#Sandt

[williampaladin]

Another drawing I did on @magma_com , Sandt the wizard elf, and his demon friend Gare. 

[muggleriddle]

The sun leaves marks on the skin. The war leaves marks on the skin. Disease leaves mark on the skin. Love leaves marks on the skin. If one listens carefully, a whole life can be told just by looking at a patch of skin. "Laurie wondered what was so interesting about his moles for Ralph to spend so much time on them."

I hope you guys are happy.. It's almost 2 AM here))):

[artparks-sculpture]

A sculpture titled 'Lightcatcher (Abstract Round Circular marble statue)' by sculptor Wolfgang Sandt. In a medium of Marble.

[soendagsbarn]

en mærkelig ting men om ikke andet noget der fungerer for mig. i mine psykoser bøvler jeg med stemmer og høje lyde inde i mit hovede. en af stemmerne råber TUN og jeg krymper sammen af den høje lyd inde i mit hovede og zoner ud i mange minutter og er på renden til at kaste op af det ubehag netop den lyd. jeg hører lyden af en gaffel der skraber mod bunden af en tom dåse tun. 

mit realitetstjek er så altså at tænke på tun , for når jeg ikke er i psykosen hører jeg ikke lyden , det er bare en tanke. samt der ikke er nogen der råber det ved mit højre øre. syko strategi men det funger sku for mig .

[cxffexngel]

Somewhere he knows, inside the battered and worn thing his core is despise it's resplendence and cracks, he knows how Lucifer probably will never be rid of those guilts and burdens the very same way his own heart will never be able to heal from the hurt and despair back at the garden, from that moment when he fled to the war and took lives that shouldn't have, to the time spent schakled down in that prison with nothing but his claws and teeth and swords to stay alive in the hell that pandemonium was before it got banished into nothing but dust. And it makes a wave of shame surge through his body, an ice cold rush that comes and goes, he's felt that so many times he knows how to ignore it and replace it with just sighing and meet Lucifer's own sorrows and deep grief with nothing but compasion and his best attempts at kindness. Adobe everything, something the current supreme primarch all he's wanted was to see Lucifer unbound of his duties, to smile and live. To not have those deep bags under his eyes; a telltale of burdens back in that garden the other would never voice, or the stoic, distant glances he'd give astrals that rarely would come fetch the other when he'd overstay or missions arose without notice.

Sandalphon was observant, he could see the slighest shift on the other that'd mean Lucifer was fighting himsefl to either stay or not, and oh that hurt, it hurt because at the time, he didn't know how to approach that. Scared he was overstepping, scared it'd be met with rejection or that maybe hed anger lucifer over thinking too much and assuming. But now he knows he should've pushed harder - and since the past cannot be undone, he has the power now. '' This time, you won't lose me. Not to anyone, not for your actions. '' And that's a promise. One he will, if necessary, remind the other over and over, be it word by word on in gentle actions like holding Lucifer's hands in the busiest of villages they'd need to stroll around, to simply quiet moments within mountains and sea. '' And neither I wish you to see you in pain as well– heh... But I don't want to ask you to lay everything that's burdened you. Just– Rely on me, the way I've relied on you all this time. However long it takes to know what your desires, wishes, everything are... Even your flaws, all of them I cherish it,, your past, even if some of that are a mystery to me, Lucifer. '' And unlike Lucifer's bluntness to say things, sandalphon's words are strained, awkward, his brows purse at how scratchy his own whispers are, that he leans his head back a bit and rests, instead, his forehead on the other's while inhaling a bit of air. Letting the whisk of snow white hair tickle his nose and the faint scent of coffee and flower and dew enrich his lungs a bit despise the heavy heart and the bareness of their moment. '' It wasn't a battle I needed to fight, but I did. For you and because I wanted to. '' He could've gone by his own words back in canaan, and used Lucifer's wings to bring ruin to the world, he could've let Lucilius just destroy everything, but no. Determination, a promise, goals - the crew he's come to love and cherish just like how he cherishes Lucifer. But he says nothing more, out of love, and because maybe it was for the best for now.

'' And for you as well, even if bringing you back means... all of this, to face the greatest challenge that is the heart and how heavy it can be, I hope I did right with that. '' Oh how he still feels guilty sometimes of burdening Lucifer with this, the purgatory, oh lonely place for souls to rest and yet, he wanted to give Lucifer a chance, much like the four primarchs that found their own calling despise the struggles. Lucifer deserve a chance that he was robbed of. '' Then, because I want to, and choose to, this life– our life. Your life - even when wars are inevitable between mortals, primal beasts, the otherworld and many other dangers, but one thing we both have learned... they're resilient. And if they can, I believe we can as well. '' And he wants to make sure of that, if he has to be the sword and light to plunge all, if not most of the dangers away, then he will, if he has to fight tooth and nail from the silliest happening of a broken cup to fending off an army of monsters, then he will.

But just like Lucifer, he does not elaborate further, the small anecdote of just a minuscule, yet important part of what paints his body told has been enough to give the other a lot to process, and as much as it's easy to brood, Sandalphon can't bear the other hurting when he can soothe the wounds. Hesitant - or maybe fearful he might bring forth more worries for the other, to weight down the scales even more with more tired shoulders can bear for the night, Sandalphon lets the silence drag a bit, letting his own, weak light from aurburn pinnions bring a bit of warmth for the other, let that little light be assimilated into white plumes so he can give what he can for Lucifer to find that solace he so much says he is to him. And oh how relief washes over him when he feels that little smile, even when probably hair sticks to the former supreme primarch's lips, despise unable to see it. Mirrored by how his own worn and chapped ones lazily form one of his own, and limps a bit into the embrace. '' Perhaps, we are both fools, but I'd change nothing about it– '' Except Lucifer's unwavering need to protect others before himself, for oh how it breaks Sandalphon's heart in million ways, and brings admiration all the same because he' too, feels like it'd be the same in his own feet. At where he is now, he'd hesitate nothing and throw his own body, sacrifice every limb, tear off his wings and nails if it all were to protect those he holds dear. So he understands, yet also finds cruel. Self sacrifice being, perhaps one thing that love brings the most out with it's bloody claws, in so, so many forms - something he never believes to ever understand yet - for now, allows it to go forgotten in order to let Lucifer grieve.

He's had his own time to grieve, he still does. Long lost days, centuries - So much of it. But eternity is there for them. '' Heh, at least we won't end up like when the captain drives himself sick over caring someone inflicted by transmissible illnesses. '' A small deflect, one to bring a bit of a more warm atmosphere and move on. It's the best way to let both of their hearts rest a bit. And Sandalphon lifts his head from Lucifer's shoulder, mourning the loss of touch but his wings only keep the embrace in place, a small veil of a messy aurburn and white - mostly white blanket of lazy feathers as they almost circle both of them. Where they end and the bed sheets start almost lost and giving them a look brings Sandalphon a flush of warmth to his core amidst the dread and grief. '' Kept saying he was fine despise the obvious awful coughs and snoot. Gross... '' And oh, the memory is an endearing one - even if he omits having been worried himself as well and how, sometimes, even primals can fall victim to viruses and bacteria. Something Sandalphon isn't sure he'd be able to experience and prefers never to – Can Lucifer even get sick? The question makes the other's brows furrow deep in though. And oh, now the more he thinks silly, white what ifs and worries over small things, maybe Sandalphon truly has found a little bit more space to heal from old woulds. '' Ah– but that's nonsense. Lucifer... I know it's late. But maybe I could summon our cups and trays. Instead going to the kitchen... or maybe we could go on a walk? To... soothe our minds. '' He tries suggesting after shaking his head and throw out the many thoughts that can easily plague him, from minor things to when the demons back in his core reap from the shadows. Only hoping it isn't too sudden, but if the other refuses– '' If not, that's alright. Even silence, or to stay like this, in this room is enough. Honestly, something I've come to appreciate, '' Oh, appreciate is such a small word when in reality he feels blessed, it a dream, it's perhaps too good to be true yet reality keeps bringing it forth, each morning, each night, each boring evening when closing the cafe or afternoon doing nothing at all watering plants or cleaning the airship's endless worn floors. '' it's simply to see you, hold your hand, when you lean on me after just humming o-or.... saying my name. '' And this last confession brings a bit of warmth in his face, one the primarch gingerly needs to still his worn core or it might set aflame.

Sandalphon's answer is more or less what Lucifer had assumed it would be, but had dreaded regardless. Upon actually hearing the other admit it aloud, his expression drops slightly--wings coming to sag over Sandalphon's back, seemingly drained of the strength and will to hold them up. Sandalphon understands his own sentiments--understands how conflicted and convoluted and estranged his own thoughts are, but he would much rather the other blame him. Sandalphon's suffering, in regards to these specific scars, is a direct result of Lucilius's cruelty, but Lucifer can't bring himself to blame his creator. Instead, it's fat easier for him to blame himself. To believe that he would have been capable of changing fate had he just paid more mind to the ones he loves most. No matter how farfetched that line of thinking it is--it's still a gentler pill to swallow than accepting the fact that Lucilius had acted of his own accord and desire. Somehow, someway, this must all be his fault somehow. Perhaps it truly is in the nature of the creation to be incapable of blaming the creator, but that thought leaves a lump in his throat and a dent in his core. Sandalphon's admission cuts him down to the bone because Lucifer is fully aware that the other is speaking and acting of love for him. People, himself included--he's learned--will do anything and everything for love. "I know, Sandalphon," he sighs weakly. Just as Sandalphon defers him of blame out of love for him, Lucifer concedes out of love for the current Supreme Primarch. He sympathizes with Sandalphon because he understands his pain--understands how and where it hurts.

But Lucifer would much rather die again than allow Sandalphon's wings to be ripped from his back even one more time. Perhaps that makes him selfish--perhaps that makes him a walking contradiction because he fears nothing more than losing Sandalphon to the point where he can barely even stomach the idea of the other getting hurt these days. At times, he wonders if he's dreaming as well, but the persistent hum of his core and Sandalphon's continuous warmth often him pull him out of such thoughts. He has to be alive in order to feel both. "And I fear nothing more than losing you, Sandalphon," he admits softly. If his life were to ever become a burden that would bring pain to the other, he would sacrifice it in a heartbeat just as easily as he had the first time, but he knows now to swallow such words, and keep them tucked away within the safety of his own chest. "I do not ever wish to see you in pain. I do not wish for you to suffer," he says instead.

He knows he can't dwell on what ifs, after all, he's spent far too much of his own life doing so. But Sandalphon's attempt to reassure him only further cements Lucifer's own feelings of guilt and shame and regret. Sandalphon should have never needed to confront Lucilius in the first place. He should have stopped Lucilius long before he had taken a sword to the other's throat. He should have taken more care when interacting with his creator--he should have noticed when the Astral had begun to spiral, and he should have saved him then. Logically, Lucifer knows his own thoughts are little more than hopeless delusions. But a part of him will always be convinced that he could saved both Lucilius and Sandalphon--that he somehow could have found a way to spare them from all of the suffering they endured. From the very agony that naturally comes with being alive. "That was a battle you should have never needed to wage." He can concede on nearly anything Sandalphon brings up, but he cannot let go of his own failings when it comes to Lucilius--his creator's sins were his failures to carry, not Sandalphon's. Never Sandalphon's.

Even so, he allows himself to be pulled into Sandalphon's embrace. He instinctively leans his forehead against the other's shoulder. Sandalphon is warm--of course he's warm, he alive, after all. And the drum of his core has become something intimately familiar to Lucifer--truthfully, it always has been. He finds comfort in knowing Sandalphon has come to understand what he desires. But Lucifer would have been willing--and will always be willing--to sacrifice every last wish of his own to grant even one of Sandalphon's. If not seeing his own desires come to fruition could have spared Sandalphon of all of this, he would have gladly severed every last dream he had ever considered harboring with his own two hands. "My greatest wish had, and will always be, for your happiness and safety, Sandalphon." He doesn't elaborate further--by now they both understand the meaning behind his words. By now, though Lucifer will not admit it out loud for the other's sake, he suspects Sandalphon already knows how willing he is to give up everything for him all over again.

He feels the warmth of Sandalphon's wings forming within the nest he's created around them. His own naturally part to make room for them--pearly feathers tickling Sandalphon's brown ones. Even without lifting his head to look at those wings, Lucifer knows, by nothing more than touch alone, which pair of the other's wings have slotted around his own. Gently, he briefly brushes his rosy plumes along Sandalphon's wings before allowing them to settle into a comfortable position. "I know you will not," Lucifer repeats once more. Sandalphon has always been stubborn, and would always be stubborn. Lucifer, as well, in his own way, is equally as stubborn though almost never when it conflicts with Sandalphon's own determination. Save for his self-sacrificing tendencies that Lucifer will carry to his own grave again and again. "Even so, I wish to carry all that you will me to." Lucifer will always concern himself more with others than he ever will himself. He may allows Sandalphon grace--may happily accept and embrace Sandalphon's pain and suffering, but he doesn't want to trouble the other with any of his own burdens. He has, after all, carried them on his own for millennia. Times has eroded the stone walls built around them bit by bit, and one day they will crumble all around him, but, for now, he won't trouble Sandalphon with them. "You will come to understand one day." Through what he experiences as Supreme Primarch or through Lucifer's own confessions--whichever may come first, but he's too tired right now to say more on the matter. Too bogged down by grief. "I know that, and yet I always pray these skies will be gentler for you despite how cruel they have already been."

Lucifer slowly lifts his head from Sandalphon's shoulder when he feels the other's wing wrap around his back. "And you have me, Sandalphon--my solace." His skin burns where the other's lips press against his jaw, and he tilts his head slightly to make more room for Sandalphon's head where he buries his nose into the crux of his neck. "I still wish for a peaceful life for you." His voice is no louder than the other's, little more than a mere whisper spoken softly against Sandalphon's ear. "With you," he adds even quieter. "I will not allow your wings to be torn from you again. Should you ever burn your hands, I will soothe your pain, and should you ever be wounded--I will care for you until you are well again." He doesn't carry the same power he once had. He is no longer capable of great feats of magic nor can he heal grievous wound in an instant. What little he still possess now pales in comparison to what Sandalphon has gained. But he has acquired something in this second life of his--he has learned resilience from the Skydwellers who persevere in spite everything they cannot do. He tilts his head in order to press a kiss against the side of Sandalphon's head--the angle is awkward, and he tastes strands of the other's hair on his lips in the process, but smiles anyway.

[litteraturhistorikeren]

Fyren med dådyrøjnene har været ALT for meget, siden jeg slog op med ham. Jeg forstår godt, at han er såret, men det har virkelig været borderline creepy; han har skrevet lange romaner, hver gang han har været ude at drikke, han skrev et digt til mig, hvor han foreslog, at vi skulle være venner med fordele (??), og så har han skrevet, at han har set mig to gange, og at den ene gang så han mig give mit nummer til en fyr, og at det ødelagde hans aften (hvilket ikke engang er sandt, det var ikke mig, men uanset hvad får det mig til at føle mig overvåget og ubehageligt tilpas). Jeg har været nødt til at bede ham om at stoppe med at kontakte mig nu, det er simpelthen for meget

[maelkogvildeblomster]

Det har altid brændt i mit bryst, når det har handlet om ham. For 5 år siden kom jeg endelig videre, og jeg fandt en afsky frem, som jeg fandt mig til rette med.

Og så stod han pludselig dér, og lignede en helt anden, og alligevel sig selv. Og hans øjne er præcis lige så vidunderlige som dengang, og de GLØDER på mig?! Hvordan?!

Og så stod jeg kraftedme der og sagde at jeg var SÅ GLAD FOR at være kommet videre og at det var så vidunderligt ikke at sammenligne alle med ham. Det var sandt, da jeg sagde det. Og da jeg sagde at jeg var så glad i mit liv, så sagde han, at det var tydeligt, og at det var dejligt at se.

Og han sagde, at jeg er så umiddelbar.

Jeg troede at den kærlighed var død. Det ville aldrig nogensinde kunne blive et tillidsfuldt forhold. Aldrig nogensinde. Må jeg ikke godt snart få en ny kærlighed. Please, hvemend der bestemmer

[kyrasaphira]

"Kings" from Love Land Stop Time, a series documenting Brazilian motel rooms for lovers, by Jur Oster & Vera van de Sandt (2014–2016)

[sillyvampireboi]

Kapitel 2 - Das Verräter! - Armand und sein iPad -

Kapitel 1

-Part 2 of me trying to write in and learn German - Die Zusammenfassung: Armand ist sehr traurig. Sein iPad ist ein Verräter! 

a/n: Das erste Kapitel war in Armands Perspektive. Ich versuche es jetzt in der dritten Person(?) schrieben. Ich will es üben. :)

Dankeschön für die Hilfe, ich hat im die letzte Kapitel erhielt ! :) 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

„Was ist los mit dir?“ - sagte Daniel. Er sah Armand im Bett liegen. Der Alte Vampire sah untröstlich aus. Er war unter einer große Decke, und er starrte auf sein iPad an. 

“Mein iPad! Es hat mich verraten!“

“Worüber zum Fick redest du?"  

“Es sandte diesen Brief!“ - sagte Armand wütend.  Es war eine Anzeige auf dem Bildschirm. ‘Der iCloud Speicher ist voll', las Daniel. Er sah auf Armand aus und lachte. 

”Du hast zu viele Fotos. Löschst e—„

”Nein! Ich brauche sie alle!“

”Aber sie—„

”Bitte, nein!“ — Armand nahm sein iPad und versteckte unter die Decke. 

Armand hat viele Fotos. Er liebte alles. Fotos von Daniel schlafen, essen, benutzen sein Handy oder lesen. Meisten von ihnen waren schlecht und verschwommen, aber Armand hat sie nicht gelöscht. Sie waren wunderschön Gemälde für ihn.

[bareendnuenpige]

Sandt at man har fri når man har fri, når man er i voksenjob. men shit jeg var ikke forberedt på at min fritid skulle gå med at være så fucking træt, at jeg ikke når andet end at tage mine sokker af før jeg falder i søvn på tværs af min seng efter at være kommet hjem. Er SÅ kvæstet

[artparks-sculpture]

A sculpture titled 'Fragile Stele IV (Vertical Stone Abstract sculpture)' by sculptor Wolfgang Sandt. In a medium of Norit.

[stadigdroemmende]

jeg drømte om dig igen i nat, det var første gang i noget tid. vi rendte ind i hinanden på et museum, brugte lang tid ved siden af hinanden, jeg viste dig det jeg allerede havde set før vi mødtes. det er sandt, jeg savner dig. dit fravær i mit liv er en absurd størrelse, du er vokset til noget uvirkeligt, større end du i forvejen er, nogle dage forundres jeg over tanken: at kunne have eksisteret ved siden af dig. måske især fordi jeg ikke ved hvorfor der intet svar kommer når jeg kalder, jeg siger til mig selv det ville være så meget nemmere, hvis jeg bare vidste det var udmattelse eller travlhed eller at du aldrig havde lyst til så meget som læse mine ord i en besked igen. nu ser jeg dig som noget nyt indimellem som online på messenger, overvejer om det er der jeg skal skrive. eller på dit nummer, det må jeg vel også have et eller andet sted i min opkaldshistorik. fuck. sidst jeg hørte fra dig virkede du så glad for hvor vi stod, det virkede realistisk at levere det tilbage jeg stadig har, nu er der gået så mange måneder, jeg har inkorporeret dit tøj i min garderobe.

[stroeriodi]

Jeg bliver overvældet så nemt. Der er så meget, som forekommer uoverskueligt. Nærmest umuligt. Jeg er interpelleret som et subjekt, en samfundsborger, som en anden end mig, men det og min identitet er uadskillelige. Der er en samfundspagt, og den har ingen moral. Det er matematik, og jeg er et minus med plusser, der annulleres med tal. Det er sådan jeg føler det, men jeg ved ikke hvad der er sandt.

[soelvfisk]

De her nattetanker. Jeg tror ikke at jeg nogensinde kan få min egen familie, så længe jeg har kontakt til min far. Enten skal jeg stresse over når min familie skulle ses med ham - eller også skulle jeg stresse over skyldfølelsen ved at “frarøve” ham kontakt til mig og hans hypotetiske børnebørn. Og i virkeligheden synes jeg at han selv er skyld i at jeg tager det valg. Ærligt. Hvilken grund til at stole på ham har jeg, når jeg selv har oplevet hvordan han behandlede mig som barn og teenager og selv nu, som voksen. Hans motto var “du glemmer det når du bliver stor”. Og jeg hader at det delvist er sandt. For jeg kommer konstant i tanke om ting. Og det forskrækker mig på måder, hvor jeg føler at fortiden bare overhovedet ikke er forbi. Så ja - jeg glemmer det, men jeg kommer også i tanke om det igen. Og det vil jeg ikke udsætte NOGEN for. Og derfor stoler jeg ikke på ham. Hans gode intentioner er ikke nok. Jeg skal se forandring. Men han vil ikke til psykolog og han fejler intet, råber han. “Jeg er rask!” Sagde manden, der fuckede sit barn fudstændigt op. Det skal ikke være mig - jeg vil ikke ende som ham. Og det lyder grumt, men jeg vil skåne mine børn og mig selv for det stress. Jeg tror sommetider at det er en af grundene til at jeg mister lysten til livet… jeg føler mig så indhyllet i skyldfølelse. Som om jeg er en forfærdelig datter. Som om jeg skal være loyal og holde kæft. Det var derfor det gik så galt med Stenen. Det forstår jeg nu. Hun ville også have at jeg skulle være loyal og holde kæft. Og gøre som der blev sagt. Hun var voldsommere i kortere tid. Koncentreret. Min far var mere konsekvent i et par årtier. Lærte det at kende. Hader psykisk vold!! Hader vold!!! Jeg vil have det denormaliseret i mit liv. Ikke flere kvælende realtioner med mennesker der råber og kaster med ting og tror man vil slås når man siger av. Jeg vil ro. Så meget ro, at jeg faktisk godt forstår hvorfor jeg trækker mig fra alle mennesker. Jeg er så bange for at det er mig der er den røde tråd. At jeg forvandler gode mennesker til nogen der lige så stille bare vænner sig til at behandle mig sygt dårligt. Og at mine traumer forvander alles ord til knive. Fordi jeg ligger og gør mig så blød, i håbet om ikke at ende som min far og Stenen og Nøgletyven og Dragemanden etc etc etc. Jeg har fået nok. Kære univers, jeg vil aldrig mere have en dårlig oplevelse. Lad mig leve i et vakuum helt forsigtigt til jeg dør. Sådan har jeg det lige nu. Har 5% livsenergi tilbage og +50 år tilbage at leve i. FORKLAR mig hvor motivationen er i det. Har brugt al min kapacitet på at være i fight, flight, freeze, fawn. Ved ikke. Er i sorg. Over det liv jeg kunne have haft og som jeg var på vej imod inden Stenen. Og så i den her verden altså omg. Klart at stardew valley er en tryg escape. Det var bare det. Nu vil jeg sove. Godnat<3

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Filipperne 4:8 Desuden opfordrer jeg jer, kære venner, til at fokusere jeres tanker på det, der er sandt og ædelt, ret og rent, det, man værdsætter og taler godt om, ja alt, hvad der udmærker sig og er værd at rose.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable—if there is any virtue and if there is anything worthy of praise—dwell on these things. — Philippians 4:8 | Bibelen på hverdagsdansk (BPH) and Tree of Life Version (TLV) Bibelen på hverdagsdansk (Danish New Living Bible) Copyright © 2002, 2006 by Biblica, Inc.® All rights reserved worldwide and Tree of Life Translation of the Bible. Copyright © 2015 by The Messianic Jewish Family Bible Society. Cross References: Romans 14:18; 1 Peter 2:12

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What does it mean to “think about these things” (Philippians 4:8)?