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dailychapel · 1 year

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Mark 7:1–37 NLT - 1 One day some Pharisees and teachers of religious law arrived from Jerusalem to see Jesus. 2 They noticed that some of his disciples failed to follow the Jewish ritual of hand washing before eating. 3 (The Jews, especially the Pharisees, do not eat until they have poured water over their cupped hands, as required by their ancient traditions. 4 Similarly, they don't eat anything from the market until they immerse their hands in water. This is but one of many traditions they have clung to--such as their ceremonial washing of cups, pitchers, and kettles.) 5 So the Pharisees and teachers of religious law asked him, "Why don't your disciples follow our age-old tradition? They eat without first performing the hand-washing ceremony." 6 Jesus replied, "You hypocrites! Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you, for he wrote, 'These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. 7 Their worship is a farce, for they teach man-made ideas as commands from God.' 8 For you ignore God's law and substitute your own tradition." 9 Then he said, "You skillfully sidestep God's law in order to hold on to your own tradition. 10 For instance, Moses gave you this law from God: 'Honor your father and mother,' and 'Anyone who speaks disrespectfully of father or mother must be put to death.' 11 But you say it is all right for people to say to their parents, 'Sorry, I can't help you. For I have vowed to give to God what I would have given to you.' 12 In this way, you let them disregard their needy parents. 13 And so you cancel the word of God in order to hand down your own tradition. And this is only one example among many others." 14 Then Jesus called to the crowd to come and hear. "All of you listen," he said, "and try to understand. 15 It's not what goes into your body that defiles you; you are defiled by what comes from your heart." 16 17 Then Jesus went into a house to get away from the crowd, and his disciples asked him what he meant by the parable he had just used. 18 "Don't you understand either?" he asked. "Can't you see that the food you put into your body cannot defile you? 19 Food doesn't go into your heart, but only passes through the stomach and then goes into the sewer." (By saying this, he declared that every kind of food is acceptable in God's eyes.) 20 And then he added, "It is what comes from inside that defiles you. 21 For from within, out of a person's heart, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, 22 adultery, greed, wickedness, deceit, lustful desires, envy, slander, pride, and foolishness. 23 All these vile things come from within; they are what defile you." 24 Then Jesus left Galilee and went north to the region of Tyre. He didn't want anyone to know which house he was staying in, but he couldn't keep it a secret. 25 Right away a woman who had heard about him came and fell at his feet. Her little girl was possessed by an evil spirit, 26 and she begged him to cast out the demon from her daughter. Since she was a Gentile, born in Syrian Phoenicia, 27 Jesus told her, "First I should feed the children--my own family, the Jews. It isn't right to take food from the children and throw it to the dogs." 28 She replied, "That's true, Lord, but even the dogs under the table are allowed to eat the scraps from the children's plates." 29 "Good answer!" he said. "Now go home, for the demon has left your daughter." 30 And when she arrived home, she found her little girl lying quietly in bed, and the demon was gone. 31 Jesus left Tyre and went up to Sidon before going back to the Sea of Galilee and the region of the Ten Towns. 32 A deaf man with a speech impediment was brought to him, and the people begged Jesus to lay his hands on the man to heal him. 33 Jesus led him away from the crowd so they could be alone. He put his fingers into the man's ears. Then, spitting on his own fingers, he touched the man's tongue. 34 Looking up to heaven, he sighed and said, ["Ephphatha,"] which means, "Be opened!" 35 Instantly the man could hear perfectly, and his tongue was freed so he could speak plainly! 36 Jesus told the crowd not to tell anyone, but the more he told them not to, the more they spread the news. 37 They were completely amazed and said again and again, "Everything he does is wonderful. He even makes the deaf to hear and gives speech to those who cannot speak." - 1 One day some Pharisees and teachers of religious law arrived from Jerusalem to see Jesus. 2 They noticed that some of his disciples failed to follow the Jewish ritual of hand washing before eating. 3 (The Jews, especially the Pharisees, do not eat until they have poured water over their cupped hands, as required by their ancient traditions. 4 Similarly, they don't eat anything from the market until they immerse their hands in water. This is but one of many traditions they have clung to--such as their ceremonial washing of cups, pitchers, and kettles.) 5 So the Pharisees and teachers of religious law asked him, "Why don't your disciples follow our age-old tradition? They eat without first performing the hand-washing ceremony." 6 Jesus replied, "You hypocrites! Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you, for he wrote, 'These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. 7 Their worship is a farce, for they teach man-made ideas as commands from God.' 8 For you ignore God's law and substitute your own tradition." 9 Then he said, "You skillfully sidestep God's law in order to hold on to your own tradition. 10 For instance, Moses gave you this law from God: 'Honor your father and mother,' and 'Anyone who speaks disrespectfully of father or mother must be put to death.' 11 But you say it is all right for people to say to their parents, 'Sorry, I can't help you. For I have vowed to give to God what I would have given to you.' 12 In this way, you let them disregard their needy parents. 13 And so you cancel the word of God in order to hand down your own tradition. And this is only one example among many others." 14 Then Jesus called to the crowd to come and hear. "All of you listen," he said, "and try to understand. 15 It's not what goes into your body that defiles you; you are defiled by what comes from your heart." 16 17 Then Jesus went into a house to get away from the crowd, and his disciples asked him what he meant by the parable he had just used. 18 "Don't you understand either?" he asked. "Can't you see that the food you put into your body cannot defile you? 19 Food doesn't go into your heart, but only passes through the stomach and then goes into the sewer." (By saying this, he declared that every kind of food is acceptable in God's eyes.) 20 And then he added, "It is what comes from inside that defiles you. 21 For from within, out of a person's heart, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, 22 adultery, greed, wickedness, deceit, lustful desires, envy, slander, pride, and foolishness. 23 All these vile things come from within; they are what defile you." 24 Then Jesus left Galilee and went north to the region of Tyre. He didn't want anyone to know which house he was staying in, but he couldn't keep it a secret. 25 Right away a woman who had heard about him came and fell at his feet. Her little girl was possessed by an evil spirit, 26 and she begged him to cast out the demon from her daughter. Since she was a Gentile, born in Syrian Phoenicia, 27 Jesus told her, "First I should feed the children--my own family, the Jews. It isn't right to take food from the children and throw it to the dogs." 28 She replied, "That's true, Lord, but even the dogs under the table are allowed to eat the scraps from the children's plates." 29 "Good answer!" he said. "Now go home, for the demon has left your daughter." 30 And when she arrived home, she found her little girl lying quietly in bed, and the demon was gone. 31 Jesus left Tyre and went up to Sidon before going back to the Sea of Galilee and the region of the Ten Towns. 32 A deaf man with a speech impediment was brought to him, and the people begged Jesus to lay his hands on the man to heal him. 33 Jesus led him away from the crowd so they could be alone. He put his fingers into the man's ears. Then, spitting on his own fingers, he touched the man's tongue. 34 Looking up to heaven, he sighed and said, ["Ephphatha,"] which means, "Be opened!" 35 Instantly the man could hear perfectly, and his tongue was freed so he could speak plainly! 36 Jesus told the crowd not to tell anyone, but the more he told them not to, the more they spread the news. 37 They were completely amazed and said again and again, "Everything he does is wonderful. He even makes the deaf to hear and gives speech to those who cannot speak."

I believe that I enter a glorious new year to be filled with prayer and praise. With service to God and mankind, with inspired creative activity. I believe that God’s presence goes with me wherever I shall go this year, by train or Ires or car or boat, slowly paced on foot, or high in air. I believe his love is shining in my body, his wisdom guides my mind, his peace fills me with poise, his strength is ever at my call. Oh I believe that this is God’s new year.

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poptod · 3 years

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Make Me Your Queen (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: He’s never seen anything like you––nothing comes close to your royalty, your beauty, your power, and it draws him in deeper.

Notes: based off ‘make me your queen’ by declan mckenna. i wrote this story with a female reader in mind (bc like, hatshepsut but canaanite) but as always its gender neutral, no pronouns WC: 2.6k

"Now I want you two to stay quiet. Do you understand that? Under no circumstance should you speak without being spoken to," Merenkahre said under his breath, his voice low as he spoke to his two sons. Ahkmen nodded––Kahmuh did not, but he'd heard his fathers' words nonetheless.

"These are the Canaanites, right?" Kahmuh asked in a flat tone.

"Phoenicians," Ahkmen corrected.

"Same thing, but don't let them know I said that, okay?" His father said.

Before Ahkmen could even chuckle, his mother called the three of them into the throne room. He hurried past his brother to stand beside her, looking over the long, glorious hall adorned with pillars and vases towards the tall double doors. Shrouds of silk hung from the ceiling, clouding the paintings drawn so painstakingly on the ceiling.

The breath of fresh air in his chest left him the moment Kahmuh came up behind him, taking his spot closer to the throne.

"I was -"

"We go by rank, don't you remember?"

He curled his fingers into his palm but said nothing. Kahmuh loved to annoy him, and though he never benefitted from teasing him, he continued to do it. Now, however, was a bad time to give into the urge to retaliate––the doors would open anytime now, bringing with it streaming sunlight and foreign royalty.

For several years now Kemet had been embroiled in a conflict with Phoenicians. It was one begun by his father, who had hoped to control several of the bay cities for the trade links they provided to Mesopotamia. This part of his father's life had been kept secret from him––entirely on purpose––until they began to fight back. A treaty was established the moment Merenkahre realized his armies could be beat, and now here they were, waiting for the one who had stepped up to take control of Phoenicia. Ahkmen had yet to know their name. His mother had given him scant information, and his father was unwilling to tell.

Rustling from outside brought his attention back to the front, eyes training back onto the door as it began to crack open. It was a sight he'd seen before, the opening of those mystical doors––rarely at sunset, but today was lucky. Red light streamed into the room, clashing brightly with the gold built into the pillars and marble floor. The light fell saturated on his tan skin till he and his family practically glowed auburn.

A short train of people came through the doors, their shadows stretched against the red carpet before them. The hall fell silent at their entrance; all eyes locked onto the veiled figure in the middle drifting closer to the throne. His breath halted right up to the moment the train came to a stop before the Pharoah. It was then the soldiers surrounding the cloaked figure fell into a bow, revealing tall tresses of black and red silk, a veil lined in gold, and purple hair framing soft cheeks.

Ahk's mouth opened unwittingly, staring at you. Were you born like that? How was that possible? And you––you couldn't be much older than twenty. This was what his father had to find peace with? This was what they would've died to?

The stone look on your face matched his fathers' bitter politeness perfectly. Merenkahre's jaw set as he smiled, rising from his seat to greet you personally. He raised his hand to shake yours and you matched him, raising a hand adorned in golden rings and blood red nails, shaking his hand without a hint of the Pharaoh's kindness in your eye.

"I thank you for the invitation to your country," you said, your lips twitching upwards just slightly, just enough to look polite.

"I'm glad you took up our invitation. We have a feast prepared––I'm sure you and your men are tired from the journey," said the Pharaoh, gesturing towards the doorway opposite the entrance.

You glanced down at the bowed soldiers. As your eyes flickered upwards they landed upon the youngest Prince, leaving him petrified from the acid in your gaze.

"Yes," you said after a moment, turning back to the Pharaoh. "That would be kind of you."

Several of the palace guards took the lead of your group, leading you through the small hallway to the dining hall. The hall was placed near the court for convenience, but the decision left Ahkmen little time to ask his father anything, leaving him stumbling over which question was more important.

He pushed his way past his mother and brother, landing beside his father, who still had his teeth gritted tight.

"How old are they exactly?" He asked, but earned no response from the distant thoughts of Merenkahre. Clearly his father was a tad preoccupied––Ahkmen would, most likely, not be getting answers from him anytime soon.

Ahkmen stared at you throughout the whole dinner. Not once did you glance to see him––if you had, he probably wouldn't have been staring. At least not so hard. You're impressively hard to look away from, your smile curt and teasing, unearthly purple hair curled around a crown of spindly gold.

Over the course of the conversation, he learned several things, most namely the duration of your stay. No one had an exact count of days, but you and your soldiers would stay until a peace treaty was reached with the Pharaoh. Knowing his father's advisors, Ahkmen surmised you would be here for a while, a fact that brought a smile to his face. Even though you hadn't spared any more than a single glance at him, he found he didn't care as long as he could keep looking at you.

He wasn't invited, but he followed anyway when one of the priests led you to your room. You bid the priest good-night only when two of your soldiers entered the room with you, before turning to Ahkmen, a soft but blank expression on your face.

"You're one of the princes, aren't you?" You asked in the silence. His eyes widened at the unexpected question.

"Well, um – yes," he said, stammering over his words.

"How old are you?"

The question took him by surprise but he didn't hesitate to answer.

"Seventeen years."

You paused to take in his reply, apparently finding much to contemplate in his age.

"When I was your age, I was spending my time uniting my Kingdom and clawing us out of starvation," you said in a lofty tone, but before he could form a response, you continued. "I suggest you do something useful, like that, instead of staring at foreign dignitaries."

Oh.

"I – I'm sorry, I didn't –"

"No need to apologize. Just keep it in mind."

"But... then how old are you now?" He asked, nails digging into his palm. You held his eye so intently now that you were speaking to him.

"Eighteen," you said with a smile, promptly shutting the door in both Ahkmen and the priest's face.

The priest turned to Ahkmen, a single brow raised. An awkward silence stretched between them.

"Can you not tell my father about this?" Ahkmen finally asked.

"As long as I never have to watch you two converse again," he said.

"Deal."

Ever since you came he was enchanted by you––that much was obvious to see. His mother knew, as did his father (although reluctantly), and by his count you probably did as well. Fortunately enough for him, you didn't tease him about it. Instead you kept a polite distance from him––a decision he simply couldn't understand.

He's rarely allowed inside the court while something important is in session, but his father called him in, and he didn’t mind an excuse to be in the same room as you.

"Ahk, come here," the Pharaoh said, and he obeyed, standing by his father's side. "You and the princ-"

"King," you said sharply. It's a title you insisted on constantly, one that your soldiers willingly upheld despite the obvious contradiction. The Pharaoh pulled his lips into a thin line in clear irritation.

"You're around the same age, right?"

Ahkmen nodded.

"Why don't you show them around a little? I'm sure they'd like a break from all these meetings," Merenkahre suggested.

"I assure you I am perfectly fine," you said.

"Septy," one of your advisors leaned over to you, whispering in your ear. He couldn't quite make it out but the tension in your face fell. It was almost nice––you're always irritated around the Pharaoh and it showed.

"Very well," you said, and it looks like it took an enormous amount of pain to get the words out. "I will go with your... son."

Ahkmen practically beamed, making his way across the room to you before taking your hand, and leading you out of your seat. Before you could send any more of a scathing glare at Merenkahre, he guided you out of the room and into an empty hall.

The already-quiet voices of the court faded away as the distance grew greater, leaving the two of you in a common silence.

"He's not making your job easy, is he?" Ahkmen asked despite knowing the answer.

"Neither of us truly desire peace," you said bitterly. "Only to destroy the other. We'll both have to get over that if we're to reach any agreement."

"... I agree," he said, still caught up in staring at you.

The purple in your hair glinted in the streaming sunlight, the only color in the barren hallway lined with arches. Outside, the city sat in its' great bustle, ships lining up and down the Nile, markets flooding each section of Memphis. The sight is one he knew well, but you halted. In a flash he remembered you never came from a wealthy country––you had to build it. Unless you visited some other country, you had never seen a thriving city market.

His footsteps fell quiet when you stopped at one of the arches, eyes trained on the tiny subjects below. A lump grew in his throat the closer he stepped to you.

"How does commerce within the city work for you?" You asked.

Truthfully, Ahkmen had little clue on how the government worked. Only the tidbits he'd picked up from his father. Kahmuh was the one becoming Pharaoh––that was why he was in classes and Ahkmen was allowed free roam.

"We use a fair amount of trade," he began, though had little idea on how else to continue. "We, um... we use grain as a form of currency."

"How much in just one unit?"

He sucked in a sharp breath, biting into his lower lip as he tried to recall. Most times he went out to buy things, they priced far above a single bag, as his tastes were heavily influenced by his palace life.

"It's fine," you said curtly, stopping him in his plight. A small, relieved sigh left him.

"You must know quite a lot about your own government," Ahkmen said in a soft voice. You didn't move from your position, didn't tear your eyes from the market, but the edge of your lip quirked up just slightly.

"I should hope so," you said with a growing smile, "I built it, after all. Or... some of it. I must admit I was aided greatly by my advisors."

Ahkmen chuckled, following you when you left your spot at the arch. He took a quiet lead of the path forwards, discreetly guiding you outside the palace, where the sun shone freely on his skin. The warmth of it gave him good reason to wear few clothes. You, on the other hand, were still adorned in your black and red silk.

"I'm curious," Ahkmen said, keeping a keen eye on you, "how did you come to rule the Phoenicians? Were you royal to begin with?"

"Yes," you said with a sage nod. "My parents were descended from our Gods. When I took control, it was a crucial part of me––it was the only way I could unite the entirety of our cities."

"That's fascinating. So you control the entirety of that coast, now?"

"The cities are independent from me, but for the most part, yes. Now; I would love to discuss such matters with you, but I was promised a break from the politics," you said, and Ahkmen quickly remembered his manners.

"Of course, yes. Sorry. I know a few places you might like," he said with a smile, earning a small one in return as he led you down the sunlit street.

The more free-roaming children that passed by, the more relaxed you grew, eyes dancing at every market stall and homefront. Ahkmen had never known anything but this––to see a King who knew none of it at all was rattling to say the least. Even you, in all your majesty, found the same happiness in others that Ahkmen found in his people. The citizens seemed to like you as well, though he would've been surprised if they didn't. It wasn't every day they got to see someone with purple hair.

"I have a question," he said as the two of you passed by a murmuring crowd. "I, uh, hope this isn't rude, but how is your hair that color?"

"Dyed, actually," you answered, staring forward at the approaching Nile. "Half our trade is made up of this dye. We are great craftsmen and traders, but only recently have we been able to show that to the rest of the world."

"Why's that?"

"Well, before I came, we had no way of travelling to other cultures. I managed to befriend a great architect by the name of Batnoam. You've seen him––he stands beside me in court, but... he built these ships of curved hulls and long sails, allowed for us to hold power over your Pharaoh," you said, your accent becoming more pronounced as your hands moved thoughtlessly to the words. "Once we gained that we gained allies and established trade routes that, I believe, turned the war against you. No offense intended."

"None taken. I know my father can be.. difficult," Ahkmen said. He jumped when you belted out a laugh, raising your chin to the sky.

"I know firsthand your father's military tactics. But there are things he wants from me, things that he realizes he can't take by force."

"Such as..?"

"Look at me," you said, and as he stopped before you, he noticed the sudden quiet of the world around you. You'd made it to the Nile, and walked down far enough to escape the bustle. "Do you see my beauty?"

He nodded.

"Can you feel the power I have?"

He nodded again, too absorbed in your dulcet tone to notice the meaning of your words.

"I have made myself like this, but Merenkahre doesn't know that. He believes my power comes from my riches, from the items my people trade with those around us, and he wants that power. I don't blame him."

"You are so beautiful," he blurted out, eyes still wide as he stared at you.

"I know, dearest. You can close your mouth. I have no need for a prince, and I'm not looking for a Queen."

A soft, dreamy sigh left him as you turned, your attention shifting to the slow waters of the river. He just smiled––his heart burned warm in his chest, leaving tingling in his limbs each time they moved.

I can be your Queen, he thought without much logic behind his words besides the adoration he held for you. You took the title of King when you rose to power; there was no need for a Phoenician King, but they could do––you could do––with a queen such as himself. At least, that's what he liked to think. That's what made his heart giddy.

"Do you come down here often?"

"As much as I can," he answered. You smiled imperceptibly.

"I've always enjoyed the water," you murmured, staring at your reflection. In a split second you seemed to return to yourself, looking up to Ahkmen. "I grew up on the coast."

"I'm happy to take you down here anytime you need a break from the pressure," Ahkmen offered, his heart skipping at the thought of this happening more often. You contemplated his words for a moment before answering.

"I would like that."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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furnituresupply · 3 years

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helshades · 5 years

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Please help me find a scent! When I enter a room, I want people to acknowledge my existence. I want to demand their attention, but they can't approach me. No! I want people to automatically realize that they can't play me. No time for nonsense. Serious business only. I'm in charge. I want to be intimidating and mysterious. Which perfume should I get?

So... something potent, sensual, with monstrous projection, unsweetened, but thorny, a little cold perhaps..?. In one word: tantalising.

As a matter of fact, we could go in a lot of directions, depending on your own version of ‘intimidating’ and ‘mysterious’ alone. Or your co-workers’ take on the subject, since some people are likely to feel intimidated in the presence of a powerful green floral, or any spice whatsoever now I come to think of it. As for the approachability factor, the ultra-chic grandiloquence of Rouge Hermès has been known to traumatise its fair share of opponents. Yet, I don’t suppose you’re after something quite so, er, ‘sultry dowager’. Ahem.

Never have I met a perfume so evocative as Grimoire, or so strange. One of Anatole Lebreton’s very best, it resembles nothing you could smell anywhere else, unless you could transport yourself under the robes of a young monk daydreaming over his illuminated manuscript as the window open on the herb garden carries tranquil yet troubling scents into the dusty library. It might be too contemplative for your purposes, but it is a perfume to behold, arresting, beauteous, imaginative, at once familiar and aloof.

Now, if the frankincense and dust have you parched for a wetter perfume, I cannot resist the temptation of slipping a floral in my list, though not others might think of spontaneously: Un matin d’orage, by Annick Goutal, and here you would have a difficult choice to make between the eau de toilette and the eau de parfum versions, as they happen to be quite different, the latter featuring a pretty dirty tuberose on a woody bed of myrrh and guaic, whereas the former is a little spicier with ginger and greener, in my opinion the real ‘stormy morning’ (to be perfectly honest, I wear one in the morning, and the other come afternoon) of the two. Beautiful, energising, but a little cold.

Practically on the opposite, why not something by house Frapin? One of the most respected cognac maker, in 2007 they launched a successful line of wonderful perfumes, generally thought to be leaning on the masculine side (I suppose women are meant only to sip their minute glass of sherry daintily, whereas men can haz the better spirits...) but in truth quite unisex, usually heavy with alcohol and elegantly exotic, like a casket of precious wood so often used to carry bottles that even empty the rich smell of winy fruit and spices linger. Frapin perfumes are usually well-blended and fairly close to the skin, so I’d recommend the probable loudest and my favourite: Caravelle Épicée, ‘spicy caravel’, a classy spicy-boozy juice, peppery, delicately woody with a whiff of tobacco, and a subtle slide of sexy patchouli.

I almost recommended Speakeasy as well but I find it a little close to the skin, all things considered, even though it must be sniffed once. It was made by one of my nose darlings, Marc-Antoine Corticchiato, who runs his own independent house, Parfum d’Empire, of which I dislike exactly zero creation. His very first, back in 2003, was one of the ballsiest ambers ever made, and could drink any Frapin under the table with its intoxicating head of vodka and champagne, like a very tipsy White Russian still too well-educated to lose control of his senses entirely, but he’s almost there, and he’s rambling; and his leather boots are waxed in birch tar, and his perfume is something herbal and masculine with juniper and spices... The result is a smoking Russian tea with a hefty dose of alcohol: the much-beloved Ambre Russe. Also particularly worthy of note in the house for me, with added ‘mystery’, are Wazamba, all incense, balms, resins & woods, and it is to Serge Lutens’ Fille en aiguilles what green leather desk covers are to red ones (ctrl+F, then search for ‘sage-green’.), as well as the bashful and daring Aziyadé, the forbidden Turkish delight of a girl. A lot more luxurious, and not an easy wear for everyone, and it evolves along the day marvellously (very different notes come up depending on who’s wearing it, too, which is never a bad thing), depending also on the weather. Honestly, on me it smells so much like spicey, liqorous orange that I’m incapable not to wear it on Christmas, but on most other people it does smell less like a fruity pomander.

Now, since I cited one of my favourite ambers, I must mention another, which is one of the most splendid ever created: Lubin’s Akkad, which could have been the ultimate ‘perfume of an empire’, as nose Delphine Thierry sought to make the mystical fragrance that emperor Sargon, who ruled Mesopotamia twenty-five centuries ago, might have wished to offer his goddess Ishtar, who presided over love and war... The offering is a startling beauty, sombre and luminous at once, a combination of precious incenses—elemi, olibanum, styrax—with hypnotic herbs (labdanum, clary sage), hot spices (vanilla, cardamom), on a bed of amber embers. Must always be compared with its incestuous cousin Idole, based on ebony wood and a hint of leather. Darker somewhat, more dangerous, and just as heady.

Dangerous also... This one has its share of haters: Serge Noire, by Serge Lutens. It has many notes in common with Idole, including its ebony heart, but instead of rich alcohol and macerated fruits, there are strong, dark peppers and a bag of cloves that knocks you down on first sniff. I adore it, because I can’t have enough of filthy musky notes and clove, like cumin, can be (and is often) worked into a civet-like smell of sweat and sex. (The title is a pun on Lutens’ first name—the nose behind his perfumes being English mad genius Christopher Sheldrake—but serge is French for ‘twill’, a nod to Lutens’ youth designing hair, make-up and jewellery for the high fashion world.) Serge Noire is a contrasted and demanding perfume, burning hot and cold, a dark fur with hints of ash and earth, some have spoken of ink, but it ends on a more suave vanilla-scented leather. You have to be patient for this layer to appear, though.

On the civet-spice spectrum, one of my favourites: Rose Poivrée, which now-retired Hermès in-house perfumer Jean-Claude Ellena designed for The Different Company, is exactly what it says on the tin, a dark red rose with loads, but loads of pepper, black, pink, coriander, and a frisson of vetiver to better underline the insanely exciting duality of this hot-and-cold perfume. I wear it in autumn for some reason, and it keeps changing, alternating between the rose and the sweat-like cumin. It has a magnificent lookalike, with less dirty notes and added gin and leather, in Penhaligon’s Much Ado About the Duke, with the downside of the ridiculous price of their ‘Portraits’ collection, and I hardly ever see it on EBay, unfortunately, but one never knows.

Intimidating, mysterious, commandeering, quite a little bit dangerous, and of course horridly expensive, I frantically advise you to discover the entire line of D.S. & Durga perfumes. Based in New York, perfumer David Seth ‘D.S.’ Moltz and architect Kavi Ahuja ‘Durga’ Moltz are married, crazy, and brilliant; both are obsessed with the way odours allow us to armchair-travel everywhere, and their olfactory universe ventures into pre-industrial America, ‘turning things [they] love into scented stories of cowboys, open terrain, Russian novel characters and folk songs’. This is how you get one Burning Barbershop, inspired by a fire that ravaged a Westlake barbershop in 1891, hence a fragrance like old-timey tonics, lavender, mint, lime, vanilla... as well as smokey notes. (My personal favourite is Bowmakers, a homage to the violin and bow makers of the Bay Colony in 1800s New England, which is only woods—rosewood, mahogany, pine, maple—, resin, varnish, nut and leather.) In the ‘Hylnds’ collection, Pale Grey Mountain, Small Black Lake is an unbelievable chypre with herbal, mineral and aquatic notes reminiscent of an entire Scottish landscape. Even more apothecarial is Mississippi Medicine, with its camphorous head and its resinous, vegetal body of cypress and cedar mixed with coriander, juniper, olibanum, and birch tar—so powerfully, so troublingly organic, intimidating, mystical, that if it heals, it must also be a poison.

Here, impossible not to mention James Heeley’s Esprit du Tigre, the sensuous transposition of a famous Asian liniment commercially known as ‘tiger balm’, but it is surprisingly tasteful and decidedly discreet in the end. So, by Heeley, I’d rather recommend two great classics, his wondrous incenses Cardinal and Phoenicia, the first a sensually blasphemous blend of myrrh and olibanum on white linen, a peppery rose with labdanum, earthy and aerial with patchouli and vetiver; whereas Phoenicia is an imaginary voyage on the Mediterranean Sea, inspired by the merchants who brought so many precious woods, spices and fruits to the west in the Antiquity: dates and grapes, incense and labdanum, oud, sandalwood and birch, and vetiver. It has a lot in common with Aziyadé in fact, except the latter is a spice market while this one is a merchant ship with a heavy cargo of precious woods. (Have both, is essentially what I’m saying.)

So, is it showing that I’m completely obsessed with incenses? I shall refrain from adding to the list Olibanum and Oxiana by Profumum Roma, then, but I’ll have some trouble not mentioning my darling Arso and its resinous beauty with a side of grilled hazelnut... Well, if I really must stop, perhaps instead something like the intensely aromatic Victrix (oakmoss, bay leaf, vetiver, peppers and musk) or the fizzy mint & patchouli of Thundra. Profumum Roma bottles are expensive, yes, but this is because the perfumes are highly concentrated, at 43% (a higher dosage than anybody else I know), which means that they last forever with the smallest spray. Do come back to me for advice in the spring when I’m the mood for greener recommendations because Acqua di Sale, ‘salt water’, a startling seaweed, myrtle and cedar blend, might interest you.

In the meantime, because it is horribly late and I have to post this before I start waxing poetry over sticky florientals and how they too can be intimidating and stuff, but above all, before I begin waxing poetry over most of Pierre Guillaume’s catalogue (his creativity is somewhat epileptic and that catalogue seemingly endless) I’ll leave you with a note on a strange, strange flower, which is Daniela Andrier’s Une amourette Roland Mouret for zany house État Libre d’Orange, where the usually well-behaved classic orange blossom gets loose and lascivious, thanks to a temptress of a perfumer who knows how to play the indolic—that is, the fleshy—notes of the white flower, before lying her down on a bed of crazy neo-patchouli, synthetic molecule Akigalawood®, which possesses the peppery, oud-like notes of the undergrowth. Snow White and the wolf in a bottle.

#answers #nonnies #aromaphilia #you never said how office-friendly that scent should be #remind me to tell you of timbuktu later

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swynlake-rp · 2 years

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“All drains lead to the ocean.”

FULL NAME: Gamil “Gil” Wahed BASED ON: Gill (Finding Nemo) FACE CLAIM: Tamino PRONOUNS: He/Him BIRTHDAY: March 26, 1994 CURRENT STATUS: Taken

Character Information || cw: genocide, pretty gory description of mutilation ||

An excerpt from A Study of Extinct and Near-Extinct Magick Cultures in a Rapidly Evolving World by Professor Miriam H. Kaganoff ( annotations by Gil Wahed)

Chapter III: Magick Extinctions, Section IV: The Phoenicia Pod Massacre

Perhaps the most devastating incident of mermaid extinction in modern history was the massacre of the Phoenicia Pod in 2009.

Located in the southeast Mediterranean off the coast of Egypt, the Phoenicia Pod was one of the oldest surviving mermaid civilizations. Many mermaid pods in the Mediterranean claim to be the original descendants of the goddess Atargatis, but it is theorized that if the goddess actually existed in some capacity, she may have been the original matriarch of the Phoenicia Pod. I do not know why Mundus hold her in such high regard; we have had many matriarchs in our time. We know that this is the same pod that exists in some ancient texts for the Phoenicia Pod possessed a very rare trait unseen in any other mermaid subspecies across the world: when consumed with emotion, their eyes change color (Red for rage and fear, gold for pleasure, solid black for sadness (this is only a brief taxonomy; our eyes contain the whole rainbow and it is considered the highest honor of living to experience every single emotion to its full caliber)). Many early accounts of Atargatous Brevis also indicated scarlet, gold, or black eyes, but currently, no modern mermaid species shares this trait. Do not ask me; I do not know why they don’t. My father comes from a pod off the south of France and does not share those eyes, though I inherited them.

It was these color-shifting eyes that made the Phoenicia Pod a particular target in the mermaid poaching world. It is theorized that by the turn of the 20th century, the Phoenicia Pod was almost wiped to extinction because of the massive call for scarlet, gold, and black eyes to accessorize garments and use as home decor. In the mid-1970s, during radical environmental reform, the Phoenicia Pod was placed under EU protection: even though mermaid hunting and trading was still permitted (and still is in many parts of the world), hunting a Phoenicia Pod mermaid was made illegal.

Not much was known culturally about Phoenicia Pod, though unlike many other mermaid pods they came ashore frequently to small villages along the coast, particularly in Egypt and Lebanon. Villagers claim that these mermaids were friendly, though they spoke little of their lives in the ocean. In exchange for human trinkets and kindness, they would bestow villagers treasures from the sea. Not all the villages knew of our true nature, usually only specific families who passed down the secret through generations. If we wanted to go ashore regularly, we’d have to complete a test set up by the elders: if we could go to the market and buy a single fish without anyone detecting we were mermaids, we passed. I almost didn’t, because I went ashore with a friend of mine and his smaller stature made him the target of some bullies.

In 2011, bodies of almost 100 mermaids washed up on the shores of Egypt, their eyes gouged out, their tails striped of scales. It was not known that this particular pod was the Phoenicia Pod, till the lone survivor came forward. The adolescent male happened to be ashore for a week or so when he heard the news. It is unknown what he was doing and what happened to him since then. I was looking for a doctor. My mother was ill. None of our medicine would help. The RAS found me. I left the ocean. I was fifteen. It has been twelve years.

No one knows what ship or poachers massacred the Phoenicia Pod. Some of the eyes have shown up on black market sales and seized by authorities, though the crime remains unsolved.

I will find them. I will destroy them. I will lay my people to rest.

✓ Determined, resilient, intelligent

✖ Paranoid, mysterious, brutally honest

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Merperson

#finding nemo #allch #malech #findingnemoch #takench #takenmalech #magicch #merperson

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