge, I promise. You are not unclean.”

Jesus bites His bottom lip for a moment before approaching her further. “Why My garment?” 

“I’m sorry,” the dark-haired woman whispers, “I know I should have asked. But if You touched me, it would make you ritually unclean according to the law. I—I was sick. I was sick for twelve years… I bled and no one could stop it.” Your heart clenches at how much she must have been hurting all this time. “But I believed if I could just touch a piece of your garment…” 

She suddenly laughs through her tears. “And I was right, I was right. Thank You.” Jesus smiles down at her, letting the silence hang a bit. 

“Who told you I could heal?” 

“A man from the Pool. And he was right,” she sobs, “The blood has ceased.” 

Jesus crouches down in front of her, locking eyes with her. “My daughter.” He whispers, and the words go straight through you. Even though they are not directed towards you, they make your eyes water. Your heart thumps as He sits in front of her and you swallow the sudden lump lodged in your throat. 

The woman shakes her head. “I’m no one’s daughter anymore.” 

“Look up.” 

Her eyes gingerly flicker up to meet His. “Yes you are,” He reassures her. She beams through her tears, smiling and crying at the same time. “Daughter... It wasn’t My piece of clothing that healed you.”

She confusedly shakes her head a bit. “But it was instant, I felt it right away.”

“I know, but it wasn’t this… It was your faith.” At that, she smiles broader, and you rest a hand over your hammering heart, your head spinning with emotions at the display taking place in front of you. 

The rabbi from earlier, Yussif, speaks up. “Teacher, she was bleeding so long. We can take her—”

“—She is clean.” Jesus firmly states with a gesture of the hand, before looking at the ground for a moment, fighting His emotions before looking at her. “You have blessed Me today. And I know, My daughter, I know it has been a fight for you for so long. You must be…”

“Exhausted,” they then say in unison. Jesus looks at her for a moment. 

“Go now in peace. Your faith has made you well.” She laughs at the words, her eyes sparkling with a happiness she hasn’t known for a long time. “I wish I could stay here longer. But I have business to attend to. Someone else has faith like yours.” 

For a moment, they look at a man waiting patiently for the Messiah to come with him, and they smile at one another. He cups her face gently, making her instantly melt into the touch, for it had been long that someone had so affectionately acted towards her. “But I’m so glad that we found each other.” She puts her hand over His before he gently thumbs at her tears, then stands and addresses the crowd. 

“Please, I promise, I will speak to all of you soon. And my students and I will take care for your needs. But right now, there’s something very important that I must do, and I kindly ask you to let Me go, so I can take care of this urgent issue. I promise, I will see you, but right now is not possible.” For a moment, His gaze falls on you, and your heart skips several beats inside your chest. At the moment, you don’t need more, already having been uplifted by witnessing this healing take place right in front of you. “Thank you for your understanding.” 

The crowd dissolves as everyone leaves Jesus alone without any issues, the Messiah instructing a few of His followers to tend to the woman. You step away from the masses, thinking it best to head back to the safety of your home to rest, but you halt when you see Gaius still in the same spot, contemplating what he has witnessed just now. For a second, your gazes meet, and you smile, giving a small nod.

He mirrors it. 

As fast as your swollen ankles can carry you, you rush back to the villa.

—- 

Dinner at the residence is tense, the only sound being the cutlery against the plates and Quintus’ occasional sighs. Even though your entire system is buzzing with what you had witnessed this afternoon, you know you can’t speak to him about the miracle, no matter how much you want to pour out what your heart is overflowing with.

He glares at you as he takes a long sip of wine. You shrink in your seat as you pop another piece of beef into your mouth and chew it. It’s quite tough, but you refuse spitting it out, maintaining the awkward eye-contact across the table. “How was your afternoon?” he suddenly asks, his genuineness coming across as forced. 

“It was fine. How was yours?”

“Honestly, not as good.” He lowers his gaze before standing up sharply. 

There is tension in his shoulders as he briskly walks past you, his cologne stinging in your nose. He says no word and heads for his home study, leaving you to finish your meal in lonely silence. Not that you mind his absence at all. You don’t finish the rest of your steak. 

The rest of the evening you spend in your sitting room, pouring your heart and soul into a few new poems about what you had witnessed today, and you explore the topic of daughterhood when it comes to God compared to what your own father had done to you throughout your life. There is hope and renewal in your words, with lingering yearning to have the same for yourself visible in your words. You wonder if you will ever be able to follow Jesus as openly as you want to. You imagine yourself in the place of the healed woman from today, picturing what it would feel like to have all your sorrows done away by a single touch of the Messiah.

The moment your candle is nearly fully out, you close your journal and stretch your sore limbs. With a sigh, you hide it inside the drawer and head for the bedroom, grabbing your nightgown as well as a towel, stepping into the adjacent bathroom. 

Once you cross the threshold, you freeze in your spot, a small gasp escaping you as you see Quintus submerged into the soapy water, heat radiating into wisps of warmth floating above the surface. He opens one eye and hums. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to walk in on you.”

“That’s fine. Come join me.” 

You turn back towards the door. “I’ll just take my own bath later—”

“—I said, come join me.” You realise it’s not a request, but rather a demand, and your heart sinks into your gut. “I need to speak to you.” 

Thickly swallowing, you put down the items of clothing before starting to strip down. At least your husband has the decency to close his eyes again, the air heavy with the scent of thyme and camomile. You put up your hair lest it get wet. Quintus doesn’t look up again until you step into the tub, his gaze mapping out the expanse of your naked form, making you instantly feel nauseous. “You look beautiful.” A rare tone of affection directed towards you; or rather that he is attracted to your body at least. A fickle token of his love for you, no matter how shallow. You gulp visibly.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to have you,” he mutters as if he reads the fear right from your features, and he reaches out as you sink down into the hot water, a bit of water spilling over the edges with the added mass. The water brings comfort to your heavy stomach. “Come here.” 

The water is so hot that it stings your skin. You hesitantly, reluctantly push yourself towards him. He wraps his arms around you, turning you so that your back is facing his front, and pulls you into his lap. Your body tenses as he rests his chin on your shoulder, hands coming to rest around your tummy. You swallow once again, trying to relax and not let your unwillingness shine through too heavily.

“How are you feeling, darling wife?” 

You let out a small noise. “I’m fine. In pain, but it will pass.” 

“Good. Is the baby well?” 

You nod. “I think so.” 

He hums into your neck, unpleasant goosebumps rising to your arms in spite of the scorching bath. “I needed to say something to you,” he mutters, his jaw tensing as a line forms in his brow for just a second. “I… Shouldn’t have yelled at you this afternoon.”

The furrowing of your eyebrows ceases for a second. But just when you were about to receive a sliver of an apology, or at least the very start of one, he bashes down that hope with just as much force. “…But you shouldn’t let yourself in with a Jew, especially one like Jesus of Nazareth. He’s popular because He preaches pretty words. Women, like yourself, are gullible.” 

“I’m not gullible. I know what I’m talking—”

“—That’s what they all say.” Quintus hisses inside your ear, kissing the nape of your neck right after, a stark contrast between the two actions. The sharpness of his teeth grazes the skin, making you swallow hard and bite back a wince. “But trust me, darling, I’m just looking out for you. Those Jews would lynch you without a second thought just for being a Roman. Jesus may not appear that way, but I’m certain that His followers wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to kill you instantly if He gave them a sign.” 

You turn a bit to face him, his eyes meeting yours way too closely for your liking, but his grip on you is vice-like. There are so many things you could tell him in protest, things that could make this bathtub your tomb, but you bite your tongue instead, wordlessly staring at the Praetor. 

“I love you. You know that, right? I wouldn’t know what I would do without you,” he mutters, and for a moment, there is a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. You are almost inclined to believe him for just that split second, no longer. “Do not waste your time on Jews, my love. Got it?” 

He pulls you back into his shoulder so that the back of your head is resting on it. The essential oils in the water sting in your stretch marks, but you don’t shift. When you don’t respond, Quintus sighs, resting his chin on your shoulder as you sit like that until the suds of soap have vanished and the water has grown tepid.

---

Chapter list Next chapter

[doctor-annie]

Annie is singing about... Her life on earth "It's not the effect of poison ivy...I go hiking carefully, How come they want me on TV..? Am I really that much of a freak...? Why ever would I come out of hiding When nobody's nice to me? How could anyone think I'm lovely When they retch at the sight of me....? I'd like to get groovy, to drink a mango smoothie, I'd like to watch a movie without everyone, and the sun..Telling me that I look dumb....Hate my buds, just because there's not enough room for us...They forced me to eat ice...Then I broke my teeth and cried... Jekyll, Hyde, Dragon, Slime...The only ones who are kind..Not my fault my body's spots resemble dried apricots..." She lifts up her sleeve revealing cigarette burns "Beedo, Appadeebin...Wish I did, but I don't believe him, All I want is a quiet evening...And now you're telling me my dream's not one that's worth believing in? Eedo, Appigo Appadeeben..Yeah, I'm ugly, but there is a reason, I came out of the oven too seasoned, Sometimes there's a casserole that just isn't worth eating...I imagine self-worth and inner peace... Tastes like artificial cherry, No, wait, maybe more like ice cream, Either way, I really could use some flavouring...Come one, everybody, come one, come all The circus clown has dropped the ball 'How about we give her a face full of pie?' For some reason, in return, you'd still expect a smile...And, whenever you get mad. I'm your walking punching bag, Can your conscience handle that...?" She eventually started sniffling and that sniffling turned into crying

[@call-me-dickmaster ]

[darkmaga-returns]

Maaloula is synonymous with martyrdom and miracles. Scaling the cliffs that tightly contain it, Maaloula’s sacred and secular architectural wonders rise several stories, usually wearing a wash of blue distemper. Were it not for the vineyards and olive and apricot orchards that carpet the surrounding valley, a casual visitor might ponder how the townspeople have survived the mountains’ sun-dried, barren landscape for millennia.

Mitchell Prothero 2008

Maaloula is a Christian town some 50km from Damascus in the north-eastern Damascus countryside, overshadowed by the Qalamoun mountains.

Residents of Maaloula still teach and speak the same dialect spoken by Jesus of Nazareth - the ancient language of Aramaic originated more than 900 years before Christ and was widely used throughout the Middle East from B.C. 1200 to A.D. 700.

The Syrian government under President Assad established a new Aramaic Language Institute in Maaloula to preserve the Aramaic language that was gradually dying out in the region. This is from a Guardian article in 2009:

In Syria there are a lot of minority groups: Circassians, Armenians, Kurds and Assyrians, so it's a big decision to allow the teaching of other languages in government schools - But the government is interested in promoting the Aramaic language because it goes back so deep into Syria's history.

[the-fae-folk]

Truck or treat? Yeah, no trick option, i do NOT trust any kinda fae related person with a trick option. My apologies, have a good day-

(Jokes aside, I love your writing and your lore stuff :))

Honey drizzled from the comb onto sun dried apricots and tangerine slices. Such a sweet treat, the taste of a lingering summer that has begun to fade at last, sweet and yet melancholy in its joy. When you come in from the cold, your face raw and red from the chill bite of the wind, and your bag weighed down with candied delights, you might pour yourself a cup of hot chocolate. Rich and creamy, it warms you from within. Such wonderful treats to taste, such lavish candies to try. Won't you come in from the winter air? Won't you join us by the merrily burning fire? Won't you come into our parlour, little fly, and join us with a hot drink and a few tasty treats?

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for wanting to be left alone?

(mentions of violence and death)

I (?? F) was born with a naturally occuring, monster making condition. What look like raisins are plastered on my skin. I've been constantly tortured because of it. People think it's the effect of poison ivy, and put me on tv because I'm really that much of a freak.

Why ever would I come out of hiding when nobody's nice to me? How could anyone think I'm lovely when they retch at the sight of me?

I just want to get groovy, to drink a mango smoothie, I'd like to watch a movie without everyone, and the sun, telling me that I look dumb.

But they forced me to eat ice and then I broke my teeth and cried. It's not my fault my body spots resemble dried apricots.

All I want is a quiet evening and now they're telling me my dream's not one that's worth believing in.

Yeah I'm ugly, but there is a reason. I came out of the oven too seasoned, sometimes there's a casserole that just isn't worth eating.

Whenever they get mad, I'm their walking punching bag. Can their conscience handle that? It shouldn't be them, the one who's feeling bad. Not with all their intact arteries.

If you look like me, don't go out at night, to a man on edge you could.give a fright.

And in self defense he'll take out a knife.

Wouldn't want to cause a scene.....

Looking like it's time for me to fly away! Maybe I'll see you another day

Psych, you're probably going the other way! So give a smother to my brother when you see him okay?

Made of stone their evil hearts must be, could be that their cups of love are filled with liquid savagery.

Take it from me, looks couldn't kill, but they can get you disowned.

[malatyaapricots-blog]

Sun dried apricots are more than just a delicious snack; they’re a symbol of quality, nutrition, and natural goodness. With dedicated producers ensuring top-notch quality and exporters bringing them to global markets, sun dried apricots continue to be a cherished product worldwide. Whether you’re looking for a healthy snack, a versatile ingredient, or a thoughtful gift, sun dried apricots are a choice you can feel good about.

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[ask-cardi-c]

Copia, what is your ideal first date?

Getting some ideas hehe

Ooh, my ideal first date? Hmmmm.

Well.

I have not been on many first dates. Too busy at the Ministry. These tax forms won't fill themselves out, you know?

But, ehhhhhh...

I think I would like a picnic on the Ministry lawn, under the cherry blossom tree. I would bring Italian foods for my partner to try. Olives, sun dried tomatoes, stromboli, a cheese board with mozzarella and pecorino and freshly baked foccacia... We would have white wine, or grape juice, if they do not drink. Oh, there would also be grapes and apricots and figs and strawberries. Little nibbles, si? For dessert, eh... Torta della nonna, I think. It is like a custard tart. Very sweet. Has to be homemade. Mmm. Very good.

After our lunch, we would go on a walk around the grounds. I would take them past Papa Primo's secret garden. If no one is around to watch us, I will even steal a rose from the prized bush that he keeps hidden.

After we have had our walk, I would invite them back to my rooms to play some classic video games. Driving Miss Daisy, Mortal Kombat, Demon's Crest. Of course, there is no obligation for them to come back to my rooms on the first date, but it would be a nice way to finish the date.

[chasseurdeloup]

A package arrives from Harry & David with a card inside for Kaden:

“Thanks for being cool about the mime stuff. Share this with your cousins.”

Along with the card is a list of the contents included in the box:

Creamy Coppinger cheese

Peppadew pepper white cheddar cheese

Aged yellow cheddar cheese

Blueberry Wensleydale cheese

Espresso pecorino cheese

Fig and rose goat milk cheese

Apple-smoked cheddar cheese

Ubriacone wine-bathed cheese

Blueberry vanilla goat milk cheese

Mobay cheese

Wasabi horseradish cheddar cheese

Moliterno al tartufo cheese (truffle-infused)

Maple bacon cheddar cheese

Black truffle salami

Peppered salami

Italian bresaola

Salami piccante

Dried strawberries

Turkish dried figs

Juicy apricots

Crystallized Thai ginger

Dried tangerines

Dried mango slices

Sun-dried tomatoes

Candied walnuts

Caramelized pecans

Pepperoncini

Sweet sesame almonds

Everything seasoned cashews

Dijon seasoned pistachios

Fig and orange marmalade

Tangerine- and chili-marinated green olives

Sparkling prosecco cordials

Chocolate espresso bean mix

Rosemary and olive oil crackers

Tart cherry and cacao crackers

Everything spice crackers

Bamboo cutlery kit (20 fork pickers, 2 mini spreaders, 2 mini spoons, 4 tongs)

Acacia wood serving board, 17 in L x 13 in W x 1.5 in H (43.1 cm x 19 cm x 3.8 cm)

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Vicarious (Part 34)

Esukutai is an never ending feast of fruit; freshly cut slices of pineapple and squares of mango sit in bowls on window sills, sharing sweet aromas with those who walk down the streets. Even if everyone slammed their windows shut and kept their bowls to themselves there is plenty of produce to come by. Shop stalls and stacks of crates are absolutely teeming with fruit that has yet to be sold and then cut. Restaurants arrange slices of peach and lemon to look like the sun with a cherry for an eye. The more artful of them shape lemons, peaches, oranges, and strawberries into dragons and phoenixes and likenesses of Zuko’s face. Fruity interpretation that make her glad, for once, that she has fallen out of favor with the general public. At least she will never have to witness fruits being arranged to look like her face only to be picked at and eaten later. Intentions are appreciative in nature but, if she did say so, morbid when more thought is put into it. 

Many of these restaurants and houses have dried fruits hanging in pouches from the rafters. Some of them rest on platters while other folks have simply left the slices on their tables. No matter how they are arranged, it would seem that fruit is a manner of expressing oneself and one’s creativity in Esukutai.

It is doubly creative in that it is a clever work around in nation that banned dance and most forms of music. Whose theater, for the longest time, had been overran and bogged down by wartime propaganda. 

Azula is alone in the crowd. 

No one else is awake. 

At least not anyone from her group. 

The people of Esukutai, on the other hand, seem to rise as early as she—firebenders to the core, right to their internal clocks. Azula thinks that she could find a way to feel at home in this village. It is tiny and leisurely in a way that is exactly the opposite Caldera City. It would be hard to adjust in that regard but at this point, Azula craves quietude as much as she craves the frantic ways of the palace life. 

She scans the crowd, there is a man with a beard down to his ankles, peppery black and strewn with wooden beads. There is a woman with tired eyes and bracelets and bangles all the way up her boney arms. Fanning herself on a thatched porch there is a plump woman with the prettiest green eyes and her husband who very proudly wears a hat embroidered with the Earth Kingdom insignia. 

Behind one of the fruit stands is a girl with a crooked smile and a coiling scar upon her bicep. She passes an apricot to a little girl with chubby, rosy cheeks. Azula presumes that the girl with freckles on her forehead is the girl’s older sister. The next woman steps up, thick black curls bounce to her waist. She asks for a plum or two. 

And then there is the man whose hair looks like a fire. She has seen dyed hair before. Only once at an Ember Island show. She can’t say that she has ever seen anyone color their hair just to have it colorful. 

Esukutai is an expressive, colorful little village. 

Somehow it makes Azula’s heartache. 

She could have lived here. Things could have been simpler, had Ursa thought to take her with her. She wouldn’t have had to endure so much pain. She clutches her wrist—she wouldn’t have so many scars. 

Zuko could have lived here. He wouldn’t have any scars. Perhaps the two of them would have never grown as resentful as they had towards one another. They could have lived mundane, yet vibrant lives. 

By all accounts, Esukutai seems as though it has never been touched by the war. 

Azula shields her eyes against the sun as it peeks between the stalls. She ducks around a vine of grapes and inspects a display of handmade jewelry. They are all fine pieces, most of them crafted from stone or glass. A few have been fixed with small gems. 

She finds a wooden piece cut to look like a dragon with topaz tongues of fire tumbling from its mouth. She takes a few coins from her pocket and hands them to the man wearing seven necklaces. He nods and thanks her and she slips the necklace over her head. The dragon settles at her breast. Until she takes the pendant in her hand anyhow. She looks it over, admiring the woodwork as she walks along. 

Admiring the woodwork until she crashes into the woman with the thick black curls. 

With Esukutai being smaller than Hira’a—a village that is a very distant cry from large or even decently sized—Azula probably should have guessed that running into her mother in the crowd wouldn’t be outside of what was possible and what was not. 

Not that she would have been able to pick out the woman’s face but the woman could pick out hers. 

And she does. 

Right away. 

“A-Azula.” She gasps. 

Azula swallows.

Spirits, they had all been so focused on this idea that Ursa might be someone wholly different that they hadn’t even stopped to consider that the woman might still be tethered to her memories and all of the distress and regrets that come with them.  

Azula parts her lips but no sound comes out. 

“Azula.” She repeats so, so softly. It is almost a squeak. 

She should have slept in with the rest of them.

[askwhatsforlunch]

Honey Semolina Cakes

These Honey Semolina Cakes are easy to prepare and make a wonderfully comforting dessert, the sort of treat one wants to enjoy when the sun has seldom shone all day! Happy Wednesday!

Ingredients (serves 3):

a little unsalted butter, softened

2 cups semi-skimmed milk

1 teaspoon Homemade Vanilla Extract

2 heaped teaspoons local fragrant honey, like heather, lavender or orange blossom

1/2 cup fine semolina

1/3 cup caster sugar

soft dried apricots, to garnish (optional)

Generously butter three ramekins. Set aside.

Pour the milk into a large saucepan. Stir in Vanilla Extract, and heat over a low flame until just simmering. Stir in honey with a wooden spoon until completely melted.

Remove from the heat and let cool slightly.

In a small bowl, combine semolina and sugar; give a good stir, to mix.

Add semolina mixture all at once into the warm honey milk, and return saucepan over medium heat. Cook, stirring constantly until semolina absorbs the milk, and mixture just thickens, about 3 minutes.

Pour semolina mixture into prepared ramekins, levelling with the back of the wooden spoon. 

Place ramekins in the refrigerator, and chill, at least a couple of hours.

Tor serve, run a knife around the edges of the cakes, and carefully turn them onto serving plates. Garnish with dried apricots, cut into halves, if desired.

Serve Honey Semolina Cakes immediately.