#purgatory concepts

[purgatory-game]

Some more concept art along with an official design for Belphagor! (Headshot at least)

-Ivory

[alienssstufff]

q!carre time neow

[gooperts-gunk]

im so crazy over the tragedy of everything q!bbh does being under a demon pretense even though he's a fallen angel.

do u think he just accepts the demon label because it's easier. do u think he believes it too, and catches himself in his thoughts with "oh, right. im not exactly that". and maybe he believes that he did this to himself? do u think what he did was to protect himself or someone? no matter the fall, he still has so much kindness to give and his brain just isn't wired the way a natural-born demon would be, he can't hold back instincts when time demands it, maybe that's why he fell in the first place.

and when he's finally bad, not good, it's treated like the end of the world, without empathy on why he would act out. do you think this keeps happening? the same scenario, multiple times, every timeline? he has to be used to it. so he has to take it in stride. he's good until he lashes out under extreme pressure, and suddenly he's called demon. and once again he's what heaven made him out to be. what he made himself to be, his brain would ruthlessly provide...

i don't think he wants to be that, though he hides secrets behind secrets of which neither identity is a home... but i don't think he wants to have to change, either. and i don't think that's wrong of him.

...you collapse atlantis ONE TIME and all of a sudden YOU'RE the bad guy and SURE it was FUN but REALLY now,--

[werewolves-are-real]

Time Travel Temeraire snippet

At first, Laurence assumes he's dead.

It's a natural conclusion. He remembers dying, after all.

He and Tenzing were at a function hosted by Wellesley. They were mostly there to support the dragons. Temeraire had long abandoned them to quarrel with Perscitia in the courtyard, with half a dozen ferals watching like it were a jousting match. Wellesley had laid out his grounds to allow room for dragons and men to mingle, but a good portion of the guests retreated inside to avoid the raised voices of the dragons.

Laurence wonders how Temeraire felt about that, later. About not seeing.

He was stabbed. He barely remembers it – just a quick pulse of pain in his chest, looking down. Red blooming over his coat.

Then he was on the floor. People screamed. Tenzing appeared, grappling with a tall and finely-dressed man; he used a dinner-knife to punch a hole in the stranger's throat, in a fantastic spray of blood, and dropped the body at once to kneel by Laurence's side.

He remembers Wellesley barking orders – bandages, water, a hot knife. Have to cauterize it, he'd shouted. Keep pressure -

But Tenzing never spoke. Just pressed down on Laurence's chest, over the wound, without particular panic. Laurence still remembers the grim resignation on his face; Tenzing knew what was coming. Laurence was glad to have him there when he died.

Then Laurence woke up.

The world sways in a familiar way, a rhythmic motion that Laurence registers on a soul-deep level. He's on a ship. But why? Where is Tenzing, Temeraire? Why would they put him on a ship?

“I think the fever's breaking,” says a voice. A naval doctor, disheveled and salt-stained, with long scars down his bared arms. “Oh, and awake too!”

“Well thank Christ,” says another man. One Laurence recognizes.

It's Captain Gerry Stuart – but he looks different, younger than the last time Laurence saw him, with smooth skin and dark curly hair.

Gerry died two years ago.

“Well, Lieutenant! You gave us a scare – how are you feeling?” Gerry asks.

“It's Admiral,” Laurence corrects rather than all the other things he does not dare ask. He hates the title foisted upon him; but it's at least more comprehensible than Lieutenant, and he clings to that rather than demand where did you come from.

Stuart throws back his head to cackle, though the concern doesn't leave his face. “Still perhaps a bit feverish, I think!”

“That might be the laudanum,” says the doctor, also amused. “Why don't you sleep a bit more, Lieutenant?”

“But where is Temeraire? Or Tenzing?”

“I can only assume you had some very vivid dreams,” Stuart chuckles. “You were babbling and babbling for Temeraire – isn't that a ship?”

“Perhaps the flagship of his fleet,” suggests the doctor, and Stuart laughs again. “Get some rest, Mr. Laurence. Holler if you need me.”

They both exit the sick-berth. Laurence stares blankly at the door.

What?

Laurence pats his chest. No wound. He looks down, startled by the pale thinness of his fingers, his youth-soft skin.

Well; not soft. Callouses cover his hands. But even these patterns are different – hard skin in places where he would hold a sword, or pulls ropes. His hands should be more wrinkled, yes; but these callouses faded years ago.

“Where am I?” he asks when the doctor returns. “And what is the year?”

“The year? 1793. You don't remember?”

1793. Laurence was 19 in 1793. A lieutenant for two years, on the Shorewise.

The doctor narrows his eyes. “What's my name, lad?”

Laurence swallows. His stomach churns; for the life of him he can't remember.

The doctor rushes off to retrieve the captain.

_____________________________

Laurence is diagnosed with brain fever, and partial amnesia. Gerry is horribly guilty about laughing, earlier; Laurence could not care less. He is given strict orders to stay on bed-rest for another week, in hope his strength will recover – and his mind.

Laurence doesn't think he'll have any issues working – he's forgotten many of the people around him, true, but he may never forget the way to run a ship. He's far more concerned with learning what happened.

From all appearances, it is indeed 1793. France is undergoing riots, and declared war against Britain in February. Temeraire has not hatched. Napoleon is probably a corporal or general himself, at this point. If he exists at all. God knows, perhaps Laurence is only mad.

But he doesn't feel mad. His memories are too vivid to be mere fever-dreams. A man cannot dream up twenty years of life!

But neither can a man go back to his youth, and live it all again.

I have a dragon, he thinks of saying. There is no war, because I captured Napoleon – an unknown man who makes himself emperor.

Mad. It sounds mad even to Laurence himself. But to imagine that Temeraire was a fever-ridden dream... Tenzing and Granby and China, all of it...

Laurence doesn't share his turmoil with anyone – not even with Gerry, who checks on him fretfully. After a week the doctor declares him well enough, physically. He's paired always with another lieutenant for the first few days on duty, and his shipmates watch him carefully for signs of permanent debilitation; but aside from a moment or two of hesitance, Laurence competently resumes his duties. The oversight lessens.

Laurence thinks about writing letters.

He thinks about writing to Tharkay's late father, who ought to still be alive, inquiring after his son. He thinks of writing to Prince Mianning, asking about the health of Lung Tien Qian. He thinks of writing to young Midshipman Granby, his unwed brother, his dead father...

Not all of them would reply. But he could ask questions. Could verify the truth of things. Unless this, instead, is the delusion.

Is he in 1793, imagining the future? Is he in the future, imagining the past? Or maybe he is already dead, and this is the reality of hell. He came here burning with fever, and now he burns with fear. Surely that is it's own form of torture.

Laurence is ironically given the task of tutoring the midshipman and lieutenant-hopefuls more than any other duty as the weeks pass; his crewmates still look askance, and the more eager of the midshipman become protective. Laurence remains perfectly capable of command; it is only that he can't help but be absent-minded, sometimes, staring at all the crewmen that pass him like they are nothing but moving paintings. Images of a world that no longer matters.

One evening the midshipmen drag him away to a meal with the other officers. It's a noisy crowd; Laurence would find the friendly bustle comforting in another life.

One of the senior officers, Lieutenant Moore, waves him down as Laurence enters. Evidently they used to be friends, given his notably concerned behavior of late. Laurence can't remember the man, and has a sneaking suspicion he died too soon to make a lasting impression.Moore jostles him when Laurence sits at the long table. “Will! Did you get any letters with the last batch?”

A patrolling gunboat brought a satchel of letters just this morning. “I did not,” Laurence says. He's grateful for the fact. He'd found a few pieces of correspondence in his quarters that he dutifully sent on; he cannot imagine writing a letter now, in this confused state.

“Then you've had no news! Robespierre has gone mad. Madder than before, I suppose.”

“Robespierre?” asks Laurence blankly.

Lieutenant Moore double-takes, as does everyone else around them. “Good lord, Will, please tell me you remember Robespierre?”

Right... Robespierre's reign was brief, but this is when he led France. Some of the things the papers published...

Well, at least Laurence has a well-worn excuse for his ignorance. He plays up his malady: “Yes. I think I recall he was... French?”

Groans of horror mixed with amusement echo around the table. “...Well you aren't wrong,” says Moore, looking pained. “He has styled himself the 'President' of their Assembly, which is some stupid way of being king; the French are all mad about removing and adding words right now. I don't know how they expect anyone to hold a conversation.”

“We should... probably educate Mr. Laurence about the war at some point,” some midshipman mutters. Laurence doesn't recall his name.

Moore sighs again. “Anyway. Robespierre is a tyrant, of course. But he's elected someone else to rule France! Barely more than a boy, too.”

Laurence frowns; he doesn't remember what Moore's talking about. “Why would he do that? Did they capture one of the Bourbons?” Declaring himself regent of a child-prince would at least make sense.

“Well, at least you remember them. No; it is some nobody, a young soldier. Not even French! I cannot fathom it.”

It feels like Laurence has been dunked in ice.

For a moment he can't respond. “What was his name? The soldier.”

“Napoleon Bonaparte. He has been chosen as head of their new heresy, the 'Cult of the Supreme Being,' they're calling it; and now de facto head of the government, too. Must be a priest? I don't know, nothing the French are doing makes sense. I expect his little group will be as short-lived as everything else about these riots.”

But Laurence doesn't think so. “...Excuse me; I'm feeling a bit poorly,” he says, rising on wavering legs.

“Yes, you look it! Go on, we'll tell you about the war later...”

Laurence flees.

[splatattackz]

GUYS I WIN! WATCHER CONCEPT ART! CONCEPT ART IN GENERAL! OHHHHHH QSMP ADMINS YOU WANT TO RELEASE MORE CONCEPT ART... PLEASE.... FOR ME.......

[dimetrodone]

There’s 8 million analysis of HCA about his sexuality online but it’s shockigly hard to find stuff discussing his religious beliefs besides “he was very Christian”

He seemed to believe animals (and plants?) go to heaven, I want to know more

[unreachedgalaxy]

forever thinking about how the good place, in an effort to escape the reductive binary of heaven and hell, simply invented purgatory and called it a day

[gingerteaonthetardis]

TWELVEROSE/TUCKERROSE AU | The Communications Director & The Call Girl

[ID: a set of four gifs with edited captions to give the appearance of a phone conversation between AU rose and AU twelve/tucker. the first gif is of rose in the bath; her phone is resting next to her on a stool. she's captioned as saying, 'hello?' the second gif is a closer-up shot of twelve/tucker's face as he leans forward in his office chair. he's saying, 'oh, am i your booty call now?' the third gif is of rose leaning slightly closer to her phone, saying, 'd'you know what a booty call actually is?' the fourth and final gif is back to twelve/tucker, who seems amused and slightly offended as he says, 'well, i learned from you!' /END ID]

[oil-bh]

Do you think, when he was arrested, that Cell was seen as the same as any other prisoners? Do you think he resided in the same places, ate the same food, performed the same work? Do you think the guards saw him and his violent history and let him roam the same as the thieves whose POV we saw it through?

Or do you think they saw this barely 18-year-old, who turned to violence and cannibalism as a means to survive, and recognized the danger he posed? Do you think they held him down, fought against his struggle, and let the other prisoners know that he wasn’t like them?

Do you think Cell was confused, confused as to why he was so different from the other Brazilians that lived in those same conditions? Do you think that he saw them as threats not because they were ones, but rather, because he knew that they lived so much better than him, yet still wound up here?

Do you think this man— if you could even call this teen a man— saw JV, Pac, Mike, and Guaxinim as threats out of jealousy? Empty wishes that he could have lives their lives and made smarter decisions to be a free man roaming the earth?

Do you think he cried when they held him down and put that infernal thing on him?

Não.

Ele é um animal.

Os animais não sentem.

[vannessa010]

"Pac...?"

[purgatory-game]

Concept art for Raphael (ft. Recreyo to help me draw)

-Ivory

[seeminglydark]

Made this a while ago for PATREON just as a quick experiment of what Johns soul would look like in the In-Between, to kinda go with Caro’s (I’ve posted art of Caro’s soul before and ofc if you have read part one of Mil-Liminal you know this already!) johns version doesn’t have to make a lot of sense, someday it will, and ofc I love theories! idk if this art is canon yet, but in my stories your soul self carries the important elements of your living self. So I thought to myself, ‘self, what would soul John look like?’

Also I just wanted to draw angst layered on a thirst trap. C:

[hydriad81194]

okay i was absent for the start of the eggs event today in purgatory, and reading through tags I found Phil killed green stone egg (I think????)

And all I say is i like this concept. Other teams seeing how batshit crazy red team has gotten (pretty sure Baghera has chased someone with a chainsaw while laughing)

They’re so silly (they are actively sinning)

[shallowseeker]

This is the funniest thing you've ever said @ananke-xiii:

[Maybe] John wasn't a Led Zeppelin fan, he knew a few of their songs just fine and used his knowledge to court Mary (good move, king) and then went home, listened to all of their songs, learnt all their lyrics and shaped his personality so that she would like him. Here, I've said it.

And actually, that's pretty damn cute. Mary was so impressed with his passing knowledge that he rushed home to study his crush's interests so the date would go even better next time.

That's so John-coded (overpreparation).

///

But also. I love how this theme reminds me of some of the stuff I write about Harper Sayles and the ghost of "imaginary lovers that never let me down."

Perhaps even John couldn't live up to the idea of John, like Vance could never be the Vance of Harper's expectations (which is, incidentally, why Harper kills him, forever crystallizing him in a Purgatorial "black-and-white," where he could never disappoint her).

This is also tangential to Cas and The Empty: "Come on, Castiel. Wouldn't you rather be a fond memory than a festering disappointment?" In the world of SPN, to live, to be REAL, is to be a disappointment. (Also see: All of Mary's arc.)

[ell-arts]

Does Hell and Heaven exist in your pmatga aus? If so, does the Netherworld count as it's own version of Hell or is it a separate thing?

If they're all separate things in your aus I'd be hocked! I'd love to see your interpretations of them!

I was writing a whole-ass essay to this question when I realised that I was drawing it out unnecessarily 😅 SO I've decided to rather move the bulk of what I wanted to write into a separate post that focuses on my headcanons for the Netherworld and its reason for being.

So, short answer:

Heaven and hell do exist in most of my PMATGA written work, but they are separate from the Netherworld, in which the Nether acts as a border between eternal life and eternal death. The Nether is where ghosts go when they are not at peace and remain in limbo (or have unfinished business, so to say.)

This is not comparable to the concept of purgatory though, nor could the Nether be considered an equivalent of hell, even though it may have similarities. The Netherworld doesn't qualify for the rules and definitions of purgatory, nor does it portray the same amount of suffering that you would find in hell. But I'll elaborate more in that future post about headcanons for the Netherworld.

On the other hand, I also feel a bit inclined to headcanon that the Netherworld is not the type of 'afterlife' that we think of when we think of heaven and hell - rather, I wonder if the Nether is just a different dimension entirely, and the only way to access it is either through portals or through an abnormal separation of one's body and soul (like bodystripping) in which a person's soul is trapped in a different dimension (Netherworld) while it's body remains unconscious in the former dimension (Pacworld).

So, to sum it up, I hc that Pacworlders do believe in a heaven and a hell, but the Netherworld is a separate realm that comes prior to any sort of final/eternal afterlife.

[lionheartedmusings]

one day they will all (and i mean all of them including blue) remember why the fuck they're playing this game in the first place (their children) and that is the day i know peace and will go back to following purgatory, bc my god. my god.