#self-proclaimed-heretic

[parthenopiadoodles]

Reincarnation Series wip

currently just a sketch but i hope i'll have energy to finish this till the end, i'm thinking a lot of thoughts of them interacting with each other ever since deciding the characters to draw for this... i don't know anyone who has read all these same stories

4 of them are villainesses...

[tmwcs]

S E 7 E N : P R O L O G U E - P A R T 1 N E

M A S T E R L I S T

Yay it's finally here! kind of a long chapter, so it's in parts!

Warnings: MDNI18+ Sexual assault, sexual harassment, religion, angels and demons, mentions of hell, angels are bad guys, demons are good guys, sinful pleasures, dry humping, fingering, making a deal with the devil.

“Hey y/n, go ahead and take these, we have to dispose them.”

“But…why?”

“The government has aligned with Senator Forras’s decree and that all scriptures, novels, and materials that contain any mentions of supernatural forces, any other type of religion, or mentions of demons are to be banned and disposed. The officials are making the rounds to do a thorough inspection of every establishment, so we need to get rid of them.”

You frowned as you received a handful of books, some were enjoyable for you to read, and yet you had to bid them farewell as you tossed them into a large bin that was arranged to be picked up later in the week. It was filled with piles and piles of books, some of which were classics.

‘What a shame…’

There were many people, like yourself, that questioned the belief and mission of Voia Domnului, the overly powerful cult that started out as small group led by overly, self-righteous religious ‘freaks’ that proclaimed the world has sinned. The cult was, and continues to be led by Michael Forras, who now is the self proclaimed Senator.

At first, the world deemed the cult just like any other, a bunch of lunatics that blabbed out religious nonsense of how everything was a sin, that everyone has sinned. They were harmless, for the most part, the only concern was getting them to stop blocking roads and clear passage of major establishments since they had often protested in mass groups, rather angrily, nearly every single day.

Forras, used to be viewed as a man who lacked any common and good sense. You recalled the moment he appeared in the media, speaking of how he personally ‘knew the Lord’ and that a day of reckoning was breaching. Every day when you were on your way to work, you would overhear the things that the community used to say about him…

‘What a joke, can you believe this guy?’

‘My wife says that she went to high school with that guy, he was just as nutty back then as he is now.’

‘I can’t believe people are buying into his bullshit.’

Now, things are different…much different.

He no longer was just the cult’s leader, but he controlled the city, the country…he was even on his way in leading the continent as people swarmed around him with their devotion and loyalty, although you wonder if it was just merely out of fear from him…or the angels.

Ever since the day where those…monsters had appeared, God only knows if anyone ever heard you reflect what your true outlook was, you’d disappear like the rest of the ‘non-believers’, as society has now called them.

People who had rational sense, a lot of them still had believed and enveloped religion and the belief of God, yet the moment they reflected their voices out and claimed that the events occurring between the angels and ‘the selected’ to be questionable, each one disappeared and was never seen again. Anyone who also spoke out against the Voia Domnului or the Senator, were also considered heretics. If anyone mentioned how the non-sensible actions of the ‘Angels’ and Senator Forras’ will, was a tactic of control and a coordination of inheriting power and wealth, would surely die by the hands of Forras’ cult members, or so you suspect, since many of them would disappear overnight.

When it came to your true outlook, you believed in a higher power, you believed in God and you never took it upon yourself to follow the Bible strictly, but you carried out your life being a naturally respectable and caring person. Whenever someone needed help, you were there for them. Should someone need money to help buy groceries, you aided them. You made countless donations, helped promote education and success for the youths of the city, and even volunteered at local orphanages. You weren’t by any means, a bad person, or a sinner. You were just human, but a good one.

December 2nd of last year, things had changed. The world had changed.

You’ll never forget as you were on your way to the Pacific Archives, a historical public library that you used to enjoy working at, not anymore.

Often, you were always reading the books as you worked, enjoying the amount of creativity found in the hidden gems of each shelf, each genre.

You were an active college student, back when advanced education wasn’t considered a ‘sin’, so it only made perfect sense to work at the library where you could continue your studies and find time to do homework while getting paid.

The building had two floors, the upper being the library itself, and the first floor was the massive café and shopping center.

Just like any other day, you went downstairs to grab your favorite drink. The barista, Lily, was one of your best friends, she started to work at the café once she heard there was an opening during one of her visits while you were at work.

You both had laughed and enjoyed a conversation as you sipped on your white hot-chocolate mocha flavored drink, when suddenly another barista’s voice pierced the lounge.

“Everyone! Look at the TV!”

Everyone’s eyes shifted their gaze towards the massive wide screen smart television that was mounted on the wall, turning up the volume, the staff and customers all watched in horror as the media played countless footage that was filmed of what happened, not too far from where you worked.

“This is Stacy Holcomb from Channel Nine news, here reporting of the… abnormal event that is taking place….you can see behind me as the camera crew are trying their best to take footage of what seems to be….a humanoid figure approaching a single man on the street. The mysterious entity has been seen targeting this man, and has been conducting serious bodily harm against him, paramedics and aid have been thrown out of sight each time they go near to save the man….it looks like-“ “OOOH MY GOOOOOOD!!!!”

The shrilled screams in the background took over the audio as the elongated, almost alienlike features of the entity brutally took the man’s head off...slowly. It’s hand mutated into that a of a blade, resembling a machete as it sawed it’s way through the man’s flesh. It wasn’t a clean cut, to say that it had decapitated the man was an understatement…it tore his head off…ripping it from his body after sawing it halfway through.

The cameras shifted the lens to the ground afterwards, indicating that the crew was running away upon filming what had just transpired.

“What….the fuck???” The barista exclaimed out in horror.

Everyone, including yourself, were left speechless. Some of the customers were crying, while others were in shock. You felt your heart drop, there was a sense of fear and curiosity that you found its way lodged deep within your chest.

‘What….was that?’

It wasn’t until later that day, when Forras came out publicly and announced that the mysterious entity, was God’s own angel. Being someone who self-claimed as the mediator of God’s guardians, he elaborated the structure of the ‘execution’ as justice served for the sinful actions that the deceased had committed while alive.

“I have seen God…I speak to him and his guardians. The Angels have come to cleanse the world, because we have taken many offenses against God’s holy rule and spat in his face as we continue to tarnish his good will. Those of us who have lived amongst the sinners, the filthy beings that keep offending his holy will, have tried to warn you all. Now is the time, I ask you to all believe in the will of Voia Domnului! Believe in our decree! We have preached time and time again that God’s will is en-route, and it has now finally come! We ask for you all to join us! Become a part of God’s will and help aid our mission in getting all sinners to repent and accept their fate, so that we may once again live in a world where only truth and God’s holy name is preached!”

Everyone was in disbelief, no one knew what to believe or what to do. However, as the days went on, more people were targeted, or as Senator Forras had claimed, they were ‘selected’. It didn’t take long for people to switch sides and start to find comfort by joining Voia Domnului, in hopes that they would save themselves from either the cult members or the angels.

“The angels know of your sins! It is futile to hide! Let it be known that once the angels have selected you based off your series of offense towards God, you too will be publicly executed, so we at Voia Domnului ask you, to repent now, as you too will be selected to die in his holy name.”

Maybe there was some truth in what he said, or maybe it was just fear and desperation, either way, at the time, you weren’t entirely sure what to believe. You remained as calm as possible, given that the world had lost it’s good sense. You tried your best to not lose yourself out of fear, but it was hard. It didn’t take long, but you found yourself as the lone wolf, where unlike the rest of the world, where everyone was hysterical, everyone feared that they were next to be selected, you continued to live your life with as much of a positive mindset that anyone could have while living through this excruciating period in world history.

You tried…and you were doing so well, but things had gotten worse.

Almost as if it happened over night, everything changed in an instant. The world felt cold, and empty, there were many times you felt like you were the last person standing as you would take a look around and notice that the route to work looked different. People looked different. The sky…the ground…everything…everything looked different.

No one went out anymore, the streets laid empty as the cult encouraged for society to lay dormant in their homes, as going out, especially at night, was considered a sin. So much, that the cult gained favor and authority, powered by the government to assign long standing members of the cult as high profiled officials. They assigned random members to roam the streets at night, as an established curfew was enforced, no one was allotted to be out passed 10pm. Not only that, but other activities and sources were all banned and punishable by death had anyone breached said bans.

Social media was banned because it was a sin, TV was a sin, music that wasn’t approved by Voia Domnului was a sin, certain foods that were known to be an indulgence of the devil, such as chocolate and apples were a sin. Personal opinions were a sin. Books, talk radio, internet, and all other forms of entertainment was a sin. Everything…everything was a sin.

While you thought it was over the top, you hadn’t formulated your own opinion on what had happened on December 2nd, you remained impartial for the most part, as you watched people, friends, and family all succumbing to Senator Forras’ will and join Voia Domnului in order to be ‘saved’. Even Lily.

“You should join us, it’s, a really good group. It makes sense once you complete their course requirements.”

“Course…requirements?” you raised a brow at Lily’s statement.

“Yeah, when you join, you have to take a pledge and then they put you through a 3-month course where you cleanse your body and learn the will of God.”

You shook your head subtly as you listened to her talk about the cult…or as she liked to put it, the ‘group’ since cult would have been considered a derogatory term for Senator Forras righteous figures.

“No…I don’t know…I just…I don’t know what to think yet. I just want to-“

“Shhh!!!!” Lily harshly shushed you.

“Y/n…you can’t talk like that. Say what you will about other matters but do not talk like that…otherwise you’ll be considered a non-believer.”

Recalling the events that surmised where the public speakers that defied the cult’s leading and Senator Forras’ actions, you heeded Lily’s warning. You didn’t want to disappear like they did, God only knows what happened to them as Lily, being a part of Voia Domnului, didn’t even know. It was against the rules to speak of such matter to the cult leaders.

“Just…think about it, okay? I don’t want you to get selected.” She gingerly tells you as she rubbed your hand. “We need each other…we’re all we’ve got in the world now. You’re my best friend and I just want us to stay that way.”

You nodded as you hugged her. For a moment, you sincerely did consider it, not because you believed in the decree of Voia Domnului, but more so because of Lily’s words.

But then your world shattered that following week….when Lily was selected.

“y/n! Please-please listen to me real quick-“

“Lily….what’s wrong?” you looked at her with great concern as she appeared before your doorstep, hysterically crying, face swollen from tears, and her voice stuttering.

“Please…just listen…umm……” she tucks in her lip as the tears built back up in her eyes once more.

“…I…I’ve been selected…”

Your eyes widened…your heart skipped a beat and your breath held in upon hearing her words.

“…no…..no….”

“Yes….I..I’ve been selected…y/n…” her voice trailed off.

“No…Lily! No! Y-you can’t be-“

“No I was…..I came home today and…there was the message written in blood on my wall.”

The message…was always delivered in the same manner to those that got selected prior to. A message written in the walls of their home, their work, or even on buildings in the street; the words were always drafted in blood, no one knows whose or where the blood came from, but it would always be fresh as the message would have drips that trailed down, catching the public’s eye. It would always have the selectee’s name, followed by ‘7 days.’ Only seven days…until each one of them died.

“Y/n…I’m scared….i can’t tell the group…I cant-“

“Lily…there’s gotta be a mistake. Do you know anyone else that has the same name? What if-“

“No……y/n…..it is me….they’re going to come for me….”

Your heart sank as you placed your hands on her shoulders, tears streaming down your face.

She really truly was the only person you had left in this world, you grew distant from your family ever since they joined the cult, they had refused to associate with you unless you joined them. But your heart never felt it true to be a part of an organization that promotes death in such a manner, regardless of the deceased being sinners or offenders against God…how could someone like sweet, wonderful Lily be selected?…How could she ever be…?

“No….please…..don’t leave me…not like this….this can’t happen….”

“Y/n…please….please hold me I’m so scared.”

You tightly embraced her. She had stayed at your place for most of her remaining days, and you watched as her persona had changed. She had remained quiet and aloof; she wouldn’t eat, she wouldn’t sleep, and she wouldn’t talk, until the sixth day, 24 hours before her proposed execution…

“Y/n…I’m leaving…I’m going to inform Senator Forras…”

“Lily…there has to be a way out of this…I’ve known you my whole life, you’ve never hurt anyone! You’ve gone to church every weekend; I’ve never been to church and I’m still here. In a lot of ways when it comes to praising God, you’re a better person than I am. Please….”

She merely shook her head. Dark circles under her eyes, her lips pale and crusty from lack of moisture as she refrained from even drinking water. It was as if she wanted to die before the angels did the deed.

You stayed silent…she was already moving towards the door. Reaching for the knob, she turns to you before opening it.

“Y/n…you’re my best friend…and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I have to leave you alone…I’ve accepted what’s going to happen…there is no choice. Just please…take care of yourself, and look after my family….but also…” she pauses for a moment, as she hiccups the sobbing tears and stuttered cries of her voice as her head dips down.

“Y/n….i never did anything…..you’re right….i may not have been perfect but I am not a sinner. I even joined this stupid cult….but it doesn’t matter….it was all wasted. Please…if for some chance…if the world goes back to normal someday…please let everyone know that I am not…I’m not a-“

You nodded, knowing full well what she was talking about. “I know you’re not Lily…you’re not….”

Both of you broke down.

You wanted to hug her once more, but you found it hard to even move. With a sad smile, she whispers “take care…” before leaving.

The media had a habit of promoting Senator Forras’ decree by filming and disbursing the footage of each execution, as a method to set the example of what surmises if you’ve sinned. You’ve never went out of your way to watch the profiles of each selectee on the day of their execution, but there were times when in passing or out and about, you would glance at the large billboard that aired the awful events. A glimpse of a man’s body being torn apart, or a woman being burned alive, there were countless methods that the creatures took in carrying out the deed.

The day Lily died, ou never watched what happened to her, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, so you stayed at home that day, refraining from exposing yourself to the public at risk of overhearing about her death. You had shut the world out, and narrowed yourself into a corner, all so you didn’t have to hear….you didn’t want to know how they did it…not with her.

Not long after Lily’s death, was when the Senator banned education. Schools for younger children was regulated by the cult members, colleges and universities alike were all shut down, and while they hadn’t forced it…yet you sense that the risk of losing your job was near since you were the only one that hadn’t taken the pledge and joined Voia Domnului.

“Y/n! The Senator! The Senator is coming! He wants to see the library!”

Your eyes widened with concern.

‘Why does he want to come here?...I hope it’s not because he knows that i was friends with Lily…does he? He already thinks she’s a sinner, is he going to assume I’m one too? Are they going to ask me why I didn’t join Voia Domnului?’

You caught yourself overthinking, though that wasn’t hard to do since everyone in the city, the country, and the entire continent, walked on eggshells. Yourself including. For if it wasn’t the angels that you had to worry about, it was Senator Forras and his posse that performed their own manner of executions towards non-believers.

“Everyone! He’s coming up! All of you stand in a line-“ the head staff looks at you. “Y/n…you stand at the very end, out of the doorway. If he asks you, just tell him that you’re going to join Voia Domnului, but don’t say anything else.”

You nodded. You knew the staff had your best interest at heart, though they often times reprimanded you and would always try and convince you to join, yet you refrained. Especially since, not long after Lily’s death, selectees were reaching in the younger ages. Children…babies in fact, some of which hadn’t lived for more than 8 hours, were getting selected.

‘How can a child be a sinner?’

It seemed like no one cared; everyone paid no mind to that fact. It was as if everyone was just looking out for themselves. Since you had worked here for quite some time, the staff looked at you as family, like a daughter almost. You appreciated the gestures and them trying to look out for you, but deep down, you followed your heart. Somehow you knew…there was something more to what was happening, even though it was a gut feeling, and you could very well be wrong, you just somehow had this hunch that something wasn’t right.

“Alright, he’s coming. Everyone just stand and he’s going to do a walkthrough, apparently, he wanted to see how the inspection is being done and he chose our library.”

Everyone nods and stands, shaking. You weren’t sure if everyone was excited for their ‘group’ leader or if they were just fearful that he may find something in the archives that violates his will, which of course he believed to be God’s own.

You and the staff spent five days clearing out the library, it looked so vast and empty now. The shelves would only contain a scarce number of books.

‘Can you even call this a library anymore?’

The double doors were opened by a security team as Senator Forras walks in. He was a taller man, older, possibly in his fifty’s and had a very sharp and pointed nose. He had short dark hair and looked to be of average built.

He was dressed in extreme luxury, with a high branded suit and tie, along with fine leather shoes, a large overcoat draping his shoulders, and assorted diamond rings decorating each finger, the man looked to be living a grand lifestyle.

‘How….interesting…’

Your voice issued a hint of skepticism as you minded your thoughts in your head. Wasn’t this man supposed to be the temperance and modest type? Why is he dressed so lavishly?

“Ah! Staff…members of the community, thank you for welcoming me here today. It is truly a blessing to see you all here doing God’s work.”

The staff members issued out their gratitude and continued the conversation as they offered the Senator his tour.

All went well, and by ‘well’ you only meant that the Senator had looked pleased and kept nodding with approval as the tour continued. You and the rest of the staff members continued with your tasks, as the main head of the library took over the tour.

“Thank you, you are doing a good thing.” The Senator issues as he takes the head staff’s hand in both of his and issues a warm and seemingly friendly hand-shake. “Continue to do his bidding.”

You snuck out as the Senator bid his farewell with the staff members, wanting to hide in the bathroom for a moment and avoid interacting with him. The last thing you wanted was to put yourself in the spotlight and be questioned on whether or not if you were a part of Voia Domnului, which you suspected he would have been able to tell seeing as you didn’t’ bear the ring that each member was gifted upon graduating the three-month course requirement.

A moment or two had passed as you stood right by the bathroom door, ear pressed up against it to see if you could hear the Senator leaving.

‘It’s probably safe for me to go back now…’

Swinging the door open, you looked to your left and saw the wide double doors propped open. Only the staff members were seen inside, back to their tasks.

‘Oh good.’

You issued a mental smile as you started to walk towards the entrance to the library, when suddenly…

“Young lady…” his voice was filled with intrigue.

P A R T 2 W O

Taglist: @deobitifull; @solstramaii

If you like to be added on the taglists for this series or any other series on my blog, please send me a message or comment below <3

[zomdoc]

"You..." he mutters, unable to find words. All the rage that he had dispelled comes back in a violent surge. It sends a pulse of pressure through his skull that makes him feel lightheaded. "You went to that foul den of repugnant heretics... alone?"

I Wanna Turn You On

Warning & Rating: 18+ Explicit - Smut, DubCon

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 4,474

Relationship: Alfred/The Hunter (M/FtM)

"The Hunter severely underestimates how clingy Alfred can be. He also severely underestimates just how seriously he takes his duties as an Executioner."

Tags; smut, noncon/dubcon, established relationship, unhealthy relationship, handjobs, masturbation, aftercare

The Hunter jolts awake, sitting up straight in the cot on which he had been sleeping. Upon entering Iosefka's clinic, he had been overcome with a wave of fatigue stronger than the pulses of weariness that plague him throughout the night and was forced to take a break, which quickly led to hunkering down for a nap in what he assumed was a safe place.

He looks towards the door to the room that he's occupying, watching for any sign of movement with hazy eyes. He had heard something so loud that it ripped him from his slumber—a sound like a door snapping in two down the hall; he's sure of it. He reaches for the grip of his standard hunter's pistol hanging from his belt.

Maybe Iosefka's clinic wasn't the best place to rest. After all, when he woke up here for the first time, he was immediately faced with and killed by a ravenous beast feasting on the corpses of the dead. Hundreds of scenarios of gruesome and vivid ways of being ripped apart, flayed, and tortured flash before the Hunter's mind. He feels a surge of anxiety rush to his chest and is forced to his feet.

A subtle sound emerges from beyond the walls of his self-proclaimed safe haven—a creaking of tired, old wood under heavy boots. The Hunter listens intently, his right hand now instinctually reaching for the handle of his saw cleaver that stood against one of the dark mahogany side tables near the cot.

He resists the undeniably human instinct to call out to this invader, knowing from the footfalls that they (or it) are likely also human. The trauma of his experiences, what the Hunter has seen and the nightmarish beings he has fallen victim to, override any other thoughts. He stands his ground, prepared and armed, and approaches the door.

The glass panes are heavily stained with years of dust and muck, so most are completely opaque and impossible to see through. Some of the panes are broken, leaving little to no glass in their frame and a perfect makeshift peeping hole for the Hunter. He leans down, trying to stay hidden by the shadows of the room, and peeks out of a crack in one of the lower panels.

The hallway is lit only by the pale moonlight creeping in through grimy windows. The Hunter sees ashen specks floating through the air like fine snow, but not much more. He strains his vision to adjust to the darkness. He still doesn't see anything. The sound has receded to nothing, leaving an uncomfortable dead silence hanging in the atmosphere around him. Perhaps his sleep-addled mind is playing tricks on him.

The Hunter sighs, a sound of mixed relief and subtle anxiety, about to retreat from the door back to his cot when he catches a glimpse of something. A grey shape moves against the dark wooden walls of the clinic, so obvious now that the Hunter is shocked that he didn't notice it before.

It looks somewhat like a person, although too blurry and obscured by shadows for him to recognise. The confirmation only worsens the Hunter's unease, sending pangs of panic through his stomach. He has faced other hunters before and has killed most with little trouble, but he didn't expect anyone to be here.

Since he defeated the vacuous Rom and gained access to the building, the Hunter has been using Iosefka's clinic as a place to catch a break. He had come here three times, from what he can remember, all for less than an hour. It was a place to sit, to think. A structure not completely infested with beasts and other creatures all pining to slaughter him (or at least that's what he assumed). The last thing he wanted was for someone to come here, to invade what he had claimed as his space. He almost felt territorial. He had killed the original owner, after all.

The shape pauses for a moment as if busy with something; it fidgets and moves with a precise subtlety before advancing towards the Hunter at what looks to be a hurried pace. He feels his heart begin to race as panic sets in. Surely they didn't spot him from that distance!

He catches a clearer glimpse of the other hunter before he backs away from the door in fear. A grey garb, embroidered with patterns and darkened trims. Or is it white? There's only one man that he can certainly recall wearing white.

The door swings open, allowing the Hunter to confirm his assumption. Alfred stands in the doorway, looking rather ragged. His garb was absolutely white at some point in the past, maybe before he traversed from his spot in the Cathedral Ward through the Forbidden Woods to get here. His other hand, the one not gripping the door so tight that the wood is beginning to crack, grasps the hilt of his gore-covered sword.

The Hunter feels relieved to know that it's just Alfred. His stance relaxes, and he releases his finger from the trigger of his pistol.

"Alfred…" he sighs, examining the other man's state closer. He's covered from toe to knee in actual mud and dirt that slowly turns to red blood and viscera up to his neck, creating an unpleasant mixture of earthy and fleshy textures. His comfort quickly turns to confusion as he realises that Alfred is here, right in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" The Hunter asks blatantly, mind still foggy and disconnected from sleep. He can usually find Alfred in the same spot, no matter when he goes to check, so it's no surprise that he came to expect him to be there all the time. It was a shock when he moved from the spot in the Cathedral Ward above Old Yharnam to the one closer to the Forbidden Woods.

"I have been worried sick!" Alfred exclaims, in complete awe at the Hunter's audacity. He enters the room, firmly closing the door behind him. He's clearly not happy, but the Hunter can't really understand why. "You've been gone for… for… I don't know how long!"

This response only raises more questions in the Hunter's mind. How long has it been since he's visited Alfred? It's extremely difficult to gauge time when one is constantly travelling between a dream and reality where everything resets like a fucked-up time loop, so he can't find an exact estimate. It can't have been longer than a day, anyways. He recalls sitting with Alfred for a while after his rough encounter with that being in the Upper Cathedral Ward, which can't possibly have been that long ago.

"I'm sorry?" The Hunter says the only thing that comes to mind, although it comes out sounding more like a question. Alfred never reacts this way, regardless of how long he's been away. He usually responds with understanding, being a hunter himself, and respects the fact that the Hunter has duties to attend to. Perhaps his feelings have just come to a boiling point.

Alfred is red in the face. Maybe it's the exhaustion from fighting his way here, or maybe it's the scorching anger building in the pit of his stomach. He sheathes his sword and unclips it from his belt, standing it against the wall next to the door with the larger gravestone attachment and his rifle. The Hunter watches, approaching. He finds himself fidgeting, a nervousness beginning to crawl up his spine.

"Recently, your absence has begun to sting." Alfred says with a familiar undertone to his voice. An undertone that sends a shiver down the Hunter's spine, making the uneasiness in his stomach churn and twist into knots. There's something about Alfred that always manages to make him tense; a primal sense of danger that activates somewhere in his gut.

Alfred's fingers rest on the stock of his rifle for a brief moment, but he soon turns to face the Hunter properly. His expression is hard to read—somewhere between disappointment and something. He can't gauge what the man is feeling.

The blond approaches, getting uncomfortably close. He smells of rotting meat and faintly like copper, making the Hunter recoil at first. He doesn't back away, though. He and Alfred have had their fair share of intimate moments, so, despite that occasional gut feeling, he has grown to trust him. He looks up, meeting the other man's eyes. His gaze is fierce. It makes the Hunter feel small, making him instinctually shrink into himself.

"The mind begins to wander when you're not around," he continues, reaching up and taking the Hunter's chin in his bloodstained hand. His grip goes from soft to firm in an instant. "Just what are you doing? You tell tales of giant beasts, malformed fiends… even encountering gods." All of a sudden, it feels like Alfred is accusing him of something.

This makes the Hunter take a short step back. His chin and jaw are left smeared with dark splotches passed on from Alfred's gloves.

"What are you trying to say?" he asks, trying to hide the offence in his voice but doing a poor job. He didn't expect to be having this sort of dispute here of all places.

Alfred closes the distance between them again, grabbing his face with a lot more force this time. The Hunter gasps, hands rushing to Alfred's arm.

"You smell… different," he snarls, pushing the smaller man back and pinning him against the cot that he had been sleeping on. The Hunter grunts and whines in pain at the impact, his back aching in the spot where it meets the sharp edge of the hospital cot, as he looks up at Alfred with an expression of puzzled fear. The larger man leans in, pressing himself against his partner, and inhales deeply. His expression only sours more.

"I only managed to find you by following your scent…" he continues, holding the Hunter close. The hand he isn't using to hold the brunette in place moves down from where it is on his waist, squeezing and grasping at his flesh through his clothing, and closer to his ass. The dynamic in the air shifts in an instant. "Which I found to be… clouded by something. Another smell, a stronger smell. Just where have you been?"

An airy wheeze squeezes its way out of the Hunter's throat. He struggles to reply thanks to Alfred's grip on his jaw and throat. He feels the bigger man groping at him, and his body reacts before his head can. Heat creeps through his crotch, making him squeeze his thighs together uncomfortably.

He tries to recall the places he had gone to recently. He had mostly been travelling to and from his freshly discovered area of Yahar'Gul and the Cathedral Ward, taking occasional breaks from his crusade to visit those he had sent to Oedon Chapel (who are mentally deteriorating right before his eyes) and Alfred. He can only think of one other place he had visited since.

That dreadful castle appears in his mind, shrouded in sheets of thick frost. An icy chill seeps into his bones, biting at his nerves and sending a shiver through his body, and leaves his skin prickled with gooseflesh. He shrinks into himself even more.

He didn't tell Alfred when he found his way to Cainhurst Castle. Something inside him shrivels at the thought of sending him there; the idea is like a bad omen looming overhead. Not only because of the giant, blood-sucking monsters swarming the front gates but also because he has a horrible feeling that Alfred won't return. There's guilt, yes, because it's his life's purpose to continue his master's mission, but the Hunter's genuine love for Alfred overshadows it.

The Hunter's throat is suddenly dry. He struggles to speak and can only let out soft wheezes and whimpers, not wanting to tell Alfred the truth even if he could. Alfred is only angered more by this.

His groping becomes harsh and inconsiderate. He squeezes the Hunter's ass and thigh, grip on his neck briefly tightening before releasing again, leaning in and biting the bit of skin that's uncovered by cloth or his own flesh.

The brunette yelps, attempting to pull away but to no avail. Alfred sinks his teeth into him, bearing down just hard enough to break the skin. Tears well at the corners of the Hunter's eyes, teetering on the edge and threatening to fall.

"Alfred…" he finally manages to force out a breathy word. He scratches at Alfred's hand, now struggling for air, as he begs. "Please… calm…"

Alfred, snapped out of his indignant stupor at the sound of his lover's voice, releases his grip on the Hunter's neck but doesn't back away nor does he quit his touching. He pulls away from him, mouth stained by small blots of dark blood.

"I'm sorry, my dear." He apologises, tracing the reddening indentations where he had bitten with his fingertips. The taste of the Hunter's blood stings his tongue with a subtle, rusty tinge. He hums at the flavour. It's not unfamiliar. "I let my frustrations control my actions. But I'll ask you again, just where have you been?"

He stands over the Hunter, looking down at him expectantly, and waits for his answer. The tears have begun to stream down the Hunter's cheeks, leaving streaks that reflect the small amount of silvery light leaking into the room. He doesn't see a way out of explaining himself.

"I found this." He says, his voice quiet and harsh from the choking, as he reaches into one of his inner pockets. He produces a crumpled, yellowing letter, the wax seal crumbling from being torn open. Alfred's eyes flash as they land on the envelope. He snatches it from the Hunter's hand, almost ripping it in half, and opens the letter inside. His face turns pale as he reads the words.

He doesn't back away from the Hunter, still so close that the smaller man is choking on the smell of gore emanating from him. His fingers shake as he rereads the letter. A summons to Cainhurst Castle, specifically addressed to the Hunter himself.

"You…" he mutters, unable to find words. All the rage that he had dispelled comes back in a violent surge. It sends a pulse of pressure through his skull that makes him feel lightheaded. "You went to that foul den of repugnant heretics… alone?"

His eyes tear away from the paper and meet the Hunter's again. His gaze pierces through the Hunter's very soul. The amount of real anger, real disappointment, that floods his eyes is exhausting. He doesn't say anything. He feels bad, the guilt now rising up in his throat in the form of acid that drowns his oesophagus with a harsh sting.

"You went… without me?" Alfred's eyebrows twitch from an expression of anger into an upturned frown. He crumples the summons in his hand, discarding it to the floor beside his foot. The Hunter sniffles, reaching out to Alfred and placing his hand on his cheek. He feels the coarse blond hair sprouting there between his fingers and lets out a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry, Alfred." He apologises again, this time with much more sincerity. Alfred's eyes continue bearing down on him. He's a difficult man to read. His pupils that have only become more distended the longer that they've been together don't help. "I just… I'm worried."

Alfred scoffs, looking down and putting his hands on the cot behind the Hunter. He gets close to his face, feeling the smaller man's uneven breath on his cheeks.

"Don't you take me seriously?" He leers, tilting his head almost mockingly. His eyes are deceptive. What looks like a pitiful sadness is masked resentment. The Hunter pulls his hand away from Alfred's face, holding it to his chest.

In spite of his profession and experience with real-life nightmares, Alfred has always managed to put a sense of fear in him. He's stronger, much bigger, and far more experienced. Additionally, he does have a violent track record. The Hunter's back aches at the memory.

"You think that I can't handle myself? Think that I don't have the guts to do my duties? Just how do you see me…" Alfred begins rambling, his voice now unmasking his anger. He grabs the Hunter suddenly, squeezing and eliciting a surprised yelp.

"I love you." The Hunter replies without a second thought, looking up at Alfred and not resisting his cruel hands. "I—"

"Do you?" The blond snaps back, burying his nose into the Hunter's hair and inhaling. He grumbles at the scent, still not pleased. "How much? Tell me how much you love me."

"I—I love you a lot…" the Hunter stutters quietly, leaning into Alfred and shivering as he feels the man's breath on his neck again. The bite from earlier is still throbbing.

He feels Alfred's hands move, travelling down his body again, closer to his inner thigh. He presses his thighs together. The heat had been steadily building the more that Alfred touched and poked, surmounting to an aching yearning for friction. Gloved fingers pry at his crotch, demanding access.

"How much do you love me?" Alfred whispers, grip tightening. The Hunter's breath is ragged and shallow, his heart pounding against his ribs and sending vibrations through his entire body. He knows what Alfred wants. He slowly, shakily spreads his legs in response.

The blond immediately starts rubbing him through his pants, palming at his pussy. He chuckles at the warmth developing beneath his hand, then tuts and gives the Hunter an unceremonious squeeze.

"You can't resist me," he teases as he undoes the buckles and ties on his lover's belt and pants, snaking his hand inside. "You strive to frustrate me…"

Cold, gloved claws immediately pry at his genitals, making the Hunter double over from the sudden contact. Alfred shoves him back up, making him whimper, and slides his middle finger between his labia. The brunette moans, humping against the friction.

His pussy is suddenly much slicker, suspiciously so. He glances down at Alfred's arm, half concealed by the hem of his pants, and sees that it's covered in blood and gore. His whole body is. He comes to the realisation that his fingers and hand must also be coated in the muck. He's accustomed to the stench, so he forgot that the man is covered from chest to toe in carnage thanks to the less than substantial lighting in the room.

The Hunter gasps loudly, almost letting out a shrill squeal as Alfred's bloodied fingers press further. He tries to push his arm away, which only earns a deep growl.

"Wait!" he protests, writhing against the bigger man, but Alfred doesn't take it. He sighs as he forces his fingers further, finding the Hunter's hole—which is considerably wet as it is.

"You'll learn." Alfred mutters, pressing the tips of his index and middle fingers into the brunette, "You'll learn to respect me… You'll revere me…" By the time that he's finished talking, he's almost knuckle-deep. The Hunter, unable to control himself any longer, finally lets out a passionate moan, twisting his torso to try and hide his face more. He's forced to face his lover again by a harsh grab to the chin.

Alfred's fingers curl inside him, poking at his sensitive spots and pushing even deeper inside. The blond groans, inhaling the Hunter's scent, as he begins to move his fingers. His gloves are a rough texture, heavily aided by the generous amount of lubrication from both aroused discharge and blood, and the seams on his fingers scratch gently at the brunette's inner walls. He tenses with every curl and movement, leaning his head back and allowing himself to moan—albeit quietly.

The bigger man, in all his delirium, mutters things under his breath about the Hunter. He can just about make out what he's saying but knows that it devolves from scathing critique of his personal morals to lewd expletives in no more than a few sentences. Whispers about his body, his noises, the dark marks and bites littering his neck and chest beneath his clothes (all left there by Alfred himself). His hole throbs around the burly man's digits. He chuckles.

"You want me to fuck you," he taunts, sinking a third finger into the Hunter's sodden heat. "But I won't… not tonight. You don't deserve me." He presses on the brunette's clit with his thumb, provoking a passionate cry from the smaller man. His own breath is heavy and deliberate, cheeks rosy and eyes fogged with lechery.

The blond pushes his own crotch against the Hunter's thigh, allowing him to feel the pronounced bulge beneath his garb. He makes slow, circular swipes across the other man's clit, feeling it twitch and pulse under his thumb, and begins to move his fingers inside him.

He slides all three fingers out to the tip and then plunges back in all the way to the knuckle, hooking them mercilessly against the Hunter's sweet spot. The brunette winces and whimpers into Alfred's ear, wrapping his arms around his neck. The blond allows it, consumed by desire and too busy grinding himself against his thigh.

"Fuck, Alfred…" the Hunter whimpers, barely able to form words between spasmodic breaths. "I'm going to—"

Alfred abruptly removes his thumb from the Hunter's clit and removes his fingers from his pussy completely, leaving him cold and yearning. He thrusts against his hand with a needy mewl. The blond tuts.

"Control yourself," he huffs, running his knuckle down the Hunter's cheek softly. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead, glinting in the dim light. "You're not allowed to come yet, dear." He snickers when his beloved responds by straightening his back and turning away his face. Regardless of however angry he is, Alfred remains a deeply passionate soul.

A bare neck brandished all for him. The blond leans into the Hunter again, taking the frail, pale flesh into his mouth. Skin so easy to tear that it's a wonder how he's survived this long… Alfred is wary not to break the surface the way he did earlier. He was cruel, unnecessarily so. But he does need to be punished; he needs to learn the cost of withholding epochal information.

His body shivers, icy coldness spreading from his dripping folds to the rest of his nervous system. Gentle gasps escape his lips as Alfred kisses up his neck, from his clavicle to his ear, leaving a muted, pink trail in his wake. A gloved hand rests in the Hunter's pants, unmoving—a lump of dead weight in his trousers, sitting there to tease him. He finally breaks, pushing the blond's head away and turning to stare up at him with desperation painted all over his face.

"Please…" he begs, squeezing Alfred's hand between his thighs. His eyes bore down into the Hunter, green jewels glinting beneath a dishevelled sea of blond waves. He recognises this look. Something like love, he reckons. Maybe it's lust. It makes him weak, regardless.

"You're not allowed to do that…" Alfred hums, lifting his hand to touch the brunette again. His knees wobble beneath his own weight, forcing him to slump against Alfred for support, arms now hanging limply around his neck. He can still feel the man's hard-on pressing up against him. He must be desperate too. "You beg so sweetly…"

He enters him again, two fingers this time, spreading them inside. The Hunter digs his nails into the bigger man's shoulders, grinding against the palm of his hand. He needs something, some form of stimulation. Alfred doesn't give it to him, keeping his thumb—and any other digit that might tempt him—painfully far away from his darling's clit.

"There is only so much I can do to resist your seduction," he sighs, voice tinged with disappointment. His face, however, reads differently. He's suddenly plastered with a smug grin. "Consider yourself lucky that I didn't take you as soon as we met." He giggles, gently tapping his clit with the very tip of his thumb. Alongside being passionate, he's also extremely flippant.

The teasing causes the Hunter to writhe, hands migrating from Alfred's neck to his shoulders and then down to his chest. His hands and arms are now smeared and stained with the byproduct of Alfred's scourge on Yharnam to get here.

The smell of gore and sex floods the room, intoxicating both of the vulnerable hunters. They hump against one another, lost in their yearning, but neither makes a move to change their situation. Alfred resists the urge to fuck the Hunter right now, sticking to his word, and the Hunter resists the urge to seduce him into it, despite knowing very well that he could.

The brunette grips Alfred's garb, balling the damp cloth up in his hands and soaking his hands in blood. He doesn't even notice, distracted by the intense climax encroaching on him. He feels his inner walls clench around Alfred's fingers, which earns a hefty groan from the blond, as the sensation overtakes him.

He's blinded by pure bliss, unaware of how loud his cries are and the puddle he has involuntarily created in Alfred's hand. Even Alfred himself is oblivious to this, completely engrossed in his own orgasm. He thrusts his fingers deep into the brunette's throbbing cunt, hooking them against his sensitive spots and unintentionally teasing more liquid out of him. He only takes notice when he hears the soft pitter of the fluid hitting the floor below, bringing him back to lucidity.

They pant, remaining in position for a moment as they frot out their climaxes before moving away from one another. Alfred shakes off his hand, sending the liquid—murky with blood—splattering across the ground. He reaches out, pulling the Hunter into a gentle kiss.

The brunette doesn't resist, unable to even if he wanted to. His whole body feels weak and numb; there's a high-pitched ringing in his ears. He's grounded by the feeling of a cold breeze between his legs, wet with his own juices. The Executioner pulls away after what seems like a lifetime.

"I love you." Alfred whispers, cupping the Hunter's cheek affectionately. The gesture is received warmly, the smaller man leaning into him and looking up at him with hazy adoration.

"I love you too," he replies breathlessly, fidgeting clumsily with his drawstrings to fix his pants. "I'm sorry for not telling you."

Alfred looks away. He seems to consider his next words very carefully.

"It's alright." This response seems a bit forced. "I'm sure I can… we can sort something out." He hums out a chuckle, having found a satisfactory answer in his head, and plants a kiss on his lover's cheek.

[vspin]

3, 17, 25 for the RT ask game 🤗

Thanks for the ask!

Rogue Trader Character Building Questions

3. Do they have a good relationship with their family? Who were they closest to growing up?

Oof. Not at all. 

Evangeline is a bastard and was shunned by her family. This has caused her a lot of shame and self-worth issue that she struggles with to this day. 

Her father is the patriarch of a prominent and influential house, while her mother was a high ranking agent in the family’s intelligence/spy network. Given her mother’s service to the family, she was still raised on the estate and as a noble, just not in the main family home or as officially part of the family. Her existence was an open secret. 

Think Jon Snow…but everyone acted like Catelyn Stark or snubbed her. She wasn’t close to any of her siblings and had surface level relationships with other lesser members of the family. Most of her close relationships where with the other servants or nobles. 

Eva was very close to her mother growing up. Sadly, she passed in Eva’s early 20’s. As for her father, she barely spoke to the man until after her mother’s death. There was an ~incident~ with him which led to her banishment from her home planet and her chin augments.

Don’t worry, Eva paved her own path (she still used her father’s name for clout. Not like people in other sectors would know she was a bastard, right?) and used her political and business contacts to get back at him years later. Prior to her becoming RT and coming to the Koronus Expanse, she and her father had established a tenuous political/business arrangement and by then he did openly proclaim her as his daughter, but that’s because Eva was blackmailing him. 

17. What are their strengths in combat? What are their weaknesses?

Combat in general is not her strength. Eva will try to talk her way out of most issues if possible. She was trained as a spy growing, so she can hold her own against the average person but she is no master-at-arms. She is a great shot with a sniper rifle and serviceable with a pistol & sword, but that’s about it. Evangeline’s strength has always been in leadership and strategy which is why she is an Officer Grand Strategist! Don’t ask how Commorragh went 😅

25. Wildcard: Share a fun fact, random thought, or headcanon about them!

After her banishment from her home planet she was broke and network-less, so she ended up working for a few decades for the Adeptus Administratum’s Logis Strategos! She regularly went undercover to Noble houses to determine if they were committing financial crimes and associating with heretics/xenos that would impact the Imperium. She even worked a few years alongside an Inquisitor on an overlapping case.

Another fun fact, Eva is in her 50's during the games events!

[self-proclaimed-heretic]

Surprise! I’m not dead!

God I can’t believe it’s been 2 years since I last updated this blog. So if I’m not dead then where have I been? Well, the honest answer is that I got burnt out from running this blog. This started as a hyper fixation of mine that kept me sane as a depressed high schooler and eventually grew into an over 3k following.

While 3k is baby numbers on the internet, it’s still big for me and something I was really proud of, that’s why I didn’t feel right leaving this blog to gather dust without one final update to anyone who’s still around.

So what’s going to happen to this blog? Well, nothing. I will be keeping this blog up as an archive, but seeing as I hardly use tumblr anymore, no new posts/reposts will be made after this final update.

I wanted to thank everyone for the love and support over the years. I’ve met some incredible people and made some lasting memories through this blog.

That being said, this is Self-Proclaimed-Heretic signing off. Goodbye everyone.

[milky-rozen]

Finally finished my first Dislyte OC!

Self-proclaimed mortal enemy to Discboom, Cyrus is a Dj imbued with the powers of the One and Only, Aten, the heretic solar disk!

[definitely-not-an-alb]

ooh, how do you think molly would grift essek?

Alright. Let’s grift Essek.

First I need to note that any objection along the line of ‘Essek is too intelligent to fall for grifts’ is unnecessary, because whatever you think of Essek’s specific characterisation, assuming you are to intelligent to fall for a grift is one of the major ways people fall for them, in a ‘renowned high pressure social group researcher proclaiming on twitter that Sissy Porn is real and dangerous’ kinda way (look it up it’s some hysterical terf bs).

Gonna use that joke as a sidenote that if I am conflating grifts and high pressure social groups in this, it’s ‘cause as far as I care the difference is how self-aware the people running the show are. Watch any MLM-Doku (and I think we can all agree MLMs are grifts) and you’ll inevitably get to the part about weird aspiration culture bs and group pressure. It’s all one soup.

With that out of the way, let’s establish a baseline: What’s Molly’s reason for grifting Essek? Probably money and also the fun of it/being bored. Considering Kingsley abandoned his perfectly fine shipping company job to run off to be pirate king, I don’t think ‘Molly keeps grifting long after the M9 have become financially stable for shits and giggles and because Jester enjoys it’ is too outlandish a projection. Additionally, I don’t think Molly is great with impulse control nor this whole thing where current actions cause future consequences.

Now; why would Essek fall for a grift. Grifting relies on the dupe wanting something more than having good sense about it. Most people want money, so most girfts are structured around greed, but we know money is no object to Essek (though this does make him a juicy target – what he would barely miss might make a good haul for any grifter). We do know he is primarily motivated by knowledge instead, as well as a desire to be recognized as intelligent and exceptional. Additionally, we know he needs (in the character development sense) The Power of Friendship. Lastly, I think it’s fair to say he subconsciously longs for excitement (happy, fulfilled bureaucrats don’t become heretic spies; nor do they befriend a gang of mercenaries; implicitly, Essek is happier living the life of a wayward refugee-adventurer wizard than that of an Evil Gay Vizier Court Wizard or whatever papers a Shadowhand stamps nine-to-five.).

Being a paranoid bastard makes him a harder target, though the fact that we know he has fallen for someone’s bs before (I’m counting the spectacularly bad decision that is him allying with the Assembly as falling for a grift here. That’s a stupid decision to make!) makes him an easier target. Being so socially isolated makes him an easier victim, too, though his general rejection of people and clear discomfort with social interactions makes him an unlikely target for something like a romance scam. Essek’s relationship to tolerating bullshit is a weird one; on the one hand, he does put up with Jester’s (and the rest of the Nein’s) shenanigans, on the other he clearly knows how to and dares to tell someone to fuck off, and there’s that time he just ditches everyone via teleport (hilarious). So boundaries-wise, he could go either way. Lastly, I’d argue he’s at least somewhat impulsive or at least not risk averse. Always remember we are looking at an NPC next to Sword’n’Sorcery Adventurers – Essek might look cautious next to ruin-trawling wizards, but compare him to Gundula, 55, who works in Insurance and just clicked on a phishing link to claim her Totally Real Oilve Garden Gift Card, and you’ll see what I mean – most people are too risk-averse and unimpulsive to, again, commit treason via international conspiracy and then run off without a moment’s notice to dig around a cursed-ass ruin to save the world from a Cronenbergian nightmare.

Conclusion: He’s rich, he’s bored, he loves pretending to be a spy or grand discoverer, he wants to buy your dodgy foreign papers and incredible discoveries about the Luxon so, so badly and he has absolutely no one left in his life who’ll tell him it’s a bad idea.

So, for example, Molly could Voynich him. All he needs is a battered notebook and some writing supplies, whatever knowledge of what wizards’ and alchemists’ and spies’ scribbles look like he can easily pick up from traveling with the Nein and an opportunity to ask Essek to have a look at this encoded notebook he’s been lugging around all over the continent with him, why, he was at this party in Zadash and everyone else was some boring old pompous wizard (such a bore!) so he pickpocketed one of them, just for the fun of it, but, well, turns out neither Caleb nor Beau can make head nor tails of the weird sign code it’s written in (how tragic, if only someone happened to be so much cleverer than both of them!) and if Essek wants to have a look Molly would be more than happy to lighten his pack. For a small pittance, of course.

What’s small change to Essek is probably pretty nice to have for Molly, even by that level and especially if we’re mostly doing this for the fun of it. Essek gets to fall face first into his desire to show up Caleb, Beau and potentially an unknown Assembly member with his clearly superior decoding, espionage and wizardly skills and gain Secret Knowledge, maybe even Assembly Secrets on top of that.

Arguably, this one does rely very heavily on the fact that it’s hard to prove a negative, or in this case, hard to prove a barely-literate conman’s scribbles are just that. Do keep in mind Essek doesn’t know Molly is a habitual conman, but even so, it’s not a fantastic con (Essek isn’t dumb and knows his arcana after all and Molly doesn’t, or at least not enough to make a proper Voynich).

You could make it a better Voynich by getting Caleb in on it, but instead let’s pep it and turn it into a proper Real Stradivari by changing the hints that this manuscript might be legit to being alchemy-related and adding in a shill. Let’s go with Jester, because she’s down to clown, can lie and has a way with Essek’s boundaries.

So this time around, we aren’t asking Essek outright to buy our bogus notes – instead Molly gives him the whole spiel, hands him the notebook, fucks off with as little time to actually look at it as possible before Jester enters the scene to ask what THAT is and go oh it’s about ALCHEMY well, that DOES look like the signs she saw around Yezza’s house, pretty suuuure, oh, do you think it might be Yezza’s? Do you think Yezza might want it? Do you think she should ask Molly to sell it to her so she can give it to Yezza as a present to be nice because she’s such a nice friend who does nice things?

Honestly, the money part is optional if this is wholly about making Essek look up to see if the ceiling does indeed say gullible (and if Jester is involved, it might well do so! Always better to check, with her!), but a proper Violin Drop concludes with the Grifter returning to take their worthless thing back only to be asked to sell by the victim, who thinks the grifter doesn’t know what worth he has. If it was real, offering to buy the notebook would mean Essek outsmarted a minimum of three people (Beau and Caleb can’t crack the code, Molly is too dumb and illiterate to know valuable research notes from the morning paper) and gets his hands on potentially unknown-to-him luxon-related secrets! Alas, it’s not real, as he will realize soon.

So these are two (related) ways to scam Essek. But there’s a third one I want to mention one that is a lot of cinematic fun and I didn’t know had a name until Wikipedia told me no one does it irl (boo! That’s no fun!). It takes a lot of prep, math, and a lot of people and combines Essek’s obsession with the Luxon’s secrets and Molly’s penchant for passing himself off as psychic.

Molly would need something people in Rosohna bet on, like some kind of sport, preferably one with only two results and places people do said betting on said sport in groups. I’m assuming this exists on account of gambling and sports being culturally pretty universal concepts that love to go together.

Anyway. Imagine you’re Essek Thelyss, and one day a bunch of weirdos show up in court with a piece of the god you’re atheistically-heretically obsessed with. A few weeks later, you, having your ears to the ground about new developments regarding said not-god-pieces, hear one of the weirdos has made a name for himself as a outright oracle, correctly predicting the outcome of Fantasy-Dodgeball (Rosohnas’ favourite sport) perfectly six weeks running. He swears it’s because proximity to the Luxon amplified his inborn and long-trained psychic powers to predict the future.

Now, this is obviously bullshit. Except if Essek, being regrettably acquainted with the weirdos, were to ask, Molly would certainly confirm that sure, he has mystic powers and certainly they were amplified by the Luxon and predicting sport results is a hobby of his wherever they go, does Essek want to see? and lead Essek to a bar where every regular can swear on whatever he likes that Molly has correctly predicted the results of Fantasy-Dodgeball since the first week of being in Rosohna, in fact since before he himself knew the rules or track-record of any of the teams. Not only that, but there’s a second bar full of people Molly can introduce him too. And if he wants, he can certainly come back for a drink in one of them again next week when Molly has done it once more. Just call on Molly, he’ll tell you the time and date to meet some true believers, not all of whom can possibly be his shills.

(And, incidentally, barely worth mentioning, really, since Molly’s psychic blessings from the Luxon are so accurate, he has Exciting Business Opportunities for anyone willing to place more than their weekly betting budget in his trust, and he’d love for Essek to take a look at his powers. For a small compensation of his time, of course.)

Of course Molly can’t predict the results of Fantasy-Dodgeball. Instead, the first week of downtime in Rosohna, he found out what people like to bet on in Rosohna and where, picked one or two places in each district, go there and make predictions with a fifty-fifty split, then eliminate each watering hole where he was wrong each week, slowly cutting his audience back to only people who are getting to know him as That Outlander Who Always Knows The Results of Fantasy-Dodgeball, all the while escalating the story from him being just some dude betting and drinking with the guys to the whole Chosen By The Luxon thing. Considering this is a double-scam involving a faith aspect, he might very well still cash in in places he’s been wrong once only since victims of faith-based scams are very likely to overlook inconsistencies in their scammer’s stories or promised results. By the time Essek gets involved Molly’d be down to one or two places of true believers coming to him for ‘always accurate’ tips and a bunch of other people all over Rosohna he might get some money off based on the faith-aspect. And now perhaps one intrigued high-ranking government official who’s more than willing to overlook the hereticism inherent to the whole thing and is instead very likely to fall in the academic glue-trap of trying to disprove something clearly bogus that you do kind of want to believe in because like.

Wouldn’t it be cool? If the Luxon had more awesome powers? And one of them happened to fall in Essek’s hands, with no oversight and no need to cooperate with someone like Trent or Ludinus? Would he not want it to be real?

Anyway. The real answer to this question is: Enlist Beau to send bogus stuffed bills to Essek’s secretary. Bureaucrat on bureaucrat violence, let’s go.

[unbreakable-oaths]

champion - for the single-word fic prompt!

Thank you! Mostly because this got me out of my writing funk I've been sitting in for the past month.

Can also be read on ao3 here

Of Champions and Tragedies

Ysayle kissed her like her lips held an inescapable sin. Her white knight, her little dragon, with mother’s gift and taken in and turned champion by her enemies before she could find her. Turned into a weapon. Godslayer. Now a temptation she couldn’t quite resist even if it led to her death. (It did lead to her death, but not the way she anticipated.)

Cyella kissed her like she could find absolution in her lips. A century of answered prayers sent to reveal the truth hidden beneath a veil of light. An angel of death sent to extract retribution and instead choosing forgiveness. And, if she kept chasing those lips, she might even find it.

Khutulun the blacksmith claimed she was no such profound or holy thing. She was just a woman at the wrong place at the wrong time (the right place at the right time) who, after all that had transpired, would never be able to go home again. Champions had a cause, she maintained, a higher sense of purpose. All she had was a desire to test her mettle against what the world had to offer and escape the expectations shackled to her name, and maybe get to kiss a pretty girl or two if she was lucky.

“Is that not, little dragon,” Ysayle had said to her so long ago during a quiet night on their pilgrimage to Hraesvelgr, “how all champions start?”

“Your actions, my dear,” Cyella said to her now, during a quiet night in the Crystarium, “speak otherwise. Far louder than any of your protestations.”

And then they kissed her again.

“Champions,” Khutulun pointed out to each of them, when she could speak again, “are far better people than I. I am bloodthirsty, full of rage. When my shield broke, people died. Instead of reforging it stronger, I forged it into a weapon so it could never fail me again.”

“Little knight,” Ysayle chided, “you forget you’re speaking to a heretic.”

“Little warrior,” Cyella chided, “you forget you’re speaking to the Shadowkeeper.”

“Retribution is a righteous motivation for a champion to have,” Ysayle had said, back then.

“Rage is a powerful emotion,” Cyella said to her, now, “all champions have those. How else would they keep going against all odds?”

And then they kissed her again.

Khutulun the blacksmith was not a champion. She was a woman running from destiny even as it kept showing up at her door. Champions were better people, braver people (not that she wasn’t brave) than she. People who stood for a cause because they believed in it, not because they didn’t have a choice. She was just a blacksmith with a sword and a gift, dragged into this because the temptation of testing her mettle against “impossible” foes was too much for her to resist. Champions, she’d protest, have cleaner hands and cleaner consciouses than her. There was neither sin nor absolution to be found on her lips. She was a godslayer, not a god. Champions were holy things, and she was not.

“I don’t think,” Ysayle said to her, “champions don’t get to choose what they are. That is their tragedy.”

“A self-proclaimed champion is no champion at all,” Cyella echoed, years later, “Trust me, I would know.”

And then they kissed her again.

Champions, Khutulun lamented, had far too many people die for them. Left far too many people behind. She was not worth the trail of bodies left in her wake.

The Ysayle in her dreams smiled. “I’d do it again,” that smile said even as memory faded away.

“That is,” Cyella sighed, “the champion’s other tragedy. It is not up to you to decide if you’re worth it.”

And then she kissed her again.

Khutulun the blacksmith would never consider herself a champion. She was far too foolish for that. But for others? She would play the part, after all they had long ago decided without her that that’s what she was. And perhaps, she decided, that was actually her tragedy.

[littlefandomfairy]

Jim | Matthew Joy | Cillian (rp)

🩷 (fluff) 🍆 (smut) 😈 (angst) 🩹 (hurt/comfort)

*fic rec masterlist*

Jim (28 Days Later)

morning light (series) by @kiss-me-cill-me 🩷🍆

in our perfect present tense by @pedropascallme 🩷🍆

all the time in what's left of the world by @self-proclaimed-heretic 🩷

Matthew Joy (In The Heart Of The Sea)

i told you i'd come back right? by @dracuno 🩷🩹

Cillian Murphy (rp)

five minutes peace by @garrison-girl-08 🩷🩹

[burningsuitfire]

Ludinus's Research (and Essek)

Okay so. I actually think Essek might've known way more than the fandom assumes.

First of all, he hints multiple times that he knew Da'leth had a secret weak spot, research that he couldn't afford for anyone in the Empire to discover. And as such, Ludinus needed the war to stop.

How much do you want to bet Essek keyed onto and was talking about the Martinet's secret dunamis research for his moon plans?

(91) Caleb: I want to see the conflict end and I do not get that sense from them. Essek: ...What is the biggest danger... to secret research? Caduceus: Discovery. Essek: Discovery. What better way to avoid discovery than to find a way to stop a conflict that pries into what you're doing?

(125) Beau: You'd be smart to focus your attention to Ludinus and Ikithon. Yudala Fon: It never leaves them. And they've been acting quite nervous recently.

(97) Essek: (...) you're all in terrible danger for the things that you know. Their research is to continue and we are to correspond as the research progresses. There is intent to end this war.

Also, common fanon seems to think Essek didn't get any research when Matt, Da'leth, and Essek himself said the deal was an ongoing cooperative exchange.

If anything, DeRogna, Yeza, and Ikithon said that the Assembly was having a massive amount of trouble on their end trying to work with dunamis and the beacons, and would really need Essek in their work for insights (as Essek said was happening) and to work with the dunamantic expert and intelligence lynchpin.

And another point. The raids. Even if Ludinus wasn't forthcoming with Essek in their meetings (which Essek said he was), the Kryn were raiding research facilities.

The Felderwin raid, which people seem to take as evidence that Essek wasn't getting information, kinda looks like it suggests the opposite. Only after months of experiments and effort and expense and problems did they get a single potion, and Yeza said it was barely days after the completion when the Kryn raided. Incredible timing.

Meaning that it sure seems like the Martinet gave Essek information, possibly even more than he intended, and Essek wasn't playing nice.

Essek, who said his being in Rosohna was the exception right up until the ceasefire (where we saw him constantly in both important wartime full den meetings and sparse late night meetings, seated on the council, deeply influential and personally requested for the Bright Queen's strategy and war efforts)

(94) Essek: It prevents me from some of my capabilities throughout the day each time I do this, so while I'm here in my home and things are not requiring me to be elsewhere rapidly, thankfully this is a moment in time in which I am more useful here in the city.

He could've even been in Felderwin.

Also, if Ludinus was trying to sway Essek over to the Vanguard and his side, easy money that the heretic (a self-proclaimed "coward" who refused self-preservation via consecution, and managed to annoy his own intensely religious father to the point of self-destruction) wouldn't be happy about it.

That attempt at recruitment and following rejection could've easily been the cause of the unpleasant dynamic and tense conversation between the two on the Assembly's boat.

Bonus, Essek's leyline device. That's relatively simple, and a friend clued me in. Essek being able to track leyline strength is just useful for timing dunamancy research for his "personal studies" as he calls them. It's been pointed out multiple times in CR lore that wizards like ley spikes and solstices because the flare in leyline strength and ley energy just means it's easier to manipulate arcane energy and make new spells.

Look where the Tal'Dorei Guide talks about leyline strength and spellmaking.

The Verdant Expanse is saturated with magic. The ley energies that suffuse the greenwood make it easy for arcanists to create works of spellcraft by themselves, when it might take a half-dozen mages working in concert in other lands.

[the-perfect-entropy]

The Entropy - Shattered Brotherhood

Warband: The Perfect Entropy

Legion: [UNKNOWN]

Status: Traitoris (?)

Hierarchy: [UNKNOWN]

Heraldry: A shattered silver chalice with a splintered ouroboros on it.

Known Members:

Adrian Malek - Self-proclaimed Chapter Master. Braggart Hal - Praetor Nia - Shadowmaster Helotes - Apothecary Sarn Nox - Techeun Argyros - Harrowmaster

They call themselves the Perfect Entropy and in doing so have long marked their souls with the heretical and the ruinous warbands that also swim the depths of the Cicatrix Maledictum.

Their story spans centuries to a time of great calamity, when Chapters were Legions united under far fewer banners and falling upon one another in a war that engulfed the entire galaxy.

They escaped that fresh hell scarred and broken and destitute without the safety of their Legion to shelter them from being hunted. They could not even count to return to their homeworld as it was long excised for even being considered ally to the traitor's banner.

So they wandered and built themselves enough of a power to venture out away from the great rift in hopes that someone or something could grant them purpose. A place to be and possibly the chance for redemption.

[indragonsaur]

Demontober 2023 Day 20: Baphomet

Baphomet, also known known as the "Sabbatic Goat" is a demonic entity, a king of demons, usually equated with Satan and an idol adopted by the Knights Templar from Islamic belief. He is also the self-proclaimed "god" of his own cult the Halo of the Sun which has the town of Silent Hill in an iron grip.

His name is believed to be a corruption of Muhammad, the founder of Islam. He is usually depicted with the head and legs of a goat, with a torch between his horns and a pentagram on his forehead, with black bird wings, and the body of a human woman or hermaphrodite.

He has the power to control all human women, and is said to give witches their power, thus, famously known as a demon worshiped by witches. In some branches of demonology, Baphomet is seen as a high-ranking ruler of Hell and one of Satan's many henchmen. This may go some way into explaining why the two demons often seem to share the same qualities. Baphomet is a goat-headed demon who was worshiped by practitioners of the occult, although there was little evidence of this actually occurring until later in history. He was also supposedly the secret benefactor of the Knight Templars during the height of the persecution against the Order.

The Knights Templar, heroes of the Crusades, were accused of worshiping Baphomet by a church Inquisition and branded as heretics. To keep them silent, the head of the Templars and another senior leader were sentenced to be burned alive. However, it was later revealed that this was orchestrated by King Philip IV of France, who coveted the Templars' wealth and moreover was purportedly under the influence of Baphomet himself who used the king to twist the image of the Templars and their faith.

Despite this, Baphomet's worship came to an end when the Brotherhood of St. Longinus waged war against the demon's cult, joining forces with the surviving members of the defunct Knights Templar, while destroying and burning any effigy and unholy church that was created in reverence to Baphomet. One cult member and founding member, Jennifer Carroll, was able to grab a bas relief of Baphomet and flee persecution at the hands of the Brotherhood of St. Longinus. Due to Baphomet's lingering essence within the bas relief, he kept Jennifer alive to fulfill his needs. Unfortunately for Jennifer, she would meet her end during the Salem Witch Trials through burning by puritanical Christians in 1692.

The bas relief was again taken by sympathizers for witches during the Trials and settled within Maine. Baphomet's cult only grew within Maine, eventually settling in a town that would come to be known as Silent Hill. Baphomet had his cult grow inside the town, infiltrating the public institutions of the town while gradually gaining more influence and power

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&reading: Tuesday, September 5, 2023

august 23 _september 5

THE PRIESTMARTYR IRENAEUS, BISHOP OF LYONS (Gaul_202)

The Hieromartyr Irenaeus, Bishop of Lyons, was born in the year 130 in the city of Smyrna (Asia Minor). He received there the finest education, studying poetics, philosophy, rhetoric, and the rest of the classical sciences considered necessary for a young man of the world.

His guide in the truths of the Christian Faith was a disciple of the Apostle John the Theologian, Saint Polycarp of Smyrna (February 23). Saint Polycarp baptized the youth, and afterwards ordained him presbyter and sent him to a city in Gaul then named Lugdunum [the present day Lyons in France] to the dying bishop Pothinus.

A commission was soon entrusted to Saint Irenaeus. He was to deliver a letter from the confessors of Lugdunum to the holy Bishop Eleutherius of Rome (177-190). While he was away, all the known Christians were thrown into prison. After the martyric death of Bishop Pothinus, Saint Irenaeus was chosen a year later (in 178) as Bishop of Lugdunum. “During this time,” Saint Gregory of Tours (November 17) writes concerning him, “by his preaching he transformed all Lugdunum into a Christian city!”

When the persecution against Christians quieted down, the saint expounded upon the Orthodox teachings of faith in one of his fundamental works under the title: Detection and Refutation of the Pretended but False Gnosis. It is usually called Five Books against Heresy (Adversus Haereses).

At that time there appeared a series of religious-philosophical gnostic teachings. The Gnostics [from the Greek word “gnosis” meaning “knowledge”] taught that God cannot be incarnate [i.e. born in human flesh], since matter is imperfect and manifests itself as the bearer of evil. They taught also that the Son of God is only an outflowing (“emanation”) of Divinity. Together with Him from the Divinity issues forth a hierarchical series of powers (“aeons”), the unity of which comprise the “Pleroma”, i.e. “Fullness.” The world is not made by God Himself, but by the aeons or the “Demiourgos,” which is below the “Pleroma.”

In refuting this heresy, championed by Valentinus, Saint Irenaeus presents the Orthodox teaching of salvation. “The Word of God, Jesus Christ, through His inexplicable blessedness caused it to be, that we also, should be made that which He is ... ,” taught Saint Irenaeus. “Jesus Christ the Son of God, through exceedingly great love for His creation, condescended to be born of a Virgin, having united mankind with God in His own Self.” Through the Incarnation of God, creation becomes co-imaged and co-bodied to the Son of God. Salvation consists in the “Sonship” and “Theosis” (“Divinization”) of mankind.

In the refutation of another heretic, Marcian, who denied the divine origin of the Old Testament, the saint affirms the same divine inspiration of the Old and the New Testaments: “It is one and the same Spirit of God Who proclaimed through the prophets the precise manner of the Lord’s coming,” wrote the saint. “Through the apostles, He preached that the fulness of time of the filiation had arrived, and that the Kingdom of Heaven was at hand.”

The successors of the Apostles have received from God the certain gift of truth, which Saint Irenaeus links to the succession of the episcopate (Adv. Haer. 4, 26, 2). “Anyone who desires to know the truth ought to turn to the Church, since through Her alone did the apostles expound the Divine Truth. She is the door to life.”

Saint Irenaeus also exerted a beneficial influence in a dispute about the celebration of Pascha. In the Church of Asia Minor, there was an old tradition of celebrating Holy Pascha on the fourteenth day of the month of Nisan, regardless of what day of the week it happened to be. The Roman bishop Victor (190-202) forcefully demanded uniformity, and his harsh demands fomented a schism. In the name of the Christians of Gaul, Saint Irenaeus wrote to Bishop Victor and others, urging them to make peace.

After this incident, Saint Irenaeus drops out of sight, and we do not even know the exact year of his death. Saint Gregory of Tours, in his Historia Francorum, suggests that Saint Irenaeus was beheaded by the sword for his confession of faith in the year 202, during the reign of Severus.

The Apostle and Evangelist John the Theologian, Saint Polycarp of Smyrna, and Saint Irenaeus of Lyons are three links in an unbroken chain of the grace of succession, which goes back to the Original Pastor, our Lord Jesus Christ Himself.

In his old age, Saint Irenaeus wrote to his old friend the priest Florinus: “When I was still a boy, I knew you... in Polycarp’s house.... I remember what happened in those days more clearly than what happens now.... I can describe for you the place where blessed Polycarp usually sat and conversed, the character of his life, the appearance of his body, and the discourses which he spoke to the people, how he spoke of the conversations which he had with John and others who had seen the Lord, how he remembered their words, and what he heard from them about the Lord ... I listened eagerly to these things, by the mercy of God, and wrote them, not on paper, but in my heart.”

Source: Orthodox Church in America_OCA

HIEROMARTYR POTHINUS, BISHOP OF LYONS (Gaul_177)

The Holy Polycarp (February 23) sent Pothinus from Asia Minor to spread the Gospel in Gaul. He brought many there to faith in Christ, and became the first bishop of Lyons. During a persecution of Christians Pothinus, who was then ninety years old, was brought before the proconsul, who asked him 'Who is the Christian God?' Pothinus answered 'You will find out, if you are worthy.' He was beaten fiercely with staves and stones, then thrown in prison, where he died of his injuries.

PHILIPPIANS 2:5-11

5 Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, 6 who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, 7 but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men. 8 And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross. 9 Therefore God also has highly exalted Him and given Him the name which is above every name, 10 that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of those in heaven, and of those on earth, and of those under the earth, 11 and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

MARK 4:24-34

24 Then He said to them, "Take heed what you hear. With the same measure you use, it will be measured to you; and to you who hear, more will be given. 25 For whoever has, to him more will be given; but whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken away from him. 26 And He said, "The kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed on the ground, 27 and should sleep by night and rise by day, and the seed should sprout and grow, he himself does not know how. 28 For the earth yields crops by itself: first the blade, then the head, after that the full grain in the head. 29 But when the grain ripens, immediately he puts in the sickle because the harvest has come. 30 Then He said, "To what shall we liken the kingdom of God? Or with what parable shall we picture it? 31 It is like a mustard seed which, when it is sown on the ground, is smaller than all the seeds on earth; 32 but when it is sown, it grows up and becomes greater than all herbs, and shoots out large branches, so that the birds of the air may nest under its shade. 33 And with many such parables He spoke the word to them as they were able to hear it. 34 But without a parable He did not speak to them. And when they were alone, He explained all things to His disciples.

[alyssarabil]

Black Water...the poem that inspired God Forbid

Black Water

I am the insane or so say they but they know what anything not to my knowledge I would that I know the what from the would the would from the could the could from the should the should from the can’t from the anything from the impossible

black water black water black water drowning drowning breathe breathe breathe

should thoughts for the insane merely that and only they are not mine yes, yes yes remember certainly do I why why why myself did enter and was thought insane in semblance I sin to eat forbidden fruit but the unsung psalm I know she cried  was forever unsung after slaking lust raking over and drying out the tomb of the unknown virgin where the true madonna died 

black water black water black water drowning drowning breathe breathe breathe

rest your head and let dreams be gone proposed the wise jesters crazy in their own innocent ways we jest so that we are proclaimed who they jesters wisest of the fools who boldly proudly madly claim the proverbial crest and truly sadly blindly cry o’ hallowed crown confessing sands of time skirting the holy water’s depth clinging ever drinking  and lying ever cheating to live breathe die by the marrow of basilisk bone

black water black water black water drowning drowning breathe breathe breathe

kings by faith are never questioned in existence granted is taken by those who must believe faith in our speaking brings on a conclusion and ah but, and of course by millions by millions and one the head beneath the kings crown is that of god who else but the one and holy this jest they by bring you and bring you by and by down and down forever cursing naming killing framing that blacky snaky as the plague that burned the hunger that killed the voice that haunts that flaming saint the patron saint of flame

black water black water black water drowning drowning breathe breathe breathe

puzzled puzzled and much bewilderment what to be when if they be wrong done then is what by jesting fools no self-righteous paradise to end our vain search nowhere to run run hide when death does knock fear indeed indeed but behold a thought and catch a breath what to be if holy one can be found in the divine eyes of the many observing silence in the hearts of the few now jesters all topped with crown of one

black water black water black water drowning drowning breathe breathe breathe

but oh, fear cries a convenient damn damn damn indeed, but lie and excuse if be but one crown of king jester’s all brows cannot contain black water black water black water tripping sinking fall fall fall

You can beat me while I’m down, I won’t be there long. You can scold me as I drown, that doesn’t make me wrong. I could show you where to step, if you’d listen to the beat, instead of chugging sacraments, and staring at your feet. The sins are in the ailment of your god-contended mind. Call me once a heretic, I’ve got a darker side

black water black water black water drowning drowning breathe breathe bleed

jesting fools their eyes avert there could be a king called us but existential in the mindset wants responsibility to claim fools of the jesters would suffer alone and die in and out of misery they did not do not never will but preached we preached and together we went down but alone somewhere we left behind and so alone screamed and were lost and no one heard the ship went down but their band played on to a cold goodnight the lipless boy and the one eyed girl and together they died in a one eyed world sister by brother and side by side and together they died

black water black water black water drowning drowning breathe breathe breathe

listen the us should to me or rather the us that is meant to be sanctuary sanctuary explanation was cracked spilling only black water black water if all but black water what else to do but drown drown but breathe breathe believe have faith o’ signs of fish pledge me crazy allegiance align to my undying heart mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the us therefore, I must breathe and continue  for to stop to die to lie and drown in all of hallowed’s black water

force I cannot beliefs by me down foolish throats let freedom ring for then the us could not talk but also, could not no and have only black water black water too and also yes would no for and because choking on beliefs mine oh, sad so sad and damn damn damn now sit must I in white room solitude and reason my guts to silent white walls white walls

black water black water black water drowning drowning breathe breathe breathe

damnation be damned for hallowed black water ringing on bells the man cries vehement sanctuary sanctuary black water black water bringing over and beyond the ending edge that does not exist nor ever can never will theys half hoping fell off their minds and out of their heads fearing fear alone and leaving fear alone to rule

black water black water black water drowning drowning breathe breathe breathe

[lothlorienlover]

Recently saw the movie Heretic. Here’s some of my grumpy thoughts:

One of the three main characters, Mr. Reed (played by Hugh Grant), serves as the film’s mouthpiece for rehashed atheist arguments, trying to convince the two Mormon characters—and by extension, the audience—that all religions are essentially the same, rooted in borrowed myths, and ultimately designed for control. But Reed’s arguments are not only tired—they’re outright false and based on debunked claims that have been circulating since the 19th century.

For instance:

Horus: Mr. Reed confidently tells the Mormon characters that Christianity borrowed the virgin birth story from Horus. But here’s the problem: Horus wasn’t born of a virgin. Egyptian mythology says Isis conceived Horus after reassembling Osiris’ dismembered body and using magic to briefly revive him. Virgin birth? Not even close. This idea was popularized by Gerald Massey, a self-taught Egyptologist in the 19th century whose work, The Natural Genesis (1883), is widely dismissed by credible scholars as baseless speculation.

Mithras: Reed also trots out the claim that Mithras, like Jesus, was born of a virgin on December 25th. Wrong again. Mithras was mythologically born fully grown from a rock—no virgin involved. The December 25th connection is also fabricated; it stems from Roman festivals like Saturnalia and Sol Invictus, which have no actual ties to Mithraic traditions. Franz Cumont, an early 20th-century scholar, first suggested that Mithraism influenced Christianity, but his conclusions have been thoroughly rejected by modern scholars for lack of evidence.

Resurrection Myths: Reed tries to connect Jesus’ resurrection to pagan gods like Osiris, implying Christianity just recycled old “dying-and-rising god” myths. But Osiris didn’t truly rise—he became the god of the underworld. These myths, like those of Adonis or Tammuz, symbolize agricultural cycles, not historical events. The resurrection of Jesus, on the other hand, is a unique claim rooted in history, with eyewitness testimony recorded in the New Testament (1 Corinthians 15:3-8). The “dying-and-rising god” theory was popularized by James Frazer in The Golden Bough (1890), but his work has been widely criticized for cherry-picking myths and ignoring context.

Religion as Control: The film’s core argument, delivered through Reed, is that all religions—including Christianity—are tools to control people, borrowing myths to manipulate followers. But Christianity isn’t rooted in paganism; it’s grounded in Jewish tradition and fulfilled in the historical life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Unlike myths, Christianity proclaims a God who stepped into history to bring redemption, not domination. Far from being a tool of control, early Christianity thrived despite persecution and martyrdom, hardly the mark of a system built for power.

What’s most ironic is that Mr. Reed does the very thing he accuses Christianity of doing. He borrows from thoroughly debunked 19th and 20th-century atheist arguments, like those of Gerald Massey, James Frazer, and Kersey Graves (The World’s Sixteen Crucified Saviors), to craft a worldview designed to manipulate gullible, ill-informed people.

Heretic tries to be edgy and intellectual but ends up recycling long-debunked atheist talking points. The film doesn’t engage with serious scholarship or offer any new insights—it’s just an attack on faith disguised as thoughtful dialogue. If you’re looking for a deep exploration of religion, this isn’t it. If you’re looking for discredited internet arguments dressed up for a screenplay, you’ve found your movie.

[unfamiliarreligions]

Gnosticism

History

Gnosticism is an ancient religious movement that started around the 1st and 2nd centuries CE. It’s not really one religion but more like a mix of different beliefs that focus on gaining special, hidden knowledge (called "gnosis") to understand the divine and the universe. Gnostics believed the physical world was created by a lesser, flawed god, sometimes called the "Demiurge," and that the true, higher God exists beyond the material world. They thought the soul was trapped in the body and that spiritual knowledge could help people return to the divine realm.

Gnostic ideas were influenced by different cultures, like Greek philosophy, Jewish traditions, and early Christianity. They often challenged mainstream Christian teachings, which led the Church to label them as heretics. Some famous Gnostic texts, like the Gospel of Thomas and the Gospel of Mary, were found in the Nag Hammadi Library in 1945. Even though Gnosticism faded as a major movement, its ideas still inspire modern spirituality and philosophy.

Rituals

There is really not much information on Gnostic rituals nor their organizational structure, or practices. Almost all of the Gnostic texts were destroyed over the years to suppress the movement. Although some of their writings do exist, there is little information about how the groups actually functioned; however, some historians do have some of their own ideas.

Many were solidarity practitioners while others were members of mainline Christian congregations forming a clique within each church. There was no agreement on a "canon of Gnostic scripture," so many books were circulated in different versions. Various schools had their own preferred rendition.

Many of their texts were written by (or attributed to) women. Mary Magdalene played an important role in writings, often second only to Jesus in status. Male and female images were used for the Supreme God. It is speculated that women were held in equal status with men in the communities.

If a member had died, or was in the stages of dying, a substance was poured over their head and other members recited ritual phrases which were to help the individual's soul ascend through the dangerous heavens of the Archons towards God. Some rituals were conducted during baptism of a new member in which it was said, "In the name of the Father unknown to all, in the Truth, Mother of All, in the One who came down upon Jesus, in the union, redemption and communion of powers."

In 1913, someone wrote about a Gnostic Mass, which, in many ways, resembles the structure of the Roman Catholic Church, however, it ends there. The ritual is a celebration of the principles of Thelema, which means a deeper understanding of one's true self and one's true will.

The ceremony calls for five officers: a priest, a priestess, a deacon, and two acolytes called "children." The end of the ritual culminates in the consummation of the Eucharist, which is a glass of wine and the host called a Cake of Light, after which the congregate proclaims, "There is no part of me that is not of the gods.”

Beliefs

The Gnostics took an intellectual and esoteric view of Christianity that downplayed the paternal and sexist aspects of Christian doctrine and took the emphasis away from guilt and sin. They saw physical experience as an illusion and believed the world and our bodies were created by an incompetent lesser god, and each individual contains a spark of divinity that Jesus’s teachings can help to develop and exploit.

James F. McGrath wrote: Gnostic religions view the material world as the product of a mistake in the heavenly realm, the creation of one or more inferior divine beings rather than the supreme God. Gnosticism also emphasizes that human beings can become aware of this and prepare their souls to escape from under the influence of the malevolent spiritual forces that created and rule this realm, so that when they die they can ascend to the good realm that lies beyond them.

Core gnostic beliefs

Dualism matter is evil, spirit is good.

Knowledge vs. Faith higher knowledge (revelation) is the channel of salvation.

Way of salvation thru secret tradition, mysteries, asceticism (anti flesh).

Emanation theory to explain the existence of the world.

Redemption liberate soul from matter to participate in Light, i.e. Divine Being. Concentrate on Christ's teaching.

Docetic reject Incarnation.

Classification of people spiritual, physical, and carnal.

Use of allegory tend to reject the Old Testament as an account of the Demiurge. 

Current Status

There is a single Gnostic religion still surviving from antiquity, which is practiced by the Mandaeans who have traditionally lived in Iran and Iraq. There are around 100,000 members of this community; most of the Iraqi Mandaeans have left their country, while most of the Iranians have remained in theirs. There are also a number of small modern groups that have adopted Gnostic principles, such as the Theosophical Society founded by Madame Blavatsky; and the Gnostic Society and Ecclesia Gnostica in California. The Theosophical Society was estimated in 1980 to have around 35,000 members.

References:

Gnosticism | Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. (n.d.). https://iep.utm.edu/gnostic/

How many Gnostics are in the world? | Homework.Study.com. (2024). Homework.study.com. https://homework.study.com/explanation/how-many-gnostics-are-in-the-world.html#/:~:text=There%20is%20a%20single%20Gnostic

Hays, J. (n.d.). GNOSTIC BELIEFS AND TEXTS | Facts and details. https://factsanddetails.com/world/cat55/sub352/entry-5785.html#:~:text=The%20Gnostics%20viewed%20the%20world,within%20oneself%20with%20secret%20knowledge.

Diane. (2005, July 15). Gnostic rituals. AllAboutReligion.org. https://www.allaboutreligion.org/gnostic-rituals-faq.html