#a just cause does not absolve the sin

[kay-elle-cee]

*cough* um.....willabeth angst anyone?

(Happy 17th birthday to At World's End! I wish I had a picture of the Will Turner shirt I made and wore to the premiere!)

She had killed a man. The guilt, oddly enough, came not from taking the life itself. Elizabeth’s hands gripped the wood of the railing as the nausea threatened to overwhelm her again. She’d been making nightly excursions to this gangway, out of sight of the skeleton crew Captain Barbossa kept for the overnights as they sailed towards Singapore. Sleep was not a luxury that came easy to her since her day of reckoning; a clear mind and settled conscience even less so. Soft footsteps approached, then stopped. She made an effort to conceal her face, turning it away from the sound. “Elizabeth…”

[scoutswritingcorner]

Hey sugar~

I want a full fluff no angst request of alastor in the woods finding a lost reader

Monster In The Woods

Alastor x GN!Reader

Song: Like Real People Do by Hozier

TW: Talks about Murder, flashback to Human Alastor

A/N: Hihi Love! Added a teensy bit of angst. Who doesn't love angst?

You grumbled and looked around Alastor’s familiar bayou that was in his room. Your curiosity got the best of you, it was just seemingly endless with moths and fireflies, mud that sticks to your shoes and vines that hang from the trees that look like snakes waiting for you to let your guard down. Figments of alligators hissing and watching as you struggle to make your way further into the bayou, an old house sitting and waiting..inviting you into its warmth with bright light and smoke billowing from the chimney.

A sense of dread filled your body, one that you were too familiar with and hated with a fiery passion. The same feeling that made the golden ring on your finger feel heavier than normal allowing doubt to creep into your mind and anxiety wrap around your heart. Why weren’t you running towards the house? Towards the feeling of safety wrapped in the comfort of an old home..why were you standing in the middle of an open field? You were an unsuspecting doe about to get shot down…why was this so familiar?

Hands cupped your face, warm and sticky with blood as you sobbed out, whispers of words you couldn’t hear truthfully. You watched as his face- your husband's face twisted in fear and concern but his eyes told a different story, he was angry. Not at you, never at you. His hands brought you to his chest as your senses finally caught up to you. Ringing in your ears, chest heaving from the lack of oxygen in your lungs, your leg and stomach hurt. The same substance that was coating your hands had coated your leg and stomach. You were bleeding. There was so much blood. His words had fallen on deaf ears as a man laid face first into the mud and dirt not too far away, blood mixing into the earth. 

Oh right, you were running from the man and a trap snagged your leg good, ripping tendons in your leg. Then a shot rang out as you tried to get your leg out of the trap, distant slurs as the drunken man held a gun up aimed for your head. All you wanted to do was check up on your husband, you made this journey many times before why was this the outcome of it? As you began praying to a god you possibly never believed in, you never really visited the churches when you were younger. But you always did with your husband under the guise you were just going to work with him after. Yet here you were sobbing and panicking, whispering out how you wanted to absolve all your sins to God.

But it never came, the gun was dropped and subsequently caused the gun to go off. Bullet shooting out into the Louisiana swamps, the sun casting its last dying light upon your form as the moon was rising from behind the old shack.  Blood spurted out from the neck of the unknown man as your husband stood behind him, clothes drenched in blood as the knife in his was dropped to the muddy ground. You sobbed out in his arms..bleeding out, was this how you were going to die?

A familiar clawed hand squeezed your shoulder as familiar static nipped at your skin, another reaching over to wipe the fresh tears from your eyes. “Come come, let’s not dwell on the past, Darling.” He whispered out as you looked up at him. His crimson eyes that were always watching and moving waiting for the wrong movement, softened as he watched tears stain your cheeks. “I’m sorry..I got curious…” You whispered out watching him wave it off as he grabbed your hand, lifting it to kiss the golden band.  

Guiding you out of the bayou easily, he tapped his cane on the ground beside him, “No need to apologize, Darling. Let me go run you a warm bath, yes” He asked, watching as you nodded from the corner of his eye a soft smile graced your lips at the thought. “...Stay with me?” You asked, glancing up at your husband. He let out a soft chuckle and kissed the side of your head, arm wrapping around your waist.

“Of course, Dear.” He whispered out, finally putting those worries in your head to rest. He hated seeing that look in your eyes..the same look you gave him all those years ago in the bayou as he held you during your last moments. You looked so afraid then..but he wouldn’t make that same mistake again, he would make sure of it. Not even death could pull you both apart.

[titania-sleeps]

could we have more of depraved angel? 🥺🙏 Pleaseeee Dom him hard already

hiii ty for loving him, he loves you back sooo much :D i'm glad you're so eager cause he's already begging for it (if you squint hard enough precum is already there and you haven't done anything yet!)

this is coup de grace from his pov so you get to see all the thoughts in his silly head. (there are none. head empty no thoughts he just wants you.)

i'll release other content later :3

Coup De Grâce (Angel!Yandere x Nun!Reader) His POV

this is the continuation of this post

if you want to see this from your pov, click here (i recommend reading from your pov first)

warning: nsfw, dom reader (implied afab), dacryphilia, implied somnophilia (but it's like,,, not real cause you're awake), minors DNI pls

The curtains parts, moonlight trickling through the cracks. You lay in your bed, breathing steadily. Your eyes are closed. Not a single eyelash moved.

He swallows air. He is the angel, but he is convinced that there exists a halo around you. He pauses his movements, taking a second to take in the breathtaking scene.

Slowly, he drifts over your hardwood floor and lands on your bed. A soft thump echoes as he finds his spot next to you, as he does every night. His fingers dance around his cock, bringing it out from his robes. A smear of wetness accompanies his hands. Truly, he is enamored.

He shifts closer to you, using his hand to guide his head to where your ass is. He shudders in anticipation, allowing his hips to move against your form.

The initial feeling is grasped in sin. His body fills with a warmth far greater than that he could find in the embrace of the divine Lord. He muffles his whimper. There exists a ring in hell for individuals such as him, in the Second Circle, but perhaps he belonged in the center of hell. He is a heretic, yet he is fortunately not favored. He would not be cast down to pay Lucifer companionship.

Mikhael clutches your hand, his body shifting closer to you. He gasps, his cock sliding against your ass clumsily. He moves languidly, cautiously, afraid you will wake up. You are an unwilling partner in his sin, and all that he can do to absolve you of your guilt is to ensure you stay like that.

He moans softly into your ear, his hand tightening around your hand. His fingers slip through yours as he shivers from the stimulation. His hips stutter against yours shyly, though his tiny gasps and breathy moans betray his desire to do more.

He wants to melt into you, but before he can, he is flipped over by you. His eyes were closed, and now they open to perceive you. He blinks in confusion and wonder, the pupils of his eyes dilating. Then heat creeps up his face and overtakes it in a blossoming pink.

"Y-You can see me?" His mind buzzes in giddy joy. No human has been able to see him in the past, even those who proclaim themselves prophets. For you to see him, it must mean that his perverted love has been accepted. Then, just maybe, his love for you is holy, and you are his true god.

You don't respond to him; instead, he notices you lean down. Panicking, he closes his eyes before he feels your tongue on his lips, as though silently asking for permission to enter. He responds promptly by opening his mouth, allowing you to slip inside and envelop your tongue around his. He moans into the kiss, a wanton sound parting from his devoured lips.

He feels you pull away from him and he bites back a sad whine. You sit atop him, pushing your hair back. Your piercing eyes glare into his; that is how he knows you can genuinely see him. Your eyes look right into his soul.

"What's your name?" you ask. He jolts from your fingers folding into his.

"Mikhael," he replies, heart pounding. "How... can you see me?"

"Perhaps we're meant to be," you respond, leaning down to give him another peck. His organs flutter. So you are his destined god.

He whines when you pull away again, his hands reaching and wrapping themselves around your neck. He pulls you in for another kiss, submitting himself to your whims. Take control of him, take all of him, he is yours to consume and devour.

He is focused on your presence in his mouth until his body freezes from the feeling of your hand on his exposed cock, your fingers tickling his head. His hips buck and he groans; he smiles to himself as it seems to motivate you. Your slow strokes elicit moans from him.

"Mikhael, why do you follow me?" He whines when you pull away again. How cruel of you, to give him paradise to then cast him back into limbo. Your grip tightens on his cock.

"Love... you..." he mumbles quietly, averting his gaze.

You squeeze harder.

"I love you!" He gasps, his back arching. He feels your hand quicken its pace. You are smiling not unlike a goddess, especially with the moonlight hitting the gleam in your eyes. His heart is full, and he wishes he can present it to you fully.

"I've never had a celestial suitor before," you muse.

He is reduced to a whimpering mess, needy moans and groans escaping from his parted lips. His cock is angrily red, matching the hue of his face. His chest heaves as he closes his eyes, drops of tears falling from the corner of his eyes.

You lick his tears. He shakily breaks into a smile, knowing that you are now enamored with him as he is to you.

"I want to... finish..." he pleads, drunk on his perverted love. His cock throbs and his vision is dizzy, but you glow effervescently and he can only focus on you.

"Guess you're my guardian angel now," you laugh, your pace increasing. Mikhael moans, his body shuddering as his hips lift.

Bright halos of light convulse around you, your tempting smile nearly personifying agape. That is how he knows that you are the true being he is meant to serve. His body is absolved of his human sin, and his body experiences the weightlessness of a freed soul.

His cock trembles in your hand as it spews out cum. Minutes later and he is still cumming; he mutters incoherent noises. He is begging, pleading, imploring that you allow him the gentle presence of your lips on his, but you don't hear him.

As he comes down from his high, you peck his nose gently. His eyelids move slowly, staring at you with worship.

"I'm your guardian angel..." he repeats, humming softly to himself. He is more than your guardian angel now. He is your sole protector, a sworn fealty laid beneath your feet. He huddles closer to you, enjoying your warmth.

Perhaps he might be punished by his false gods.

But already his desire and his will were being turned like a wheel, all at one speed, by his Love which moves the sun and the other stars.

if anyone catches what the last line is i'll be happy

also i'll drop him trying to clumsily seduce you another day :D

-> masterlist

[theantho1ogy]

Priest AU

Ushijima x Fem!Reader

Poor Priest!Ushijima, a man devoted to God, one who has never strayed from the path of the Lord. A cross hanging around his neck and the bible always in his hand as he greets everyone entering the church.

His one main purpose in life is to spread the word of God and help sinners reconnect with religion.

But as much as he tried, the sinful beauty that always sat in the back of the pews every Sunday had his eyes straying as he performed his sermons.

You showed up to every service without fail, participated in every church event, and recited the holy text. The picture perfect woman that anyone would be lucky to call their wife.

But your provocative attire that had the older ladies gossiping, and your flirtatious comments you'd give Ushijima when helping at events had him knowing the truth.

You were a sinful seductress that was sent as a test from God, waiting to see if Ushijima was as holy as he made himself out to be.

Tempted by nothing in his years of preaching, not the other nuns, or the women that came just to have a look at the Priest, they didn't even know the ten commandments.

Blasphemous.

But you, oh you knew everything, your first attendance at his church showed that. Shyly coming up to Ushijima after morning service to ask him about his favorite verses, bonding over each others opinions and staying to discuss even when he had to perform his next service in a few minutes.

That was only the tip of the iceberg.

Each week you'd come in, your clothes getting more revealing, starting small with deeper v-necks, to now short dresses and skirts above mid thigh.

The outraged in caused, the old women demanding Ushijima do something about it, or even kicking you out of the church.

But he couldn't, not with the way your glistening lips pouted as you spoke to him, or the way your outfits had a hint of his favorite color. The day you bent over to pick something up and he caught a peak of your lacy drawers had him praying for forgiveness.

The straw that broke the camels back happened just yesterday. It was Ushijima's turn to sit in the confession booth and hear the sins of his peers.

The last sinner of the day was you. Shuffling into the other side of the booth, and asking for forgiveness.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned." You murdered from the other side of the wall. "Confess your sins and trust in God to forgive you." Ushijima said deeply, recognizing your voice.

"Father, I lust for another." Ushijima wasn't surprised by this, only confirming his thoughts. "Do go on." "Every day I think about him, fantasizing about his body and how he would feel touching me. Every visit I admire his body as he preaches the word of our lord." You say to the wall separating you two.

"What do you admire about this person?" He asked, wanting to know more about your fantasies. "His large hands and how they'd feel gripping my flesh, his muscles hidden under his garments and how they'd look bare, how his voice would sound giving me commands in the bedroom, and how he would feel inside me." You confessed your sinful thoughts to the very person you were thinking about.

Ushijima gulped, his body heating up in the booth as your words sunk in. The grip on his cross tightening as you went on about your thoughts.

He could feel the front of his pants tightening as his length hardened. He recalled how you looked when you kneeled before him waiting for him to place the cracker on your tongue.

Big doe eyes and your pretty pink tongue stuck out as you waited patiently, gazing up at him like he was the holy one himself. The feeling of his finger graze your moist tounge as you closed your mouth around him and the cracker.

What if this wasn't a test, what if you were sent as a gift from God. A reward for Ushijima and his dedication to him. You were something for him and him alone.

He felt himself through his pants, his dick now throbbing painfully begging to be touched.

"I absolve you of your sins. But before you can go in peace, come before me and get on your knees."

The door on the other side opening quickly before your shadow appeared in front of him.

[pinnedmother]

How do you think Messmer deals with feeling jealous? Or when his partner is jealous?

Thanks for the request ♡ I did both.

Messmer's jealousy

He gets jealous extra easily, not even by anything to do with romance or flirting (he’d completely blow up then), but for your attention in general. He hates when you give more time to someone else when he’s right here; hates when you smile at them, when you laugh at their words, when you look them in the eye for too long.

Why, why, why every person in his life he loves more than the world itself always has to disperse their precious attention to other people? He feels empty, utterly abandoned and forgotten, even if you were lightheartedly conversing with someone for nothing more than a minute. It stings in his chest.

Despite being incredibly dramatic in his way of thinking, Messmer is still self aware enough to understand that he’s merely experiencing jealousy and that this emotion is dangerous if he would let it get the better of him. He tries to suppress it to the best of his ability as to not cause a scene. Still he’ll frown and stare daggers in you and the other person, hoping you’ll notice and mercifully absolve him of this sensation.

You’ll need to have empathy 60 the way he masterfully hides his feelings. He wants you to know, but also doesn’t. If his serpents in their attempts to help would try to get your attention themselves, he’d get silently mad at them and forcefully tug their slithering bodies away from you.

If you don’t notice him long enough, he’ll just leave as quietly as possible. Trying to be nonchalant about his departure as if he simply has other matters to attend. Internally, however, Messmer’s melting, and seething, and burning everything around him to a crisp.

Later he would seem colder than usual and more distant. Messmer craves your presence, but doesn’t want to seem desperate at the same time. He also needs you to show that you still care for him. It may be childish, but he truly does need this affirmation. He wants you to seek him out, ask what’s wrong, show him your warmth, and smile a more genuine smile than the one you showed to this other person. In exchange, he would redouble the affection you gave him.

However… If you were to commit such an unforgivable sin as to openly flirt or even romantically involve yourself with someone… Well, hopefully you didn’t forget that your lover is a genocidal war general, known for the purge brutal enough to be removed from history, because otherwise you’d be shocked and horrified to see your paramour burned and impaled on the highest spike there is. Messmer would do it; no remorse, no regrets, only cold rage. If both you and he even decide to continue after this mess, you’ll be the one to carry the blame in its entirety, he won’t hear any of it if you’d try to call upon his conscience. You’ll have to work exceptionally hard to gain Messmer’s trust once more, and no matter what you do it’ll never again be at its fullest. It was a scarring wound, one that cannot be forgotten nor forgiven.

Your jealousy

Messmer’s confused at first, not understanding a shift in your reactions and behavior. He would catch on at some point though, and will try to persuade you that there’s nothing to be jealous about: you are the only one he loves and he needs no other.

If it’s not enough, he would cater to your demands: sending people away, shortening the time of discussions, taking a more reserved and aloof demeanor or even holding your hand while addressing others. Whatever you’d want, really. He knows exactly how miserable it feels, so if he can ease it for you – he will.

Messmer secretly loves that you’re so possessive of him. He still wouldn’t make you jealous on purpose however, your comfort is far too important, but the feeling is pleasant.

[mxtxfanatic]

Who Killed Wei Wuxian? the Politics of Culpability in MDZS

The title is kind of a misnomer because we know how Wei Wuxian died and we know who is responsible, so let's get those quotes out the way:

“To be honest though, if it weren’t for young Chief Jiang’s knowledge of the Yiling Laozu’s weaknesses, the siege of the Burial Mounds might not have succeeded. Don’t forget what kinds of things Wei Wuxian has at his disposal. Don’t you remember when he annihilated more than 3,000 high level cultivators?”

—Chapt. 1: Rebirth, fanyiyi

[Wei Wuxian] “I have to clarify this. [Jiang Cheng] didn’t kill me. I died because one of my techniques backfired.”

—Chapt. 43: Beauty I, fanyiyi

Wei Wuxian died from the backlash of attempting to destroy the second yin tiger tally while the first siege of the Burial Mounds took place. Jiang Cheng and the rest of the cultivation world is directly responsible for his death, thus are to blame. However, this meta isn't about who we are "meant to" blame for Wei Wuxian's death but about the conversation that the novel has about culpability. Contrary to the bad faith engagement that happens around this topic within the fandom, mxtx actually brings up this culpability problem many times in the novel:

After a moment of silence, Wei Wuxian said, “What else have you heard?” “Jiang Cheng, Clan Chief Jiang, brought people to encircle and besiege the Burial Mounds. He killed you, sir.” “I have to clarify this. He didn’t kill me. I died because one of my techniques backfired.” Wen Ning finally lifted his eyes and looked at him directly. “But, Clan Chief Jiang, he clearly—" “It’s impossible for someone to walk on a lonely, single-log bridge safely and soundly for an entire lifetime. It couldn’t be helped.” Wen Ning seemed to want to sigh, though he had no breath to sigh with.

—Chapt. 43: Beauty I, fanyiyi

Wen Qing waited quietly for him to finish cursing, “And so, you see? There’s no use. With the way things are, the identity of the one who placed the curse of Hundred Holes is no longer important. What’s important is the fact that the hundreds of people at Qiongqi path and... Jin ZiXuan were indeed killed by A-Ning.” Wei WuXian, “... But, but...” But what? He himself didn’t even know what to put after ‘but’. He couldn’t think of a reason to give, an excuse to use. He spoke, “... But even then, I should be the one going. I was the one who made the corpses kill the people. Why would the knife go instead of the murderer?”

—Chapt. 77: Nightfall, exr

Wen Ning says that Jiang Cheng is to blame for Wei Wuxian's death while Wei Wuxian says that it was an inevitability that could only be blamed on the circumstances rather than any individual. The Wen siblings say that Wen Ning is the one who killed Jin Zixuan, but Wei Wuxian argues that he is the one who turned Wen Ning into a weapon, thus absolving Wen Ning of the crime and placing it solely on Wei Wuxian's shoulders as the weapon's wielder. Who's side does the novel take? Well to answer that, let's take a look at another character who has caused many deaths throughout the novel: Jin Guangyao:

Jin GuangYao saw through the worries in his eyes instantly, and became so enraged that he actually started to laugh, “Lan XiChen! All my life, I’ve lied to countless people and have destroyed countless more. Just as you’ve said, murdering my father, my brother, my wife, my son, my master, my friends—There’s not a single sin left in this world that I haven’t committed!”

—Chapt. 108: Concealment Part 2, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

Of all the characters Jin Guangyao lists, he personally, with his own hands, verifiably killed two. Jin Guangshan was raped to death. Qin Su committed suicide. Jin Zixuan was killed in the Qionqi Path ambush. The details of Jin Rusong's death are unknown. Jin Guangyao didn't even personally kill any of the clans the Jin used as experiments nor did he murder the sex workers with his own hands. Only Wen Ruohan and Nie Mingjue were directly killed by Jin Guangyao—the former by being literally stabbed in the back and the latter through poisoning—so why does Jin Guangyao claim responsibility? It's because he planned these death. Without his direct manipulations and explicit intention to kill, none of those characters would have died as they did. Thus, despite not taking a knife to each of them individually, the blood of all of these characters is on Jin Guangyao's hands.

Here's another example:

It had taken the Four Great Sects three full months of recuperation, reorganization and planning before they’d finally become ready to take seize upon Burial Mound in retaliation; at last “exterminating” the last remnants of the Wen Sect along with the deranged Yiling Patriarch himself.

—Chapt. 108: Concealment Part 2, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

Around 3,000 cultivators gathered to kill 50 individuals. Logically, there is no way that 3,000 people literally had a direct hand in killing a few dozen people. However, they all came with the explicit intent to massacre, and they all take pride and credit in having participated in the first siege. Even though, logically, they all didn't take turns personally smashing Granny Wen's head in, they are each still culpable for her and the other Wen remnants' deaths.

But what about the people who were "only following orders" (the Nuremberg defense, for people who haven't yet released how many of villain stan defenses sound like Nazi arguments) or "didn't mean" their actions? Should they be blamed just for being followers of bad people, whether be it because they genuinely believed in the mastermind's lies or wanted to personally benefit from the chaos? Should they be considered blameless for murderous intent that makes a victim of the "wrong" person? Mdzs addresses that, too:

One of them shouted from afar, “Wei... Wei Ying! If you’re really that strong, why don’t you go find those sect leaders participating in the pledge conference? What could you prove by picking on us low-level cultivators with no power to fight back?” Wei WuXian let out another short whistle. The cultivator who shouted felt as a hand suddenly tugged him down. He fell off the city gate, breaking both of his legs, and began to scream. Amid the wails, Wei WuXian’s expression didn’t change at all, “Low-level cultivators? Do I have to tolerate you, just because you’re low-level cultivators? If you dared say those things, you had to dare shoulder the consequences. If you knew that you were insignificant pieces of scum as filthy as ants, how come you didn’t know to think before you speak?!”

—Chapt. 77: Nightfall, exr

Wei WuXian could tell the arrow tip was originally aiming for his heart, his vital region. Yet, because the archer wasn’t skilled, the force of the arrow tip dwindled by midair to have missed the heart and shot into the ribcage. Everyone around the person who shot the arrow had eyes wide open, staring with shock and even fear at the disciple who had done such a thing. Wei WuXian looked up. Darkness veiled his face. He pulled out the arrow and tossed it back hard. With a wail, the young cultivator who snuck an attack at him was hit right in the chest with the arrow he tossed back! A boy next to him threw himself on top of him, “Brother! Brother!” The sect’s array was immediately thrown into chaos. The sect leader pointed at Wei WuXian with one shaking finger, “You... You... You are so cruel!” With his right hand, Wei WuXian unhurriedly pressed the wound at his chest, temporarily ceasing the blood flow. His voice was indifferent, “What does cruel mean? If he dared shoot the arrow at me when I was off guard, he should’ve known what would be facing him if he failed. They call me the cultivator of the crooked path, anyways, so you can’t possibly count on me to be generous and not bother with him, can you?”

...

Wei WuXian was pushed onto the ground again by the force. The next time he looked up, he saw the gleaming blade of a sword pierce through her throat. The boy holding the sword was the young cultivator who cried over the disciple who had shot the arrow. He was still crying, eyes covered in tears, “You thief! This is for my brother!” Sitting on the dirty ground, Wei WuXian stared with disbelief at Jiang YanLi, whose head had already dipped, blood trickling ceaselessly from her neck. ... The boy finally realized that he killed the wrong person. He pulled out the sword, along with a series of bloody spurts. With fright, he staggered back, mumbling, “... I-It wasn’t me, it wasn’t... I was going to kill Wei WuXian, I was going to avenge my brother... She was the one who threw herself over on her own!”

—Chapt. 78: Nightfall, exr

The cultivators both at Nightless City and those who didn't go choose to provoke Wei Wuxian based on the slander spread by the cultivation clan leaders. Those at Nightless City are gathered specifically to pledge to kill him. However, the moment Wei Wuxian turns his sights on them, then it's "But we're just baby 🥺 why not pick on someone your own size?" Wei Wuxian's response is masterful in that he calls them out for what they are: opportunistic cowards who prey on the weak but fear the strong. They wanted to attack him without consequences, but the moment consequences happened, they wanted to shift responsibility. The clan of the boy who attempted to kill Wei Wuxian is the same, as well as that boy's brother who killed Jiang Yanli. You chose to be here, you chose to participate, so just as you wanted to share in the spoils, you must also share in the responsibility, whether you were able to achieve your goal or not.

Now with all of this context in mind, let's circle back to Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian's convos: who are the killers? In the case of the first siege, the answer is Jiang Cheng... as well as the rest of the cultivation world. While the responsibility may vary in degrees (Jiang Cheng owed a debt to the Wen siblings and Wei Wuxian that the other participants did not), it is still a shared one. In the case of the Qionqi Path ambush, Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning, too, share and accept responsibility despite only one person getting their hands dirty while the other person (subconsciously) gave the orders. Wei Wuxian may have turned Wen Ning into a fierce corpse, but Wen Ning had the consciousness to refuse and chose not to in service of defending the man who saved his family.

Finally, I want to leave on this note: while Jiang Cheng is to blame for Wei Wuxian's death, Wei Wuxian, himself, does not wish to place that blame on his former shidi. One reason is that he acknowledges that his murder was a forgone conclusion—something anyone would have plotted towards, anyways, with or without Jiang Cheng's willing intervention—the moment the cultivation world turned on him as an enemy, and two, because of this:

Suddenly, [Jiang Cheng] said, “I’m sorry.” Wei WuXian froze, then said, “......You don’t have to say sorry.” After everything that had happened between them, it was impossible to tell who was the one most at fault.

—Chapt. 103: A Hatred for Life Part 6, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

There is so much bad blood between these two that to weigh their transgressions against each other—particularly in the wake of the golden core transfer reveal—would be petty and diminish them both as people. Wei Wuxian gave up his golden core for the man who later willingly and gleefully plotted his murder, but Jiang Cheng lost his only friend, his sister, and his reputation over all of those jealousy-clouded decisions. In a way, this entanglement made them both lose, so the best answer is to cut the loss and move on (Wei Wuxian's approach) rather than trying to forcefully maintain the connection of tangled debts at the threat of facing even bigger losses (Jiang Cheng's approach until the climax). There's nothing to be gained from trying to hold Jiang Cheng accountable for his crimes against Wei Wuxian, so it's best to simply let sleeping dogs lie and for Wei Wuxian to continue to live his life happily no longer tied in any way to the man who led to his death.

[orym-blossoms]

"It feels a little bit like a betrayal to be happy."

Essek feels the waning trails of magic as the Sending fades, Caleb’s warm-honey voice lingering in his ear as he settles into his pillow. The usual wards are securely set, but it still is difficult to relax in a strange place. He misses Caleb’s arms around him, his soft breathing ruffling Essek’s hair. The bed is too small, but it feels vast and empty.

It had been harder to leave than ever, this time. Home is just a few hundred miles away but it might as well be Catha.

He's stirred up old memories, old guilts and old hurts by answering the Hells' questions, but Caleb trusts them, Keyleth trusts them, and he's trying to be more open. More honest. It's painful, but manageable, and that in itself makes him feel guiltier.

Each person in that room to a one has had part of their life ruined directly or indirectly because of his actions. And yet they didn't even hesitate to absolve him.

Something he's learned on his travels is that there are far more people like the Nein than he ever imagined. Kind. Forgiving. Generous and hopeful. He hopes he can help bring the Hells some measure of peace.

It does no one any good to dwell on his sins, to wallow in his own terrible feelings when he could be doing so much more to try to rectify the damage he caused. So he holds onto Caleb’s sleepy last "I love you" like a talisman against the dark and lets his heart fill with happiness and love.

[owosa]

How does the false prophet deal with sin and damnation? On the one side I don't picture him as the guy to prohibit having a drink every once in a while, on the other, since the only "cure" to damnation is to kill the follower and revive it, and he is very much against forcefully reviving anyone he can't just ignore it either. There's also the fact that in-game the red crown encourages you to harvest as much sin as possible with no regards as to what happens next

Okay! This ask led me down the biggest rabbit hole I've ever had, so let's take it step by step.

1.- How does the false prophet deal with Sin?

“The Sin Farm” : “Volunter job in the cult to be willing to generate sin (and look good while at it)”

In terms of gameplay, the "sin farm" consists of followers I dress in purple and systematically extract sin from. This is done by confessing them, letting them drink, using the drum circle, or using the Rite of Lust ONLY.

In story terms, as stated above, it is a VOLUNTARY position. All followers who wish to produce sin (using the methods mentioned above) do so out of choice. Any discomfort or suffering this causes them is rewarded with all kinds of comforts, and even if they cause problems, they are forgiven without much punishment. (for example those who have the violent trait and so on).

I've drawn some of the ones featured above in the picture and told a bit of their stories here and here.

2.- How does the false prophet deal Damnation?

Well, this is where it gets interesting. Considering my game is directly related to how I write this story, if I systematically collect sin from followers, at some point someone had to be damned, right? Well, when I read this ask, I couldn't remember that being the case, which led me to investigate how a damned follower is produced.

"If a Follower has been absolved of Sin three times in a row(...)" 

This is what the wiki says, and I was like, "…impossible, I'd remember if anyone on the farm had been damned". I have a good memory, and it's things like this that are interesting to draw later, so since I had no memory of this BUT I take screenshots of anything I could use from my game for future illustrations, I had to go swimming among the thousand screenshots to confirm it.

Lo and behold! I've had a damned follower, but to my great surprise…

It was a Disciple!

An elder one too, which surprises me even more because it's not that common for me to remove sin from followers who aren't from the farm. And the "three times in a row" condition? Really? But well, there was the proof.

Which brings me to the next part of your ask: "the only "cure" to damnation is to kill the follower and revive it"

As you say, it's against the False Prophet faith to revive followers, so I was very surprised that this was "the only cure", which led me to check the wiki again.

"After they have been defeated three times, they will drop one Sin and return to the cult where they can be indoctrinated again."}

Ok, that makes more sense and once I check my captures again, confirmed.

Blue was indeed recovered and reindoctrinated back into the cult...

Only to die of old age the next day, to the horror of Yuki VII (lol).

So...yes, in the cult, sin is not frowned upon, and the False Prophet doesn't force anyone to produce it, even going so far as to grant benefits to those willing to endure any suffering it may cause. This could also explain why only someone outside of that circle has been the only damned one so far.

I'm totally going to come back to this idea, because I think Blue's adventure deserves a drawing, but it was more fun to answer this by telling what I have to do to answer it hahaha

[kay-elle-cee]

okay here's my 2024 Writer's Wrapped (prompts courtesy of @clare-with-no-i)

Favorite Line: Rescuing Jack saved Jack; it did not save her soul. Perhaps forgiveness for her transgressions—for the kiss, god almighty���could be bartered if the life was saved, but she had little hope. The change in her was permanent; a line crossed. (a just cause does not absolve the sin)

Favorite Scene: This is so tough and would probably change tomorrow, but I'm going to say Lily and James at the bar in Stupid T-Shirts. I just reread this the other day and totally forgot about that moment with the lime and whoever wrote this is CRAZY. (and I mean specifically at the bar getting drinks...not the whole fic, lol)

Favorite Chapter In Search of Something More Chapter 4. The pre-Dursley chapter where everything is going well and James and Lily are just being un-fucking-bearably cute, and when they wrestled control from me and my outline.

Favorite Oneshot: magic in the tides is getting my vote for this one. My POTC fic was very very close but I've had the idea for this pirate!jily oneshot since I was writing that original multichapter, so to be able to return to that world and finally get those words down was really gratifying. I love my pirate!Jily more than anything and I don't care.

[neflil]

Kullervo, Kullervo, would you feel up for talking about your inspirations for your latest piece with Hallow? (You're killing it with the value work, great job, the compo is absolute cinema)

YESS !!! YESS PLEASE LET ME TALK ABOUT THEM (this is me being delusional for the next 5-10 minutes)

Also hey, thanks! Been trying out new stuff and exercises with art :3

SO

This originally started over on twitter, under a post saying "give me your harrow headcanons" - with someone responding that "..something something Harrow wants to hangout more around Kullervo and wants to help him be absolved of his sins, every dagger being a reminder that Harrow somehow failed him"

I TOOK THAT- AND *RAN* WITH IT, AND I MEAN RAN. for like a day or two it was the only thing I could really think about, frid also came around and threw the banger of a line "a Kullervo proto with, just. so many scars. and a Harrow proto tracing each one and saying a prayer" and I just I died ok. That night I wrote 800 words worth of Them, half asleep at 3 am without another thought in my head (if anyone wants to read this for some reason lmk i also plan on continuing it cus i literally fell asleep writing it hdsjkhdjs)

Soooo here come my headcanons, and the reason why this piece was made. again from the start I knew I had to do Something about this, it was just so peak I couldn't leave it alone

the piece as a- piece, symbolism and all- is more of what was mentioned above. Harrow, shrouded in mostly darkness, holding Kullervo- pulling him out of the water (blood??) (or even lowering him in the water, wehwhehw). His hand resting between the empty spaces the daggers on his waist are. Kullervo in light, just- reaching out, tries to, doesn't fight him back or anything. *one could say harrow is holding him as if protectively, fiercely...*

idk its all Kullervos sins and his punishments. How he suffered through everything ((bc the orokin suck but ok sure whatever)) (I'm the #1 Kullervo apologist). Kullervo- the one who did wrong- being in light, while the one able to save him is in rather darkness, holding him close and reaching for a place that is a reminder to how much Kullervo has suffered... Absolute darkness behind them *but* where Harrow is standing....

Sins, absolving them, angst, both being locked in isolation for a long time, feeling hopeless but then hope just happened to appear next to you, the wholeeee package yknow

In the original sketch, I had Harrow look almost worried- holding Kullervo with a more gentle hold, curious, as if hes too fragile and will break. Buuuut I changed that and instead went for him looking more grounded, protective of Kullervo. (original sketch below)

The lyrics used are alsofrom a song called Soldier's Waltz by Olenka & The Autumn Lovers

Extra fun headcanons bc im crazy:

Harrow is selectively mute, mostly because being locked away for and not using his voice, but also bc that caused his voice to pretty much die out and become quiet and hoarser. So he chooses to not speak- he *does* speak when saying prayers though, quietly, unnoticeable

Kullervo cannot for the life of him be around others and its still weird to him, but enjoys having company around

Harrow is like a parent figure to Rell after the whole zariman incident

Kullervo feels undeserving of any form of kindness after everything he was put through, he thinks of himself as the worst guy alive, drowning in guilt

Harrow, even if he doesnt speak, has this air of duty and seriousness, might often seem aggressive towards others, and he doesn't tolerate a lot of things

Harrow also loves to spend time alone, in face he prefers it. But sometimes it can get to him. He really likes silent company

Also its kinda funny cus both Harrow and Kullervo are some of my favorite frames in general, but I hadn't made Kullervo- even after having everything farmed. Soooo I made him and I realized how FUN he is to play. I'm afraid he will be my new main lmfaoo. I literally fall for my own propaganda... (Harrow is someone I play sometimes and enjoy a lot, but recently I've been playing Citrine, and only Citrine)

Does this whole post make any sense? NO!!! but its a nefpost, nothing makes sense here, welcome, I'm so happy with them you have no idea!!! Kullervo, Kullervo, warrior born....

and hey, thanks for asking, in all honesty

[myfirstnameisagent]

COME AROUND (SNOWBAZ)

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to be loved by you

I would go to hell and I would stay

I promise you won’t even know I’m there

I won’t touch a thing I swear

If you just let me come around”

Whoever said that vampires were immortal clearly has never met Simon Snow, or been loved by him.

I’m not sure in which manner, but I know for a fact he is going to be my cause of death.

I love him enough that losing him would kill me, but being with him is quickly producing a slow and painful death. His silence the dullest of knives sawing against muscle tissue, bringing the type of pain that makes me want to flee. However, whenever the urge to flee came, he would smile at me, and all his sins were suddenly absolved . The knife was never there and I’m not pouring blood through my shirt. My steps and heart are light and nothing could stop me; but then reality breaks back in and he pulls back and the knife is sawing once more. It’s not wanting to leave him, but run away from the pain he causes.

Staying and leaving are both how I die, the question is how swiftly do I want to be taken out.

It hurts to see something that was mine not be mine anymore, but us both act like it is. Like he’s still mine.

I know the events from the past year have weighed heavy on him, and that his years of hiding from his various traumas behind the title of chosen one are catching up with him. I know that he’s mourning his magic and the mage. I know he hates his wings. I know there’s so much more that I know absolutely nothing about because he won’t tell me. Like he doesn’t know that I would hang onto every word that comes out of his mouth, like i already don’t. I understood, and I understand now. But now that understanding seems to of allowed him to think that maybe i don’t want him, or maybe allowed him to realize he doesn’t want me anymore. that i was something temporary. an experiment, a bandage, an ego boost. something that was never supposed to be permanent.

However, despite whatever he may be feeling, Simon Snow has become a part of me. He’s taken up all of my heart and mind since I met him, and I suppose i should be grateful because i never thought he’d be anywhere close to mine in the first place.

Where does one draw the line between support and being a fool?

What’s him wrestling with his own thoughts, and what’s him deciding he’s tired of this?

The worst part is I would go through all of this again just to be near him. I’d crawl through the deepest pits of hell, burn alive just to have his eyes on me for a moment. The tortures I’d endure just for scraps of him.

Even when he’s holding me at arms length he has my complete and utter devotion, and I’m his to do whatever he wants with.

Wings wrapped around himself, he looks completely at peace. His shoulders relaxed, the permanent wrinkle between his brows smoothed. Even now, with the knife slowly growing sharper, the ache is soothed by the sight. It’s not that I want him to hurt, or want him to not want me, I just wish he’d act like it. Soft skin is beneath my fingertips, and before I even comprehend it I’m pushing a loose curl out of his face. He looks so perfect even in sleep.

My perfect heartbreak.

“Goodnight, Snow.” I lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

For a moment there’s the soft flick of his wings, his eyes still closed but a soft “Baz?” rumbles from his throat.

“Shh. Go back to sleep.” I say softly, fingers still in his hair and moving to scratch his scalp gently. He pushes into the touch and for a brief moment, the knife pauses. I wait for him to tell me to go to bed, that this is too much, that he can’t handle this right now, something to drive the blade home.

But he does the thing I least expect, and the thing that I swear is going to send me to an impossibly early grave. (I think Simon Snow has invented a new way to kill vampires. Loving them to death.)

Suddenly I’m no longer standing on my own two feet, and I’m being pulled down onto his chest. His wings create a protective cover around us, and Bunce and the normal disappear and all of a sudden it’s just him and I alone in our room again. Nothing but the quiet of night and two raging hearts, too scared and too proud to admit what they’re feeling.

I don’t move. How could I? I don’t even think I’m breathing, no I’m definitely not. Even the slightest breath could throw this whole thing off-kilter, and push him further away from me. My whole world beneath me, and i don’t trust it won’t implode from me breathing.

“I miss you.” It’s soft and it’s raspy, his voice thick with sleep. His hand comes up to rest on the back of my neck and his eyes are open and he’s looking at me like I’m something special.

Something special to him.

“I’m right here, Snow. I really thought you were more perceptive than that. Numptie.” I force a smile, and I’m still paralyzed. For just a moment, I could pretend he’s mine again. That this is how we normally interact and that everything’s okay and he hasn’t been treating me like I’m nothing important to him anymore. Like he’s not waiting for me to walk out the door because he’s too polite to tell me the truth.

“Do you always have to be such a twat?”

My heart misses a beat, an apology on my lips but than i look up at him again and see that he’s smiling. it’s a small pull at the corner of his lips but he’s smiling because of something that I said.

“Yes. Someone has to keep you humble.” I slowly feel my body giving in, even though he used whatever cheap soap the hotel provided he smells so good and he smells like home. My home.

His chest vibrates with a laugh beneath me, and I could combust on the spot. Two strong arms are wrapping around my waist and suddenly everything is right. The animals have vanished, the dark obliterated by the sun that is Simon Snow.

“I miss us.” He says in a quieter voice, letting his hand travel up into my hair and I fight the urge to lean into his palm (I fail miserably). His touch is warm as always, and i swear it’s enough to make me feel as though i’m alive just as he is. “and i know we aren’t us because of me. and it’s not…”

His words stop abruptly and I’m afraid he’s going to shut down on me again, and in a moment of what feels like the bravest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life, I prompt him to go on. “Use your words, Snow.”

His eyes roll as they always do when i say it, but the smile returns.

“it’s not that I don’t love you…. I just don’t like me.” He says quietly. “and I’m waiting for you to realize you don’t either.”

“I could never stop loving you. Believe me, I tried for years.” I almost smile at all the the attempts I made to hate him, to accept that I could never have this with him. Accepting that not having him would be the end of me. Years of watching him parade his blonde damsel in distress, years of believing he hated me to my core.

“You don’t know that though. I’m not part of this world anymore and you are. It’s everything you love and have worked so hard for and I’m just-“

I don’t let him finish, and I think the feeling of his arms around me and how close we are gets me drunk with a certain kind of boldness as I lean up and press my lips to his soft warm ones.

It’s sweet and it’s gently, and his fingers work further into my hair and Crowley, when’s the last time we’ve kissed like this?

“Couldn’t even let me finish my sentence.” He grumbled against my lips, but there was clearly no malice as it was quickly punctuated with another kiss.

“I don’t care what you are or what happens. I just want to be around you.” I try to force out but he doesn’t let my mouth leave his for long, the other moving from my waist to push a warm and rough palm up beneath my shirt. For once, his eyes are focused on me. No clouds of distraction, no bottle of cider and half thought replies. He’s looking at me and he’s kissing me and the combustible feeling has returned.

“You’re sure?” He asked softly, and I shifted upward to hover over him just a bit.

“If there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s that I’m yours in every dimension, every universe, every moment.” I brush a stray curl from his face and it heats further with a pink dusting across his cheeks and if there was enough blood in me I’d be blushing too.

“I’m sorry.” His hand moved to rest on the back of my neck and wraps around it, eyes closing as our foreheads brushed.

“Just stop keeping yourself from me,” I whisper in the close proximity, lips brushing his cheek.

A small nod is the response I get, and I know it took a lot for him to even get this out and I feel a familiar flame of pride within me.

“Good. I’ve gotten used to you being on my last nerve.” I tease softly, and I’m quickly rolled to where Simon’s lying on my chest, wings folding behind him. He slips his face into the crook of my neck and my arms find their familiar place around him.

“You know, we have a whole bed right over there.” I pointed, than looked at how folded his wings were and could only imagine the cramped feeling.

“You don’t mind?” He peeked up at me through his lashes, and I give a feigned sigh of annoyance. “No, Snow. I don’t mind.”

“Quit being a prat.” Simon mumbles against my neck and I can feel his teeth against my skin. The world around me is growing a bit hazier, lips pressing against my neck and cutting off my airflow entirely. My fingers find there place, twisted up in reddish hair as he begins biting at whatever exposed skin he can find.

“Snow.” I try to warn softly because we are very much not alone in this hotel room. He either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care, and while I don’t either I feel like he probably will later. “Simon-” It comes out strangled, his hand moving up the front of my shirt and over my stomach.

“I love how you say my name.” He mumbled against my skin and he barely even touched me and I already feel completely undone. This is more of what I had in mind when this all began because this is how it started, and it’s taking everything in me to not give in to the feeling completely.

“Bunce is still here.” I force out, trying to keep my voice as low as possible, as well as any other noises trying to work their way free as he pushes my sleep shirt

“Then you probably shouldn’t be loud. Or just spell her.” He looks up at me with a wink and what’s left of my self-control evaporates entirely, and I stop questioning where this is coming from and just decide to enjoy it instead.

Whatever my fate may be, I’ll gladly spend the rest of my eternity lost to keep this moment preserved forever.

Simon Snow is my beginning and my end, and I will never find another like him.

[thatesqcrush]

Forgive Me Father

Based off this prompt ("My love for you will truly become my downfall, I just know it.") & this image. @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @plaidbooks this is for you. Fuck, I am going to hell for this.

He cannot believe that this happening. That he has allowed for this to happen.

The catechism of the Catholic Church mandates that those who are called serve as priests are to remain celibate "for the sake of the kingdom of heaven." Called to consecrate themselves with undivided heart to the Lord and to "the affairs of the Lord", they give themselves entirely to God and to men. Celibacy is a sign of this new life to the service and is to be accepted with a joyous heart.

For the past three years he has been able to do this. Three years as a priest, all ruined by you.

He’s in the confessional, his cassock pushed upwards, his legs spread, pants down by his ankles.

You are looking up at him with big innocent doe eyes as you perform unholy acts with your mouth.

The salty taste of his pre-cum flooded your mouth as your tongue swirled around the head before flicking over the tip and then underside to the frenulum. His balls hung heavy and you gently rolled them in your palm.

You flattened your tongue and then took the entire length in your mouth. His cock is thick, with a large vein down the shaft. Your lips are stretched over his impressive, thick length as you blow him. Your knees hurt against the cold hard floor but you don’t care as his quiet grunts and groans spur you on. Your hands brace against his thighs as his cock hits the back of your throat.

Fr. Barba wrapped both of his hands into your hair, guiding your mouth along his cock. Your eyes teared up as he abused your throat. Mascara dripped down your cheeks and saliva pooled around the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the floor. He let out a groan as his cock twitched, signaling that it was near release. Your mouth was flooded with the taste of his thick, hot, salty cum as he released into your mouth. Fr. Barba shuddered as the last drops of his cum released into your mouth. “That’s it, take your communion,” he rumbled, deep and low.

You released him from your mouth, some cum dripping from your mouth as you did so. Rafael wiped it with his thumb and shoved it in your mouth. You let out a hum as your tongue licked and sucked his thumb clean. Fr. Barba helped you up and pulled you to him, kissing you hard, near bruising your lips.

When the kiss breaks, he cups your face gently and lovingly. A smirk graces his face. “My desire for you will truly become my downfall, I just know it."

“Am I absolved Father?” you ask. Your voice is raspy. It makes his cock stir again.

Fr. Barba’s eyes stare into yours and you feel like you will drown in them. “My lamb.”

You nod. As you turn to leave the confessional, his final words cause you to freeze in place. But still you shiver in eager anticipation.

“One act of contrition, five Hail Marys, three Our Fathers. Come tomorrow. Repent, then, and show me your worth, so that your sins may be wiped out.”

Fr. Barba tucks himself back in as you discreetly leave the confessional. He watches your form disappear and then lays prostrate on the floor in despair.

FIN.

[highseas-swede]

So, this response really got me thinking again and turning around some different gears in my head. Crowley's fall started with their meeting. That's huge!

This means Aziraphale caused Crowley to fall, at least indirectly and Aziraphale knows it.

I do quickly want to say that I feel it's likely Crowley would have fallen anyway, that it would have happened because of his nature and his curiosity and his questioning, but Aziraphale must remember that first meeting and blame himself for the eventual outcome. Here was this wonderful, joyful angel out there making nebulas and Aziraphale talked to him for like five minutes and he fell.

Because of Aziraphale.

It also recontextualizes some of Aziraphale's other actions if you think about the Guilt that Aziraphale must have been feeling. He's clearly smitten with Crowley when they first meet while Crowley's an angel, but on the wall at Eden, he's definitely more uncomfortable and his gazes aren't the longing looks from pre-creation. He recognizes Crowley as that angel, he feels guilty about it, far more than he does about giving away the flaming sword. And then when it starts to rain, he protects Crowley because it's the least he can do after what he did to ruin Crowley's life.

I'm betting he felt that same guilt very heavily when Crowley asks him for the Holy Water initially. He's afraid that Hell is so bad that Crowley would destroy himself to escape it. And though Aziraphale has clearly pushed his guilt mostly to the back of his mind, it has to be there in the forefront at that moment.

He's thinking "Crowley is suffering so much he'd rather be destroyed". He's remembering that beautiful, innocent angel Crowley was and how his laughter lit up the stars themselves and now Crowley asks him for the ability to end his existence. No wonder Aziraphale is so reluctant! If Crowley uses the Holy Water on himself, it means Aziraphale will be responsible for Crowley being completely destroyed. He only caves on the matter when he realizes Crowley will do it without his help and realizes he can't make Crowley suffer more to get it, not after everything he's already done to the demon so far.

I've always wondered why Aziraphale seems afraid of Crowley loving him. He's always seemed comfortable in the knowledge that he loves Crowley, but when Crowley tries to confess to him in the S2 finale, he looks terrified. He looks like he's about to have an anxiety attack.

It's not because he doesn't want to be loved by Crowley. He wants that more than anything. It's because this is the /wrong time/. But it was - in Aziraphale's head - so close to being the right time. In Aziraphale's mind, he was so close to finally making up for this horrible thing he did to Crowley, that he could finally accept Crowley's love without this looming over him. It's not just about making Heaven worthy of Crowley, it's about making HIMSELF worthy of Crowley's love.

What Aziraphale doesn't realize is that Crowley has never blamed him. Never. He's just projecting his own guilt and then using it to bludgeon himself into thinking he's not good enough for Crowley. Aziraphale values Crowley more than he values himself, just like he trusts Crowley more than he trusts himself.

It makes me think a bit more on the concept of Grace in Catholicism, how sins must be cleansed to allow the Grace to flow through and fill the body. When you believe that you must be cleansed of sin to accept Grace, it's an easy jump to feel that you cannot also be worthy of love if you have not absolved yourself of sin. But in Aziraphale's mind, there is no way to fix what he did to Crowley. Until there is.

No wonder Aziraphale reacts so excitedly - and so desperately - to the thought of reinstating Crowley as an angel. Yes, he knows Crowley is more than worthy of being an angel, that he never SHOULD have fallen to begin with. But with this added context it's even worse… he blames himself for Crowley falling. Crowley was so happy as an angel and Aziraphale took that away from him. He sees reinstating Crowley both as the Right Thing to Do in a moral sense, but also as a way to finally absolve himself of this guilt he's undoubtedly carried since Crowley Fell.

Aziraphale is so blinded by his guilt and his need to absolve himself and make it right for Crowley that he completely fails to realize both that Crowley doesn't want what he's offering, but he also fails to realize that Crowley doesn't even blame him for the terrible thing he thinks he did. Crowley already loves him without condition.

Trying to make Crowley an angel again is the most tragically selfish, self-centered thing Aziraphale has ever done and even then it comes from a trauma he's been carrying since before the Beginning.

He keeps forgiving Crowley for things that don't need forgiveness, but what Aziraphale really needs - for both of their sakes - is to finally forgive himself.

[toaster-boi]

i think the Ace Combat franchise can best be summed up by the ending of Ace Combat 04: Shattered Skies.

you've taken the enemy's capital, you've finally faced down the rival ace pilot who you've come to deeply respect from the story of a small child orphaned by the war you've just won, and the bittersweet feeling of an end to senseless bloodshed fills the air.

but- wait. "[next mission]?"

briefing plays. a low tone, subtle electronic track plays throughout. cut to mission start: a cutscene, which only a few other missions opened with.

the sky is gray with either clouds, smoke, or ash; you can't really tell, but the gray and brown haze blots out the sun. the air is filled with meteors raining down on the ocean below, a handful of lasers pierce the fog of war. the only adequate descriptor is armageddon.

the music goes straight for the throat: a latin choir singing in a minor key, the opening to a track sharing its name with the mission itself. "Megalith Agnus Dei," with Megalith being an island-spanning ICBM launch complex in the shape of a fucking gigantic stone crucifix currently taking potshots at the remnants of an asteroid that previously razed the neighboring continent hard enough to cause a fascism-enabling refugee crisis.

Agnus Dei, literally "Lamb of God," is in reference to the player. you, Mobius One, are made into a direct allusion to the biblical Messiah, a literal divinely-ordained sacrifice sent from the heavens to absolve mankind of the sins of its past, and then ascend to the heavens once more.

you finally have actual wingmates, background characters from throughout the game now flying under your insignia. their objective is literally just to take care of enemy aircraft while you fly into the exhaust trenches of Megalith, to blow up the missiles from inside the facility, then fly straight up to not crash into the silo walls.

the last missile does not have exhaust trenches, but a tunnel you barely fit into, and the silo's launch doors aren't open when you enter.

to recap, you are sent in as the last hope for salvation from a military breakaway terrorist organization who, out of a desire for revenge, is making sulfur and coals rain upon the earth. you are sent up the length of something shaped like three crosses, and are then sent up the length of the center one and pass underground with a sealed exit and no expectation of escape. you then fucking fly straight upwards with and explosion at your back as the exit opens and the world is saved.

this is a game about fighter jets that came out two days after 9/11. on the PS2.

[kaedekolya]

on the religious themes in fyodor's ability, and how dostoyevsky's the brothers karamazov is reflected in it

Crime and punishment — not antonyms, but not quite synonyms; inextricably linked, yet not exactly cause and effect. Fyodor’s ability. When he is murdered, the crime is rectified through the subsumption of his killer; a punishment that keeps the criminal beholden to their victim. An inevitable consequence, and a holy communion.

Jesus shed blood upon the cross to atone for the sins of the people; a sacrifice to deliver them from their collective sin and bear it on their behalf. In much the same way, Fyodor's spilled blood liberates the people it kills from their sins — absolving them in death — while Fyodor, who continues living, shoulders the weight of sin and atonement in their place.

Beneath this allusion lies the implicit premise that life is sacred. Yet Fyodor, through his ability, inherently desecrates the sanctity of life — by usurping another’s lifespan, and evading the natural inevitability of death. He is at once divine, and unholy; he is both sides of the coin that is religious faith. Sacred and sinful, pious and blasphemous, hallowed and accursed. Fyodor embodies sanctity, yet is sacrilege personified.

[ table of contents: religious themes in fyodor's ability, parallels between fyodor's character and dostoyevsky's the brothers karamazov, dazai and fyodor as foils ]

< Fyodor’s ability, Crime and Punishment >

Take crime as corporeal wrongs committed on the mortal plane, and punishment as spiritual judgement, penance, atonement. Just as the material and spiritual realms are distinct but not disparate, coexisting as one, crime and punishment are two halves of a whole; you cannot have one without the other.

What makes Fyodor so formidable as an opponent is that his ability makes it impossible to kill the body without also killing the soul. In Dead Apple, unlike the abilities of other users, Crime and Punishment neither separates from nor turns against Fyodor. It is not just a power he can harness, or a part of him; it is him. When it activates, the borders delineating disparate identities vanish, and the room of a new body to inhabit awakens. Through it all, Fyodor’s consciousness remains constant.

Fyodor views ability users as inherently sinful — bearing the sin of ability itself. Add to that the moral wrong of murder, and the punishment meted out by Fyodor’s ability is the cleansing of this sin through death, where no ability can follow. Fyodor himself is divine retribution, for the inevitable sins of mortals — even while toeing the line between mortality and immortality. He cleanses sin, but in doing so, commits a sin himself.

< Dostoyevsky’s novel, The Brothers Karamazov >

The activation condition for Fyodor’s ability comes not from the act of killing itself, but the intention behind it; Crime and Punishment targets not the mind-controlled vampire that stabs Fyodor, but Bram, the vampire lord that directed the murder. It is the age-old dilemma between actus reus and mens rea — the criminal act itself, versus the intention to commit the crime.

Amidst patricide and philosophical pondering, Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov spotlights the question: is the crime itself important, or does the intent behind it matter more? When Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov is murdered, suspicion brews amidst his four sons – the passionate Dmitri, the intellectual Ivan, the devout Alyosha, and the scorned Smerdyakov. Each of them has a reason to despise their father, and all of them could have — might have, would have — wanted to kill him.

While it is only one brother responsible for the killing blow that ended their father’s life, the novel questions whether the other brothers are truly innocent. Could they not be said to have been complicit in the crime, if they hadn’t done enough to prevent it? Turning their backs on their father, averting their eyes from his sins, forsaking him — does that not make them culpable, too?

In The Brothers Karamazov, epilepsy is a hereditary trait that lies dormant in the Karamazov patriarch, and manifests in his sons. In the novel, Fyodor — both the author and the Karamazov — gives these epileptic seizures to both the virtuous Alyosha and the vicious Smerdyakov; at once a woeful affliction upon a presumed angel, and a curse befitting an apparent devil.

This duality has its roots in real-life tragedy. Dostoyevsky lost his young son Alyosha to epilepsy, inherited from his veins, and the resulting grief led him to write a righteous protagonist in his son’s namesake. Yet Dostoyevsky also bore the guilt of passing down the condition that prematurely took his son’s life, and this perceived sin haunted him endlessly in his own seizures. Dostoyevsky named the irredeemable Karamazov patriarch after himself, akin to a confession of his shame.

In BSD, Fyodor’s anaemia and frail constitution can be seen as a parallel to the Karamazovs’ epilepsy. Fyodor lives to bear the sin of others; though his body dies a victim of murder, his spirit is granted a new birth. His physical suffering is an emblem of a noble sacrifice, while also being a price to pay for the sin of eternal life. Yet another religious parallel is brought to mind here; Jesus' physical body died to cleanse the people of their sins, while his spirit, his legacy, lives on in people's worship. In this way, Fyodor is the embodiment of faith itself.

Yet at the same time, Fyodor himself holds no such faith. If his ability is the faith that affords others salvation, then calling abilities sin and desiring to extinguish them all would be a blasphemous act, yet that is exactly what Fyodor does. Perhaps, just as God gave his own son up for crucifixion, Fyodor views his ability — and the eternal life that comes with it — as the will of an external power and not of his own.

In the moment of his death, pierced by a spear of rebar, Fyodor utters Jesus’ last words on the cross. Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani – my God, my God, why have you forsaken me? It is an acknowledgement of Fyodor’s metaphorical crucifixion, the death of his current form and the birth of his next incarnation; it is also a wry lamentation of the fate he is bound to.

< Dazai and Fyodor as foils >

Dazai and Fyodor are inherently set up as foils to each other — not only in terms of their ideals and methods, but also the very nature of their existence. The nullification of abilities — this lack, this nothingness — is embedded within Dazai’s being, regardless of his will. As for Fyodor, his existence itself is made possible through his ability; his life is irrevocably intertwined with it. Just as Dazai’s involuntary ability nullification preserves his life, Fyodor’s involuntary ability activation prolongs his own.

There’s an almost paradoxical juxtaposition here; Dazai uses his ability nullification to protect his fellow ability users and the city of Yokohama, whereas Fyodor utilises his ability in the pursuit of a world without abilities, and doesn’t care if the city gets destroyed in the process. The elimination of abilities to preserve them, and the activation of an ability to eradicate them.

This spiritual mirroring is what allows Dazai and Fyodor to comprehend each other, on an innate level that no others can reach. Their hypocrisy is not a conscious choice, but an inevitability woven into the very fibres of their nature. Dazai — with the help of Oda — has come to terms with this, resolving to keep striving forward against the currents that come his way for even the briefest moment of walking in the light.

Fyodor, however, cannot accept this lack of agency and autonomy. If he cannot have control over the activation of his ability, then he will wrest control in every other aspect available to him; he will lay down the chess pieces and manipulate marionettes on puppet strings, in order to manoeuvre when, how, and upon whom his ability activates. If it is impossible to stop the currents, then Fyodor will turn the tides to his will.

It is this gnawing, all-consuming need for control and certainty that affords Fyodor his far-reaching foresight — but it will also, likely, spell his downfall. Trapped within the binaries of crime and punishment, good and evil, sin and salvation, Fyodor cannot see that he is limited to both a false dichotomy and an incomplete union. There is no room for rehabilitation, no room for nuance, in his worldview — and while both his faith and the lack thereof have kept him alive, they may also herald his doom.

thank you for reading! my ask box is open, and i'll probably write a second part to this with a closer focus on dostoyevsky's the brothers karamazov — particularly the parallels between fyodor and ivan karamazov, from their atheistic intellectualism to their moral contradictions, and how the madness that overtook ivan may eventually consume fyodor too.

[ihateedwardnygma]

please elaborate (ignore how i voted i thought about it for 2 miliseconds only)

info dump time yay!!

i’d like to preface this by saying what i believe abt ed is likely a personal thing and up to interpretation… for starters he’s a fictional character + also. as with the majority of characters i enjoy, a lot of the things i love / find interesting about him tend to be things i headcanon. i don’t think my perception is necessarily the correct one and i also think the original poll has a lot of right answers… like you said lust and even if you put no thought into that vote i actually think it makes sense… at least in my opinion it ties into his pride, which is what i voted.

anyway! i believe that ultimately his biggest sin- and his fatal flaw overall- was his pride. his downfall is caused nearly exclusively by his own sense of pride and inability to let go of his ego. whether directly or indirectly, pride was at the centre of the majority of poor decisions he made: most of the time he acted out of a need to keep up his ego and save face, desperate to earn the respect of others around him.

i think ed had a very fragile self image- throughout the show, we see him sort of project things onto other people- denying them their own personhood or autonomy and acting as if this can both save him and perhaps save them too, if he gets it in his head that they need saving. he might view himself as smarter and superior to others on the surface, but this disguises a HEAVYYY case of low self esteem… the guy literally can’t function without his ego being stroked. he doesn’t particularly know who he is, and tends to define himself by arbitrary traits such as power and intelligence. when his inflated and distorted view of himself is challenged, he becomes angry and prone to lashing out. this can and does lead to him inadvertently torpedoing the rare few good things that actually do happen to him, which is, even if he is kind of an asshole, really sad to watch.

with this being said, i believe the fandom do tend to characterise him in black and white- either this pride and innate selfishness is a flaw set in stone that cannot be fixed, and this therefore makes him 100% evil and irredeemable- alternatively, people will go the opposite route and suggest he’s some kind of innocent little guy absolved of all responsibility for his actions because of his evident issues. and i believe it should be looked at with more nuance than that- yes, he’s not a good person, and yes, he’s done some downright evil things. but at the same time, ignoring that he was a deeply unwell and mentally ill individual with zero support system or help- i mean he got thrown in fucking ARKHAM when he was caught- does a disservice to the character. i doubt he could ever have been normal- i view him as CEN-coded (childhood emotional neglect) and also having multiple mental illnesses- majority of these are my own so it’s not like. Stereotyping lol- that may make it harder for him to navigate life. but i do think characterising him as purely evil or purely good are both takes that lack comprehension skills.

i went off on a tangent there and i’m really sorry!! but i wanted to clarify what i mean when i talk about ed + pride- in no way am i villainising the character nor am i saying everything’s okay bc he’s got like. 12 gazillions disorders or whatever- i just think he’s a very fun and interesting character to analyse… ^_^