#religious sacrifice tw

[whereserpentswalk]

You were born to be a sacrifice. When you first exited your mothers womb the oracles decided that would be your fate. They tattooed your hands and forehead so everyone would know.

When you turn twenty, they'll take you to the church, and they'll set you on fire. And then when your body is burned they'll give your ashes for the angels, and the angels and saints will be proud, and bless your community and family with great riches. Or at least that's what they say.

When you were young it didn't seem to mean anything that you were born to die young. Nobody cared, they just saw you as another kid. But it was always there. Adults would ask other kids what they wanted to be when they grew up, but they'd ask you what you would do once you were a ruler in the court of heaven. They'd tell other kids about marriage and sex and having children, but for you that would just be for other people, you'd die a virgin.

And at a certain age, you were removed from school. Because they said you wouldn't need it. That you shouldn't be wasting your time on such things. And you didn't understand, but you understood that all your freinds were upset that they wouldn't see you anymore. Not as much at least. And people talked about you so much differently from then on. You weren't complimented as strong, or as smart, or as ambitious, you were pretty, and pure, and brave, and dutiful. And everyone talked about how proud they were of you, how wonderful it was that you were going to die for them.

They were so nice to you. They gave you so many gifts and jewelry. You got to spend all day inside playing video games, and you got the best toys and got to go to movies and plays when you wanted to. Soldiers in power armor would bow when they saw you, and robots and cyborgs would turn off their lights. And you sat at a special place in church, and the clothing you wore was diffrent then everyone else's. And people talked about how wonderful you were, and how pretty you were, and how much they loved having you when they knew you wouldn't be on this world for long. And they were so proud of you when they showed you the platinum clothing you would wear on the day of your sacrifice. And you didn't understand why but all of the compliments sounded sad.

As you grew older things changed. The other children went through puberty, but you didn't, they gave you surgery to prevent it, ans told you how pure you were for not producing blood or seed. And you were old enough to understand that you would die, that you would burn, and it would hurt, and that nobody really knew for sure what happened after peopled died. And you saw a sacrifice, and saw the pain they were in, and there weren't any angels, there were only priests watching and chanting, and the smell of burning skin.

Your parents and family started to care much more how you behave. To make sure you're polite. To make sure you're a good sacrifice, who the angels will like. And meanwhile while all your other freinds are going to college, and talking about becoming artists, or starship pilots, or scientists, you know you'll only ever have one ending. But still, everyone loves you, and you don't have responsibilities, but still sometimes you think about how much diffrent life would be if you were born differently.

You've started meeting people who've left the faith, or people who didn't grow up in it, people who believe in diffrent religions or in no religion at all. And your heaven seems less and less certain every day. According to imperial law you're allowed to be sacrificed, but if you choose not to they can't force you. But if you choose not to you can never be a part of your faith again, and your family will be disappointed in you forever. All your family and community, everyone who you ever knew, will consider you a failure, a coward doomed to hell for not going through with what the cosmos planned for you. And all that pride and joy they felt about your fate would be replaced with anger that you never became what they were so happy and proud about you being. You don't think you believe in heaven anymore, but you still might choose to die, if it means they're proud... it's what you're raised to do, you don't know who you'll be if you choose to leave.

Better choose fast darling, it's only a few months away now. You don't want them to be upset.

[dead-air-radio]

Sigh thinking about cults. And my religious truama tw.

Just imagining being super depressed and very emotional and having someone come into my life that is so normal and unassuming at first. Slowly they become a part of my everyday life and their little gestures make me trust them more and more and they are so caring that I become so codependent on them so when they start asking for weirder and weirder things I don't think anything of it. They start managing my diet but I assume they're just trying to help me and they know I want to lose weight even if they feed me weird things.

Or they start having me wear a certain thing almost as a claim. Before it turns into me being so dependent on them I'd do anything and so when I get so sad and sleepy but have the urge to cut I don't see it as a problem when they offer to do it for me. Slicing at my legs before kissing them. At this point they're so friendly and guiding they love to brush my hair and give me things and do things I'd usually do by myself like bathe me. Until I'm just some little lamb for them.

I'm so trusting of them when they say they have smth for me I think nothing about why I need to dress in the white gown they got me and all the jewelry they got me in the past as well as eat a piece of bread thay hes me woozey. And how they want me to wear bows in my hair and be bathed in a certain soap they like until we get into their car and they blindfold me for the surprise it's already Evening when we leave and once we get their they carry me to the surprise.

At first I assume we are just having a little romantic fire in the woods. I can hear the crunch under their feet from the leaves and the birds and other wild life. And the crackle of fire and the heat as we walk past it and I'm placed on smth like stone. When my blindfold is taking off I'm on an altar of sorts and there's a fire ahead of me as well as a bunch of people in masks. Of course I'm frightened holding onto the person I came with arm before they shush me. There's candles and statues around me as well as flowers and by the atlar is a bowl for offerings. The person sits beside me unphased as I cling to them, scared of what's happening. And they address the people. Not realizing he's a leader of the cult and all the jewelry and clothes they've been giving me are actually not only from them but his people as well. All their followers have known a out me for a long time giving them offerings to give the cult leaders little pet, his lamb. When he's done speaking to them he turns to me telling me to lay on the altar stone as he gets on top of me as the watchers look on. He cuts open my wrists while I whimper and shake and push against him confused. He cuts his wrists as well mixing his bleed with mine before licking at his wrists and he puts his wrist by my mouth for me to lick up as well.

Some of the followers that are dressed differently go on to give a spot of sermon as if I'm not whimpering behind them as the leader continues to assualt me and push up the white gown. The sermon is about needing to view the leader take what's his and have smth resemble the lamb and religious symbol of their cult and how I'm the image they should look up to cause the leader has chose me as his lamb to mark infront of them to make me his forever. Him cutting me open by carving his name into my stomach as he fucks me on the altar while his people watch

[ihadtried]

I saw another person talking about something similar and need to know how common it was.

My example under the cut

When I was in highschool we had a lock in weekend themed around persecution. One night we did a game of manhunt but instead of neutral teams it was “hunters” and “Christians”. Yes it was exactly what you think. The Christians ran and hid while the hunters dragged them back to “jail”. One boy was given a Bible and he was the “Preacher”. If one of the “Christians” found him, they could either choose to stay with him and be safe, or go back out to find more Christians and bring them to safety too. But they weren’t safe if they left him. The Christians won if they found and all saved each other, and the hunters won if they found the huddle of Christians. (I believe some of the Christians tried to convert the hunters and got dragged away for it. But we had been taught that sometimes missionaries died so it was a risk they understood. In fact I also remember a separate conversation being asked if I was willing to be the first missionary that died to make way for the next who would “save” the lost people)

Honestly we got wayyyyy to into it. The kids who were the hunters were a group of boys on the fringe of the youth group: I remember them changing into dark clothes and tying bandanas around their faces (we did a regular version of manhunt every year so sometimes people would bring darker clothes).

I remember running but being caught, sobbing as they dragged me back to the building and asking if I would betray the other Christians. The game ended early because kids were getting hurt/scratched from trying to get away or literally being dragged. That wasn’t an exaggeration.

[embrifyr]

the gods : the sacrifice of dionysus

oh ! gracefulness of the frenzy and death to the soberity ! oh ! lover of the maze and truth of the labyrinth ! hear this song and grant the safe keeping for generations and more ! oh ! how thankful to be ! the gracious god of frenzy and wine has left me, for my love for life had withstood his will, just as he had been with his. but oh ! lover of she who confuses ! has he truly wished to forsaken me for that of my holiness by destroying that of my will, for what I once wished and had ?

[mercseven7]

i have personal beef with god, he has done nothing to help me. i'll let jesus slide tho, he's cool

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Burial Rite

Disclaimer: minoans didn't do human sacrifices as far as we know, otherwise this is mostly historically accurate (there's very little information available on minoans, since their writing hadn't been deciphered yet), all my info is from the archaeological museum of Heraklion and the tour guide that led us through the remains of the palace of Knossos

masterlist

word count: 3,3K

TW: human sacrifice, death, religious whump, historical setting and historical inaccuracies, waterboarding, restraints, stabbing, nudity (non sexual) bleeding out

The wind was strong, as it always had been near the seashore. The sun shone bright, not a cloud in sight, but the air was the perfect temperature.

Nashuja would have given everything to enjoy it. He had been locked inside a small room, with cool walls, and just enough space through the bars on the door to let the fresh air through and keep the temperature even.

A true architectural wonder, he had not been willing to believe in before he arrived. In the village he grew up, farther from the sea, up in the mountains, there were no buildings with double walls that reigned in the wind for the people to utilise and cool their homes with. The open spaces and windows sufficed, but not like this. They could never live up to the standards of the palace, the wonderful breeze that gave some reprieve from the scorching heat.

Nashuja had seen the palace from the outside, only once or twice in his lifetime. He was a poor goat shepherd, providing for his mother and sisters, entering the palace of Knossos had been an untouchable dream, before servants of the royal priestess came to collect.

He saw the men from afar, dressed in skirts adorned with blue and golden beads, with necklaces and bracelets clinking as loud and clear as they moved. Their hair was long, beautifully kept and oiled up curls that Nashuja could barely believe were real.

They told him to herd his goats back for the afternoon, and say his goodbyes. He was eager to obey the messengers of the palace. Of course he was, they chose him of all people to invite with them.

It was only when they arrived, after a long way of walking, when he realised something was wrong. The servants led him to the workshops and shut the door on him. He caught a glimpse of others facing the same fate.

The workshops were a complicated array of rooms and hallways, under the court and the throne room, away from the royal quarters. The size of the rooms could be extended by the removal of some wooden planks and doors, to accommodate multiple craftsmen working, but they could be cut off, into nooks like the one Nashuja was pushed in, to make them feel like a prison cell.

He didn't know what he did wrong, if he did anything at all. He had no choice but to wait it out.

He had no way of knowing how much time had passed, the sunlight didn't reach his cell so deep in the heart of the palace.

The servants came back for him later, they were silent, unwilling to provide any answers to his questions. They led him upstairs and out in the open, to the courtyard. The main building of the palace had five floors at it's highest point. There was an impressive set of alabaster stairs leading down on the other side of the yard, beautifully decorated, both servants and people of high importance - Nashuja judged, by their heavily decorated clothing - were rushing around. As the servants led him towards a gate, he overheard that it was the king and the queen's quarters at the bottom of the alabaster stairs.

He was led past the throne room, a surprisingly simple hall, with red walls and a stone chair in the middle, now empty.

Only upstairs did he notice the strange build of the palace, thick wooden beams, that spanned the entire width of walls gave support to the large stone bricks it was built with. Nashuja had to wonder how the stone didn't crush the wood, but the building stood sturdy, and it survived hundreds of earthquakes sent by the gods to test its strength.

They led him into a large dining hall. There were heaps of the most delectable foods the poor young shepherd could imagine.

"Eat!" the servants instructed coldly and left him there. He wasted no time rushing to the table and started eating whatever he could grab. He found fresh bread and baked lamb, there were all kinds of fruits and vegetables, some of which Nashuja had never seen before. He'd left those alone.

He jumped and whipped around with a shriek when his back was touched. A woman stood behind him, who he was too preoccupied with the food to notice entering. She wore the same decorative clothing as the other servants, but more elegant, with more jewelry. She must've stood above them in status.

"Stop that, boy, you'll be of no use, if you get sick" Her words were harsh, her soothing deep honey tone did nothing to soften them. She was right. He didn't think he ever ate this much in his life. But he looked back at the piles upon piles of delicacies longingly, easily losing his focus on the newcomer.

"Alright, just eat slower, then" she sighed "You still have plenty of time"

"What am I here for?" Nashuja asked between two careful bites of the lamb.

"I can't answer that, the priest will tell you what you need to know" she answered flatly.

"I thought" Nashuja gulped down a chalice of wine he poured himself to wash the first overly excited bites down "It was the high priestess, I would be here for?"

"A misunderstanding" she waved a hand dismissively.

She let him finish his meal, and led him out of the room, to a lower level, behind the throne room, there was a pool.

"Cleanse yourself well, I'll be back for you" With that she left.

Nashuja dipped a hand in the pool before he undressed and submerged himself fully. It was the perfect temperature, he didn't feel as cold as he did in the cell and he soothed the scorching heat of the sun that was a constant in these warm summer days.

He didn't know what was expected of him, still, the rich meal and bath led him to believe everything was going just fine.

The woman came back and took the pile of clothes he folded neatly in her hand.

"Get out! The priest is ready for you" she announced. Nashuja climbed out of the pool reluctantly, and stood in front of her covering his privates with both hands.

"My clothes-?" he asked cautiously. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself everything was alright, ever since she told him it wasn't the high priestess they were taking him to he had an odd, worrisome feeling.

"You don't need them" His stomach dropped. "You will get your ritual garments. Follow me"

He became painfully aware just how much he ate beforehand, though he was sure the nausea he felt wasn't entirely the result of that.

The servant led him to a door, through dark and complicated halls, off towards the side of the palace, where the labyrinth of workshops were, but a floor higher. She knocked three times, and told Nashuja to wait.

The heavy wooden opened up with a loud screech, and Nashuja found himself staring at a man, in white and blue embroidered garments. He was slightly taller than the shepherd boy, though not as tall as a greek. He wore his hair in long waves adorned with gold beads and a myriad of colourful semiprecious stones.

"Don't be scared lamb, come on in" he stepped away from the doorway and let Nashuja step in. The door closed from the outside with a loud bang that made him flinch. He was still naked, a large contrast with the noble he stood in front of. Heat rose to his cheeks as he tried to make himself as small as possible under his searching gaze. The way the priest watched him shook him to his core and he had no idea why. He just stood there with a warm smile, covered in all sorts of symbols of the goddess.

Nashuja finally managed to rip his gaze away from the man and looked around. The room was spacious, but not as big as the dining hall had been, off to the side he saw a large bathing tub filled almost to the brim with some liquid, that looked a lot like oil, infused with herbs and flowers. In the middle of the room, another clay larnake with it's lid on the ground next to it. Across from the tub there was a table, with burning incense, and an array of flasks and jugs.

Nashuja swallowed eyeing, what seemed to be the centerpiece. He had never seen a casket such as this one. It was ornately decorated with a painted ship on the side, to wish the deceased a safe journey to the other side. Only those in the highest ranks had the privilige to be buried in one of these.

He peered over the side and was glad to realise the larnake was empty.

"Don't be so scared, lamb" the priest repeated and placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him towards a chair he had not noticed before by the tables. It was the darkest corner of the otherwise well lit room, but there were no windows and torches could only do so much.

"Sit" he pushed him down by the shoulder, and grabbed a pile of shiny golden chains from the table before he knelt down in front of Nashuja, and grabbed his hand. The young shepherd noticed in time what was about to happen and he bolted past the priest, almost knocking him over to try and open the heavy wooden door. It wouldn't budge. He hit and scratched at the sides trying to find a lock or an opening mechanism.

He didn't need to look back, to know the other man had stood up, fixed his garments and jewelry. It was defending in the horrible silence. He couldn't get out.

He felt the priest's commanding hand at the back of his neck, he was pulled away from the door and had to face him.

"I know you're scared, lamb, just sit for a moment, and we can talk" he explained with the endless patience only those of high ordnance could talk with "That door won't open until the ritual is finished. Don't bother with it!" he suggested sternly.

"What do you need me for?" he asked with a lump in his throat. He knew his lips started to wobble as he tried to keep the sobs, he felt coming at bay. "Who are you? Why am I here?"

"One question at a time, lamb, one question at a time" he waved a finger in Nashuja's face as if he were a child "I need a little help for a ritual, I needed a strong young man like you" he smiled, again warm, again accompanied by a bone chilling glint in his eye. He lifted the golden chains again. "This is for your safety, will you let me put it on?"

Nashuja shook his head. "Tell me who you are first, please your Highness"

"Good instincts, lamb, but there's no need for such formalities. Those should be reserved for the Priestess and the royals. It doesn't concern you, but my name is Jadikira. Will you let me chain you, now?" Jadikira asked with a soft sigh.

"No, sir" Nashuja shook his head again. He scanned the room for another way out, but he didn't see as much as a crevice between the pristine white stones of the wall.

Jadikira frowned, and reached for one of the clay flasks, next to the heap of chains and lifted it to Nashuja's chin.

"Drink this then!" His patience didn't seem to fade. The liquid inside smelled sweet, like honey. He had no way of knowing what it actually was, but the priest didn't relent, tilting the flask until the liquid touched his lips, and he couldn't help but taste it.

It was thick and heavy on his tongue, it slid down his throat without him meaning it to. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Jadikira placed the flask back on the table and grabbed the chains again.

Nashuja tried to wipe the remainder of the liquid off his mouth, and to his horror, he couldn't lift his hand. He tried looking up at the priest, but his neck was just as locked in place as his arms. A week whimper left his mouth, involuntarily, it was meant to be a scream.

"It works so quick right? I'm sorry, lamb, but I have to get these on somehow" he sounded genuine in his apology, but his excitement over the paralytic liquid didn't go without notice. He wrapped the chains around his wrists and ankles, tying them together. He still had no clothes on, and now he couldn't cover himself, when Jadikira pulled him up by the chains to stand.

Before the priest made him take the first step he regained control in his hand and just as fast as it took over his body, it disappeared.

He made a run for it again, but only got a step towards the door, before the chain connecting his ankles pulled taut and made him fall over with a shriek knocking into the heavy larnake in the middle of the room.

He swore he heard Jadikira laugh before he threw himself on his back trying his best to scramble back. The priest's expression was soft, with a tinge of disappointment. He didn't seem bothered by his attempt to free himself.

"It's a pity it doesn't last longer" he said and grabbed him by the chains again, and dragged him to the tub.

He easily lifted the young shepherd and lowered him into the tub. He stared at the priest with terror, not daring to move anymore.

"Don't look at me like that, lamb, you don't even know what's in store for you yet" he soothed and grabbed a sponge.

Jadikira started drawing circles on his back with the light liquid that filled the tub. Nashuja's best guess was that it really was oil. The priest washed him with it with careful motions, almost reverently while muttering a prayer, he couldn't understand.

With a sudden movement the sponge was lifted to his face and he flinched away. The priest just sighed.

"I need you to be pure, lamb, I have to wash your face" He shook his head even though he knew his wishes didn't really matter to Jadikira.

The priest grabbed a piece of cloth from the bucket where he kept the sponge and wet it in the purifying liquid. He lifted it out, with the other hand grabbed the chains connecting Nashuja's wrists and pushed them underwater so he couldn't buck away and put the cloth on his face.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't scream, his mouth gaped like a fish on land. He was sure he splashed out so much of the sacred liquid from the tub, but that was the least of his worries.

He felt Jadikira pour more of the liquid over the cloth. It stung in his eyes and burnt his nose from the inside.

"You brought this on yourself, lamb, stop fighting me and I don't need to do this" He had no choice. He reluctantly stopped kicking and yanking on his hands and the priest did let up. The cloth was removed from his face.

"What are you doing to me?" he asked, unable to hold his sobs. Jadikira just shushed him and wiped the oil off his face so he could see again. He refused to answer.

The priest brought the same flask to the tub and lifted it to his mouth again. Nashuja didn't fight the paralytic. He knew it would be over in no time.

The priest lifted him out of the tub and undid the chains as he lay uselessly on the ground. He seemed to whistle a tune that reminded Nashuja of a lullaby his mother used to sing to him as a child. He couldn't help the streams of tears that left a shiny streak on his cheeks.

When he could move again Jadikira stood him up and grabbed a pile of garments from next to the tub. It was slightly damp with the liquid all splashed on it. Nashuja cringed as he put it on.

It was a hateful feeling as the canvas stuck to his sticky skin. At least he had clothes on.

"I'll need you to say this prayer with me" Jadikira grabbed his hands and pulled him closer to the larnake in the middle. It was the brightest spot of the room. Nashuja didn't know the prayer but held onto the priest's hand as if his life depended on it and repeated word for word.

"Thank you, lamb" he let go finally, the shepherd boy's hands dropped to his side uselessly. Was this what he was brought here for? It made no sense.

He locked his eyes on Jadikira's face, scanned it for anything that would give away what was about to happen.

Nashuja didn't notice when the priest unclipped a bejewelled dagger from his belt. He moved too quickly for the boy to notice and buried it in his stomach to the hilt.

The young shepherd's hands flew to the handle of the dagger, he tried, powerless to pry Jadikira's fingers off it. His mouth fell open in a scream, but there was no sound coming out.

The priest relished in the betrayal on the boys face then gently pushed him back to sit in the coffin. He ripped the blade out, drawing a spraying splash of blood dirtying the side of the larnake and the floor. He frowned, it wasn't supposed to look violent. The boy was only supposed to rest.

Nashuja managed to lift his head enough, without moving and of his limbs entangled in a foetal position in the small space in the larnake.

"A-am I the- the ritual?" he asked weekly. Jadikira leaned down and smoothed out the locks that stuck to his face. The boy would slowly lose consciousness, he didn't have to answer. It was a dumb question anyway, something only a poor shepherd boy, who knows nothing of the goddess' ways would ask.

"No, lamb, the sacrifice I needed, is your pain. This is my mercy" The boy barely noticed as he got up and returned with another flask. It was smaller than the other one with the paralytic. He poured the contents of it down Nashuja's throat, who sputtered and coughed but didn't manage to get it out of his throat. This liquid tasted like nothing, it was light, almost as if he drank air. Only the forceful coughs and a slight sourness stayed where it hit his tongue.

"Shh, it's alright" he petted the boy's head gently, as his coughs started again, though for an entirely different reason. There was some blood dripping down his chin now.

"The goddess will take you with grace on the other side" He saw the blood starting too pool around his body, filling up the bottom of the coffin. The second liquid made his body helpless to close the wound, Nashuja will bleed out quickly.

Jadikira grabbed the first flask and made the boy drink some more. It was mostly out of habit, Nashuja didn't need the paralytic anymore.

He arranged the boy's limbs in the proper position for burial. His cries softened to pitiful whines and whimpers.

Jadikira muttered one last prayer and reached down to close his eyes, with a slow reverent stroke.

He put the lid on the larnake and knocked on the door five times. The servants opened it from the outside and four of them grabbed the clay box, heavy with the boys body.

The sobs and whimpers from the casket only died down when they placed it down in the tomb in the side of the palace.

Jadikira looked around for a moment, all over the food and drinks, all the gold and precious stones decorating the room.

The little lamb is the luckiest of shepherds. Noone in his village would ever pass to the other side as rich as he did.

[dolokhoded]

don't get me wrong i absolutely hate the whole "suicide is sin" thing and whoever came up with that one should fuck all the way off but there's just something about judas supposedly going to hell not because he betrayed jesus, but because he killed himself. there's something about jesus going against everything the church has ever preached about having to suffer and sacrifice yourself to please god for judas and deciding that, no, i don't care what he does to me, i don't care if he disrespects me, if he betrays his faith, if he betrays god, but to me he is holy and whoever betrays him (let it be himself) i cannot face again.

[anarchist-bean]

List of Posts About Lilly (Aaron) Bushnell

Last Updated: 10/24/2024

This list will be updated regularly with links from new posts. If there’s something you’d like me to cover please send me an ask.

These posts are from my main @anarchist-bean & my side blog dedicated to Bushnell @lilly-anarkitty .

Additional posts from other users that I find I will also link below. These links will be given a blue highlight, and the OP will be cited and tagged (if possible).

Topics discussed so far: gender identity & sexuality; upbringing & religion; personal interests; and self-immolation

Feel free to give me a follow to stay updated!

👇 POST LINKS BELOW 👇

Gender Identity & Sexuality

@anarchist-bean | Thoughts on Lilly Bushnell, LillyAnarKitty

@lilly-anarkitty | Lilly expressed desire to transition.

@anarchist-bean repost from Twitter/X | Lilly did explore her gender identity & sexuality.

@Kat_The_Vat on YT | Aaron Bushnell - Transgender Woman ??? repost by @anarchist-bean

@epistemophagy | Redemptio memoriae

Upbringing & Religion

@lilly-anarkitty | Bushnell Grew Up in a Religious Compound/Cult - “The Community of Jesus” (COJ)

@anarchist-bean | Community or Cult?

Personal Interests

@lilly-anarkitty | Bushnell thought Dune was based

Self-Immolation

@anarchist-bean | Sacrifice or Suicide?

[writersmorgue]

Febuwhump Day 18 - Too Weak to Move

TWs in tags || read on Ao3 || wc: 520

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

Need to kill him, need to kill him-

Can’t kill Kacchan, love Kacchan, never hurt Kacchan-

FUCKING END HIM-

He hasn’t felt this much inner turmoil since middle school, and never so aggressively. 

“Kacchan- can you move-” He grits, jaw clenching. He’s barricaded himself in the corner of the small room they fell back to. 

Kacchan hums, eyes fluttering. The usual fight in his presence so mellowed he’s practically catatonic. 

“I- the quirk wants to hurt you. I can’t stop. I want to f ucking kill you Kacchan .” 

Izuku sobs, shaking his head violently, “No no no no no I can’t stop it,” He looks at Katsuki through blurred vision. He falls further into the trance as the seconds pass. 

Kacchan grumbles, leg shifting. He slowly slides to the side, head drooping until his entire torso falls to the ground. He grunts at the impact, looking at Izuku with tired eyes. 

Izuku’s body propels forward, his legs are still under his control preventing him from attacking his partner. 

His shoulders shake, quirk crackling along his fingers where the influence is taking over. Blackwhip shoots out in small tendrils, whipping across the floor and lashing out on Kacchan’s arms, tugging them forward. 

“No, stop it!” He curses, trying to reign in his quirk. 

Kill him, kill him, you want him dead. 

Izuku groans, thumping his head down on the floor, heaving air into his lungs. 

He can’t feel anything but radioactive static through his entire body, all of his nerves alight with fire. 

Deku, end him or I end you. 

“Never hurt Kacchan, can’t hurt Kacchan,” He mumbles into the floor, dust stirring and tickling his nose. 

The quirk tugs at his neck painfully until he looks up, neck arching under its pull. 

Kacchan’s breathing is sluggish, slowed exponentially by the quirk as his body struggles to do anything at all. 

Look at him. Pathetic. Put him out of his misery.

NO! You put him there! He’s -pathetic- SUFFERING! 

Black whip erupts from his arm, a thick tendril pointed at the end, tearing through the air toward Katsuki’s face. 

YES NO

He grabs the whip with his other hand and pulls back, ignoring the spike of pain as the tendril ejects a smaller duplicate to stab his hand. 

How has he failed so badly to allow a quirk to control him and All Might’s quirk like this? 

He throws himself to the wall, using a blackwhip rope from his mouth to stab through his stomach, doing his best to avoid anything important, but more focused on pinning his body to the wall. 

The pain is blinding, but he uses the sensation to stun the parasitic quirk and eject another rope to puncture through his left hand, then his right. 

Izuku’s body slumps against the wall, effectively crucified for his punishment. 

He looks up weakly, vision blurred by tears. 

There’s fire burning throughout him, the foreign quirk retaliating against his actions, thrashing wildly in his subconscious. 

Katsuki’s eyes are wide, a shocked expression on his face. His fingers twitch, reaching out to Izuku. 

Izuku smiles.

He would never hurt Kacchan. 

Fucking heroes. 

[bugwolfsstuff]

See I would love to talk about my religious issues (still not sure if it's trauma) but i fear that if I say it out loud i'm gonna burst into tears

[starrypeeps-headcanons]

Unhinged fucking idea of Marx and Zan getting along over generic doomsday ideas. But only that. Outside of that they would attempt to kill each other for sacrifice.

[thedragondrawsdastardlydoodles]

I was thinking of one of the possible religion's for my story I'm off and on writing for, and I think I accidentally made a more visceral sounding/looking version of Christianity

Summary!

They worship their Deity like creatures at the bottom of the ocean worship a whales corpse. By drinking their blood and devouring their flesh. (Deities have physical bodies, and I want that to be horrifying as possible for everyone involved. There is multiple deities, the sun, earth, and moon are three!)

If I make this an over exaggerated version of Christianity, it would fit pretty well with some of the themes I am going for. (Corruption in places of power like Christian/catholic churches and the government) Might need to shuffle story elements around a bit.

If i do go with this idea, I am probably going to have it be where they not only eat their Deity, but tear them up and put them back together in the image they want. They don't worship the real them. They worship this butchered idea they created

[swordsonnet]

témoin, or: guidance for a martyr

and in the morning, when the men come with their pitchforks and flaming torches, to drag you across the village square and to your violent end, let it be known that you did not resist. you have always known this was going to happen. you have always prayed for this to happen.

to be a woman in this world is to be an open wound. to have a body like yours is to have a target painted on your back. you tried to purify your body, turn it into a temple, but it was never clean enough for that, so you had to make it a sacrifice instead. the lamb, after all, is always innocent.

when they strip the skin off your naked body, when they burn the flesh clean off your bones, when they cut off your breasts and leave you androgynous as an angel, you must not scream. your lips must not make a single sound that is not prayer.

remember that your torment is the divine weapon you wield, not just another act of senseless violence. remember that you are a torchbearer, a blaze of righteous truth, not just another beautiful corpse. remember that your flesh was rotten from the start. remember that your body is only holy when it bleeds.

when they rip your still-beating heart from the desecrated ruin of your body, will they hold one last fragile piece of god in their hands? will your suffering have been worth it?

you have to believe that. whatever happens, you must have faith. faith that the sun will rise for you once more. faith that you will leave your fleshly prison far behind and ascend to a kingdom of pure light, where the rivers run golden and the trees bear the sweetest fruit, where your wounds will be healed and your blood turned to honey, where pain is but a distant memory.

you must believe. if you don't, all of this will have been for nothing. if you don't, your blood will just be blood, soaking into vulgar soil. even when there is nothing left to hold onto, no more holiness to claw from your broken bones, you must believe.

fix your eyes upon the light. trust that there is a god above who has seen something to love in your shattered soul and will not let you fall.

don't lose sight of that light. maybe every scar you bear has been a sign from god. maybe you were never a victim, always a saint. the most tragic thing in the world is pain without a purpose.

[giantkillerjack]

WHAT UP THE CONFLATION OF SUFFERING WITH LOVE IS EXTREMELY QUESTIONABLE

Tags on this post, by @saint-ambrosef and @mariposasmonarch, isolated here because they accidentally hit on EXACTLY what I think brought about my original line of thinking:

#of course christ dying wasn't “necessary” #but damn if it isnt the most visible and obvious way to show someone that you love them #a person snapping their fingers and giving you everything you wanted isn't nearly as impactful as that person willingly enduring personal #suffering in order to give it to you #thats what we mean when we say “christ died for us” #not because he strictly had to but because he wanted to show us just how far his love goes #we puny humans can know in our lowest moments that god incarnated himself to be brutally murdered #just to make his “i love you” absolutely clear #its not a guilt trip...it's reassurance in its purest form #<- YES #and if this isn’t the most beautiful and touching expression of True Love #the Selfless Love #Love which is Willing the Good for the other for no reason but just that

I disagree with this. All of it. I genuinely think that dying for someone is a shitty and stupid gift, especially when you didn't need to do it and it provides them with no tangible benefit. I think this is a dangerous and irresponsible thing to teach your children.

Martyrdom and suffering are not inherent expressions of love.

I believe in good for others for the sake of good, and kindness for the sake of kindness. But what always throws me for a loop is the Christian idea that suffering on its own is a form of good. I disagree. I disagree with my whole heart.

As a child, I was taught that the best thing I could be is Christlike. And I was Not Okay.

I lived my life ready to set myself on fire to prevent someone else from feeling a chill, and this impulse still follows me over a decade after I lost my faith. (There were other factors also, but religion played a big role in this attitude.)

It has been devastating to my health, nearly to the point of death on multiple occasions. The idea that the best and purest form of love is to suffer - It's gross. I think it's gross. I don't feel loved; I feel like if someone tortured themselves to death and then I was told to rejoice, for they did it all for me! And I'm like... oh. I didn't... ask for that?

I've lived my entire adult life without proper healthcare. I would argue that someone snapping their fingers and giving me everything I ever wanted would actually be a LOT better for me than if they suffered and died. Like, magnitudes better.

I believe that the purest form of love is to LIVE for another person.

I've done that. I do that. I've seen people suffer pain worse than death and still not die just because they loved me. And I felt loved not because they were suffering but because they were doing whatever it took to live by my side and to live in happiness.

Sacrifice is a part of love, but it is not inherently loving. It has to have a reason or it is just pure performative loss, which actually does feel like a guilt trip!

I just-- I've gotten a ton of completely different dogmatic answers today, but to me, these tags are what strikes at the heart of it all.

The idea that we need to place every single other living thing before ourselves even and perhaps especially to the point of self-destruction.

For an example, in the Catholic church, most of the Saints are martyrs! And they were taught to us like action heroes with superpowers and everything! My little sister with their childhood OCD collected cards of saints like they were Pokemon cards! Which is really cute until you consider that they were a compulsive child idolizing a pantheon of people whose defining trait was brutal self-sacrificial death. They were one of the most anxious children I've ever met.

For me, as an autistic kid, the idea that suffering was somehow inherently good helped me to endure a lot more extreme sensory pain than I otherwise would have. I was terribly proud of my ability to endure pain. But now as an adult with crippling cPTSD, I can't help but notice that none of those sacrifices I made actually helped anyone!

I don't personally believe that gods are real. But if I did, I think I'd be awfully angry at the Christian god for killing himself and having the nerve to say it was for me.

I've literally had a loved one who believed they were a burden offer to kill themselves for me. It was a heinous idea for a gift, and I told them so. They were terribly disappointed when I chose the other, much more difficult and beautiful option, which was to live for each other. Live and grow and love in the light. To plant gardens for each other and cook them into meals. To build and nurture and know. THAT is the most beautiful and sure form of love. I will accept no substitutes.

I hope someday someone shows you love in a way that feels more beautiful to you than crucifixion - literal or metaphysical. You deserve love that isn't defined by pain.

[grislyintentions]

|| AU- Cursed ; Divine (Candace)||

TW: mention of child gods (and their subsequent struggle to regain a quality of life after they lose their status), eye gore, eye trauma, forced imprisonment, human sacrifice, mass execution, religious trauma, cult-like behaviour, survivor's guilt

TLDR: AU verse where the King Deshret resurrectionists/loyalists growmore desperate to revive their fallen king in the wake of the Dendro Archon's active involvement with desert folk. Their extremist actions lead them to lay siege to Aaru Village in order to forcibly take Candace, the rumoured true descendant with them. In order to prevent more bloodshed, she willingly goes with them and undergoes severe mistreatment in their failed attempts at reviving their King, involving attempts to remove her amber eye, thereby disfiguring it (polycoria- appearing to have two pupils in the same eye). Under threat of being sacrificed, Candace's spilled blood reveals both the truth of her lineage and activates defensive protocols of otherwise inactive primal constructs, slaughtering them in the process. Her survival and ability to control remnants of technology from the deceased king's civilisation only served to fuel the beliefs of the loyalists that she is the physical representation of their beloved King's bloodline. That they have invoked his wrath and her ire for attempting to sacrifice her. Upon being released and unwillingly crowned their 'Matriarch', Candace's first orders are to execute all who were responsible for the destruction and deaths of her villagers, deeming them too much of a threat.

Aware that those who schemed to have her brought in were mainly those who hunted and kept the others alive through resource gathering, Candace is not completely beyond sympathy for those in the group (especially the children who were conditioned and raised as gods, now struggling with reinforced helplessness after reaching maturity) and knows that she has essentially severed their chances of survival with her order. Her guilt and sense of duty refuses to allow her to abandon these people, even if she is undeserving of their worship.

Nevertheless, Candace leads the remaining loyalists down underground, where they will work on building a place out of the ruins for themselves. Under her guidance, they will regain a way of life and she is hopeful that they will one day recognise the benefits of accepting others and take less extreme stances against those of the city out of their own free will instead of feeling obliged to take her orders.

She cannot, in good conscience, return to Aaru Village anymore. Knowing what's at stake, what she has done/caused upon others...it is impossible for her to return to Aaru Village. During the day, she oversees the progress of others there. At night, she would stand on the outskirts of the sandy terrain and look upon her beloved village- forever keeping her vow to watch over them, even if it is from a distance. Even if she yearns for her home. It is far too late for her now.