lord-of-the-glitches

[annoyedlord]

I wonder how my rp character is doing now

[puredoesnotmeankind]

People mad that Nia’s ‘evil version’ was just her being mildly snarky and angry did not grow up in religious households

[madbard]

Sanctity

A Killer Sans story.

Every child dreamed of the Angel.

When Sans was young, he had imagined it as a skeleton, beaming with all the radiance of the stolen sun. Each evening, he kneeled beside his father and whispered the poetic words of prophecy, voice faltering at first, then growing steady as the tale of the Angel settled firmly into his skull. Later, he would kneel with his brother while his father vanished into the lab. Each night, he dreamed of the moment when the Angel would tear down the barrier, at last letting the bright and deadly sunshine in.

Everything could be attributed to the Angel. If a monster was successful, it was because they had a place in the prophecy, an important role which would contribute to their eventual freedom. If a monster fell down, it was because they had failed, somehow. They were not the Angel’s chosen and would never be free.

(Did Sans have a place in that prophecy? If he was chosen, then why was he so fragile? Why would it be so difficult for him to make it to that future? Sans had asked his father that one night, after their prayer. Nothing would ever break that silence.)

When Gaster’s final experiment went up in flames, Sans imagined it made a light brighter than the sun. He imagined its light was like the palm of the Angel, taking his father with it – or casting him, finally, into the infinite darkness of the earth. He spread his father’s ashes on the remnants of the lab and then, as an afterthought, on his younger brother’s scarf. He laughed at the funeral, quietly. He shook the chill hands of fear and doubt from his soul. He had faith.

(Some monsters whispered that the prophecy had been interpreted incorrectly. They whispered that the Angel would indeed free them – that their dust would one day mix with the river and thus find its way to the ocean. Sans ignored them as best he could.)

When Sans was young, he had imagined the Angel as a skeleton. But lounging at his post one day in early adulthood, he was surprised to see it take the guise of a child. He was even more surprised when no one else seemed to see it for what it truly was. It turned to him, looked him in the eyes. Then raised a single finger to its lips.

Sans followed the Angel. He watched it navigate through each encounter with kindness and grace. He watched it befriend his brother, the captain of the guard, the royal scientist, and even the king. He watched it destroy the barrier and finally baptize his people in the all-destroying light of the sun. He felt its eyes upon him, and in that moment knew the gaze of something truly unlike himself. Come and see, those eyes said. He saw the prophecy come true.

He stood with his brother in the light of the Angel, the light of the long-awaited sun. For a moment, he thought himself in heaven.

Then he woke in hell.

That first time, he didn’t even see the Angel arrive in Snowdin. His eyelights flickered slowly as he wandered the icy streets in a daze. The air was still, and thick with a scent he refused to recognize. They had escaped, hadn’t they? After years of prayer and service, monsterkind was finally free. His mouth curved around a quiet, desperate prayer. This had to be a dream…

Just outside of Snowdin, he found his brother’s scarf.

Funny, how these things worked. Sans’ first impulse was to find the Angel. Something had gone wrong, certainly – something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. But he had seen the Angel treat his brother with kindness. It would have protected him… right?

Perhaps he already knew…

“Sans.”

Sans spun around, gripping Papyrus’ scarf. The Angel stood behind him, eyes almost as wide as its smile. A silver knife glinted in its grip. His whispered prayer froze as his eyes went dark. He stood still.

“what happened?”

“Nothing much. And everything.” The Angel stepped forward. “Give that to me.”

“where’s papyrus?”

“Free.” The Angel took another step forward, and Sans felt a chill creep up his spine. “You remember being free, don’t you?”

“i…”

“Don’t you want to be free again?” This time, Sans didn’t have time to respond. Its knife had already slashed through his chest.

The second time, Sans woke in the early hours of the morning. He took a shortcut into the woods, stepping onto the abandoned path which led to the hidden door. Even so, he didn’t quite understand. Even so, he didn’t quite believe. Fear made a nest in his ribcage.

This time, the Angel killed him first, separating his head from his shoulders, and Sans woke up back at home.

If a monster fell down, it was because they had failed, somehow. Sans fell again and again. Each time he died, the Angel would say something different, something new. It spoke of the sun’s rays, the way they warmed at first then burned and bleached and ruined. It spoke of the sins of the surface, the suffering of the Underground. It spoke of an endless loop, from which they would never be free. “Better to end it now,” the Angel whispered, wiping blood from its blade as Sans crumpled to the ground.

The loop continued endlessly. Bit by bit, Sans stopped praying.

The loop continued endlessly. He began to fight back.

The loop continued endlessly. The angel’s words changed.

“Do you know the difference between an angel and a god?” the Angel asked once, after Sans dodged its blade. Sweat dripped down his skull, and the air seemed to frost his ribcage as he gasped for breath.

“sorry. i god no idea.” The knife whistled past his ear, and a hushed “angel’s sake” escaped his mouth before he growled and swallowed the word.

“I’ll give you a hint.” It attacked once more, and this time it didn’t miss. It walked over to his dissolving form and whispered to him. “An angel is a servant. A god serves no one.” It stepped back. He died.

This time, the Angel approached him with an altogether different kind of smile.

“But what is a god without an angel?”

Sans said no in every way he could imagine. Loop after loop, death after death. He joked and danced around the question. He sent another attack. At his lowest, he pretended he hadn’t heard.

“Angels live forever.”

“when everyone else is dead?”

“Angels are never alone.”

“i wouldn’t be alone if it wasn’t for you.”

“Angels are powerful. They are beautiful and loved.”

“heh, that’s kind of a loaded comment, isn’t it?”

“Angels know their purpose.”

“what would a lazybones like me want with a purpose?”

“Gods are tireless. I can keep going forever, and nothing will ever change.”

“…”

“You were made to serve me.”

The funny thing about prayer? Repetition makes it meaningless. There is performance to it, certainly. There is what prayer symbolizes, there is the essential power of routine. But once the words become instinctive, the meaning can’t help but diminish. After enough repetition, prayer becomes little more than muscle memory for the weary. And when the weary recite it, how then can they hope to see God?

Sans kneeled in the hallway, bones aching, magic all but spent. Somewhere before this moment lay the memory of the sun, the way he had rested in its blinding light. Even before that, the echoes of evenings spent in prayer with his father, torn carpet barely cushioning his bones. Those memories were lost now, or buried. So many deaths – had there truly been anything before this? Could there ever be anything after? Sans didn’t know. Eventually, he no longer cared.

“and if i said yes?”

It paused and stared at him. A chuckle started low in its throat, stopped just behind its teeth. Sans wished he could feel a twinge of anger or fear at the sound. He just felt tired.

“Just for one round. Just to try something new.”

“somehow i don’t believe you.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that makes a difference.” The god stepped forward, knife glinting in its hand. Sans closed his eyes, waiting for the final blow. Instead, he felt the warm handle slide into his skeletal grip. “Go forth, my angel. Do as your god commands.”

There was a momentary darkness. He woke at the foot of his bed, hands folded. Eyes dark.

When Sans was young, he had imagined the Angel as a skeletal figure. After maturing, he discarded that image as a figment of childhood’s vivid ego. For a moment in time, doesn’t every child worship a god that looks like them?

Sans was not a god. Through the snow, the water and the flame, he became the angel of death. The flash of his knife answered prayers, scattered dust in the river that it may one day reach the ocean. He remained by his god, always. He watched, as if outside himself, as his knife found the faithful and the faithless alike. He watched his brother die.

“That prayer, in his final moments – you know, before he forgave and spared you. Didn’t you teach him that?”

“…”

“Aw, don’t be like that. It’s hypocritical when you’re the one that killed him.”

“shut up.”

“Ooh.” The god smiled and leaned forward. “But it’s new, isn’t it? Isn’t it better?”

“no. no, it isn’t.”

“Hm.” The god nodded. “Do it again.”

The funny thing about prayer? Its meaning is only found through repetition. Sans scoured through the Underground again and again, knife faltering at first, then growing steady as the path of the Angel settled firmly into his skull. He made a sacrament of death, and his god glutted itself on the dust in his path. He became something truly unlike himself – did that now make him holy?

Holy enough, he decided, waking among flowers with his soul burning bright outside his body, a strange tarry fluid dripping from his eyes. Holy enough for this.

It seemed to know what he was planning. At least, it didn’t look surprised when he brandished his weapon. Nor did it fight back. It only spoke. “You know, you were nothing before me. And you will be nothing after.”

How easy, to kill a god. In the end, how stupidly simple. The Angel laughed as he killed his god with its own gleaming knife, and it laughed too, bright blood staining its teeth.

“i killed you.” The Angel giggled. “does that make me god now?” The god lay still. Its chest had stopped moving a long time ago. The Angel finished his prayer anyway. He had to be certain. “actually, nah, not sure i like that… hey, i’ll figure it out.” The Angel rose to his feet, staggered a bit, then bowed his head. “go to hell.”

What is an angel without a god? From then on, the Angel drifted from world to world. He recited prayer as he always did, utterly divorced from meaning. His knife brought whatever his victims chose, and he learned to see the afterlife in their dimming eyes – the reflection of paradise or punishment, a final acknowledgment of the waiting dark. He laughed in the moment before a creature crumpled to dust – something about it made his soul sting, sharply. It made him feel alive.

Sometimes the Angel would glance over his shoulder, searching for his god’s approval. When he caught himself doing this, his posture would stiffen suddenly, and he would cease his prayer. In those rare moments, a victim might escape. In that way, news spread through the multiverse of his arrival – though ‘Angel’ was not the word they used.

Even to the multiverse’s darkest corners, the Angel slowly became known, and this filled certain people with a cool excitement. Gods watched on and wondered where his allegiance might fall. But this Angel had little patience for deities.

“Aren’t you just fantastic!” The Angel paused, then straightened, turning through the snow of decimated universe to face a small, skeletal figure, dressed in a stained scarf and splattered with ink. “A Sans who no longer believes in anything, but still sees himself as the Angel! A Sans for whom death has become prayer, because prayer never led to anything but death. Odd, definitely – I’d guess your creator was feeling pretty ambitious when they made you…” The skeleton tilted their head. “I’m not sure they succeeded.”

“who are you?”

“Ink! God of Creation. You see, I helped make this universe, so… whoa there, let’s not be too hasty!’ The Angel had raised his knife and taken a smooth step forward.

“god, you say?”

“Hm. Maybe I shouldn’t have said – wow, you’re quick!” Ink swung a massive brush through the air and the Angel’s knife skittered across the brushstroke’s obsidian surface. “Look, sloppy or not I think you came from a place of real excitement and love! I’d like to –”

Ink never finished his sentence. Blinking, the Angel darted around the obsidian shield and raised his knife to stab this god in the chest. He managed to spill a vial of red paint, so much like blood that he smirked, believing for a moment that he had already won. Retribution was brutal and swift.

The Angel no longer felt fear. His god had cured him of that, through the endless resets. Still, Ink’s rapid-fire attacks quickly had him on the defensive, constantly dodging and side-stepping to avoid strike after inky dark strike from the god’s strange weapon. Each time he brandished his knife, he was ambushed by a new attack from a new direction, all coinciding on his form as he struggled to fight back, struggled to survive.

Was this the true power of a god? Something cold settled in the Angel’s soul, causing it to fizzle. He began to seriously consider retreat.

But to where?

The Angel tried to step into another world, but Ink was on him the moment his portal closed, taking advantage of the snow’s blinding afterimage to dig a painted blade into his back. It was dark here, and cold – far colder than Snowdin ever had been. Another blow, and the Angel’s soul shuddered again. This time, he felt fear.

Was this it? Was this where he died?

Another blow.

Perhaps this was right. Perhaps this was what he deserved…

Another blow and sparks flew from his soul, igniting terror and pain. This time the Angel screamed. This time, his mouth shaped a word he’d sworn to never say again.

“ANGEL!!!”

Ink lunged forward, but before his final blow could land something warm and strong gripped the Angel’s ankle and dragged him into the infinite darkness of the earth.

When the Angel woke, he imagined for a moment that he was dead. His sockets could not focus because there was nothing to focus on – the world seemed to have vanished into a brilliant white expanse. He lay there, soul burning, weeping black, emotionless tears. A minute? A year? If the figure hadn’t spoken, the Angel might have lain there forever.

“Greetings, little angel. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The Angel leapt to his feet. Across from him stood a strange, dark figure. At first, he might have guessed that it was a skeleton – but a tarry black fluid not unlike the Angel’s tears covered every bit of the monster’s body, leaving only a single teal light to stare into his sockets. The Angel might not have recognized Ink’s power, but he could feel this monster’s strength – could feel it in the way the very air seemed to bristle against his presence. This was no mortal. This was beyond anything the Angel had seen.

“what have you heard?”

“In general? Ah, little one, that would require some time.” A fluid black tentacle slipped from the creature’s spine and wrapped around the Angel’s shoulders, immobilizing him. The Angel was still. “But you were asking what I had heard about you. So I will oblige. I have heard that you are a harbinger of death. Some have gone so far as to call you an angel, but I know better than that. After all, what is an angel without a god?”

“i already killed my god. i don’t need another.”

“I do not desire your worship. Besides, there is a title which suits me far better than god.”

“what do you want?”

“A fighter. Someone with little respect for the likes of Dream and Ink, who would aid me in destroying my enemies.”

“you want me to kill gods for you? i would do that anyway.”

“Well then, little god-killer. I have a place for you, if you’ll take it.”

“…and if i say no?”

“Then I shall leave you in the first universe that opens up beneath our feet. You will be free to cause whatever destruction you wish. But if you choose to follow me – oh, you will see and experience far greater things than you could ever imagine.”

“somehow i don’t believe you.”

“Very well. You may return to your dreary existence. But you are limited when you fight alone. You will be more powerful at my side.” The figure extended a tarry hand. “I am not like the other gods. I have no need for angels. But you aren’t exactly an angel anymore… are you?”

The god killer stared at the dark figure, stared at his extended, toxic hand. The dead grass beneath his knees felt like torn carpet. He remembered a different hand, a hollow palm. Prayer was simpler then. The words didn’t yet matter, not like his father’s cool hand on his skull, not like his brother’s chirping voice. The angel wasn’t present in that space. It was only them.

His soul flickered.

“no.” Killer rose to his feet, meeting those deadly teal eyelights. Viscous black fluid burned into his hand. ���i’m not.”

The prophecy was fulfilled. The Angel was dead. And for the first time, a prayer was granted.

End credits music:

[47crows]

Can you pleeeeease talk about your beautiful priest OC? :3

OF COURSE I CAN (°▽°)/)

(Rp partners read no further bc slight spoilers)

His name is Father Nicolas Leone, and he came to me in an actual dream that i had after a vtm larp.

(Baby’s first drawing!!)

During the larp, our prince recited the prayer to St. Michael the archangel and it was such a rad moment that i guess it followed me into my dreams lol. the prayer goes shockingly hard, and i included part of it in the description of the piece I did.

In the dream tho there was a blonde priest in red robes facing off against my lob corp oc Griffin (weird but he also has biblical references so i cant blame my brain for the connection) and during it they were both reciting the prayer of st michael as they moved in to fight. I just kind knew the priest was a vampire?? And when i woke up i was like I GOTTA MAKE HIM and my wonderful friends were like lets rp out his embrace and i was!!!! So delighted!!

So, his story thus far is that he’s a young and very aspirational priest who was given his first orders to revitalize the church in an unnamed city. The previous priest was Not a good person and so the whole thing was seen as needing a facelift after that guy went to prison.

Leone is a little bit of a stick in the mud and very dedicated to the church, perhaps a little too wanting of a grander position but very protective of his flock and over all a good man. To the point where he was actually being scoped out as a possible SI witch hunter. This boy has a level of true faith!! The church orders were sort of a test to see if he could manage his position before they introduced something to awaken him.

Then a couple of Sabbat vamps showed up and it all went down hill. They start remodeling the church to suit their own needs (plans to kill as many of the Camarilla court in the area as possible by using the church) and they start manipulating Leone and forcing him to break vows. It gets to the point where he cant tell what’s reality and whats a dream because of how they’ve twisted and hurt him.

His imbuing was a painful and extended trauma that broke his mind and severely tested his faith. And when he came out of it, he came out as two separate identities and two different hunters. Nicolas the Wayward and Father Leone the Martyr.

His story will end in tragedy, as many stories in the world of darkness do, with his church and his sense of self destroyed. The drawing is a representation of the manipulation and trauma he’s suffering. He’s looking up to heaven for help but in that moment, he recognizes that there is nothing there for him.

[dr-jonathan-fanshawe]

is god kind to you?

That depends on what you mean by "God".

I came into faith with my birth, and later in life denounced it, as I felt was my duty as a man of science. A man, now separate from my previous life, leaving it all behind. And I returned to it thoroughly humbled, pleading for forgiveness that I knew I had no right to. No, He did not hear me, did not save my soul – but there was nothing left to save. Is it kind to leave your child to his misery, to punish him with indifference for his hubris? I suppose not. But I do not think He is wrong for that either.

One of the commandments says clearly and plainly: you shall make no idols. But how do you know the difference between an idol and God? How can you not let yourself be fooled if a look upon his face fills you with warmth that you've never felt before, that you never were and never will be worthy of, that, no doubt, must be holy? Halos and streetlights shine the same way to the unenlightened – I disregarded both to gaze at the stars. I was treated kindly, but with the very same kindness that the shepherd shows to the lamb before slaughtering it, before... sacrificing it to the God that he worships. But there was kindness. For better or for worse.

I heard some acolytes calling the Dread Powers Gods, and if you are asking if the one that claimed me is kind to me, I have to cut you short – there can be no feelings. It is a purely transactional, mostly blind relationship. It has no virtues to speak of. Just all-encompassing, overwhelming hunger, a black hole at the back of my mind. It cannot be kind, but I doubt It would be kind to me even if it could. I neglect Its call way too often.

[werewolf-w1tch]

forgor to post (marked under read more for harsh colors/eyestrain)

[lasplaga]

「𝔖」 ( 6/? ) 𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐒𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐫, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐒𝐢𝐧*, 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬*, & 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 / 𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫.

*𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: I am vehemently non-religious & do not support the concept of 'The Original Sin', nor the implication of humans being born inherently corrupted, evil, etc. I also do not support Lovecraft's views & am extensively aware of the horrible subtext / implications his mythos or stories carry. This is a analysis branching from an observation / research standpoint & presenting what the developers created / suggested themselves. 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 :

If it isn't blatantly obvious, the names of The Saddler family were chosen upon baptism & initiation ( which is very common in religious communities / monastery sects ), they are not their 'born' names, which is why they encompass names from many different cultures & with biblical / religious connotations. Adam deliberately named himself after the first man for he was the first to develop Los Iluminados from the remnants of a MUCH older cult that deified Las Plagas.

It's important to remember they are as old as Progenitor & the parasite WAS worshiped by the first humans!

Adam, just the same as his biblical counterpart, was the 'first' human aware of God, as he discovered the vestiges of Las Plagas deep underground from the remains of a desiccated / fossilized tree, which in actuality was a primordial plaga organism. These plaga organisms are infamously known for asexually producing full-blown offspring SIMILARLY to insect Queens in eusocial colonies on an endless scale. In the old castle depths ( which belonged to past plaga worshipers ), a limitless supply of these organisms were discovered, a rare few belonging to The Dominant Species, to establish a natural caste system. Unknowingly to Adam, these few Dominant Species would have the capability to grow into 'pillars' or 'branches' of the very cosmic tree he worshiped.

Adam, upon accepting the 'traces' of God ( more figuratively, the tree of knowledge / enlightenment ), he was corrupted & tainted with sin, which is the essence of Las Plagas. The parasite is appropriately named after The Serpent / The Devil for this reason, for it instills VERY depraved behavior / madness that otherwise is not present in uninfected beings. The same is also said of his disciples who would have partaken in the parasite. Las Plagas, being BIOLOGICALLY INCOMPATIBLE WITH HUMANITY, will be seen as evil. You can argue that the parasite naturally wants to consume / infect others in order to survive, but it makes the deliberate choice to be cruel upon humans after learning / mimicking this behavior from humanity to begin with.* ( Which is a trope presented in The Thing 1982 )

*Las Plagas was enslaved & experimented upon by ancient Ndipayans, with Progenitor worshipers cutting down a primordial tree present within Kijuju, before the parasitic mutants overthrew & destroyed their entire civilization, then died / disappeared mysteriously themselves.

*The murals explicitly depict parasitic mutants, as Uroboros, T-Virus, G-Virus, etc. did not exist in the Neolithic Age. Fossils of them are also embedded in the walls / caverns of The Ndipayan kingdom, which confirms their initial existence there. If 5 is ever remade this will be subject to change!

Continuing on, Adam introduced death & sin into the world, more specifically Valdelobos, & possibly the rest of the world if Los Iluminados was not stopped on behalf of The Salazar's. This sinful nature also infected all of his descendants, as their cellular / biological changes were passed genetically. We can see as early as the 1600's they were already practicing human cannibalism, so these changes occurred in a very small number of generations, if not immediately.

In a cruel sense of irony, Adam ( Saddler ) is not estranged from the earth, he is biologically & then forcibly punished beneath it, growing a weakness to sunlight, as well as wanting to return to the depths where prior parasitic mutants resided. Returning to these depths & his descendants eventually forming an entire underground civilization has roots in Lovecraftian Horror with Deep Ones, a hybrid race which is born from humans & mutants, or only mutants between themselves. Initially, Ganados ( as a race, not infected after birth ) would have first been born from reproducing with humans, until little or none remained in their society, which was isolated from the rest of the world. Then, the parasitic biology became MUCH more evident, with sickly pale (or blue) skin described as 'hangyo' ( which is Japanese for 'mermen'! ), prominent hair-loss, discolored eyes, their bodily fluids replaced with this 'black water', growth of tentacles, scales & the inevitable coalescence of organs, etc. etc. As Capcom has used inspiration from The Esoteric Order of Dagon / Dagon ( 2001 ) film, as well as various other mediums with this brand of horror, it is no surprise their skin is compared to that of fish-men. There are also other subtle references to Lovecraftian Horror, such as the cosmic void, & these specific Las Plagas hosts desiring to breach the boundaries of space, LITERALLY!

By Adam ( & the other disciples ) accepting Las Plagas on behalf of it's 'gifts', he not only damned his entire bloodline to biological slavery, but innocent human beings to slavery as well for this otherworldly organism, suggested to have it's own plans or agenda with humanity, as if they exist purely to be tools to serve it's own purposes.

I don't think having a mutant race inherently evil in this universe is 'necessarily' a bad thing because it is countered by plenty of born mutants which are good, & good mutants which have killed other mutants which were ambiguously or truly evil. Las Plagas & Los Iluminados also serves it's purpose very well of representing forced assimilation ( in any form ) & what it means when humans become oppressed & can no longer express their individuality. & there is a CLEAR DISTINCTION between those who were prior human victims in each game ( the villagers / mineworkers / researchers of 4, the townsfolk / villagers of 5 ) & those of which who were born that way, such as The Saddler's, & the majority of the zealots / militants in 4. There is also no lack of representation of evil human beings either. Fundamentally, these hosts will behave differently because they are not a social animal ( unlike humans ), they are eusocial, thus they will behave on these eusocial instincts, which will be seen as alien / evil to us ( & when these behaviors are forced or coerced, it is evil ). To genuinely emphasize, they are intolerant of difference, non-conformity & have a blatant, terror-instilling fear of human individuality, there is no reconciliation or compromise to be found here, if you thought they were possible of redemption or rehabilitation :

In Japanese : 真に恐ろしいのは死ではない　…孤独だ. 聖体だけが その底なしの恐怖から人々をお救いくださる -> The truly scary thing isn't death... it's loneliness. Only the Eucharist can save people from that bottomless fear.

[britneyshakespeare]

throughout the series of drake and josh it pretty consistently implies that josh nichols is a christian (josh peck is jewish) and in the finale of the series helen (played by yvette nicole brown, not jewish[?]) is portrayed as a practicing jew

[azurexsnake]

Hawnestly, there’s a million-and-one points that I’d love to punch Knives in the face over, but I can’t get over, “What are you talking about, Vash? Kni is dead. You killed him.”

I’ll never not get furious over it ever time how Knives uses his hurt to hurt Vash, even in his “dying” moments. How he holds onto his resentment that Vash didn’t choose him. Didn’t pick his side. How Vash didn’t deny himself- his hopes, his wants, his ideals, his beliefs, and his LOVE- to help him, and treats that refusal to abandon himself as betrayal.

I get that to Knives, it is. It feels like it. But he equally as much betrayed Vash. Drove him to hurt and act in ways he never would have otherwise. Gave him an impossible mission to take on alone- the same ways Knives took his on in solitude. But Knives acted first. He started it. Which sounds deeply ironic and trivial since he is the elder sibling (I am one myself, I’m allowed to say this). But, truly, Vash was only reacting to Knives pushing forwards towards a future he didn’t want. That he was uniquely capable of correcting when given the chance. And it benefitted plants and humans both.

Vash would have helped Knives. He wanted to save him- to find a way that they could move forward towards happiness together. But it would always include a happiness with humans that Knives couldn’t abide by because he never wanted to see past his own hurt. He took his trauma, made it his reality, and took measure to force it onto the rest of the world as well, his brother included.

To say that Vash killed him is ludicrous projection. Kni killed his own connection with the baby brother he cared so much about. It wasn’t Vash’s lack of want. It wasn’t humanity’s mistakes/misdeeds. Kni chose to do that himself and “killed” himself for his own dedication to a self-serving future.

And I’m not going to sit here and act like he wasn’t justified to an extent, in seeing what became of Tesla and the plants undergoing a Last Run. But it’s for those same reasons that I wish he had done things differently when Vash could have helped. Even in their dying moments, the plants still cried and reached out, hoping to be heard. Understood. Connected with. Saved. They wanted to be saved. Just like Knives. And Vash could have done it. Maybe not in the Last Run scene, but if Knives had just given him a chance to prove what could be when you don’t hold on so tight to the pain of yesterday… doomed by the narrative fr 🫠

[ignorantsanonymous]

The Tragedy Prayer

"Let us offer up a prayer to those who have perished in this nightmarish act of cruelty today.

And I remind you all, once again, that we pray not to God, but to ourselves; to sharpen our minds and to focus our wills.

Our Power, which burns within Us, exquisite be Our Might.

Our Kingdom come, Our Will be done, on Earth as it is within Us.

Give Us this day our fondest wish, and improve ever upon Us, as we strive ever to improve Ourselves.

And lead Us not into corruption or malaise, but give Us strength to persist in the face of adversity.

Lives have been taken needlessly from Us by a loathsome lost soul on a mission of evil.

May the sickness of this rotten death-urge vacate Our collective Being.

May the exploiters of tragedy find that their words turn to shit in their mouths.

May the deniers of tragedy find that they are denied mercy until they repent.

May the cruelty of this world be alleviated by the love and fellowship and brotherhood and sisterhood and siblinghood that We may find in Ourselves.

To love One Another and to serve One Another and to serve those that love Us.

And may Those whose souls are on this day scorched with pain and anguish find Their way to the balm of kindness.

Let Those who have been so darkly touched by the worst of humanity see now the best of it.

And may Our differences be cast aside, and all the bullshit cut through, until all that is left is the truth.

Let it be so."

-TJ Kirk (May 2022)

[thearchertheprey]

i want to go with the one i love. i do not want to calculate the cost

[sonofwhales]

Ok but I have been thinking about fallen angels so much.

Just the act itself of falling, falling from everything that is supposed to be good, knowing that everything they used to have, so perfect and pure, has been stained, and now it has cast them out. Even if not perfect anymore it used to bring them comfort, and now it has cast them out.

And what do the falling angels think?

Do they dare to look? As their home grows farther and farther away, as the darkness becomes more intense?

Does it hurt? Their wings burning away? Or maybe they have been ripped off even before being thrown down, does it hurt to feel the wind burning against their bleeding back? That same wind that had them liberate so easily up in the sky? Holding them gently? Do they miss it? Does it feel like salt added to the injury?

There's just so much in falling angels man, both the emotional pain, maybe turned into exileration as they feel a sense of bitter freedom. And the physical one, bleeding back where perfect wings used to be, the halo that is now gone, horns already staring to pierce out. The FALL, hitting the ground for the first time, after falling for so long.

No one to hold them because they do not deserve it.

Do they dare to look up again? Knowing it's their fault they've been cast down? Do they realize that maybe, maybe the punishment was too much? That maybe they too deserved forgiveness? Will they regret it all?

[wheelercore]

Understanding the scene of Ted putting the tie on Mike (Mike commenting on how it's too tight and it's choking him and Ted saying that's how it's supposed to be) in a very Mike-Ted parallels way. AND IT WAS ON FRONT OF A MIRROR TOO. Shrimp colors everywhere.

[foxx-queen]

u gonna watch the nuns that are worrying?

well you see i watched agatha christie's miss marple: nemesis at a very formative age and am now suspicious of All Nuns

with the exception of the sister act nuns hjsdkf that's different

so no i will not be watching because brain says nuns are evil

this man gets me

[iiicarus0]

a sermon best taken kneeling

filling your mouth with prayer, drawing hymns out of their throat

the sound of something holy coming forth from something this filthy

one brief movement and a choir singing out praise

small acts of faith, of proof of something greater, a tool for the devout,

this too a manner of worship, evidence of love and loyalty,

communication with a heavenly body, wordless conversation,

hands clasped together, bound

in a gesture of vulnerability beneath something more powerful than yourself

a room with a tall ceiling and stained glass windows depicting

martyrs and lovers and good people taken too soon

the slight sounds echoing while they all politely cast their gazes away

hearing fervent pleas escape their lips from your place here knelt,

all thought escapes you, save for:

this, this is what faith ought to be

[lasplaga]

very late to the party, i just opened dash to compliments for you, & i simply can't not praise your portrayal. i've followed you across quite a few blogs for a very long time by this point, and let me say that you have been one of my absolute favourite blogs the entire time. the original re4 holds such a special place in my heart, and saddler has long since been one of my favourite (if not my no.1 choice) villains in the re series, and you bring so much life to his character that we don't get to see through the game (both og & remake). you take the deep dive into his history and bring it to light, i've learned so much about his character through your blog alone with your portrayal of him. you don't stray from the aspects of his character/mannerisms/personality, what have you, that are highly unsettling that make him who he is, and it's such a wonderful thing to see with any portrayal of a villainous character. 10/10, five out of five stars. you're wonderful and so is your portrayal.

「𝔖」 Yes, we have been mutuals for quite a while & this means so much to me. THANK YOU! Although I'm pretty isolated / confined to the RE RPC, you can absolutely count I'll be following your Leon wherever you go. You've always been good company to follow & keep. I'm very happy to read I'm one of your favorite blogs because that is a genuine rarity, granted he isn't anywhere close to being a popular or well-known character for a variety of reasons. & once more, thank you for acknowledging the work I put into his portrayal & that I stick by what Capcom designed / implemented themselves, either good or bad. There are some core aspects of his characterization that I can no longer imagine writing him without at this point in time, even in the presence of AU's / crossovers. I know this may be disappointing for some, especially for mutuals outside of Tumblr that I've been writing with for these past few years, but I did pick him initially because I enjoy writing villains, & I enjoy writing them ( but not the themes / tropes they represent ) at their worst / most accurate. Shitposting / Slice-of-life interactions with virtually no exposure to horror just doesn't cut it for me, I'm sorry. I am a horror movie junkie after all!