Kaledo Art
Andulka
⁂
Origami Around
@theartofmadeline
One Nice Bug Per Day
No title available
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
d e v o n
Game of Thrones Daily
Peter Solarz
blake kathryn
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
NASA
Sade Olutola
JBB: An Artblog!
todays bird
hello vonnie
Mike Driver
No title available
seen from Türkiye
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Italy
seen from United States
@bcforegod
Send my muse anons pretending to be someone they care about. The twist: make these anons as heartbreaking, disappointing, or anger-inducing as possible.
Pretend to give them bad news, pretend to break up with them, pretend to make an upsetting confession - as long as it hurts, it’s fair game.
bcforegod:
keep your temper, silas — you have taken a vow of pacifism, and that vow is not to be broken unless this man threatens the very foundation of the Church. as he is now, the military-man is harmless — misguided, perhaps, but his words are weak in comparison to the power of the Church. he is not worth your anger, silas.
his jaw works, and he keeps his eyes closed, breathing in the crisp winter air. as the man continues to speak, doubting the certitude of his father, silas’ angers spikes to such a level that he NEARLY dares to leap across the space between them and strangle the man to death.
yet this anger had tightened the muscles in his thighs, causing the spiked thighstrap to dig deep into his flesh, drawing blood. as quickly as it came, his anger was gone.
❝ you obviously have fallen prey to the sweet murmurs of lucifer. ❞ a lowered head, soft droplets of crimson painting his thigh as he spoke. ❝ i pray you find the path to salvation. ❞
“ oh, will you? ” sarcasm drips from his tone ; the smile that hints on the corner of his lip is ironic and cruel, and dies as quickly as it comes. no matter how many times he hears this ( that someone will pray for him ) it never ceases to seem inane. what will words muttered to an carved wooden cross do but dry the mouths of those who speak them?
his gaze is level, and his posture is trained with the calm expected of a military man. andrei’s religion is war as far as he knows —- his study is not of divine intervention, but of movements over a field, of bullets whistling through the air, of the aggregate resolve of the countless individuals. though andrei has never taken life, his own has almost been stolen, and the memory of pain still strikes where the bullet had lodged in his side —- no one steps in active combat and returns believing there exists a benevolent higher power.
whatever controls this world is lofty, but indifferent. it cares neither for salvation nor for damnation, but instead concerns itself only with the harsher task of being the unreachable standard to which they must all strive, and whom they will all fail. death is not the beginning of judgement —- it is the release from it.
“ i’m afraid, monsieur, that you will only end up wasting your time. are you arrogant enough to think it matters —- to think that because you have decided on some normative moral code, everyone else is obligated to follow it? people do not fall prey to the whispers of lucifer, you must know. lucifer doesn’t exist. people fall prey to their own foolishness. ”
❝ very well. ❞
ice blue globes downcast, robe billowing behind as he calmly turned away. he did not shame this man for his (lack of) beliefs, yet this man did his. silas huffed, a sad smile pulling at pale lips as he faced away from the military-man.
❝ clearly my beliefs anger you. my condolences that you can’t find peace in the belief of a higher power. ❞
silas did not hate this man. temper had flared at the blatant disrespect to his father and the rest of the Catholic Church, of course, but he did not hate the man. his words, his actions, did not justify the full force of silas’ WRATH.
❝ i pray you have a glorious day. ❞
Vengeance is boiling He’s returned to kill the light
Why are we so afraid of the dark? What has it ever done to us that we really haven’t done to ourselves? It doesn’t pretend. It doesn’t wear a false smile on a mask of fake happiness. It bares its teeth and claws, because it knows what it is, and it wants you to know as well. When has it ever tried to be more? It doesn’t ignore, deny or reject. It sees. It knows. It accepts. It is the light which blinds us, coddles and shelters us, and puts a veil on things we’d rather not see. This is how we live — how we cope. In light we hide and shrink from the shadows. Because they remind us of ourselves.
We are the monsters we fear most. (via onceuponamusing)
The Cathedral of Our Lady, Antwerp, Belgium.
𝘉𝘊𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘌𝘎𝘖𝘋
ᴡɪᴛʜ sʜᴀᴄᴋʟᴇs ᴛʜɪᴄᴋ / 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘚𝘛𝘙𝘖𝘕𝘎
𝙎𝙞𝙡𝙖𝙨 𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙙, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙨 𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝘎𝘖𝘋
ind. | priv. | sel. | silas from the da vinci code |
; { sideblog to @bloodshotkid , penned by sol }
bcforegod
a graceful brow furrowed, stepping away from the camerlengo. his gaze lowered, hands coming together to fiddle. why would no one come to his aid? what if the camerlengo were to be attacked? would those of the vatican merely pass off his screams as those of a madman?
his gaze flickered upwards at carlo’s question, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
❝ i was incarcerated in andorra for a decade. ❞ a weak smile, a soft noise like a ’ha’ escaping his lips. eyes shone with unshed tears. ❝ i’ve experienced horrors most men couldn’t even imagine. i am no stranger to nightmares. ❞
he pauses now, listening to silas’s words. he was familiar with andorra and the godless things that occurred behind its walls.
“i am.. sorry you had to go through that, silas,” carlo says, frowning. “my pain is nothing to yours, and i truly hope He will give you the peace you deserve.” he falls silent, fiddling with his shirt for a moment before he speaks again.
“my mother died when i was just nine years old. we had been in a cathedral sight-seeing when a terrorist attack occurred to protest the visit of a catholic arch-bishop.” when he closes his eyes, he can see the woman in white at the altar with her arms uplifted to the heavens. gone in a flash she was, rubble and smoke clouding his vision as blood rained down upon him.
“i was the only survivor.”
❝ my pain is my own. my pain is good. ❞
he lowered his head, hands clasping together. a soft tremor went through his body, his shoulders shaking for a brief moment. a large part of him believed he deserved all that suffering for the CHAOS and SIN he caused as a youth. the fighting, the drinking, the thievery, the homosexuality, the MURDER - he often believed God had sent him through Hell early so that he may be reborn anew.
the camerlengo, however, his story was different from silas. to have a loved one taking away in the very house of the Lord - it brought anger into the dog’s heart.
❝ my sincerest apologies, votre sainteté. a child should not witness such a thing. ❞
bcforegod
❝ i have not slept. ❞ a soft voice, blue eyes searching the man’s face. tender hands, shaking in partial fright that he may be overstepping his boundaries, moved to smooth the camerlengo’s wild locks.
although finally removing his thigh-strap gave the monk some relief, exhaustion taking hold some, the young man had taken to wandering the halls near the camerlengo’s chambers. he feared for the safety of the holy man.
❝ i came here when i heard you shouting. was it nightmares that plagued your sleep? ❞
not used to the tenderness of the monk’s touches, carloflinched at every movement before finally relaxing and closing his eyes, letting out a trembling sigh.
“i apologize,” he says, sincerely, before shaking his head. “they come every night, though i am surprised you came to my aid. most are used to my cries and do not bother to wake me.” a huff of laughter, though no humor could be found in it, then he opened his eyes - green meeting blue.
“i am assuming you have experience with nightmares, yes?”
a graceful brow furrowed, stepping away from the camerlengo. his gaze lowered, hands coming together to fiddle. why would no one come to his aid? what if the camerlengo were to be attacked? would those of the vatican merely pass off his screams as those of a madman?
his gaze flickered upwards at carlo's question, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.
❝ i was incarcerated in andorra for a decade. ❞ a weak smile, a soft noise like a 'ha' escaping his lips. eyes shone with unshed tears. ❝ i've experienced horrors most men couldn't even imagine. i am no stranger to nightmares. ❞
continued // @isjanus
ghost-white hands came to rest on either side of the camerlengo’s face, mimicking exactly what the bishop would do when silas awoke in fits of screams, his dreams plagued by memories of the prison.
he pressed their foreheads together, piercing blue eyes gazing into carlo’s green. the pressure deepened, hoping that the firm touch would bring him back to earth.
❝ i am here, votre sainteté, you are safe now. ❞
body jerks at the sudden touch against burning hot skin, a soft whimper ripping from his chest. green hues dart around – no raining blood, no debris, no woman in white at the altar.
he realizes he’s shaking for the first time since he had been awoken by the monk, normally tidy auburn hair sticking up at odd angles from the tossing and turning. grey t-shirt soaked with sweat, plastered to his heaving chest.
carlo swallows thickly before speaking, voice shaking.
“did… did i-i wake you, my son?” he asks quietly, a brief flash of guilt blotting out the grief and terror in his heart.
❝ i have not slept. ❞ a soft voice, blue eyes searching the man’s face. tender hands, shaking in partial fright that he may be overstepping his boundaries, moved to smooth the camerlengo’s wild locks.
although finally removing his thigh-strap gave the monk some relief, exhaustion taking hold some, the young man had taken to wandering the halls near the camerlengo’s chambers. he feared for the safety of the holy man.
❝ i came here when i heard you shouting. was it nightmares that plagued your sleep? ❞
continued // @isjanus
ghost-white hands came to rest on either side of the camerlengo’s face, mimicking exactly what the bishop would do when silas awoke in fits of screams, his dreams plagued by memories of the prison.
he pressed their foreheads together, piercing blue eyes gazing into carlo’s green. the pressure deepened, hoping that the firm touch would bring him back to earth.
❝ i am here, votre sainteté, you are safe now. ❞
bcforegod:
❝ && at midnight paul and silas prayed, & sang praises unto God: and the prisoners heard them. && suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken. ❞
❝ the Lord Above saved me that day. that silas and myself are not one in the same — yet his story and mine are intertwined in the hands of Fate. ❞
the twenty-eight year old monk lowers his head, hands clasping in front of him in silent prayer. ❝ the Lord Above is glorious. the Lord Above is real. i do not shame you for not believing in Him, for it is the nature of man to stray from His Light. ❞ a snow-white hand came up — a single tap against the man’s forehead, his heart, left, right — drawing out a CROSS.
❝ but you could return to it if you so wish. i once strayed like yourself as a youth. then i found His Light. ❞ a serene smile grew, his eyes closing as he remembered the day he was brought under the bishop’s wing. ❝ i have been assured by my adoptive father and the rest of our prelature that all that i do is in His Wishes. ❞
this gesture is not anticipated, and thus cannot be avoided —- yet still andrei flinches back when his forehead his touched, and his eyes follow the course of the cross, vile with mild disgust. there is a fatal error in what this man says ; an inconsistency with the reasonable world in which andrei lives. that there exists some greater force in the universe is inevitable —- that its identity can be found in organized religion is folly.
an eyebrow raised in suspicion, he steps away ( no more touch will be permitted ) and raises his chin, his shoulders squaring in turn, with the confidence of a man suddenly challenged to argue that which he has long pondered. “ you’re blind to your faith. you cannot see how misguided it is. ” this is not an accusation ; this is fact.
he explains, “ earthquakes are commonalities in some regions, and that one strong enough to free anyone might come is purely coincidental. but this is not your mistake —- is it the fact that you’ve taken the words of religious authorities and decided they are the words of your god.
“ but they are not ; humanity is prone to err in all things ; what prevents their making mistakes in belief? who is to say that what they think are the words of god are more than the whispers of inflated egos? ”
keep your temper, silas — you have taken a vow of pacifism, and that vow is not to be broken unless this man threatens the very foundation of the Church. as he is now, the military-man is harmless — misguided, perhaps, but his words are weak in comparison to the power of the Church. he is not worth your anger, silas.
his jaw works, and he keeps his eyes closed, breathing in the crisp winter air. as the man continues to speak, doubting the certitude of his father, silas' angers spikes to such a level that he NEARLY dares to leap across the space between them and strangle the man to death.
yet this anger had tightened the muscles in his thighs, causing the spiked thighstrap to dig deep into his flesh, drawing blood. as quickly as it came, his anger was gone.
❝ you obviously have fallen prey to the sweet murmurs of lucifer. ❞ a lowered head, soft droplets of crimson painting his thigh as he spoke. ❝ i pray you find the path to salvation. ❞
bcforegod:
the answer surprised the monk — although he showed no indication of this. while he held a general distaste for anyone in the military — to make a decision of life and death without the presence of God in ones soul was an insult to the Creator Himself — he was pleasantly surprised to hear that the military-man had not a harbinger of destruction for his fellow man.
silas was a murderer, of course, but that was in the name of God. he was just in his actions. ’ it is joy to the just to do judgment ’, the very book of the Lord Above says so.
the boy moves to face the man, cool eyes staring into him. ❝ i suggest, then, that you leave such a profession before the ego of man gets the better of you. ❞ almost a kind smile pulls at his lips, ❝ the Lord Above welcomes all into His arms. there is salvation for us all.❞
there is a measure of absurdity in the monk’s words which make more critical andrei’s judging gaze ; though he looks over the city, the expression is surely meant for the other, and thus he subjects it to him for a moment to ensure his disapproval is known. necessity has always stood above morality for him ; the means surely justifies the end, and often enough, given time, those offended will forget the means entirely, and know only their merry result. what does it matter if the actions to attain it were egotistical?
career advice from a monk seems to him a jest and not something that should be genuinely happening —- and even so, like a staircase andrei’s life has been put before him, so that all he need do is find the accomplishments to climb into success and purpose. hands fold behind his back, and he looks down for a moment before shaking his head at the skyline.
“ do you suppose yourself free from the same dangers? perhaps not in death —- ” ( of course andrei does not know of the monks murderous activities ) “ but in assuming you might speak on behalf of your beloved lord? is it not arrogant to assume you know enough to follow the will of an entity for whom there is no tangible proof of existence in the first place? ”
❝ && at midnight paul and silas prayed, & sang praises unto God: and the prisoners heard them. && suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken. ❞
❝ the Lord Above saved me that day. that silas and myself are not one in the same — yet his story and mine are intertwined in the hands of Fate. ❞
the twenty-three year old monk lowers his head, hands clasping in front of him in silent prayer. ❝ the Lord Above is glorious. the Lord Above is real. i do not shame you for not believing in Him, for it is the nature of man to stray from His Light. ❞ a snow-white hand came up — a single tap against the man’s forehead, his heart, left, right — drawing out a CROSS.
❝ but you could return to it if you so wish. i once strayed like yourself as a youth. then i found His Light. ❞ a serene smile grew, his eyes closing as he remembered the day he was brought under the bishop’s wing. ❝ i have been assured by my adoptive father and the rest of our prelature that all that i do is in His Wishes. ❞
I am.... so excited to go home after work and do threads. so like.... STARTER CALL ??? mutuals or not.
continued // @isjanus
❝ i… heard you, votre sainteté. … ❞
PANIC filled ice blue eyes, hands raising as if anticipating a blow. ❝ n-not that i was listening in… i just happened to walk by on my way to the library… ❞
he was rambling, and he clamped his mouth shut and squeezed his eyes together. had he been too forward? should he have minded his own business? hands come together to nervously clasp, bowing his head.
❝ i am at your service. ❞ he wanted to add ’ if you so wish to discuss ’, but the fear of stepping out of line kept him silent.
𝘉𝘊𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘌𝘎𝘖𝘋
ᴡɪᴛʜ sʜᴀᴄᴋʟᴇs ᴛʜɪᴄᴋ / 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘚𝘛𝘙𝘖𝘕𝘎
𝙎𝙞𝙡𝙖𝙨 𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙙, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙨 𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝘎𝘖𝘋
ind. | priv. | sel. | silas from the da vinci code |
; { sideblog to @bloodshotkid , penned by sol }
bcforegod:
❝ a servant of god. ❞
ice eyes are briefly hidden beneath pale eyelids, and he breathes in deeply. he rolls his shoulders back, then his head drops, a smile pulling at chapped lips.
silas was not a fan of polite conversation with men he did not have much respect for. a virtue of a monk was candidness, and this conversation was no exception. bluntness dripped from his lips, staining the interaction black.
❝ have you ever KILLED a person, military-man? ❞
every military man is bound to be accustomed to bluntness, and so andrei is not fazed by the monk’s approach —- it almost inspires in him some mocking scoff. how misguided this man must be, to think himself to be serving a god who himself is absent! his expression grows no warmer as judgement infiltrates guarded brown eyes.
and he has never killed ; the moral preparation he has set on himself to ensure that if ever the occasion presented itself, steadiness would remain, has never come into use. is andrei glad for it? his ambivalence is oft superseded by more immediate concerns.
“ it has never yet been necessary that i do so. ” his answer is shameless, as it should be —- taking life as a necessity it entirely different than stealing it for enjoyment, as one is of logical consequence and the other illogical, and he’ll condemn any who claim otherwise.
the answer surprised the monk — although he showed no indication of this. while he held a general distaste for anyone in the military — to make a decision of life and death without the presence of God in ones soul was an insult to the Creator Himself — he was pleasantly surprised to hear that the military-man had not a harbinger of destruction for his fellow man.
silas was a murderer, of course, but that was in the name of God. he was just in his actions. ' it is joy to the just to do judgment ', the very book of the Lord Above says so.
the boy moves to face the man, cool eyes staring into him. ❝ i suggest, then, that you leave such a profession before the ego of man gets the better of you. ❞ almost a kind smile pulls at his lips, ❝ the Lord Above welcomes all into His arms. there is salvation for us all.❞
@princeandrci liked for a starter! //
❝ “ for it is joy to the just to do judgment: but destruction beest for the workers of iniquity. “
proverbs 21-15. ❞
The young monk repeated the biblical phrase, hands clasped in front of him as he walked up next to the unknown man. pale blue eyes gazed out at the city, not sparing the man a glance. ❝ you are a military man, yes ? ❞
that cold distance in the other man’s demeanor is appreciated, even if his words are not ; andrei’s brow furrows as his hands sit folded against his back —- unmarked green uniform an indication of his military ranking, if only vaguely. his patriotism ( which has died, and secretly left only duty in its place ) is best not advertised outside of his own borders.
“ who wants to know? ” asks a voice as detached at his gaze, which upon the skyline lingered, not in wonder, but in bored disinterest. sparing time for this is not eagerly done —- he wants to have this finished so he might wash his hands of it before it might infect an already fragile heart.
❝ a servant of god. ❞
ice eyes are briefly hidden beneath pale eyelids, and he breathes in deeply. he rolls his shoulders back, then his head drops, a smile pulling at chapped lips.
silas was not a fan of polite conversation with men he did not have much respect for. a virtue of a monk was candidness, and this conversation was no exception. bluntness dripped from his lips, staining the interaction black.
❝ have you ever KILLED a person, military-man? ❞
