#heretical hymns

[musingmelsuinesmelancholy]

Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of witches

Our muse, our fate, our life, our doom

To thee we do cry proud banished children of Eve

Rejoicing in this; thy verdant valley

Turn then, thy eyes of star-fire toward us

And after this, our beheading, may we be made worthy of the fruits of the Serpent

O’ shinning, O’ dreadful, O’ Pale queen

Drown and incinerate us, that we may be made worthy to bear the fire

Hail, bright star of the sea!

Heavens own Queen blest

Ever Shinning

Gate of heavenly healing

Font of magic

Taking that sweet Ave

That the serpent spoke

Peace confirm within us

Hailing Eves name

Break the captives fetters

Starlight upon the waters pour

All our ills expelling

Every bliss implore

Show thyself a Queen!

Sorceress all exceeding

Most beauteous and shinning

Freed from impurity, preserve us

Broken and remade

To our oaths keep us

Make our way secure

As the sea, by thy sky-strung pearls

We navigate

Through the highest heaven

To the darkest depths

We honor thee

You who light the way

[viscerawrites]

update on wips (specifically smutty)

It's been a hot minute since I've been on! Hello world!

I've been writing a shit ton of bandfic, which is great and so much fun but id also rlly like to get back to writing og stuff too! What I've discovered is that apparently I LOVE writing smut so much more than I ever thought I would, so in the spirit of this revelation, I'd like to share my original smutty wips that I am really hoping to get underway soon!

if anyone wants to be tagged in posts abt any of these just lmk, but as it stands, there's currently no taglists!

18+ only under the cut, please and thank you <3

---

lessons in letting go (f/m) ; casual intro has been posted but tumblr is being a bitch rn <3

fantasy (world of Navaa), centers on Dallon Saint Ichmere (bastard son of Lord Ames Ichmere) & Syselli (child soldier turned right hand woman of the Mercenary Prince)

features: d/s dynamic, femdom, lowkey bad bdsm etiquette, unhealthy kink (no one knows what bdsm is ok they dunno what they're doing), a gradual romance (but they're still not like Super Healthy yknow), & ostracization/disownment due to sexuality

also there's a war happening but who cares abt that am I right

---

kneel to the knife (f/f)

fantasy (world of Erapiae), centers on Mia Bones (a half-demon + monster hunter) & Janikeia (a vampire + assassin).

features: enemies to sorta lovers to maybe actual lovers, a very switchy dynamic, fantasy racism & internalized fantasy racism, also unhealthy kink, good ol opponents helping each other have self realizations (and being really mad abt it).

---

hymn for a heretic (m/m)

fantasy (world of Erapiae), centers on a religious cult survivor named Rever Lachrymose & an Incubus named Cathlis Deveron.

features: a gentle d/s dynamic, religious trauma, healing sex/therapeutic bdsm/self acceptance through acceptance of sexuality, a bit of fantasy racism, and also healing your relationship with religion/finding your own faith.

---

dollmaking (m/m)

fantasy (world of Erapiae). centers on Michaelis, a Black Eye of the Mother forced to perform in a freak show as a "terrible woman" known as Murderdoll, & Lenormand "Lennox" Enox, the human man who helps him escape.

features: d/s, forced feminization (nonconsensual in Michaelis' case but very consensual in Lennox's), dollification (same hat), fantasy racism, dominating others as self-reclamation & regaining control of your life.

---

PROBABLY more lets be real <3

[heretical-final-boss]

Lady Baby *spoiler-ish*

"I’M DEAD SHE REALLY PICKED UP A MICROPHONE BRUH HER SECOND LIFE COULD NOT BE MORE DIFFERENT THAN HER FIRST GOOD JOB I GUESS SHE SAVED HER FAMILY BY BECOMING A POP ICON"

[gingerblivet]

Being an atheist in a choir during the “holiday” season is always a little ???? at times, especially when you’ve never been given much explanation about the religious aspects of the songs you’re learning, so then there’ll be moments where you’re watching everyone else nod along at your director’s description of the crucifixion like it’s common knowledge and thinking to yourself “the fuck?”

[connorsui]

Zayne: *after betraying his god and receiving eternal punishment for you without ever saying "I love you"*

"You are my belief, my sacred devotion, my unwavering creed. If to worship you is blasphemy, then let the heavens cast me down, for I would rather dwell in exile than deny the truth of your divinity. You are the light that guides me through the shadows, the hymn that resounds within my soul. Each breath I take is a prayer to you, each heartbeat a reverent offering. If the gods deem my love heretical, I shall fall to my knees not in surrender to their will, but in steadfast adoration of you. For you are the altar at which I find my solace, the heaven I yearn to touch. And if this devotion condemns me, then let me burn as an eternal flame, kindled by the sanctity of your name."

[rafry]

Euclydia, Cults and Need for Control

Disclaimer: this analysis raises sensitive topics. if you are/were a victim of a cult and the topic triggers you, please refrain from reading further(/seek help). Additionally, I am not a specialist on said topic, nor am I a clinician. But I am a survivor, so part of the narrative may or may not be just me projecting the trauma on a silly yellow triangle. That said, reader discretion is advised! :)

The take: Euclydia is likely to be a cult-like society and the reason Bill, after years of abuse, grows up to be as he is: a power-hungry monster. Let's analyze!

For the starters, The Start. Each state has its own anthem. How lucky that we were kindly provided with the Euclidian hymn (hidden under the code "FORGETTHEPAST")! Lets take a look:

"Two dimensions to and from, You always know which way to go If you're lost, don't be afraid, In Euclydia you've got it made! Run too far too right of frame, You'll appear on left again! Jump too high, don't fry or fret, You'll pop up from the ground, I bet! In this place there is no fear, Roles and rules, always clear, Euclydia, we hold you dear…"

That tells us way more than we could've asked for, really. The most important: Euclydia is a state of Clear Rules™. Everything works perfectly thanks to The Rules and The Roles, and the state is loved by it's citizens. It's might be a caricature 2D utopia, but how it reacts when the rules are questioned?

"Eye doctor of a different kind, who wants to make his patient blind The doctor says: 'three sips a day will make the visions go away' Fussy eater, baby Billy Wouldn't drink unless it's silly..."

If there's anything about cults and the way they make people behave, is that the "wrong" ones in the community are usually ostracized and/or heavily medicated to not cause any troubles. Those people are sometimes called 'heretics', but may as well just be called crazy or insane by their peers. Oh look completely unrelated picture:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane Starting fires with his brain"

Honestly, the other time it would be it. Euclydia, if not Is, then sure does Act like a cult in some way. I could've finished here, easily, but there's something missing, isn't?

"The hell do you mean by 'The Need to Control', OP?"

I mean that the BILLVILLE is important.

There's the thing about trauma survivors: some of us, after living a life with no control over ones societal position (ostracization/isolation), body (forcibly medicated) or even mind (feeling of inadequacy), crave for some form of control to be regained.

It can turn toxic very quickly when the only form of control one has ever seen in their life is being The Leader (cult leader/shitty parent/armageddon overlord/you get the idea, it's about becoming an authority figure).

And so, Bill becomes a cult leader! Very possibly covering up the need for control and admiration with what I call "The most inefficient way to build an Interdimentional Portal ever", since, well, he's got to lie to himself every now and then, that's his thing (trauma response).

As for the details:

He uses the dead mans body — the body that wouldn't cause any resistance, thus being perfect for taking under control.

He sees the position of the interviewer as more authoritative than the position of the interviewee — and he swaps the roles. That wasn't enough though, so he demands (politely) to be called "My Lord And Master" for a good measure.

He very possibly recreates some of Euclydia-like order in his own "Town" in terms of expressing individuality. They might've been pretty decent in following scripts, I think.

So, I don't think Euclydia has ever been religious in any way, since that would left some other scars on Bills psyche for sure. But highly authoritative, ignorant, strict in its rules to the point of self-damnation? That checks. That's the place that has formed Bill, after all.

That's the place that he wishes to rebuild.

Maybe not consciously, maybe distorted by his illness and broken memory of a loving-paradise-home that has never actually been that way, but he seeks the comfort of familiarity — most of us do. Familiar stings are better than an uncontrollable too-bright future, isn't?

I hope he does well on therapy.

[toskarin]

Bandcamp Friday’s soon, any recommendations?

as always, I'm gonna recommend my own soundtracks, not on any particular merit, but because the year's coming to a close and I like buying coffee that tastes bad

less corruptly, here's some albums I've been enjoying this month. most are on the newer side (and I've posted songs of the day from a lot of them before) in the interest of keeping things fresh-ish

Black Pyre - Blessed Br​â​n, Son Of The Sea

Arazubak - Betrayed by Devotion

Sanguine Wounds - S/T

Desert Heretic - Infernalis

Abriction - So Far Away In Time

Winter Lantern - Hymne To A Dismal Starre

Aara - Eiger

Vampyric - Untouched by Songs that Angels Sing

Frosk - Stone Prison

Death Descends - The World

Paysage d'Hiver - Die Berge

Iron Firmament - Draconic Atavism

Mélancholie du Dhampir - Pale Summer Romance Reh.

Daedric Chamber - Necromantik

Starcave Nebula // Trhä - Split

Siegetower - Demo

Morbærsanger - (like) thieves in a glowing orchard

Lautrec - Martyrdom Impaled

Chained Arcana // knights of rain - telltales and rituals

Vampiric Coffin - The Last Drop

Fugitive Wizard - Ultima Magus Chapter IV

Lärmgott - Rausch der Erinnyen

Necrosferatul - Candelabrum Necrosferatulum

Valdrin - Throne of the Lunar Soul

[lorasdolly]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐁 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

𝐀𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐏𝐭 𝟏

(AU)

Kori Sharma had watched her father betray everybody since the break of dawn, but never in a century did she imagine he would do the same to his favorite daughter. Life drained from her features with any color that had originally been there. She simply wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps and finish what her mother had started.

But it seemed every good deed couldn’t go unpunished.

His eyes were heavy as he dragged Kori to the elders, disappointment that seemed to be a common occurrence between the two. A give and take relationship where all she did was give.

The Roman Empire was supposed to be the greatest, but to be so great, it must be unforgiving.

Like a lamb to slaughter, she had been brought to her knees before the sculptures of those who were sworn above her, a God that resided but never showed himself. Those that couldn’t be seen would decide her fate. The despair in her eyes looked awfully verbatim to a sheep stuck between the teeth of a wolf, or perhaps a lion.

Discussions between priests were murmured and the crowd gathered, waiting for a heretic such as herself to be maimed. They jumped in glee at murder, at destruction.

She had her hands tied behind her back, many thoughts running through her head. Her body curled into itself in an attempt at self-preservation. She wanted to plead guilty and hope that the God they praised and sang hymns for listened to the prayers that endlessly slipped off her lips, just this once.

The audience had one thing in common, the look of disdain painted across their faces. The train of her gown was cast behind her, it looked identical to a rag now. She had been brutalized once, and now this would count as the second time. She had been forsaken for the millionth time in her life, and counting.

She knew deep down in her guts and veins that she was innocent. She wanted to do what was best. It wasn't wrong, right? Maybe she was no good.

Soon, the smell of wood overwhelmed her nose, a strange scent of belonging waving over the girl. It was unfamiliar to feel so familiar with death, but it wasn't dying that brought her to reminisce about her home.

Rather the circumstances of death, the wood being nailed to burn her, the charred scent of it being engraved. Rallying chants of support echoed throughout the arena as they lifted the wood, tying it down to the floor, ensuring a smooth transition from life to the lack thereof.

Soon, a man who sat higher in the arena walked behind her. He hovered, the sun reflecting on his umber and unscathed skin. With scornful distance, he pulled a blindfold against Kori’s features, specifically her eyes, blinding her from the light she doubted she to see ever again.

Kori held her breath, an attempt to conceal herself, making herself seem smaller, weaker, fragile, a grasp for even the faintest sliver of sympathy or pity. Her sight flickered into nothingness, the arena yelling louder.

The scene was ironic, praising a merciful God, sending his only son, but sending his children to the flames without a trace of hesitation. Kori wasn’t one to hold grudges, but she anticipated taking her resentment to the afterlife, even if she must meet the devil.

A ringing developed in her ear, and she felt nearly blessed that the cheers were beginning to become inaudible. They hoisted her practically limp body up, mercilessly dragging it towards the uplifted piece of wood, created for her demise.

She didn’t plead, she did not beg, she silently accepted that the odds weren’t in her favor, and perhaps they’d never be. Even then, she couldn’t avoid the look of desperation for a savior.

Soon the man moving her body went still, and the ringing in her ears along with the rallying toned down. A demanding presence was impending, even if Kori could not see nor hear them.

“Release her.”

A polished voice echoed, the sound of commanded respect. The vicinity was seized by the woman who stood firmly at the door. Kori had heard that voice before, and a gasp exited her mouth with a quickening fervor.

“You dare make decisions without consulting the Medardas’?” Her stern voice along with the vehemence in the way she strides toward the center kept the audience silent and ensured civility.

Kori felt her piercing gaze hovering behind her kneeled frame, wondering the choices she might make. The woman’s silky yet toughened hands cupped Kori’s cheek from behind, an intensity unmatched as she nearly tenderly removed the blindfold restraining Kori.

The ties around Kori’s hand were cut loose and the woman’s full lips lingered at her ear, “Watch, child.” She whispered, her eyes tracing over Kori’s injured and scratched face.

The woman then stood, intimidating the priests and executioner.

“Miss Ambessa Medarda—“ spoke the executioner but then had a hand pressed against his back by a priest, forced into a bowing gesture. Kori lifted her gaze, getting a glimpse of Ambessa, her face presenting entire awe.

The way those who Kori imagined had the most power cowered in fear before Ambessa was disquieting, and worthy of praise. “Who in the heavens gave you authority?” Ambessa spoke thickly, authority coating the edge of every word.

Kori couldn’t strip her gaze from her, nearly mesmerized. Ambessa drew her sword once she received no response, “The cowardly have no place in our empire.”

Silence became stammering, but Ambessa paid it no mind, her eyes now drifting back to Kori. “What should we do?” The union in Ambess’s words, making it as if they were one, had Kori’s eyes widening. “W—We?” Kori repeated in a whisper, reverence lining her words.

Ambessa moved her stance now in front of Kori. She crouched and placed the sword right before her, granting her authority to choose. “What will it be, little one,” she began, awfully tempting. “Will you slice your own neck off or will you avenge?” Venom neared her every syllable, encouraging Kori to pick up the sword, become a soldier, and seek vengeance for her mother who died needlessly.

But Kori Sharma was not a warrior, and neither was her mother. Comparable to a saint, she was reluctant to comply.

Her eyes flickered from the sword to Ambessa’s face. That was when Ambessa realized, she couldn’t make a fighter out of prey.

A bouncing chuckle escaped Ambessa’s throat, her hand coming to trace the features on Kori’s face. “You hesitate to slay the same crowd that was willing to slay you, how… endearing.” Her hand faltered off Kori’s face.

Kori shook her head, pushing the sword away, intimidated by all the eyes set on her. From the priests to the audience. She feared death, but she feared bringing death far more.

“I will make further use of you, one way or another,” Ambessa said, her hand cradling your cheek, her fingers then crawling to gently close your eyes. It was nearing protective the way Ambessa guaranteed you couldn’t watch, her sword back in her own palm, slicing the head of a priest and an executioner.

Blood gushed out, and even if Kori couldn’t physically see it, the screams of terror and the smell of metal overwhelmed her. Ambessa had no reaction to the gruesome violence before her eyes and caused at her hand. She had become at home with the remains of war and leadership.

“Let this set an example,” Ambessa said, whistling at her guards to restrain Kori once again, taking her elsewhere. “To never deem my authority beneath that of a mere priest.”

She followed behind the guard, her sword encased once again. Kori let herself be taken, worry filling her five senses, yet hope was somehow restored.

God was not her savior, but Ambessa Medarda was.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - implied non//con, kidnapping, unhealthy relationships, and religious imagery/themes.

For the longest time, you thought of Gojo as a god.

How could you not, when your first impression of him had been one of blinding light and flashes of pure ivory, searing warmth and eyes like the endless sky? The gospel he spoke was nonsence, all near-incomprehensible rambling about cursed energy and walking nightmares, but you choked it down like sacrament, accepted your savior without complaint. He'd saved your life, cast off the darkness and promised to make sure you stayed in the light. Whatever he was, it was god-like enough for you.

You worshiped him like a god, too. In coffee shops and bakeries, when you first insisted on paying your tithe, then dimly-lit bars, sweat-soaked nightclubs, upscale restaurants you never would've been able to afford, but that gave you all the more reason to cling to him like a saving grace. He moved slowly, waited weeks before bringing you back to his penthouse apartment and commanding that you kneel before your alter, but he really didn't need to. Anywhere he tread was holy ground, as far as you were concerned. If that meant you had to make his bed your hollowed place, then so be it.

You figure that was what he must've liked so much about you. People like Gojo were often admired, always feared, but rarely loved, and you'd always been the type to show your deities the utmost adoration. Somewhere, in the thralls of your worship, he must have decided a willing acolyte was not as valuable as a loyal one.

For the longest time, you thought of Gojo as a devil.

A liar, a dissident, a heretic. A deceiver, most of all - for masquerading himself as something so holy, so divine. You told him as much (albeit, with much more colorful language), but that's the thing about pure evil; it thrives on hate and loathing and hostility, and Gojo drank in every ounce of attention he could wring out of you, whether you were sobbing into his chest or screaming for him not to touch you or begging for whatever scraps of mercy still existed in his cold, armored heart. He was good at that. Whether you were singing hymns underneath him or praying for someone who could deliver you from his embrace, Gojo knew how to get what he wanted from you.

You did a lot of praying, after he took you into his impious counsel. Not that it did any good - he'd always mocked your attempts to comfort yourself, to withhold something you'd once given to him freely, something that he was always able to take with or without your cooperation. You blamed his cruelty on pure malice, felt his touch like tongues of hellfire, but what hurt you the most was when he wasn't cruel, when his touch didn't burn, when his smile still range angelic and he promised, in a way that did not sound entirely like the twisted words of a wretched imposter, that he really did love you.

You knew, now, that Gojo was human. Nothing more, nothing less.

And you understood that, truly, was the worst thing he could've been.

[musingmelsuinesmelancholy]

Ave, fonticuli Stella.

Asteriá mater Alma

Fons magicea

Felix Caeli porta

Felix Barathrum porta

Summens illude Ave

Qoud Serpens locutus est

Salutans nomen Evæ

Ruptor catenis

Profer lumens caecis

Mala nostra pelle

Bona cuncta posse

Ostende te osse Regina

Sicut aquas divina

Reflectunt stellarum

Preces nostras portare

Regina omnia recedens

In lunares salutem

Patients tempus, calendariis

Supra

Infra

Tenebris aquis

Nox caelum speculum

Gloria tribus in uno

Parody of the hymn “Ave Maris Stella”

Despite years of catholic schooling my Latin is shit so doubtless the grammar is off haha.

[talonabraxas]

"Splendid You rise in the lightland of the sky, O living Aten, creator of life ! You have dawned in the eastern lightland. You fill every land with your beauty." -Great Hymn to the Aten, 1-4.

Aten/Aton Talon Abraxas

Ancient Egyptian Aten: Sun God And Creator Deity Symbols: sun disk, heat and light of the sun Cult Center: Akhetaten (Tel El-Amarna) Aten was a being who represented the god or spirit of the sun, and the actual solar disk. He was depicted as a disk with rays reaching to the earth. At the end of the rays were human hands which often extended the ankh to the pharaoh. Aten's origins are unclear and he may have been a provincial Sun-god worshipped in one of the small villages near Heliopolis. Aten was called the creator of man and the nurturing spirit of the world. In the Book of the Dead, Aten is called on by the deceased, "Hail, Aten, thou lord of beams of light, when thou shinest, all faces live." It is impossible to discuss Aten without mentioned his biggest promoter, the pharaoh Amenhotep IV, or Akhenaten. Early in his reign, Akhenaten worshipped both Amon (the chief god in Thebes at the time) and Aten. The first as part of his public duties, the latter in private. When he restored and enlarged the temple of Aten first built by his father Amenhotep III, relations between him and priests of Amon became strained. The priests were a major power in Egypt and if another god became supreme they would lose their own prestige. Eventually, relations became so strained that Akhenaten decided to built his own capital by the Nile, which he called, "Akhetaten", the Horizon of the Aten. At Akhetaten, Akhenaten formed a new state religion, focusing on the worship of the Aten. It stated that Aten was the supreme god and their were no others, save for Akhenaten himself. It has been said that Akhenaten formed the first monotheistic religion around Aten. However, this is not the case. Akhenaten himself was considered to be a creator god and like Aten was born again every day. Aten was only accessible to the people through Akhenaten because Akhenaten was both man and part of the cosmos. Akhenaten systematically began a campaign to erase all traces of the old gods, especially Amon. He erased the name of Amon from the temples and public works. He even went so far as to erase his own father's cartouche because the word "Amon" was featured in it. Even the word "gods" was unacceptable because it implied there were other deities besides Aten. It is clear that the Egyptian people never accepted their king's religion and view of the world. Even at his own capital, Akhetaten, amulets featuring Bes and Tauret have been found. Following Akhenaten's death, Atenism died rapidly. Mostly because the people never really believed in it and also because Akhenaten's successors did all they could to erase Akhenaten and Aten from the public eye. Eventually, Akhetaten became abandoned and the name "Akhenaten" conjured the dim memory of a "heretic king."

[hcrctic]

tag dump! wanda edition

[pupsmailbox]

LOVECORE ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　adelaide. admirer. adora. adoraten. adore. ai. aiko. amadeus. amara. amor. amora. amore. amorette. amorie. amour. amoure. amourette. amy. angel. annabelle. aphrodite. arrow. atuf. bambi. bastet. bear. beau. bes. bliss. blossom. bow. bunny. caleb. candy. carwyn. ceri. charity. chelsea. cherie. cherria. cherrill. cherry. cheryshe. claire. clarissa. claudia. connell. connor. cordelia. crimson. cupid. dahlia. dante. david. delphine. desiree. desyre. dhalia. doll. dove. dylan. eldad. eros. esme. esme.cara. euphor. flower. freya. frill. garden. harp. hart. heart. heartstring. heretic. honey. honeybee. hubert. hugh. ingrid. iris. julia. julie. juliet. juliette. june. kalei. kara. kevin. kiss. koramor. lennon. lev. love. lovebird. lover. loverboy. lucinda. luvbelle. luvia. lynn. mabel. mabel.mila. mai. mars. may. maya. melody. milo. milos. mona. obi. ophelia. paramour. paris. passerine. passion. pearl. phillip. pippa. pippi. raymond. red. reed. reese. ren. rhett. rhys. roma. romanciel. romeo. rosalyn. rose. rosetta. rosette. rumor. sky. sugar. tahlia. teddy. thalia. theo. tyas. val. valen. valentina. valentine. valentino. valerie. vanessa. venus. vera. vincent. violet. vivian. vivianna. vivianne. yua. ásta. éowyn.

PRONOUNS ⌇　<3/<3. ado/adore. adore/adore. ae/aer. am/amour. bli/bliss. bouquet/bouquet. bow/bow. bud/bud. charm/charm. che/cher. cher/cherish. choco/chocolate. chu/chu. co/cora. coo/coo. cu/cupid. cu/cute. cupid/cupid. cute/cute. dar/darling. date/date. de/dear. de/devote. dear/dear. desi/desire. doe/doe. doe/dove. er/ero. ero/ero. eternity/eternitie. euphor/euphoria. fle/fleur. flower/flower. fri/frill. friend/friend. gift/gift. he/heart. he/hymn. hea/heart. heal/heal. heart/heart. hon/honey. hope/hope. hug/hug. hx/hxm. hy/hymn. h♡/h♡m. kie/kiss. kiss/kiss. kyuu/kyuu. lae/lace. lav/lavender. lo/love. love/bug. love/love. love/lovely. love/lover. lu/luv. lust/lust. luv/luv. myst/mystic. pass/passion. pink/pink. plu/plush. pray/pray. prince/prince. re/red. red/red. ri/ribbon. ro/rose. rose/rose. royal/royal. sacri/sacrifice. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. sh♡/h♡r. smitten/smitten. soft/soft. sweet/sweet. tear/tear. ted/teddy. thxy/thxm. th♡y/th♡m. tu/lip.| val/val. val/valen. val/valentine. valentine/valentine. ve/venus. vei/veil. veil/veil. vir/virtue. xo/xo. xoxo/xoxo. ye/yearn. yearn/yearn. ❤️ . 🌹 . 🍓 . 🍫 . 🍯 . 🍰 . 🎀 . 🏩 . 👑 . 💋 . 💍 . 💌 . 💐 . 💒 . 💓 . 💘 . 💝 . 💞 . 🤍 . 🦢 .

[gaysindistress]

Heretics and Flesh Devotees

Based on the poem Anorexic by Eavan Boland

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/pinterest and collaged on canva

pairings: azriel x fem!reader

Summary: Flesh is heretic. My body is a witch. I am burning it. And I am burning the man who condemned me to such a fate.

Warnings: mentions of abuse (not detailed), mentions of misogyny (not detailed)

Word count: 2.2k

Gaysindistress masterlist | azriel masterlist

My body has never been mine. It’s been owned, sold, bought, and branded by others time and time again. My body has never been mine to command and control as the authority in my life has. It’s disgusting to think that in the years since my birth, my body, my soul, and my will has been placed into the hands of others.

As a babe it was my parents although they did try to be gentle and kind. Their faults were found in the ones they left to care for me. The awful creatures hated me for a name I did not choose and wished their hearts’ cruelest desires onto me. As one would assume those desires became my reality as I grew older and started to fight back against them. Their words hurt but they bounced off where they once slashed. Their look stung where they once left burn gashes. Their foul intentions felt like flicks on my nose where they once felt like I’d been beaten to a pulp.

My body still wasn’t my own even though when I prayed for it to be returned to me. Boys who felt entitled to looks and touches tried to lay their claim to me. Men who felt like they deserved praise for caring for me tried to demand me in payment for their actions. Too jaded against it all, I turned to a creature that would prove to be far worse than any boy or man I could’ve been gifted to.

The creature I thought I would safety in begged for my eternal devotion and demanded that I give over whatever I could. He made me into a prisoner and my body into a witch that worshipped him.

Every molecule that made up my body, mind, and heart screamed when I began to fight against its urges. The enormity of my own craving made me sick when I wailed at the scorching of my secret ministrations.

At night, I poisoned my mind when it thought of him. I bruised my limbs when they carried me towards him. I broke what I had to when I tried to search for him. I destroyed myself over and over again until the thought of him made my stomach turn and my skin crawl.

The sick version of me tried to bend me and sent fever throughout me. In my delirium, her half truths felt like the sweetest angelic hymns. Whispering into my ear, she tried to coax me into slipping back into my old solutions.

I renounced her honeyed voice and vomited out her milky words. I renounced her hungered tongue and spat out her name along with his. I fused the flames that came when I thought of him with the spite I conjured and burned the bitch alive from the inside out.

Morphed into a starved and twisted soul, I laughed when he began to resent me. It took him months to realize that something had changed within me. I was no longer painted with soft edges and stunning features but carved into a curveless piece of skin and bone that mocked him. At dinners and events thrown in his favor, I sipped at my rotten wine while the women among me gossiped the state of my marriage. They did not utter a single word for how I seemed to be fairing but how the once holy union between him and I seemed to be slipping.

I sipped at the foul liquid until it stained my lips a violent shade of calculated vengeance. I pretended to swallow entire bottles and postured drunkenness so they would think I couldn’t hear the things they confessed to.

My husband’s heavy stare always found me as I slumped further and further into my chair, allowing him to believe that my pain to consumed me. The hungry leery he masked with an adoring gaze had faded into disappointment and disgust, so much so that eventually he stopped looking altogether. No longer did he pull me into his lap, his Herculean arms caging me in falsified comfort and demand to know what was bothering his beautiful wife.

Instead he found younger and more attractive women to watch and eventually fill his time with. Instead a young woman, borderline girl, with flowing locks of auburn hair and gentle curves became his new hobby.

Thin as a rib, my knife slept under my pillow. The feverish bitch within me cried and cried as she watched me plot his demise. It pained the other within me that withered and gasped for air to think I could even contemplate such a scenario.

Could I truly commit murder?

Could I truly force my husband to shuffle off this mortal coil?

The dueling fates were soon quilled when I turned in sleep to find claustrophobia looming over me. His warm body threatened to suffocate me while the haunting sound of his inner thoughts filled the breadth between us. Once I had been pulled into slumbers embrace by his heart beat’s gentle drum and quiet song of his breath but now it closed in on me and pressed.

I could not muster the strength to find my rib like knife nor move it from its hiding place. I promised myself only a few more days of this torture. Only a few more nights of slipping back into his bed before I set myself free.

I hadn’t intended on waiting for another few weeks but an uninvited guest coiled my plan into nothingness.

Azriel the Shadowsinger.

He arrived just as his name implied; as silently as the night and slithered his way in without resistance. He was a man born with charmed words that dripped from his silver tipped tongue and slid between pearly white teeth. A man known for his third eye, the Truth-Teller, that when he showed up on our doorstep, my husband begged him to stay for fear of his wrath. Like a shadow, he was present in every crevice of the house and was not seen. My husband’s ego got his way, tripping him up as he stumbled to accommodate Azriel, the embodiment of shadows with violent hazel eyes.

The woman my husband found to be my replacement took her role before I was revealed. Instead I was whisked away into a room hidden deep within the compound. She played the dutiful host and doted on her guests. She donned the gowns once crafted for me and wore the jewelry I previously did. She laughed at the jokes the men made and smiled sweetly at the husband she desired but would never love. She became the wife and I hated to see another take my place for I knew what awaited her.

I wanted to spare her. I tried to spare her but my efforts were in vain. She cried out when I told her to leave. She screamed when she saw my knife meant my husband. She fell into it when I tried to pull away from her ivory grasp.

As I said, I hadn’t intended on becoming into the personification of destruction but it was inevitable when I was given no other choice.

Blood drips from me and hits the floor beneath me with a deafening loudness as my husband stares at me.

A single question hangs in the air; “What have you done?”

“What have I done?” I calmly ask, arching a brow at the man who stands and dares to judge me. “The better question is what did you make me do.”

It’s a disgusting sight to behold; him pretending that I’m nothing more than a body of mangled bones and broken convictions molded by him. Dark as night and deafening as the ever present silence that fills when you’re dying, his gaze tries to weigh me down and fails.

Azriel smiles when he senses my anger and he becomes a conduit of my emotions as the twin sinister glint to mine flickers in his dark eyes. He reclines against the rotting wood walls like a feline would; regal and untouchable but lethal all the same.

My husband throws a glance to the blood that is pooling around me with disappointment before speaking, “Your actions are your own. Take responsibility for the carnage that you have created for once in your pathetic life. This is all your fault, y/n.”

My eyes narrow at his choice of words.

Take responsibility? My fault?

Fitting that he would choose to say that I need to take the blame for the actions I committed because of him. He had been the one to deem me an object to be bought and sold. He had been the one to make me in his image and create a wife he felt was worthy of him. He had been the one to turn my body into a heretic and I had no other choice but to burn her at the stake.

“Husband,” I start as I take a step forward while he takes one back, “What I have done is only because you forced my hand. Every drop of blood, scream ripped from raw throats, tears shed have been because of you.”

Azriel’s terrifying chuckle rings through the room, causing the remaining members of my husband’s house to drop their heads and hide their fear. The blood of their new lady of the house fills the room with a coppery stench and some have taken to covering their faces with their collars. As Azriel around the room, his chest swells with pride at the terror that he’s caused in them but it stills when he lands on me.

A creature who’s grown angular and unholy in the confines of her husband’s cage.

He smiles as he lets his dagger like eyes to slash across my frame.

“Enough of whatever petty martial bullshit this is about,” he dismisses with boredom thick in his voice. “You took something from me and I want it back.”

My husband attempts to fix the situation but the guest cuts him off.

“I said enough,” he seethes, gritting out the words between clenched teeth. The action tightens and sharpens his already pronounced jaw, giving him the appearance akin to a statue.

Within seconds my coward of a husband is lying on the ground, crying and begging for his lord as the Lord of Bloodshed, Cassian, stands over him with his siphons glow a brilliant red.

“Please I don’t have it. I swear I don’t have it!” he begs while the bigger man growls before landing a swift kick to his stomach. “Take whatever you want, please. Anything and it’s yours.”

Cassian looks to Azriel and awaits his judgment. Azriel has not looked away from me this entire night. He’s still locked in on me as he nods. Cassian bends down and grips my husband by the neck, hauling him up so high his feet dangle helplessly below him.

“That’s a dangerous deal you’ve just made.”

My husband begs and begs for his own life but not for mine or even the wife he replaced me with as she lays on the floor in a pool of blood.

“If only I believed you,” Azriel sighs, “but I don’t and I’m not in the mood to hear any more of your lies.”

“Y/n..” my husband turns his pleading to me but I interrupt him with a roar of anger.

“Enough,” I hiss at him, rage boiling in my veins, “You used and manipulated me for years. I was nothing but a toy to brought out when you grew bored. You’ve shoved me off to the side and pushed me to my breaking point but now that the consequences are coming for you, you turn to me and expect me to help.”

Azriel has taken to prowling towards me now that my calm facade has dropped. He stalks me like an apex predator would their prey.

“Did you hear that, princess?” He poses the question to me and only me. “He’s offering you up like a prized goat when he could just give me what he took. That’s not very nice now is it? Seems a bit selfish doesn’t it?”

I attempt to sneak a glance at my husband but he catches my chin in a tight grip, “Don’t look at them, look at me.”

And I do. I’m met with a torrid stare that calls to that divinely angular and starving creature within me.

“You can have her! Take her, please! Please just don’t kill me,” my husband cries out as if I’ll be his saving grace. The sounds are muffled as the utter chaos that lives within Azriel’s heart soothes me into the fall.

I fall into the forked tongued embrace of this devilish man.

I fall into the need of a python that wraps itself around us both.

I fall into the heaving breaths that lunge my chest up and down as I stare at his lips.

I fall into the visions of heat, sweat, gluttony, and lust that awaits us.

Azriel visibly cringes before me at my husband’s words but waits for me.

“Well princess?”

“I want my freedom,” I demand and he flashes me a disastrously beautiful smile.

“Of course,” he promises me. “Of course, princess.”

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

Some B&P collage art I did. A rundown of the symbolism:

The backgrounds are from two of the "O Antiphons", a series of short chants used in Catholic and Catholic-adjacent liturgies in the days leading up to Christmas. Barnes gets "O Sapentia," which is about divine wisdom and law ordering the universe; Paxton gets "O Oriens," which is about divine light illuminating a dark and suffering world. The O Antiphons are the source text for the well-known hymn "O come, O come, Emmanuel", and "O Oriens" is also an indirect source for much of J.R.R. Tolkien's literary worldview. The translations and musical settings are ones commonly used in Anglican churches.

The Hebrew text (which I set in Keter Aram Sova, a font based on the tenth-century Aleppo Codex, because the default Hebrew fonts for Windows all suck shit) comes from the Biblical passages that A24's marketing for the movie associates with Barnes and Paxton. Barnes gets Proverbs 31:25, which in my preferred New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition reads "Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come." Paxton gets Psalm 46:5, which the NRSVCE has as "God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved; God will help it when the morning dawns"--but "the city" in the Hebrew is just a pronoun, whose antecedent is in the previous verse, so the New International Version preferred by many Evangelical Protestants has "God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day." My choices of Hebrew text read eshet chayil for Barnes ("woman of valor"; I refuse to render it "capable wife" lmao) and lifnot boker for Paxton ("daybreak"). Eshet chayil doesn't appear in Barnes's specific version, but lifnot boker does in Paxton's.

The paintings are of two saints who happen to both have been Carmelite nuns named Teresa. Barnes gets François Gérard's portrait of Teresa of Ávila, a sixteenth-century Spaniard with a chaotic personal background who found solace and grew into a great theologian in the ultra-structured environment of convent life. Paxton gets Céline Martin's portrait of her sister Thérèse of Lisieux, a nineteenth-century Frenchwoman whose similarities to Paxton are many. (The second link there speaks a little insultingly of atheists because it's from a conservative-ish Catholic source, but I think it's still worth a look.) The French on the picture frame says "my path is sure and I was not wrong to take it."

The crowns are in reference to a story often told about a third saint, Maximilian Kolbe, who is said to have been offered two crowns in a vision of the Virgin Mary, a white crown and a red one. The white crown would have made him persevere in faith throughout his life; the red one would have made him die a martyr. He took both.

Magnified and sanctified is the great name of God throughout the world, which was created according to Divine will. Let's all tell our friends and family to watch Heretic and stan Sophie Thatcher and Chloe East!

[bonefall]

all this christian warriors talk reminds me of that one tumblr user who didnt/couldnt? listen to music as a child so they imagined warrior cats amvs to the church hymns

Iirc that person would nod off in church and imagine AMVs to the hymns, it wasn't that they were banned from music

But that happens too. Raise your hand if you ever had a family member freak out when they learned about something magic/satanic/heretical about some kind of media you were interested in 🖐