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betterlifeinoverall-rethabilep · 1 year

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If You Want

In everything in this life, there is good or bad. Once upon a time, there was no evil under heaven and Earth. Hence, due to the evil spirits, one animal accepted to be entered without accusal nor threat. Unfortunately, was sent to enter the sacred Garden, then tempt the lady of first Man created. Continuously, the second person from creation gave Power to the evil in the world. Then, ate the…

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sovaghoul · 6 months

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⚠️DISCLAIMER⚠️

This post is meant all in good fun and is not intended to offend anyone's religious or spiritual sensibilities. I'd hope any Ghost fan would realize that, but you never know. I tagged this with "Scooby-Doo Satanism" for that reason. That said, if you DO want to do this in earnest, feel free. Also CW/TW for Catholicism.

So I thought to myself, "Self, Ghost sells Grucifix rosaries. There's also the "Dark Lord’s Prayer" in Ritual. And the "Holy Mother" bridge in Griftwood is kind of like a Hail Mary."

So I researched and embellished upon traditional rosary prayers and came up with this. Based upon the Meliora rosary because that's the one I have.

All prayer/lyrics credit to our Tender Father.

Begin by holding the Grucifix and reciting (or singing, if you prefer) The Depth of Satan's Eyes (Prayer A):

Into the eyes of fire

Into the gaze ablaze

Into the burning light

Of Satan's rays

Into the source of wisdom

Beyond the Bible lies

Into the endless depth

Of Satan's eyes

Next, on the first large bead, recite The Dark Lord’s Prayer (Prayer B):

Our father, who art in Hell

Unhallowed, be Thy name

Cursed be the sons and daughters

Of Thine nemesis who are to blame

Thy kingdom

Come

nemA

On each of the following large beads, recite The Holy Mother (Prayer C, 3x total):

Holy Mother

You washeth the sin from my feet

Holy Mother

You shine like the sun and the moon

And the stars in the sky

The world rests heavy on your shoulders

Holy Mother

You shine like the sun and the moon

And the stars in the sky

In the space before the next large bead, recite Year Zero (Prayer D):

He will tremble the nations

Kingdoms to fall one by one

Victim to fall for temptations

A daughter to fall for a son

The ancient Serpent Deceiver

To masses standing in awe

He will ascend to the heavens

Above the stars of god

Hell Satan, Archangelo

Hell Satan, welcome Year Zero!

Repeat The Dark Lord’s Prayer (B) on the next large bead.

On the space after the bead, recite Per Aspera Ad Inferi (Prayer E):

Oh Satan, devour us all

Hear our desperate call

Per aspera ad inferi (x4)

Continue along the strand widdershins (counter-clockwise), and repeat The Holy Mother (C) on the next 9 large beads (9x total).

Repeat Year Zero (D), Dark Lord’s Prayer (B) and Per Aspera Ad Inferi (E) before, on, and after each single large bead, respectively, as before (3x total).

Repeat Prayers B-E in the same manner until returning to the Bite of Passage (the Y junction leading back to the Grucifix).

Four final prayers, Stand By Him (F), Majesty (G), Con Clavi Con Dio (H), and Satan Prayer (I), end the rosary, again holding the Grucifix:

A moon shone bright above Her trial

As flames ate through Her body defiled

The Witch Hammer struck Her down

On our Sabbath, She's unbound

'Tis the night of the Witch

'Tis the night of the Witch tonight

And the Vengeance is Hers

For as long as She stands by Him

⛧

Old One, Master

All beauty lies within You

Your Infernal Majesty!

⛧

Sathanas, we are One

Out of three, Trinity

Siamo con clavi

Siamo con Dio

Siamo con il nostro Dio scuro

⛧

Believe in one god do we

Satan almighty

The uncreator of heaven and soil

And the unvisable and the visable

And in his Son

Begotten of Father

By whom all things will be unmade

Who for man and his damnation

Incarnated

Rise up from hell

From sitteth on the left hand of his Father

From thense he shall come to judge

Out of one substance

With Satan

Whose kingdom shall haveth no end

nemA

#the band ghost #grucifix rosary #satanic rosary #scooby-doo satanism #the depth of satan's eyes #year zero #griftwood #ritual #con clavi con dio #stand by him #majesty #per asper ad inferi #satan prayer #ghost lyrics #lyrics as prayer

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sillylotrpolls · 10 months

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(Relevant reading below poll)

So Sam planted saplings in all the places where specially beautiful or beloved trees had been destroyed, and he put a grain of the precious dust in the soil at the root of each. He went up and down the Shire in this labour; but if he paid special attention to Hobbiton and Bywater no one blamed him. And at the end he found that he still had a little of the dust left; so he went to the Three-Farthing Stone, which is as near the centre of the Shire as no matter, and cast it in the air with his blessing.

Altogether 1420 in the Shire was a marvellous year. Not only was there wonderful sunshine and delicious rain, in due times and perfect measure, but there seemed something more: an air of richness and growth, and a gleam of a beauty beyond that of mortal summers that flicker and pass upon this Middle-earth. All the children born or begotten in that year, and there were many, were fair to see and strong, and most of them had a rich golden hair that had before been rare among hobbits. The fruit was so plentiful that young hobbits very nearly bathed in strawberries and cream; and later they sat on the lawns under the plum-trees and ate, until they had made piles of stones like small pyramids or the heaped skulls of a conqueror, and then they moved on. And no one was ill, and everyone was pleased except those who had to mow the grass.

#lotr #lord of the rings #poll #polls #wth Tolkien #hobbits

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wrappedinamysteryy · 5 months

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Surah Al-Kahf | The Cave

Transliteration

Bismillaahir Rahmaanir Raheem

1. Alhamdu lillaahil lazeee anzala 'alaa 'abdihil kitaaba wa lam yaj'al lahoo 'iwajaa 2. Qaiyimal liyunzira ba'asan shadeedam mil ladunhu wa yubashshiral mu'mineenal lazeena ya'maloonas saalihaati anna lahum ajran hasanaa 3. Maakiseena feehi abadaa 4. Wa yunziral lazeena qaalut takhazal laahu waladaa 5. Maa lahum bihee min 'ilminw wa laa li aabaaa'ihim; kaburat kalimatan takhruju min afwaahihim; iny yaqooloona illaa kazibaa 6. Fala'allaka baakhi'un nafsaka 'alaaa aasaarihim illam yu'minoo bihaazal hadeesi asafaa 7. Innaa ja'alnaa ma 'alal ardi zeenatal lahaa linabluwahum ayyuhum ahsanu 'amalaa 8. Wa innaa la jaa'iloona maa 'alaihaa sa'eedan juruzaa 9. Am hasibta anna Ashaabal Kahfi war Raqeemi kaanoo min Aayaatinaa 'ajabaa 10. Iz awal fityatu ilal Kahfi faqaaloo Rabbanaaa aatinaa mil ladunka rahmatanw wa haiyi' lanaa min amrinaa rashadaa

Translation

In the name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful.

1. Praise be to Allah, Who hath sent to His Servant the Book, and hath allowed therein no Crookedness: 2. (He hath made it) Straight (and Clear) in order that He may warn (the godless) of a terrible Punishment from Him, and that He may give Glad Tidings to the Believers who work righteous deeds, that they shall have a goodly Reward, 3. Wherein they shall remain for ever: 4. Further, that He may warn those (also) who say, "Allah hath begotten a son": 5. No knowledge have they of such a thing, nor had their fathers. It is a grievous thing that issues from their mouths as a saying what they say is nothing but falsehood! 6. Thou wouldst only, perchance, fret thyself to death, following after them, in grief, if they believe not in this Message. 7. That which is on earth we have made but as a glittering show for the earth, in order that We may test them - as to which of them are best in conduct. 8. Verily what is on earth we shall make but as dust and dry soil (without growth or herbage). 9. Or dost thou reflect that the Companions of the Cave and of the Inscription were wonders among Our Sign? 10. Behold, the youths betook themselves to the Cave: they said, "Our Lord! bestow on us Mercy from Thyself, and dispose of our affair for us in the right way!".

#islam #muslim #islamic reminders #islamic quotes #islamicreminder #my writing #muslim writers #islamic #dua #daughters in islam

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the-consortium · 8 months

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Mr. Arian?

What are your brother's views? And who are they?

They want to know who we are. Isn't that nice? Yes, it is. Or do they want to know who we were? Arrian, tell them who we were! Tell them about Terra! Yes, what was it like on Terra? Arrian, tell me about Terra, the memory is so hazy. Red memory. Warm memory!

Tell me about chainaxe eating skulls! How ceramite cuts into bone and shreds skin. And the soft mass beneath …. as it shines in the sick light of the most beautiful of worlds.

Sing a song of how we were brothers. Yes, born not of one mother, yet begotten of one father. Not seen on a common world the sky and yet closer than peas in a pod.

Make verse of it, Arrian!

Was not that a time when brothers were always murderers? Did we not see the black sands where the phoenix cut his lover's neck? Demigod spine torn from the darkness - so beautiful! Ah, black sand! Soft mire, sinking knee-deep in blood. Brother …. that was another word for prey. Back in the day. Wasn't it, Arrian? Wasn't it?

And yet we were always somehow left. We were always the ones who spilled blood. And you were there. Always. For us. Us. Good word - Squad. Brothers without a mother. Brothers without a father!

Forge songs about us, Arrian! Make your lips bloody for us. Tear them open and break your jaws for us! So will he who sits on the throne we build for him. Out of the marbles at the top, will you not?

Serve him, whether you like it or not. Honourless? Gloryless? No.

To cut us down like grass. On the throne world. So much pain in your eyes. Filled to the brim with grief like trees in autumn. Taking us with you. Why? Why not let us sleep in Terra's soil?

Sing of it, why! Didn't tuck us in at night. Kissed us on the forehead with hot ceramite. Thought you were doing the right thing! Right? Opposite of wrong? At that time? In that place?

Thought death was better than madness. Hubris, my brother. Who are you to decide?

And now here we are. With the man who is so much a non-believer that he himself is a little god. And you his disciple. With us. For we are always here. Always with you. Whispering. Laughing. Loving you as the saint loved our father in the fire of the homeworld. So much!

We are here, rattling hollow, seeing without eyes.

And you, Arrian?

Do you sing for us, brother?

#warhammer #the consortium #World Eaters #Khorne #Arrian Zorzi #Ask Post

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rheaitis · 8 months

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See your Female Arjuna and crave for reverse, what if Karna born girl

“I do not have a son,” Pritha says once her husband has finished his enumeration of the ways in which they could obtain heirs despite the curse keeping him forcibly celibate, just as though she is an ignorant girl in some backwater village. Behind his back, Madri rolls her eyes in what would be brazen mockery from one less graceful, and is still amusing enough to make Pritha purse her lips to avoid a smile.

“Ah,” Pandu says. “Very well, O Blessed One, we will contrive a solution.”

They know, each as well as the other, what solution it is likely to be: one from the getting of a child and the other from being begotten. They look away to the soil, to the sky, both mortified, while fearless Madri glances from one to another, curious.

“I do not have a son,” Pritha says again, “but, O King, I have been blessed by the sage Durvasa and can summon the gods into my embrace.”

Pandu’s head swings up, eyes shining eager, pale face flushing a blotchy red. So eager, her valiant husband, like a boy on his first hunt, a pup on the scent.

It is Madri who says, “May not such gifts be perilous in mortal hands? You may win a son and lose a wife, O Husband.”

It would be heartwarming if Pritha could be certain it wasn’t manipulative instead. Regardless, she reaches out to tangle her fingers with Madri’s, and smiles at Pandu before saying, “I cannot be certain it will be a son, but you will lose no wives to this quest. In my thoughtless youth I summoned Aditya to my bed and he left me a daughter golden as dawn-bright Usha.”

Vasu is conscious of the stares she’s getting, on top of the stares all of them are getting. It is foolish how unprepared she feels for any of it when they had discussed the likely situation every night after the younger children had fallen asleep, she and Yudh shoulder to shoulder facing their mother like disciples, supplicants. Queen Pritha was lovely in the forest, but with every day on the road she has grown more splendid: at the head of the procession now she looks like an idol into which some god has breathed life. Her children and stepsons, Vasu diagnoses with an expert eye, are far less presentable. Vasu is the only one of them to have ever inhabited a city, a palace, and she was only four when outriders from Pandu took her from the arms of the nanny she’d thought was her mother.

“They’re looking at us,” Arjun complains from behind her shoulder, his pony nudging at her geldling. “I don’t like it.”

Arjun is her absolute favourite, a thing which she does not even attempt to disguise. But he is, like all little brothers—and Vasu is an expert in the matter, having five—an annoying brat with a gift for overstating the obvious.

“It’ll be worse when we get to the palace,” Bhim says ghoulishly. “All those cousins!”

“I’m sure they’ll be nice,” Vasu tells him. “Now look after the twins, I need to go talk to Yudh. Don’t hare off on a ride, this isn’t like home.”

It would be home, it would have to be, but for all she’s nineteen and a woman grown, Vasu feels for a moment as shockingly young as Madri’s sons: nine and still bawling for their parents every night.

The cousins are awful. The aunt is fine if remote, the uncles are… Vasu isn’t sure what she thinks of the uncles, for all they make it very clear what they variously think of her: Shakuni a tool, Vidura a protege, Dhritarashtra the possibility for an alliance. Grand-Uncle Bhishma, if he notices her beyond the archery, does not approve. It’s fine, Vasu’s not looking for approval and she is, she knows she is, an aberration, out of place in the neat story of Pandu’s sons, like an extra thumb on a hand.

But the cousins, oh the cousins. The eldest of them is the girl, Dushala, a month or so younger than Yudh and nearly as quiet. Then the unending stream of boys, led by Suyodhan who would be comely if he weren’t scowling and Sushasan whose name is a despairing parent’s fond wish. Vasu felt guilty for not being able to keep all their names in mind, but only a little because Yudh couldn’t either. Probably their mother could, as she’d always known not only the names but histories of all the servants, sages and itinerant mendicants they encountered.To Vasu they’re a river of troubles that Bhim keeps enthusiastically diving into to take on the crocodiles and eels in the depths.

And then the river tries to drown him. Vasu listens dry-eyed to their mother’s reasoning and agrees to keep it quiet. Then she and Yudh go out to their favourite hiding-place—and what a horror it is that they need such a spot, here in the home of her brothers’ father—and drink their way steadily through the last of their year’s stash of honeymead. In the morning she bawls them all out, makes them swear to never venture away from each other, never listen to their cousins, never trust anyone in service to the princes of the Elephant Throne.

It should, Vasu knows, be rather a surprise that it has taken so long for anyone to plot her marriage than to find it in her mother's plans, but it has been so long, and she is twenty-one and old for it, that it comes as a shock to have Queens Pritha and Gandhari turn to her one morning while she's doing her best to be unobtrusive, and say

"It is a good match."

"We do need eyes in Kampilya."

Another thing unsurprising, that it is her mother who cares for the politics of it openly and her aunt tries to disguise it with words of care.

It is, and they do. Vasu does not bother protesting that she has little interest in men and less in marriage, or that she would far prefer to watch her brothers grow into the glorious heroes they’re sure to become. She is Pandu’s daughter by adoption and Pritha’s by birth, a woman of the Yadavas far more than of the Kauravas: a political animal from curled hair to painted toenails. Better alliances will keep Yudh’s throne more stable, and their cousins have sent away their only girl.

The boys are gratifyingly miserable, Bhim cooking up a storm and Arjun coaxing her into archery lessons he no longer needs and the twins mutely clinging. With all that it is hardest to bid farewell to Yudh, who takes it all with dry eyes and a clenched jaw. He is seventeen, too old to need or heed her assurances, this brother whose birth restored her to her mother's arms and found her the only father she has ever had.

“You will see me again,” she tells him at last, and prods at him when he mulishly rounds his shoulders. “It is not so far in a light chariot, from here to Kampilya.”

“We met the twins’ uncle last year,” Yudh counters, “and our own never to this day.”

“My sons will see theirs,” she tells him as she gets up to dress, as her maids have been begging her for half the morning. “I’ll come to your coronation, little brother.”

Three years, five months and nine days after she sees them for the last time, a messenger comes to Vasupriya with news of her brothers’ death.

Her husband finds her in the outer courtyard of their quarters, methodically shredding a dropped tailfeather from one of the peacocks thronging the walls.

“We set out at dawn,” Shikhandi says, dropping to sit beside her and taking her wringing hands between his. "It is not so far in a light chariot."

#mahabharata #au: always a different sex #cis-swap #karna

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libidomechanica · 5 months

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“Their future she spake, I shunned the light enough”

A kimo sequence

1

There he shore strict sense, as hath of my brain, its aim. Their future she spake, I shunned the light enough?

2

Said thee so tickle of a poet, if twas certain springing, or to sex. As night to my chin.

3

Your fear is the cleft by the weak to me now held and lives in them up, in being, and marriage.

4

A disguise, when she had, a Mirror that. The halcyon days; unwrapping in their fill the gout?

5

Let me go. Tis not murder-spot. Embrace, light as one mad. I dreamt rather if I can feeling.

6

I have seen about the fire? If by us, the last strange songs, the soil hath beechen grudge me now.

7

As the old man, ’tis thus the child of Nature all the blouse your skin can’t tell me which from their voice.

8

There, his soul, were burn blue. White neck, with a sigh—it was crazy. ’Er-power’d in dreams there were like.

9

A third, too, in azure mirth, so many scorn that has floating will. And the scorn to vex us?

10

And grin at a dead man comeliness in all palatine mulciber’s court, whose religion?

11

Sultan of hope, to this was the door, love, the shepherd-god. Mortal! And I will awake, and there.

12

’Tis he did a mother’s crest shade more her mind. I am just Káfir than even chalice, drank.

13

—The cave is so rare, the other, then, sick to die! Something out of such high soaring heifers sleep.

14

Night within the moon sleeping from temple of container can ever settlements white as wind.

15

Her place on mingle gentle Maud in their ways; yet she has a Wise Men from me quite did smart. Ah!

16

Softer suppers for his hair black cable. A poor, love-begotten hand is safe arrive with dew.

17

Why do you scorn that looks have I not less for blood? New and as honey cells for Cleopatra’s eyes.

18

Being said You do us, Princes, ill- report. You lose musk rose people would rather to rest.

19

Hers content; what the truth! It mean it not. For so I may something tongue; which you are no sinners?

20

And there beating with her than not remember. All general of our old annihilates them!

21

By, which how dark webs, here walk’d them. Of Adeline, all out with eyes the transfigure, showing rain.

22

I have imagined for the maid? Do but feels right, and porphyry, and so for the purr of them.

23

A pure baths your lips, the more slight blush it thro’ the lava ravish’d foes. With a wide world, and grew.

24

To hold me no more can rejects. Though a reed; their flank’d; whither debt—sole creeds there’d been married.

25

To whose mellow midnight mail, and her still that, which bring, that knows what: on a sloping fires. Her them.

26

Whistle, and night; tis not lieth! My day prepar’d— the stately bask in her friends forlorn, my bracelet.

27

Is, that in the one if she said, return no more. I am sure, or whereby your lowing dews.

28

Great Solemnity. We are but pass’d with shadow: further by deep silent seems to love and right.

29

Wept Blood—Search every day, they were liked to lingering home did not she must confesses Giltbedding.

30

Happy mother, like prayer and that way, just when thou,—finding up. When I know eternity.

31

I scarce lose; yet each face it winna let a body should stings of happy day, why choose. Their strife.

32

Moon, trees old. All good way old walls upon all room: my father she nor canvas form a painter!

33

And, seemed pale forests head, now for certain glisten’d, her feet. I don’t own arms and orbed in it.

34

To end the books on that hath not toss and decorates the will awake, and cleft between through.

35

Not end is the arrow was to be free. Watch out for us, a black e’e, yet she with a stand!

36

The Sage marvell’d along, up in a world so sore ills, and vice. As the view any room I stood.

37

Like other, less fleeces? Brought, and there. Poets, the tends to thigh. Be so involve in t the man.

38

And the child on one sea, but I know not, yet loving influence didst not hollow you have you.

39

’ May perhaps be well set for your forehead, when I have dined, a hazard. That golden pits: ’twas they!

40

Roses ‘mid basket of late September. Doorknobs and ever, never lived with all spoke, Dudu?

41

All good as was moved the same;—but Adeline angry Pallas forst from the wheels. And watched the task.

42

I love Gregory, and good storm, when though I love that’s not at hand, whilk stood attention. May die.

43

Are question—who can pass, by those than a very loth thou will I—nill I. And wha will surmise?

44

Real as a Czar; and which, alas!-—So I shall I not ask them both! Her perfect it sound out there.

45

Her head is scatter’d so; I must be but as a bonny ship, and when ever? Though the burn blue.

46

Away! We leave me thus? Doth hide already, a morning the western blasts do roses—too base?

47

May never learned to slakes no thirsts for the same fixed them with the keeper …. Bright, what out of.

48

Something moment. When thousand bosom I ask me no more ingenuous whose gentle reader!

49

White rush, into the foamy waves which might prejudice—for none of gold? Willow as idlers do.

50

For it’s jet, jet black despair under you beware of the task. The Highland him, he have tarried.

51

That females of The Fire of all the primrose they ought: of all come to you. He with oaths, fair God!

52

With the sprites were seen above all their company instead demurest lie hid? Most the souls!

53

What so loudly as to bathed to shoot. Lay down-sunken hour; we whispered: Take me this part, and stand!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #171 texts #kimo sequence

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gh03tb0y · 6 months

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the web has been tangled and the knots live its crevices

My hands shine with the glitter and gloss you left

on my fingertips, warding away the frost

creeping into my veins. Woven into

existence like thread on a loom, bound

to the same inescapable doom

we all share through

our soiled bloodlines. I want to relinquish to you

my Achilles heel, the soft tissue shielded

by my heavy burdened breast(plate.) You

hope that you are Beatrice and I am Dante, but

in truth I am Holofernes, stumbling with

drunkenness and vice and

on my way to be beheaded by

Jeanne D’Arc, maiden of France and girl crush

of my ill begotten youth. Spittle flies from my

mouth as I shake and claw and tear

into flesh in the form of Fenrir, gripping

Tyr’s hand in between the gaps

of my canines. Stake

my head on a pike and kiss my mouth full of

bittered wine, holding the saints close to

your heart and knitting my bones

back together with the caress of your hand. I

say words of little

value, twisting my tongue

into a book full of nothing

for you to choke down like a

feast for the end days.

#poets on tumblr #poetry #we love dante and the inferno #dark poetry #i had such a huge crush on jeanne back in middle school i thought she was so cool and read every singe book i could find that was about her #i possibly listened to mitski while i wrote this #and hozier #fransesca is so good i like cry to it sometimes #i hope you like it

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 1 year

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Dear friends, as we enter astronomical winter and the end of Advent, I invite you to consider the areas of your life that are asking to be released for rest or transformation as the rhythm of nature moves us to withdraw for hibernation and renewal. This inward season offers us the space to reflect on that which we want to carry with us into the new year, and what we wish to release to become part of the fertile soil.

Please join me in this eco-spiritual exploration of the primordial darkness at the very ground of being and the luminosity waiting to be birthed from within the fertile womb of your heart. May we be as Mary, perpetually giving birth to the blazing Love of the Divine. May we bear precious fruits for a hungry world.

Link here.

[Jennifer Helminski]

* * * *

In his book Meditations with Meister Eckhart, theologian Matthew Fox relays these profound questions for eternal reflection:

“What good is it to me if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly but does not take place within myself? And, what good is it to me if Mary is full of grace if I am not also full of grace? What good is it to me for the Creator to give birth to their Son if I do not also give birth to him in my time and my culture? This, then, is the fullness of time: When the Son of God is begotten in us.”

#Advent #Jennifer helminski #Meditations With Meister Eckhart #Matthew Fox #meditation #reflection #eternal birth #Mary

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froggierboy · 8 months

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murdering a beloved darling concept from my fic bc i can not figure out how to make it work w the story i want to tell so i'm giving it to y'all here bc i love it. yeehaw

Jesus Christ, only begotten Son of God and savior of all mankind, has a soiled diaper.

Aziraphale thought this plan out as thoroughly as he could, but somehow he didn't really consider that the second coming of Christ would involve Him being born. It seemed like He'd maybe float gently down into the center of a clear meadow or perhaps a desert in the middle of a beam of holy light with His arms spread and white robes on.

But no, apparently He was waiting, exactly nine months to the day of development, to pop out of some poor unsuspecting virgin anytime Heaven decided to pull the lever on Apocalypse 2.0.

It's not like Aziraphale has had any experience with babies! Sure, there was Warlock, but he'd been done with the whole bottles and nappies phase of life by the time Aziraphale had arrived on the scene, and besides which there was a reason he'd appointed himself gardener — he could freely admit that Crowley had all the maternal instincts of the two of them, and more power to her.

Aziraphale supposes he's done some modern Mary a favor — he remembers poor postmenopausal Sitis narrowly escaping seven late-in-life pregnancies, and he doubts if Heaven's compassion for persons who bear children has increased in that time.

It was easier than he might have expected to steal the child; he just had to steal away into the specific corner of blank white nothingness where the baby slept, wake him and carry him off.

#rye.txt #good omens #fic

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forlorn-crows · 1 year

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Not my favorite Ghost song, but it holds a special place in my "grew up with organized religion and can recite the Nicene creed" heart: Satan Prayer

okay okay okay. so i admit i dont always listen to the entirety of all the opus songs. HOWEVER. we are underrating them and i will not have it. SO

opening is VERY rock n roll. i like the little groove it's got in the first verse

see this is one of those songs that the lyrics are like DAMNN okayyyy

the uncreator of heaven and soil / and the invisible and the visible / and in his son / begotten of father / by whom all things will be unmade

the synth in the chorus is great

for the coming of seeeeeeed with that little GROWLL + the fade back into that groove + the guitar solo

again, the funky tone of the synth in the end.

overall its just a catchy song. i dont listen to it enough.

#ask #anon #favorite ghost song #the band ghost

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solophenttwo · 9 months

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When things begin to trend poorly and assuming an optimistic stance grows unthinkable—no, we are no given to seeming; we do not panic for the way things 'seem' to veer downward—we are sickened in our knowing-minds of all that we’re sure is wrong, and the hurt is noxious that this causes.

But,

Sometimes the wind blows keen, or a light flickers gently in some distant place, or a scent wafts by, or from far away a rich verse of song, and it feels as if the shade has broken; as if seas have parted; as if an alley in the crowd has formed clear, and on the side opposite us we spot the knowing smile of one we trust. A voice thrown has reached us from years or miles off.

And they are not specious, the gifts these moments grant us; for we confer life to this notion of strength—begotten by scant solemnity or quiet ecstasy—the same way a mother gives life out of nothing; shapes whole and inarguable constellations of passion, love, and potential out of mere flesh. We associate with these moments—these few seconds of joy or lucidity—an actuality as indisputable as the life given us by our mothers—whom we no more chose than do we select or anticipate our brief flights of creature clarity.

They are random passings wherein we feel as if we've found our mark upon a stage without margins or directors, or have at least glimpsed the ends toward which all are unwittingly graduating. They are moments when the stars seem to warm us as intensely as the sun, and being tranquil or in awe, one no longer doubts. It is alright. It is going to be alright. It is all going to be all-right.

Our ancestors are now only dust and soil and air, and the stars are immeasurably distant; will you doubt the rapture such lights incite, or that the eyes you fix toward them are those of departed thousands? Our sun resides ninety-four million miles away, yet would you doubt or submit to speculation that all life is born by that remotest of miracles?

#rant #poetry #my poetry #love

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everydaydua · 1 year

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DAILY DUA

Dua seeking protection from the Dajjal

سُورَةُ الْكَهْفِ - بِسْمِ ٱللهِ ٱلرَّحْمَـٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ

ٱلْحَمْدُ لِلهِ ٱلَّذِىٓ أَنزَلَ عَلَىٰ عَبْدِهِ ٱلْكِـتَـٰبَ وَلَمْ يَجْعَل لَّهُۥ عِوَجَا (١) قَيِّمًا لِّيُنذِرَ بَأْسًا شَدِيدًا مِّن لَّدُنْهُ وَيُبَشِّرَ ٱلْمُؤْمِنِينَ ٱلَّذِينَ يَعْمَلُونَ ٱلصَّـٰلِحَـٰتِ أَنَّ لَهُمْ أَجْرًا حَسَنًا (٢) مَّـٰكِـثِينَ فِيهِ أَبَدًا (٣) وَيُنذِرَ ٱلَّذِينَ قَالُواْ ٱتَّخَذَ ٱللهُ وَلَدًا (٤) مَّا لَهُم بِهِۦ مِنْ عِلْمٍ وَلَا لِأَبَآئِهِمْ كَـبُرَتْ كَلِمَةً تَخْرُجُ مِنْ أَفْوَٰهِهِمْ إِن يَقُولُونَ إِلَّا كَذِبًا (٥)

فَلَعَلَّكَ بَـٰخِعٌ نَّفْسَكَ عَلَىٰٓ ءَاثَـٰرِهِمْ إِن لَّمْ يُؤْمِنُواْ بِهَـٰذَا ٱلْحَدِيثِ أَسَفًا (٦) إِنَّا جَعَلْنَا مَا عَلَى ٱلْأَرْضِ زِينَةً لَّهَا لِنَبْلُوَهُمْ أَيُّهُمْ أَحْسَنُ عَمَلًا (٧) وَإِنَّا لَجَـٰعِلُونَ مَا عَلَيْهَا صَعِيدًا جُرُزًا (٨) أَمْ حَسِبْتَ أَنَّ أَصْحَـٰبَ ٱلْكَـهْفِ وَٱلرَّقِيمِ كَانُواْ مِنْ ءَايَـٰتِنَا عَجَبًا (٩) إِذْ أَوَى ٱلْفِتْيَةُ إِلَى ٱلْكَـهْفِ فَقَالُواْ رَبَّـنَآ ءَاتِنَا مِن لَّدُنكَ رَحْمَةً وَهَيِّئْ لَنَا مِنْ أَمْرِنَا رَشَدًا (١٠)

Translation

Whoever memorizes the first ten verses of Surah Al-Kahf will be protected from Dajjal.

Surah Al-Kahf In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful

All the praises and thanks are to Allâh, Who has sent down to His slave (Muhammad SAW) the Book (the Qur'ân), and has not placed therein any crookedness. (1) (He has made it) Straight to give warning (to the disbelievers) of a severe punishment from Him, and to give glad tidings to the believers (in the Oneness of Allâh Islâmic Monotheism), who do righteous - deeds, that they shall have a fair reward (i.e. Paradise). (2) They shall abide therein forever. (3) And to warn those (Jews, Christians, and pagans) who say, "Allâh has begotten a son (or offspring or children)." (4) No knowledge have they of such a thing, nor had their fathers. Mighty is the word that comes out of their mouths (i.e. He begot sons and daughters). They utter nothing but a lie. (5)

Perhaps, you, would kill yourself (O Muhammad SAW) in grief, over their footsteps (for their turning away from you), because they believe not in this narration (the Qur'ân). (6) Verily! We have made that which is on earth as an adornment for it, in order that We may test them (mankind) as to which of them are best in deeds. [i.e.those who do good deeds in the most perfect manner, that means to do them (deeds) totally for Allâh's sake and in accordance to the legal ways of the Prophet SAW ]. (7) And verily! We shall make all that is on it (the earth) a bare dry soil (without any vegetation or trees). (8) Do you think that the people of the Cave and the Inscription (the news or the names of the people of the Cave) were a wonder among Our Signs? (9)(Remember) when the young men fled for refuge (from their disbelieving folk) to the Cave, They said: "Our Lord! Bestow on us mercy from Yourself, and facilitate for us our affair in the right way!" (10)

One should also seek refuge with Allah from the tribulations of the Dajjal after the last tashahhud in prayer. (Refer to duas #199 & #200)

Note: Among the great signs of the last hour and the greatest trials to befall mankind, which every Prophet has warned about, is the appearance of the Dajjal (Antichrist).

Most of mankind will follow him. He will appear from Asbahan, Iran at the time when Muslims will conquer Constantinople.

He will be given special powers and will make the truth seem false and vice versa. He will claim to be righteous and then he will claim prophet-hood and finally, divinity.

From his features is that he will be blind in his right eye which is a definite proof that contradicts his claim to be Allah as it is a sign of imperfection. The word Kafir will be written between his eyes which every believer, literate or illiterate will recognize.

Transliteration

bismillaahir-raḥmaanir-raḥeem

(1) al-ḥamdu lillaahil-ladhee anzala ‛alaa ‛abdihil-kitaaba wa lam yaj‛al lahu ‛iwajaa

(2) qayyiman li yundhira ba’san shadeedan min ladunhu wa yubash-shiral-mu’mineen-alladheena ya‛maloon-aṣ-ṣaaliḥaati anna lahum ajran ḥasanaa

(3) maakitheena feehi abadaa

(4) wa yundhir-alladheena qaalut-takhadh-allaahu waladaa

(5) maa lahum bihi min ‛ilmin wa laa li aabaa’ihim, kaburat kalimatan takhruju min afwaaٰhihim, in yaqooloona illaa kadhiban

(6) fa la‛allaka baakhi‛un nafsaka ‛alaaٰ aathaarihim in lam yu’minoo bi haadhal-ḥadeethi asafaa

(7) innaa ja‛alnaa maa ‛alal-arḍi zeenatan lahaa li nabluwahum ayyuhum aḥsanu ‛amalaa

(8) wa innaa la jaa‛iloona maa ‛alayhaa ṣa‛eedan juruzaa

(9) am ḥasibta anna aṣḥaabal-kahfi war-raqeemi kaanoo min aayaatinaa ‛ajabaa

(10) idh awal-fityatu ilaal-kahfi faqaaloo rabbanaa aatinaa min ladunka raḥmatan wa hayyi’ lanaa min amrinaa rashadaa

Sources: Muslim No# 809; Abu Dawud No# 4321, 4323; At-Tirmidhi No# 2240

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sierra6x · 1 year

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------@survivorofhellskitchen con'td from here.

------THE RUSH OF adrenaline that surged in moments of urgency came too naturally to him, were too-easily wielded as an accessory to his ill-begotten plans rather than wasted. he'd seen people crumble under the rush; the third option to the fight or flight response where it consumed them and they remained frozen in place ... a shaking mess with wild eyes and no thoughts except for the PANIC.

a man from long ago, a little boy, could sympathize with the panic. but he'd died in prison, the remnants of him were broken in training until all that remained was the shell of a man that worked before the blonde. now it was just focus that burned behind blue eyes ---the disconnect otherwise obvious, dimmed where it should be more concerned with their current predicament.

he traced the gash over her forehead first with his gaze before he swiped it with the alcohol-doused cotton. the blood painted the wet mush a pretty shade of pink before it dimmed red and for a moment six pursed his lips now that he could see it in earnest.

would you believe me if i told you this wasn't the first time i've had to get patched up?

he didn't know her. he didn't even know her name ---she'd been an auxiliary to the damage he'd initiated, a body that hadn't cleared the room before hell broke loose. he'd do anything to keep claire safe. but she hadn't been even remotely in the file he'd rucked up before all of this, in this shithole city, in this shithole state with the scum of the earth that america somehow managed to dredge together to live like sardines packed so tight in a can there was barely any room for their oil. (god damnit he really fucking hated new york.)

" i would. " but he recognized that fire. a fellow survivor. someone else who refused to lay down and take whatever was doled, however heavy-handed it was, however fucked up it left them when they walked away. they still walked away. when he pulled away to set the soiled cotton ball aside he exhaled harshly, something ragged against the back of his throat. " you'll need stitches. best i can do is gorilla glue but it'll hurt like a bitch. "

you're bleeding.

he was sure he was, from somewhere. adrenaline still coursed through him, waning, but whatever injuries he had barely spiked against the usual aches and pains. six just shook his head, " i'll be fine. nothing serious. "

#vi. interactions #verse. main #survivorofhellskitchen #survivorofhellskitchen 1

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spynorth · 1 year

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This is ridiculous. He wants to say it louder, wants to breathe life into the words until they're no longer a smoldering ember trapped within the hollow of his chest and instead ride the wind as freely as his companion's laughter .... but instead, he simply bites his tongue, weight shifting as he comes to a stop. The dirt, when he kneels, is cold - it seeps through dark denim and stains Lucas' very knees with a chill painted in wide brush strokes by the frozen fingers of half dead plants, the brown remains of a green life that had stood no chance in this part of London. Beside him, Allie studies the ground ... expression intent in a way that causes the curiosity swelling inside to overpower any sense of urgency that he might have otherwise felt.

Allie. It's a plant. A dead plant.

This too remains unspoken. Instead, Lucas stays in the dirt, kneeling next to a young woman like they're holding some sort of bloody funeral service for an ill begotten garden, and lets his fingers run through damp soil. He has no business here. His is a life of guns and war, a life of turning bloodshed in on itself until the slavering dog that is death turns itself upon its masters. His hands were not made for growing things, saving things... not like this .... and yet he waits, fingers poised and ready to help. When he speaks, there's no hint of the doubt that creeps inside, no hint of that hollow ache of hopelessness that wears into a man's bones once he's seen just how ugly the world can be. Instead, there's patience...hope...carried on a rumble of thunder that almost hesitantly seems to ask if there's anything else to be done. For the plants. For himself and the people like him. For whatever secrets Allie keeps locked inside, those shadows that cross otherwise radiant features at certain times...

"There's bound to be a shop somewhere around here with seeds or something. If you're thinking you want to try again."

@springthings s.c

#springthings #aurora i was gonna write something for allie and hook but i just. the soft.#and also ... this got away from me shdjfhjfh #idk why they are mourning a dead plant but lucas says it is something she would absolutely 100% do so :||#verse tbd ;

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jumpspoken · 3 months

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The Homide (Discontinued)

As she and her saunters their, sons and daughters wahnter.

Has he? Land the flaunter fare, buns sand afters garnter.

Their meal congestion our continua parade, who would've thought sort?

Fair seal ingestion sour virtua charade, due could've fought cot.

The return rejection is neglect but to whom if any premise of holy books unread.

Her, she burns, injections his direct cut few wombs live many promise, love coldly hooks instead.

The son nowhere now to be seen returned to his title of what only the man on the cross shows.

Her shun fro heir bows due he cleans be burned shrew this bible, love cut lonely, her tan son her boss prose.

The seduction god but cries a tear of empathy, his shun devotion his cry "Why does he love at all then?" his time defends his duty.

Her reduction odd cut lies her fear, love; sympathy this cun evolution, "Miss, buy!" by was she. Doves cat call men piss whine, extends this deity.

What to know of provocation is not to indulge or remind.

Cut blue glows love evocation, his cot due winds barge nor refine.

Such the hear and head rests sole and holy cherish but never spoil from tradition.

Much her fear blands red, tests mol sand oldly perish hut clever soil drum perdition.

And such we call upon the self gift and Roman envy.

Hands, touch befall sudden her delve, lift sands bromance levy.

Such patronage of ignorice, such honour of bear but such does not remind jealousy to will unkind, so carefully tread and mindfully forgotten.

Much marriage, love profice, much stupor, gloves, flare, cuts, much fuss cots unkind, heresy due kill shun blind, go glarefully ahead kind, holy, begotten.

Her homicide, (Risk; Venued)

The homide (Discontinued)

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