the filth will cleanse

At Your Service ~Nine/Finale~

Part One ~ Part Two ~ Part Three ~ Part Four ~ Part Five ~ Part Six ~ Part Seven ~ Part Eight

You barely recalled falling asleep but you awoke nestled against Thranduil on his bedroll. Your shift hung loosely around you and a thin woolen blanket laid across the both of you. The king was still bare chested beneath and held you to him with an arm around your waist. You admired the serenity of his features as he dozed and slipped out of his grip with reluctance.

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anonymous asked:

Hi! Could you write a super fluffy scenario for Akutagawa? Like, he is watching s/o and their baby and they don't notice he is there. S/o is looking at a photo album with baby, and saying silly things like 'and who is this? this is papa! don't we love him?' (doesn't need to be this, it's just an idea). And Akutagawa is just there trying not to melt

Ryunosuke Akutagawa

Akutagawa had just returned home after completing a mission. He exhales a sigh as he removes his shoes that had a collection of red-brown dirt desperately clinging to the bottom of his boots. There was a heavy feeling of tiredness that was taking over him, fatigue that he didn’t feel before suddenly now catching up to him. But his appearance showed a state of frozen calm, like the surface of a serene lake after the wind has died down. 

All he could think about was the steamy, hot water raining down on his body to cleanse himself of the filth that accumulated on his porcelain skin throughout the day, and delving into a cushion of softness to acquire a good night’s rest to restore his energy and strength, as he learned the hard way that sleep plays a vital role in his health and can have a negative impact on him if he’s deprived of such necessity for too long. 

Slowly and steady, his footsteps paddles across the coldness of the marble floor but comes to a brief halt. He hears a small noise coming from a room just ahead of him, a laughter he’s all too familiar with. A sound he genuinely loved nonetheless. The corner of his lips raises delicately into a neat smile, and there’s a curious glint in his dark slate colored eyes. Slender fingers then begin to brush along the textured walls as he continues down the corridor to get closer to the sound to make sense of the distant words.

“And who is this? This is papa! Don’t we love him? Doesn’t seeing him make you happy?”

“Here’s one of him blushing! It’s a bit blurry because he was being a little camera shy that day, but doesn’t your papa look so adorable?”

“Aww. Look at papa holding you in his arms in this one, and the way he looks at you. You can really tell that he truly loves you a lot.”

Akutagawa stands there in the doorway. Casually leaning against the frame with hands concealed in the pocket of his coal-black trench coat while he softly observes you turn pages of the photo album. The infant that holds a piece of him sits calmly in your lap, smiling a dopey smile as you hold each polaroid photograph to its face and uttering sweet words in your lovely melodic voice. A laughter so pure and innocent escapes the chid’s mouth. The kind that you can’t help but cast a smile upon hearing it and feel a sense of duty to keep the giggles coming.

Warmth slowly erupts deep inside his chest and happiness envelops his body the more he looks at you and his cute offspring. He forgets about everything around him for a moment and just stands there, overwhelmed with emotions and feelings whirling around inside of him. Akutagawa stands there and thinks it’s so strange. 

He feels as if he’s falling in love all over again with every fiber of his being, every inch of his soul, and every piece of his heart. Just by listening to the sound of your voice. Watching you pour your heart into the wonderful blessing that is his and your baby. You were like a magnificent flower that blossoms quietly, beautifully, and elegantly. Filling the emptiness of his heart with something much more than he can ever describe with words.

Akutagawa continues to watch you, and then you suddenly look up. Your expressive eyes light up the very instant he’s in your line of sight, and joy overtakes your face. You smile so brightly that not even the most brilliant stars in the night sky can outshine you. The one that spreads from ear to ear because you’re so incandescently happy that he’s finally home and that your family is all together again, and so you welcome him with a tremble of excitement in your voice.

And then his heart whispered, “I’m home.”

Melasti Ceremony, Bali
Balinese people walk along Kuta beach to attend prayers for the Melasti ceremony near Denpasar on the Indonesian resort island of Bali.

Melasti is a Hindu Balinese purification ceremony and ritual. Melasti was meant as the ritual to cleanse the world from all the filth of sin and bad karma, through the symbolic act of acquiring the Tirta Amerta, “the water of life”. wiki
(via Twitter: AFP news agency)

Philosophy of The Swastika - Essentials of Hitlerian Faith

Image by me, text by @sneeringimperialist

A solid introduction to our beliefs is long overdue, many misinterpretations and ignorance abound. Here I shall attempt to correct this, posting a brief summary of the core points and values of Esoteric Hitlerism, as well as explaining the difference of it to those who view faith through an Abrahamic lens. Lets just jump right in.

Veneration of Life

“I am in love with the beauty of life that I behold in animals, and would like to behold in man also, but simply cannot”

We hold nature to be something profoundly sacred and are filled with a deep, spiritual love of animals and plant life. We do not hold it beneath us, as the materialist does viewing nature as mere resources for exploitation, nor the Abrahamists who while viewing it as God’s creation, nonetheless relegate it to a role of distant, secondary importance behind man and his soul. To us, a mighty, beautiful oak or noble forest stag lies higher on the hierarchy than a broken and degenerate man. If put to choose between the two, I would take the axe to the man before the oak, for the oak fulfills it’s natural role whereas the man has shirked and ignored his, and is therefore inferior. The destruction of the natural beauty of our lands, as well as the cruel and disgusting treatment of animals in the modern age is as much a crime warranting death as facilitating the debasement of our race.

Aryan Tradition

“And in the heart of Northern Europe, there has awakened a heightened racial consciousness, the same racial soul idea taught by Zoroaster”

We know ourselves to be part of the last still surviving branch of the great Aryan migrations of pre-history, the European peoples and the Pagan faiths we found in Roman/Hellenic, Celtic, Germanic and Slavic civilization were but one of three branches originating from our spiritual and material birthplace of mystical Hyperborea, the other two are ancient Aryan Persia and India, and their spirit and beliefs we find in Zoroastrianism and Hinduism are as near to us as Odin and Zeus are. We mourn the loss of our blood kin in Persia and India, who have forever perished in the midst of racial pollution and the corruption of our faith through it’s blending with the Semitic and Dravidian elements of those lands. Yet we take warning from their fall and resolve never to allow such a thing to happen to this last, and most recent Aryan civilization in Europe. And indeed, once we have cleansed and defended Europe we shall raise the banners once more and pour over the mountains and plains as our ancestors did to reclaim those ancient lands and rebuild them anew in likeness of our kin who came before.

The Racial Soul

“Soul means race seen from within and conversely, race is the external side of a soul”

Spirituality and religion is inseparable from race, and we discard any notions that one universal faith may encompass every race on earth. To us, the negro, the semite and the mongoloid have fundamentally different spiritual worldviews and any mixing of their beliefs with ours is as abhorrent and destructive as the mixing of blood. They simply cannot perceive and understand the world in the same way that we do. Any universalist doctrine, whether religious or secular must be ruthlessly resisted by us if we are to survive as a people, whether it be the recent human-rights oriented democracies or the old Christian Church. We must instead, reach within our blood and find once more that eternal transcendent, life-oriented impulse originating in Hyperborea and awake our race’s faith once more.

National Socialism

“Someone once asked me what attracted me to National Socialism, I replied without hesitation; It’s Beauty”

National Socialism is the violent resurgence of the racial soul and Aryan spirituality in the modern world against the forces of decay and disintegration. Nowhere else in history has a single nation and era seen such a pure and true resurrection of our people’s way of life. It brought forth all that was healthy and noble, restoring our people in Germany to the highest place of honour without contaminating it with the baggage, sentimentality and lies of the past. It was a total revolution in every sense, both in the way it structured society in accordance with the traditional model and in it’s worldview with the exaltation of the racial honour and purity in accordance with the iron laws of nature as it’s highest value. National Socialism to us, is a holy, all-encompassing way of life that excludes everything else, we demand of ourselves and others absolute loyalty and embracing of it as truth.

Adolf Hitler

“Hitler is a medicine man, a spiritual vessel, a demi-deity or, even better, a myth”

Adolf Hitler is far, far more than a mere man, a mere politician, a mere organizer and revolutionary. He is something beyond human, an avatar of cosmic Aryan spirituality chosen to set the stage as He-Who-Comes-Before-The-Last, to give us the final form of our people’s faith so that we might recognize The Last/Kalki when he emerges from the mists of time carrying sword and flame to put an end to the dark age. To hear him speak is not to hear one man’s beliefs and words, but to hear an eternal, ancient collective voice speaking from beyond the material world through him to us. As an individual, he occupies the highest place of reverence and honour in our hearts, second only to Kalki and the eternal Aryan myth he embodies. He is forever and ever, the leader and high priest of our people from beyond the grave until the coming of The Last.

The Jew

“Our dawn will shine when new and mightier flames spring from the chimneys of Auschwitz as Jews and their servants are hurled into the fire below”

The Jew is the spiritual antithesis of the Aryan. As the Aryan serves life and life-oriented ideals, the Jew serves the forces of decay and disintegration. The Jew elevates himself beyond the natural order of things and indeed, seeks to destroy that natural order along with everything that is beautiful, true and noble. He delights in corruption and debasement, to see a people reduced to money-grubbing materialism, to see nature destroyed to make way for his own petty desires and ego, to pull and rip at life until nothing is left but a thread. His end state, his dream of earth is a vision of a blasted, industrial wasteland with feral tribes of mongrels squatting the ruins reduced to primitive cannibalism, finally conquering all that was above him and bringing it low. As such, every Aryan is obligation bound to root out and exterminate this disgusting race from the earth, even if it will take us centuries we will hunt them down to the last vile nest and rid this world of them. They are our enemies, forever and ever and no mercy is to be afforded to them at all.

Endsieg

“Through the flames of the Great End, into the sunlight of the new Golden Age" 

The Final Victory. Esoteric Hitlerists believe in the prophesy of Kalki, the final avenger of Aryan peoples destined to lead us in the apocalyptic final battle of the Kali Yuga and emerge triumphant over the vast horde in service of the forces of decay, and usher in a new age of light and peace for our people, cleansed of filth and alien elements. He is truly a god-man, purity and perfection taken form. He will unite our peoples, reclaim our ancient lands and will raise long-lost Hyperborea from the sea as his divine seat and kingdom. We cannot yet envision nor comprehend the details of his coming, however it will be a total transformation beyond description. Sieg Heil!

Originally posted by celticanglopress

We’re organizing a group for projects, education and research. Message me or @sneeringimperialist if you are interested.

shujinkuro replied to your post:YA’LL I’M HECKING CRYING I FOUND IT. THE FIC THAT…

PUT IT BACK.JPG

Wearily I traveled, with cape clasped at my throat through the mountain of kawaii, past the fountains of tsundere, and through the halls of yandere. Lonely, I was, so lonely and starved, but continue on I did to find it: the holy grail of fanfics. For you and others to bask in, to feast your eyes upon it and cleanse your soul of the filth of this world. I thought I might die, but the thought of your disappointment kept pushing me on. And then I found it, nestled deep within a mountain cave, buried within a stone that only meant for the worthy one ™ to pull out. Disbelief, regret, anger, hopelessness…. was my story to end there? But no, I pulled it out, and perilous was the journey to return to you with it, and this is the hecking thanks I get so hecking ungrateful what the heck

The Ultimate Attainment

The past is already past.

Don’t try to regain it.

The present does not stay.

Don’t try to touch it.

From moment to moment.

The future has not come;

Don’t think about it

Beforehand.

Whatever comes to the eye,

Leave it be.

There are no commandments

To be kept;

There’s no filth to be cleansed.

With empty mind really

Penetrated, the dharmas

Have no life.

When you can be like this,

You’ve completed

The ultimate attainment.

P'ang Yün (龐蘊 Hõ Un)

So my friends, I am quite sure you are all rather perplexed by the events that recently conspired.

Allow me to fill in the gaps.

Amongst the fair-folk and other veil-dwelling creatures, there is a myth. The Myth of the Batter. They say he was an angel, disgusted by creation, and sought to purify it. He was of course, cast out into hell for displaying contempt for his creator. However, when he saw Hell for what it was, his distgust only grew further, and so swept through with a righteous fury, leaving a path of destruction in his wake. It was said that it took Satan himself, as well as his mysterious ally turning against him to defeat him.

So what, I hear you ask, does such a fairytale have anything to do with the bat ? Well you see, the Batter, although defeated, could not be competely destroyed. Although his physical form had been pulverized, his will, the will to purify all creation, remained. So Lucifer had it sealed in a simple staff, and cast it to Earth. The staff, or the Bat as most now call it, now bound to the physical realm, could no longer cause havoc in the spiritual. That is unless, it could bind to a fellow soul will the same desire to cleanse all evil and filth. The host would then be able to channel the Batter’s rage as they relased each seal, and purge all they deamed as unclean.

However, there is a catch. If the host were to release one too many of a seal, they would be overcome by the Batter’s will, and so become nothing but a flesh puppet, filled only with rage and a lust for destruction. The human soul and body cannot contain such pure energy for long, and so the host is led to their demise.

My master, despite my advice, sought out this bat. After the events of the cave she felt that if she could aquire the power, she would be able to prevent such a tragedy from occuring again.

Making a pact, she became the latest host.

Well, so now my friends, I hope you understand what went wrong there. I shall now return to tend my master. She will certainly have quite a headache when she wakes up!

Allaahumma baa‛id baynee wa bayna khaṭaayaa-ya kamaa baa‛adta baynal-mashriqi wal-maghrib, allaahumma naqqinee min khaṭaayaa-ya kamaa yunaqqath-thawbul-abyaḍu minad-danas, allaahummagh-silnee min khaṭaayaa-ya bith-thalji wal-maa’i wal-barad.

O Allah, distance me from my sins just as You have distanced The East from The West, O Allah, purify me of my sins as a white robe is purified of filth, O Allah, cleanse me of my sins with snow, water, and ice.

archiveofourown.org
Corpus Christi - Sjukdom - Gotham (TV) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Gotham (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Kristen Kringle/Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Characters: Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot
Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Nygmobblepot, Dark, Caretaking, Heavy Angst
Summary:

He was doubtful by nature, good old Eddie. There was no one to confirm his rebirth. And then Oswald stepped out of the woods, out of the smell of rotting grass and rotting flesh, out of the slack water in dried creeks and coagulated brown slimy blood. The woods, where he buried Kristen, the cemetery with soil so sticky nothing and nobody could be extracted from it appeared to be a womb, which kept his redeemer safe for him.


this story appeared in my mind at night, when I suddenly started wondering, how Edward dressed unconscious Oswald in his own sleepwear. as a rule, when I start wondering, nothing good comes out of it :’D in this case, the thought was followed by the song I listened to before going to bed, Corpus Christi carol performed by amazing neofolk band Fire + Ice (you can listen it here, if you want) and, well, this fic was born. you can read it on AO3 or right here under the cut. it’s dark and angsty, as usual, but I hope you’ll enjoy it!

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Soap

Striking their filth
Removing the dirt
Cleansing the soul
Soothing the hurt

They wrap hands around her,
Adopt her scent, her sense;
And she never requires they repent
Nor does she seek recompense

She is soap

Having no fright of mud or blood,
And no matter why they cry
And despite the time of night
She welcomes their mess
Sacrifices self to calm their stress

She is soap

She gives and gives;
They take, take, take.
But with every mistake she washes away
A part of her slowly fades.
That’s what being soap means:
Wasting away so others feel clean.

She was soap

ladydbzelle  asked:

How did you get this idea called "Zero Mortals Plan"? and Why?

I created the Zero Mortals Plan because mortals are ignorant, selfish, sinful creatures. They abuse the knowledge of the gods and create an endless cycle of war and death. There is no peace, no enlightenment. Mortals have made the world ugly and must be punished for their sins. I took it upon myself to exact justice where it is due and cleanse the world of this filth in order to restore it to a beautiful paradise.

Discussing cultural admiration on the internet

“Hey British culture is pretty rad”
“Yeah it seems like a nice place to live, I love tea”

“I like French culture a lot!”
“Excellent food, it’s a great place!”

“Mexico is awesome!”
“Yeah I love Mexican food! Yay multiculturalism!”

“Korea is great!”
“Yeah pop music and beautiful women and kimchee fuck yeah!”

“Hey I kind of like Japanese culture”
“OH my GOD FUCKING WEEABOOS EVERYWHERE JESUS CHRIST YOU PEOPLE WON’T FUCKING SHUT UP ABOUT YOUR JAP SHIT OH MY GOD YOU’RE JUST A NOORAHTOOE CARTOON FANBOY NINJAS DONT EXIST SAMURAI SWORDS ARE INFERIOR YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO BE JAPANESE STOP BEING SUCH A WEEABOO EVER HEARD OF UNIT 731 IF I EVER MET A JAP IRL I’S PUNCH HIM IN HIS BUCK-TOOTHED FACE HOW DOES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF THE RAAAPE OF NANKING JESUS CHRIST POCKY SUCKING FREAKS I BET YOU WANT TO FUCK AN OCTOPUS READ UP ON YOUR PRECIOUS JAPS AND WHAT THEY DID AT BATAAN FUCKING WAPANESE SHITS GO COMMIT HAIRY-CARRIE CLEANSE THIS PLANET OF YOUR FILTH”

anonymous asked:

What is Dua istaftah

Du’a al-Istiftah is the prayer that is said at the start of the Salah (prayer) after one says the Takbeerat al-Ihram (the start of the prayer where you raise your hands and say Allahu Akbar) and before the recitation of Surat al Fatiha. It is a Sunnah act (i.e. it is not obligatory in the prayer however it is highly recommended.) 

The Prophet (peace be upon him) taught us that there are several ways to open the prayer some shorter than others. SOme of 

سُبْحَانَكَ اللَّهُمَّ وَبِحَمْدِكَ وَتَبَارَكَ اسْمُكَ وَتَعَالَى جَدُّكَ وَلاَ إِلَهَ غَيْرُكَ

Subhanakallahumma, wa bihamdika tabarakasmuka wa ta'ala jadduka wa la ilaha ghairuk 

Glory and praise be to You, O Allah. Blessed be Your name and exalted be Your majesty, there is none worthy of worship except You. (Tirmidhi and an Nisa’i)

اللهم باعد بيني وبين خطاياي كما باعدت بين المشرق والمغرب اللهم نقني من خطاياي كما ينقى الثوب الأبيض من الدنس اللهم اغسلني من خطاياي بالثلج والماء والب

Allahumma baa’id bayni wa bayna khataayaaya kama baa’adta bayna al-mashriqi wa’l-maghrib. Allahumma naqqini min khataayaaya kama yunaqqa al-thawb al-abyad min al-danas. Allaahumma ighsilni min khataayaaya bi’l-thalji wa’l-maa’i wa’l-barad.

O Allah, put a great distance between me and my sins, as great as the distance You have made between the East and the West. O Allah, cleanse me of sin as a white garment is cleansed from filth. O Allah, wash away my sins with snow and water and hail. (Bukhari)

Hope this was of help insha’Allah. 

anonymous asked:

can we get a preview of your fsl smut please??? i'm dying over here.

“We should just wait for someone to help,” Clarke says as she pries off her own blazer at the heat of her blushing. Green Eyes just chuckles, deep and sweet.

“Something tells me that you’d rather get out of here as quickly as possible,” she says as she pockets the knife and begins fiddling with the wiring. Clarke furrows her brows in confusion. After a beat of silence, the woman turns and smirks at her, her eyes wandering up and down Clarke’s frame without shame.

“I can smell you from here.”

Clarke’s mouth opens in shock. “That’s rude, I don’t smell.” Green Eyes doesn’t respond, bare for the widening of her dastardly smirk, showing perfect teeth that Clarke can’t help but imagine nipping at her neck or biting her lip. She wards off the intruding thoughts and fights another involuntary blush. But it doesn’t matter, because Green Eyes is still staring at her with that stupid cocky grin that makes her stomach flip with a canting want, a fire that she can’t fucking tame. The air in the cramped space grows hot and tense, heavy.

And then, she’s shot to space when the brunette practically growls.

“Not that kind of smell, Princess.”

“Princess?” Clarke echoes breathily, but she gets no response – nothing but that chilling, almost animalistic stare that causes her throat to dry up.

She watches as Green Eyes leaves the panel alone and stalks over to her without breaking the stare. The blonde drops the package to the floor as the taller brunette corners her into the small space. Both of her hands slowly and smoothly glide up the corners of the elevator wall, showing off the biceps and deltoid muscles that ache to rip that thin collared shirt apart. She palms the fine mahogany until she’s pushing down on it, as if to refrain herself from the beast within that wants to just take the blonde quivering in front of her. 

Clarke is cornered and she’s frozen.

The brunette’s shirt is stretched tight around her toned arms, and the artist inside Clarke sends her eyes wandering down to the intricate right sleeve, to the designs of Tribal tattoos that she wants nothing more than to sketch and memorize. They dip into those rolled up sleeves at her elbow and she practically whines when she can see that there are more underneath the near translucent material. Green Eyes dons a Rolex on the left wrist, silver and black and encrusted with small fucking diamonds and Clarke knows that this woman isn’t some intern or desk clerk. She’s gotta be somebody important.

Because really, what kind of woman that young owns a Rolex?

Green Eyes only smirks again at how Clarke’s gaze wanders, her teeth tugging her bottom lip into her mouth and lightly biting it with enough tease to cause Clarke to stifle a whimper. The brunette waits until Clarke’s eyes are back on hers before she leans a little closer, their foreheads just millimetres away. It’s then that the blonde can take in the slightest whiff of a spicy cologne. It’s an intoxicating smell, one that nearly has her crumbling to her knees.

And then Clarke can’t breathe because suddenly Green Eyes is leaning into her left side, her warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of her ear as she chuckles again, a growly rasp that sends shivers down Clarke’s spine and into her loins.

“Wouldn’t want to be the intern that gets caught fucking in the elevator, right?”

Fuck, she thinks as her face turns beet red, at least warn a girl first.

yes it’s elevator smut and no clarke doesn’t know who lexa woods is yet.

EDIT: here is the edited and final version that somehow ended up with 500 more words because apparently sober me is also thirsty for fine stud lexa.