#let him who is without sin cast the first stone

[zu-is-here]

Did you hear how Sourapple the creator of HT is being attacked for making a commission of aged up Aliza and Sans? It's crazy how it looks like there's no one openly supporting them and nothing but haters accusing them of making minor related art when Sour has specifically said they won't make underaged content

It's 2025 and artists are still being condemned for aging-up fictional characters... ‎( ب_ب )

UPD:

People want justice, but it's different for everyone (◞‿◟) Stay kind and respectful no matter what ♡

(No hate at all is better <3) That's it╰(*´︶`*)╯☆

It's definitely a lot of pressure from the fandom on them now; I believe they would appreciate some words of support for every good thing they did and still are doing for us (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃♡

[emmajh97]

🧂...

[lettersfrombeyondthegrave]

i wont hate on furries n kinnies cus i ive thought before ab how fun it would be to be a little sleepy cat loafing on a porch in the sunlight

[tomicscomics]

04/04/2025

NO MEAT!

___

JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. In the Bible, there's a story where the Pharisees bring a sinful woman to Jesus and explain that, according to Jewish law, she should be stoned for her crimes. They ask Jesus what HE thinks they should do, hoping to trap Him into either (1) condemning a woman to stoning, or (2) contradicting Jewish law. Jesus cleverly does neither, saying, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." The Pharisees and gathered crowd depart, grumbling, and Jesus forgives the woman, telling her to sin no more. 2. In this cartoon, Jesus uses the, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone," line, but as a child. Then He -- the only sinless child among them -- flings a stone, skipping it on the water and impressing all His friends. 3. For those who remember my other Jesus & Friends comics, the kids behind Jesus are Martha, Mary, and Lazarus of Bethany, who show up later in the Bible as friends of Jesus. We don't know what their canon history is, but in my comics, I like to imagine that they, John the Baptist, and Jesus got to hang out as kids.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is yet another "Tomics Resurrection," where I cast an old comic across the surface of time, skipping a few years until it plunks into the present. The original comic is from shortly before I came up with the idea to feature the Bethany Bunch as childhood friends of Jesus in my cartoons, so the kids behind Jesus in the original are just random friends. Still, the cartoon remained largely the same in spirit!

[queendiane2]

Harp on Biden’s mental decline. The MAGA crews ultimate idol as president was Ronald Reagan. It is known that he was affected by his dementia diagnosis during the final year of his second term. Nancy guarded him like a hawk and covered for him even in meetings. So drop your pearls Karen, let she who is without sin cast the first stone.

[conclaveconfessions]

bless me father for i have sinned. i think the fandom could really benefit from caring less about whether ships make sense, or are better or worse than another. we're all playing dolls here and making them kiss. let him who is without sin cast the first stone, or something. where's your whimsy?

~

[maybe-im-dark]

Half the boyfriend, half the fun

Chapter 2 | Chapter 1

The best way to pass the time until his legs fully grew back was to sit in Dopinder's car and eat samosas. Wade ignored Dopinder's complaints that his mother had baked them for him. She could make new ones. He had bigger worries. He couldn’t stop thinking about Logan and the fact that he was responsible for his condition. Damn, he couldn’t even remember exactly what had happened! If only he’d never convinced Logan to come along on this mission. But that was just another bad decision added to the long line of bad decisions that defined his life. He could practically hear his father’s voice. Idiot, faggot, loser! You can’t do anything right! Wade shook his head. No! He would make it right. He would find a way to fix this.

He pulled his phone out of his belt pouch and sent a text.

Wade: Hey :3

Negasonic Teenage Bitch: What do you want?

Wade: I need a fayvr. Big one

Negasonic Teenage Bitch: ?

Wade: Logan’s hewrt. U need to find out wat they're dooing to him

Negasonic Teenage Bitch: Find out yourself

Wade: I...may or may not be bent from the promises

Negasonic Teenage Bitch: Not my problem

Wade: Then I’ll brayk in

Negasonic Teenage Bitch: You’re gonna get in so much trouble

Wade: Aight bet

Wade looked down at his legs. A few toes were still missing, but otherwise, they were back in their scarred, pale glory.

"Dopinder, I have to go. You wouldn’t happen to have pants for me, would you?"

He eyed Dopinder’s jeans.

Dopinder shook his head vigorously. "No, you’re not getting mine!"

Wade sighed. "It’s probably for the best. These buns don’t wear Levi’s!"

Sneaking around the back of the building was easier than expected. There was no sign of security cameras, but then again, who needed them with mutants who could see through walls? Unfortunately for him, none of the windows were open, so his plan of entering quietly was thwarted. Concentrating, he scanned the ground until he found what he was looking for.

"Let him, who is without sin, cast the first stone!" he muttered with a grin, tossing a rock through the window.

After climbing inside, Wade realized he was completely lost. The mansion was a maze, and he’d only been there a few times. The wood-paneled walls all looked the same, and the portraits of old white men didn’t provide any hints as to where he was.

"Quentin, was that you? I told you to..."

Storm was descending the stairs. Her white hair was styled in a sassy pixie cut, and she wore a pink crop top with glittery letters spelling out, "RAINING ON YOUR PARADE."

When she saw Wade, she let out a sharp shriek and covered her eyes.

"Wade?"

"Yes?"

"Why aren’t you wearing pants?"

The mercenary puffed out his chest. "Marvel Jesus doesn’t need mundane things like pants!"

Storm sighed, still covering her eyes. "I’ll take you to the Professor."

Now wearing a pair of gray sweatpants emblazoned with the school emblem, Wade sat stiffly in front of Professor Xavier’s desk, arms crossed, staring at the wall. The spacious office felt confining to him, like a cage, despite the ample space and the light streaming through the tall windows. Behind the desk was a bookshelf set into the wood-paneled wall, filled with countless books whose gilded, ornate titles he couldn’t decipher. In one corner stood a large globe, and in another, a sitting area with a chessboard. On the desk itself were a few file folders, a Newton’s cradle, and a photo of the Professor himself, younger and with a full head of hair. Beside him stood another young man with his arm draped around him, presumably Magneto. It might have been more than a friendly gesture; they’d been arguing for decades like an old married couple.

"Wade," Charles said, giving him a calming smile. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

Wade shook his head defiantly. "I don’t want a drink. I want to see Logan."

The Professor’s expression turned somber. "You know that’s not possible."

"Urgh, okay. I’m sorry for calling you Egghead. Can I see Logan now?"

"I don’t think you fully understand the gravity of the situation, Wade. Something has nullified Logan’s healing factor. Dr. McCoy is currently treating him, and any outside influence could be harmful to him in this critical state."

Wade’s eyes narrowed. "So, what am I supposed to do now?"

Charles thoughtfully placed a finger on his chin. "Well, you could help by telling us what happened. Jean mentioned that you also lost your legs. A failed mission, I assume. What exactly happened there?"

Wade ran his hands over his face. "That’s the thing! I don’t remember! I..."

His voice broke. Loser. He was a fucking loser. The love of his life was fighting for his life, and his brain had decided to shut down. Logan was going to die painfully, and it was all his fault. Tears welled up in his eyes.

Charles took his hand and squeezed it gently. "I could help you remember."

Wade nearly jumped out of his chair. "Oh no! After Cassandra Nova—did you know you had a psychopathic twin sister?— there’s no way I’m letting anyone into my head again."

"I’ll only see what you allow me to see, and only with your consent," Charles assured him.

Wade swallowed and nodded. After all, this wasn’t about him. Charles slowly extended his fingertips toward him. He’d nearly reached Wade’s temple when the screams echoed through the halls. Desperate, raw, agonizing screams. Logan’s screams.

Wade burst out the door, ignoring the Professor’s shouts. He ran down the hallway, nearly tripping over his own feet. He didn’t know where he was going, just following the sound of the screams, his chest tight with fear. His bare feet slapped against the wooden floor as he followed the sounds to a door with frosted glass. It was locked, but that was no obstacle for Wade, who’d served in a military special unit. He pivoted halfway, raised his leg, and kicked hard. The door burst open.

Nothing in the world could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him. Hank was bending over an operating table. Logan lay on it, his torso crudely stapled back together at the hips. But that wasn’t the worst of it. What froze the blood in Wade’s veins were the tubes. Countless tubes and wires ran out of Logan’s body and back into him at different points. He looked like a machine. But unlike machines, he was screaming.

Wade was reminded of Weapon X. He quickly made his way over to Logan. Logan’s eyes darted back and forth beneath his closed lids.

"Oh God, what did you do to him?"

He reached out to stroke Logan’s face, but Logan’s hand shot out, gripping his arm. His eyes snapped open, revealing yellow irises staring at Wade from blood-red sclera. His lips parted, exposing razor-sharp fangs. Then he lunged forward and sank his teeth into Wade.

[theshoesofatiredman]

rant: i feel like the ‘nice’ christians are worse than the outright hateful ones. the blonde peppy girls with john 3:16 in their instagram bio that are like “i don’t hate lgbt people!! i just disagree with their lifestyle. love the sinner hate the sin <3” LIKE GIRL STFU. it makes no sense to say this. i’d literally prefer for an old person to just call us abominations or degenerates.

the best analogy i can think of is, let’s say having red hair was a sin. so, as a redheaded person, you being born that way isn’t necessarily a sin. you’re still loved by god! but…since you grow out red hair you have to keep it continually shaved. again, there’s nothing wrong with having the red hair gene!! but it’s just a sin for it to start growing :)

that’s how dumb these mfs sound who say gay ppl have to be celibate for life. i cant stand it at all. even worse, homosexuality is grouped in with sins like murder, adultery, etc. wtf!!! one time i was reading a christian book and the writer was like “There are so many problems with our world. Misogyny, trafficking, abuse, pedophilia, r*pe, homosexuality”….ONE OF THESE THINGS IS NOT LIKE THE OTHERS. how do they not see that?

I'm not sure if you want me to answer your last question, because on one hand, it seems rhetorical. But I do have theories!

For starters, they can't see how unlike the others is because they were conditioned against it by their religion. Many are so indoctrinated with the idea that all sin is hated equally by God, so when considering lists like this, they are not considering impact or harm. Theirs is not an ethic based on harmful outcomes. It's one God's opinion over everyone else's. To justify it, their theology makes God to be the ultimate good so a relationship with him is the ultimate good. And anything God calls sin alienates us from him and is therefore harmful to us because it deprives us of the ultimate good. But you have to bring it back to: well what does God actually think is harmful about gay love? They have answers to that question but they aren't good ones.

Second, it's easy to not recognize the wrongness of homosexuality's inclusion on this list because most people aren't gay. It's easier to miss what you've never experienced. It's also easier to hold people morally responsible for a choice you'll never have to make. A straight man who never lusts after a man is without the specific sin and he is able to cast the first stone far more easily.

Third, and in a similar vein to the above, it's really easily to moralize based on disgust. If something seems gross, it is so much easier to think there's something wrong with it. Unfortunately, sex that people don't want to have often seems disgusting. If you're straight, the idea of participating in gay sex is probably not going to feel good and it is so so easy for that disgust to be moralized against gay sex havers. It's so important to not let disgust drive your morals but many people miss this.

Fourth, homosexuality has been falsely equivocated with all of those other things. The idea that LGBTQ people are rapists, pedophiles, abusers, and/or child traffickers is a prevalent one amongst homophobes. They don't realize the difference because in bigoted circles the words are synonymous.

Fifth, I grew up hearing that acceptance of gay relationships in America was going to cause God to destroy the country like he had wiped out previous nations, like he had done to Sodom and Gomorrah. There are folks in positions of power and authority who are just making shit up and some people don't know any better bc they're in a bubble with little to no out gay people. It's harder to think gay people are going to bring down god's fiery wrath when there's a loving Jesus following gay couple in the neighboring pew or as your actual neighbor. Many people in these bigoted communities don't have enough experience with gay people to realize at first just how full of shit their leaders are and after they roll it into their worldview the change is so hard to make they're stuck like that.

I agree with you that "I don't hate LGBTQ people!! I just disagree with their lifestyle ✨💖" are still being bigoted. They would vote against my rights as a gay man and that is discrimination based on sexual orientation. They would likely still oppress me by-proxy if they could. They would vote for someone else to put the boot on my neck, but they wouldn't do it themselves.

And like there is that difference. I would rather that brand of Christian than a Nazi, or then the brand of Christian who thinks gay people should be rounded up and shot. I think it's a false equivalency to say they're the same. A society where homophobes have to be passive aggressive to maintain social acceptance rather than acceptance is one where gay people get to live longer. It's not perfect, but it is improved.

However, I also understand that it's so fucking frustrating because it's impossible to get the love the sinner hate the sin type Christian to see the harm they're doing and how hateful they are coming off. It feels worse because it's candy coated shit and you would've rather seen the shit coming. You would rather the violence know its own name than pretend to be love. It makes love feel hollow and empty because what they're handing you is this broken twisted version.

And we deserve better than that.

[fordford]

hnghhhh can you draw fiddleford. doing something silly idk

i got carried away with this and lost the plot a bit. sorry anon. hope you like it anyway (text under readmore because cursive is hard with a pixel brush)

Header

Ford: At this point I am convinced the only thing he is wearing that is not stolen is his prosthetic, which he constructed himself. Although he probably stole the scrap metal he used to build it. Fiddleford: i doubt folks care much what happens to their trash once they bring it to the dump and let he who is without sin cast the first stone! [Ford has marked up Fiddleford's sentence, indicating where letters should be capitalized and where a comma should be] Ford: If you're going to vandalize my journal, at least use proper punctuation. [Ford has crossed out Fiddleford's Biblical accusation of hypocrisy] Ford: You can't prove anything and I am immune to your gentile condemnations.

Diagram

Ford: hat stolen from a scarecrow Fiddleford: it was a gift! besides i needed it more than him

Ford: shades stolen from my brother [Fiddleford has crossed out the word "stolen" and wrote "RECLAIMED" above it] Fiddleford: ain't stealing if they were yours to begin with

Ford: shorts say "BAD MOON RISING" on the rear. not sure where he got these. kind of afraid to ask. Fiddleford: no illustrated diagram of the writing? Ford: LEAVE ME ALONE

Ford: sweater stolen from ME! again... Fiddleford: i'm keeping it. mine now

Ford: [pointing to the socks] fairly certain he just plain old shoplifted these. Fiddleford: i did ♥︎

Ford: wlm'g dzmg gl pmld ru sv hglov srh ylcvih Fiddleford: i can read atbash darling Ford: decode this then [message in substitution cipher] Fiddleford: oryh brx wrr

[howlingday]

Port: And for our next match, we have YANG XIAO LONG! VERSUS! JAUNE ARC! BEGIN!

Yang: I hope you're ready to meet that god you like praying to so much.

Jaune: As the Lord said, "Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone!"

Jaune: (Swings) HA!

Yang: (Knocks him to the dirt) Is that all you got, choir boy?

Jaune: (Grips thread) Go to hell, wicked spawn of Satan! (Tugs)

Yang: (Looks at tumbling boulders) You think you can send me to Hell? (Obliterates rocks) BITCH, I AM HELL!

Jaune: Oh, God... Please... Help me!

Yang: NOW, DIE!

???: STOP, IN THE NAME OF THE LORD.

Yang: (Stops)

Jesus: I HAVE HEARD THIS BOY'S PRAYERS.

Audience: Is that Jesus?! (Cheers)

Yang: Shit... I didn't know we were playing with Assists!

Jesus: I have come to save this poor child.

Yang: (Decks Jesus)

Jesus: (Dies)

Audience: OH MY GOD! SHE KILLED JESUS! (Boos) YOU STINK!

Yang: Oh, calm the fuck down! He'll be back in three days!

[vivicantstudy]

Why I Believe Kindness Within Religion is the Only Way to Bring Non-Believers to Conversion

Faith is not about judgment; it is about love. As Jesus said, “Do not judge, and you will not be judged” (Luke 6:37). None of us is perfect, and we are not called to condemn others but to lead them with compassion. If we want to draw others closer to God, we must reflect His love in our words and actions.

God is love, and it is through love that the greatest works of faith have been accomplished. Jesus Himself showed this throughout His ministry. It wasn’t through harsh words or condemnation that He brought sinners to repentance, but through mercy and understanding. “Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone” (John 8:7), He said to those ready to judge the adulterous woman. In that moment, He reminded us all that only love has the power to heal and transform hearts.

When we approach others with kindness and empathy, we are living out the commandment Jesus gave us: “Love one another as I have loved you” (John 13:34). Love brings people closer; it opens hearts and allows God’s grace to work within them. On the other hand, judgment and condemnation only push people away. If we think that hate or harshness is righteous, we must reflect on what kind of faith we are fostering—one based on fear, or one rooted in Christ’s infinite love?

Empathy is the key to reaching wounded hearts. When we truly listen and walk alongside those who feel lost, we imitate the Good Shepherd, who leaves the ninety-nine sheep to find the one that is lost (Luke 15:4-7). Our kindness becomes a reflection of God’s mercy, showing others that they are valued and loved, no matter their past.

Do not believe in false prophets. Fear gives rise to manipulation. You don’t need to surround yourself with what harms you. You hold the Bible in your hands and in your heart—that is all you need. Seek out other Christians who will show you the Word of God, not the fear of hell. Read, study, and never stop learning.

Many non-believers perceive religion as cold or judgmental, but this perception changes when they witness genuine acts of love. Saint Paul reminds us in his letter to the Corinthians: “If I have all faith, so as to move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing” (1 Corinthians 13:2). It is through love that faith becomes alive and transformative.

Ultimately, conversion is not something we can force. It is a gift that only God can give, but He works through us to prepare the way. When we live the Gospel with kindness, humility, and forgiveness, we invite others to experience the joy and peace that come from knowing Christ. Let us remember that it was through love that Jesus performed His greatest miracles, and it is through love that we, too, can lead others to Him.

[biblequotesdaily]

So when they continued asking Him, He lifted Himself up and said unto them, “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.”

John 8:7

Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

Matthew 7:1 & 2

You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge another, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things.

Romans 2:1

Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!

Isaiah 5:20

[theprettynosferatu]

Note: This is not a kink story, it's a psychological horror story. Still, I hope you'll enjoy it! The character of Shaun was created by hTheconqueror.

I

Beyond the door, the party rages on. Shaun wants to go back, desires it with the kind of longing women expressed in letters to their boyfriends at war, long, long ago. Instead, he looks at the mirror. The bags under his eyes. The stubble. The sheen of insomnia and alcohol coating his eyes. He feels as if he wears his sins on his very skin. How others can look at him and not notice them is a mystery to him. 

Lucille would notice them, if she saw him. She wouldn’t say a thing, of course. But she would give him The Look: that silent judgment their parents had perfected and passed on to their golden child, their pretty, demure, perfect daughter. Shaun could see her in his mind, head down in the books, taking notes, repeating out loud the key points of the topic at hand. He feels his chest tightening, his feet growing cold, something like a slug crawling up his spine. He should be doing the same thing. He should have devoted more time to his studies, to avoid the need of a late term crunch. He shouldn’t be at a party. 

He tries to push the guilt away. What good will it do now? He’s here. He should be enjoying himself, like everyone else out there. Way to go, kiddo. Locked in a stranger’s bathroom, not doing what you should do, not doing what you want to do- or what you think you want to do to avoid facing what you should do. Fucking grand champion you are. The thoughts come to him unbidden, solid like stones. Well, let he who is without sin cast the first one. Shaun sure as Hell isn’t without sin, but that doesn’t keep him from stoning himself. Do the voices sound more like his parents or his sister, he wonders. 

He knows he’s spiraling. And the only way to keep it from getting even worse is to ignore it all. Get out there, try to regain some of that enjoyment, of that being-in-the-moment. Yes, ignore everything. That has worked so, so well.

Fuck it. There’s a party out there, and Shaun intends to enjoy himself. He takes a deep breath, counts to five. Exhales, counting to eight. Waits for a count of three. Inhales again, repeats the process until he feels like something close to himself. The door handle reminds him of the coat of sweat on his palms, but he chooses to ignore it. He can fake it until the pleasure becomes real again, the laughter sincere.

The smell of weed is almost overpowering, even with the windows cracked open. He wishes, just for a moment, that he could partake in that particular vice. It feels so seductive to just smoke his worries away. To let go of his own need to keep a grip on things. But he knows he won’t do it. There are sins and there are sins and his family has put the fear of God and Drugs deep inside him from birth. Just getting drunk is a transgression he knows he’ll pay for in both hangover and shame soon enough. He suspects he might be getting a contact high for a moment, before remembering that his stupid brain doesn’t need chemical assistance to go into full alert for no reason.

And Shaun is certainly going into full alert. Like machine gun fire, details and sensations batter down his senses. The way a ring sparkles, reflecting the cheap LED strips that provide so-called “ambiance” to the house party. How a girl to his left lets loose a little sort of yelp every time she laughs. Slightly crooked glasses frames on running makeup. One of the speakers failing, distorting the high-end of the music. The scent of butane from a guy playing with a lighter. An amorous couple in a dark corner, his face buried in her neck. The taste in the air of slightly charred brownies. Everything is too near. Too clear, and at the same time, slightly warped, as if coming to him from behind a subtle veil. 

Then the battle begins. Shaun would welcome the distraction, if only the intruder’s shirt wasn’t a hideous Hawaiian mess of clashing colors that is, in itself, an attack on everyone watching in general and Shaun in particular. The Man in the Shirt is arguing with the frattish kid manning the laptop and blasting the kind of music that commands the listener to dance and have the night of their lives. Some wasted chick tries to ride in aid of the poor, besieged DJ. One of her stockings has run down to her mid-thigh. Shirt Man seems to be shouting. Shaun half-wishes he could know what he’s saying, while part of him is grateful for the distance sheltering him from both words and the full effect of The Shirt. Eventually Shirt Man prevails, and DJ Kid cuts his losses. Shaun feels like he’s melding with the wall. 

Shirt Man seems to have interesting tastes. All his songs seem to be from between 1982 and 2001, no further. The crowd is most certainly not feeling it. Shaun feels invisible, watching just as a scientist would observe a primitive tribe. No one dares challenge Shirt Man, who appears to be getting more and more angry at the people’s lack of enthusiasm for his musical selection. Shirt Man’s eyes scour the living room, studying every reaction. When they set on Shaun, a chill goes down his legs and he looks down. Don’t look at me, Shirt Man. I can’t stand to be looked at right now. Focus on your own shit, man. People are leaving.

Shaun decides to leave as well. It feels like defeat. Unable to do productive things. Unable to relax like a normal goddamn person. Failure. His exit has the taste of punishment- not by the hand of God but by his own, shaped and molded by God’s rules. Or his parents’ rules. Same thing, really. 

Outside, the moon appears to watch him with bemused indifference as he walks back to his apartment.  

II

After three sleepless nights, Shaun decides he hates the sun, that unblinking eye, like God’s gaze, casting light on his every sin. He knows it’s irrational, but he can swear there’s a mark on him, a malaise that everyone can see. He’s stained, polluted. Broken.

He wants to tell everyone to stop looking at him. He wants to punch his roommate Raul for putting him in this situation. A walk would be good for you, man. Yeah, right. 

He’s being unfair. He knows it. Raul is worried. Shaun wishes Raul would just leave him the fuck alone. But then again, what good would that do? Three days of supposed crunch, and nothing to show for it. Every second brings him closer to a final deadline that looms, in his mind, with the mortifying certainty of death. He knows it’s not a life or death situation. He wishes he could convince his chest of that fact, but his heart keeps pounding away in a mad frenzy.

Everything around him feels unreal. Distant. The street is a mess of color and movement with no meaning. His steps lead him nowhere. He wants to be inside, anywhere with four walls and a roof- like a womb, or a safe bubble. But he knows the instant he finds a place, he will feel claustrophobic, with every nerve ending screaming to get out. No peace indoors. No peace outdoors. Sweating like a condemned man walking up the gallows.

Insomnia is one hell of a mindfuck, he thinks. Hours spent reading books, only to not recall anything except a phrase here, a fragmented piece of a diagram there, half a definition of a term he should know, but can’t recall. A waste of time. Unable to sleep. Unable to be productive. Utterly useless. Even his perception is misfiring- startled by something moving right at the edge of his vision. Something that isn’t there. At least out in the sun he’s not scaring himself to death with imaginary phantoms. No, he’s scaring himself to death with real people, looking at him, seeing him in all his pathetic mediocrity. Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself. So you have a final. Boo-fucking-hoo. There’s people out there with real problems. What right do you have to collapse over a task so simple your sister could do it without breaking a sweat? She has been through shit too, you know. And you don’t see her fucking up her life- and you, bucko, are fucking up big time.

Ice-cream. The thought appears like a raft in the middle of a storm. If anything has remained true in Shaun’s life, is that ice-cream makes everything better. Despite all the changes, despite moving across the world with his family, despite his constant shortcomings as a person… ice-cream is always there.

He looks at the list on the wall. The ice-cream parlor feels small. Oppressive. The words seem to slide right off him. None of the flavors seem appetizing in the slightest. Shaun tries to remember what each of those words tastes like, tries to figure out what he wants. What the fuck does he want? Shit, shit, the line is moving too fast. The girl behind the counter looks bored out of her mind. Don’t look at me. Don’t see me. Don’t see my failure. 

He ends up ordering almond chocolate, just because it was his favorite as a kid, more as a reflexive action than a real choice. Anything to get out of there. Anything to get away from the girl’s eyes.

He’s eating ice-cream on a park bench. Alone. It tastes like nothing. His mind keeps racing as he devours the treat, not taking the time to enjoy it. Not that there’s anything to enjoy. It’s just… ice-cream. How stupid is he? Why did he think ice-cream would solve anything? How pathetic he must look, he figures. Eating his sad little ice-cream by himself. People must pity him. He can almost feel their disdain as they walk by. He deserves it. He deserves their scorn.

Well, great job, Ice-Cream Boy. You can’t even relax right. Let’s add this to the ever-growing list of your failures, shall we?

It sure feels like a failure. Shaun wonders back home, trying not to look at people’s faces. Maybe he’ll be able to nap, he figures. Yes. A nap would fix him. And after that, he could truly buckle down and study. That’s the ticket.

He wishes he could believe it.

III

A restless, half-sleep. Exhaustion closes Shaun’s eyes. Before he knows it they spring open, his heart beating as if he’s falling into an endless, merciless void. He’s sweating. His sheets feel like a thousand hands suffocating him. He tries to take slow, calming breaths. He puts on relaxing meditation videos on his laptop. He tries to push it all down, to go back to something resembling normalcy. His eyes close and he drifts to sleep, only to wake up again with a scream stuck in his throat. He realizes he’s too tired to actually scream, even if he wanted to. Time gets fragmented. A wink can take an hour. An hour can feel like a week. Blood rushes through his veins. He needs to escape, but there’s nothing chasing him, nowhere to run to. Anywhere he goes, he will be there. He can’t escape himself. The thoughts come to him, taunting him. Birds start chirping outside, announcing the dawn to come. He hates them. They sing his sleepless night. They mock his failure to sleep. He sits up, shaking. It’s there again, just… there, at the edge of sight- some blur of clashing colors that vanishes as soon as he tries to focus on it. There’s nothing there, boy. Your mind is too tired to make sense. You can’t trust that rusty tangle of cables you call a brain.

Part of him wishes Raul would wake up. Wishes he could tell him how fucked up he’s feeling. Wishes his roommate will somehow find the exact words to make it all better. Oh, you sound like a kid longing for mommy. How pathetic can you get? As the first rays of sunlight slither through the window, he gets up. He needs to be out of his room. Anywhere else will be better. Oh, you idiot. Anywhere is the same. He shambles down the hall, collapses on the couch. Broken. Broken. Broken. The word gets stuck in his head, an endless loop shutting out all hope. The ice is cracking, little broken boy. You’re going under.

“Hey. Did you sleep on the couch?”

Shaun wishes that was the truth. Raul is looking at him with a degree of concern that feels both frightening and somehow insulting, like Shaun is transparent, all his fucked up thoughts plain to see. Don’t. Look. At. Me.

“No. I just… I…”

“Hey. Shaun. It’s okay. Did you manage to get any sleep? At all?”

“No.”

“Shit.”

The silence grows heavy between them. Maybe it’s a male thing, Shaun half-thinks. Maybe Raul is particularly ill-equipped to help. Maybe Shaun was deluded in his desperate hope. His friend won’t help. He can’t help. No one can help.

“I think… there’s something wrong.”, Shaun manages to get out with a shivering voice.

“Well, of course. I… Maybe you can just not turn in that final… it wouldn’t be, you know, great, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Maybe you’ll have to retake that course, but…”

“It’s not just the final.” Shaun says, oddly feeling the absence of an anger he knows he would normally feel. “It’s something else. Something… I don’t know how to explain it…”

“Just do your best, man. Lay it on me.”

“I think I might be going crazy.”

“That’s a big, you know, like a big-big statement”

“Yeah. I know, but…”

“And not sleeping is not always a sign of madness, right?”

“Sure. Whatever. Raul, listen. It’s not just the insomnia, okay? I’m being serious. I’m… seeing something.”

“Something? Seeing what?”

“I… I don’t fucking know, ok? It’s just, like… a blur of swirling, clashing colors, except they’re not there if I look at them. I know I’m making zero sense, but… I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s this color that’s not a color, and it’s watching me. I feel how… petty it is. How cruel. And it’s always looking at me, always there, all night, just… watching.”

Raul is scared now. It’s obvious to Shaun, no matter how much his friend tries to hide it. Eyes darting around the room. His tell-tale leg bouncing. He’s afraid. Not of Shaun, not of the being haunting him, but for Shaun. It feels worse than anything else, and yet even the self-pity Shaun experiences is strangely… dull. Like a shadow of a feeling. 

“Look, man, just… stay here, okay? Rest up. I have to… I have to go to work, but when I come back we’ll figure it out. I think I have some pills somewhere that…”

“No pills, please. I…”

“What, could they make you feel worse? How? Look, they’re just normal anxiety pills. A lot of people take them every now and then. You need to sleep, man!”

Shaun can’t fight him. He shakes on the couch as Raul opens drawers and looks inside bags, until he announces his triumph with exaggerated, theatrical gestures. Shaun figures Raul is trying to pretend things aren’t so bad, and failing badly at it. Fine. Pills it is.

Raul leaves. Shaun shakes, covered in sweat. The pills kick in quickly, sending him into more restless not-sleep. He blinks hours away. He wants to scream and cry and end it all. The only thing he can do is stay there, on that damn couch, shaking.

IV

A hand on his foot rips him from a nightmare. There’s a mixture of feelings inside Shaun: a faraway, muted safety, almost as if that single hand was the one thing holding him together lest his chest explode; at the same time, a profound misery and some remnants of anger try to surface once he realizes who the hand belongs to.

“Hey.”, says his sister.

“Why are you here?”, is all Shaun can muster. Rude. Petty. Pathetic. Lucille should be acing tests. She should be doing whatever it is perfect fucking people do. Instead, his sorry state has brought her here. Wasting her time. She really is wasting her time, isn’t she? You’re not worth her time.

“Raul texted me. Said you were sick- didn’t go into detail but he seemed really freaked out. Did you see a doctor?”

“I’m not sick. I’m… I’m not okay, but I’m not sick. No point in seeing a doctor. They wouldn’t be able to help.”

“Okay… it’s a… psychological issue. So what? There are doctors for that too, you know. And… I mean, do you want to talk about it?”

“What’s the time?”

“Sorry?”

“What time is it, Lucille? Is it night already? I have no fucking notion of… it’s just… the fucking pill Raul gave me, it made me all loopy. I’ll… I’ll be fine, okay? But… is it night?”

“Why? What happens at night?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. But it’s worse at night. The thing, it- nevermind.”

“The thing? What thing? Look, I get it. You don’t want to talk about it, and you certainly don’t want to tell me about it, but there’s nothing to be ashamed of, okay? Whatever it is, whatever you’re… sensing, or seeing, or feeling… you can tell me. If you broke a leg, would you be embarrassed to see a doctor? This is the same. The brain is an organ and it can-”

“Look, Lucille, I appreciate it. I do. But I’m not dealing with a bone here. People don’t… you know, when you have a cast on your leg. And anyway Raul should be home soon so he…”

“Yeah, he, um, he’s gonna crash with some friend tonight”

You scared him. He can’t stand being near you, you crazy freak.

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay with you, if you’ll let me”, says Lucille. Oh, good. Girl is going after all the good Samaritan points. Shaun is too tired to argue, but he’s not about to spend a night with the living embodiment of everything he has failed to be. He gets up, dizzy- fucking couch. He hates the couch. Hates that he spent all day on it. Hates that Lucille saw him that way. Hates her. Hates himself. And yet only the last part feels truly real. The rest is less an emotion and more a secondhand telling of an emotion, or an emotion described by a particularly lazy narrator. A silhouette of where an emotion should be. He gestures at the fucking couch.

“You can… there. I’ll… just go to bed”

He shambles back to the room. Closes the door. He needs to be alone. He needs to rest. He needs to get his head straight, somehow. He needs to show Lucille he’s not some pitiful, crazy, charity case. If only he could calm his mind, have some proper sleep…

He’s on the bed. Did he fall? No. No, he was pushed… by… colors. Pushed by colors? That’s insane. A scream dies in his throat as a weight pins him down and a single second of pain assaults him, like syringes in his neck…

Then, peace. Simple, complete, blissful peace. His heart rate slows down. His breathing steadies. He feels as if he’s floating. Light. It’s okay. Everything is okay. Everything will be okay. His heart slows down more and more. Good. Things start going dark. That’s fine by him too. 

Suddenly, his peace is ripped away. The figure towers over him, flushed, rejoicing. Colors that slowly start making sense. The ugliest Hawaiian shirt he’s ever seen. Then, the Shirt Man smiles, his pupils like needlepoints. 

“Still not enjoying my tunes, asshole? I saw you, staring at me. Yes, you freak. Freak. I’ve felt that fucking brains of yours. Didn’t have to twist too much, didn’t I? Mr. Too-Good-For-Your-Music. Mr. Too-Classy-For-Your-Shirt. That’s what you thought, wasn’t it? What? Too sexy for this shirt? Too sexy for this shirt? Right Said Fred, ninteen-ninety-fucking-one! You uncultured swine! You fucked up freak! I barely had to break you! You were already broken! I like that you’re bro-ken…”

Shaun is too weak to move. Shirt Man is dancing. Shaun can’t tell if the creature is screaming or whispering. He seems to be doing both. Darkness crawls from the edges of his vision. He wants to scream for help. He can’t. Too tired. Too late. Failure. As usual.

“And now you die. Die-die-die! It’s shutting down. I can hear it, you know? It’s slowing down- your heart. Your breaky-achy-heart, bozo! No tomorrow… no tomorroOooow…”

Somehow his singing hits every note but the right one. Shaun can’t help but notice. It’s all so ridiculous. This is how he dies: serenaded by an off-key creep in the most offensive shirt ever manufactured. A smile almost forms on his pale lips.

“What’s so funny? I’m funny? Funny? You’re dying and you find it funny? No, no, no, you’re mocking me! Still! Still! You’re dying and you’re mocking me! So cruel! I gave you my gift of illumination! I made you see the world, feel the world how it truly is! And I’m giving you an exit! And you mock me? I give you all a boy could give you! Oh, tainted fuck! No. No, no no. I take it back! You don’t deserve an exit!”

Shirt man bites his own arm, and pushes the bloody wound on Shaun’s mouth. Shaun’s out of it, almost like he’s watching a reaction video of someone watching the scene. His lips part, almost by instinct.

“Yes! Do it! Feels good, doesn’t it? Celebrate good times, come on! Celebrate forever and ever and ever, you pathetic clown! No rest for the terminally classless!”

It’s fire. It’s a spring in the desert. It’s a lover’s caress. It’s a mother’s hug. Shaun drinks it all in. When the arm is pulled away, he convulses on the bed. Death. Finally.

“There’s nothing left to do but say goodbye…”, laughs Shirt Man.

V    

A blast to the chest. Shaun feels as if he’s having a heart attack- a feeling that vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving behind barely an afterimage as something else, something more urgent, pulses inside him. He can hear something pounding, so close, almost as if it’s beating the insides of his skull.

His eyes open and a tidal wave hits him. The moonlight shimmering on every speck of dust floating in the air around him. The breathing of the neighbor’s dog. The stench of a long-forgotten chip under the bed. It’s all too much. Too much. Shaun wants to just curl up on the ground and let everything wash over him. To just… not be there. 

But he can’t. The pounding is getting stronger. It demands something from him. What, he cannot tell- only that a scent is coming from the living room, beckoning him, conquering every other emotion until his existence is reduced to a constant, meaningless barrage of stimuli. The creaking of his soles on the floor. The almost painful coldness of the door handle. The sweet, sickly perfume of shampoo, applied earlier in the day. The glint of half-formed tears in a pair of eyes. The slushing of blood coursing through veins. And the pounding of a heart, quickly accelerating. There’s nothing else. Nothing to think, nothing to consider. No hope to stop what’s going to happen. Nothing but red.

Elation. Peace. Ecstasy. Everything he could ever want or need, the only thing that matters, that will ever matter. It comes in delightful waves, coming slower and slower to Shaun until his heavenly tranquility fades away.

She looks too white, almost hurting his eyes. Shaun can almost see how cold his sister’s body is. The almost invisible marks he left on her neck. 

No. It’s not real. Can’t be. He refuses. 

He’s standing on a street he has never seen before. How did he get here? Dazed, he looks down. The red is too bright, strident, painful. The coppery smell, overwhelming. No, it can’t be her blood. How long was he… out?

A voice sings in the distance. Where? Shaun doesn’t know. He takes one unsure step, then another. Maybe he should clean up. Maybe he should hide. Maybe he should run the other way. But the song beckons, the night awaits, the city wears a new vibrancy. Step by step, he goes deeper into the maze of alleyways, one hungry shadow among many.

His heart is not beating. He knows it. And yet he can feel the tension in his chest, like the pain from a phantom limb. He can taste his sin like tar in his mouth. He feels hollowed out, and the space of what he once was filled by the dense fog of shame. He follows the song. There’s nothing else for him to do- and part of him hopes and dreads that the silent melody will lead him to another few precious, terrible moments of sweet, red relief.

Did you like this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

[amelisenta]

People, look around, where is this world heading... Look how hypocritical you have become. You are ready to destroy a person, to crush him morally. And for what? For unsubstantiated nonsense, from some unknown women, who were published by only one!!!, one single podcast, and the rest only picked up AFTER the projects were cancelled, against the backdrop of these rumors. The investigation is closed, there was no trial. There is nothing. So on what basis do YOU have the right to judge him? You, excuse me, who?! Judges, to judge? Or maybe you are a god, to punish? You are drowning in your anger, wishing death to Neil, demanding that his name be erased, demanding that his works not be read. And by what right do you demand all this? By what right do you pretend to be executioners when you are not? You claim that you love #GoodOmens, that you love an angel who has mercy, that you love a demon who, despite everything, stands in defense of everything that is dear to him... But you... All of you, you, are unworthy of this... You are worse than Hell, worse than Heaven, and worse than Metatron put together. Why? Because you literally erase a person from life, like from that notorious Book of Life in the series, when his guilt has NOT BEEN PROVEN! NOT CONFIRMED BY ANYTHING! There is nothing but vague, murky stories that are more like nonsense. And because of such strange accusations, in the end, the REAL VICTIMS of sexual abuse may not wait for help at all... There is a good phrase: "Judge not, lest ye be judged," and Jesus said: "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone." And you know, reading your posts filled with malice and hatred, I understand that you are all probably sinless people, since you wish death on a person. At the same time, I am amazed and ashamed of your hypocrisy ... A year ago, you idolized him, said that you loved him, that you were proud of him, and then, believing in unsubstantiated nonsense, like a led herd, you turned to the punishing inquisition ... You do not deserve to be in the bright fandom #GoodOmens, because you have not learned anything from this beautiful story. The only thing that applies to you is that you are just people who do all the bad things themselves. And this is very sad. You can hate me for this, but everyone has the right to their own opinion, and you have been expressing your toxic opinion for several months now, I, tired of being silent, spoke out now. Time will put everything in its place, and God will judge you.

[artandthebible]

The Woman Taken Taken in Adultery

Artist: John Trumbull (American, 1756–1843) 

Date: 1811

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, CT, United States

Description

Jesus and the woman taken in adultery is a passage found in John 7:53–8:11 of the New Testament.

In the passage, Jesus was teaching in the Temple after coming from the Mount of Olives. A group of scribes and Pharisees confronts Jesus, interrupting his teaching. They bring in a woman, accusing her of committing adultery, claiming she was caught in the very act. They tell Jesus that the punishment for someone like her should be stoning, as prescribed by Mosaic Law. Jesus begins to write something on the ground using his finger; when the woman’s accusers continue their challenge, he states that the one who is without sin is the one who should cast the first stone at her. The accusers and congregants depart, realizing not one of them is without sin either, leaving Jesus alone with the woman. Jesus asks the woman if anyone has condemned her and she answers no. Jesus says that he too does not condemn her and tells her to go and sin no more.

This episode and its message of mercy and forgiveness balanced with a call to holy living have endured in Christian thought. Both “let him who is without sin, cast the first stone” and “go, and sin no more” have found their way into common usage.

[emptyjanitor]

Ethics vs. Morals, Principles vs. Applications — in Christianity

Many people today confuse what the Bible says with what they think it means. Even well-meaning Christians can apply Scripture in harmful ways, thinking they’re being faithful. But to follow Jesus well, we need to understand the difference between morals and ethics, and between principles and applications.

1. Morals vs. Ethics (What’s the difference?)

Morals are your personal sense of right and wrong. They’re shaped by your background, your culture, and your conscience. For example, someone might feel morally opposed to alcohol, based on how they were raised.

Ethics are broader. They’re about what’s right and fair in a shared world, especially when people disagree. Ethics ask: “What causes the least harm? What protects human dignity?”

So:

Morals = Personal convictions

Ethics = Shared responsibility to do good and avoid harm

2. Principles vs. Applications (Especially in the Bible)

A principle is a core teaching or value—something timeless. For example:

Love your neighbor.

Seek justice.

Care for the vulnerable.

Tell the truth.

An application is how you live out that principle in a real-world situation. Here’s the key: applications can change depending on context, but the principle stays the same.

3. When Jesus Shows Us the Difference

Jesus was the perfect example of someone who honored God’s principles while applying them ethically—even when it upset religious leaders.

Examples:

Healing on the Sabbath (Mark 3:1–6): The principle was honoring the Sabbath. But Jesus applied it ethically by healing a man’s hand, asking, “Is it lawful to do good on the Sabbath?” He showed that mercy was more important than rigid rule-following.

The woman caught in adultery (John 8:1–11): The principle was that adultery is wrong. But Jesus applied it ethically: instead of joining in the stoning, he confronted the hypocrisy of her accusers and said, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.” He upheld justice and offered compassion.

Touching the unclean (Luke 5:12–16): Purity laws were a principle of the Old Covenant. But Jesus touched lepers—breaking those boundaries to restore human dignity. His application was ethical: it cared for people, not just rules.

4. Why This Matters Today

Sometimes people apply biblical principles in ways that hurt others—excluding LGBTQ+ individuals, justifying racism, or demeaning women—because they think they’re obeying God. But if the application causes harm, shame, or division, we have to ask: Is that truly faithful to Jesus?

Ethically sound application of Scripture:

Loves the neighbor, even the outcast

Makes room for compassion and growth

Challenges injustice, even when it’s “legal” or “biblical” on the surface

Treats people as made in God’s image, not as problems to be corrected

In Simple Terms:

Principle: What God values (love, justice, truth, mercy)

Application: How we live that out (and it can vary)

Moral: What I think is right

Ethic: What’s right for everyone, in line with God’s heart

If someone insists their way is “just what the Bible says,” it’s fair to ask: “Does this look like how Jesus treated people?”

That’s the test of an ethically sound, Christlike application.