#a local saint'

[i-bring-crack]

Me and auntie trying to identify which angel the church painting is representing as if we are guessing which long haired danmei boy is this fanart from.

[cncdog]

i haven’t gotten my anger out in a while and im so eager to do it by pressing my boot into the crotch of whatever lustdrunk puppy wants to plop down on his knees for me. just to watch him hump my heel desperately and whine so i can have a good excuse to dig it in harder till he starts to whimper and cry. but i don’t need an excuse, do i? puppies are meant to be beaten and used— it’s what best for their dumb brains

[rocksanddeadflowers]

please consider: Galahad always carrying around rosary beads/prayer beads that carry the image of Merlin, The Hanged Man in the style of a saint or of a crucifix. Also he handmade the entire thing of beads btw.

[thermodynamic-comedian]

gertrude robinson is like joan of arc to me. agnes montageu is like saint lucy to me. i could go on but you'd die

[mazojo]

Nick be like being your simp is my full time job and I am dedicated !!!!

[jabberwockprince]

Salvation is all I can offer. I wonder if you could handle it.

Born and raised into a life of sainthood, Ophis’ access to the outside world had always been limited - but now, after being branded as a heretic, they’re free to roam Eridia to their heart’s content. Endlessly devoted to their church, and now carrying with them not only the gift of salvation, but their God deep within their flesh as well, Ophis eagerly searches for ways to expand their small, little family. 

Contrary to popular belief, Ophis sees their so called “Curse” as a blessing. Or perhaps a rather useful asset, should potential believers and devotees refuse their teachings. It’s safe to say that getting rid of their gift is not within their best interests, despite their complex relationship with it.

my Touchstarved MC, Ophis <3 but you can also call them Fifi, they think it's an adorable nickname! They're super normal, super well-adjusted, super stable in every aspect and super nice (only one of these is true, take your pick)

I have their sheet here but it's still a work in progress cause it's so hard to put thoughts into words, but feel free to take a look if you'd like to know more about them!

The template for the relationship chart can be found here, made by @laymes-art. The template for the blank touchstarved sheet in gdocs can be found here, made by me.

[foulbearobservation]

Lilith dies on a cold morning, held in the hands of those she loves.

Heat doesn’t bother Lilith anymore. A silent reminder that she isn’t dead. Can’t really say that she’s alive either, instead she’s here. Writhing underneath the frigidity of the divinium buried deep within her chest cavity. She can feel the heat building within her, an attempt by cells that are no longer hers to heal the damage.

Camila’s above her.

There’s blood on her cheek, smeared where Lilith had grabbed her. It’s small, dark red flecked in small stars of blue, just underneath the curve of a cheekbone. Discolored skin underneath her left eye, an angry red blossoming across her orbital cavity, her eye. She’s beautiful, distended above her, and some irrational part of Lilith wants to reach up and kiss her.

Fingers twitch within her, and her body reacts. Torso chasing after blood-soaked hands, begging to be touched, to be full of something. Lilith rolls her head back as smooth gloves trace over exposed scales.

A whimper escapes from parted lips.

“I’m sorry,” Camila breathes, barely audible underneath the steady and slow heartbeat filling her head.

“It’s okay,” Lilith gasps.

There’s a gentleness to the way Camila reenters her, reverence in her movements. Lilith feels her brush against the curve of her rib cage. Closes her eyes as another piece of divinium dislodges itself from muscle at the coxing of fingers. Shivers as heat rushes in to replace it. It’s warm and familiar and she wants to stay here. Suspended on the cusp of death, and she wonders if this is how Shannon had felt.

“Lilith,” the voice above her calls, a hand warm against her jaw. The blood’s sticky as it sinks into the pores, “Open your eyes.”

She obeys, simple and easy, eyes fluttering open to see Camila leaning over her. A slight indent forming across her forehead, Lilith’s hand comes up, draws a thumb across it. If only to soothe the skin, to say yes, I am here. Small stars blink to life across skin. There’s something striking as the blue reflects in Camila’s eyes.

“Don’t close your eyes please.”

“Okay.”

Another set of hands gently brings her arm down, they’re cooler than that of Camila. Gentle and firm underneath her scales as they crack a few. It burns as they brush them aside, a sudden cold wetness across the plane of skin.

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice whispers, breath warm against Lilith’s ear. Slight warmth builds in her stomach, heavy and hot, an inferno building in the cracks of coldness.

“Bea,” Lilith says, nearly begs as frigidity slips underneath her tissue. It sits cold amongst the heat of veins. A shock that would have taken her breath away if hands weren’t already wrapped around the smooth tissue. There’s a throb as it’s pulled as quickly as it arrived. Her fingers grasp at the curve of Beatrice’s hip, finding purchase against the bony portion of her crest.

Beatrice’s lips are warm against hers as she tugs the other woman towards her. Sweet as she remembers, not overbearing but pleasant like honey. Another divinium piece pulls itself from muscle, and she moans against Beatrice’s mouth. She follows those lips as her lover pulls away. Blue fills the cavity of the van as Beatrice braces herself against the ceiling. Constellations lighting up the night, strange and familiar, a latticework hidden in Lilith’s life blood. The bag of saline cascading distorted blue where Beatrice clings to it.

“I’m here, sorry,” Beatrice reassures, cold hands joining warm ones on her chest. Lilith shutters at the contact.

“Please,” Lilith prays.

Lilith dies on a cold morning, Camila’s hands buried deep in her chest cavity, Beatrice attempting to stabilize her.

She’s full as Beatrice takes over for Camila. Her fingers fishing for pieces of shrapnel. It doesn’t hurt as she would think, to be full of something is better than the relentless coldness. To be full of someone like Beatrice is all she craves, to be the center of her attention, on the other end of her knife point. It’s what she deserves, it’s what she was created for.

Her head rolls into Camila’s touch as her fingers drag across cartilage. Pads pressing into the pulse point, counting slowly.

Her heart stops, briefly, as Beatrice wraps her hand around it. It squeezes, stops, and there’s finally silence in Lilith’s ears. She’s not afraid. Dark red nearly black hands pull out of her chest cavity. Lilith watches Beatrice holds a large piece of shrapnel aloft, she wants her back. After a second, her heart begins to beat again.

Lilith tastes sweetness beyond compare as Ava leans over her. Lips soft as they take hers, hands burning as they rest against the sides of her head. Everything burning underneath the touch of scaredness. It’s gentle, the way Ava asks for more, how she hooks her fingers underneath the mandible. Heat racing with each kiss, settling into circulation.

Another pull, another bump as the driver turns a corner. There’s a whimper, a soft hush, and Lilith’s eyes flutter shut. Allowing the warmth of divinity to course through her, falling into the rhythm of Ava.

“Lilith,” Ava breathes in the moments she pulls away, “you’re going to be okay.”

Lilith dies with the small pinks of sunrise. Beatrice’s hands salvaging the mess of sinew, bone, and divinium. Camila, attempting to stabilize her, her hand grasp around the curve of Lilith’s wrist and cartilage. Ava putting her faith in her, coursing salvation through her.

Lilith finds salvation in the back of a van, in the hands of those she loves.

It's fitting then, that they do not allow Lilith to die in a way that matters. That they drag her back from the edge, as they always do.

Lilith wakes slightly at some point in the dark, when someone climbs into the hospital bed with her. She catches just faintly a soft, chiding, "Ava" followed by a sigh when the figure next to her doesn't move. A slight giggle from... someone (Camila maybe? It takes her longer and longer to put herself back together every time. Her mind always comes back to her last.) convinces Lilith's fight or flight reflex that she's safe here.

Lilith wakes, somehow alive, beautifully fully conscious at last, when afternoon light creeps through the curtains.

Ava is curled up under her left arm, drooling slightly onto her hospital gown. Beatrice has pulled a chair next to Lilith's bed and washed up. Her hands, now holding a book that she isn't focusing on, hold no trace of the dark red lifeblood they did in the van. She has her legs kicked up onto the edge of Lilith's bed, Camila is laying on top of Bea curled up in an oversized sweatshirt that Lilith vaguely recognizes as her own.

Beatrice is staring directly at her, book laid softly on Camila's back. "How are you feeling?" She whispers.

"Like I died and went to heaven." Lilith croaks out.

Lilith lives, then, in the way Beatrice's mouth curls into a smile.

"At least Saint Peter still has sense and sent you back." The joke is comfortable, a well worn exchange between them. "Return to sender."

[calentvre]

local sainthood (& martyrdom)

[chromaticlera]

Very low-effort comic about pebbles cause I love him

I have a headcanon that Moon sent overseers to watch him and make sure he was okay

[alrightbuckaroo]

Happy Wednesday, everyone! Thanks to @whatsintheboxmh, @heartstringsduet, @thisbuildinghasfeelings, @carlos-tk, @tarlosluvr, @strandnreyes and @birdclowns for the tags! Old West AU is trucking along so here's a little bit more of that:

“Hey Reyes,” TK leans his head back, and streamlines a release of cigarette smoke up towards the night sky. “You mind if I ask you a question?” 

“Strand, since when has my minding ever mattered to you?” Carlos replies before taking another sip of his soda water. 

Around the neck of the bottle, his fingers grow more and more damp. Condensation continues to act as a scapegoat; sustains itself as an excuse for why Carlos’ hands are suddenly clammy, why he’s suddenly nervous. 

TK doesn’t disagree with Carlos’ response, so he continues; asking the question that’s been on his mind for a healthy amount of time. “If you’re so devoted to your faith, why become a lawman? Why not a pastor, or uh, a priest?” 

Carlos takes a beat to think of answer; the firewood crackles, the crickets chirp and the late night breeze sings a song as they both remain silent. 

“But before faith came, we were kept under guard by the law, kept for the faith which would afterward be revealed; Galatians 3:23.” Carlos eventually answers, the verse being recited in a comfort that shows it’s been committed to memory. “My dad used to say it all the time when I was growing up.” 

Carlos pauses at his own mention of his father; referring to him in past tense nowadays is common, but not any easier. “I always understood it to mean that before we were gifted a guiding light; we, down here on Earth, had to be our own beacon.” 

“We want God to keep us on the right path and to not lead us astray. We instill a trust within Him that He will always do the right thing,” Carlos continues, further explaining himself. “I figured that, as a student of His teachings, it only made sense that I try to do the same thing.” 

“Just like your father before you,” TK remarks, and Carlos is touched. Touched that his father’s legacy no longer lies with just him. 

open tag! + no pressure tagging: @reyesstrand, @carlos-in-glasses, @bonheur-cafe, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @basilsunrise, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @paperstorm, @lightningboltreader, @three-drink-amy, @ravens-words, @wandering-night19, @welcometololaland, @rmd-writes, @ambiguouspenny, @freneticfloetry, @herefortarlos, @kiloskywalker, @mikibwrites, and @sanjuwrites :)

[mariocki]

Patrick Troughton lays down the law as Italian police Inspector Guido Gambetti in The Saint: Interlude in Venice (5.2, ITC, 1966)

[ajjordanphoto]

Saint Peewee performing at Bitchfest Week 4 at C'mon Everybody, April 2023

[shkika]

reborn slugo-iterator gang are cool

can they have neat adcentures all of them together?

I find it quite amusing how I made those old cats with the idea that they’d be alone on their journeys. Each is like it’s own individual au campaign. And yet everyone wants them to interact and travel together..

And honestly looking at what I have.. it’s not… impossible. So why not! That sounds like a good time.

[enbeemerang]

I think the best thing I’ve done recently was put a lttm print on my ceiling. Whenever I go to bed I can simply just look at her!

[soldier-poet-king]

People seem to have taken my 'medieval piety/child faith/stay in ur lane' vibe as an endorsement of the Benedict option and let me stay. Absolutely the fuck not.

I don't actually think monasticism is bad! It is extremely sanctifying for some!!! But the Benedict option as a dogwhistle for retreat from the world into insular communities and radtrad attitudes?? Hate that shit. I am in and, for now, of the world! I live here! Creation is good! No Gnosticism or Manichaenism here!! There is good to do here and now! Not just in some nebulous far off future!

It's ecumenical! It's universal! It's ignoring church politics, not because I'm horrified by the liberalism or w/e (actually be MORE extreme justice&praxis oriented thanks), but because they're exhausting and I'll never be able to change them and while everyone sits and argues about whether or not we ought to be radical, and to what extent, I'm going to go roll up my sleeves and try to BE radical. Dorothy Day 'everyone wants a revolution but no one wants to do the dishes' mentality.

[essektheylyss]

I was going to pack two books. I decided on a whim that I was also going to bring a third. I found out that Murakami's Novelist as a Vocation is finally in paperback, so now I have that as well.

I am always, if nothing else, painfully on brand.