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tftl-au · 5 months

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La familia de las mil lenguas

Capítulo cuatro: El ardor de su sangre

Incluso en los días más tristes, el Cielo siempre permanecía iluminado, los serafines cantaban y sus encantadoras luces alumbraban a todos sus habitantes.

Pero ahora los serafines estaban peleando, matándose entre sí, el Cielo era oscuro y una ola de terror y matanza arrasaba con la frágil existencia de los ángeles menores.

Sangre y muerte por algunas partes, esclavitud y angustia por otras. Algunos siquiera tuvieron la oportunidad de armarse, de portar una armadura decente.

Batallando entre sus iguales vestidos de túnicas, teniendo a sus alas de escudos y sus brazaletes de armadura, sus espadas parecían ser cuchillos de pan ante sus estocadas destrozando cuerpos.

Los ángeles rebeldes luchaban por una libertad de expresión, a los que no, batallaban por paz y devoción.

Algunos Querubines asesinaban a ángeles más pequeños, a pesar de ser unas bestias, tenían una intención de rebeldía también, arcángeles desaparecieron, murieron, agonizaron o fueron cruelmente humillados en los campos del Cielo.

Ninguna nube podía protegerte de un ataque nocivo de alguna lanza o flecha. Michael estaba a la cabeza de su ejército celestial, luchando cuerpo a cuerpo con otros como él.

Le desgarraba el corazón tener que hacerlo, nunca imagino matar a un hermano suyo o amigo por solo sus ideales. Gabriel estaba detrás suyo, cubriendo sus alas con las suyas, no estaba completamente resentido, conocer en persona a su nuevo amo lo había conmovido tanto que creía que su lucha no era en vano.

Uriel es ágil con su espada flamante, mutilado alas y brazos a sus enemigos, aunque con un yelmo poco favorable para su visión, este error era provocado a propósito, no queria ver caras familiares para dividirlas con su hoja de plata después.

Belfariel se percato de su buen amigo, así que se apego a él para luego lanzarlo al suelo y poder hablar sin ser atacado.

Saco su yelmo y lo miro con dulzura por unos momentos.

-Uriel, mi amigo, no puedes seguir luchando sin saber a qué te enfrentas...el verdadero enemigo aquí es el Dios que tanto respete, pero no más; vamos Uriel, tienes una mente tan magnífica, ¿como no puedes entender que nuestro propósito va más allá de solo agacharse y hacer el ridículo ante alguien a quien nunca vimos?

Uriel lo veía con lagrimas que se secaron repentinamente - Bel...reacciona, tu eres más devoto que cualquier ángel que exista aquí, eres las alas de Dios, tu encanto por sus creaciones aéreas solo enternece su ser, deja de decir estupideces, vuélvete a mi...

Belfariel lo miró furioso y antes de atacarlo, la espada ardiente cruzo su torso, dañando sus alas y ardiendo su cuerpo en pocos segundos, al sacar la espada lo lanzó por los aires, observando a su amigo arder entre ellos. Gimiendo y gritando del dolor por las llamas que lo consumían, era un espectáculo horrendo para el arcángel que decidido a su fe, se coloco el yelmo de vuelta.

Los dias eran cortos para la lucha interminable, el Cielo estaba exterminadose asimismo.

La Tierra quedó en una completa oscuridad, donde lo halos de los ángeles sucedían como estrellas para los humanos.

Barachiel estaba del lado de Lucifer, ahuyentando a sus oraciones anteriores de serle fiel a su Padre, ignorando por completo el futuro de su hermana y pequeña compañera.

En ello una rapaz estocada tinto sus ropas de sangre, en el suelo empezaba a agonizar sin lograr extraer el lanza que lo jodia. Luego escucho un par de aleteos familiares que vinieron a rescatar su pellejo, un par de lamentos tras unas caricias en el torso para cerrar la herida junto a la luz verde candente.

-Bara, conserva la calma, perdóname, no te vi, te confundí con alguien más..

Jo-jodete Raphael..e-estamos en bandos contrarios..-tartamudeo adolorido.

-No digas...esas cosas Bara, te conozco, deja que te cure, ayúdanos a ganar..

En realidad la convicción de un ser que no sabía distinguir el bien del mal, es fácil de manipular. Los propósitos marchitos de alguien cambiante siempre suelen modificados por buena labia.

Y así fue, tal vez si una simple coincidencia de apetito no hubiera ocurrido, no se hubieran ocasionado tantos desastres, tantas bajas y tanto conflicto.

Michael seguiría siendo aledaño a Lucifer, seguiría viéndolo como un buen amigo al que molestar por su frágil sentido del humor. No se hubieran tomado la molestia de terminar con una guerra tras llantos y mutilaciones.

El Salón de la Gloria no resplandecía ese día, no hasta que se llegara la conclusión del juzgado al Serafín; los amantes de la convicción egocéntrica estaban atados con cadenas, obligados a inclinarse ante su creador.

Luzbel, te condeno ha desaparecer de mi vista, ha dejar tu puesto de serafin y ha cegarte tu antiguo reino. Ahora serás una alimaña cualquiera, dejaras tu belleza y la reemplazare por el horror, que aquellos que te admiraban sientan terror al verte. Te condeno a las tinieblas, al más oscuro abismo de la existencia donde te quedaras encerrado toda la eternidad, donde tu sangre nunca será pura de nuevo y tu inmortalidad implique castigo a los humanos que tanto detestas. Vete de aquí, Lucifer.

Y el Salón se reveló, dejando ver con esplendor a la transformación del bello Lucifer, cuyas alas empezaron a atrofiarse, sus plumas se caían y la piel se enrojecia del ardor, donde su sien con pequeños cuernos se obstacule por unos bastante grandes, donde sus bellos ojos se transformen en la monstruosidad de la anemia, donde sus pupilas sangren y se tiñan de ese color. Donde sus labios empiecen a sangrar por los colmillos que los cruzaban accidentalmente, donde sus orejas por más tiernas que parecieran se convirtieran en puntiagudas. Donde su nariz empezará a atrofiarse y su piel se hiciera sensible a cualquier temperatura.

Luego fue arrojado a las llamas del abismo, junto a cada uno de los demonios que tuvieron su juzgado, con solo llamar a sus nombres.

Chapter four: The ardor of his blood

Even on the saddest days, Heaven always remained illuminated, the seraphim sang and its enchanting lights illuminated all its inhabitants. But now the seraphim were fighting, killing each other, Heaven was dark and a wave of terror and carnage swept over the fragile existence of the lesser angels.

Blood and death in some parts, slavery and anguish in others. Some even had the opportunity to arm themselves, to wear decent armor.

Battling among their equals dressed in tunics, having their wings as shields and their bracelets of armor, their swords seemed to be bread knives before their thrusts destroying bodies. The rebellious angels fought for freedom of expression, those who did not, fought for peace and devotion. Some Cherubs murdered smaller angels, despite being beasts, they also had an intention of rebellion, archangels disappeared, died, died or were cruelly humiliated in the fields of Heaven.

No cloud could protect you from a harmful attack from any spear or arrow. Michael stood at the head of his heavenly army, fighting hand to hand with others like him. It tore his heart to have to do it, he never imagined killing his brother or friend just for his ideals.

Gabriel was behind him, covering his wings with his, he was not completely resentful, meeting his new master in person had moved him so much that he believed that his fight was not in vain.

Uriel is agile with his brand new sword, mutilating the wings and arms of his enemies, although with a helmet that is not favorable for his vision, this error was caused on purpose, he did not want to see familiar faces to divide them with his silver blade later.

Belfariel noticed his good friend, so he attached himself to him and then threw him to the ground so he could speak without being attacked. He took out his helmet and looked at it gently for a few moments

. -Uriel, my friend, you cannot continue fighting without knowing what you are facing...the true enemy here is the God that I respect so much, but no more; Come on Uriel, you have such a magnificent mind, how can you not understand that our purpose goes beyond just crouching down and making a fool of yourself in front of someone we've never seen? Uriel saw him with tears that suddenly dried

- Bel...react, you are more devoted than any angel that exists here, you are the wings of God, your charm for his aerial creations only softens his being, stop saying stupid things, turn back To me...- Belfariel looked at him furiously and before attacking him, the burning sword crossed his torso, damaging his wings and burning his body in a few seconds.

When he pulled out the sword he threw him into the air, watching his friend burn between them. Moaning and screaming in pain from the flames that consumed him, it was a horrendous sight for the archangel who, determined in his faith, put his helmet back on. The days were short for the endless fight, Heaven was exterminated as well.

The Earth was left in complete darkness, where the halos of the angels were like stars for humans. Barachiel was on Lucifer's side, chasing away his previous prayers to be faithful to his Father, completely ignoring the future of his sister and little companion.

At that moment, a rapacious stab stained his clothes with blood; on the ground he began to agonize without being able to extract the spear that was fucking him.

Then he heard a couple of familiar flutters that came to rescue his skin, a couple of moans after some caresses on his torso to close the wound next to the burning green light.

"Bara, stay calm, forgive me, I didn't see you, I confused you with someone else...

Fuck-fuck you Raphael... we-we're on opposite sides..." -he stammer painfully.

-Don't say... those things Bara, I know you, let me heal you, help us win...- In reality, the conviction of a being who did not know how to distinguish good from evil is easy to manipulate. The withered intentions of someone changeable are always modified by good talk. And so it was, perhaps if a simple coincidence of appetite had not occurred, so many disasters, so many casualties and so much conflict would not have been caused.

Michael would continue to be close to Lucifer, he would continue to see him as a good friend to be bothered by his fragile sense of humor. They would not have taken the trouble to end a war after tears and mutilations. The Hall of Glory did not shine that day, not until the conclusion of the Seraphim court was reached; lovers of self-centered conviction were bound in chains, forced to bow before their creator.

Luzbel, I condemn you to disappear from my sight, to leave your position as seraphim and to be blinded by your ancient kingdom. Now you will be any vermin, you will leave your beauty and I will replace it with horror, that those who admired you will feel terrified when they see you. I condemn you to darkness, to the darkest abyss of existence where you will remain locked up for all eternity, where your blood will never be pure again and your Your immortality implies punishment for the humans you detest so much. Get out of here, Lucifer.

And the Hall was revealed, revealing with splendor the transformation of the beautiful Lucifer, whose wings began to atrophy, his feathers fell out and his skin turned red from the burning, where his temple with small horns was hindered by quite large ones, where his beautiful eyes transform into the monstrosity of anemia, where their pupils bleed and turn that color. Where his lips begin to bleed from the fangs that accidentally crossed them, where his ears, no matter how tender they seemed, became pointed. Where your nose will begin to atrophy and your skin will become sensitive to any temperature. Then he was thrown into the flames of the abyss, along with each of the demons who had their court, just by calling their names.

#story #history #a new history #heaven #archangel #michael #lil' lucifer au #tftl au #gabriel #Lucifer #god

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hamletthedane · 3 months

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I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

#shut up e #long post #Saturday thoughts #this has been in my drafts for a week haha #also this is the heart of why AI art feels so wrong #forget the discussion of copyright and theft etc - even if models were only trained on public domain they would still feel very wrong #because they’re not art. art is the labor of creation #even commercial art and art commissioned by the popes and kings of history: there is humanity in the labor of it #unrelated: I did not know living in the Bronx was now something to brag about. How the fuck do y’all New Yorkers afford this city???

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exoflash · 5 months

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a concerning amount of witchblr will be like "um actually new years was stolen by europeans from the ancient god scroobus mcdoobus" and then you actually try to research scroobus mcdoobus and it turns out he was invented in the 1940s by a conspiracy theorist who powdered every meal with ketamine and thinks that queer people are reincarnated fish

#brightts ramblings #BEFORE I GET ATTACKED: THIS IS NOT AN ANTI-WITCH OR ANTI-PAGAN POST #im just literally begging witchblr and paganblr(?) to study history from proper sources #so you don't accidentally end up repeating misinfo or even outright bigoted info without realizing #you are not immune to propaganda!#this post is specifically ab new agey stuff like starseeds #but a lot of other stuff fits into this as well ie 'blessed be'#for further context i am not a witch or pagan myself but i DO study the occult/occult history #religion #spirituality #history

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biggest-gaudiest-patronuses · 2 months

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zany to me how these um actually nihilists like to pretend that "um actually love/friendship/cooperation/kindness isn't real bc we evolved that way to benefit ourselves as a species..." um YES? that's also where tool use comes from? that's where cooking comes from? am i supposed to think social bonds & tool use & cooking aren't "real" because they evolved over time instead of appearing fully formed from the ether?

sorry u can't enjoy things. im a superior being twirling a fork in my bowl of delicious noodles whilst staring in adoration at the world

#'love isn't real it's a chemical reaction'#hon i got news for u about chemical reactions and the nature of existence #'we evolved social bonds to benefit ourselves' so you agree?#you agree that social bonds are helpful and important enough that they literally shaped the history of human evolution?#i do not think u are saying. what u think u are saying.

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intersectionalpraxis · 2 months

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I just posted a thread on the history of colonialism and ongoing oppressive Indonesian occupation of West Papua. If you have time, please read the educational slides. This is absolutely horrendous, and has been going on for decades. The Indonesian government and military must be held accountable. Free West Papua.

#feminist #social justice #settler violence #settler colonialism #current events #current news #free west papua #west papua #history #indonesia #colonial violence #colonialism #global news #world news #torture tw #end the occupation

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bibyebae · 6 months

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" Men in Gaza do cry.

When they lose their homes that they spend their

whole lives building, they cry

When they see their dreams and hopes getting destroyed, they cry.

When they realise how scary and uncertain their future is, they cry.

And because they are human beings, full of feelings and emotions, they cry."

This is an excerpt from a 35-year-old Palestinian's account of life in Gaza under siege.

Ziad has been writing for the Guardian about the realities of the Israeli bombardment, as he, his sister and their pets, flee their home in Gaza City in the hope of survival.

You can read his diary entries in full via the link:

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batshit-auspol · 5 months

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If you take nzpol there was that one time we threw a dildo at an mp candidate

This is quite possibly the greatest Wikipedia article in existence

#new zealand #batshit moments #nzpol #history #fun facts

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blueiskewl · 8 months

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A FOSSIL GINKGO LEAF Colorado, USA

From the Paleocene (circa 58 - 55 million years ago) the clearly defined 31⁄4-inch wide Ginkgo cranei with well preserved striations, on original matrix. Reverse of matrix three further partial specimens of Ginkgo cranei.

63⁄4 x 67⁄8 x 3⁄4in. (17.1 x 17.5 x 1.9cm.).

#A FOSSIL GINKGO LEAF #colorado #paleocene period #ginkgo cranei #fossils #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient artifacts #nature

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ltwilliammowett · 8 days

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