#It's my penance for abandoning mine

[day-drawn-blog]

Part X : I can't go yet...don't let me die. - "I want to live".

Pairing: Astarion x Reader. This is set in Act I.

Tags: angst....

Part I. Crowned light moon of mine - I found you too soon

Part II : Lace your heart with mine Let your sleeping soul take flight

Part III : maybe tonight I'll rest in peace.

Part IV : There is more to do and I still want to live.

Part V : our futures bound, our bodies known.

Part VI: These ain't my sins. I broke my chains.

Part VII: You are not mine and am I truly yours.

Part VIII : Your blood like wine, invites me in.

Part IX : I welcome my sentence, to give you my penance

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Into the night, turbulent thoughts led you to dark places in your mind. You got up, and stepped out. The campsite was desolate. Serene. You walked towards the distant hills. Alone. Feelings of loneliness, rejection, abandonment haunting you. The bond you thought you had built with another, these past few weeks, was perhaps too fragile to endure. A shared secret had brought you close. Only a yearning remained. Of what could have been. 

He was holding her, consoling her. 

You reasoned. The cool air on your face brought you back to the present. The great vastness in front of you, made you feel, insignificant. You had been too greedy, and had come full circle to the start. You were here back then. Rejected, and abandoned. But now....amidst the chaos you knew you did the right thing. You would trade guilt for your pain any day. You needed to bring order. 

You needed to refocus. 

The moonlight bathed you. You heard someone approach. You didn't expect him that night. But there he was. You looked at your cut, blood trickling down. "Stay back, Astarion. Do not come closer." He didn't heed your warning. Bad move. You thought through gritted teeth. You had overlooked every transgression of his. No more. 

You reached for your weapon. 

You swung it. The great hallberd gleamed in the moonlight and was met with two of his swords held in each hand. Anger coursing through you, you retreated and attacked. Again and again. What you lacked in martial skill you made up in pure bitterness. He defended himself well. He was more skilled in wielding his melee weapons than you were. 

His eyes were as resolved as yours. 

He hadn't uttered a word till then. But you were beginning to lose your breath, and your footing. You could incinerate him instantly, but that wasn't your goal. That wouldn't suffice, wouldn't calm your wrath. You hit, harder, repeatedly. He parried every single one, swift on his feet. Eventually he overpowered you. 

He had a sword to your throat. 

You fell to your knees. Exhausted. Still in the grips of an unfathomable rage. You cast Eldritch Blast on a nearby rock, shattering it to pieces. Only then did you feel your rage subside a bit. Spent, you on all fours, you hit the ground with a fist. He threw his swords in front of you. "Stop", he growled. "I'm yours... already" he continued. "Stop this madness. Why ...punish yourself in my stead. My body is yours. Just ... use me as you wish...punish me ... or use me for pleasure ..." 

"However you like. As you desire..." 

What nonsense is this?!. Does he understand the gravity of what he is saying? Has he lost his mind? 

"I do not want you, Astarion. You are not a thing, nor mine to claim". You got up. "Why are you here, anyway?" You couldn't mask your resentment. You no longer wished to be caught in his web of lies, ensnared by his charm, in the illusion of love and desire. Yes you craved to be needed, wanted, sought out. But this... was just an mirage. Carefully crafted to manipulate you. 

You were being used the entire time. 

And you would put an end to that now. Fully resolved to not relent to his charm. To none of his advances. You braced for the next honeyed words he would inevitably utter, to pull you back into the dream he wove. But he said something entirely unprecedented. "I ....have nowhere else to be". He said, quietly. 

Another lie. You thought. 

"You abandoned Shadowheart? I cannot help but marvel at the coldness of your heart. But of course, you are a vampire. You do not have one". 

You hoped to cut him. But why. 

He looked at you, searching, with his eyes. Did you really mean that? He could try reading you all he wanted. Your face wouldn't betray your inner turmoil. Unable to fathom you.... He relented. 

"She doesn't ...want me. She never did. All she ever wanted, all anyone...has ever wanted...from me...was pleasure. When someone seeks me out...I do not refuse them. It's what she did. So I gave myself to her. It's what I was taught. It's all I have ever known, to do. As long as I can remember...to be". 

"It's, all ...I am". 

Wait. What? Hold on...

"In another lifetime" he continued. Oblivious to the horror on your face. "I would have taken her to my master, Cazador. No one has ever sought me out, more than once. They never got a chance..you see. They either died...or were enslaved by my master." He looked at you, nonchalantly explaining his life to you... Not realizing how it made you feel. 

Your words failed you. 

Astarion was baring his most vulnerable self to you. He was being....honest. Was that really how he had lived ...under Cazador? How could Cazador do that to him? You needed to help him. The hatred in you, the seething rage was replaced with remorse. That you hadn't known ...about his man. About the darkness he was battling with. He was a prisoner in the past ...and a prisoner now, to the scars he bore. 

"But now...is different". He continued.

"She did seek me out. More than once. And I was happy, to oblige. I was grateful. I was happy ...to be of use to her. She is beautiful...and powerful...and kind. I felt safe... protected. So, I served her, to my best ability." So ... Yes, you both found pleasure in each other. But she probably felt more than that about you, Astarion. Or were you so oblivious to the fact that someone can want you...for more than pleasure....it made you blind to ...her true feelings?

He needed saving. And love. 

"Why abandon her now? If you devote yourself to her, she will continue to cherish and protect you. Im.sure. " you reassured him. "That's what you want isn't it?" You gently led him. Hoping to steer him in the right way. If Shadowheart could bring him out of the darkness, maybe he should ...let her. 

He shook his head. He disagreed. 

"I felt ...empty...with her. Around her. I had to wear my mask. Never let her know who I was, lest she throw me away, because I was a ...monster. I am a monster, you see. I'm prey on the living. I drink...blood." He looked away. 

He really despised himself, you noticed. 

The regret in his voice was palpable. "But you.... You forgave me, for being, who I was. I felt free...with you. I have never been myself, around anyone outside of Cazador's ..."family"...Returning to her ... after you...was exhausting. Unsettling..." 

"I didn't want it anymore. "

"Didn't look forward to it...it was ... difficult. I was growing cold to her...avoiding her. She noticed ...I'm sure. But she never spoke of it. Which led me to believe she never sought me outside of ...carnal pleasure. Perhaps she had tired of me too. Perhaps I wasn't my best... with her anymore. I couldn't force myself anymore. I was happier....when with you..."

You wanted to heal his fragile heart. 

"I do not want you for carnal pleasure Astarion. That's not what I need from you. I will give you my protection freely. And perhaps my blood, should you desperately need it." Astarion looked at you. That was not what he was expecting to hear at all. He was fully prepared to be thrown away. He had had several nights with you. More than he could have wished for. 

He was happy with just that. 

What had he done to deserve that? Him. Why him? He was the lowest of the low. A murderer, evil incarnate. Despicable.  "But ...why? I have given nothing to you. I have only taken .. I have nothing to offer you...I have nothing...I possess nothing, The only thing I know how to do, only thing I'm good at....is ...my body. To serve...to pleasure ..." 

"So ... just use me, please". He pleaded. 

Must he be so used to degrading himself? "You can offer me many things Astarion. Your loyalty to start. Your cheerful disposition. Your strength... both of body and mind. Your... friendship ...your trust." You smiled at him. You could give me your real self, your affection ...your pure, uninhibited love... But you didn't say that. That was not something you would ask. "You can keep your promise to me from the other night. A reason ...for me to live on". You reminded him. 

"I do need you too....your embrace... " 

You said, as you smiled, you looked at him. To reassure him that you meant it. He looked at you blankly at first. Unsure. But ..then...in what felt, forever. His face lit up. "Really? Is that all you want...from me? Can I offer you ... Yes....i promise you...you have my.. my trust and my faith. My loyalty and my unwavering friendship. My gratitude." He walked to you. "You have ...all of me. Every bit of me. The monster and the ally. The sword and the shield. My ..self ..." He held you. 

"I'm yours. Only yours". He smiled.

Looking at you. "Whether you need me or not, I'm here for you. You need not look further.. I devote myself to you. Till you...till you no longer want me". He held your face in his hands. His voiced suddenly tinged with sadness. "But even so ....I only hope and prey, that you don't abandon me. Can you promise me? After making me feel wanted, for who I am.... I would not be able to live on, if you threw me away too...I have no one else..." 

He pleaded with his eyes... Before kissing you.

-------

Epilogue 1 -

Leave the flames and take a chance to be with me tonight

[mannequinreligi0n]

Sins - Chapter 3: Penance

wake up priest!vergil nation, let’s get to fuckin’

pairing: priest!vergil/nun!reader

wc: 3.5k

warnings: nsfw! - penetration, body worship, implied self-mutilation/harm

author’s note: thank you for being so patient with me !! sorry for the delay :’) will maybe write another freak nasty chapter bc i have a few unused idea. enjoy !!

links: chapter one , chapter two , ao3

The word ‘late’ rang in your head like a gong. Father Vergil had a strong distaste for tardiness, almost as much as he disliked the lazy and the ignorant. You bowed your head in forgiveness, silently cursing yourself for letting your nerves cause time-blindness.

“Forgive me, Father. Punctuality was never a strength of mine,” you mumble out, preparing for a deserved scolding. Instead, you hear Vergil’s steps stop in front of you, the faintest sigh leaving him.

“It’s alright, y/n. Please.”

He takes a step toward you, lifting your chin with single finger to beckon your eyes to him. The wide nature of your eyes gives away your surprise from the use of your name so casually, the absence of professionalism and humility. Vergil drops his hand from you and offers a tight smile in exchange, his own inhibitions raging war in the back of his mind. He stands there awkwardly under your confused gaze, shifting his weight from left to right and back left before clearing his throat.

“I- uh.”

Christ, Vergil, pull it together. He exhales hard, his clammy hands twitching at his sides.

“…….I fear I have not been honest with you, and with God. Your confession has…rattled me deeply, and I cannot, for the life of me, find a solution that would appease both the trouble in my soul and the will of God. Frankly, I’m…I’m at a loss.”

Your heart falls to your stomach at his words, knowing that your confession was only going to create problems. Your hands fiddle with the rosary around your neck, praying that maybe God could grant you one last word of wisdom in this time of need - you are only greeted with the roar of your heartbeat in your ears. Vergil’s hand returns to his mouth, biting at the frayed skin of his nails, and starts to pace again anxiously. The silence between you two is all-consuming and seems to last an eternity before your shoulders slump, ripping the veil from your head and holding it out to him.

“I shall pack my things and be gone by noon tomorrow. I do not wish to bring any more shame to you or the coven. Plea-“

“What?! N-No! That’s not-!”

Vergil panics and interrupts you immediately, rushing to you and clasping his hands around your veil to push it back towards you. There’s a spark between the two of you at the touch of skin, a small grace in the daunting moment. He loses his train of thought at the sight of your hair pillowing down to complete the picture of your face, his breathing shallow and frantic.

“No,” he stammers out again, blinking hard and squeezing your hand. “You misunderstood me. My issue doesn’t lie with you - it is with myself.”

You blink dumbly at him, brow scrunched with returning confusion. “I…I don’t understand,” you shake your head at him, words barely a whisper.

“Neither do I, my child,” Vergil sighs, his clammy fingers still curled around yours. “I have prayed, and prayed, and prayed to The Lord for answers, and yet he has abandoned me in the dark. I fear that this is a test of my faith, that you are a test of my faith - and I am failing miserably.”

Vergil’s eyes lack their usual hardness, a man frayed to his wits end as he searches your face for the answers he longs for. A single hand lets go of yours and moves to the cross around your neck, his thumb running over the pointed ends of the pendant.

“I have stood before our congregation and preached time and time again of love and purposeful fulfillment,” He murmurs, eyes falling to the crucifix. “I can’t help but wonder when it will be my turn to be blessed with such gifts….But then, when I look at you-“

He pauses, stormy blues tracing the line of your neck up to meet your eyes - eyes that he swore held the light of the morning sun and the grace of the midnight moon all at once.

“-I swear I can see my purpose for living, for breathing, in your face alone.”

You can feel the intensity of his words prick at your heart like thorned rose. It was taking every nerve in your body not to panic and ramble out confused nonsense, uncertain if you’re hearing him correctly. You were almost convinced you were dreaming, but the tight grasp of his hand on yours was keeping you present, if the look in his eye wasn’t convincing enough.

Without a thought in your head, you close the sea of space and press a chaste kiss to his lips, pulling away just as soon. Vergil audibly makes a sound between a gasp and yelp, eyes popping out of his head. There’s a symphony of heavy breathing between you, both staring at each other with fear and desire. You immediately prepare an apology mentally, opening your mouth to verbalize it, but it doesn’t get the chance to come out.

Vergil nearly knocks you off your feet when he dives down to kiss you once more, large hands desperately gripping the side of your head and threading in your hair. Your veil falls to the ground as you scramble to grasp at his garb for stability, lips trying to keep up with the sinful motions of Vergil’s. It’s all-consuming and starving, teeth clinking together and tongues lapping with inexperience. It was everything you had imagined and more, the taste of him alone worth the shame and punishment that was sure to come from such an act.

You’re the first to pull away, gasping for air with swollen lips. Vergil heaves against you, not daring to let go of you for even a second. No words were necessary to convey the lust or longing you shared with him, and with a few passing blinks, Vergil’s hands drop from your face and pry yours from his chasuble. He entwines his fingers in one hand and whips you along behind him, his long legs striding through the courtyard and back into the church. You nearly trip behind him, being pulled like a rag-doll. Words get trapped in your throat as you attempt to ask him where you’re going, but your question is answered as he all but shoves you into one of the small sacristies. The moment the door closes, your lips magnetize to his, his hands guiding you to a shoddy wooden table against the wall. You don’t even have time to process before he’s lifting you onto the table, pushing up your tunic to your hips to stand in between your legs.

It was a mockery to preform such a crude act where they stored the ‘blood and body’ of Christ, the decanter of fortified wine jostling on the table as you clawed at each other’s clothes. The chasuble and tunic fall to the ground, your hands unfastening the buttons of his dress shirt as he trails his mouth along your shoulder with reverent kisses, teeth clamping around the strap of your underdress and sliding it off your shoulder. Freeing his torso from the shirt, your eyes immediately gravitate to the strip of red creeping up his back and over his shoulder.

“Vergil.”

His name pulls him out of his daze and he lifts his head from your shoulder with hooded, hazy eyes. He’s about to question you when your fingers graze over the somewhat fresh scar, making his nose scrunch in a faint wince. Averting his eyes from you, he stares down at your lap, breathing deeply.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing… Turn around.”

You rest your hand on his arm, beckoning him to turn and he fights against it for a moment, a deep scowl on his face. He finally obeys and slowly 180s to reveal uneven, healing marks scattered on his porcelain skin. Worry morphs your features, hearing Vergil sigh at the wall in front of him.

“Penance, for my depravity…for my thoughts of you,” Vergil whispers, an underlying shame in his tone.

It should’ve clicked sooner that these were the makings of a discipline. Self-flagellation was a dying practice, but of course someone as rigid as Vergil would partake. You’re almost too stunned to move, taken aback by the brushstrokes of red.

‘This is my fault,’ you think to yourself.

Leaning forward, you gently hold his waist and let your mouth brush against the scars, feather-light kisses gracing them. Vergil hisses at first, the raw skin bristling at the contact, but it soon gives way to breathy sighs, relishing in being adorned by your forgiving kisses.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” you murmur into his skin, nose inhaling his sweat and scent.

“Christ would come down and dispute that, if he could.”

He turns back around, looking down over his nose at you with a pensive expression. A calloused thumb traces the shape of your bottom lip, his hand tilting your chin back to let the worn-out bulb in the storage room hit your face better. It’s hard not to notice the tremble of his fingers, the slight shake drumming against your skin.

“This…this is wrong,” Vergil’s eyes are fixated on your mouth, transfixed by the soft, plump skin under his digit. “I am undeserving of you, of your flesh,…your soul.”

“That couldn’t be further from the truth,” you rebuttal, trying to focus on his words and not his thumb pressed against you lip, the muted smell of cologne radiating off of him, the heat of body between your legs. “If anyone is deserving, it’s you. It’s always been you.”

You lean your head forward and take his thumb into your mouth, tongue lassoing around it. Vergil’s own mouth parts with a throaty moan, reigning back the intrusive thought to shove his whole damn hand in your mouth just to have it touched by you. He slides his thumb out and replaces it with his mouth, desperate to quell the thirst in his lonely heart. You reciprocate immediately, scooting slightly off the table to be closer to him. Hands moving to his belt, Vergil groans into your mouth and shoves his tongue inside, deepening the kiss. Your own hand pulls off the other measly strap on your under-gown, letting it pool at your hips and exposing your chest to the dry air. Breaking the kiss, Vergil shifts back and ogles the new skin with hunger and awe, a single finger leaving a wake of goosebumps as he trails it down to a breast.

“‘You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you’.”

The verse falls from Vergil so softly that your brain almost doesn’t register it, hyper-fixated on his hand now cupping your chest, thumb flicking over your nipple.

“Song of Solomon, 4:7,” you manage to get out, swallowing thickly.

“Correct, dove.”

The smile of pride that appears on his face from your answer makes you melt in his touch, heart soaring. Your own fingers linger on his chest before slowly sliding down to the still-fastened clasp of his slack, glancing between the painful tent in them and his face. Vergil gives you a faint nod and you make work of it, undoing the hardware as he crowds over you, mouth returning to your shoulder to kiss up to your neck. His moan that rings in your ear when you finally free his length makes everything worth it alone, the sound making your heat twitch with unbridled need. Vergil’s hands fall to your hips and pull you closer to him, sweaty fingers clinging to the silk of your fallen gown. Cock pressed against your soaked underwear, his hips buck into them. Your head wobbles back from the smallest sensation, your strained whine making Vergil bite back his own groan. He gives a few more tentative rocks of his pelvis, nose pressed into your neck as he savors the newfound stimulation.

“May I…?”

You feel a hand let go of your hip and slip between your legs, tracing the border of your underwear. You nod embarrassingly fast against him, forehead coming forward to rest on his shoulder. Vergil pushes the fabric to the side and then guides his length to rub against the slick folds, his breathing labored on your skin. That alone probably would’ve made him come if he didn’t have years of self-control to hold him back - the warm and delicate skin of your sex making it hard to form coherent thoughts. He backs away from your neck to look down at you, his other hand meeting your face and caressing your cheek. All he can think about is how blessed he is in this moment, to be so close to the most divine creature he’s ever laid eyes upon. It almost brought tears to his eyes. Almost.

He shifts his hips closer to you and you subconsciously wrap your legs around his hips, ankles locking together behind him. His hand on your cheek moves to card through your hair, pushing back strands that dare to obstruct his view of you.

“Do you recall the Act of Contrition?”

You nod softly at him, eyes fluttering with every twitch of his cock against your nerves or brush of fingers in your hair. “I remember,” you murmur back.

“Good,” his hand between you two positions his head at your dripping slit, not yet pushing it in. “Recite it for me, for us. Can you do that, little bird?”

You forget to answer initially, sparks of pleasure firing in every nerve at just the feeling of him being one push away from entering you. You swallow back the pool of saliva in your mouth and nod again, eyes trying to remain locked on his.

There’s that smile again - that proud, adoring smile of his you’d see in your dreams for the rest of your days. He nods in return and looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to begin.

“My god, I am sorry for my sins with all my hea-, heart, oh my-“

Vergil pushes an inch of himself into you and the fullness makes you shudder. Your hands fly to hold his arms, brow knit together as a croaked moan disrupts your prayer. When you stop speaking, he halts his movement, despite his own desperation screaming in his body to sheath himself.

“Keep…keep going,” he breaths out, face flushing a faint red as your walls squeeze around him.

“-w-with all my heart…in choosing to do wrong and failing t-to do good..”

The descent continues, another inch separating your walls to accept him in. Vergil’s hand in your hair cradles the back of your head, holding it steady and preventing it from lolling away from him. His chest heaves above you as the prayer echoes in the sacristy, mingling with the buzz of the light above.

“I have sinned against you, whom I should love above all things. I firmly in-intend, with your help-“

You pause again, eyes rolling back as he finally hits the hilt. It was unlike anything you’ve felt before, so intimate and fulfilling, like the last puzzle piece of your body was finally put into place. Two souls no longer forming but one soul. Vergil, himself, was having a difficult time staying focused, the hug of your body around him sending signals throughout his limbs. He pulled back out, stopping just short of emptying you.

“-to do penance, to sin no more, to a-a-ahh!”

Vergil shoves himself all the way back in, a growl rumbling his chest. Your vision blurs for a second, the full feeling almost too much. He doesn’t wait for you to keep going, starting a steady, uninhibited pace as he frees himself from the shackles of guilt. It doesn’t matter anymore, anyways - he has felt you, smelled you, tasted you. It was all he needed anymore. The table rocks against the wall, glasses clinking together with the motion. A hand in your hair and a hand on your hip, he ruts over and over and over into your hole, face flushed a sunset red as he moans and gasps for air.

He asked you to recite the prayer, and damn it all, you were gonna comply, regardless of how much you only wanted to praise his name instead. Your nails dig into the skin of his arms, staccato whimpers leaving you as you try to regain your train of thought.

“…to avoid…whatever leads m-me to sin. Our savior, Jesus Christ….Christ-…s-s-suffered and died….for us..”

It was too much. There was only one line left of the prayer and you couldn’t even get it out, reduced to a moaning, heated mess as he clambered into you. Vergil was dripping sweat from his hairline, the beads falling to your face as you stared up at him. He looked like an angel - a faint halo of light around his head from the backlighting of the lamp. Your core tightens at the sight, an unfamiliar buzz forming in your heat from the sight and his ministrations. It felt like your whole body was plugged into a live socket, heart about to beat out of your chest.

“In his name,” Vergil mumbles out, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to finish the prayer and not himself. “Oh, my God…my God, have mercy.”

You mewl under him, hands shifting to hold his back. Your nails dig into the skin and Vergil lets out a mix between a growl and a moan, your fingers attacking the already raw marks on his back from the whip. He doesn’t stop, though, slamming into you repeatedly as he chases that glorious high. With a handful of more thrusts, you’re putty on the table, body taut and snapping as your orgasms ripples through you. It feels like the gates of heaven have opened, trumpets blaring and white light invading your vision. Vergil can’t hold himself back once he sees you give out, the sight of you coming around him making up for every godawful, lonely night of his life. He spills his load deep inside you, shuddering with a guttural groan. Pressed as deep as he can into you, his hips jolt uncoordinatedly as he gives you every last drop, forehead falling to press against yours. His hand on your hip leaves to join the other on your head, cupping your face to his, scared he’ll open his eyes and it’ll be a cruel dream. How could you be real? How could that sinful release he just felt be reality? It must’ve been-

“Vergil.”

His name in your mouth opens his eyes for him, making him take in the sight of you flushed and disheveled from his doing. His half-hard length twitches inside you from the image and you wince a little at the overstimulation, ushering a small laugh from him, from disbelief at what just happened and how delightful you look right now. He gingerly unsheathes himself, the wet sound mingling with the heavy breathing. Vergil can’t stop himself from looking down at where you were once connected, watching his seed muddle with your release as it gushes out of your hole. His mouth waters at the sight, the heady scent taunting him. God, he would lick you clean, if there was time, if you two weren’t shoved in a closet for anyone to walk into.

“Apologies…for…defiling you. I couldn’t ah, pull out in time,” he mumbles out, eyes following the trail of come leaking from you.

“None needed.”

You chuckle, sitting up to pull the straps of your silk gown back over yourself, taking the debauched sight from Vergil’s view. He holds still for a moment before following suit, pulling his pants back up and collecting his shirt off the ground silently. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he needed to bear to you, but he didn’t know where to begin. He averted his eyes from you as you hopped off the table, scooping up your tunic and pulling it over your head.

“I’d like to see you again,” you start, breaking the silence with a reserved whisper. “Possibly…tonight, if you’ll have me.”

Vergil’s eyes flit back to yours at the proposal. ‘If you’ll have me’? Lord, you must have no idea what you do to him. He has to refrain from falling to your feet, kissing your hand and begging you to come to his quarters, wanting to show you just how much he worships the ground you walk on. He resigns to a curt nod, buttoning up his shirt, “Tonight, it is.”

“9’o clock?”

“Sharp. No excuses.”

[unmondefou]

There's a deep crack in my heart and there's no one to mend this wound .

For every pain has a maker, and the maker of my pain is lost after leaving me in the fog like an abandoned house in a London alley.

And though there's a lamppost in front of me, your fog refuses to dissipate.

You cursed me by misery in sorrow, in vengeance of a love whose passion was fire.

Don't you know that we have drowned in a sea of ​​resentment, and what was love in the past has been covered with a curtain of hate?

Does it not pain you to look at me finished, with my soul hanging from my fingers as if it were a thread that has been torn from its loom?

Oh, and to think that you have in your eyes that abysmal fire that I adored to consume me -and I still adore it equally-, while you enjoy my penance.

No, I regret nothing, even with my heart torn to pieces, for what I loved you -and I love you- has become the most beautiful wound my soul can boast.

I told you once, I just looked into your eyes, you were not going to get rid of me, even if you despised me and threw me into the mire as one more of your offal.

This pain is mine, but I also know that it is yours, because no one who has loved as we love each other is free from the wound left by pride!

--- esuemmanuel & h.harouche

A first collaboration with @esuemmanuel, thank you for accepting my request. Am honored.

His words in bold. Mine in italic.

[souless-doll]

My dearest,

How could I ever begin to atone for the wound of my absence? I believed you would sever the thread that bound us, that you would grow weary of waiting and cast aside the weight of my silence. In truth, I would not have blamed you—I would have accepted the loss, another cut among many. Yet, the thought of your abandonment made my blood stir, and I prepared myself to bleed it out, to carve my penance deep into my flesh as a farewell. But you… you remained. You endured in my absence, and now I stand before you with the shame of underestimating your devotion. Your patience is a torment I must now wear like a scar, and so I owe you more than mere words. I owe you my pain, my blood, a vow that runs deeper than skin—that I will suffer for you, as you have silently suffered for me.

And yet, there is something hauntingly beautiful in knowing that you waited, that I could vanish and still linger within you, consuming your thoughts and suffocating your peace. It fills me with a dark satisfaction, knowing that my absence festered in your mind, a wound only I can heal. To think that I have become the very breath you cannot escape, the shadow over every heartbeat—it is a twisted joy I revel in. You are bound to me now, more tightly than ever, and I, in turn, shall keep you closer than any other. Your longing is proof of our bond, a maddening obsession that only deepens with every second apart. I would carve my name into your soul if I could, ensure that no one else could ever take my place. You are mine, utterly and forever, and I shall take pleasure in watching your heart bleed for me again and again.

[belfry-mutt]

Gonna...set the horny down for a moment here, and say...I wish I had the energy to think and talk more about like....art, and love, and beauty and stuff.

I've been writing more poetry lately. Which I love, but I don't love the reasonwhy lol.

It's one of the few things that's been able to act as like a....ground for all of the intense, "negative" feelings and thoughts I've had lately. (in quotes, because I think sadness and anger and regret and etcetc all have their place, it's in how you process and react and learn from them that makes them positive or negative)

anyway, heavy stuff I guess under the cut?

I had to spend a lot of time this year in rooms I thought I'd abandoned. I knew why you liked it here, and I know why I don't.

You didn't need to drag me here to say that, but I suppose I could appreciate the sentiment. I didn't, but... I could.

This meeting could have been an email, as they say.

.

I used to think it had to hurt. Not out of any penance or flagellation, but in the way you make up an allergy to a chef, or you shout "fire!" instead of "help!"

That last one's for you, ladies. If you know, you know.

I had to spell out the shape of my own wounds so many times it became an introduction. It's not that I'm against being known, but to feel like there's a choice would be nice.

The cost of being heard, believed and respected doesn't seem like a fair choice if you think about it.

Isn't that right ladies?

.

I've had my fill of eulogizing for the dead, just to be told to apologize for someone else's tell-tale heart.

I refuse to let myself be criticized for how my bones have mended, when I was left to set them alone.

Not anymore, and certainly not by those who broke them in the first place.

So, please, don't remain on the line, your call is unimportant to us, and no one will be with you shortly.

Buh bye.

.

Day by day, I am getting better. At times regardless of my - or anyone else's - consent or opinion.

I think some people might say that I've become intolerant, mean, rude, self-absorbed - or whatever else they tend to call women these days.

And I have changed. But if loving myself hurts too much, feel free to help yourself - first aid kit's under the sink, on the left.

.

I figured out a long time ago that if you keep pushing, the bristling turns to hissing, turns to barring, turns to bitting.

That's how I learned to listen - did you know they mention when they bite?

It really makes you notice the scratches on people's hands more.

.

And I may not be innocent, but I never claimed I was. Just don't confuse my atonement for absolution.

I put in the work to embrace how ugly I was, so don't blame me when you can't do the same.

I read somewhere "the human existence is flawed and can't be censored". I still want that as a tattoo, but...priorities.

.

It can cut deep to hang your flaws up on the wall for you and everyone else to see.

Just because I chose to frame mine, doesn't make it my problem that some people can't appreciate fine art.

So either get better taste or get out of my gallery.

.

But I've done my part.

~I bristled~

~I hissed~

~I barred~

.

.

.

Somewhere along the line, it clicked - how warning behavior isnt there to safeguard and coddle the Ignorant.

It's there to protect the Vulnerable, and deter Predation.

And I've been thinking about that alot.

.

.

.

Say, that scratch on your hand looks nasty by the way, how did you get it?

[dressedwithred-if]

❛ you are mine, whether you agree or not. ❜ for Milena if you're doing prompts? 👀😊

❛ you are mine, whether you agree or not. ❜ + MILENA VERANO

In the moonlit depths of the outsides of the Warehouse, where shadows played their own twisted games, the air was charged with an electric tension. Milena Verano was a figure in her sector and was very well known for her passionate recklessness and predatory allure; she moved with a lithe rigidness that echoed danger. Her eyes sought out to you with an intensity that could ignite the very darkness that surrounded her very form. These meetings of yours were only few and far between, but nevertheless they always had something on the end of it– a promising and shared desire.

Caught within her gravitational pull was you—the reader named Y/N—an assassin whose own reputation matched the fervor of Milena's existence. In this realm of shadows, your paths converged in an encounter that held promises and perils alike.

As Milena's predatory gaze locked onto you, a slow smile curved her lips, her voice like silk laced with everything dangerous. "Oh dear... you've caught my attention once more"

You met her gaze, unflinching, your own determination a mirror to her fierce and stubborn resolve. "And you've certainly made an impression."

She played idly with the sharp blades letting it weave between her gloved fingers, and there danced a promising glint in Milena's eyes, a spark that fueled her very dangerous nature. She couldn’t help but to deeply chuckle at the words for a moment as she started abruptly, "You are mine now… whether you agree or not. And that will always be static between us."

The words hung between you—an unspoken declaration of possession that danced on the edge of challenge. In the presence of Milena, the line between danger and attraction blurred, a symphony of passion and recklessness that beckoned you closer.

As the tension mounted, you realized that in this very world, in the Midst of that of Operation Penance, boundaries were meant to be tested, and desires were meant to be pursued. In the moonlit depths of the abandoned outside, a dance of attraction and danger unfolded—a dance that dared you to embrace the fire that burned within her gaze, a fire that held the promise of both ecstasy and destruction.

[moorishflower]

Hello dear, I wanted to take the time to also tell you about how much I love your works! After you started us off with Isaiah 45:23 and made poppies our dreamling flower I think "That I should wedded-be" has left a really deep impact on me and will always be one of my favourites. The whole eating of the heart and the way it is referenced throughout the series of follow-up works as the way they are connected is just. So. Good. For me. I haven't read the latest installment but I'm looking forward to it! (I want to have the time to enjoy it so it's still on my to read list.)

Maybe sprout wings is my the second fav, I have worried so much over these two over the course of reading, it was great to follow along and be able to read it as you publish it. I usually prefer reading fics when they're completed, but with this fandom I have found dedicated writers whose fics I gladly follow along while they are written, you among them. :) I could go on which of your fics I like but I'd have to list all of them, and there are so many! I will have to reread a few! Vampire Dream! Slutty dress Hob! Power bottom omega Hob! So many great short stories!! So many brilliant ideas! SIREN DREAM my dearest heart <3<3<3 The most I hope to see more of are your two unfinished works, If I please you and The Whole of Love Contained. 1389 Hob has a special place in my heart always and forever and I am very invested in his journey to Canterbury, also I am dying to know what happens to hurt Hob with fretting Dream and all his siblings. I'd also love more of the Wine-dark sea!

Well, this has been my love letter to you without much poetry because I'm not that good at words and not a native English-speaker. So instead I will share a poem of dear George with you because I am currently down a romantic rabbit hole of Byron's works:

When I dream that you love me, you’ll surely forgive; Extend not your anger to sleep; For in visions alone your affection can live,— I rise, and it leaves me to weep. Then, Morpheus! envelop my faculties fast, Shed o’er me your languor benign; Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last, What rapture celestial is mine! They tell us that slumber, the sister of death, Mortality’s emblem is given; To fate how I long to resign my frail breath, If this be a foretaste of Heaven!

Ah! frown not, sweet Lady, unbend your soft brow, Nor deem me to happy in this; If I sin in my dream, I atone it for now, Thus doom’d, but to gaze upon bliss. Though in visions, sweet Lady, perhaps you may smile, Oh! think not my penance deficient! When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile, To awake, will be torture sufficient.

Tashina words can't express how touching and how beautiful and how KIND this message is, and how kind YOU are! I look forward to every comment you leave me, and your art and your fic is SO SO good, and deserving of most effusive praise <3 If I Please You is coming along steadily, and Whole of Love is sort of on the backburner at the moment but I don't have any plans to abandon it, there's just SO MUCH that I want to write that it feels like I'm an overfull helium balloon LOL

Thank you for the BEAUTIFUL poem, gosh Byron was an insufferable man but he damn well knew how to write love poetry ToT And I hope you have a fantastic new year my dear!!!

[thewahookid]

“The times which I foretold in Fatima have come...

“Today, you are commemorating the anniversary of my last apparition, which was confirmed by the miracle of the sun. At that time I foretold to you everything you are now experiencing in these years of the purification and the great tribulation.” Our Lady’s message to the priests No 529

Effingham (Illinois, US.A.); October 13, 1994

Anniversary of the Last Apparition at Fatima

Spiritual Exercises in the Form of a Cenacle with the Bishops and Priests of the M.M.P. from the United States and Canada

MY TIMES HAVE ARRIVED

a. "My beloved sons, great is the joy which, during these days, you give to your heavenly Mother. You have come from many parts of the United States and Canada, to live with me in a continuous cenacle of prayer and fraternity.

b. I join myself to your prayer; I help you to grow in mutual love, so as to become one heart and one soul. I pour balm on. your wounds; I give comfort to your numerous sufferings; and I encourage you to walk with trust and with great hope along the painful road of these last times.

c. Bring my motherly message to everyone.

d. My times have arrived.

e. THE TIMES WHICH I FORETOLD IN FATIMA HAVE COME. TODAY, YOU ARE COMMEMORATING THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY LAST APPARITION, WHICH WAS CONFIRMED BY THE MIRACLE OF THE SUN. AT THAT TIME I FORETOLD TO YOU EVERYTHING YOU ARE NOW EXPERIENCING IN THESE YEARS OF THE PURIFICATION AND THE GREAT TRIBULATION.

f. - I foretold to you the great chastisement which would strike this poor humanity which has become pagan and built a new civilization without God, and which is threatened by violence, by hatred, by war, and which is running the risk of destroying itself by its own hands.

g. My extraordinary interventions, which I have worked in order to bring humanity back onto the road of conversion and of its return to the Lord, have been neither accepted nor believed.

h. So it is now that you find yourselves at the vigil of the great trial which I foretold to you: it will be the supreme manifestation of the divine justice and mercy.

i. Fire will descend from heaven, and humanity will be purified and completely renewed, so as to be ready to receive the Lord Jesus who will return to you in glory.

j. - I also foretold to you the great crisis which would take place in the Church, because of the great apostasy which has entered into her, caused by an ever wider diffusion of errors, by her interior division, by opposition to the Pope (John Pal II) and by the rejection of his Magisterium.

k. This most beloved Daughter of mine (the Church) must live the hours of her agony and of her sorrowful passion. She will be abandoned by many of her children. The impetuous wind of persecution will blow against her, and much blood will be shed, even by my beloved sons.

l. My times have arrived.

m. And so I invite you to follow me along the road of prayer and penance, of purity and holiness.

n. See how your countries have become victims of materialism and of the unbridled search for pleasure! The Law of God is being more and more violated. Impurity is being advertised through all the means of social communication. Recourse is being had to every means of impeding life. Abortions are increasing everywhere and are being legitimized by unjust and immoral laws.

o. My times have arrived.

p. Tell everyone to enter into the ark of my Immaculate Heart, in order to be protected and saved by me. I request that you multiply your cenacles of prayer among priests, among children, among youth, and especially in families.

q. I have been consoled by the very great response which I received in Canada and in the United States during these cenacles. Never before have they seen a participation in such great numbers, on the part of both priests and faithful.

r. Because of the generous response which I am receiving everywhere from my littlest children, I promise to intervene to save you in the hour of the great trial.

s. My maternal presence among you is the sure sign of protection and of salvation.

t. Open your hearts therefore to hope, and live in the greatest trust and in complete abandonment to my Immaculate Heart.

u. With your dear ones, and with the persons entrusted to you, I bless you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

[anagramtransitory]

20. I’d always have the feeling I should also be doing something else. The guilt permeates from my family like poison gas through walls. It seeps into everything towards me no matter what I try to block it with. It’s like it’s chasing me, meant for me, I deserve it, I must pay penance inescapably for something I’ve done or something I am or both. Both, I think, in large quantities. I’ve got tons of art. I’ve got art out the ass. I don’t treat it like it’s worth anything and don’t send her any of it though, not most of it. And I have got a LOT of it. I actually know a ton of it. Just by accident, I just like it and have been around it in my online circles and have passed by it and collected it, I guess. I wonder if she’d like vintage books for presents. I don’t know WHAT she’d like. Audiobooks gift card? Tools? Tea? I just don’t know ! The pressure for me to be happy is so large it is crushing me, as it has always done. How can I be happy when I make no one proud? I am filled with hopelessness because I have done so much that should have warranted people being proud of me but they’re all such strange and private and dark battles you don’t get trophies for or proof of that no one but me even knows about them. So naturally I suspect it’ll always be like that. Me winning these weird battles, me at home with no trophies or anything to show for it or anything like a good story to share with anyone, all my life. I hate it, so much. I have to win, and yet can never win. I’ve done so much already, and won nothing. I expect to never win anything. I hate it so much. None of these battles or my winning have been exciting. They’ve been slow and not worth telling to anyone, as the winning is sort of incommunicable, you had to be there, in every case/instance. Meaningless memories that mean everything to me. All my wins are silent. Everything, actually, is silent. None of this has been out loud. How strange. I can only talk with my hands. I don’t feel comfortable making noise at the moment otherwise. How young to I have to be? How young do I have to be? I’ll be making 50,000 at least starting at age 26. How young do I have to be? All I want is to be seen and loved and good. Will this do it? Will this fill any of the holes inside this space of my whole life, at all? Probably not at all. It’s always something more I need to do and be. I’m never enough. It’s never enough money. It’ll just keep getting worse and I’ll never get more love or understanding ever. I don’t want the money I don’t want the fucking money. I’m just doing it to not burden others. That’s all. That’s all. I’m gonna buy some new fucking parents. I’m gonna buy actors to fake love and pride for me. Pay them for just a constant daily stream of supportive and loving messages. Hell yeah, I want that so bad. I need that so bad. The most loved people kill themselves all the time. It’s as if love is not enough. Right now it doesn’t feel like enough at all. You can be loved and still have your heart break in a way that feels irreparable. I’ve been trying to heal my own all night. What heals a broken heart? I’m not sure at all. I’ve got no home in my own heart, if that makes sense, and it’s killing me, I think. It’s like I abandoned my own heart, like I don’t want to live there anymore. And no wonder. I’m too busy to love anyone with this heart of mine. There’s no use for it. Ergo, it feels like there’s no use for me. Take the best thing about a person and render it useless, especially if it’s the thing that gives them meaning and will to live. Destroy it completely, act like it might as well not exist now or ever in the foreseeable future, due to its uselessness, like another appendix, and throw me away. And then you’ll have really done something that matches the way I feel right now. “Your heart is not welcome here” on a sign in big letters over the doorway to entire real world and my future. Like my heart is full of evil powers and trickery or something. Me and my heart and it’s usefulness doomed to be permanently misunderstood. I am a good person. I just am.

[pooma-satsangam]

Basava Vachana - 1

தமிழில்

Look, being brave, why then crave for an arrow?

Being a vassal, why then hanker after life?

Being a bhakta, why then desire life, mind and wealth?

If I turn a doubter, when you restrain or chide me

it ruins my being your vassal Koodalasangamadeva

A warrior’s flight is master’s downfall.

Let me fight and make me win.

As there is no fraud in my body mind and wealth make me win, Koodalasangamadevayya.

Who would I offer the pleasure without the linga?

It could not be, as it is not proper for the bhakti path as it is not proper for the sharana path to be without linga.

The spit that is swallowed without Koodalasangamadeva is poisonous rust.

When the linga becomes a property on your body, it is impossible to bow to an installed god.

Would intercourse with another abandoning ones own man be propriety?

Even as the god is your own palm if you bow to one installed on the earth Koodalasangamadeva will dump you in hell.

Looking at the linga within eyes brimful and tears flowing when would I be like this?

Sight becoming my life breath union becoming my life breath when would I be like this erasing all my bodily passions and uttering linga, linga Koodalasangayya?

Fearing would not rid it, anxiety would not rid it,

lodging inside a diamond cage would not rid it,

destiny's writ would never swerve.

Look, being sentimental, losing fortitude, losing mind’s strength, wouldn’t do. That which must happen can never be missed Koodalasangamadeva.

Like the dog that sits on the palanquin can not rid itself of prior nature is this mind. Shun it, shun this mind, it runs after passions never lets me think of you lord, everyday.

My lord Koodalasangamadeva, I beg you, with my hands folded be compassionate so that I think of your feet.

Do not say then or today or some other time.

Today is the day for him to say I surrender to Shiva, Today is the day for him that says I surrender to Hara. Today is the day for him that thinks our Koodalasanga without break.

It was like spotting water in a forest while one was too thirsty, it was like a blind man gaining eyesight, a poor man gaining hidden treasure.

Look, the arrival of my Koodalasanga’s sharanas is my life breath.

Like a beast lost in the forest, I moo ‘ambe ambe’. Like a calf I cry out ‘ambe ambe’ until

Koodalasangamadeva says ‘live on, live on.’

The elder brother, younger brother the father that begot what if they are kin?

Those without the fellowship of the linga, I would not call them mine. Devotion that keeps relations is deadly hell Koodalasangamadeva.

That I may not wander here and there makes me lame, father. That my eyes do not stray

make me blind, father. That I may not hear another thing makes me deaf, father. Keep me from desiring another thing but the feet of your sharanas Koodalasangamadeva.

Would not a day’s worship of linga be enough than eternal penance under trees and on mountains?

Would not a day’s service at the feet of the guru be enough than eternal worship of linga?

Would not a day’s offer of satiety to the jangama be enough than eternal service at the feet of gurus?

Would not a minute’s spiritual experience of your sharanas be enough than eternal offer of satiety to the jangama Koodalasangayya?

Father is our Maadaara Chennayya, elder uncle is our Doahara Kakkayya, uncle is Chikkayya,

elder brother is our Kinnari Bommayya. Why do you not know me as such Koodalasangayya?

Ayya, like the young calf wearying looking for its mother, I am wearying in your search.

Show yourself up to my mind and grant compassion, be you my mind’s abode,

grant compassion, grant me this much little good ambe ambe Koodalasangamadeva.

பசவ வசனம் - 1

பாருங்கள், தைரியமாக, ஏன் அம்புக்கு ஆசைப்படுகிறீர்கள்?

ஒரு அடிமையாக இருந்து, ஏன் வாழ்க்கைக்குப் பிறகு ஆசைப்பட வேண்டும்?

பக்தனாக இருந்து, ஏன் உயிர், மனம் மற்றும் செல்வத்தை விரும்ப வேண்டும்?

நான் சந்தேகப்படுபவராக மாறினால், நீங்கள் என்னைக் கட்டுப்படுத்தும்போது அல்லது கடிந்துகொள்ளும்போது

அது உங்கள் அடிமை கூடலசங்கமதேவா என்ற என் இருப்பை அழிக்கிறது

ஒரு போர்வீரனின் விமானம் தலைவரின் வீழ்ச்சி.

என்னைப் போராடி வெற்றி பெறச் செய்யட்டும்.

என் உடம்பில் வஞ்சம் இல்லாததால், செல்வம் என்னை வெற்றி பெறச் செய்கிறது, கூடலசங்கமதேவய்யா.

லிங்கம் இல்லாமல் நான் யாருக்கு இன்பம் தருவேன்?

லிங்கம் இல்லாமல் இருப்பது சரணப் பாதைக்கு ஏற்றதல்ல, பக்தி மார்க்கத்திற்கு அது பொருந்தாது.

கூடலசங்கமதேவன் இல்லாமல் விழுங்கும் எச்சில் விஷ துரு.

லிங்கம் உங்கள் உடலில் ஒரு சொத்தாக மாறினால், நிறுவப்பட்ட கடவுளை வணங்குவது சாத்தியமில்லை.

சொந்த மனிதனைக் கைவிடும் மற்றொருவருடன் உடலுறவு கொள்வது உரிமையா?

கடவுள் உங்கள் சொந்த உள்ளங்கையாக இருந்தாலும், பூமியில் நிறுவப்பட்டவரை வணங்கினால் கூடலசங்கமதேவர் உங்களை நரகத்தில் தள்ளுவார்.

கண்களுக்குள் இருக்கும் லிங்கத்தைப் பார்த்து, கண்ணீர் வழியும், நான் எப்போது இப்படி இருப்பேன்?

பார்வையே என் உயிர் மூச்சாக மாறுவது என் உயிர் மூச்சாக மாறுவது என் உடல் உணர்வுகளை எல்லாம் அழித்துவிட்டு லிங்கம், லிங்கம் கூடலசங்கய்யா என்று உச்சரிப்பது எப்போது?

பயம் அதை அகற்றாது, கவலை அதை அகற்றாது, வைரக் கூண்டுக்குள் தங்குவது அதை அகற்றாது. விதியின் எழுத்து ஒருபோதும் மாறாது.

பாருங்கள், உணர்ச்சிவசப்பட்டு, மன உறுதியை இழந்து, மன வலிமையை இழந்துவிட முடியாது. நடக்க வ��ண்டியது கூடலசங்கமதேவாவை ஒருபோதும் தவறவிட முடியாது.

பல்லக்கில் அமர்ந்திருக்கும் நாயைப் போல முன் இயல்பிலிருந்து விடுபட முடியாது இந்த மனம். அதைத் தவிர்த்து விடுங்கள், இந்த மனதைத் தவிருங்கள், அது உணர்ச்சிகளின் பின்னால் ஓடுகிறது ஆண்டவரே, தினமும் உங்களை நினைக்க விடுவதில்லை.

கூடலசங்கமதேவா ஆண்டவரே, உமது பாதங்களை நினைத்து கருணையுடன் இருங்கள் என்று கைகூப்பி வேண்டிக்கொள்கிறேன்.

அன்று என்றோ இன்று என்றோ வேறு நேரமோ சொல்லாதீர்கள்.

நான் சிவனைச் சரணடைகிறேன் என்று அவர் சொல்லும் நாள் இன்று, நான் ஹரனைச் சரணடைகிறேன் என்று சொல்லும் நாள் இன்று. இடைவேளையின்றி நம் கூடலசங்கத்தை நினைக்கும் அவருக்கு இன்று நாள்.

ஒருவன் தாகமாக இருக்கும்போது காட்டில் தண்ணீரைப் பார்ப்பது போலவும், பார்வையற்றவனுக்குக் கண்பார்வை பெறுவது போலவும், ஒரு ஏழை புதையலைப் பெறுவது போலவும் இருந்தது.

பார், என் கூடலசங்க சரணங்களின் வருகையே என் உயிர் மூச்சு.

காட்டில் தொலைந்து போன மிருகம் போல, நான் ‘அம்பே அம்பே’ என்று முனகுகிறேன். கன்றுக்குட்டியைப் போல நான் அம்பே அம்பே என்று அழுகிறேன்

கூடலசங்கமதேவா ‘வாழ்க, வாழ்க’ என்கிறார்.

பெற்றெடுத்த மூத்த சகோதரன், இளைய சகோதரன், அவர்கள் உறவினர்களாக இருந்தால் என்ன செய்வது?

லிங்கத்தின் சகவாசம் இல்லாதவர்களை நான் என்னுடையவர்கள் என்று சொல்லமாட்டேன். உறவுகளைக் காக்கும் பக்தி கொடிய நரகம் கூடலசங்கமதேவா.

நான் அங்கும் இங்கும் அலையாமல் இருப்பது என்னை நொண்டி ஆக்குகிறது அப்பா. என் கண்கள் சிதறாது என்று

என்னை குருடனாக்கு, அப்பா. வேறொரு விஷயத்தை நான் கேட்காமல் இருப்பது என்னை செவிடாக்கி விடுகிறது அப்பா. உன்னுடைய சரணங்களான கூடலசங்கமதேவரின் பாதங்களைத் தவிர வேறொன்றை விரும்புவதிலிருந்து என்னைக் காப்பாயாக.

மரத்தடியிலும் மலைகளிலும் நித்திய தவம் செய்வதை விட ஒரு நாள் லிங்க வழிபாடு போதுமா?

நித்திய லிங்க வழிபாட்டை விட, ஒரு நாள் குருவின் பாதத்தில் பணிந்தால் போதுமா?

குருக்களின் பாதங்களில் நித்திய சேவை செய்வதை விட, ஜங்கமருக்கு ஒரு நாள் திருப்தி அளித்தால் போதுமா?

ஜங்கம கூடலசங்கய்யாவுக்கு நித்திய திருப்தியை வழங்குவதை விட, உங்கள் சரணங்களின் ஒரு நிமிட ஆன்மீக அனுபவம் போதுமா?

அப்பா எங்கள் மாதர சென்னய்யா, மூத்த மாமா எங்கள் தோஹரா காக்கய்யா, மாமா சிக்கய்யா, அண்ணன் நம்ம கின்னரி பொம்மையா. ஏன் என்னை அப்படி கூடலசங்கய்யா என்று தெரியவில்லை?

அய்யா, தாயைத் தேடி களைக்கும் இளம் கன்று போல, உங்கள் தேடலில் நான் சோர்ந்து போகிறேன். என் மனதிற்கு உன்னைக் காட்டி, இரக்கத்தைக் கொடு, நீ என் மனதின் இருப்பிடமாக இரு, கருணை கொடுங்கள், அம்பே அம்பே கூடலசங்கமதேவா இந்த சிறிய நல்லதை எனக்கு கொடுங்கள்.

[day-drawn-blog]

Part IV: There is more to do and I still want to live

Pairing: Astarion x Reader -- This is set in Act I

Part IV - LOTS of angst and sadness and jealousy and fluff.

Tags: angst, fluff, sadness, angst, fluff, then maybe eventually smut because I do love that

Part I. Crowned light moon of mine - I found you too soon

Part II : Lace your heart with mine Let your sleeping soul take flight

Part III : maybe tonight I'll rest in peace

Part V: our futures bound, our bodies known

Part VI : these ain't my sins, I' broke my chains

Part VII: You are not mine and am I truly yours?

Part VIII: your blood like wine, invites me in

Part IX: I'll welcome my sentence and give you my penance

Part X : I can't go yet...don't let me die

----------

The next morning you woke up. It took you a while to remember last night. You gasped and turned around. Your bed was empty. You were the only one. Your nocturnal visitor had vanished into the night air. Was he even there last night, or did you dream it all? Somewhere in the corner of your turbulent heart, you knew, he had gone back to his paramour. Which was not you. Before the pain of that thought drove you mad, you decided to distract yourself. After all, he never made any promises to you.

Time to get on with it.

The day was weary. You were finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the air between Shadowheart and Astarion. Every glance they shared, every smile was laced with poison for you. You prayed and hoped this would pass. You were the hero. You were the one who would lead them to safety, to the end of this perilous journey. It was a quest for salvation for all of you. And then you were all ambushed.

Time to focus on violence.

That should get your mind off of them. Except, Shadowheart was cornered, and while Astarion was supposed to target another, he defied the plan - to shoot at her attacker leaving himself open to a powerful spell that inflicted several wounds on him. He fell from his station. Drops of his blood splattered on Shadowheart's pale pretty face, down from where he stood.

Your heart had stopped.

Shadowheart shrieked, naturally to see him in pain so. Instantly she cast Santuary on him and incinerated the enemy with her radiance spell. You could feel her vengeance in the intensity with which she cast her spell. They then proceeded to embrace each other, her trying to heal him, and him finding solace in her arms.

You felt your world go blank.

Was there really a point to any of this? What was it, again. Your vision blurry, everything seemed to have slowed down. Or maybe just you. Karlach and Wyll were nearby. Flashes of spells and clash of swords. That's all you heard. Reckless abandon. That is what you wanted to feel. To make it worth something. To be seen, maybe. To be valued, to be needed. Or not be needed at all.

You cared not for your spell magic. It was time to feel the rage delivered through your own hands. Slashing, kicking, swinging your pact weapon. The feel of hitting a mortal enemy, splattering of blood around you. you could hear Karlach yell. Why? Oh, is that blood? Is that yours? Somebody bludgeoned you. Because being able to hit, meant being able to take a hit. Another punch to your face. This one you felt. You lost your footing.

This was fun.

Bring it on. See what I got. I will give it back to you. I have seen worse. I have felt worse. I have nothing more to lose. I will take you down with me. That's what raced through your mind. You hit harder, faster and with more venom than before. Killing with your own hands. You never enjoyed it before. Where is this rage coming from. You were no barbarian. You could feel the Hellish Rebuke coursing through your own body. you hit. And was hit back. Thrown back. Several times you landed on the floor. And got back up.

And then you felt hot. Warm. You had been hit with a fire spell.

You heard Wyll yell out. You could feel Karlach going into Rage. You knew the battle was won. You smiled, and you fell. For the last time that day. The last thing you remember seeing was Karlach cradling you, and Astarion running towards you from the distance. You couldn't make out what his face looked like. "Serves you right. Watch your only source of food disappear." you thought. You smiled, even if you were in pain.

The next thing you remember is Karlach nursing you in your tent.

Everything hurt. Pain all over. Wrapped in badages all over. You wondered what went down after your...recklessness. Karlach seemed really sad. Worried. "Thank the gods you are awake! What were you thinking?!" You smiled weakly. "Laezel has been going on and on about how impressed she was with your battle field prowess. "Ah.. Laezel, she would be...I'm glad".

After much fussing by Karlach, and Gale, and Shadowheart and basically everyone, who came to express their concern and relief or awe in your battle prowess or chastise you for your recklessness, you were relieved to get some quiet time. In which you wondered, where was the man, who mattered the most.

Typical. A vampire, only thinks of himself. and then suddenly, you remembered the look of pure horror on his face as you blacked out. But was he impressed? Was he worried? Did you get, ....his attention at last? You needed to know, if you were seen, at last.

If you mattered. To him. At all.

You decided to trudge outside in the cool night air. Everyone was finally asleep from all the exhaustion. It was a clear sky. Perhaps it is a great time to find a nice little piece of nature all to yourself. To take in the solitude.

You walked, slowly in the quiet night.

A little away from camp, you saw a shadowy figure. Almost predatory, walking towards you. Unmistakable.

So there he was.

He wasn't with shadowheart tonight? Maybe he had gone to hunt since, you weren't available. Your heart skipped a beat. There he was, out hunting. Was he scared he almost lost you? Was he finally worried about you? You wondered how the conversation would go. You had no idea why you did what you did, nor how he would react. You braced yourself.

But he said nothing at all.

He approached you. His face shone briefly in the moonlight. His eyes were cold. His shoulders brushed yours but he didn't stop. His glance was smouldering. Steely. But he said not a word and walked straight past.

You watched his back, through the light and darkness. Wait. You wanted to know, what he felt... "Are, you ... okay, Astarion? I saw you getting hurt earlier." Silence. Then he stopped and turned. You could hear your heart beat.

"Me? I am very glad to be alive you see. I do not want to just, end it all. Despite what my life has been so far, I still want to live." he looked at you with disdain.

You were taken aback.

You had been chastised by Wyll and to some extend Shadowheart, for your recklessness. But why did this one, cut through your heart?

"That's not... what I was ... "

But, is that what you were doing? Or is that what he thinks you were doing. Either way, you felt, ashamed. You would surely never. You had promised to be the Hero and Savior to others who needed saving. You wanted to love those that needed it. No. He was not right. It was not true. You won't let it be true.

You found your voice.

"Is that what you think I was doing? ha. I bet you got all worried, thinking your only source of higher blood would disappear. isn't it?" Your voice was laced with bitterness.

"And is that what you think of me?" His face was in the shadows. You could not see the glare in his eyes, but you could feel the disdain in his voice. "Well, in that case, maybe it is time for our nightly trysts to come to an end".

No. I didn't mean that.

You felt gripped by a sudden fear. No. Do not cast me aside. That is my only use to you. Do not take that away from me too. Please. That is not what I meant or wanted. That is the only time you look at me. You know of my existence. Only way I am needed by you. Only time I am wanted by you. No. You could feel tears choking you.

You couldn't speak. So he turned and resumed walking back to camp.

You turned too and then you broke down. You could not stop your tears. You felt so sorry. So very sorry for yourself. You almost lost yourself today, for this man. Why? Did you just want to be seen that badly. Only to be thrown away entirely. You watched the tears drop on your hands, and you knelt on the ground with your hands propping you up. Nothing you did would ever matter.

This was the bitter truth you so desperately wanted to deny. You never mattered to begin with. You were nobody to him. And you almost died for him. How could you hate yourself so much? Why would you not value yourself. Was he worth all that? You will never be Shadowheart. For it is she, who was in his heart and mind. You were just a convenient transaction.

You felt warm hands, from behind.

Hands that held you up. As you cried your eyes out. You were held in an tight embrace. As if the person wanted to take all your pain away. The harder your cried, the tighter you were embraced. You were found, by someone. Someone was there. Someone cared. That's all that mattered to you at that instant. You didn't care who it was. You were grateful it was...someone. You absorbed all the warmth in their body, and you felt the support of their broad chest against your back, as they buried their face in your neck from behind.

You felt his soft caress on your neck.

You felt so happy, that you started crying even more. You felt eternal bliss, you felt cared for, seen and you felt loved. You felt wanted. Your yearnings, came rushing out in salted tears. You wanted to laugh and smile, but you cried instead. Tears of joy, if only you could tell him that.

"I am sorry. I did not know. I am sorry. What can I do. How can I help you, please tell me a way." he whispered. "I cannot see you like this. I need you. Yes I need you. But not for your blood. You are our salvation. You protect us. From our personal demons. And in Wyll's case, quite literally".

You finally laughed a little.

He loosened his grasp a bit at that. Realizing, that the worst may have passed. but he did not let go entirely. Still resting his head next to you, kneeling on the ground with you, he held on. "I will one day, somehow, give you a reason to live on. Something you will want to hold on to. I promise you. Can't you wait a little bit. I don't know what that is yet. But you have my word".

Those were the last words you heard that night.

Because your pain and exhaustion and happiness came crashing on you at once. You felt your consciousness slip away. You felt swpt up, carried. You heard Karlach on the way. "What did you do to her Astarion! You better not have hurt her! she was already in bad shape. Did you make her cry?! Why are her eyes so swollen?" You drifted to a very sweet dream that night. Content somehow.

Part V: our futures bound, our bodies known

[konmarkimageswords]

Cupbearer, it is morning, fill my cup with wine

Cupbearer, it is morning, fill my cup with wine. Make haste, the heavenly sphere knows no delay. Before this transient world is ruined and destroyed, ruin me with a beaker of rose-tinted wine. The sun of the wine dawns in the east of the goblet. Pursue life's pleasure, abandon dreams, and the day when the wheel makes pitchers of my clay, take care to fill my skull with wine! We are not men for piety, penance and preaching but rather give us a sermon in praise of a cup of clear wine. Wine-worship is a noble task, O Hafiz; rise and advance firmly to your noble task.

Lay not reproach at the drunkard's door

LAY not reproach at the drunkard's door Oh Fanatic, thou that art pure of soul; Not thine on the page of life to enrol The faults of others! Or less or more I have swerved from my path--keep thou to thine own For every man when he reaches the goal Shall reap the harvest his hands have sown. Leave me the hope of a former grace-- Till the curtain is lifted none can tell Whether in Heaven or deepest Hell, Fair or vile, shall appear his face. Alike the drunk and the strict of fare For his mistress yearns--in the mosque Love doth dwell And the church, for his lodging is everywhere. If without the house of devotion I stand, I am not the first to throw wide the door My father opened it long before, The eternal Paradise slipped from his hand. All you that misconstrue my words' intent, I lie on the bricks of the tavern floor, And a brick shall serve me for argument. Heaven's garden future treasures may yield-- Ah, make the most of earth's treasury! The flickering shade of the willow-tree, And the grass-grown lip of the fruitful field. Trust not in deeds--the Eternal Day Shall reveal the Creator's sentence on thee; But till then, what His finger has writ, who can say. Bring the cup in thine hand to the Judgment-seat; Thou shalt rise, oh Hafiz, to Heaven's gate From the tavern where thou hast tarried late. And if thou hast worshipped wine, thou shalt meet The reward that the Faithful attain; If such thy life, then fear not thy fate, Thou shalt not have lived and worshipped in vain.

Where is my ruined life?

WHERE is my ruined life, and where the fame Of noble deeds? Look on my long-drawn road, and whence it came, And where it leads! Can drunkenness be linked to piety And good repute? Where is the preacher's holy monody, Where is the lute? From monkish cell and lying garb released, Oh heart of mine, Where is the Tavern fane, the Tavern priest, Where is the wine? Past days of meeting, let the memory Of you be sweet! Where are those glances fled, and where for me Reproaches meet? His friend's bright face warms not the enemy When love is done-- Where is the extinguished lamp that made night day, Where is the sun? Balm to mine eyes the dust, my head I bow Upon thy stair. Where shall I go, where from thy presence? thou Art everywhere. Look not upon the dimple of her chin, Danger lurks there! Where wilt thou hide, oh trembling heart, fleeing in Such mad haste--where? To steadfastness and patience, friend, ask not If Hafiz keep-- Patience and steadfastness I have forgot, And where is sleep?

(Hafiz)

Persian lyric poet Hafiz (14th c.) grew up in Shiraz. Very little is known about his life, but it is thought that he may have memorized the Qur’an after hearing his father recite passages. When his father died, he left school to work at a bakery and as a copyist. Hafiz became a poet at the court of Abu Ishak and also taught at a religious college. He is one of the most celebrated of the Persian poets, and his influence can be felt to this day. As the author of numerous ghazals expressing love, spirituality, and protest, he and his work continue to be important to Iranians, and many of his poems are used as proverbs or sayings.

[haikyuuhimbosandhypebeasts]

>I have no idea how the fuck to format this on mobile. Also yes this is another Anisylum collab! I love doing them because the prompts are 👑. This time the prompt was Eavesdropping!

>This is the part two to “As An Object”

>Pairing: Ushijima x Reader

>1.4 k words.

>Content Warnings: Morning After, Reader has a mental breakdown, angstish, hurt-comfort, Wakatoshi says sex so I mean have fun, Tendou is a supportive best friend, not my best writing tbh but my beta reader said everything sounded fine, Mina from the last part is mentioned.

>Masterlist?: Right here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning came burning in your senses. You woke up in a bed that did not belong to you- a bed occupied by both you and-

Your left hand roughly slapped the warm figure by you. Your bedmate rolls over to reaffirm who you are as well.

Unfortunately for you, it wasn’t someone easy to process bedding the night before. There was a half-asleep Ushijima Wakatoshi. You struggled to place your feelings bubbling up like scalding broth to your unprepared chest as he sleepily blinked at you.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, moving one of his warm hands to cup the side of your face.

Your face grew hot, and you immediately bolted out of the bed, not caring how the lack of blanket left you bare. Ushijima watched your face with widened eyes, finally waking up himself.

“... sorry, (y/n),” his voice was soft. The tense grit of his jaw, perhaps the hint of a crease to his brow- something about the expression on his face echoed hurt and you felt hesitation. Unbidden, you felt some part of yourself flourish to life past your normally viscous “mean girl” mask.

“It’s… okay. Can I use your bath?” You looked away, not wanting to show vulnerability to someone you thought you hated.

“... it’s past the kitchen, opposite of the front door.”

“Thank you.”

And with that, you left the bedroom in all your naked glory, a hair less confident than you’d hope to be around Ushijima.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ushijima sat at his dining table and gazed aimlessly at his phone, fingers absentmindedly drifting over the tablecloth.

As soon as his phone jumped to life with a call, he answered it so quickly Satori on the other end had to mentally recollect himself.

“That serious, huh, Wakatoshi,” he said, trying to keep some ounce of humor in his voice.

“I had sex with (y/n).”

The coffee Tendou was sipping rocketed itself out of his sinuses like lava out of a cartoon volcano, thankfully away from any innocent civilians of Paris and significantly away from his phone he *just* finished paying off.

“D-did you now?” A small disbelieving giggle bubbled out from the redhead, “You wanted to call me so seriously because you lost your virginity?”

“... No.”

“Eh?”

“She is… upset. She said she hates me.”

“Ohh… well, Wakatoshi, I’m sure you know after years of playing beside her that she’s pretty complex, right? That’s the vibe I got right away from her. Complex… and obviously in love with you,” Tendou mused about, unconsciously wiggling with happiness in his seat from hearing his best friend look over his romantic options. He just wants the best for Wakatoshi and he thought to himself that a relationship would certainly help with some of his lacking social skills.

“I still don’t see that.”

“Eh? She has to like you! She told me!”

“That was years ago.”

And Wakatoshi was right. It *was* years ago. You would know, you’d spend every year bitterly waiting for a time when he would look less busy or maybe a moment where you thought he could see you as an equal. But you could never tell that, and it hurt much less to villainize and hate him than recognize someone you saw everything you wanted in someone just wasn’t interested in you. It was a way to protect yourself from abandonment… that’s what your high school counselor had said. You wondered, as you stood around a corner with your towel clad back to a wall, listening in to a conversation you shouldn’t be listening to, what she would say now about the situation you were in.

“Wakatoshi, you’re not being yourself. The Wakatoshi I know doesn’t beat around the bush, yet for the past few months you’ve been either avoiding confronting her or you’re avoiding how you feel,” Tendou squinted into his iced coffee, scrutinizing it for an answer.

Ushijima traced an absent-minded pattern into the tablecloth again, “I am. She hates me, she told me.”

“She’s keeping herself safe since she’s waited so long. I almost understand- it’s easier to hate someone than get rejected in her eyes, I think. Mina told me something along the lines of a personality disorder? She said it sounds like one of those.”

Of course Mina and Tendou had a little confidant powwow to discuss your private feelings. What was this, gradeschool? See if you’ll ever talk to her about anything like this again. Still… you listened in, waiting for the call to end.

“Wakatoshi, it’s still a better bet to just tell her.”

Your heart hammered in your chest. Certainly your hopes were getting up about this…

“I can’t.”

“How about you acknowledge it, then? Just acknowledge how you feel and it should feel better. I do that sometimes and it makes me feel great!”

“... I am attracted to (y/n).”

Your breath felt heavy, this couldn’t be real. He can’t feel this way.

“And?”

“And… I want her to not hate me and be my partner.”

You grip your towel harder, legs growing a bit weak hearing those words.

“So?” Tendou pushed, humor never leaving the edge of his voice.

“So… I’ll tell her… that I don’t want her to hate me,” Ushijima managed out, not hiding what hurt and emotional exhaustion he could portray in his voice.

You clapped your hand over your mouth and gently slid to the floor, guilt gripping your chest in a vice and twisting it so harshly you thought you would pass out. He *did* see you as an equal. He *did* find you attractive. And you told him you hated him and saw him as nothing more than an object.

You did your best to hide an unattractive choke of a sob behind your palm. The rest of the conversation was hard for you to focus on as burning tears trickled from your eyes and down your face. It took years to build these walls up and to make a perfect façade others found attractive and yet it was being torn down and destroyed violently before you. Your other hand knotted itself in your freshly washed hair and pulled to alleviate the yearning for some form of penance for making someone you loved so much go through enough pain that they needed advice.

The euphoria of this acceptance- this discovery- was burned into you through the unforgiving blade of your self-hatred and inability to properly understand others. You hated what you did to Wakatoshi. You hated that you made someone better than you suffer. And you hated that no matter what, you had no idea how to make it better. The thrum of blood rushing to your head is deafening and your eyes are squeezed shut to hopefully make this episode end soon. Your breathing is so heavy and shaking, you feel dizzy and like you might pass out soon…

Your lean form was tugged into a strong chest. Your eyes shot open as you realized you were caught.

“... I’m sorry. I made you cry again,” the rumble of his voice soothed the burning static of your brain. You’d do anything to make this episode stop, but when you open your mouth to tell him how sorry you are, it comes out as a hysteric sob. You grip onto his shirt as it becomes incredibly hard to get your words out.

He gently rubs your back, eyes closed in a flinch at how you responded and the fear that you may never even look his way again choked him slightly.

Finally, you managed to speak again.

“I’m sorry, I’m so-“ you couldn’t even finish your sentence without hiccuping. He doesn’t stop his soothing movements.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” he states, unsure of how he should start explaining himself.

“No… I’m glad…” you wiped your eyes and tried to pull away from him, still trembling a bit from your episode, “I’m glad you like me. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

He makes a sound of affirmation and holds you even tighter, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“If you want me to be your girlfriend, I will,” you clarify. His movements stop.

“Ah… it would make me very happy if you were, (y/n),” he said into your bare nape. You were unfamiliar with his newfound shyness, and you attempted to soothe him back by scratching the back of his head softly.

“Then I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine.”

[church-history]

Our Lady’s Message At La Salette - Sep 19th 1846

Near this little fountain the two children layed down on the grass and fell asleep. How long their slumber lasted is not certain – half an hour perhaps, or three quarters of an hour or possibly more. In any case Melanie suddenly awoke and called Maximin: “Memin, Memin, let us go and find our cows, I cannot see them anywhere.” Of course, being at the bottom of the little ravine, they could not see the meadow where they had left them. Quickly they climbed the slope opposite Mount Gargas (hence they were standing on what is now the esplanade in front of the basilica). Turning around they could view the entire alpine pasture land and were greatly relieved to see that their cows had remained where they had been left, peaceably chewing the cud. Reassured, Melanie began to redescend towards the dried-up fountain to recover her little sack of provisions before once again watering the cows. Half-way down the grassy slope she paused immobilized, frozen with fear. “Memin”, she called out, “look at that great light over there”. “Where is it?”, the boy replied, as he ran and stood at her side. (At the place of the Apparition two statues represent the children on the slope of the ravine, in the first stage of the Event.) At the very spot where they had slept was a globe of fire, as if, in the children's words, “the sun had fallen there”. 

The light swirled, then grew in size and, opening, disclosed within it a woman, seated, her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees, in the attitude of one oppressed with grief. Melanie, in her fright, raised her hands and dropped her shepherd's staff. Maximin thought only of defending himself. “Keep your stick”, he said to her, “I will keep mine and will give it a good whack if it does anything to us” ...Even after she conversed with them, the children could not identify their heavenly Visitor. They would simply call her “the Beautiful Lady”. 

The Beautiful Lady:

The beautiful Lady now stood up while the children remained transfixed where they were. She said to them in French: “Come near, my children, be not afraid. I am here to tell you great news”.  Fully reassured by these words the children hurried to meet her. Her voice, they said, was like music. They approached so near her that, as they later expressed it, another person could not have passed between them and her. The Lady also took a few steps towards them. They looked at her and noticed that she did not cease weeping all the time she spoke to them. As Maximin put it, “She was like a mama whom her own children had beaten and who had escaped to the mountain to weep.” The beautiful Lady was tall and seemed to be made of light. She was dressed like women of the region with a long dress, an apron nearly as long as the dress, a shawl that crossed over her breast and was knotted in the back, and a cap or bonnet similar to the ones worn by peasant women. Roses crowned her head while another wreath of roses adorned the edges of her white shawl and a third garland surrounded her shoes. Over her brow shone a light in the form of a diadem. On her shoulders shone a heavy chain and from a smaller golden chain hung a resplendent crucifix with a hammer and pincers placed on each side of the Cross, a little beyond the nailed hands. 

The Message: 

The unknown Lady now spoke to the children. “We were drinking her words”, they would say later, adding, “she wept all the time she spoke to us”. “Come near, my children, be not afraid; I am here to tell you great news. “If my people will not submit, I shall be forced to let fall the arm of my Son. It is so strong, so heavy, that I can no longer withhold it. “For how long a time do I suffer for you! If I would not have my Son abandon you, I am compelled to pray to him without ceasing; and as to you, you take not heed of it. “However much you pray, however much you do, you will never recompense the pains I have taken for you. “Six days I have given you to labor, the seventh I have kept for myself; and they will not give it to me. It is this which makes the arm of my Son so heavy. “Those who drive the carts cannot swear without introducing the name of my Son. These are the two things which make the arm of my Son so heavy. “If the harvest is spoilt, it is all on your account. I gave you warning last year with the potatoes (‘pommes de terre’) but you did not heed it. On the contrary, when you found the potatoes spoilt, you swore, you took the name of my Son in vain. They will continue to decay, so that by Christmas there will be none left.” The French expression “pommes de terre” intrigued Melanie. In the local dialect the word for potatoes was “las truffas”, whereas “pommes” for Melanie meant the fruit of the apple tree. Hence she instinctively turned towards Maximin to ask for an explanation, but the Beautiful Lady forestalled her. “Ah, my children, you do not understand? Well, wait, I shall say it otherwise”.

 And she continued her discourse in the local dialect of their region. “If you have wheat, it is no good to sow it; all you sow the insects will eat, and what comes up will fall into dust when you thresh it.” “There will come a great famine. Before the famine comes, the children under seven years of age will be seized with trembling and will die in the hands of those who hold them; the others will do penance by the famine. The walnuts will become bad, and the grapes will rot.” Here the Beautiful Lady addressed the children separately, confiding to each a secret. She spoke first to Maximin, and though the little shepherd did not perceive that her tone of voice had changed, Melanie at his side could not hear a word, though she still saw the Beautiful Lady's lips moving. Then came Melanie's turn to receive her secret under like conditions. Both secrets were given in French. Again addressing the two children in the idiom familiar to them, the Lady continued: “If they are converted, the stones and rocks will change into mounds of wheat, and the potatoes will be self-sown in the land. “Do you say your prayers well, my children?”, she asked the shepherds. Both answered with complete frankness: “Not very well, Madam”. “Ah, my children”, she exhorted them, “you must be sure to say them well morning and evening. When you cannot do better, say at least an Our Father and a Hail Mary; but when you have time, say more.” “There are none who go to Mass except a few aged women. The rest work on Sunday all summer; then in the winter, when they know not what to do, they go to Mass only to mock at religion. During Lent, they go to the meat-market like dogs.” “Have you never seen wheat that is spoilt, my children?”, the Beautiful Lady then asked them. “No, Madam”, they replied. “But you, my child”, she insisted, addressing the little boy in particular, “you must surely have seen some once when you were at the farm of Coin with your father. (Coin was a hamlet near the town of Corps). The owner of the field told your father to go and see his ruined wheat. You went together. You took two or three ears of wheat into your hands and rubbed them, and they fell into dust. Then you continued home. When you were still half an hour's distance from Corps, your father gave you a piece of bread and said to you: ‘Here, my child, eat some bread this year at least; I don't know who will eat any next year, if the wheat goes on like that’”. Confronted with such precise details, Maximin eagerly replied: “Oh yes, Madam, I remember now; just at this moment I did not remember”.

Then the Lady, again speaking French as at the beginning of her discourse and when giving the secrets, said to them: “Well, my children, you will make this known to all my people.” Now she turned slightly to her left, passed in front of the children, crossed the brook Sezia, stepping on stones emerging from it, and when she was about ten feet from the opposite bank repeated her final request, without turning around or stopping: “Well, my children, you will make this well known to all my people.” These were her last words. Meanwhile the two witnesses were still standing motionless at the spot where the conversation had taken place, when suddenly they realized that the heavenly Visitor was already some steps away from them. In their eagerness to join her again, they ran across the brook and were with her in a moment. Thus, in the company of Maximin and Melanie, the Lady moved along, gliding over the tips of the grass without touching it, until she reached the top of the hillock where the children, after their sleep, had gone to look after their cows. Melanie preceded her by a few steps, and Maximin was at her right. On reaching the summit the Lady paused for a few seconds, then slowly rose up to a height of a meter and a half. She remained suspended in the air for a moment, raised her eyes to Heaven, then glanced in the direction of the southeast. At that moment, Melanie, who had been standing at the left of the Lady, came in front in order to see her better. Only then did she notice that the celestial Visitor had ceased weeping, although her features remained very sad. The radiant vision now began to disappear. “We saw her head no more, then the rest of the body no more; she seemed to melt away. There remained a great light”, related Maximin, “as well as the roses at her feet which I tried to catch with my hands; but there was nothing more”. “We looked for a long time”, added Melanie, “to see if we could not have another glimpse of her”, but the Beautiful Lady had disappeared forever. The little shepherdess then remarked to her companion: “Perhaps it was a great Saint”. “If we had known it was a great Saint”, said Maximin, “we would have asked her to take us with her”. 

The Great News Spreads:

At dusk, a little earlier than usual, the children brought back their herds to the hamlet of Ablandins nestling on the mountainside below. Pierre Selme had been impatiently awaiting Maximin's return to the farm house. “Well, Memin”, he asked him, “why did you not come back to me in my field, as I told you?” “Oh”, Maximin replied, “You do not know what happened? We found by the spring a beautiful lady who entertained us a long time and talked with Melanie and myself. At first I was afraid and did not dare to go and fetch my bread which was near her, but she said to us: ‘Come near, my children, do not be afraid, I am here to tell you great news’”. The boy then related the story of the Apparition, hardly pausing for breath. He was very surprised that the people of the valley had not noticed the bright light in the ravine. He then scampered lightheartedly over to the home of Melanie's master, Baptiste Pra. The girl, busy in the stable, had as yet said nothing.  Maximin, more communicative, spoke at once to the assembled Pra family about the Beautiful Lady. He was immediately surrounded and questioned. On hearing the story, the old mother of Baptiste Pra began to cry, and with the intuition her simple faith gave her exclaimed: “This beautiful Lady can be none other than the Blessed Virgin”. The others were not so sure and waited for Melanie. As she did not hurry, her mistress, old Mother Pra, ran to the cow barn to fetch her. “Come quickly and tell us what you saw with Maximin”.  “I saw as he did,” the girl replied, “and since he has told you, you must know it by now.” But all insisted, so back in the kitchen of the humble cottage she stood before them and related, for the first time, the wonderful event. All were amazed to hear both children, while reciting the Lady's discourse, speaking French fluently, for that same morning neither of them knew anything or very little of that language. The pious old grandmother, more and more moved, repeated her conviction: “She is certainly the Blessed Virgin, for there is no other person in Heaven whose Son governs”. Then she turned reproachfully to her young son James: “You have heard what the Blessed Virgin said - go now and work again on Sunday!” “Bah”, came the retort, “you will make me believe that this little one has seen the Blessed Virgin, she who does not even say her prayers!” “But that night”, declared Melanie later, “I remained a long time on my knees although I hardly knew any prayers by heart”. It was eventually decided that this affair was something to be submitted to the Church. Hence, first thing in the morning, the two children descended to the village of La Salette to tell their story to the pastor, Father Jacques Perrin. A knock at the rectory door brought the priest’s housekeeper, a kind but inquisitive spinster. They said they must see the priest. Must they, indeed? And why? They had something of great importance to tell him. They could tell it to her, Francoise insisted; it was the same thing. Seeing that she was immovable, the children began their recital. Father Perrin, in the next room, heard them and as they continued, he lay down his pen (he was writing his sermon). For a while he sat motionless, then moved noiselessly toward the kitchen. When the account was complete, he stepped into the kitchen and with tears in his eyes said to the children: “How fortunate you are, my children, for it must have been the Blessed Virgin whom you saw!” It was time for Mass and when Father Perrin mounted the pulpit he began telling the people of the children’s strange experience on the mountain. But his voice was choked with emotion and his words were unintelligible save by someone who already knew the story. The people looked at each other, mystified. But there was one who understood him - Monsieur Peytard, the mayor of La Salette. In the afternoon Peytard was on his way to the hamlet of Ablandins. He did not advertise his real purpose but would casually drop in at the Pra’s house for a friendly visit. He spoke to Melanie and asked to hear again the story she had been telling (by this time Maximin was already back in Corps). When she was through, he said: “Be careful, my child, to add or suppress nothing.” “I have said everything the beautiful lady told me to say”, was her reply. Then he began to cross-examine her mercilessly, passing back and forth from threats to bribes. It was fruitless. He could not shake Melanie or get her to vary her account by a word or persuade her to say no more about it. The lengthy interview, however, did induce Pra to abandon his attitude of disbelief. There must be something to this affair. He must put the story down on paper, with the help of his friends Selme and Moussier. So, that evening Melanie was made to tell the story one more time, but now very slowly, so that Pra could get every word down on paper. How right was his instinct in giving documentary form, as quickly as possible, to what the unforgettable voice had said on the mountain just the day before! Monday morning M. Peytard descended to Corps to question Maximin. He returned to La Salette, won over by the amazing self-assurance, candor and tenacity of the boy. His account accorded perfectly, down to the last detail, with that of Melanie. Now the news spread rapidly. Pilgrims, unbelievers, skeptics, took turn in questioning the two young witnesses, trying in every way to cause them to contradict each other. Among them were journalists, delegates from the civil authorities, but most importantly ecclesiastics commissioned by Monseigneur de Bruillard, the bishop of Grenoble. For, according to Canon Law, the ultimate decision rested with the bishop in whose diocese a reported miracle or apparition had taken place. 

The Judgment:

After five long years of diligent inquiries, Bishop Philibert de Bruillard of Grenoble, published his longawaited decision, on September 19, 1851: “We judge that the Apparition of the Blessed Virgin to the two cowherds on the 19th of September, 1846, on a mountain of the chain of Alps, situated in the parish of La Salette, in the archpresbytery of Corps, bears within itself all the characteristics of truth, and that the faithful have grounds for believing it indubitable and certain.” The mission assigned by Our Lady to Maximin and Melanie was now ended. On September 19, 1855, Monseigneur Ginoulhiac, the new bishop of Grenoble, thus assessed the situation: “The mission of the children is now ended, that of the Church begins.” Innumerable today are the men and women of all races and countries who have found in the message of La Salette the road to conversion, a deepening of their faith, the needed dynamism for their everyday lives, and the motives for their commitment with and in Christ to the service of all peoples.

Read more at: https://www.lasalette.org/about-la-salette/apparition/the-story/705-the-message-of-la-salette.html

[nillial]

ok pick your fave: "why are you whispering" or "you don't see me" with kravitz and lup and maybe also taako? :0

Kravitz’s shift is almost over.

Almost. 

Until a woman runs into the Fantasy Hot Topic, her hair out of place, her arms full of what he can only assume is stolen goods, and shouts over the towers of folded clothes, “You don’t see me!” Then she throws her merchandise into the bowl of pins, pulls up her hood, and pretends to browse the hats.

Two seconds later, security skids onto the carpeted floor. After scanning the room, he asks, “Hey, you seen a lady come in here? Elf, long undercut, bad dye job? She stole some candles from Bath and Body Works. And then makeup from Sephora. And jeans from American Eagle.”

He glances at her. She bristles as the ‘bad dye job’ comment.

Kravitz returns his attention to the mall cop at the entrance. “She didn’t come by here,” he says. “How’d she hit three different stores without anyone stopping her?”

He furrows his brow. “I’m losin’ her, gotta go,” he says, running off in order to avoid the hit to his ego.

The moment the coast is clear, she tugs her hood off her head and grabs her stuff from where she’d tossed it. “Bad dye job,” she mutters under her breath. “Fuckin’ wannabe Tom Selleck, ugly mustache, power-tripping piece of shit. Bad dye job. My hair is impeccable, thank you.” 

Kravitz leans onto the cashier counter. “Candles?”

-

She turns towards him. “They smelled good,” she tells him. “Here. Sniff.”

She shoves one of her candles in his face and Kravitz, who doesn’t know how to say no, complies and takes a sniff. It really does smell good— it’s some kind of fruity pineapple scent, but, in Kravitz’s opinion, it’s not worth running from the security guard to get. 

He holds out a hand and lowers the candle away from his face. “Uh huh.”

As she’s rummaging through the rest of her things, she asks, “Hey, can I have a bag, bud? My purse is too small for all this shit.”

He’s already covered for her and agreed to smell some candle she stole, so why the fuck not? He produces a plastic bag from behind the counter and hands it to her. She starts piling her stuff inside. “Oh, yeah,” she says, sticking a hand out for him to shake. “I’m Lup. Thanks for covering my ass.”

He takes it. “Kravitz. My shift ends in two minutes and I don’t wanna have to deal with a shoplifter.”

“I promise I don’t usually get caught. I’m good at this.”

“But not at dying your hair?”

She presses a hand to her chest, offended. “Ouch, Krav. Ouch.”

“Krav?”

“Like— like Kravitz. I mean, it says Dan on your nametag.”

“Yeah, I don’t know who Dan is.” He peers over the counter and into her bag. “What’d you need all this stuff for, anyway?”

“I didn’t need it, per se. But I do have a date with my boyfriend later, so…” She pulls a red off-shoulder crop top out of her bag. “What do you think of this? Too much?”

Kravitz is saved from having to answer by a man who looks almost identical to Lup striding into the store and yelling, “There you are, you fuckin’ backstabber!”

He is, admittedly, pretty handsome. Kravitz ignores this fact and instead focuses on how to slip out without either of them noticing. He wants to go home.

Lup swivels around to face him. “I’m not a backstabber! I was shopping, Taako! I almost got arrested!”

“Seems to me like your chattin’ it up with some guy who never left his goth phase.” The man, who, evidently, is called Taako, saunters up to the counter and leans against it. “No offense, my dude.”

He glances down at his attire. “I don’t— I— I just like dark colors.”

“Uh huh.” Taako turns back to Lup, who Kravitz assumes must be a sister of his. “Hey, you’ll be happy to know I wasn’t kidnapped and killed at the food court where you left me to die.”

She holds up her bag once again. “Shopping!”

“Stealing,” Kravitz corrects her.

Lup shoots a glare at him. “Shh.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Taako snatches the bag from her, shuffling things around inside until he finally finds one of the candles she took. “This is mine now. Penance for abandoning me. Hey, guy, who are you?”

Before Kravtiz can say anything, Lup cuts in with, “My best friend who got the mall cop off my ass. The mall cop who told me I had a bad dye job. Can you fuckin’ believe that, Taako? If you saw him and his stupid goddamn cheap toupee— God, what an asshole.”

“Best friend?” he asks. “I just now met you.”

She glances over at him. “What, you have another bestie?”

He stays silent. She’s got him there.

Lup tugs her bag over her shoulder. “Well, if you ever wanna hang, me and Taako stop by the food court for lunch, like, all the time. We’re easy to find. And, uh, I promise I won’t hide out in Hot Topic next time Paul Blart comes after me.” She digs around in her bag one last time and sets down the fruity candle she showed him earlier. “Here. For your trouble.”

Taako removes his elbows from the counter. “See you, um…” He glances down at his nametag. “Dan.”

“Kravitz,” he tells him, stepping out from behind the counter. “And my shift is officially over. See you at the food court some day, I guess.”

The two of them wave him goodbye and make their way out of the store, talking in low voices about “How did you get caught, you dingus?” and “It’s not my fault, it’s this lady who…”

Kravitz stares at the Bath and Body Works candle on the counter. It stares back at him.

What the fuck just happened?

[sins-of-the-sea]

Concept: thé Christian Sims’ godparents return from the dead to redeem them, fulfilling their baptismal promises. Humorous, horrifying, or heartwarming? Maybe all three?

"HORRIFYING, OF COURSE!!"

"But would they even want to help us? Mine didn't when I was still in the cellar, what makes you think they will with me being out here free and an agent of the Devil?"

"I'll take total abandonment over being literally attempting to have the Devil beaten out of me and then forcing me to undergo penance in the form of mortification because I 'yoked together with unbelievers'."

"..........’Mortification?’"

"I'd rather not talk about it, at least the Spanish Inquisition is gone by now. Having holes drilled onto my head was bad enough."

Ruixiong asks Giovanni in Mandarin so the Captain won't have to be engaged with the conversation even if he's still within earshot. "<I don't like the sound of 'mortification', is this a Catholic thing?>"

He sighs whispers to Ruixiong, "<He's talking about the old Catholic ritual of self-flagellation.>"

"<Self-flagellation?! So the whip scars on the Captain's back wasn't from ship discipline from whoever was his boss before him?!>"

"<The idea is to 'kill the flesh', as in to make oneself suffer as Christ did before he was placed upon the cross. In the case of Josep, he would have been made to undergo the ritual to remind him what Christ went through to save us all of our sins, including 'yoking with unbelievers'--that being friends with Jews.>"

"<But wasn't Jesus Christ Jewish himself?!>"

"<Did you miss the part that the Spanish Inquisition was extremely antisemitic? Shall I also remind you Josep's family wanted to kiss up to the Spanish Crown and that included kissing up to the Inquisition too? That would include the godparents, otherwise his mother wouldn't have to whisk him away in the middle of the night to Venice to protect him from the rest of the family--the very family who were supposed to protect and nurture him. Baptismal promises and everything.>"

Ruixiong yells in full English, "HEY ANON, BRING BACK THE GODPARENTS FROM THE DEAD SO I CAN KICK THEIR ASSES SO HARD THEIR ANCESTORS’ GODPARENTS WILL FEEL IT!!"

"DO NOT BRING BACK ANYONE FROM THE DEAD!!"