#salvation really

[napping-sapphic]

A pretty cashier complimented my tattoos today and i still have NOT recovered

[francesderwent]

I think pining is valid if and only if you are loving the person as they truly exist—as separate from you and with their own free will—as opposed to loving a false version of them in your head who never left you or came back to you. if your love doesn’t include their freedom to not choose you, it’s not love.

[hole34]

it has come to my attention some people don't donate their clothes????

DONATE YOUR FUCKING CLOTHES

it doesn't matter if you give them to a local shelter, a thrift shop, dropbox at a church or next to a dollar store, give them directly to a homeless person or to other family/friends that would fit them, any of these are very accessible options and it SHOCKS me that some people just throw away the clothes they don't fit/want anymore. what the FUCK.

and the thing about donating your old clothes is that it also doesn't matter if you're rich or middle class or poor or even homeless, if you have extra clothes you no can no longer fit or no longer need, you donate them.

i don’t know what you upper-middle class fuckers are up to 😭 there's a whole system we got going on here where you get your new clothes THAT YOU NEED from local thrift shops or dropboxes, wear those clothes as long as you can, and then when you cannot fit them or have excess clothes to get rid of, you donate them for the next round of people that need them. don't tell me poor people are the only ones who know how to do shit responsibly???

and i would like to emphasise childrens clothes are a MUST donate. adults' bodies will change and may not always fit the same clothes, but childrens clothes especially do not last and cannot be wasted. please. fucking. donate. your. child's. outgrown. clothes.

small children's clothes are a very big need for lower class people because unlike being a teen or adult, where you can modify your stuff, there is literally nothing else for small kids to wear. babies and toddlers and elementary kids NEED clothes, and babies and toddler and elementary kids' clothes do not last their lifetime. it is SUCH A SIMPLE SOLUTION.

[not to say everyone should necessarily get kids' clothes from donations - if you're upper class and have the money to buy new kids clothes, that's okay, and honestly probably better with the current state of consumerism because it's the lower class people that need the donations.]

hell the clothing dropbox at my therapy office is my main source of clothes (both getting and giving) and nearly all of it is just large men's pants.

please consider that there are people of all ages and sizes out there that need clothes, i honestly think that should be an obligation for EVERYONE. thank you for listening and please stay sustainable.

[purensanity]

Crash reached his final form

[elalalune]

Demon King transformation

[sw4nfire]

pro gamer gets hard carried

[thatsitso]

Demon King of Salvation

[hi-crawler]

do you love the texture of the destiny 2

i've officially cleared two Evil kell's falls (aka turn my graphics into complete slop and pray i don't get a headache) so have some screenshots. i am thrilled to announce that yes, the ps2-ifier DOES inflict it's chaos upon pre-rendered cutscenes, and that i am absolutely going back into the witch queen at some point to get screenshots of those ones

[kiwiandmint]

“[The Main Scenario The 73rd Demon King, will now begin!]”

Happy DKOS day for webtoon readers :D

[apilgrimpassingby]

Atheists saying "I don't need religion, I'm a decent person" makes me sad.

You were born to be an immortal (1) priest-king (2) partaking of the divine nature (3) and judging the world (4), and "a decent person" is the ceiling of your ambitions?

Luke 20:36, 1 Corinthians 15:26, Hebrews 2:14, Revelation 20:6

1 Peter 2:9, Revelation 1:6, Revelation 20:6

Hebrews 2:11-13, 2 Peter 1:4

1 Corinthians 6:2

[kindaorangey]

the more i learn about TVC the more i realise how crazy a divergence from book canon it was to have armand stay with louis. armand as a character is defined by what is done to him, he is kidnapped, assaulted, groomed and tortured, and his life has been blown up and reinvented against his will again and again. he is sold, he is displaced, he is bought, his life with marius is forcibly ended and he is displaced again, he is positioned as the head of the paris coven, and lestat destroys his coven's faith in him. the stuff with louis in paris is a little more grey, but louis' murder of the entire théâtres des vampires does effectively blow up the status quo of armand's life once more.

and if you read it that way, in the books, armand leaving louis is one of the only times he elects to blow up his own life. and then he chases after daniel and their relationship is legitimately the healthiest armand has ever had and framed as the reason he doesn't end up evil in QotD. it's a very significant moment that, at least for a time, represents a shift towards armand feeling like he has a bit more agency and choosing to do what he wants in his life.

but like... armand doesn't leave louis in the show. the s2 finale is, functionally, someone once again blowing up armand's life (though, of course, he had it coming). and yeah i guess it represents a true clean slate for armand, because nothing is given to him or forced upon him to replace his old life with louis, but armand once again has no say in the matter, and this change doesn't arise from any self-awareness or resolve in him. i'm not sure if s3 will really get into the sort of effect that would have on him, and i imagine his new responsibility as daniel's maker will provide him with some sort of a new system in life, but yeah. cracked decision in retrospect and kind of an L that turned-at-27-show!armand has less self-respect and resolve than his turned-at-17 book counterpart

[inkperch]

The lack of Edelgard and Flayn centric fics drives me absolutely up the wall. It's bad enough they don't really Get Into It in canon, but come on, even fanfics tend to keep the two of them apart?? Really???

[landrinha]

Rewatching the first episode of iwtv and seeing Lestat beef with God was like "haha, WAIT" what if they made Lestat's relationship with God worse by making him pray when Magnus took him away.

[savior-of-the-ink]

Re-watching Arcane season 2 in Italian

[shkika]

I've always liked to believe Artificer lives long after she's dead as a cautionary tale to the scavengers. Almost like a ghost. A beast who lives high above the clouds, whose calls echo from the top of the god's crumbling structure, daring them to come back.

Here's also a loose song inspiration for this piece! (x)

+ Close-ups under cut in case the quality suffers ↓

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 61

Chapter; Highlights (okay the entire chapter is a highlight)🤣

As requested @mysterylilycheeta I NEED TO SQUEAL IN WYVERN FANGIRL WITH YOU NOW CAUSE OH M GOODNESS THIS CHAPTER ON SO MANY LEVELS I JUST AHAKWIHUHFEJLZXBKEKA

Agony was a song in Lorcan's blood, his bones, his breath.

Every step of the horse, every leap she made over body and debris, sent it ringing afresh. There was no end, no mercy from it. It was all he could do to keep in the saddle, to cling to consciousness.

To keep his arm around Elide.

She had come for him. Had found him, somehow, on this endless battlefield.

His name on her lips had been a summons he could never deny, even when death had held him so gently, nestled beneath all those he'd felled, I, and waited for his last breaths.

And now, charging toward that too-distant keep, so far behind the droves of soldiers and riders racing for the gates, he wondered if these minutes would be his last. Her last.

She had come for him.

Lorcan managed to glance toward the dam on their right. Toward the ruk rider signaling that it was only a matter of minutes until it unleashed hell over the plain.

He didn't know how it had become weakened. Didn't care.

Still Elide kept urging the horse onward, kept them on as straight a path toward the distant keep as possible.

No ruk would come to sweep them up. No, his luck had been spent in surviving this long, in her finding him. His power would do nothing against that water.

The farthest lines of panicked soldiers appeared, and Farasha charged past them.

Elide let out a sob, and he followed the line of her sight.

To the keep gate, still open.

"Faster, Farasha!" She didn't hide the raw terror in her voice, the desperation.

Once the dam broke, it would take less than a minute for the tidal wave to reach them.

She had come for him. She had found him.

The world went quiet. The pain in his body faded into nothing. Into something secondary.

Lorcan slid his other arm around Elide, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he said, "You have to let me go."

Each word was gravelly, his voice strained nearly to the point of uselessness.

Elide didn't shift her focus from the keep ahead. "No."

That gentle quiet flowed around him, clearing the fog of pain and battle. "You have to. You have to, Elide. I'm too heavy-and without my weight, you might make it to the keep in time."

"No." The salt of her tears filled his nose.

Lorcan brushed his mouth over her damp cheek, ignoring the roaring pain in his body. The horse galloped and galloped, as if she might outrace death itself.

"I love you," he whispered in Elide's ear. "I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken." Her tears flowed past him in the wind. "And I will be with you ..." His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. "I will be with you always."

He was not frightened of what would come for him once he tumbled off the horse. He was not frightened at all, if it meant her reaching the keep.

So Lorcan kissed Elide's cheek again, allowed himself to breathe in her scent one last time. "I love you," he repeated, and began to withdraw his arms from around her waist.

Elide slapped a hand onto his forearm. Dug in her nails, right into his skin, fierce as any ruk.

"No."

There were no tears in her voice. Nothing but solid, unwavering steel.

"No," she said again. The voice of the Lady of Perranth.

Lorcan tried to move his arm, but her grip would not be dislodged.

If he tumbled off the horse, she would go with him.

Together. They would either outrun this or die together.

"Elide-"

But Elide slammed her heels into the horse's sides.

Slammed her heels into the dark flank and screamed, "FLY, FARASHA." She cracked the reins. "FLY, FLY, FLY!"

And gods help her, that horse did.

As if the god that had crafted her filled the mare's lungs with his own breath, Farasha gave a surge of speed.

Faster than the wind. Faster than death.

Farasha cleared the first of the fleeing Darghan cavalry. Passed desperate horses and riders at an all-out gallop for the gates.

Her mighty heart did not falter, even when Lorcan knew it was raging to the point of bursting.

Less than a mile stood between them and the keep.

But a thunderous, groaning crack cleaved the world, echoing off the lake, the mountains.

There was nothing he could do, nothing that brave, unfaltering horse could do, as the dam ruptured.

Rowan made himself stand there, to watch the last moments of the Lady of Perranth and his former commander. It was all he could offer: witnessing their deaths, so he might tell the story to those he encountered. So they would not be forgotten.

The roaring of the oncoming wave became deafening, even from miles away.

Still Elide and Lorcan raced, Farasha passing horse after horse after horse.

Even up here, would they escape the wave's reach? Rowan dared to survey the battlements, to assess if he needed to get the others, needed to get Aelin, to higher ground.

But Aelin was not at his side.

She was not on the battlement at all.

Rowan's heart halted. Simply stopped beating as a ruddy-brown ruk dropped from the skies, spearing for the center of the plain.

Arcas, Borte's ruk. A golden-haired woman dangling from his talons.

Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying.

Aelin hit the ground, rolling, rolling, until she uncoiled to her feet.

Right in the path of that wave.

"Oh gods," Fenrys breathed, seeing her, too.

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

The keep stones began shuddering. Rowan threw out a hand to brace himself, fear like nothing he had known ripping through him as Aelin lifted her arms above her head.

A pillar of fire shot up around her, lifting her hair with it.

The wave roared and roared for her, for the army behind her.

The shaking in the keep was not from the wave.

It was not from that wall of water at all.

Cracks formed in the earth, splintering across it. Spiderwebbing from Aelin.

"The hot springs," Chaol breathed. "The valley floor is full of veins into the earth itself."

Into the burning heart of the world.

The keep shook, more violently this time.

The pillar of fire sucked back into Aelin.

She held out a hand before her, her fist closed.

As if it would halt the wave in its tracks.

He knew then. Either as her mate or carranam, he knew.

"Three months," Rowan breathed.

The others stilled.

"Three months," he said again, his knees wobbling. "She's been making the descent into her power for three months."

Every day she had been with Maeve, bound in iron, she had gone deeper. And she had not tapped too far into that power since they'd freed her because she had kept making the plunge.

To gather up the full might of her magic.

Not for the Lock, not for Erawan.

But for Maeve's death blow.

A few weeks of descent had taken her powers to devastating levels. Three months of it

…

Holy gods. Holy rutting gods.

And when her fire hit the wall of water now towering over her, when they collided —

"GET DOWN!" Rowan bellowed, over the screaming waters. "GET DOWN NOW!"

His companions dropped to the stones, any within earshot doing the same.

Rowan plummeted into his power. Plummeted into it fast and hard, ripping out any remaining shred of magic.

Elide and Lorcan were still too far from the gates. Thousands of soldiers were still too far from the gates as the wave crested above them.

As Aelin opened her hand toward it.

Fire erupted.

Cobalt fire. The raging soul of a flame.

A tidal wave of it.

Taller than the raging waters, it blasted from her, flaring wide.

The wave slammed into it. And where water met a wall of fire, where a thousand years of confinement met three months of it, the world exploded.

Blistering steam, capable of melting flesh from bone, shot across the plain.

With a roar, Rowan threw all that remained of his magic toward the onslaught of steam, a wall of wind that shoved it toward the lake, the mountains.

Still the waters came, breaking against the flames that did not so much as yield an inch.

Maeve's death blow. Spent here, to save the army that might mean Terrasen's salvation. To spare the lives on the plain.

Rowan gritted his teeth, panting against his fraying power. A burnout lurked, deadly close.

The raging wave threw itself over and over and over into the wall of flame.

Rowan didn't see if Elide and Lorcan made it into the keep. If the other soldiers and riders on the plain stopped to gape.

Princess Hasar said, rising beside him, "That power is no blessing."

"Tell that to your soldiers," Fenrys snarled, standing, too.

"I did not mean it that way," Hasar snipped, and awe was indeed stark on her face.

Rowan leaned against the battlements, panting hard as he fought to keep the lethal steam from flowing toward the army. As he cooled and sent it whisking away.

Solid hands slid under his arms, and then Fenrys and Gavriel were there, propping him up between them.

A minute passed. Then another.

The wave began to lower. Still the fire burned.

Rowan's head pounded, his mouth going dry.

Time slipped from him. A coppery tang filled his mouth.

The wave lowered farther, raging waters quieting. Then roaring turned to lapping, rapids into eddies.

Until the wall of flame began to lower, too. Tracking the waters down and down and down. Letting them seep into the cracks of the earth.

Rowan's knees buckled, but he held on to his magic long enough for the steam to lessen.

For it, too, to be calmed.

It filled the plain, turning the world into drifting mist. Blocking the view of the queen in its center.

Then silence. Utter silence.

Fire flickered through the mist, blue turning to gold and red. A muted, throbbing glow.

Rowan spat blood onto the battlement stones, his breath like shards of glass in his throat.

The glowing flames shrank, steam rippling past. Until there was only a slim pillar of fire, veiled in the mist-shrouded plain.

Not a pillar of fire.

But Aelin.

Glowing white-hot. As if she had given herself so wholly to the flame that she had become fire herself.

The Fire-Bringer someone whispered down the battlements.

The mist rippled and billowed, casting her into nothing but a glowing effigy.

The silence turned reverent.

A gentle wind from the north swept down. The veil of mist pulled back, and there she was.

She glowed from within. Glowed golden, tendrils of her hair floating on a phantom wind.

"Mala's Heir," Yrene breathed.

Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted.

The wind pushed away more of the drifting mist, clearing the land beyond Aelin.

And where that mighty, lethal wave had loomed, where death had charged toward them, nothing remained at all.

For three months, she had sung to the darkness and the flame, and they had sung back.

For three months, she had burrowed so deep inside her power that she had plundered undiscovered depths. While Maeve and Cairn had worked on her, she had delved. Never letting them know what she mined, what she gathered to her, day by day by day.

A death blow. One to wipe a dark queen from the earth forever.

She'd kept that power coiled in herself even after she'd been freed from the irons. Had struggled to keep it down these weeks, the strain enormous. Some days, it had been easier to barely speak. Some days, swaggering arrogance had been her key to ignoring it.

Yet when she had seen that wave, when she had seen Elide and Lorcan choosing death together, when she had seen the army that might save Terrasen, she'd known. She'd felt the fire sleeping under this city, and knew they had come here for a reason.

She had come here for this reason.

A river still flowed from the dam, harmless and small, wending toward the lake.

Nothing more.

Aelin lifted a glowing hand before her as blessed, cooling emptiness filled her at last.

Slowly, starting from her fingertips, the glow faded.

As if she were forged anew, forged back into her body.

Back into Aelin.

Clarity, sharp and crystal clear, filled its wake. As if she could see again, breathe again.

Inch by inch, the golden glow faded into skin and bone. Into a woman once more.

Already, a white-tailed hawk launched skyward.

But as the last of the glow faded, disappearing out through her toes, Aelin fell to her knees.

Fell to her knees in the utter silence of the world, and curled onto her side.

She had the vague sense of strong, familiar arms scooping her up. Of being carried onto a broad feathery back, still in those arms.

Of soaring through the skies, the last of the mist rippling away into the afternoon sun.

And then sweet darkness.