#The Sin Nature Within the Christian

[compassionmattersmost]

The Divine Within: Jesus’ Teachings on Our True Nature

In many Christian teachings, the concept of sin often overshadows the more empowering messages found within the Scriptures. Yet, Jesus’ words offer profound insights into the divine nature inherent in each of us. By revisiting his teachings, we can uncover a more uplifting understanding of our spiritual identity. John 14:20: “On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in…

[alpaca-clouds]

Let me talk about Mizrak

Yeah, this with all the entire Nocturne brainrot is going to continue for a couple more days at least. But the show has so many interesting themes and characters and I just love it so much. And after getting all my friends to watch the show, I got surprised by one of them being super angry about Mizrak.

Why? Well, because of the last scene with him and Olrox in the season and his words of: "You are just an animal that lost its soul centuries ago." And the friend considered that "being an asshole" and "cruel".

To which I say: Cruel? Yes. Asshole? No.

Let me explain.

First, let me make one thing clear: No, Mizrak is not a templar. I have seen that one too many times. He is not a templar. He is a monk knight of the order of St. John, so the Knights Hospitaller. Like the templars they were very much tied to the crusades originally, but they are not the same thing. There were a lot of orders and types of knights associated with the crusades. Templars were just one of them. (Do you guys wanna hear more about the templars? I can talk more about them.)

We know from bits and pieces of dialogue that Mizrak originates in Jerusalem (which is also where the order was founded). This is a gentle reminder: Israel as we know it today was not a thing back then. But Jerusalem was always a place of religious conflict as it holds importance in all three Abrahamic religions. Which was, what the crusades were all about after all. Before the time of the French Revolution, though, there was mostly some a conflict between the Ottomans and some Arab forces over Palestine. There were some Christian orders accepted within the city though.

Now, the Knights Hospitaller, who were accepted in Jerusalem, had a strong connection to France. Which... lead to problems, when some of the Arabs and the French got into problems. Which let to the Knights Hospitaller leaving for Malta. This too is referenced in the dialogue. (If you guys cannot tell: I am very happy with the amount of historical research put into this show!)

Mizrak looks to be in his early 30s. So I assume he entered the order in his mid-teens (which was a usual age to enter an order like that) and then probably left for Malta within a couple of years after that when the political situation got more charged. And then from Malta to France.

The Knights Hospitaller back then for all intent and purposes lived as militarized monks. That means they made vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. And this very much shines through with his character in so many scenes.

Of course we see that the entire "chastity" thing does not work out that well for him. But that is also why he clearly is shown to be conflicted about that entire thing. What he tries to uphold, though, is the obedience aspect of his vows. And that is, what his entire conflict is about.

See, what I love about this character is that there is all this delicious conflict.

I will iterate again: I grew up in a very, very conservative, strict, catholic household. Other kids got read fairytales for bedtime. My mother read me the bible. Priests and monks were people we intermingled with a lot. (Heck, the last pope? I met him when he was still a bishop.) And hence I got to make one very clear experience: There are three types of Catholics: Those, who focus on all the horrible things. Those, who focus on the literal stuff written in the bible. And those, who focus on the positive stuff. You know, the stuff with helping people, and being poor, and sharing, and being in general a good person. (Though the three types are not always mutually exclusive.)

And it is pretty clear that Mizrak is of the latter kind. He believes in the good he can do through his faith in God and Christ. But he has also grown up in an Order and a Church that puts a lot of focus on the idea of sin, on the idea of obedience, and the idea of the "natural order".

But there he is, with his Abbot collaborating with demons and vampires to enforce that "natural order", which among other things goes against their own vow of poverty. This is so clearly against Mizrak's believes. Because in his very core, Mizrak is a good fucking man. He is one of the good guys. Who wants to do good through his faith in God. And this conflicts for him.

So by the end of episode 7 he reached the point to go against his vow of obedience, because his faith in doing good was stronger, than his dedication to his vows. He very actively broke his vows in the eyes of his order, standing against his order, to protect those darn kids. Because it was the right thing to do. He is absolutely willing to do the noble sacrifice if that is what it takes to save those kids. And in comes that weird dude and takes this chance from him.

And his entire thing with Olrox... It seems very much that Mizrak is indeed gay. As the series so helpfully points out: Yeah, priests, monks, other clergy, and their vows of chastity were always a thing that rarely worked out. Again, as someone who grew up with close ties to the church: The fact that everyone is secretly fucking is... well known. As well as the fact that yeah, there are a lot of gay clergy. Mostly for the reason that they are shamed for their sexuality and then take the vows to not be tempted into homosexuality. Only to find that a priest school with a lot of other queer supressed men is exactly the place you do not want to be to not be tempted. (And that is all without going into all the non-con, pedophilia and what not. Things that were also already happening back then, I guarantee you.)

So, try to imagine that entire thing from Mizrak's perspective. There he is, already ashamed and suppressed about all of that and in comes this very, very seductive vampire man, who kinda seems to align with some of his values, but not with others. And who is emotionally unavailable as fuck, outright telling him that he does not love our dear Mizrak. Someone, who clearly is not for the vampires and your abbot, but also clearly not willing to take the other side. The side that you in your heart (even though it means standing against your order) know to be right. And this man, who claims to not love you, then comes in and tries to stop you from doing what is right.

Yeah, no fuck, Mizrak is a bit pissed at him. Especially as in that moment Olrox very clearly goes against Mizrak's ideals, that are all about self-sacrificially doing the right thing.

And I do think that Mizrak is right in one regard: Olrox lost his soul. He lost a part of himself. Through the trauma of colonialism, but he lost it never the less.

So, once more: Thanks the team for giving us another interesting, well-rounded religious character! CV already did so well with Isaac and Mizrak is sofar extremely promising in that regard.

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

How much of our scientific thinking has an unconscious religious bias?

This is in response to this post, from @headspace-hotel, about campaigns to eradicate Hybrid Cattails as an "Invasive Species," even though both individual species hybridizing themselves are native plants (But I didn't want to muddy a discussion about science with a rant about religion. So: a separate post it is)

I sometimes wonder if our dominant views of "natural vs. unnatural/invasive" were shaped, are shaped, by the particular theologies of Protestant Christianity...

You Know, the theology that teaches / believes:

Our world was created by a single, all-knowing god

Humanity Fell by disobeying that god, and thus tainted the world with Sin (so Humans are now apart from Nature [aka the Garden of Eden])

The Protestant Christians fetishized the North American Continent as an example of what Eden was like "Before the Fall," and the people who were already living here were Noble Savages.*

So now, anything that evolves in response to human influence (such as brackish cattails hybridizing with freshwater cattails), is considered "unnatural," as if it's been tainted by our sin.

I sometimes wonder what our environmental understanding would be like in an alternate universe where the sciences had evolved in a polytheistic culture.** Would we be more generally accepting of the idea of coexisting forces constantly intertwining, and changing, rather than there being a single, fixed, "pure" world, that must be protected from contamination?

[BTW. I've become an atheist in this last third of my life, so I don't think any one religion is "more true" than any other: they're all metaphors that help us frame and understand the actual world we live in; they are very powerful metaphors, and for some, can be helpful and emotionally healthy ... for others, not so much.]

*(even though the abundant environment the colonizers found here was actually deliberately managed and curated by humans -- it's just that it wasn't managed in the form of fenced off square plots, and straight rows of crops).

**If you don't believe scientific thinking can evolve within a polytheistic paradigm, check out (what survives of) the writings of Democritus and Epicurus. Their philosophies weren't following what we now consider the Scientific Method, but they were already drifting in that direction.

[konigbabe]

heavenly sin

Pairing: RE4!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Tags/warnings: smut (pure unfiltered filth, no plot); voice kink; p-in-v sex; unprotected sex; female gendered anatomy; female masturbation; fingering; cunnilingus; established relationship; no y/n; references to Christianity and ferocity; extensive wordplay

Summary: It's been known that Leon is one kinky bastard.

A/N: Written as part of my A to Z kinks game. N is for narratophilia aka being aroused by sexual storytelling.

Tried something a little bit different to explore my knowledge of English. A wordplay of sorts (I basically threw random words together in hopes that it'd make some sense). Bon Appetit.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

“You enjoying yourself?” As Leon discards his gloves, casting them aside like insignificant relics, you feel the pillow crumple beneath his weight. A testament to the force of his being. The air feels sizzling hot, thick with heat and suffocating in its intensity. “If I knew my words would get you so riled up,” his other hand cups your breast, thumb circling the erected nipple and watching as goosebumps rise over the sensitive skin, “I’d do this much sooner.”

It started as a joke, a fleeting spark in the sea of banter. Leon’s flirtatious nature entwined in perfect harmony with his tender heart.

Fresh out of the shower, your heart longed for the man whose sudden departures have become routine. A standard in your life.

The sun made its final descent below the horizon, the sky painted in shades of amber and gold – the bedroom awash in a warm and inviting glow, as if every object was kissed by the sun's final rays. The light filtered through the sheer curtains, creating patterns on the floor that danced like flickering flames.

And in the midst of it all, Leon's call came through, cutting through the stillness.

The conversation began innocently. Calling to let you know he’ll be home soon. It was as though his tenderness was butterfly's wings, fluttering in your chest and making your heart skip a beat.

His sincere words slowly spilt over into something else. Something more. Something promising.

It’s now that the phone lies next to your ear, and Leon's voice, like a silk ribbon, unwinds into your consciousness, stirring a deep and primal desire within you. Building the anticipation need inside you.

“After that, I’d bent you over the table. You’d already be naked and dripping,” Leon’s voice a song of Solomon, “but I’d be far from done with you.”

A gasp, soft and quiet, escapes your parted lips. Every fibre of your body, every cell is set on fire. The setting sun casting flames over your naked skin of yours. Flesh burning. Body wrapped in a cocoon of passionate flames – your palm pressing against the sensitive nub, the pressure light as a feather. Slow, languid strokes of your fingers follow Leon’s words.

Muscles tightening as the pressure keeps adding with each sentence. Slow and steady. With a pace of a gentle stream. Dipping one finger deep inside your slick walls, only to stop when you reach fully inside.

A stream of docile moans flows from your throat.

“Just to feel you take my cock. Hear those gorgeous gasps as you beg me to give it to you,” hand gripping the messed-up sheets underneath you, squeezing tight as you add another finger, curling them upwards.

“Rough, just how you like it. Pretty sure we’d break the table,” Leon’s words are accompanied by a light chuckle, hiding much more sinister and vivid ideas inside his head.

The way his name rolls off your tongue makes him cuss. Your voice carries the weight of longing, desire, and devotion. Making Leon wish to finally be home.

“Fuck. Could spend all day between those lovely legs of yours.” Leon’s voice descends to a low murmur, tinged with raw, feral hunger.

With a touch as tender as a butterfly’s wing, thumb circling the aching nub of nerves; it ignites a wildfire of ecstasy within your body. As you lightly graze your opening, feeling the softness of your slick walls, a delicate gasp escapes your mouth, akin to a prayer of submission to this moment of pure passion and pleasure.

“Just to taste that pretty pussy of yours on my tongue.”

Leon's voice pours into the phone, rich and sinful. You hear the front door open with a soft creak, the sound echoing through your body. He's finally home, his presence filling your senses with a heady aroma of musk and lust, a tantalizing potion that you can't resist.

He gazes at you with eyes like storm clouds brewing with desire. The air is thick with the scent of sex and your yearning, hanging in the dimly lit bedroom, resembling a heavy fog. You keep your gaze locked with his, transfixed as Leon strides in, his figure outlined by the glow of light seeping in from the hallway.

You don’t stop–

–instead, your fingers delve deeper. Nails grazing the tender walls, the slight discomfort only adding to the pleasure. Like a deer caught in headlines, your eyes stay on his.

The sound of your slickness echoes in the room as you thrust in and out, unconsciously matching the rhythm of Leon's steps – left in, right out, left in, right out – a dance of carnal desire.

And just like that, he stands on the side of the bed.

Leon’s eyes gleam with a fierce intensity. A perfect blend of predatory sensuality and effortless ease. With the grace of a pather; clad in a black henley shirt, the first two buttons undone, exposing the slight curve of his clavicles. It molds to his chiseled form as though it was a second skin, making Leon exude a primal magnetism that draws you closer to your high.

Spellbound by the scene in front of him – by you; fingers deep inside, eyes glazed over with orgasmic ecstasy as your work yourself to your high.

The air is thick with the sweet scent of your desire, a heady aroma that fills his senses with an overwhelming urge to indulge in your rapture.

He steps closer, placing one knee on the bed. The mattress creaks under his weight, but his gaze never leaves yours. It's as if you're the only person in the world that matters to him right now. The heat emanating from his body is palpable, and you feel your heart race as his presence commands the room.

“You enjoying yourself?”

His tone is low. A seductive purr sends a wave of electricity through your veins. Hot like molten lava. Dripping like honey, sweet and luscious. They linger in the air, coating everything around you with a sticky warmth.

His name leaves your lips in a deep sigh. Soft walls squeeze your fingers.

As he discards his fingerless gloves, casting them aside like insignificant relics, you feel the pillow crumple beneath his weight. A testament to the force of his being. The air feels sizzling hot, thick with heat and suffocating in its intensity.

Leon’s arm flexes, the sinewy muscles bulging when put to work. Your eyes lock onto his, drinking in the raw masculinity and primal allure of his being. A contented moan escapes your lips, an instinctive reaction to the overwhelming sensuality of the moment.

“If I knew my words would get you so riled up,” his other hand cups your breast, thumb circling the erected nipple and watching as goosebumps rise over the sensitive skin, “I’d do this much sooner.”

His towering form casts a shadow over you as he leans closer. Lips so close you can almost taste the desire that emanated from him. The heat of his breath dances across your skin, making your senses swirl in a dizzying haze of lust; igniting a fire that burns with the intensity of Samson's strength.

“Wanna gimme a kiss?” he whispers, his lips almost brushing against yours. You’re still able to feel the soft graze of the plump skin atop of yours, sending a fluttering sensation to your heart.

You can't help but feel intoxicated by his voice, each word rolling off his tongue with a silky smoothness that sends shivers down your spine. It's almost like he's casting a spell, using his voice as a weapon to ensnare you in his grasp. And you willingly surrender, caught in the web of his honeyed words; like Delilah, powerless to his will, swept away by the power of his seduction.

Lips grazing his, you push your face upwards to be closer. The kiss is both gentle and fierce; a tantalizing dance of lips and tongues that leaves you breathless and wanting more. The taste of him a mix of mint and spice. You stop the movement of your wrist between your legs. Stilling, feeling the wet squeeze around your fingers, your mind becomes a blank canvas, a vast expanse of nothingness.

The taste of him lingers on your tongue as he pulls away. Thick fingers wrapping around your wrist, he nudges your fingers out of you. A displeased grunt leaves your lips at the sudden emptiness. Only to have your breath stop; watching as Leon brings your hand, fingers visibly sticky with your juices, tongue swirling around the tip of your index finger before taking two of the fingers in his mouth. It’s as if he’s tasting the forbidden fruit, savoring the flavor of your arousal like the sweetest nectar.

Feeling the wet tip of his tongue swirl around your fingers, you can’t help but let out a soft moan. The rough texture brushes over the pads of your fingers. Licking every drop of you off of your fingers, leaving them clean before he licks his own lips.

“Missed that taste.”

His eyes never leave yours, dark and intense with desire as he slowly releases your hand.

“Missed you almost that much too.”

His words wash over you like a warm embrace, seeping into your pores and settling deep within your bones. As his body moves over yours, his hands glide across the burning expanse of your skin, tracing patterns of passion that leave you breathless in anticipation. The soft touch of his lips on your navel sends ripples of pleasure through your body, each sensation building on the last until you're gasping for air.

Leon sinks to his knees at the end of the bed; his movements smooth and graceful. Years of never-ending training left him in full control of every muscle. Arms sliding underneath your knees, he holds you firmly as he grips your hips with unyielding strength.

A single tug. Confident in its prosecution. He brings you to the edge of the bed, your glistening cunt hovering in front of his face. The sight of him there, between your legs, both captivating and overwhelming.

The wet tip of his tongue peaks from within his kiss-bruised lips.

Before you know it, you’re completely undone. A mess. Leon's tongue turns your body into a temple of pleasure; his movements sinuous and calculated. With each flick and swirl of his tongue, he's coaxing you to heights of ecstasy.

His tongue traces every inch of your throbbing cunt, flicking and teasing your clit as you squirm beneath him, one hand grasping his soft hair while the other squeezes your breast. His fingers, thick and rough, plunge deep inside of you, finding all the right spots to drive you wild. Each thrust of his hand sends jolts of pleasure through your body, making you moan and writhe with need.

"Such a fucking filthy little thing," he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath making you shiver. He devours you with his mouth and hands, taking you to the brink of ecstasy and back again; fingers scissoring and pumping, working you over until you're a quivering mess of desire.

The blunt pressure of the tips of his fingers pressing mildly against your inner walls sending pinnacles of bliss across your body until you’re mewling at the sharp pleasure that ripples down your spine.

You claw at the sheets, unable to control the waves of sensation that crash over you.

And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, you let yourself go, your body convulsing in waves of pure pleasure. Ecstasy; Leon’s name a sweetened melody on the tip of your tongue.

He stands up afterwards, a towering figure before your eyes. Your aching legs fall from his shoulders onto the bed. Leon looms over you, appearing almost god-like, a divine being sent to ravage you with its passion.

Disposing of his shirt, you lay on the bed motionless, senses on high and in anticipation as you watch the man strip. With every article of clothing that comes off, Leon’s body reveals itself in all its glory. Shoulders and chest sculptured, shaped by years of intense training. Someone who’s worked hard to achieve such a physique. Rippling muscles that flex with every movement he makes. His arms thick with veins and biceps that bulge with raw strength, capable of holding you up effortlessly. You can see every ridge of his abs, each one chiseled to perfection.

“Enjoyin’ the view?” he rasps after ridding himself of the last article while you shamelessly stare at Leon’s sheer size and the strength of him.

“Very much,” you breathe out when he crawls on top of you.

His cock rests atop your stomach, heavy and pulsing with need; leaking as he marks you in his precum. Yet, neither of you moves. Unbothered, you remain locked in his gaze before his lips capture yours in a short passionate kiss. Drawn together by the irresistible pull of gravity, your lips meet in a collision of desire and longing.

Legs wrapping high around his waist, his hand leaves the side of your neck and travels the side of your body, igniting a trail of heat as it goes. Leon strokes the length of your thigh, only stopping when his fingers rest under your knee momentarily. Then you feel the blunt tip press against your aching cunt. The anticipation inside you unravels like a tightly wound spool, releasing a flood of sensations that spreads throughout your body.

“Ready?” he breathes out; his warm breath tickles your skin as his lips brush against yours once again.

The silky texture of his hair brush against your fingertips. Legs tightening around his upper body, you pull him closer to you. “Yeah.”

The pressure against your throbbing cunt intensifies as Leon presses forward. The crown of his cock splits you open with ease, enveloping him. Welcoming him eagerly in your wet heat. As if he belongs there.

Leon’s touch’s electric, sending shivers down your spine as he claims you with each bite and kiss. His teeth graze your chin, softly nibbling at the skin as he lets out a guttural grunt. Keeping one hand on the side of your neck, possessive and tender, surely to feel the rapid pulse of your jugular vein, he hooks his thumb underneath your jaw and pushes upwards.

When your head is tilted upwards enough to his satisfaction, his lips latch on the front of your neck. Small, quick bites decorate the stretched skin. Followed by a wet kiss, he sucks on the skin. Vulnerable and exposed.

Moans cascade from your lips, an ode to his cock splitting you apart slowly. A divine intrusion into your depths, filling you.

He stills when he’s buried balls deep inside of you; bottoms out in your quivering walls, slick with post-orgasmic arousal.

The feeling of fullness, of being completely filled, is almost too much to bear. Your breath hitches in your throat, body trembling with pleasure as it strains to accommodate him; to make enough space to take him in.

Your eyes flatter shut as he waits, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck while his hand cups the underside of your breast with his thumb teasing your nipple in a leisurely manner.

A moment of content falls between you. Bodies molded together; two halves of a whole.

After a few seconds, you press the sole of your feet into his skin, feeling the taunt muscle contract underneath you.

A subtle but unmistakable gesture. A wordless plea for more.

A fuck me of sorts.

Your body speaks volumes, a language he's learned to decipher. And with a low growl, he responds to your invitation. A low roll of his hips. A test of your readiness. It becomes a measured beat that tests your strength, the pressure of his cock firmly pressed against the walls of your cervix.

It has you sent into a harmonious frenzy.

Leon continues with the rhythm. Relishing in the tight squeeze of your cunt, in the way you sing for him, his name a sacred hymn on your lips. Your body responds eagerly to his touch, every nerve ending on fire as pleasure courses through you.

His hands sear a blazing trail on your burning flesh. Every touch feels as if he’s branding you, etching himself onto your skin.

The wetness of his lips causes goosebumps to raise on your skin. Moving like a reverent prayer. Worship of your body as his tongue swipes over your sensitive nipples.

Your name escapes his lips and is met with a low moan.

Tantalizing and peaceful.

Leon’s unhurried movements slowly transform into something more. Rough and hasty. Teeth nibbling at your jawline, feeling the bone underneath the skin, your nails bite into the tight muscle of his shoulder blades. Surely to leave indents that will bloom into bruises and marks. Your back arch, offering yourself up to him as you focus on meeting his thrusts.

As his hand wanders down the length of your body, his fingers dance along the curves of your waist and hips before grazing the globes of your ass; giving it a rough squeeze before wrapping his fingers under your knee and pulling away from your neck.

Meanwhile, his other hand braces his body weight by your face. Leon’s fingers entwine around your ankle. Pushing your leg up and over his shoulder, you moan over the painful stretch of your hamstring as he gazes at you.

He moves with a frenzied urgency. Lowering himself to rest on his elbows, his fingers find their way to your clit.

The way he flicks over the sensitive nub elicits a series of moans and cries from you only to be silenced by his lips crashing onto yours.

The kiss is wet and messy. Hungry. Both of you eager to take and dominate, his tongue dancing with yours in a frenzied manner.

It's like he's a man possessed, lost in the rhythm of his movements and the feel of your body beneath him. You writhe and moan, lost in a haze of sensation and desire as he takes you higher towards that ultimate release. That sweet orgasm. Every motion is a symphony, a perfect blend of power and finesse, as he explores the contours of your body with a deep hunger.

Mind becoming blurry, your senses are consumed by the raw, primal desire Leon elicits with his thrusts. Moving to brace himself better, it feels impossible when you feel the blunt pressure hit even deeper than before. Gasping, you move your hips, trying to take him as deep as possible.

The smell of sweat and sex fills the air, and you can hear the sound of skin slapping against the skin as Leon moves with increasing speed and intensity. His determination to tear you apart only grows each time your hips meet, sending bolts of electricity throughout your every cell. His thumb flicks over your clit, applying pressure and circling the aching bud until you’re quivering underneath the mass of a man above you. Inside you.

The sound of his grunts and moans blends into a symphony of pleasure, each note building up the tension within you. You feel like a volcano on the brink of eruption, bubbling with molten passion until it finally snaps. Erupts.

A tidal wave of pleasure washes over you. Sweeping you in a vortex of delight. A thousand stars explode in your mind, each one brighter than the last, painting your vision with vibrant colors. Your body convulses, spasming in rhythm with the waves of pleasure that ripple through you.

Gasps leave your lips. Desperate for air, you cling to Leon, whose thrusts never wavered. Whose fingers continue to tease your clit, now throbbing and exploding with sensitivity. His eyes lock on yours, lips parted with low moans escaping from between before you bring his face down to you, swallowing each cry of pleasure but eventually, he pulls away.

You watch as Leon’s eyes snap shut, brows furrowing in pleasure as he stills. His full length buried inside of your spasming cunt, filling you up with his cum.

Your body’s spent. Yet your mind’s still reeling from the sheer intensity as Leon remains buried inside; his breath ragged and uneven before he pulls out with measured slowness, teasing your oversensitive clit with a gentle tap. You shudder at the sensation of him trickling out of you.

“Hi.”

The simple word leaves your mouth in a breathless whisper. A mere welcome that was meant to be addressed when he first entered your home instead of now. A warmth spreads through your body, settling low in your belly as you take in the sight of him; the way his blond hair falls across his forehead, resembling a halo of an angel. Cheeks tinted in light pink and lips curved into a small smile as he looks at you.

“Hi.”

[incesthemes]

me, at the bar of the mexican restaurant eating $1 tacos sacrilegiously dipped in the complimentary salsa: once sam winchester becomes disillusioned with the christian god, his faith undergoes a transformation that is the genesis of dean's apotheosis. dean is sam's god, overbearing and righteous, enacting his divine judgment upon the evil of the world. and sam, the fallen angel looking up at the heavens contained within dean's eyes, longs for redemption of his sins, even as his nature commands he sin more. it's the destiny of the abomination and the righteous man; they were born into this fate and they are helpless to stop it. sam never loses his faith—he just finds a new god.

[astra-ravana]

The Practice Of Demonolatry

Demonolatry, the communion, summoning, and worship of demons, is a complex and often misunderstood practice with roots in ancient history. While it's difficult to pinpoint the exact origin, early forms of demon work can be traced back to pre-Christian cultures, where spirits and deities were often associated with both positive and negative aspects of the natural world.

In the Abrahamic traditions, demons are typically portrayed as fallen angels or evil spirits, often associated with temptation, sin, chaos, misfortune, and death. However, in some occult and esoteric practices, demons are viewed as powerful beings who can grant knowledge, power, and protection to those who understand how to work with them. The word "demon" comes from the ancient Greek "daemon" which literally meant "divine entity" or "minor god". Many demons are, in fact, disgraced pagan gods who met with the limited understanding of early Christians. Due to events such as the crusades and prevalent witch hunts throughout history, information pertaining to demons was likely supressed or destroyed entirely.

The Renaissance period, however, saw a resurgence of interest in demonology, with figures like Johann Weyer and Reginald Scot challenging the prevailing view of demons as purely evil entities. These thinkers argued that many cases of demonic possession could be attributed to mental illness or other natural causes. In the 19th and 20th centuries, demonolatry experienced a revival within certain occult and esoteric circles. Figures like Aleister Crowley, Anton LaVey and other practitioners of Satanism and Theistic Satanism incorporated demonic entities into their rituals and beliefs. These modern forms of demonolatry often emphasize personal empowerment, self-reliance, and the exploration of darker aspects of the human psyche.

Modern demonolaters such as S. Connolly, Michael W. Ford, and Satan and Suns are now helping transition demonaltry from obscure occult practice to every day magick. It is a diverse and multifaceted system, with a wide range of beliefs and practices. There is much to be gained when interacting with these powerful, otherworldly energies. Some practitioners view demons as literal entities, while others interpret them as archetypes or psychological forces. Regardless of their specific beliefs, demonolators often share a fascination with the occult, the supernatural, and the darker side of human nature (or the shadow).

Demonolatry as a practice or magickal rite is an almost unmatched catalyst for change, transformation, growth, knowledge, magickal ability and more. A connection to the demonic divine is a portal to the universe and understanding the true nature and origins of life. Doing your research is key, but there is no better teacher in this case than experience. Its hard to understand how natural and comforting demonic connection can feel without actually feeling it first hand. Letting go of preprogrammed fears and expectations to leap bravely into the dark may not be easy and it's not for everyone, but it is one of the most freeing and enlightening experiences one can have. So... What are you afraid of?

[balkanradfem]

The christian side of tumblr found a post where I made a little joke about how religion puts women into servitude and it's going around gathering bible quotes and arguing whether this is about christianity or other religions x_x I never thought this day would come.. I didn't think christians were on here. And even though the majority of people arguing are christians, I never wrote down 'christianity', I meant all abrahamic religions.

I'm itching to go argue but I know deep in my heart there is nothing to be gained. These people are eager to mock and personally attack whoever is disagreeing with them and that is not a honest intellectual discussion that I crave. I think if you're religious you just have to avoid thinking things like 'why is that so' and 'isn't that awfully convenient' and 'what if this promised thing fails to materialize' because once you start having those thoughts, the entire thing falls apart.

I remember being 15 and realizing that the christian god has no actual use of us, no point in caring about us whatsoever, and no incentive to pay attention to what we do or don't do, but humans very much have a need to believe in the higher power that works to their personal advantage, and that there's someone 'up there' who will make things alright for them, that they have a higher purpose and that if they follow certain rules it will pay out. And this was enough for me to figure out that god didn't create humans, but humans created god, because humans have a need of a god, while god has no need or use for humans at all.

It was only later when I learned about feminism that I realized it wasn't only that, but that it was specifically made to control, exploit and oppress women, praising them for endless servitude, sacrifice, submission and platitude, all while consistently telling them they're filled with sin and never good enough. It's now ghoulish and bizarre to me that the symbol of their faith is a m*n being brutally tortured, that what we feel is holy is endless suffering and pain and death. We're told to aspire for that. That has nothing to do with spirituality, nothing to do with human nature or healthy and happy human lives. It's a worship of death.

There are promises that religious people make towards women, to make them believe it's a path towards true love, or endless rewards for being 'faithful' and 'pure' or a life where they feel safe from disasters, safe from being abandoned and betrayed. There's nothing in life that can guarantee that. Religion can however, offer certain people a community, it can provide services where you come and listen to stories, and stories come with morals (convenient and confusing morals, but people love engaging with moral-type stories and feeling they've learned something), it provides rituals and celebrations that cultures have integrated in their life (after it destroyed the original rituals and celebrations, but we don't talk about that), and it can provide a common ground of understanding for people (sadly the common ground is that women exist to serve and that this is natural). Sometimes it also provides a feeling of superiority for some people, enabling them to mock, humiliate and patronize others for their 'lack of religion'.

So I understand there are community related reasons a person might feel safer within a religion and having this common ground and community, common beliefs, familiarity and stories, rituals and celebrations, it doesn't come off as a horrible thing, especially when the majority of the culture does it. But other things it brings are painful for women, and often hidden. Encouraging hidden suffering, sacrifice, servitude, centering torture and death, and admiration of torture and death, instead of celebrating nature, life, the world we live in and how we interact with it. Centering males as creators when everyone alive was created by women. Dismissing wars, rape, terrorism, weapons of mass destruction, genocides and male brutality, while endlessly shaming women for having feelings and not doing a good enough job pleasing the violent males. And generally making a hell for women when they have any thoughts about sexuality or lust.

I know me writing about it here will not have any effect on people personally attacking me for being ignorant and uneducated, but it feels good to write down the thoughts I've been having all day! Being forbidden from thinking in certain direction, forbidden from questioning my own beliefs, is something that plagued me for a big part of my life, and I will not have it anymore. I can say 'this is awfully convenient' when religions declare that m*n are leaders and women are supposed to follow and serve. I can say that putting up statues of a m*n dying in torture is fucked up and morbid. I can say that making me believe that I would go to hell, for not following every order I've been given, is a horrid thing to do to a female child. And I'm happy and grateful that I can think and say whatever I want, without any threat of damnation ever looming over me.

[receivingtranny]

just saw a post saying that men shouldn't be allowed to become therapists because they *will* rape women/girls or at best... mentally ill women and girls *will always* catch inappropriate romantic/sexual feelings for a male therapist (not even gonna touch the flaming pile of internalized misogynistic shit lying within the later statement) and just...

what the fuck you guys.

like yeah fuck the "not all men" attitude that's just a fucking scapegoat abusive men love to say for why they never hold themselves or other men accountable, but actually *genuinely* saying all men will rape and abuse if they became a therapist does nothing to offer solutions that will actually make therapy safe for people.

because i'm sorry but i've had nearly 40 therapists in my life and unfortunately i've had a mix of really harmful experiences from both male and female therapists. the best therapist i had was actually nonbinary. the second and third best were male.

i've had both male/female therapists try to convert me to christianity and say my illness was god punishing me for sinning. i've had female therapists enable my father to continue being sexually/psychologically/physically abusive under the guise of "you're probably just being a dramatic teenage genderfuck" they didn't say genderfuck but they definitely thought my queerness had given some reason for why my dad should be the one to help "get me on the right track".

so i ask you radfem bioessentialists, in your utopia without male therapists, what's your solution for people like myself? multigender/nonbinary people who are seeking therapy, or *gasp* perhaps even schooling to become a therapist? do i get a female therapist because i was AFAB? or no since i identify as a man and have a penis now I must be planning on raping her so i'll need a male therapist. but wait, i'm AFAB and i identify as a woman so he must be planning on raping me. so another multigender AFAB person i'm guessing? wait but if i identify as a woman and a man... and they identify as a woman and a man... who's the one planning on raping the other in this situation? I just wanna make sure I know what to do here, being part man and all, is it in my nature to rape her? or is it his nature to rape me? or do we just rape ourselves all the time since we're both men and women simultaneously.

sorry not to sound like an asshole there at the end with the sarcasm, but like, i was human trafficked for several months and am now severly agoraphobic and even i'm not this terrified that everyone i meet is going to rape me. so idk man. get a grip? have some compassion beyond yourself? some critical thinking skills maybe?

[chosos-mascara]

lord

𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 - After confessing your sins, Sukuna is unsatisfied by your devotion to an undeserving God.

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - priest! sukuna, demon! sukuna, true form! sukuna, sacrilege, themes of christianity, sex in a church, unprotected, devotion to sukuna, power dynamic(?), god! sukuna, god complex, sukuna calls reader a whore,

2.5k words

"Forgive me, Father." The words roll from your lips, cherry flavoured chapstick streaked over tongue as you nip at the skin, a tight clenching within chest before you begin the confessional. But, for your own sanity, and your deep faith, you'd needed to come clean. "I have sinned." 

Sukuna shifts in the stall, a tightening of fist and curl of lip, anticipating your admission of guilt. Confessionals had been his favorite part of the role he'd found himself within; to hear the deepest aspects of a human's life had been entertaining within this dull life, as well as a chance to feel the fear plaguing their auras. Though, the added factor of unknowing souls confessing sin to a demon so evil to be banished from Hell itself - that had been icing on the cake. And, with a screen between himself and any unknowing devotee, Sukuna could freely grin as he'd absorbed negativity and fear from the soul beside him. 

Rain had pattered over the stained glass with gusts of wind blowing below ornate doors. Sukuna knew no one would be visiting in this weather, and with that, he'd have you to himself. 

"Confess your sins, girl." His voice was abrasive and unforgiving, a harsh tone you'd felt you'd deserved, though he'd been far from angry. After you'd caught his attention during a Sunday mass, he'd waited patiently for you to arrive with sin in mind. As a demonic being with heightened senses, your presence had an effect over him. Taunting, he'd call it. But, Sukuna had loved every second of it. With you sat the other side of the booth, deep breaths and shaking soul, he'd felt his own hardness over the length of thigh. With your innocent stare and pure scent, he'd wanted to corrupt you more than most; to manipulate and devour your soul until it had been as stained as his. 

"Well, you see..." You sighed, closing eyes and leaning forward in the wooden seat. "I've been paycheck to paycheck for a while now, and it's been really hard to afford things like food, gas-" The excuses had been a way for you not only dress up your story, but to lessen the damage of your sins before you'd told them. Maybe this way, you could save yourself from the shame you'd been burdened with. 

"Get on with it, girl." Sukuna had understood the harsh mannerisms he'd displayed had only caused your thighs to clench harder - he could smell the nectar of your body's natural lubricant and the guilt you held for wanting something you'd been taught was wrong. He'd wondered if your confessional would be a facade when you'd felt so easily aroused by his presence - had you simply wanted to see him? 

"I stole money from someone." The admission hung in the air as it had left your bowed head, hands idly fiddling within your lap in an attempt to distract yourself from the overhanging statement. Sukuna's silence had only caused more array, leaving you to wonder how abhorrent he'd found you when you'd so freely admitted to sin. 

It had taken a minute of silence for your trembling face to turn, and your gaze to set over the grates, checking if his shadow had still been seated on the other side. "Father?" You speak once more, though your growing anxiety is met with a dry laugh. Furrowing brow, your heart racing, you begin to question his quietness.

"That's your confession?" Sukuna's laughter brings you to confusion as you await further explanation, a stuttering mess behind the walls while you try to muster a response. "I think you've done much worse than stealing, dear. Don't be so naive to think I wouldn't know about your other sins." 

Your mouth drops wide as he speaks, nausea within your body rising to throat. 

"You have stolen from many others before. Why do you only confess to this one?"  "I-"  "Do you think I wouldn't notice the disgusting way you act around me? Oh please," Sukuna stood, and somehow much faster than you'd felt to be humanly possible he'd been within your side of the booth, hand around throat as he'd pulled you to the open. You were pulled toward the benches, body folded over wood and trousers pulled down to expose bare skin, cotton thong allowing nothing to the imagination. 

"Spare me your niceties and show me the real whore you are." A harsh slap bestowed onto your ass had caused you to yelp, a burning sensation rippling over skin to leave red marks. "Repent for me, girl." A second and third slap came in quick succession, your eyes squeezing closed and face scrunching with each surge of pain. Sukuna's hands were large and his slaps firm, and with the fourth he'd chosen to leave his hand atop skin to squeeze the thickness. 

"I'm sorry, father." Your voice trembles, head bowed into your folded arms as you struggle to keep yourself in the bent position, hands clutching to the old wood beneath you.  "It's not me you should be apologizing to." For a second, his grip loosens, and you sigh in relief. Though, it's almost immediately returned when Sukuna grips wrist and hip to have you stand, pulling you toward the large cross behind his usual podium. There, he has you kneel, facing the dark wood cross. 

"Apologize to the Lord for your sins, and may you be forgiven." Sukuna's words are like venom in your ear, hand gripping your chin and nails digging to your cheek.  "Lord, I-I'm sorry for stealing, I swear I won't do it again-" 

Sukuna laughs maniacally, second hand clutching your shoulder while remaining in a crouched position. He's careful not to place a knee on the ground and offer submission before the cross - something he couldn't understand why humans had done so freely. "You're not apologizing for that, are you?" 

Your face contorts between his fingers, confusion written over features as you search his eyes for answers. It's now that you notice the red hue - or had they always looked like that? 

"You need to confess the true sin you're entwined yourself within." His voice was lower now, a deep reverberance within chest as his pointed smile grew.  "Father, I don't understand-" Your question is timid, and when he laughs again you flinch.  "Do you think he hasn't seen the way you flaunt yourself before me, a demon? The slick betwixt thigh when you should be repenting for him - you're awful." The final word is more enunciated than the rest, Sukuna sure to break your mind before he can make room his his true intention. 

"I'm sorry for being a whore, I promise I won't act on these impulses within me, Lord." There's not much room for silence before Sukuna speaks again, a tut as he voices his concerns.  "That's a little better, but I fear something is missing..." The sincereness to his voice had been too nonsensical for it to be true - this was another game he would play with you. 

"Ah, I have it." A snap of fingers confuses you, for both of his hands had been holding you tightly in kneeling position. "I think you need a new God to worship. This one won't do for someone as depraved as yourself." 

"Father-" You begin your protest, but Sukuna doesn't allow room for your thoughts.  "Worship me." With his hands over your body, your gaze forced to his, you'd taken in the true face he'd worn. The gentle expression and brown eyes you'd come to lust had long since gone, a demonic replacement of four glowing eyes and black markings etched over skin. The snarl he'd worn had seemed to contort his teeth too, fangs sharp and pointed. 

"Let go!" Your plea had been more energetic than before, fear surging and a fight or flight response causing your stomach to churn. The rush of adrenaline had been enough to make you feel dizzy, but despite your efforts, Sukuna offered no leniency or reprise. 

"That's no way to treat your Lord now, is it?" Sukuna held you in place as you'd trembled in his grip. "You'll have to ask for my forgiveness, won't you?" The superiority of his voice had belittled you in nothing more than a few words, body's struggle fizzling out as you'd succumbed to his authority. 

"I'm sorry." Your relaxed frame caused his grip to loosen slightly, the anxiety within you suddenly merging into something more.  "Good girl, that wasn't so hard." When a hand had come to caress the crown of your head, you'd finally looked to his torso. From there, you'd discovered his true form - four arms had emerged from chest, uniform torn in two to accommodate the extra set of limbs. His stomach had large ridges of muscle, the black markings from his face now decorating flesh previously hidden. As much as you'd hated to admit it, there had been something overwhelmingly enticing about Sukuna. The fear for your life had appeared to die out, and you'd seen him in a new light. 

His gentle touch had soothed you, fingers caressing cheek and head as all four eyes had set on you. Had this been the draw of a God? 

"Now," He'd spoken in a sincere tone, though you'd known within your core that he hadn't meant it. "I need an act of devotion, a display of adoration for your new Lord." 

His lips were close to your ear as he'd spoken, a pair of hands moving to grope your chest above the shirt you'd worn and you'd stifled a moan, leaning into his touch. With this, Sukuna had pushed your body to the stone floor, a quick tare of fabric to leave you exposed to his gaze. There had been something freeing about your nudity before him, chest raised as you'd drawn teeth over lip. The air was cold, yet you felt heat radiating from Sukuna's body - a frame that had practically doubled in size as he'd pinned you to the ground. His grip had settled over your neck, with another set of fingers scratching over the skin of your stomach. 

"Perhaps, you can be my Lilith." His statement had little meaning to you and had been more of an utterance, though for some reason you'd felt a hum in the pit of your stomach. 

There had been a twang over nipple, a swirl of tongue to leave you gasping and confused, half lidded eyes set over a mouth manifested on the palm of his hand. The tongue had drawn over the bud, drawing circles over hardness and causing your back to arch on the stone tile.  "Do you love me?" His words felt sinister but you couldn't help to nod, light headed from his touch. 

"I love you, Lord Sukuna." The phrase had been stuttered through whines as you'd pressed your chest into his hands more, a mouth latched onto you to cause ecstasy. There hadn't been a statement you'd felt more sure about within your life - you were completely enamored by the entity above you. "Show me, then." 

You'd peered down with reluctance, and had been left in awe at the sight before you. Sukuna had peeled the busting cotton from his legs to reveal his endowment: that of two lengths, both thick and extensive. The view had caused some nervousness to stir within you, though a second hand finding it's way to your slick had made your mind numb. 

"So sweet." Sukuna had uttered to your ear as he'd bitten over the flesh, pulling another lewd and blaring moan from your lips. The mouth had lapped over slit, circling your clit before moving downward. There had been a few thrusts of tongue before he'd lowered himself further, a stripe over your lowest point. 

At first, you'd felt shocked at the movement, yet when feeling the thick appendage tease your opening to finally fill you, you'd spread your legs wider to accommodate more. He'd laughed, positioning the lowest cock to the dripping entrance and easing in. If he'd gone faster you were sure he'd have split you in two, though with the fullness of length and tongue, you'd been left to relax on the tile and take what you'd been given. 

Your walls had hugged Sukuna well, his rough rocks allowing a squeeze over cock he hadn't felt before. He'd been right on his initial guess that you were simply something else, something he wouldn't share with others. He'd make you his, he'd make you worship him. With you as a devotee, Sukuna had been sure he wouldn't need another. The feeling of your tightness milking him and the pure moans of pleasure erupting from you had made him want to pillage the entire world to leave only you within it. 

What he'd felt had been greed. He'd wanted to take all he could get from your pure form, an unknowing and dainty human fallen within his trap. Like a spiderweb, you'd been tangled in his clutches and left for him to toy with. 

A finger had circled your clit as his length had stretched you to brim, the thick arousal coating your folds allowing pad to slide easily over bud. Sukuna's touch had been enthralling, the perfectly timed movements and actions leaving you unable to love another as you had him. No one would give you the pleasure he'd bestowed to you, and you would give him absolutely everything in return. 

You swore under your breath, vision blurred. You'd been able to make out his looming body above yours along with the motions of his hips, and with head tilted to the side, you could see the wooden cross he'd defiled you beneath. Even if your mind had raised alarm bells at the sacrilege you had committed, something about the sight had only caused the coil within your core to snap, a sudden wave of intense pleasure to wash over your body. Something that had been coaxed by no one other than the demonic entity you'd allowed inside you. 

"Come for me, whore." Sukuna's length had continued to stretch your body with his, leaving an ache between thigh. You were sure walking home wouldn't be an option after this - if he'd permitted you to leave. 

"You belong to me, now." His words were aggressive as he'd stuffed you to fullness, your legs locked in position with an inhuman grip.  "I belong to you, Lord Sukuna." The phrase had left your lips without thought, and you'd felt nothing other than a deep devotion as Sukuna pushed himself to your limit, the second twitching length lef tto rub over your stomach as the bottom had worked inside. 

The feeling of heat had washed over chest as it had your insides, Sukuna's release covering the exposed skin as he'd held you roughly to the ground, inhuman sounds echoing within his body while he'd decorated your weakness with his arousal. 

[bunnyreaper]

Demon Gaz, who's looking for a pretty little plaything to corrupt. Maybe a priests daughter, or someone who (somehow) has never sinned before.

<3

hopefully you enjoy this crime against christianity <3 cw dubcon, religion.

looking like such an angel, kyle finds his job incredibly easy. his beautiful brown eyes look like they're incapable of hiding a single sinful thought, never mind an entirely devilish being.

his smile is so bright the local god-fearing women think it could ward off any ill fate that could befall the town--if only they knew the reason for their downfall was their darling local charmer. 

you and kyle had been friends for a while now, he was new in town and took a shine to you immediately when you sat next to him in church one day.

from that moment on, he knew that he would make you his. 

it was easy to get you alone, under the guise of bible study, of reinforcing your father's teachings. the sessions started with quiet, companionable reading. kyle would keep you company, answer simple questions you had, and ask you about your life. 

no boys, no parties, no sin. 

he couldn't ask for a prettier, more innocent little thing to corrupt. 

your descent started slowly, in a way he couldn't have even planned. he didn't have to seek you out, as you followed him around like a lost lamb, unknowingly leading itself to slaughter. you tried to spend as much time with him as possible, obsessed with the way he looked at you like no one had before. 

you could sense his desire, even if you thought it to be something simple and innocent--the kind of love and admiration your parents' marriage was built from, the kind of devotion you had for your god. 

you had no idea of the lust that lay within--the corrupting, all-consuming need. kyle garrick was a selfish man, used to turning girls like you on their heads and feeding off their sins before moving on to the next. 

something about you was different. 

perhaps it was because he'd never met one so pure and untainted, or maybe it was because, unlike the others, you had no sense of self-preservation. it could be that you always had this look in your eyes like you wouldn't really mind if kyle led you astray, you'd follow him anyway. that was something he quickly became addicted to.

the poking and questioning followed soon after, kyle subtly guiding you to question the gospel, your father, and everything you've ever known, all for him. he pretended to struggle with his faith too, though he supposed it wasn't a lie, as once upon a time he had. 

you were quick to follow, enamored by your guardian angel in every way, believing he could never steer you wrong. 

after all, questioning is normal, natural, why we were given free will--that's what kyle always says. and with the sweet way he says it, so earnest and everything... there's no way the two of you are doing anything wrong.

so when he pulls you into his lap one day, bible in hand, you don't question it. when he asks your interpretation on a particular verse, and leads you to a certain conclusion, you don't question it. 

when he takes you on a walk through the churchyard flowers and kisses you under the flower-filled pergola, lips against yours like he's devouring you, you don't question it. 

from there, the rest is easy. coaxing you into sneaking out late at night, straight into his arms, getting you to give up your vow of chastity, your commitments to the church, your devotion to god.

instead, you worship him. his name falling from your lips like a prayer as he drives inside you, taking you for him forever. spoiling you for other men, breaking all your oaths. 

he stretches you out, shapes you to him, claims you with his cock, his cum, his fingers, the way his nails scraping down your body carves his name into your soul.

you cry out for him when your pretty mouth is on the end of his cock, you cry out for him when he's gone--tears beading in your eyes either way. 

and when they try to take you away from kyle, to make you 'see the light', 

all the lessons you've been taught about vengeance and grace fall away, and you search for a new beginning--disavowing your church, your family, your upbringing. 

and with your fall complete, when it's time for kyle to skip town? there's no way in hell he could leave you behind.

[bakasara]

Trying to parse my thoughts on Izzy's death and why I had a different reaction to it than I thought I would. To summarize: I thought I wouldn't like it, but also that they wouldn't do it; the opposite happened– they did it but I'm ok with it.

I'm also feeling like talking through some mourning for an amazing character, so follow along if that's you, too 😌

(I should probably clarify the following thoughts are coming from someone who deeply enjoyed this season.)

I first wondered what would be of Izzy around the end of season 1. I expected him to have a heel-face turn – which I object to calling a redemption arc and I'll get into why, because the distinction ties into his death imo. A lot of antagonistic characters' changes of heart end directly in death, but I thought they'd subvert that trope. And they... did, actually, despite Izzy dying. Not an option I had imagined.

What the show avoided is the logic, the set of tropes attached to the deaths of this kind of character. These deaths usually come as a consequence of the character's changed ethics or "redemption". My being against that scenario came from the diverging natures of traditional redemption arcs and OFMD's rhetoric.

A traditional redemption arc functions by a kind of catholic logic, if you will: the villain can become one of the good guys by balancing out his "sins"/bad deeds with enough good deeds to tip a moral scale. This often involves a purifying suffering, which acts as an agent to expiate one's faults. To the viewer, this suffering can serve to activate our empathy and make the character more sympathetic. It can also legitimize his quest: our trust in the character's good intentions comes from seeing that the character is ready to make sacrifices to become better and he isn't deterred by the hardships of doing the right thing.

The death occurring at the end of a traditional redemption arc acts as the ultimate sacrifice and/or purification. A number of ideas might be at play behind it, depending on each story: only in death can the soul become fully pure, or a final sacrifice is "needed" to demonstrate the change once and for all, or change was only possible up to a point after which there is no viable/acceptable future – the character deserves moral points for changing, but not so many that he also deserves a full life, or past crimes make him more expendable, etc.

But these are all ideas that aren't evoked in any of the crew's journey in OFMD. For starters, the show isn't interested in "catholic" redemption; its focus is on reintegration/rehabilitation into the community. Rather than appealing to the more traditional (in Western media) and more christian principle of "purification of the soul through mortification of the body", it plays with notions of restorative justice.

We see it especially this season with Ed and Izzy. Ed's arc is a whole little lab for it. We have the community being made to decide whether he can stay or should leave; catbell!Ed is made to apologize to the people affected – which he initially does abysmally, with what fandom has dubbed his "CEO's/YouTube apology". Later, he's given the opportunity to have a more honest and genuine conversation with Fang where he learns about how he hurt him. He's made to repair some of the material damage his behavior caused. Some members feel repaid by the idea that they did to him the same he did to them (Fang) while others don't (Lucius), and the show touches on what this means for each/legitimizes both feelings. Arguably, Ed using his treasure to throw Calypso's birthday party – a much needed refrain and moment of social (re-)connection within the community – is an additional form of reparation. While Stede's belief in Ed has a clear role in helping Ed change for the better, Izzy's s2 journey focuses even more intensely on the role of social support within an individual's constructive (re-)integration into their community. The show is condensed by choice of format, but the beats are all there.

With that kind of rhetoric set up, I'd never be able to accept Izzy dying in a way that feels like a punishment for his past crimes, nor in a way that should "confirm" his positive change/"purify" him for good. And he doesn't! By the time he dies, we know full well he's deeply changed, it's already established to completion. How it happens has nothing to do with proving himself – he's randomly shot in battle. It's never questioned that the time he got to live surrounded by affection mattered. The speech he gives Ed is only possible because he's changed, accessing a completely different perspective on piracy/life than before, like we see when he talks to Ricky earlier. The reason the whole crew is paying respect and crying is because he became "the new unicorn", a treasured member with a defined role. But his death itself is the show going back to the initial symbolism of Izzy as ultimate pirate. The narrative function of his death is underscoring that the age of piracy has come to an end. It's nothing to do with his change. It's posited as the "natural conclusion" (again, by symbolic function) of a character that represented piracy through-and-through, not the "natural conclusion" of a process of becoming better.

And for me, that difference changes everything. I can see and accept the logic behind it, even as I mourn Izzy as a character. It makes the grief feel like a catharsis I experience within the context of the story I'm watching, rather than a grief I feel from a show "betraying" me.

It's also a difference that completely changes how Izzy's death relates to his queerness. Izzy's change is intertwined with being able to express queer affection openly. Becoming "a unicorn" is this extremely queer imagery already – a magical rainbow creature. His role becomes akin to a mother to the crew (the mother hen!Izzy many headcanoned last season, tapping into his potential), a position that isn't extraneous to older queens, including our honored real-life mean-old-queer men. Last season he threatened another queer man for showing too much delicacy, effeminacy, vulnerability. Now, his change is a process that culminates in him singing a tender love song among the crew in drag. He's given the privilege of playing the soundtrack to our protagonists making love for the first time, which ties him symbolically to the event in a way it does no other crew member. Suffice it to say that insinuating his process of change should end in death would have been disastrous, as far as I'm concerned. Antithetical to the show's supporting ideology.

But that's not how it went. Grief occupies a big role in the queer community, but it's so rare that we get to experience it cathartically. In real life, we often have to contend with the ways queerphobia causes us trauma or even shortens our lives, or the lives of our friends. In fictional narratives, a lot of characters that get to express queerness unabashedly still die for the transgression. They're still usually the only queer character with relevant screen time or at all, at best one of two that formed a tragic couple.

We almost never have the opportunity to just mourn some motherfucker who died because they meant something else as well that was central to their character. To mourn and know we're mourning someone who wasn't ever punished for being queer-as-in-fuck-you and going all out. To mourn and not feel like it's another message of queer doom, because for once the character is surrounded by an entire crew of other queer characters that go on to live and be happy. To know the story is saying something about life, not about being queer. To know this kind of crafting was deliberate, too, because the creator has talked about working to avoid those tropes. I struggle to remember another time I had the opportunity to grieve for a queer character like they're a human being, without the implication that it's queerness itself that's a death sentence.

And honestly? It feels good. It feels like a form of catharsis I do not dislike. That I'm maybe kinda glad for. OFMD is and stays a magical world. Beyond that, in a show full of queers, one of them dies after getting some extraordinarily meaningful happiness, and it's peaceful, and I get to just be sad for the fucker without the gutting of being reminded that if you're gay, better not shoot too high. It feels like a completely different emotion that no other show, for now, would give me, but OFMD. To me, it's yet another thing it's pulled off.

As it's been known to do.

[deservedgrace]

People coming at ex christians' criticisms of harmful doctrine with "that's not what it really means it actually means [xyz]" is offensive and disrespectful, and the big reasons are of course that it's dismissive and off topic at best, sometimes it's the same exact toxic and abusive belief repackaged to sound better, there's often elements of victim blaming thrown in along with diminishing harm, people tend to skip over any kind of empathy about the harm caused to jump into Them Being Correct, and yes of course all of that (and probably more I'm blanking on rn) is gross. But on the less severe end of things, it's honestly just kind of insulting to me that people think I have no possible idea of other interpretations lmao.

I do believe people are well within their right to look at something that's harmful and completely drop it and leave it behind without any further consideration. But that is not accurate to my experience and the majority of stories I've heard about people leaving christianity. Most stories I know involve several months to years of investigating texts, looking into different sects and interpretations, extensively studying history and context, begging knowledgeable people in your church to answer your questions and trying so hard to will yourself into allowing their non-answers to satisfy them in a frantic attempt to dig your nails into a faith that's slipping away but means more to you than anything. Some people just let go, and truly good for those people, but so many of us tried anything we could to compromise so we wouldn't have to.

There is this belief in a lot of churches that leaving is a casual decision, a flippant choice, something you pick because you want to sin or you were undisciplined or are falling into your human nature or are otherwise deficienct. That narrative doesn't fit nicely into the reality of many that leave: latching onto your faith long beyond the point of pain, but ignoring it because you're so desperate to salvage any semblance of the faith you once had.

I know the other interpretations. I know the history behind it. I know the context. And I know that if there was a way for me to maintain my faith without destroying myself, I would have found it.

[ghost-1-y]

Temptation

Angel!Mitsuri x AFAB!Succubus!Reader

Content Warnings: MDNI, dark content, sacrilege, blasphemy, religious themes, dubcon (aphrodisiac), manipulation, sexual content, dom!reader, sub!Mitsuri, unprotected sex, oral (reader receiving), scissoring, virginity loss (Mitsuri), corruption k!nk, praise k!nk, degradation, hair pulling, concepts of "purification" and "chastity", concepts of sex and sexuality being "dirty" and "sinful", slight mentions of blood (not in a sexual context), use of bible verses (in italics), references to bible passages/stories, people who are religious may find this content offensive, please read with caution

Summary: Mitsuri had always done what she was told to do, glorifying her god and helping those who needed it. She never once thought about breaking the rules – much less her vow to chastity, until she found what initially appeared to be a human in a darkened alleyway in need of help, unknowingly falling into a trap that would corrupt her from holiness for the rest of eternity.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Divider Credit: the wonderful @/benkeibear

A/N: so, I used to be religious (Christian), so a lot of this might've come out of my own personal traumas that I experienced (eg. the concept of purification and chastity and being ashamed of having "dirty" thoughts). Obviously, I no longer hold these views (as evidence by writing these fics LMAO), but that somewhat influenced how I wrote this fic, maybe some of y'all will be able to relate? I hope you enjoy!!

Let your light shine before them in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven.

Mitsuri loved the world, she loved humans and nature and all the beauty that existed in between. She would watch the sun rise upon the earth and how it would cast its rays upon trees and cities as life basked in its holy light.

She loved the night as well – how it brought tranquility and peace as those she watched over rested until the sun peeked over the horizon once more.

She sometimes wished that her light would not interfere with such serenity. 

But the world also saddened Mitsuri, she mourned as those she loved from afar returned to dust underneath grassy knolls; her heart broke as she witnessed fighting amongst nations and arguments amongst lovers. She knew that loving the world would bring grief upon her, because the world was infested with sin.

The world would never be perfect, yet she loved it anyways.

So Mitsuri spent her eternity by helping those who needed it – taking on a human form so others wouldn’t be afraid. She helped by working in food banks and soup kitchens – oh how she adored those humans who set such wonderful services up – and would afterwards walk along roads to give food to those who, for whatever reason, found such services inaccessible to them. She would volunteer in hospitals, helping the sick in whatever way she could, and would listen to their stories and offer comfort should they share their suffering with her, holding their hand in hers to offer support – however small. 

It was not a coincidence, then, that she caught sight of you, a human lying alone in a darkened alleyway, isolated from the bustling street that was doused in sunlight. You were covered in shadows to the point where it looked like darkness emanated from your body itself, curled up and alone – hiding within the stench of garbage and discarded roadkill.

Mitsuri approached you – her kindness limitless and unbounded by fear as her light blessed your shadowed figure, gentle and warm – a light that was neither blinding nor dim as you looked up at her.

“Are you alright, my love? My name is Mitsuri, I saw you here and wanted to help,” she smiled sweetly. It didn’t matter what language you spoke, since Mitsuri’s words would translate perfectly once they fell from her lips and graced your ears.

Burning lips and a wicked heart are like a potsherd covered with silver dross.

Teary eyed, you smiled up at her, “Thank you, I didn’t think anyone would come, but you’re here now.” Mitsuri’s gentle eyes looked over your condition, a cut on your forehead which was seeping a dark red, and smudges of dirt all over your body.

“Oh, love, let me get you cleaned up a bit!” Mitsuri exclaimed as she secretly materialized some cotton pads, pretending to fish them out of her pocket. She wiped the blood that was dripping down your face, “I don’t have antiseptic wipes on me, would you wait here as I go get them from a convenience store?” You nodded, staring past her shoulder. 

If Mitsuri knew any better, she would’ve thought you could see her wings. 

Mitsuri rushed across the street and bought the antiseptic wipes, more cotton pads, and a couple bottles of water before running back to help you. She knelt beside you, and began cleaning up your face. “You know, you should take better care of yourself,” she smiled softly as she wet the cotton pads with water and began wiping away the smudges of dirt on your skin. 

You said nothing, letting Mitsuri work on you. Once finished, she stood up and held out her hand, “Are you able to stand?” she asked.

You looked down at her hand and reached for it, slowly encasing it in yours, with your index finger pressing against the pulse in her wrist. A strange flush of warmth spread through Mitsuri’s arm and to her chest, causing a shiver to move up her spine. She shook her head, and helped you get up.

The warmth continued to spread and fester within her, and she couldn’t figure out why – you were human, or at least looked like you were. 

You gave her a saccharine smile, “I appreciate your help, angel, but I have to get going – I’ll see you around, no?”

Mitsuri’s eyes widened at the pet name you let slip – you couldn’t possibly know what she was – it was a coincidence, that’s all.

She who trusts in her own heart is a fool,

But she who walks wisely will be delivered.

Still, it caught her off-guard, and if she wasn’t flustered before, she definitely was now, slightly panicking despite knowing that humans wouldn’t be able to see her wings, or halo for that matter.

Mitsuri stuttered, “Of course, I– see you around.”

Days passed, and Mitsuri started to believe you’d fallen off the face of the earth – completely unable to sense your presence or soul. Yet, the warmth she felt from holding your hand did not fade – rather, it worsened, beckoning her to drag her dainty fingers along her stomach and downwards.

She shook herself out of it, but the heat lingered and pooled between her legs, so much so that it started to drip down her inner thighs – yet she wouldn’t give in to the temptation, she couldn’t – it was against everything that she was taught, everything that she believed.

Or were the beliefs forced upon her?

It wasn’t until after forty days and forty nights that she sensed you once more. It was early morning, so early that the sun had not graced its rays upon the world quite yet. You sat underneath a lamppost, its artificial light illuminating the bench beneath you, but oddly failing to reflect off of your own soft skin.

“You’re not human, are you?”

You looked up at her, a glint of mischief in your eyes as you shook your head. Standing up, you walked towards her, causing Mitsuri to take a hesitant step back.

“Don’t be shy, angel, I don’t bite – not unless you beg for it.”

“I– I’m not begging,” Mitsuri muttered, as though she were trying to convince herself more than anything.

Submit therefore to God. Resist the devil and she will flee from you.

You approached her once more, and she remained still. Taking her wrist in yours, you slowly graze your nails over the skin of her arm, tracing up and down as she spoke. Her cheeks were red, flushed hot with both the strange warmth that found its home within her soul and now the shame of actually seeking what she desired.

You both sat down on the bench, a shrub blooming with jasmine flowers alongside it – the rich scent flooding her senses as her eyes locked with yours.

Do not desire her beauty in your heart,

Nor let her capture you with her eyelids.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” you asked, fingers circling the pulse point on her wrist.

Mitsuri frowns, “What do you mean?” You take your other hand and place it on hers, tracing your thumb across her skin, sending butterflies into her stomach.

“I mean,” you started, “do you get tired of kindness? Of righteousness?” you questioned, “do you ever wish to know beyond those things?”

“Um…I–” she paused, swallowing thickly, “N-Not really?” 

It was a lie, and you knew that.

“Oh, well that’s too bad,” you pouted before leaning in towards her, “because I could show you things you’ve never even felt before, angel.” You glanced up at her, and you could see her eyes pooling with the desire to accept.

“I– I really can’t, it would– it would be against my nature.” An excuse, but a truthful one. If she consented, she would be damning herself – condemning her soul to the farthest reaches of hell.

It was something unthinkable for a being like her.

“Hmm, but nature changes over time, does it not?” you questioned, “if I’m not mistaken, I can see the want in your eyes. You desire this change, yet you won’t grasp for it. Why?”

“You– you wouldn’t be able to understand,” she stuttered, retracting her hands from yours as she formed fists with them in her lap.

“Angel, I think I understand more than anyone else,” you smirked, "to me, you seem lost – you're falling, aren't you, angel?"

You got up from the bench, eyes flashing a brief red as you looked down at her – causing Mitsuri’s breath to catch in her throat.

For the lips of an adulteress drip honey

And smoother than oil is her speech;

But in the end she is bitter as wormwood,

Sharp as a two-edged sword.

Her feet go down to death,

Her steps take hold in the house of it.

“If you wish for more than the mundanity of your everlasting life, you know exactly how to find me,” you told her, and before Mitsuri could look up at you once more, you were gone.

—

Mitsuri knew that it was wrong, she knew that it would go against her vows, her duties, her entire purpose, and yet – she found herself walking past that same alleyway each day, only peering into it out of curiosity before collecting herself and continuing on her way.

Until the seventh day, when she decided to stop in front of the alley, the sun beaming down on her as she stood just outside of it, as though the lined buildings on either side created a threshold that she couldn’t bring herself to pass. 

As Mitsuri peered into the shadows, she saw a figure stand up and walk towards her. She couldn’t look into the being’s soul – it was as though it didn’t have one at all. It approached her from the dark, and its silhouette depicted that of sharpened horns and a long tail which was pointed at the end. 

“Have you made up your mind, angel?” you asked sweetly, extending your hand past the threshold for her to take, “I promise, you’ll love how it feels to let go.” 

Mitsuri hesitated, but as she looked into your eyes, a fire ignited deep within her once more.

My child, if sinners entice you,

Do not consent.

It was all she needed to extend her own hand and place it in yours.

Shocks of electricity traveled up Mitsuri’s arm, much more intense than the warmth she felt before, it traveled deep into her gut, and her face flushed red as she was pulled into the shadows, fully enticed by you.

You pinned her against the wall, her back facing you. Her wings shuddered in excitement as you leaned in towards her ear, “I’m proud of you, angel,” you whispered, your breath hot against her ear, “I know how difficult it must’ve been to give in, I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” You grazed a finger along her left wing, nail lightly scraping against the feathers. She whimpered, her blush hot across her face as heat pooled in her stomach.

“I– I know you’re a–ah…” Mitsuri started, swallowing thickly before a soft moan escaped from her.

“A demon? Yes, angel, I am,” you chuckled, grabbing at her hair to pull her head back, “but I’m not here to hurt you, love, no, I’m here to make you sin.”

You turned her around and kissed her fervently, your lips sweet against hers. It felt euphoric, Mitsuri had never been kissed by anyone before – it was always said to open the doors to lust.

Then when lust has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and when sin is accomplished, it brings forth death.

However, she melted into your kiss, malleable and pliable – eager to feel more of it, the fire inside her being nurtured and stoked as you continued to kiss her innocent lips. You licked at her, and bit down on her bottom lip before parting – a string of saliva connecting her lips to yours, binding her into damnation as she uttered her next words.

“Please, I need more.”

You smirked, and leaned in towards her neck, licking a long stripe with your tongue before kissing just below her earlobe, with Mitsuri letting out tiny mewls and gasps every so often. You traveled further down her neck towards her pulse point. You left marks deep in burgundy upon her as she moaned into your ear.

“I love the sounds you’re making, angel, make some more for me,” you purred, bringing your hand down towards her heat, pushing aside the white linen to rub your fingers along her entrance. “Oh, you’re so wet for me,” you cooed.

“Nngh, n-noo that- that’s dirty,” Mitsuri whined, and you smirked.

“Trust me, you’ll learn to love feeling this way.” Your breath was hot before putting her into yet another searing kiss. She whimpered, but kissed back, slowly accepting her growing addiction towards them.

You circled her clit with your finger, and she whined, face flushed as she tried grinding onto your hand.

“That’s it, angel, take what you need, such a good girl,” you encouraged her, rubbing her clit slightly faster as she ground into you, a blushing mess as she did so. Mitsuri’s moans got progressively louder, loving the sensations once unknown to her.

“Mmh–! I– I feel strange…like something’s building up in me!” she whined, “what– what’s happening–!?”

You kissed her once more, quieting her, “shhh, angel, that’s a good thing, just relax and let it build up, okay?” She moaned again, grinding harder into your hand as she obeyed your words.

“I– It’s gonna–! I’m gonna–!” Mitsuri’s eyes rolled back, letting out a strangled moan as she came all over your hand, juices gushing into your palm as she rode through her orgasm, her hips undulating until she couldn’t take it anymore – quickly becoming overstimulated from the feeling of pleasure coursing through her veins.

“Too– too much! Can’t– no more!” she cried, tears falling down her cheeks. You licked at each stray teardrop, the saltiness of it coating your tongue as you stopped your movements with your hand.

“Such a good girl for me, angel,” you praised, and she hid her face behind her hands in pure embarrassment. You took her by the wrists and held them down.

“Don’t hide your pretty face from me, I want to see every last bit of your pleasure.” 

Mitsuri whined and asked “can you– can you do that again, please?” Her tone was so sweet, begging for more like a pathetic slut who has abandoned all of her morals.

However, you refused, “if you wish for more of that, you’ll have to please me, first.” Mitsuri looked at you, confused, before you shoved her down to her knees, her face in line with your hips – the pretty lingerie you were wearing disappearing in an instant before you took her by the hair and pulled her towards your weeping cunt. “Make me feel good, angel, and I might consider actually fucking you this time.”

Mitsuri’s eyes dropped from your face down to your pussy, admiring how sweet and juicy it looked.

When the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, she took from its fruit and ate.

So, she went entirely off of her own instinct as she brought her mouth to your heat, before licking at the wetness of it with her tongue. The sweetness of it coating the inside of her mouth like syrup; Mitsuri had never even thought of committing such lewd acts before, but now that she’d gotten a taste, she couldn’t help herself.

She started off shy, with kitten licks and tentative kisses on your clit. She may not have experience in giving pleasure, but she was there in the beginning when humans, angels, and devils alike were all created in the same image, and so she knew the insides and outs of their bodies unlike any other.

Her tongue delved deeper into your cunt, licking up any juices that seeped out of it, earning soft groans and grunts from you as you pulled at her hair. She adored your taste – it was addictive, a taste that she would gladly sin for if it meant she could feast upon it for the eternity of her damnation.

Her lips pursed around your clit before sucking gently, your eyes rolling back as she looked up at you. She whimpered, wishing you’d make eye contact with her and tell her she was doing such a good job – instead only receiving a few strokes through her hair as you thrived off of the pleasure that her mouth was giving you. Her own cunt was weeping, the heat from her abdomen becoming unbearable as she continued licking you up with her tongue – so much so that she reached down between her legs with her fingers, but before she could provide herself even the slightest bit of relief, you yanked her by the hair.

“You think you can touch yourself without my permission? Think you’re allowed to make yourself feel good? No, angel. Only I am allowed to do that. Any and all pleasure you receive, any and all sin that you commit, will be caused by me – for my sake.” You leaned down closer to her, breath hot against her face, “do you understand me?”

Mitsuri nodded, only to wince as you gripped her hair tighter.

“Say it.”

“Yes, I– I understand,” Mitsuri spoke softly as she removed her hand from between her thighs. 

“Good girl.”

You pulled Mitsuri up once more and, in an incredible display of flexibility, she raised her right leg so that it pointed up toward the sky, with you supporting her by holding her up by your hand. 

“Hah– you’re no angel, are you? Angels don’t act this way, y’know– you’re just a pathetic little slut, a pleasure-seeking whore that can never get enough,” you panted, before mounting your foot against the wall so your cunt was flush against hers, grinding against her wet heat. You grabbed her by the jaw and forced her to look at you. 

“What are you, hm? Tell me.”

“I– I–” she whined, “I’m– ‘m your slut…oh shit, ‘m your slut!”

“That’s right, you’re nothing but a stupid cumslut, aren’t you? Raised to be holy and perfect, but look at you, drunk on lust all because some demon tempted you. How pathetic.” 

Mitsuri whined as you ground into her, feeling absolutely no shame as she condemned herself further with each movement of your hips. The familiar tension in her gut started to build up once more as she took everything you gave her.

“Nngh– it- it’s happening a-ah– again!” she moaned, and you ground against her faster.

“That’s it, slut, cum all over my cunt. Sin for me.” 

Mitsuri’s thighs trembled as her orgasm flooded through her in waves, her mind addled with euphoria and lust as her pussy gushed all over you, her moans so raw and unbridled as she allowed you to claim her as yours, knowing she will never find pleasure like this through anything or anyone except you.

You are my God, and I give thanks to You;

You are my God, I extol You.

“My– my God,” she panted, “you– you are my God.” She knew it was blasphemous, yet she didn’t care, for she found a new being to worship, to love and to praise as she damned herself for the rest of eternity, certain that she would choose this over holiness in every lifetime if given the honor to do so.

For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. 

Amen.

Taglist: @oreo-creampie, @k-a-t-h-r-i-n-a, @wow-im-gay, @peanutpunchy, @love-me-satoru, @crazycatlddy, @pastelbluecloudy3, @dinosaur-crime-scene, @thisbicc, @gojoscumslut, @bisexuawolfsalt, @everyonesfinaldestination, @leehoonii-i, @kyojurismo, @briefrebelfanalmond, @izuoyarmin, @ahashiraswife, @d1gitalbathh, @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701

(If your name was crossed out, it means tumblr didn't allow me to tag you - apologies for the inconvenience)

I hope you all enjoyed!!! 💕

[willothewispwisteriadawn]

Bunny’s Moral Crisis and Julian being Anti Judeo-Christian

I was positive I got the impression, during my first read of TSH, that Bunny was truly morally bothered by the farmer-killing. Then I started wondering, post-reading, if I was being too generous, and Bunny legit was just worried for his life and was angry that the group was keeping secrets from him (that second one is what Henry told Richard).

But I got to the part in my on-and-off listening to the audiobook where Julian tells Richard he’s wondering what’s going on with Bunny. Julian says Bunny keeps approaching him and asking to talk about morality (particularly sin and forgiveness). Julian says he’s getting concerned that Bunny may convert to Marion’s religion. He asks Richard what denomination she is, and Richard says he thinks she’s Presbyterian. Julian is disappointed and says the only Christian denomination he can gracefully accept losing a student to is Roman Catholic.

Now this scene is interesting to me for a couple reasons. Firstly, it does indicate there may be more going on with Bunny internally than the Greek class gives him credit for. If Bunny is trying to approach Julian privately to talk about ethical dilemmas, this shows some level of genuineness in his questions (Julian also believes it to be earnest questioning). But secondly, Julian’s comment about only finding the Roman rite to be a worthy foe is so, so interesting to me.

The scene shows that something more is going on with Bunny, but it also reveals that Julian hates Judaism and Christianity— making exceptions for people like Dante and Giotto. The thing that’s fascinating to me about this detail is that Julian’s statements show the central theme of the whole book: that beauty is worth something if it’s backed by things of substance (Georges Laforgue says this, and the same thing is said by Theo in The Goldfinch. This is a concept important to Tartt’s writing).

Julian has a basic respect for Catholics, because Catholicism traditionally also has emphasis on art, philosophy, and classical aesthetic beauty. And, perhaps most importantly, Roman Catholics have kept Latin as the language of the Church and Vatican. The medieval Catholic Church was perhaps the biggest patron and commissioner of artists, and from the Catholic Church came Notre Dame, Aquinas, Dante, etc. Here, Julian mentions that the Catholics make “worthy foes” for the pagans, and what he means is that there’s all this aesthetic beauty and classical study within the Catholic Church. But it’s key here that Julian hates other branches of Christianity. The scene emphasizes that the only thing he enjoys about Catholics is their specifically classical history.

The thing I like about this detail is that it is a really specific bit of characterization to show that Julian does not care about morality or the search for truth that’s at the heart of all religions and mythologies. He’s different from people like Aquinas because he does not see human art and language as a means to articulate and pay homage one’s moral beliefs. He sees art/language as the highest good in and of itself. Once you remove the classics aspects of Catholicism, Julian does not care. And we see this because of his apparent disdain for Protestants and Jews. This also reminds me of Bunny saying Henry thinks Jamaicans have no culture. Obviously, they do, but it’s not the particular kind of culture and expression Julian and Henry find legitimate.

I guess I like how Donna Tartt understands her own theme and can show how it’s applicable so naturally just in the way her characters talk. We get a lot of hints about how closed-minded and shallow Julian actually is before we get to the end of the book where it’s confirmed.

[queenlucythevaliant]

How do you believe Theistic Evolution interacts with other aspects of Christian morality and tradition? I mean, obviously the commands of God are the commands of God - but what new perspective do you think a Theistic Evolutionary viewpoint gives?

Oh my goodness, so many things! Broadly, though, I'd divide the implications into two groups: God's character and the unity of creation.

God's character

Theistic evolution is (I contend) the only framework for understanding creation that has an equally high regard for both Scripture and scientific empiricism; thus, it makes a very profound statement about God's trustworthiness, and about our confidence in him as the arbiter of Truth.

Seeing God's fingerprints in the creative process over the course of millions of years gives us a real sense of his patience and tirelessness. As Chesterton might say, he never gets tired of saying to the replicating cell, "do it again."

We also get a beautiful picture of God's sovereignty over creation: he is the God that knew, from the first time two organic molecules crashed together, that he was creating Man to glorify and enjoy him forever.

In the story of creation through evolution, we see a God who transcends time, but also works within it to bring about his sovereign will; who is endlessly patient, who is clever and inventive, who has an eye for beauty and a love for tangents and (ostensible) dead ends. What does it tell you about God that he spent millions of years creating the platypus? That he created dinosaurs at all? Through theistic evolution, we see a creator who plays across the vast landscape of time, creating endless forms most beautiful. Most importantly, we see a God whose wonderful works are faithfully recounted not just in the pages of Scripture, but in the very substance of the world he created.

Unity of creation

Knowledge of evolutionary history pushes us to think about our own embodied nature, our creatureliness, and our place within creation/the biosphere. We are united in lineage with all other creatures, both living and dead. We are embodied in the same carbon as every other living thing, deliberately, beautifully. This pushes back hard against the strains of "flesh bad" gnostic dualism that have run through our faith for pretty much its whole history. Heaven is not our "real home"; our destiny is the New Earth. God has woven us into its fabric.

Jesus stepped not just into the human lineage, but the lineage of the whole earth! In becoming flesh, he took on our place in the tree of life. Jesus shared DNA with Mary and her family, yes, but also with bacteria and brachiosaurs and banana slugs. While Christ died for the sins of humanity in particular, His stepping into the unity of life points to a future in which all living things are to be redeemed.

We must take the Biblical call to environmental stewardship very seriously then, if the rest of the biosphere is not merely our dominion but something of which we are an inextricable part. Evolutionary theory calls us to reconnect our theology and the created universe. In the same way that Scripture calls us to care for the world God created, evolution tells us of our direct relationship with the rest of creation, which implies a duty of care.

[inbabylontheywept]

The Mormon Heretic, and the Leviathan

I have decided to make an explanation of how a Mormon heretic gave me the idea for my short story, Leviathan. It is very long explanation, mostly focused on the fascinating theology the heretic created on accident. The explanation of how it led to the story will only be at the end. You have been warned.

So, a short explanation of the heretic: He was a seminary teacher of mine that had deep dived into theology and Jungian analysis and the views that he'd come out with were just... fascinating. He didn't really consider this stuff heresy, because he didn't think it wasn't directly disagreeing with normal doctrine, just adding stuff into the margins. I think that his definition of Godhood and the nature of God was so alien that it was essentially an entirely new religion wearing the same terminology as the old one like a skinsuit. Calling it Christian would be stretching the word to the point of meaninglessness. And without further adieu, his beliefs: He was big on the idea that Jesus/God and GOD/Elohim were separate entities. He based this on the fact that Elohim refers to a plurality, while there are later words for God that are purely singular. He'd envisioned this sort of weird cycle where the God Cluster (Or Big God, or Elohim, or the Monad, he used a lot of terms for it) is this sort of outside-of-time entity that encompasses everything in an unconstrained sense. To exist in this way is to be incomprehensibly lonely, because there is literally nothing in the world but you. So it would, occasionally, go mad and cut out a temporary pocket of reality where it could not go. Sort of the "God creating a rock so heavy that It could not lift it" moment. This God-Cluster would then manifest a sort of physical reflection of itself in these constrained spheres, a self-that-was-not-the-self. That physical unself would go through apotheosis as a rite of passage, to create something different enough from the Monad that it would temporarily alleviate the isolation of being everything. So the God that there was with Eve and Adam was basically just a fetus-demiurge, and the reason that paradise failed was because it was still learning how to not suck at being a God. That was Lesson 1. Lesson 2 was the flood, which was really important because it was, according to Heretic Teacher, the first time that God felt shame. It had not blamed itself for the loss of Eden, it had blamed us, but this time it knew that it had overreacted. After Lesson 2, it spent a couple thousand years mulling over why it kept failing to predict humans and decided to try being one. That was Lesson 3, and the experience went so unbelievably badly that it decided it wasn't going to keep micromanaging us until it got its own shit together. It also gave it quite a bit more sympathy for us in our condition, and basically promised us that it was going to be nice to us, and to please be nicer to each other. This whole little thing relates to the prompt because, in his eyes, the grand cycle of existence seems to be based around the higher powers creating separations within themselves to avoid loneliness, with the goal of each split to be finding a way to reform into the big thing again, thesis-anthesis-synthesis style. We were mini-runs of the demiurge, who was using us to try and understand Itself, and It was in turn a mini-run of the monad, who was using it to try and understand itself and also as a way to pretend that it is two things, because being the only thing is very lonely. In this context, I made the Leviathan as the singular state, and humans as the sort of temporary split within it. That's why it eats people. We were always part of it. We were just a weird embarrassing stage in its life cycle.

As for why the flood is a recurring motif, that teacher talked a lot about the flood. He was fascinated with it, considered it the primary sin of God against man, and in turn, a sin by God against Itself. That one day, as we progressed back to unity with mini-God, all of our pain would become Its pain, and that as it progressed back to unity with the Monad, our pain would because its pain, and that in this way, even the Gods would be held accountable for forcing us to deal with some amateur hour schmuck of a deity for the first several thousand years of our existence. The universe is just a lonely god trapped in a room, arguing with a sock puppet, and occasionally getting so heated that it punches the sock puppet into the wall and hurts itself.

I don't even know how he came up with this number, but he'd estimated that something like a trillion people died in the first flood, which was comparable to how many people had died since. Even as a teenager, I had this weird realization that the synthesized proto-monad of our world was going to be comprised mainly of drowned, which was unsettling. Our world was the world of the drowned God.

I could write more about the weirdness of this guy. He was fucking fascinating, both because of his beliefs, and also because he genuinely viewed himself as a normal Mormon. But this is how that guy accidentally helped me write cosmic horror. By truly and genuinely believing in one.