#religious torture
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francy-sketches Ā· 7 months ago
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Whenever people talk about lack of media literacy they always bring up people who think a character doing bad things=the author endorsing said bad things which are very annoying but I feel like we're ignoring the opposite, equally annoying side of the discourse who think if you criticize the inclusion/depiction of dark/sensitive topics in any way itā€™s bc youā€™re a dumb baby who canā€™t separate fiction from reality. and it's like no I know Iā€™m not supposed to clap and cheer at violence against women Iā€™m criticizing how much of it there is. Idiot
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wavesoutbeingtossed Ā· 6 months ago
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Ok but Iā€™m still gagged by the choice of the white dress covered in her spilled ink for the TTPD set.
The way itā€™s almost certainly meant to reference a wedding gown just like the music video and how that ties into the narrative of TTPD in general.
The way so many of these songs are about how sheā€™s been wronged and how sheā€™s angry.
The striking image of her floating around on stage unleashing her anger in Whoā€™s Afraid of Little Old Me, or her collapsed on the platform in Down Bad begging to be beamed back up to the space ship. Very much giving dying on the altar waiting for the proof (in both meanings). Sheā€™s the jilted lover and the runaway bride. Sheā€™s the old widow who goes to the stone everyday and sheā€™s the girl heading towards a shotgun wedding if she keeps this up. She's the unhappily married woman whose life is turned upside down by a man beyond her reach, with the chasm between them widening the longer the set goes on. And then!!! she's taken away (held back?) by the nurses at the asylum -- the crazy wife being committed for hysteria!!! (Actually I don't know what order that comes in in the set -- I'm going to have to find better videos.)
She said that the TTPD set is Female Rage: The Musical, and a lot of that is "I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free." She sacrificed her youth to her demons and to people who never had her best interest at heart. She sacrificed her youth to bad actors who wanted to ruin her. She sacrificed her youth to men who traded promises of commitment for their own safety.
So to see that all symbolized in the white gown, saying "I love you, it's ruining my life," is so powerful. By the time we get to "The Smallest Man," she's covered up in the band (or army dress?) uniform, those dreams finally dead and buried, marching to her own memorial service. They all finally kill her, and her dreams of her future.
IT'S A LOT. A LOT A LOT A LOT.
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befuddled-calico-whump Ā· 22 days ago
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Goretober 6: Flaying
prompt list here, lore under the cut
I don't remember how much I've posted about it here, but this is from the Valys Sanctum AU, centered around a malevolent congregation that probably cares more about grabbing power in the impending apocalypse than preventing it.
Sahota is a member of the sanctum. He and Vic were the sanctum's only agents that traversed between worlds, using the portals that appeared around town, causing supernatural phenomena and welcoming in monsters. After Vic's untimely demise within the darker dimension, the sanctum elders took ownership of Sahota. His time in the other dimension took a serious toll on him, so it's safer if he's kept at the sanctum, right?
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greenliar Ā· 1 month ago
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TW: BLOOD
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I can feel
The discomfort in your seat
And in your head it's worse
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life-imitates-art-far-more Ā· 10 days ago
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Francisco de ZurbarƔn (1598-1664) "The Martyrdom of Saint Serapion" (1628) Oil on canvas Baroque Located in the Wadsworth Atheneum, Hartford, Connecticut, United States
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yourlocalabomination Ā· 11 months ago
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The Lang brothers really said: ā€œThe Cosmic God of Time and Space, a Eldritch Horror who is fuelled by tormenting people - a being capable of driving his lessers into insanity within seconds and able to trap them into a torturous eternityā€¦ā€¦ā€¦is a furryā€.
And as iconic as that isā€¦.huh?
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draculovemp3 Ā· 11 months ago
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Is this thing on . Can anyone hear me
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ro-sham-no Ā· 6 months ago
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Samā€™s wall breaks, and he wonā€™t stop screaming.
it's his birthday so you KNOW i had to whump my boy
Itā€™s been two days and fifteen hours and Sam wonā€™t stop screaming.Ā 
Blood droplets fly out of his mouth with wracking coughs as he chokes on hurried inhales, mucosal spit gumming up his trachea.
Itā€™s been two days and sixteen hours and Sam wonā€™t stop screaming.
The only times heā€™s been silent in the last two days and seventeen hours is when heā€™s unconscious. The first bout - four hours and twenty-three minutes of silence - Deanā€™d just clocked him in the jaw when it was clear Sam was going to scream himself into involuntary suffocation - diaphragm and abdominal muscles locking up from the abuse. Dean knocked him unconscious for those four hours and twenty-three minutes, after six hours of his weeping and gnashing of teeth.
By the time he had woken up, Dean had shots of sedative and they were two hours into a twenty-eight-hour drive to Bobbyā€™s - if nothing else, Deanā€™s efficient. Sam didnā€™t take notice.
And if the sounds he wonā€™t stop making can be described as screaming, then the sounds he makes when Dean has to touch him while heā€™s awake can only be described as a death wail. Wailing and scrambling to get away from Dean with a fervor that earns them both violent shades of bruises.
Itā€™s been two days and twenty hours and Sam wonā€™t stop screaming.
During the drive, whenever Samā€™s anguish would escalate back into hair-tearing, along with beating his fists against his arms and thighs and threatening to bash his head into the windows of the Impala, Dean would pull over to force another dose of sedative into him.Ā 
The sounds he makes while Dean tries to subdue himā€¦ Well, even in the most remote location on their route, Dean was afraid the farmer whose house they could just barely see in the distance would be able to hear. It had to have been at least three miles away, with how flat the land was, and Dean was still worried that someone would hear.Ā 
Sam wonā€™t stop screaming, and his screams are deafening- except when heā€™s unconscious, from the shots Dean gives him, the screaming is just in Deanā€™s mind. A haunting kind of tinnitus that rings in Deanā€™s ears, just as nauseating as the real deal, but a touch less heartbreaking.
He only allows himself to sleep for the first few hours of Sam being down for the count, despite the catatonic state that seemed to have taken over him. Dean wasnā€™t about to risk Sam waking up without him. They sleep together in the car, in the weeds and the bramble off of back roads, hidden from view. Babyā€™s paint has never been so scratched up.
Itā€™s been two days and twenty-three hours and Sam wonā€™t stop screaming.
Theyā€™ve been at Bobbyā€™s for the last twenty-four of those, trying to hold back on the sedative, because god knows they canā€™t keep it up forever or Samā€™s heart is liable to just straight up quit, so theyā€™ve been rationing it. Walking the nerve-wracking line between acceptable amounts of incomprehensible human suffering and causing an overdose that could just kill Sam, for good this time.
On the 72nd hour - thatā€™s two days and twenty-four hours, or three days and zero hours, or 4,230 minutes and zero seconds, or 259,200 seconds and -
Itā€™s been three days and zero hours, and Sam is awake, but he stops screaming.
And on the third day he will be raisedā€¦
Dean rushes over to check on him, but Sam is still breathing, heart still beating, body still holding itself upright, and heā€™s stopped screaming.
Now, though, two lines of salty tears trail down his face. For all his hysteric shrieking over the last three days, through all the rocking and swaying and the occasional distinct syllable of ā€œnoā€ over and over again, he hadnā€™t actually shed a tear, until now.
Itā€™s been three days and zero hours and Samā€™s tears are silent.Ā 
Heā€™s staring far off into the distance - into the wall thatā€™s four feet in front of him - and he is silent. Even his gasps are inaudible. No sniffling, not a single huff or quiver of breath. Just tears.
Itā€™s been three days and zero hours and two minutes and both Dean and Bobby are in the room now, staring at Sam with undisguised fear-horror-confusion.Ā 
They stare at him and he begins to shake. Lightly, at first, but it grows. It always grows. Sam is silent, and heā€™s shaking, and his eyes stream tears with the consistency of a downpour, and Dean moves back in front of him. Heā€™d stepped away to yell for Bobby out the door when it looked like Sam would live after his abrupt descent into silence. Dean steps back in front of him and reaches out to touch Sammy, and now Samā€™s not silent. A three-minute silence and now itā€™s broken by Sam scrambling backward with a gasp thatā€™s really more of an inhaled moan of fear, hastening back so far that he pushes off of the bed heā€™d been sitting on.
He crashes to the floor, out of Deanā€™s reach even as the man leaps forward with a cry of, ā€œSam!ā€
But Samā€™s flight had been too fast, so he crashed to the ground and has now fallen silent again, but Dean canā€™t tell if there are still tears because Sam has wedged himself into a ball in the crease between the floor and the wall, form-fitting his back and ass over the baseboards hard enough to bruise. Heā€™s hiding his face in his knees, still trembling, but still silent, so Dean canā€™t tell if the tears have stopped. He isnā€™t sure if that would be better or worse.
Because now itā€™s been three days and five minutes, and Samā€™s curled up in sublimation.Ā 
Heā€™s crammed against the wall, his knees are up in front of him, spread only far enough to shove his head between them - but down quite far, uncomfortably so, contorted - but his hands arenā€™t curled up like the rest of him. Instead, his hands are held out around his legs, stretched around them and then upward, palms out like heā€™s receiving something sacred. Or like heā€™s giving it away.
Itā€™s been three days and six minutes and Sam is trembling in sublimation.
The room is silent, Dean and Bobby donā€™t know what to do, but he isnā€™t hurting himself and he isnā€™t screaming so they wait him out.
Itā€™s been three days and thirty minutes, by the time anything happens.
At first, Bobby thinks itā€™s the creaks of his house. At first, Dean thinks itā€™s the creaks of his soul. Theyā€™re both wrong, they realize, as the sound is actually coming from Sam, but it reverberates in such a way that itā€™s equally loud from every corner of the room. Dean wonders, faintly and somewhat hysterically, when Sam learned ventriloquy.Ā 
Itā€™s a low but resounding utterance, indistinguishable at first, but becoming more distinct with every syllable, losing its eerie ambience and beginning to actually come from Sam as its focal point. Whatever Sam is saying, deep into his chest in a tone that aches, becomes clearer, but neither of the other two men can understand it.
Samā€™s palms are still held up in front of his shins. His head is still shoved between his knees, and heā€™s still trembling. He finishes his recitation but doesnā€™t fall silent. Instead, he switches to a language that Dean realizes with a jolt that he can understand the words, seconds before Bobby realizes it, too.Ā 
ā€œPater noster, qui es in שְׁאוֹל, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in שְׁאוֹל et in terra.ā€
A sickening aura falls over the room as both lucid men hear the exceptions to the otherwise familiar prayer. ā€œOn earth, as it is in שְׁאוֹל,ā€ Sam had said. Sheol, the subterranean final resting place. The pit. ā€œThe place of no return, the land of utter darkness and deep shadow.ā€Ā 
Hell.
Our Father who art in the pit of utter death and darknessā€¦
Itā€™s been three days and one hour by the time Sam finishes his contritions.Ā 
By then, heā€™d recited that first chant in the same unknown language twice more, alternating it with the Latin rendition of the Lordā€™s prayer.
Hallowed be thy nameā€¦
Dean has a gnawing, sinking feeling in his gut that he knows exactly what that other language is.
Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in שְׁאוֹל, the deep shadow.
The cadence, the tone; theyā€™re the same. Distorted by the foreign, guttural tones of the other language, but they cut through Dean with the same taste. Sam is repeating the same thing over and over again, just in alternating tongues. The familiar Latin combined with the unfamiliar, grating timbre of the other.Ā 
The repugnant language of the wretched Divine.
Those accursed, winged beasts, just like the one his brother, his Sammy has been locked up with for an earth-year. And who knows what that timeline looked like, in the depths? Nothing sears in your mind quite like the crushing realization that virtually no real time has passed when you return from it, Dean remembers. The rock constantly lodged in the base of Dean's chest, taking up space where his lungs are supposed to go, which screams out, your pain was never real.
Did time distort further the further down you went in hell? Was Deanā€™s 40-year stint a mere blink in the face of the time Sam had been locked up with that thing that did this to him?
The only reason Deanā€™s stomach isnā€™t on the floor in front of him is because his stomach is empty, the pervasive ache of the last few days locking it up tight. Sam has been screaming and Dean hasn't been eating, but he's never been less hungry in his life.
Itā€™s been three days and one hour and Deanā€™s been crying for every single second of them.
The wailing and screaming had gouged at him, in that way little baby's cries gouge at unsuspecting figures passing by, striking that deep, maternal cord within them. The same way little toddler-Samā€™s cries had always gouged at Dean. The same way, too, that not-so-little teenaged Samā€™s sniffles into his pillow that he thought were muffled had always gouged at Dean.Ā 
If the screams had been gouging at him, this reverent recitation was gutting him. Viscerally, like a fish being pulled sharply off of a too-big hook that it had somehow managed to swallow down too far. Catch and release turned into a pitiful horror.
But itā€™s been three days and one hour, now, and Samā€™s finished his latest round of the Lordā€™s prayer - Latin this time - and heā€™s fallen silent again.
His hands are still held out, despite how bad it must make his shoulders and wrists ache with the tension of his stillness. Before Dean can think to do anything, though, Sam continues, but he breaks the pattern. Instead, his voice is much shakier now, and he starts to plead, the only term applicable to the tone of voice Sam has taken on: wretched, and full of supplication. Pleading, in Latin still,
ā€œElohim, Messiah - Please take this temptation from me. Please, as you have so graciously promised, benevolent Savior, tempt me not with this Sin of the Flesh. I am too weak, Father. This temptation is too great and I cannot bear it.
Temptation? Father?
The formal tone rankles. The self-deprecation vexes. The use of Father to refer to the most foul being to ever walk above and below the earth seethes and horrifies. Dean is rankled. Dean is vexed. Dean seethes, and he is horrified.
ā€œTake Him from my sight, יהוה, keep me away from His fraternal presence, please, Lord. Balm though He is to my soul, grateful though I am for this offering, I am too weak to refrain from Sin.ā€
Fraternal? Sin?
ā€œI would naught but bastardize this precious gift, and thine hand wilt be forced against me, as thou shalt flay me apart; dissect me to make penance for my transgressions. I do not wish this, Father, so please: Take Him from me, do not allow my wretched Sin to pervade in thine realm.ā€
Just because Deanā€™s stomach is empty doesnā€™t mean it isnā€™t trying valiantly to make an appearance. At the word ā€œfraternal,ā€ Bobby had started pushing him out the door. Stunned, Dean hadnā€™t fought back. Thereā€™s bile on Bobbyā€™s hardwood floor outside the bedroom Sam and Bobby were still in.
Sam spoke as if Deanā€™s presence was the temptation, one too great to bear. And he spoke as if to God, but Dean knew better, he knew where Sam had been. Where Dean let him go. No gods to be seen, not there. What Sin had Lucifer contrived between them, to make Sam pay penance for? What occurred between them for Sam to beā€¦ Flayed alive. Dissected.Ā 
Deanā€™s not stupid enough to believe that's anything but literal.
Bobby swings the door mostly-closed just in time for Sam to finish his pleas and lower his arms.
Itā€™s been three days and one hour and ten minutes, and Sam raises his head.
Dean watches through the crack in the door, concealed in the darkness of the hallway. Heā€™s holding his breath and heā€™s not sure heā€™ll ever forgive himself for not rushing right back to Sam's side. But something is holding him back, and he doesnā€™t want to name it.Ā 
(Fraternalā€¦ Sin?)
Sam raises his head but keeps his eyes scrunched shut - tears and snot are dripping down his face, which is a blotchy red but somehow still pallid with fear. Heā€™s shaking worse than before as he straightened his back out, sitting up and letting his legs fold down so heā€™s cross-legged. Not relaxed, but no longer contorted. Finally, he releases a shaky breath and opens his eyes, pointing down at the floor.
Bobby shifts his weight purposefully and Samā€™s eyes fly to him with a wild flinch of fear. It hangs in the air uncomfortably long before he recognizes the man in the room with him, and he lets out a sob of what Dean hopes is relief.
He quickly bows his head and shifts up onto his knees in a simple prayer position, hands pressed together in a booklet of gratitude as he sobs out, ā€œThank you, Messiah, Morningstar. Thank you.ā€
Then, with a big sigh, he allows himself to look back at Bobby, but his gaze is clinical, observing. He whispers, through his hitching, wet breaths, ā€œHe did it. I can't believe he did it. Heā€™s gone. I donā€™t have to do it again, not yet.ā€
Samā€™s face crumples as heā€™s hysterical with relief, and Deanā€™s clawing his own arms raw and bloody outside the door, desperate to get to the crying baby and soothe it, desperate to kiss toddler-Samā€™s scraped knees, desperate to tell teenage-Sam that nothing will ever change the way Dean feels about him, despite whatever darkness he seems to think is inside of him. But still, heā€™s held back by that unspeakable Sin between them. Lucifer didnā€™t contrive it, Dean knows that. He holds himself back.
Bobby speaks up then, gruff and wary, ā€œDonā€™t have to do what, yet?ā€
Sam startles before finally, really looking at Bobby like heā€™s a human on the same plane of existence as him, not like heā€™s a mildly interesting fixture on a non-existent wall.
ā€œNothing, donā€™t worry about it, Bobby. Itā€™s good to see you,ā€ Sam cracks a smile, and it encapsulates one thousand shades of grief.
Sam continues quieter, once again to himself, ā€œI wish it wasnā€™t like this. Iā€™m sorry. So, so sorry. But youā€™re not Him, so itā€™s fine, itā€™s fineā€¦ā€
Bobby squints at him long and hard, eyeing his more relaxed posture and at least somewhat lucid speech - odd though it may be - before he glances at the crack in the door and gives a tiny eyebrow raise that says, get your ass in here.
Dean slowly cracks the door open and calls out to his baby brother, just as he comes into view, ā€œSammy?ā€
His reaction is violent. If Sam was pallid before, heā€™s now a putrid shade of green, face twisting up in horror as he shakes his head, wringing his hands and mumbling out at first, devolving quickly into yells into the aether, into the corners of the room, ā€œNo! No, no- please, you promised, no-ā€
He collapses into himself on the floor, half hidden behind the bed, putting it between him and Dean. The trembling returns with moans and cries incessantly pouring out of Samā€™s mouth as he buries his head in his hands, gripping at his face and whatever hair is in reach with too much force, wailing out a constant stream of no, no, no!
Dean takes an involuntary step forward into the room, drawn in by that maternal wretchedness. Desperate, always desperate, to comfort his baby brother.Ā 
When his boot sounds on the carpet - muted but oh-so-loud to Samā€™s ears - the cries lose their shape, hiccupping wails of no quickly becoming unintelligible and increasingly frantic, building and building until it can only be described as a howling scream.
Itā€™s been three days and one hour and fifteen minutes, and Sam wonā€™t stop screaming.
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badaziraphaletakes Ā· 6 months ago
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Today's catch, fresh from TikTok
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Okay this one actually hit one of my pressure points.
(Content warning for hell and religious trauma and so forth).
This is the thing I'm most afraid of. That Crowley running off to Alpha Centauri wouldn't mean he would die.
Huh, I hear you say?
Well, you see, there's a fate much worse than death. The book of revelation says that "Satan's angels" will be tortured forever in a lake of fire after the second coming.
Cheery.
Now, that book doesn't appear to be the sourcebook heaven's working from (though they certainly have followed it pretty closely thus far). So Idk if that's what Aziracrow think is going to happen to Crowley if heaven lose the great war. (Side note: I have no idea what hell's plan is if they win, but I'm sure it isn't pretty, lol. But I digress.)
But it is POSSIBLE that throwing the demons into the eternal lake of fire is part of the Metatron's plan/"the Great Plan". It is possible Aziraphale thinks that's what's going to happen to Crowley.
It's possible that Azi thinks Crowley hates heaven so much that he is risking the possibility of eternal torture to turn them down, and thinks that he, Azi, is the only one who can possibly save Crowley from that. I am HAUNTED by the thought that Aziraphale thinks that if he doesn't succeed in stopping the Second Coming, that Crowley will be thrown into the lake of fire forever. That's gut-wrenching.
I hope, for Azi's sake, that he thinks that "all" that will happen to Crowley if he fails to reform heaven is that Crowley will die. That's bad enough. The other thing is simply too horrible to imagine.
The thought that Azi has spent the past 6000 years dreading Crowley being tortured forever, and thinks Crowley turned down a chance to escape from that.
That thought makes me physically sick.*
All this is to say, their being immortal (side note that they're not *completely* immortal - they can die by hellfire/holy water respectively, and some angels and demons died in the Great War, and, as discussed, it seems like a safe bet that when the universe melts, Crowley will die) doesn't mean they have a greater chance of being safe and happy together.
In fact, pretty much the opposite is true: being immortal means the kind of fate they could suffer is (literally) INFINITELY worse. It would make Azi having to go back to heaven to try to arrange a good outcome for Crowley even more necessary.
Okay I've traumatized everyone enough for today. This has been a lovely tour of my fundamentalist childhood and subsequent extended mental breakdown. Have a lovely evening.
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* I have to hope it's not this. Because personally I don't think Crowley would let Azi think that, even at his most angry. (The thought of Crowley letting Azi walk away thinking he preferred death to going back to heaven with him, rather than pointing out to Azi that the offer to go back to heaven was a trap and he was going to wind up dead either way, was bad enough as it is - my God! Seeing that absolutely gutted me.) And I don't think Crowley would have risked their ever associating *at all* if Azi falling meant he would potentially be tortured forever too.
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wolfythewitch Ā· 1 year ago
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I hear you like biblical characters who are also sad/tragic little men
Have you considered:
Abraham, one of the most depressing main characters in the Bible?
Consider, people historically misread this character to make him more exemplary, but according to the text:
1. Early in his arc we see some big wins for him; he gets God on his side, he learns to be confident in himself and in his internal sense of justice, so much so that at the crucial moment before Sodom and Gomorrah, God tests whether Abraham's loyalty is stronger than his sense of justice, and Abraham passes with flying colors. He castigates God's plan as despicable, profane, a gross miscarriage of justice from an apparently unjust being who deigns to call themself the judge of the universeā€”and does not become an Abrahamakebab (seriously it's like Odysseus challenging Athena levels of chutzpah)
2. God promises him everything including that he'll inherit the promised land and see his children fill the land
3. God tests him again and tells him to sacrifice Isaac, and Abraham absolutely beefs it. If you read the text closely, it really emphasizes how close Abraham and Isaac are, and God is really careful to emphasize and remind Abraham of this fact. What happens? Abraham and Isaac go up the mountain together. And then at the climactic moment? It's not God who intervenes, but an angel (before this point it's always God, always personal). And then Abraham (alone) descends the mountain. Not Abraham and Isaac, just Abraham. We never again see Abraham and Isaac in the same place until Abraham's funeral (not even to set up Isaac and Rivka; he sends a servant for that! Also the funniest part of the bible; Isaac's so hot Rivka falls off her camel). Sarah leaves him and returns to her ancestral land (we know this because Abraham has to travel to her land when she dies, while Isaac lives in the same region as Sarah). And God never again speaks to Abraham, and in fact doesn't speak directly to anyone ever again until Moses kills the overseer and then comes upon the burning bush, 400 years later. Abraham certainly doesn't live to inherit the promised land or see his children fill it.
Man rises to the highest of highs, and then through his own doing, loses his son, his wife, his God, his legacy, and his pride.
May I propose instead: King Saul
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wavesoutbeingtossed Ā· 6 months ago
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The False God to Guilty As Sin? pipeline because what happens when sex was your default fallback method to reconnect when you weren't communicating otherwise but then you don't even have *that* anymore so you're just... frozen out completely in every sense. šŸ˜µā€šŸ’«
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peepingwizard Ā· 1 month ago
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do you think he ever woke up and feared that it wasn't his blood on his hands?
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giantkillerjack Ā· 2 years ago
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PENIS PENIS PENIS PENIS PENIS
PUSSY.
BIG FLAPPY WET JESUS PUSSY.
JESUS' SOPPING WET PUSS-PUSS
[Edited months after posting to discourage catholics from replying to this post after finding that both the nice and much funnier not-nice responses to this were equally bad for my mental health. I didn't wanna delete it bc I was quite proud of some of my responses and it helps to have a visual reminder of why I left an abusive organization. Also, this means that any catholic who has reblogged this in an attempt to convert me, has now reblogged a post that, if clicked, links back to this. Use MY post for propaganda, will you!]
Thinking about how it was never made clear to me in Catholic school exactly WHY Jesus died for our sins. I just remembered that I was literally never clear on who the dying helped??
I've heard theories as an adult, but basically what I'm saying is pointless martyrdom seems a little pointless, and also with enough propaganda the big logical gaps in a belief system get really hard to see. Especially if questioning anything is blasphemy.
I would have gotten in so much trouble for insisting the teacher explain how Jesus helped us by being tortured to death by Romans even when God could have prevented it! God sent his only Son, they would have said! Be grateful, they'd say! Be guilty! Stop asking why he did that!!!
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s0fter-sin Ā· 2 months ago
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i canā€™t believe how proud i am of my ghost judgement of solomon ficlet and now itā€™s up on ao3!
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frogguchi Ā· 2 months ago
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hell is supposed to be the evil ones, right? but crowley doesnā€™t really feel that heā€™s being hurt there in any sense. because hell is supposed to be evil, theyā€™re supposed to hurt, so crowley doesnā€™t feel any different because thatā€™s in their nature already. crowley is already used to hellā€™s ways, itā€™s their life, and he just goes on with his life normally. they have the sharp tongues and hands that can cut, but why blame a demon for its purpose?
so heaven is supposed to be the good ones, right? so why does it hurt? why does aziraphale feel the burden and weight of their hands on his, that uncomfortable, uncanny feeling of their grip on his entire existence. why do their words hurt him when itā€™s not supposed to because they are good? theyā€™re supposed to be the good guys, so why doesnā€™t it feel like it, and why does it look like heā€™s suffering more than his demon?
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vound-posts Ā· 6 months ago
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Do you ever think of God? How often does He think of you?
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