Tw Religious Imagery - Tumblr Posts
Missed after her death. Desired after her image. Brought to be your savior.
"She was not human. Anybody would have gotten angry. But, her..."
Melora.
Lie awake. I sleep awake.
I go to sleep with all my lights turned on so I don’t slip away.
I stay awake.
Mother mother- Sleep Awake
‘Nightcrawler’ seems to be feeding into the demonic stigma that Kurt faces.
In personal experiences, demons have always been creatures of the night. They ‘fear the light of the Lord’, as is said in the Bible. Their dealings are shadowed in darkness, and they are coated in flames of righteous fury in Hell. They stench of sulfur and brimstone, associating them with a putrid yellow and a furious red. They have been depicted as having pointed tails and horns in media, also sometimes possessing anthropomorphic qualities like a goat’s eyes or legs. Kurt may not have horns, but he has the tail, often the anthropomorphic hands, feet, and legs, and those pure yellow eyes. His main color is blue, yes but there’s also that red and yellow- both colors associated with something vile and evil. And many monsters in literate media are described to be clambering or ‘crawling’ towards unsuspecting humans. And when Kurt fights, he often ‘crawls’ towards his enemies when he’s not ‘banf’ing around. And the white gloves and shoes come off as him trying to ‘purify’ his touch, like a priest or the Pope who both wear white. The color is associated with purity and beauty, and Heaven in some Christian beliefs, and Kurt is catholic. He seems to be attempting to distance himself from demonic imagery and his father Azazel as much as he can, considering what the man has done and how he seems even more like a demon than Kurt both in name and appearance, turning to God and religion in the process. And yet, Xavier turns all that away and keeps that name given to him by the circus and gives him a uniform that feed more into that demonic imagery.
Though the name didn’t originate with Xavier, his choice to keep it for Kurt has always felt a bit off and almost capitalizing off the imagery to maintain control.
look how. look how close i am to finishing it 🙂🙂🙂🙂
Using a painting of St Sebastian as a reference for Martin <3333 will color later
Using a painting of St Sebastian as a reference for Martin <3333 will color later
Something something innocent something something
Something something innocent something something
You're not real I'm just losing my mind
Modern Christians are so weak. Earlier this afternoon I mentioned to my mom that I was wanting a skull tattoo and she said "oh that's disgusting and satanic. Christians don't associate with skulls."
Ok besides the fact that half of Christians wear metal depictions of a man being executed, Christians historically have always been strange and macabre. It's sort of what comes out of a religion that claims to eat the flesh and drink the blood of a God who was dead for three days.
Look at this church. Normal, right?
No. This is a church literally decorated entirely with human bones. Here's the chandelier:
It's called the Sedlec Ossuary, located in Kutna Hora, Czechia and is adorned with the bones of an estimated 40,000-70,000 people. (They weren't killed for this purpose, but were dug up from their Graves.)
Imagine taking the Eucharist here, eating Christ's body and drinking Christ's blood, while staring eye-to-empty-eye-socket at a real human skull. Horrifying.
That cross on the wall has 17 skulls. Seventeen human heads. That's metal as fuck.
“God knows that when you eat fruit from that tree, you will know things you have never known before.”
HE’S DIZZY AGAIN, BUT THIS TIME FROM RELIEF. Well, Michael thinks it’s relief. It could just be exhaustion, those long angry nights catching up with his emotions, or maybe surprise at having anyone (let alone his father!) on his side. But no matter, because tears nip at his eyes and Michael turns away to the cabinet indicated to hide them, scuffing roughly at his eyes with his bloodied cuffs. Any comfort, no matter how basic, is unfamiliar […] But in a situation like this, he could practically fall at his father’s feet in praise. A man of devout faith to a god.
“No, it was— it was slow,” he says, just as drawn out, like he’s not really there at all, “he— I didn’t even know him much, and I just heard him saying shi— STUFF ABOUT OUR FAMILY. Stuff about you and me. I just wanted to make him stop.”
The cabinet is opened, but his arms are occupied with dirty, bloodied rug. In this state — a little numb, a little dazed, Michael blindly copies his father, rolling up his already sullied sleeves and dropping the rug at the side of the room. Tunes out the repugnant tang of blood and the sight of the body. It’s the little things, the unthinking obedience, that helps him cope with the next words.
“I just… lost it, I guess. And I didn’t even realise ‘til halfway through, didn’t realise how bad I’d hurt him.”
Rug, discarded. Sleeves, pushed back. Michael falters briefly, and keeps his eyes firmly averted from the corpse as he opens the cabinet. He’d punched until the red mist cleared and the throbbing in his hands made him cry out, and then he’d panicked and floundered at the mess he’d made.
All of you Aftons, the boy had spat, you’re all monsters, and everybody knows it.
The queasiness returns at the memory, and Michael lurches over to his father with cleaning products like he’s forgotten how to walk. William is so nonchalant and vaguely pleased about the whole situation that he’s beginning to feel some of that sought-after delight of killing (alongside the disgust and dread).
Well. Of his father’s praise and attention. But he won’t realize the difference between the two for another couple of months.
William’s last words steady him. Breathe. His chest heaves up automatically, and it’s ridiculous how much easier it feels now that he’s been told to do it — breaths jerky, but less panicked, Michael shoots his father a look. It oozes more gratitude and more positive emotion than he’s aimed at the man in several years.
“Thank you. Thank you. I’m okay. I promise I’m okay. I just— didn’t know what to do, and I was so angry. It— It felt good.” A lie, but he’s seeking approval. It feels like the right thing to say. “To just… let it all out.” (Now that’s not a lie.)
CONTINUED. / @behindslaughter
Submitted four poems into various competitions today!
here's a snippet from one of them
// mentions/implications of sexual abuse in religious contexts //
but if God exists i'd like to hit him in the head for old habits die hard and being in his house causes my body to shake and my heart to palpitate for his memory lies in the organ the screams fuel the song of silence and the pipes swell twice their size ~ If God Exists (2024)