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#prose writing
adumbass4u · a month ago
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thinking about how "i love you" and "i have feelings for you" are two different things. feelings are not permanent but love? love lasts longer than the lover himself. it never ends, only grows. and that is both the best and worst thing about it at once.
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meownsignor · 19 days ago
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God Seeker
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Characters: Father Paul | John Pruitt, Joe Collie, Beverly Keane
Rating: M (18+just to be safe)
Word Count: 900
Warnings: Blood Drinking, Alcohol Abuse, Death, Religious Themes, Vampires, Series Typical Violence(murder and drinking someone’s blood are bad, obviously, author does not condone any of which is in this fic/prose)
A/N: This is just me waxing a bit poetic about that scene(y’all know the one). Also, I’ve been trying to discern who’s the truest Godhood Seeker of the series, John or Beverly? In their last, most desperate hour, John accepted what he couldn’t change(perhaps actually being an Immortality Seeker, instead?), but Bev really sought power until the end; which I thought was interesting. I wish we’d been able to see more of their dynamic before the Monsignor’s pilgrimage, but ANYWAY. Enjoy! (I really just wrote this for myself but thought I’d share)
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John knew. 
When he looked back at the Angel, in that cave in that desert, he knew. Within his freshly revitalized bones there lived a horrible absolute. An absolute which made John lean into desperation. Bribing and lying and smiling as he did so; but there were worse motives in the scripture than love, John convinced himself. He was no less than all who came before him. 
This absolute of his always began in the height of the day — a tickle in the back of his throat, at first. Like an oncoming cold, until it enveloped him in a blanket of drenching sweat, limbs uncoordinated and rubbery. And the tickle grew into a scratch, grew into an irritant; to a hunger which John had never felt in all his life only sated when the desperation won out. When morals and piety meant so little that John wasn't John any longer but something else. 
When did flesh stop being flesh? When was blood no longer blood, but nourishment? John had asked himself these questions so many times that he long ago lost the weight of them. No longer did he feel the guilt worm its way through his heart. It no longer clicked across his soggy brain like a locust, forever searching for the condemnation John just didn't have. 
As though God himself had stolen it away from him, John was free to act without consequence. Without culpability. The Angel had gifted him eternal life seemingly void of self accountability, because this — this was bigger than him. Bigger than Millie. Bigger than their daughter, even. A motive once of love but no longer so, soon only one of consumption. And all the things which John once damned with his own mouth, now moved inside him. He is all of mankind's sins all at once, and he is none of them at all. In this rebirth, John's body had grown into the purist conduit for God's will on Earth. 
He is bigger than the Pope, bigger than the Church. John is the biggest man of all. 
But, when did flesh stop being flesh?
John asked himself this question as he lapped at the halo of blood encircling Joe Collie. The halo John put there himself; but it wasn't his fault, no, of course it wasn't. Poor Joe, he'd just stepped into the wrong light at the wrong time and met the maker named John Pruitt. 
Joe wouldn't be missed, anyway. He wasn't a church goer or a God fearer or even a good man. Joe was no one, until John Pruitt made him someone. Until John gave him a purpose, and that purpose was nourishment. So, John ate — and ate, and ate, and ate until he was cradling the dying Joe Collie's head in his lap and kissing the base of his skull with his teeth. 
When did blood stop being blood?
This question meant nothing to John as pleasure and fullness swaddled his body with wings larger than life. Sprouting from his own back, tearing through John's flesh with their serrated fingers to come and comfort him, absolve all of which once muddied John, with their touch like the touch of a mother. 
John let out a low, pathetic, groan of satisfaction until he all but drained the man dry. This man whom he watched grow up, watched trip and stumble through young adulthood as a servant to the bottle and sadness which came with it, was now looking up to John like John was anything but a man, himself. This man who John prayed for every night, who he confessed for — because Joe hadn't come to confession since his youth — looked up to him like he was a fucking monster, and not Joe's own indisputable deliverer. This man looked up to his once entrusted Monsignor with big eyes, scared and wet, until he wasn't looking at anything at all, and flesh was no longer flesh. And John was no longer John. With a mouth and chest stained so dark red it's nearly black, he couldn't be anything but what Joe Collie saw him as, now. 
Setting the dry head down, gently — gingerly, out of some misplaced respect — John touched the ocean of grume which soiled him, and nothing was in his heart. Nothing named guilt or remorse ever occurred to John, for he was God's hand and free of sin, and he was bigger than this. Those twin wings of brimming pleasure and satiation keeping all of which might deviate John's heart at bay. 
He scuttled along the ground until his back hit the wall with a thump. Pushing his hand through the blood once more, John sucked and sucked and sucked on his fingers until darkness began to ebb and the coming light of dawn shone through the curtains. In his old life John might have worried what someone would think, if they burst through that wooden door which stuck in the summertime, and barely kept out the cold in the winter, to behold him here. In this house, with this body once named Joe Collie, and a mouth dripping in his convictions which he called the sacrament. But in this new life John couldn't give a fuck.    
"It's alright, John, it's okay," then came a voice, so far away from him, with the sun waxing fully through the room as the voice flowered and wilted. Though this voice wasn't that of his Angel, but the voice of Beverly Keane. And Beverly said to John, "Eat until you no longer hunger." So, John did. And blood stopped being blood, and Joe Collie stopped being a drunk. 
And John Pruitt became a God. 
tagging my friend @herb-welch so we can scream together 💖
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kiramalibu · 2 months ago
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i swear that we once spoke about
the inevitable, but our last conversation
replays in my mind as if we didn’t
there wasn’t any name calling
or passage of blame to be felt
but rather something worse
you looked rather exhausted by my presence
and that has always been
one of my greatest fears
the idea that one day, the person
i love more than myself decides that
not only do they wish to leave but
insist that they must
because my existence is no longer
something that they deem vital anymore
(that night i cried for him on the floor) // kira malibu
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vkave · a month ago
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I thought of you with my heart already broken; I thought of you as it was breaking again. I think of you now, as I am healing. With somebody new --- I'll think of you then.
Forever on My Mind, Sea of Strangers, Lang Leav
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borlita · a month ago
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INFIDELITY
Should we forgive an infidelity?
This is a very controversial topic, since for some people it is okay to give second chances and others simply do not believe in it.
Personally, I believe that we should not give second chances when we suffer from an infidelity on the part of our partner. Because? For me the answer is very simple, if I loved you as you do, I would not have been unfaithful.
I believe that when you are in a relationship it is because you really love the other person, because you are willing to give yourself 100%, because you have no doubts about anything.
To be unfaithful you need 2 things, the first is that you like / attract the person and the second is that you are no longer comfortable or in love enough with your partner.
Unfaithful people always justify themselves by saying "she is nothing to me, you are everything. I love you." Usually that is enough to convince the other person and grant you forgiveness, but if we stop to think nothing of the previous sentence makes sense.
We must understand that when a person is unfaithful it is because they are no longer happy in the relationship. And not justifying it by saying "he is a man, they are unfaithful by nature" that phrase makes me so angry. You cannot forgive an infidelity just based on that stupid phrase, there are many men in the world that if they are worth it and that I assure you will not be unfaithful to you. Because before that, they will be men with their pants on well and they will end the relationship. And not to mention the mistrust that there would be if you forgive him
So women, let's value ourselves a little more and throw away those men who are useless!
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whereflowersbloom · a month ago
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My mother told me the Greeks believed
the ancient trees bestowed the gift of wisdom
and understanding, of transcendence,
to those who were willing to leave behind
a life of sin and darkness.
There's always a grain of truth in legends
And so I asked the sacred fig tree for eyes
that aren’t clouded by hatred and envy,
to see the good even in those who have
harmed me in the past.
I asked for strength and courage
to forgive myself,
for all the cruel lies I whispered out of anger,
as they felt as thousand needles
pierced right through my heart.
Fig tree
A. M.
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shmwrites · 4 months ago
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I wish that I could leave the past tucked in the corner of my mind in its box, undisturbed.
But I can’t.
Instead the past is a door left half open, a knot tied not quite tight enough, constantly coming undone.
It is memories coming back to me that I thought I had forgotten, that I desperately tried to scrub away from the deepest corners of my mind.
It is walking through the streets we once walked through together and remembering it all as nostalgia washes over me, flooding my thoughts with you.
The past isn’t gone in my mind, instead it is a visitor who has made itself too welcome in my head, no matter how many times I hint that I am tired, that it is time to go.
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velcroheartstrings · a month ago
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Growth is a lonely, long-winded process. Nobody seems to talk about how terrifying the changes can be or the instability of treading a brand new tightrope that feels as if it is going to snap any second. Part of me wants to crawl under a huge pile of blankets and refuse to confront any aspect of life that does not offer this same level of comfort but flowers cannot grow in effortless condtions and I wish to grow so grand that I almost forget what it feels like to be a seed at all. I will persist- despite this exhaustion- gently reminding myself of all the times I had to first be planted deep in the soil before experiencing my greatest growths.
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kiramalibu · 2 months ago
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we talk about what intimidates us
as if we even had a chance to
survive in this world
and it’s depressing, isn’t it?
to dwell or not was never the issue
it’s the fact that we’re in this place
and we cannot escape from it
we can’t curate beauty nor seek it,
everything is bleak and our hearts
are too far gone to recover
all we have is what our hands can carry
it’s been the only thing we’ve been awarded
on this journey thus far
kira malibu
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azazielleasstral · 7 months ago
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I recognize your taste. The feel of your skin. The beating of your heart. Trickles of blood in bodies of water; swirls of red ebb and flow. Your sips are fleeting but passionate and though I don’t know you, I remember the way you sighed after my juices touched your tongue. I remember the way you speak, the way you think. I’m so glad I met you. Do you remember me too?
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armuse · 2 months ago
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This time when I was talking to him over phone and saw a beautiful sunset. But could not bring it in me to appreciate it wholly. All I could wish was for him to be there, holding my hand as we walked slowly. But there we were, two hearts in different cities but underneath the same sky. And I wonder if that is what it feels for the moon and the star. To be so close, in the same sky, and yet, to be so apart.
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