#i have no salvation

[setewbro]

Kim Dokja Hiii

[egharcourt]

The Last Days of Judas Iscariot saying that heaven and hell are a state of mind and nothing can obstruct you from salvation and the love of God except your own guilt. And despair being such a dooming force that even if Jesus were to appear in front of you himself and repeatedly remind you how much he loves you, hell, he'll try to hug you and wash your feet even, you can't be let free from the prison of suffering that you've confined yourself in. All because you're so disappointed in yourself that you're gripping the bars refusing to let go. How you cannot love God without first forgiving yourself. How the ultimate tragedy in this poignant dark comedy of a play is that Judas' damnation comes not from the fact that he betrayed Jesus, but from his self-disdain and perceived unworthiness that he basically condemned himself into an eternity of solitary anguish. I can go on about this play forever and ever. Do you get it.

[lotus-pear]

what is childe doing in bungou gay dogs😟

[campfireofdreams]

"... hatred, friendship, jealousy, indignation, emptiness, love, sorrow."

[flonautilus]

Oops, my hand slipped. Late night doodle of @kevin-ibw's salvation hotel au.

idk why but their vox always reminds me of a hawk so i drew him perched over the city like one

ignore the background ignore the background please ignore the background

apologies for messiness

[grudgebird]

I've seen people say that Deku and Shigaraki teaming up to defeat afo allowed Shigaraki to die as a hero, therefore completing Tenko's dream before his end. But in my opinion:

Shigaraki being a hero because he gave social rejects a place of belonging >>>>>> Shigaraki being a hero because he punched afo.

Shigaraki did NOT die in an act that made Tenko's dream of becoming a hero come true. Tenko wanted to reach out his hand for the outcasts, not to punch evildoers.

This doesn't feel like a meaningful "coming full circle" for his character arc, at least not from that angle. Tenko was already living his dream by being a hero for the league!!! <3

[riayuun]

[shiikiyun]

I think something i don't often see in discussions about Futa's character is how, if you really take a second, he's kind of a people pleaser

He isn't so in a way like what Mikoto got going on, he does want to be around people of the same interests as him, and you wouldn't think he'd care about anything but authenticity if you stayed with the way he behaves on milgram. It is only when you think about him -in- those social circles he manages to get into that you can see him tweaking lol

I think the closest to see this that we have in milgram itself is that one interaction with Kotoko in which she attempts to debate how prisons respect human rights. Any other time he expressed his opinion/stance on things he was aggressive and maybe condescending to the rest because they disagreed with him, but the second someone agreed? Whole demeanor changed. Suddenly he didn't have much to say anymore and he just parroted Kotoko's words back at her. Why. If he has such a strong personality and mindset, why was someone validating his point enough to shut down his otherwise very firm attitude?

Futa doesn't go as far as to manufacture his every word for it to cause a positive reaction on others from the get go, but he does seek validation all the same. He braces himself for rejection by being loud and obnoxious and harsh until he sees a positive reaction and then is when he does a complete 180 to keep the other person in that place of validation. He is simultaneously completely bad at it though, but I never said he was good at people pleasing. Which connects back to what i've said before about his inability to fit in. Even when he thinks he's doing it right and he sees himself getting validation by people he cares about (in the case of his crime, by mimicking his friendgroup's method of "bringing justice" by calling out someone online, that same friendgroup following along and reinforcing the idea that he was doing it right), he ultimately fails anyway and loses it all over again.

In the end, he's just extremely socially awkward and anxious. It isn't in his nature to reach anyone else's expectations even if he genuinely wants to, so he'll either do what he can within his parameters (mold himself for his friendgroup of people he deems similar to him) or he'll avoid trying altogether because he knows he'll fail (what we see in milgram!)

It also shows how his yearn for a support system (t2 qna + mu's birthday timeline convo) isn't particularly new from his current circumstances, or why the only person he could think of when asked who he would want to see right now was his mom (who left so long ago he barely remembers her). He has just never truly had people that genuinely cared for him no matter what he tried to do to make himself likeable.

[corallapis]

No, never. Missy! I will never stand with Doctor!

[raayllum]

Rayla saying "But you're basically my best friend. I wouldn't let anything happen to you, no matter what it took" (Bloodmoon Huntress), and "He's my friend, my best friend" (3x01) and "I won't let anything happen to you" to Callum (6x01) and

[bruhstation]

you deserved better from me than an oversized uniform and a world full of troubles

[pcktknife]

fuck star rail for putting argenti in this quest lollllll

[midnight-mismanagement]

I’ve been thinking about That Church SceneTM and idk I think what hit me hardest was how Spike is talking about his former pre-soul mindset and how naive it is. He says “and she shall look on him with forgiveness and love and everyone will forgive and love and he will be loved” because while pre-soul he knew he was a monster and he knew he had done horrible things, he was okay with those things, he was a vampire after all, but he felt horrible for what he did to Buffy, but even then he still had a bit of hope. From the outside looking in, Angel’s soul seemed like the “button” for the “be good” switch. It would be the “piece that would make [him] fit” so he would be the “kind of man who would never [hurt her].” The “be a man not a monster” switch, that would make him be able to tell right from wrong and never hurt the people he loves anymore. But...the soul is not a “be good” switch. I don’t really know what the soul exactly is, since it’s never really concrete in the lore, but it doesn’t just make him fit, it doesn’t turn him into what he wants, but what it does do, is make him much more aware of himself and what he’s done, and he comes to the realization that no, there is no forgiveness. There never will be, he will never be worthy of it. He is condemned. He says “it’s okay now, right?” with hopeful despondency because he knows it will never be okay. Spike has always wanted acceptance, and love, and he sought it from places he would never get it, and now he knows he will never get it because he shouldn’t.

So when he goes up in flames by the end in heroic sacrifice and all that jazz, he’s happy he even got to have an ending like this, he’s finally doing something right. And when he comes back in Angel, as a ghost with no ability to affect the world around him (except annoy the crap out of Angel) he feels he is on borrowed time. In the moment of burning up, he didn’t have to think about if he would end up in hell or the aftermath, but with Pavayne toying with him, tugging him in to hell, it’s a slow torture of what he’s known all along, even if he didn’t fully want to face it. He is still condemned. And yet, given what he believes to be the one opportunity to stave off the inevitable for however longer and get a body, he still chooses Fred’s life over his own. And Fred tells him “you’re someone worth saving.” She doesn’t condemn him. She believes in him, like Buffy did, and this time it’s someone he doesn’t have a rocky past with or romantic feelings with, she just sees him for him and wants to help. And in the end he gets a body while she loses hers, and it’s because Angel and Spike did the “right” thing because it’s what Fred would’ve wanted. I think soulless him would’ve saved Fred, even if it meant condemning so many others. 

And on the day he thinks will once again be his last before the big suicide mission showdown (which he was the first to volunteer for), he doesn’t call Buffy to give her the pain of finding he’s alive only to die again, instead he goes to a bar and reads his poetry, the window into his shameful, soft soul that was stamped on and laughed at the last time he was a human, and hopes for acceptance. And he gets it.

[ghouljams]

Hi there lovely! 

I’ve got another Fleshsmith creation to bless you with on this fine day. Here’s the official artwork of the character, known only as The Drowned (though the people who survive encounters with it often simply refer to it as the Crocodile, for obvious reasons):  

This creature was originally a human woman, a witch. She was tried for the crimes of witchcraft and found guilty, the town’s people drowning her in the local lake. The witch was too kind to retaliate against the people she had protected and healed for decades, but her fae lover, however, was not so understanding.  

That fae would eventually come to be known as The Fleshsmith.  

Devastated by the loss of her wife and unable to let go of what she considers hers, the Fleshsmith made her first creation. Making a creature from bits and pieces of her lover’s body and parts of crocodile flesh. The soft, gentle magic and soul of her beloved witch is thrust into a body held together with fae magic, the two opposing forces constantly pulling and tearing at one another.  

Being her first creation, the crocodile’s body is held together with stitches, magic and a prayer. The Fleshsmith has since perfecter her art, able to create monstrosities with parts seamlessly joined together in unholy combinations. She has no love for humanity, only tending to her precious witch, while other humans are used as guinea pigs in her experiments.  

The witch is in constant agony, silently screaming as fae magic burns against her own. She wants to pass on and become one with the universe, but is held in place by her once kind Fleshsmith. After the centuries, her mind has begun to fade away, leading her to become more animalistic, seeking out her fellow magic-wielding humans to consume, hoping that taking their magic will fill the gaping hole in her soul.  

Other witches can sense that this is one of their sisters and some have considered trying to free her from her eternal limbo, but the Fleshsmith is not the kind of fae most are willing to risk crossing.  

MORE HORRORS I love them thank you, yes thrust more terror upon Witch she loves it(she doesn't, but I do).

tw for blood magic(do not attempt) and Witch cutting her hand.

The agony that goes through you when you see it nearly tears your heart in two. You grip your shirt over your heart, trying to control your breathing. It's awful. You glance at the water before you, the reeds that sway gently in the wind, the sparkle of sunlight on the surface. The dark cluster of woods on the other side, the trees roots reaching like sickly tendrils into the murky depths. Yellow eyes watch you, deep and dangerous as the teeth hiding under them.

You've never seen magic like this. Well, that's not exactly true, the bindings you know, the shell- the magic holding it together is in-elegant but you can parse it. It's the conflict between the host and the magic trapped inside it. Although to call it that is... it's like seeing blood smeared on the road and trying to parse what animal it used to be. A witch, you think, you hope not. She's like a pot without a bottom, leaking out foreign magic and tainting her own. Gods how could this happen?

You rummage through your pockets, hoping you have a candle or something that can be useful. Not to help your fallen sister, you don't think you can, but for your own safety. Your fingers wrap around a coin, silver, you can feel the pure metal meeting your magic. There's a pin on the waistband of your skirt, you pull it free and prick your finger, watching the eyes moving closer to the shore. You squeeze the sides of your finger and smear the blood over the coin, take a deep breath, and flick the coin on your palm to get it spinning. The silver circle wobbles, the surface uneven and impractical for this movement, but you urge your magic to wrap around it, and the coin spins. You let your hand fall at your side and it stays hovering in the air in front of you. Magic wrapped around your proxy, wrapped around you. With one finger you push the coin towards the water, let the proxy take your place and draw the crocodile's attention.

The crocodile's mouth opens, showing rows of sickly blood stained teeth. You crouch to watch it, crossing your arms over your knees. It's interesting magic, the signature of it is... hm. Unpleasant, greasy, it reminds you of the mimic that you dealt with not long ago. You wish- No, you can deal with things yourself. It'll be kinder if you deal with this yourself.

"I'm sorry," You tell the crocodile, hearing your voice echoed through the coin, "I usually try to avoid killing, and you-" You hold your hagstone to your eye with a sigh, watching the writhing red that holds the creature's flesh together, stitches infected with rogue magic, "-you're tethered to something I don't want to fight." Crones are always trouble, fae, human, or other. Stubbornly set in their ways, and too powerful to convince of anything different.

You can only hope the same won't be said about you when you reach that age. If you reach that age. That's looking less likely the longer your watch the crocodile, your thoughts churning with ways to help. Price is right, your heart is going to get you killed one day. You heave another sigh, scratch your head and try not to think about how smug he'd be if you told him that.

"Right," you stand, dust off your skirt and go to retrieve your bag from where you'd dropped it. There should be something in there. An athame maybe, hopefully some mugwort, or five finger grass. You should really invest in a mobile apothecary. You mutter to yourself, repeating your ingredients as you dig through the bag. The crocodile inspects your coin, the magic a distraction from your much more edible self.

"Just like blood letting," You mumble, tugging your blade free of its guard. You wonder if Price could get you some decent leaches. The silver reflects the anxiety in your eyes back to you, the blade's edge thirsty as you run your thumb along it. You frown, Price isn't going to like this, but the blade needs to know the magic it's targeting. He won't notice one little cut, probably.

The blade of the athame rests as gently as a kiss against the outer edge of your hand, against the meat of your palm. You press it firmly against your skin, the sting of it is unpleasant, and the churn of your magic focuses the creatures attention on you. The real you. Your blood flows into the divot in the center of the knife, and you're quick to pull the blade back with a soft word to stop the bleeding.

The crocodile moves towards you and you hold the knife out. A threat, but also a promise of assistance. As long as you aren't eaten. You coin drops from its hover, the magic depleted. You just need one good cut, one broken stitch. Then there will be somewhere for the witch's magic to siphon out. It won't bring her back, but it might give her a little peace. The teeth are back on full display, the hinged maw of the creature open for you. As if you might take it upon yourself to jump in, save your fallen sister the trouble of devouring you.

A firm arm wraps around your waist and tugs you out of the way as you swing your knife, and the jaws snap shut. You hurry with your hagstone to inspect the beast as Price swears at you. The words are unfamiliar to you, but the sentiment you know all too well. The crocodile hisses at you. Price growls back.

You think got one of the stitches, but you're not sure. You can see the frayed edges of the witch's magic pushing against the container's seams. It seems to radiate magic, spell half lifes sloughing off of its skin waiting to be replenished by any magic it can get its jaws around. You just needed one cut, just enough to truly let the magic trickle out.

"What the hell are you thinking?" Price yells at you.

"That I don't need your help to do my job," You snap back, struggling against his hold.

The crocodile takes a step forward and you feel Price's grip shift, hear something metallic click. "Try it." He growls out a warning to the creature. It shrinks back. You feel your heart sink watching the creature slink towards the water, obviously not eager to go up against Price. The arm around you tightens, you glance at his other hand, at the-

You shrink away from the firearm, pressing closer into his grip. Price doesn't budge, just shifts his grip on you and lifts you to hold against his chest. The crocodile looks at you, almost pitying, and turns back to the water. It knows well enough what fae do to the witches they keep.

"They're a witch Price, I have to-"

"Not anymore," He cuts you off, his voice sharp enough to make you flinch. He's never yelled at you before. There's a shift in his posture, you can't smell the metal of the gun anymore, you don't look for it.

"If it was me-" You try, only to be cut off again.

"But it isn't," He moves towards your bag, bending to grab it with his free hand, "and it's never going to be." He swallows something, some understanding that you can't parse. His eyes are hard when they look at you, he shakes you. "Got it?"

You nod quickly and he carries you over to your bag, only setting you down long enough to gather your things. You take his hand when he offers it. His fingers are firm, unyielding, they cage your hand like steel as he pulls you towards the forest. It's a beautiful sunny day, but snow is beginning to fall between the trees.

[macaronijail06]

Winter bird

[gavinom123]

Angry little guys who i love to torture