#i used to write religiously for it

[bhramarii]

THE PROPHET // THE SAINT

[cupophrogs]

Oliver just

Gently does this to Drew's leg.

“Cherub is a mind boggling balance of incredibly brave, and horrifically stupid. He handles things maturely, especially for one so detached from the suffering of this place, very often to his own detriment. Placing little value on his own state, and thus “risking it for the biscuit” far too much. Still, he is one who loves deeply, fiercely. And to allow such an Angel to damn himself for another, would be a sin most grievous.”

[bigdvmnhero]

relationships: dick & bruce

word count: 5,406

summary:

On the 96th day Bruce didn't call, Dick remembered their old game. Three things he knew: 1) In three months, it would be Dick's death anniversary; 2) Bruce was still missing his check-ins; 3) Here Dick was, persisting. Imagine the things I'd survive, Dick thought distantly, if I loved Bruce less.

Or: Agent 37 and his various crises of faith, on Day 277 at Spyral, Day 150, and Day -0.

"Imagine: to ask and to be answered. Even the son of god knows what it is to beg and be met with silence. —Passiontide, L.T.

i.

On the 96th day Bruce didn't call, Dick remembered their old game. There were two kinds of faith, Dick had tried to tell her—the one children had, and the tired, worn thing you held onto like balloon string long after the POP; the helium-high; the bright yellow of it in smithereens over your good shoes.

Dick had smiled as if to say, Guess what I got.

Her file read: Abigail, ex-military. Current head of the Sisters of the Ascended Veil. Her sneer said: unbeliever. Around her neck, the cross-shaped security pass that would allow Dick's team and several concussed Hadrian girls access to the bunker below the missionary outpost.

Through his in-ear, Helena barked over gunfire, "Get us shelter, Grayson. We'll handle Chang."

Chang, the rampaging meta in the sky. The ground shook with each distant blast. Tiger grunted, "Allah have mercy—" then came a staticky CRUNCH, a sound of which could've been anything from a tungsten rifle or a body, flattened like a sad, watery diner pancake.

Nerve strike, grab the pass, get it over with, Grayson. But Holy Head Honcho had taken one look at Dick and announced a bankruptcy of faith. Like Dick wasn't fluent in the daily death-defying act that was his life. Sure, his Catholicisms were a little rusty. His Talmud, worse. He had a pocket rosary from his mom that was missing two beads. Some of the old Bludhaven PD were severe Protestants, from whom Dick stole a fun Jesus fact he liked to pull out during parties, which was that when Jesus cried out at the ninth hour, a time for the regular ol' lamb sacrifice, Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?—which of course meant, My God, my god, why have you forsaken me?—did you know it wasn't the pain of crucifixion that freaked Jesus out so much, but abandonment? Of separation eternal? How the sin of man, cast on his shoulders, had blackened his soul, cutting him off from his beloved father/brother/self in one?

Your "fun fact" is kind of a buzzkill, actually, Roy told him once. So Dick's experience with religion was a little slapdash. Sue him. It was just funny, was all. The Sisters, serving only God and various iron-fisted strongmen of the south, were said to possess a faith so absolute they could give Lanterns a run for their money—and even then they'd never know the scale of the miracles Dick had seen: 1) In three months, it would be Dick's death anniversary; 2) Bruce was still missing his check-ins; 3) here Dick was, persisting.

Closer now, the orange blitz on the horizon. Abigail stood before the imposing door of the outpost and did not budge. "You insist on entering holy ground with your… polluted soul. Even if what you say is true, Man With No Face, and there is a hidden bunker beneath this land, only the Lord's handmaiden may—"

"Enter holy ground, yes, yes, of course." Dick peered over her purple habit, into the black eye of the CCTV camera. Waved for the whole congregation watching. "Is it the whole… me being a dude thing? Fair enough, but you'll take my girls, won't you? They're just children." Children behind him groaned in a heap of limbs. Stowaway stalkers, really, but under Dick's protection, like all kids by default; a fact that would continue until the end of time. "You love children."

His Hypnos spasmed as Abigail blinked, rebuffing the mental suggestion of care-love-cute aggression.

"Or not?" Dick rubbed the baby fever from his eyes. "Huh. Guess having a maternal instinct's totally passé now."

"Your wicked offspring have no room here, outsider. Adopting strays is not the work of Handmaiden."

"So you'll let me do it for you? Good idea." One more time: the illusion whirled hot behind his eyes, bright as confetti. "You've wanted help for so long. I'll make it easy. I raised a few strays myself, y'know, they turned out great." Dick winced and did not think of Damian, the cold damp square of earth in the ground. "Wow, you're so relieved I'm here, huh? I clean, I cook, I make a kickass French toast—"

Sister Bitch put her hand in his face. "We do not gorge ourselves on the Sabbath. Enough, I can feel your… evil, in my head. Whispering, testing me. But my will is strong, as all my handmaids are." His earpiece crackled again: "WHERE'S MY EVAC, GRAYSON," boomed Tiger's voice, ornery and magnificent, and Dick almost broke character with relief. Abigail moved behind the door to bolt it closed. "If God wills you to die today, Man With No Face, then so be it."

Dick shoved a Hadrian crossbow into the gap. Good metal; vanadium. Dick could kiss it.

"Sorry, God, not dying today."

"You claim to know God's will!"

"Not God's." Dick grinned at her fury-blotched face. "Just a man's."

Earlier, while she'd monologued about his apocryphal nature, Dick had noticed the discoloration on her crucifix. It was the kind that could only come from restless hands. Skin bitten off, nailbed raw and cracked. Was this kinship, then? There was no gun, no gauntlet or secret spy gizmo that could rival the intensity of her conviction, Dick knew that now, except for what he always had, inexplicable and ordinary as his own hands. A battle of devotion was a battle Dick was always going to win.

"Remember? That day, you were careless. You lost everything, in front of so many people, and they—they just watched. But that man… he saved you. Took you in." Dick edged his foot into the door. "You've been falling for so long, Abigail, but he caught you. He caught you."

Abigail's face went slack. Dick felt bad for turning the crankshaft all the way; now her irises began to whirl in time with his—lazy at first, then fast, faster; trenchant like bloody pinwheels.

"Hasn't been easy, huh? Yeah, I hear ya. It breaks you up inside, to be away from everything you love, you even turned to religion. But he hasn't forgotten you." This would never get old: seeing the false memory annex the room in a person's mind, shuffling the furniture, slapping new paint on the walls. "C'mon, Abbie. Don't you remember? How good it all was?"

The early years—warmth traded under a heavy cape—a steady weathered hand on his back, like a new limb, a new wing—careening down dirt highways, soft rock on the radio—wind and rain; tinsel and dazzle—learning to divine the city's thousand moods, its metals—Gotham's rooftops unfolding beneath their feet, a pop-up picture book, and they were the kings of this land—they were winning the games, shooting threes, giving the people what they want—they were burning—burning something holy—

Abigail whimpered. Clutched her head. Dick felt several nerves burst; his or hers?

"He was just one man, but he—" What was he saying now? "He changed the world for you. He changed, for—for—"

Finally, Abigail staggered back, like whatever she saw was unbearable. "Dear God."

Dick reached for her. Panicked, he realized his Hypnos was still churning, memory after over-saturated memory, an engine with no kill switch. He fought a wave of tinfoil-flavored nausea. Found his feet. He'd been abridging the images as they streamed out of him—cutting Bruce Wayne out of The Batman to spare his identity—only for his feelings to cloud the system, a poison agent too sticky and hot and impossible to delineate. All he wanted, dammit, was to make her like the man, the way socialites and fanboys did—or at least dip her finger in the pool of Dick's great unpayable debt—so she'd open the bunker gates once Dick asked. Blood sprang up his eyes; the world lurched Looney Tunes-style. Imagine the things I'd survive, Dick thought distantly, if I loved Bruce less. Too late now, anyway; the Hypnos was still free-wheeling—an infinite carousel ride from hell where Dick was both the prancing horse and its white-knuckled passenger; he was in all the horses, all the seats; in one, he was swearing a candlelight oath—in another, nine years old, dying on a gurney—he was choking on radioactive fumes—he was watching Bruce as he suffocated by Lex's hand and saw the naked, childlike terror on his face, and even then Dick loved him; his wrong god, always too late—

Abigail reached out, seeing in threes. "Batman—"

"Yeah, he—" Another wave of sugary rust, pastel bile. "He's—even after everything that's happened—despite what you feel, he's—worthy. Of your loyalty. Of your—" Dick caught himself on the doorframe. "He has a mission for you."

Fingers clawed at her habit. "I can't—"

"You can. You will." Something too thick to be tears trickled down Dick's cheeks. It stained his teeth when he smiled. "Robin," he said, "that's you."

Abigail collapsed to her knees like someone shot.

The first symptom of Hypnos overuse was a fucked up vestibular system. Leaky Ear, Helena called it. Left was right and up was down was all around. Eventually, Dick made his way through the gap in the door and reached her.

"Oh God—how do—b-but if—" she stammered. "I'm Robin—"

"Yeah," Dick agreed, then with more enthusiasm, "Yay."

"What have I—?" She grabbed his shoulder like it was a ledge she was falling from. "I'm failing him."

"Not yet. There's still time. There's a meta out there, hurting your good neighbors. My friends are taking care of it, but they'll all need evac eventually. They're gonna come knocking, and you're going to let them all in. They'll need food, medical attention. You won't turn anyone away, Abigail, every life is precious, and we don't—what the hell. You know this part already."

"Food, shelter, yes," she mumbled. "I catch people, yes. I'm Robin."

"That you are, and that you do, so now—"

"I'm his partner, yes. His best friend. His—"

"Robin, focus." Dick shook off a dumb hot flash of irritation. "Aren't you gonna tell your ladies to open the bunker?"

In minutes of memory-planting, thirty feet of military-grade steel gates surrounding the outpost slid belowground, revealing the bright green manicured lawn of The Ascended Veil. The Hadrian girls cheered then fainted again. At least Tiger wasn't bellyaching on the comms anymore.

"Great job, Rob," Dick said. Then he blacked out.

(read the rest on ao3)

[paulic]

happy birdyyyyyyyy to this one <3

[intersexnateriver]

Forbidden fruits before my eyes, with a taste that's so divine...

Don't look at her hand pretty please <3

[prolibytherium]

There's a LOT of things people do wrong when constructing fantasy beliefs in pantheons of gods, but one of the more specific is having only one god related to fertility and it kind of being just a horny sex thing.

Like you'll have one in the entire bunch whose sphere is listed as fertility and it's basically like Yeah this is the sex one. She's always depicted naked (but not TOO naked because censorship and/or the writer's own skittishness). She's going to have the exact body type epitomized in contemporary western beauty standards and there's usually no chance in hell that she's gonna be fat (unless MAYBE they're referencing 'venus' figurines). Her thing is fertility, which means having sex and making babies. Might be a goddess of beauty or love or marriage too, because these are kinda sex things, but that's probably it. And yeah that sort of thing is virtually nonexistent in real life.

Like the concept of fertility is so fundamentally important to the function of most societies in human history in ways that it is just Not in industrialized imperial core countries. Most people are getting food from stores, and not having to worry about harvesting crops or breeding livestock or foraging for food or having enough animals to hunt, so fertility only really comes up as a concern if you're trying to have kids (and there is certainly societal pressure to have children, but your wellbeing and survival is rarely going to Depend on it). And I think writing only from that perspective and not even trying to learn about WHY fertility is so conceptually important is why you see this trend.

There's no absolute universal statement about how people believe in gods but it's broadly accurate that systems with many deities will Usually have more than one deity associated with fertility, and these associations will certainly include human reproduction but also the fertility of livestock/hunted animals, plants, the land itself.

Some fertility deities may also be heavily associated with seasonal changes or environmental factors that agriculture or foraging is dependent on (spring/summer/fall, seasonal rains, seasonal flooding, rain itself, sunlight, good soil, rivers, wetlands, etc). Some certainly might be related to love, marriage, sex, and beauty, but that's VERY RARELY going to be the sole way the concept of fertility is embodied. And they'll often will have other associations not directly about fertility, or related to fertility in culturally specific ways.

[virgil-upinthestars]

post ep 5 - SPOILERS

okay okay okay i think billy yeeted them out of the road. we see jen clawing up from the dirt in trailer footage, i think billy just chucked em back to westview. i don't think he's quite there at murder yet, seeing his last conversation with agatha, which? slay king. as a witch and practicing pagan, love him. "no, not for me" you take that negative energy and turn it right on its fuckin head sweetheart. but also please for the love of the gods don't get carried away, don't commit murder, your father would probably have a stroke even if your mother would sit there yelling you're doing great sweetie!!

also i think the reason why rio wasn't there in the last scene was bc she was collecting alice's body. now i'm imagining her walking out, seeing billy standing there alone with lighting coming from his hands and a scarlet witch crown like

[etchingsandepitaphs]

me 🤝🏻 writing characters who are blindly devout and yet all they get is suffering

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

The False God to Guilty As Sin? pipeline because what happens when sex was your default fallback method to reconnect when you weren't communicating otherwise but then you don't even have *that* anymore so you're just... frozen out completely in every sense. 😵‍💫

[fire-lizard-ro]

Lil post about HSR men with religious themes for none have lead me into temptation I found the way myself-

This is for you @pix3lplays <333 (I was screaming at her about it, lol-)

I love???? Religious themed characters and the works that come out of that??? I have an Argenti smut fic in the works with heavy religious themes, but here's a mini ramble about Argenti, Sunday, and Luocha.

CW: blasphemy :))), religious themes, softcore gore almost but not really???, somewhat dark themes/dark romance

Yeah I grew up with church and stuff sorry if some of it does make sense to the general public lololol-

For Argenti (snippets from my fic I'm working on):

"He would sooner rend his mortal form to pieces than ever hurt you. Even a little. He would splay his torn shell across the canvas of stars that blanket the universe that was made for you for whatever other higher powers- whatever fate exists should there ever come a day in which his hands hurt rather than protect. So that they may judge what remains of his soul for his crime."

"At your behest he would present his heart, ripped from his chest, for you to take. You were his heart, anyways… Without you there was only a hollow cage within his chest where never again would the echo of a heartbeat reside. The fire nothing but ash where there was once a blaze of life and passion."

For Sunday:

It's either he makes you his church and his bride (talking about how the church is god's bride) or you make him your elohim your "I am". Perhaps both.

His penchant for control is perfect for this. He will be your only god for you are to have no false idols. Only he must remain in your heart for he is the owner of your soul, your life, your breath. He is the light and the truth. His word is law.

But of course, a god must tend to his flock. He will take good care of you for your devotion.

For Luocha:

The thorns. The almost rosary like item he carries, wrapped around his hand. The words he speaks. "Death is not the end. The dead will return."

Pix brought to my attention the idea that some have about Luocha carrying your body, devoid of breath and life, in his coffin.

And to that I respond:

"So devoted was he that not even the sacred soil of the earth would be allowed to have you. Even in death."

He would search until the ends of the universe to find a way to bring you back to him. Even though his god was made of flesh and blood as he, it mattered not. Only you could possibly be the divine for you were his cornerstone. Without you he would fall apart. God works in the waiting and surely this was his divine burden- His test from you to prove his devotion. He was sure he would one day complete this task for you and bring you back. You, the life beyond death. You the light in the midst of his darkness. His eloah, his elohim, his almighty.

[hayatheauthor]

do you ever plan on answering your asks?

literally my blog schedule:

i get my posting's been inconsistent but that's a constant because of well...life. doesn't mean im ignoring y'all

[triglycercule]

dust and horror angel and demon themes,,,, they could totally parallel each other...... :3

dust=angel of death described in the delta rune prophecy (self declared) (i DEFINITELY elaborated on this one waayyyy before but anyways dust with a fucked up savior complex SAVE ME SAVE ME.... death is a blessing ass guy. life is torment and he will be the one to liberate monsters from their bodies and with the strength they provide to him be able to take down evil evil creation of pure misery that is the human ✨✨✨ dont worry his evil cackles are to HIDE HIS PAIN of saving everyone....... trust)

horror=demon that dragged everyone in horrortale into hell (as perceived by everyone else) (i think it would be a cool hc if everyone outside of snowdin viewed horror as literally a demon. maybe undyne preaches that. anyone outside of snowdin might be WAYYY worse because they starve for longer and literally take part in cannibalism so they might not have the same sort of mild sanity that snowdin residents do,,,, besides he DID kinda bring them all eternal suffering. kinda. nobody but undyne knows what happened at the core so she could totally just paint the story to blame horror fully)

ANYWAYS i like the possible dynamics this could have :333

dust to horror (please let me kill you PLEASE let me kill you i can end it all so peacefully wouldn't it be nice??? i promise ill make it quick just for you),,, horror to dust (i want you to live and suffer with what youve done i want you to watch all of your choices hit you one day and i'll be there and laugh at you. i'll keep you alive just to keep you suffering ok?)

OR dust to horror (you dont deserve to die you dont deserve to even be hurt by me. not because youre the exception but youre the Exception i absolutely loathe you so youll never get the sweet release of death :3) and horror to dust (just let me die already i dont wanna be here. youre supposed to be a savior right??? an angel?? then why don't you save me already when i need it more than anyone else)

[read-write-thrive]

I wanted to get a head start on palasaki week and now I’m building out a reverse AU. why do I keep doing this to myself I can’t keep starting new stuff without finishing the old stuff 😭

[bluberimufim]

WIP Intro

Title: Devourer of Souls

Genre + tropes: Fantasy, found family, fairytale retelling (Snow White and Rose Red)

Tag: devourer of souls wip

Themes (may be subject to change with the 1st draft): destruction vs creation, inherent contradictions of femininity, anti-war, choosing your own family, freedom from expectation, religious trauma

Status: outlining + first draft

Additional notes: I'm gonna (try to) do this for NaNo!! Wish me luck!!

edit: this is now a duology!

Plot

Seth was supposed to be a healer. That's what everyone said she would be. She would become a healer and fight in the war for the Goddess of Time. But her healing doesn't work like it's supposed to. Instead of giving life, she takes it away. People say she eats souls.

She tries to live a quiet life in the countryside, away from the war, but is rudely interrupted when Theo, a lost demigoddess, wanders into her life. Together, they try to find a place for themselves and their strange magic in this world. But war is never kind, and the Goddess of Time wants her daughter's power on her side - and she won't let some pesky healer get in her way.

Characters

Seth: a girl with terrifying powers who just wants a quiet life in a small town, alone, but learns to be happy after finding Theo. She was expelled from the hospital she was apprenticing for a failed healing that killed the patient and permanently damaged her leg in the process.

Theo: a powerful demigoddess whose magic is making her soul slowly wither away. Her adoptive family sent the Order after her after discovering her unusual powers and ends up finding Seth on her journey. Through her Goddess-Mother's influence, she becomes consumed by the war.

Flick: a teenager touched by the Goddess of Love, whose body houses two conflicting souls. They are cursed to have anyone they meet fall in love with them, and Seth takes them under her wing while on their journey to find themself.

Jane: a sort of puppet created by the Goddess of Time to replace Theo after her death, delivered to Seth when the Goddess couldn't stand her anymore. She's in the mortal world for the first time and trying to figure out who she wants to be.

The Goddess of Time: Theo and Jane's mother. By far the most ruthless - and broken - among her sisters. She lives in her Garden in the plane of the gods, where she takes her daughters to shape them into her champions.

Notes on the setting

everything in this world has a soul, or life force, which can be transferred by those with the right magical inclination

usually, healers can only direct the "souls" from themselves to other in order to heal them, and when their soul runs out, they die - it is the ultimate sacrifice and a healer's greatest honour, to surrender their very souls to their Goddess

there are three Sister Goddesses, each representing a core aspect of humanity, waging war against each other to see who is more powerful (I expand upon it here)

certain types of powerful magic can cause your soul to start eating itself if not kept in check, as is Theo's case

Edit: you can follow the development of Seth and Theo's relationship in the tag #the great Seth and Theo relationship liveblog

If you've read this far - thank you! I hope my WIP has interested you!

[grislyintentions]

|| Shackling Prison: Commentary ||

[The Xianzhou Interlude has given me a LOT of fodder and validation over Abundance crimes and I shall be elaborating on how this will shape Da-ji's abilities as a Foxian Emanator moving forward. But before that, some interesting parallels I noticed in the Shackling Prison with ancient chinese beliefs on 'Hell':

Disclaimer: It is important to note that interpretations can vary. Ie: Taoism influenced interpretations and Buddhism influenced interpretations can differ. Even buddhism itself comprises of different branches, belief systems etc. What I am touching on is primarily skewed towards buddhist concepts.

The Shackling Prison is similar to what we chinese refer to as 地狱 (translated literally to mean 'Underground/Earth' Prison). While it is commonly interpreted as 'Hell', it's concept is similar to Purgatory in christian beliefs. This realm is where the deceased go to repent for their crimes- ie: they get fucked up. The length of their torture/punishment and sentencing is based on the nature as well as severity of their sins. In some rare cases, these souls don't get out ever.

The souls who have been deemed to have 'earned' their penance will usually be permitted freedom to enter yet another cycle of reincarnation based on Buddhist concepts (ie: Naraka)

In chinese tradition (on the buddhism end), purgatory is divided into TEN courts. Each are overseen by a different judge/Yama-King. As established in the Shackling Prison, it is overseen by ten different judges too.

The exact amount of levels in Hell as well as deities associated with it varies between different interpretations (eg: legends of 18 levels, each differing in torture methods is popularily portrayed in mythology shows, there are some who think it's primarily 4, there are also variations where there are 12,800 hells in total etc).

Common depictions of "Hell" involve multiple chambers/levels, mazes, rivers, lava etc. These themes are also present in the map layout of the Shackling Prison in game.

Based on what Dan Feng and Hoolay were subjected to within the confines, it is also safe to say that the Shackling Prison also relies on torture (physical and mental) as a form of punishment for those who have committed unpardonable sins. Which is yet another reference to Hell/Purgatory and it's...numerous torture methods.]