#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...

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Jerry A. Coyne

Published: Mar 30, 2025

As an evolutionary biologist, I joined the Freedom From Religion Foundation because I supported its work guarding the wall of separation between religion and government, educating the public about how to be moral without faith, and, most important, upholding science and rationality over dogma and superstition. I served on an FFRF advisory board, and the foundation gave me its annual “The Emperor Has No Clothes” award in 2011.

I resigned because the foundation has abandoned science. Two other board members, Steven Pinker and Richard Dawkins, joined me.

The trouble began in November, when the organization published an essay on its website denying the basic biological fact that all animals, including humans, have only two sexes. The FFRF piece, titled “What is a woman?,” concluded by begging the question: “A woman is whoever she says she is.”

I wrote a rebuttal, “Biology is not bigotry,” which FFRF published in late December. But the woke care more about “progressive” ideology than scientific facts, and within a day the FFRF took down my article and issued a statement asserting the publication of my piece was an “error of judgment,” that it “does not reflect our values or principles,” that it had caused “distress,” and that the FFRF stands “firmly with the LGBTQIA-plus community.” Then, after Mr. Dawkins, Mr. Pinker and I left the advisory board, FFRF dissolved the entire board.

In many ways, transgender ideology is no different from the religious dogma the FFRF was founded to oppose. It insists on doctrines that are palpably untrue (“trans women are women”), engages in circular reasoning (“a woman is whoever she says she is”) and affirms mind/body dualism (“your self-concept is more real than your actual sex”).

It also makes anathema of heresy and blasphemy (tarring of dissenters as “transphobes”), attempts to silence critics who raise valid counter arguments, seeks to proselytize children in schools and excommunicates critics (J.K. Rowling is the best-known example). Like religious fundamentalists, proponents of these views have a fierce conviction that they’re morally correct and know what’s best for you and society. To disagree is to be immoral—sinful, you might say.

The FFRF’s road to quasireligious views was a long one, paved by secular philosophers and the movements they spawned. It includes the Gnostic view that one’s true identity goes well beyond the physical body. As a Catholic website comparing Gnosticism with transgenderism notes, “The underlying concept is the same, that who we ‘really’ are is not our bodies, but rather some sort of interior ‘ego,’ or ‘I’ that constitutes our true self. It is incumbent that the body must conform to that true self.”

Some forms of feminism have made a contribution, with constructivists like Judith Butler arguing that sex is a social construct, not “a bodily given on which the construct of gender is artificially imposed, but . . . a cultural norm which governs the materialization of bodies.” This is a denial of evolution.

Existentialism has contributed the idea of self-definition, and postmodernism the notion that there is no objective truth, only struggles over power. Critical theory puts forth the view of a hierarchy of victimhood, in which “trans” people hold a position near the top.

This is why I titled my critique of these views “Biology is not bigotry.” The definition, development and recognition of biological sex is a scientific issue, while the rights of gender variants is an ethical one. There is nothing in biology that supports stigmatizing gender nonconformists, so it’s wrong to force people to choose between trans rights and scientific reality.

The FFRF has not only abandoned science but suppressed discussion and argument about its decision. Given the organization’s embrace of quasireligious and unscientific dogma, I’m proud to proclaim myself a heretic.

[vettir]

Today in fun shit.

Just saw a self proclaimed Catholic talking about how the Pope got anything wrong.

I spent a good few minutes calling him and everyone who agreed with him a heretic.

I mean, that's the rules of the Catholic church. I'm only just pointing out they're heretics (which is also why he got kicked out of a lay position).

[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!

[palacholic]

the embers project, part 1

premise: it has crossed my mind multiple times to write down a collection of memories, a series of tales from my life, moments and people and fragments of things merging and flowing into each other, without a real sense of continuity, bits and pieces floating in space, barely grasped from the greedy claws of oblivion and held just long enough to be captured in words. i figured this blog is as good a place as any else to share something of the above, if you like it, or even if you don't, please let me know. leave a comment, reblog, add your own stories.

inspired by of herbs and altars' the nostalgia project

first encounters

[redacted] is a small town of about 5000 souls. small, grey and forgettable. cold and windy in the winter, humid and plagued with mosquitoes in the summer. having crossed the street just below the main square, down the stairs i jumped, like so many times before. panic! at the disco was playing in my wire earphones, their debut album a fever you can't sweat out. "and i believe this may call for a proper introduction, and well don't you see i'm the narrator, and this is just the prologue?" on my way home from the library, to where i had just returned the last eragon novel, my fifteen-year-old self, henna red hair and not a clue what would happen just a couple weeks from that moment. it was february 2020, the world was standing at the threshold of lockdown. right now, i just wanted to make it home and escape the cold, awful, depressing weather. across the train tracks i went and minutes later i was back in my room. panic§ at the disco was still playing on my old smartphone, and suddenly my thoughts changed direction, wandered far away and found something in those mysterious corners of my mind; the almost faded memory of a name heard on the news not long ago brought back to life by the music i was listening to, my curiosity awakened, soon i found myself dialling the nine letters into the search bar. praying to the gods of cyberspace that i either remembered that foreign name correctly or at least spelled it somewhat intelligibly, hitting enter.

one of the top results was an old, not so professionally looking wikipedia page, nevertheless i clicked that one first. after a short biography and some rather incoherent commentary it led me on to more specific sites, news records, media and blog posts. i spent the rest of that afternoon in awe, putting together piece by wonderful piece the story of a life only a few years longer than mine at that point, in a country i knew almost nothing of, decades ago. and yet it felt strangely familiar, like i just met again a friend i hadn't seen in a long time. that would be the first afternoon of many that i was about to spend like this, exploring, reading, learning more. and that afternoon, for the first time in a long while, i didn't feel as alone anymore.

many times, in the years that followed, i've tried to capture the essence of what drew me in that day and never let go of me, what kept me coming back again and again, over the span of years to come. did i see myself in him? in a way. was it, on the contrary, about the differences between us? certainly. just pure chance, a constellation of events and decisions not mine, leading up to each other? without a doubt. my everlasting affinity for the dramatic, the romantic, the macabre and for tragic stories, a pattern evident in the type of people i used to admire more or less intensely and constantly over the course of my life? maybe more than anything else it was this last factor. there was joan of arc, who made me fall in love with history and at the age of 14 proclaim that i would become a historian, there were the authors i used to love in my teenage years, mary shelley, lord byron, novalis, all the romantics, edgar allan poe, whose tales were my lone company during those tedious highschool days, when i felt like i'd never belong. there were witches and heretics persecuted by the inquisition, troubled painters and poets and philosophers, and there were eerie similarities between them, for once, most died young and in unusual ways, and over time those who fought and died for something stayed why the others faded to the background and their works started to collect dust on the lower shelves of my library. i built my own pantheon of tragic heroes, to whom i looked for guidance, whose strength and courage helped me whenever something bad happened. the dead became my favourite company, keeping me afloat. i found friends who shared my passions, although i am positive never to the same extent. i was the weird kid who wrote self insert fiction about me meeting my heroes, who wished time machines were real so i could escape a place where i never really felt home.

but this time, it was different. i just didn't know that yet as i sat in my room, reading article after article, hungrily swallowing word after word like life-saving medicine. this time, it wouldn't fade. it would only get stronger over time, changing and evolving as i got older, as things around me happened, as covid brought the world to a stillstand. lockdown meant lots of time to hone this new interest of mine. it's not really true that one moment came and changed everything. it took months for me to realise how involved i had gotten. how jan palach's story touched my very soul in a way nothing and no one had ever done before. how i couldn't stop thinking about what must have led him to do what he did. how it was like for him, those final days, before and after the act, i was unable to wrap my mind around it. but more than anything I wanted to know what kind of person he had been. those details i loved the most, the recollections and tales of people who had known him, the snippets from his life, sometimes documented by photographs i came across, sometimes just a couple words from a classmate, a friend, a neighbour. i tried to understand him, who he was, what he valued, how his mind worked, i tried my best to understand the why, the when, the how he came to that fateful decision.

did i ever truly know? who am i to say i understand the reasoning of someone who lived and died almost half a century before i was born, whom i'll never meet - at least not in this world - and who can't answer my burning questions? that's the tragedy of it all. i wanted to know him, to know everything about him, to capture the very essence of his person. it was a bizarre balance between company and loneliness that i felt in those months, as summer crept by like a sluggish creature, lockdown had ended but nothing was like before, not yet. i'd found not only someone to look up to, but also a confident, someone whom i felt would have understood me and known better than me the reasons why i felt so out of place. wishful thinking of a teenager on the brink of mental illness, struggling since early childhood with a variety of odd symptoms that would, not long from now, come together into a perfect storm. the typical "no one understands me!" mixed with a huge helping of escapism, somewhat of a disappointment at a world that showed itself hostile and cold, a desire for company and maybe a sprinkle of naivety...

and the perfect storm built up and then started to rage, swaying me like a puppet, shaking the very foundations of who i thought i was. leaving my soul bare and vulnerable. it came out of nowhere and while, in the past, i used to blame this or that, trying to explain it all away, i'm just upset because x happened, i'm angry because y said z, i'm sad because a did b, it was never that easy. some things played a role, greater or lesser, some unfortunate events happened, it was a time of great insecurities for the world and society as a whole, as the summer of 2020 slowly began fading into fall. i remembered that summer, languid hot days, eternally stretching out under the scorching sun, nothing to do, no one to talk to. endless nights spent reading about him, until i'd fall asleep and dream of a place far away from where i was, a place where everything would be fine. he wasn't there though, almost never.

fall brought with it another set of changes, gnawing at the already fragile foundations of my routine. i had switched classes, being introduced to a whole new bunch of people, teachers, even a couple new subjects, everything at once and on top of all the stuff that had already been going on. i managed to make myself known as the weird one on multiple occasions just in the first few weeks. soon, i started to feel out of place once again. my hopes faded like the last rays of sun as fall turned to winter and my days became darker just like the sky outside. more and more time i spent alone in my room, usually reading about him, trying to hold on to the only thing that brought me joy - or at least relief from the never ending pain. you see, i had never felt at home where i was, not among my classmates, not even really among the kids i called my friends, not in my town and not even really in my whole damn country. i was always the odd one out, the strange one, obsessed with things to a degree others couldn´t comprehend, unable to do certain things due to my body straight up refusing to cope with them. i had no knowledge about neurodivergence at that point, the word autism in my mind evoking only images of non-verbal children with "special needs". i never thought i could be autistic too.

so there i was, trying and failing to cope with all the bullshit my young life just kept spewing at me, holding on for dear life to my only companion, spending endless nights browsing the web, looking for anything that could make me feel closer to him. it was a dangerous mixture, all that pain and self-hatred and the feeling of being forever excluded coupled with the desire to escape from this world that seemed to hate me, to punish me for a crime i didn´t even know i committed. for the crime of just existing and being different than the kids around me? i felt so very helpless and alone, and more and more i started to feel defeated and like it just wasn´t worth it.

this is the end of chapter one, please let me know if you want a follow-up. i might edit it a little here and there, so if there are any typos please be patient. i decided to write in english since it´s way easier for me than czech, but i will still be posting under the čumblr tag to reach a wider audience. please don´t be mad at me for that. i very much enjoy writing these stories and it helps me come to terms with certain things from my past and how they eveolved into my present. if anything in this story upset you, i am deeply sorry, it´s okay if you need to stay away from this kind of post for your own safety. in the following chapters we will be dealing with more heavy topics, so please take care.

[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 🩷🩹

[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.

[ransomedbydeath]

(Anti) Deconstruction

Many people across the globe are leaving their churches, questioning their faith, and leaving Christianity altogether. But when I look at the types of "churches" most of them were attending, I can't blame them for leaving.

The types of places most people are fleeing from tend to be non-doctrinal, loosey-goosey, woke "churches" who follow their own version of the Bible and even, for some, worship a made-up god (see the absolute abomination that is the heretical, idolatrous sparkle creed. It kinda makes me want to die). When places are regularly pumping out shallow, unbiblical messages that are on the same level of profundity as an Instagram page of allegedly inspirational quotes, of course people want to leave. These places are not preaching the Gospel as Christians are instructed to do. They're producing trite, narcissistic self-help talks which basically tell people that they can be their own saviour, that all they need is love (and more money), and that if everyone just accepts everyone else's subjective ideas of reality, that the world will be vibing like some sort of 1970s hippie crowd high on drugs. The basic creed of these places is that someone can be their own god, or that their god can be whatever they want it to be. 

But when things get rough and they turn to their god, what happens? Nothing, that's what. Maybe their god is in the bathroom and can't come help right now. Maybe it's asleep. Or maybe, just maybe—it's because their god does not exist. 

These types of places are leading people into their own destruction—and deconstruction. When they see their leaders turning up left and right being accused of sexual, spiritual, and psychological abuses; when they see them proclaiming riches upon themselves, driving expensive cars and living in unnecessarily large houses, all the while not lifting a finger to tend to those around them who are in need; when they're emotionally manipulated and guilt-tripped into giving money in the offering in order to fund something the church doesn't even need—(I once saw a non-denominational church that had produced an entire marketing campaign to manipulate their congregation into commiting to giving a certain amount of money for an entire year. Disgusting and unbiblical (2 Cor. 9:7).)—when they go to church hurting, seeking God and wanting His comfort, but instead all they hear is a narcissistic message reminiscent of a Ted Talk, and then are pressured into giving money; when all they wanted was forgiveness and healing, and they don't find it in a place that masquerades as a church, it's no surprise at all that they would leave.

There is a particular breed of the (largely white) American Evangelicals who are especially disturbing and widespread. I've seen them claim to be Christians while also meting out hatred towards those of different ethnicities, and overall portraying themselves as racists, nationalists, bigots, full of greed, spewing hatred toward their perceived "enemies". They are hypocritical in every sense, and these are the ones who are a hideous blemish upon Christianity. They need to repent and get themselves in order, or else be excised like the cancerous tumour that they have become. If people of this ilk were all I had as an example of what it is to be a Christian, I, too, would turn away in revulsion. 

We are to love not only our neighbours, but our enemies as well:

You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Matthew 5:43–48)

There is no excuse for a true Christian to be hateful toward their enemies. There is no excuse for a true Christian to hold onto an immoral love of money. Indeed, we have explicit instructions from the Apostle Paul to avoid such people and to purge them from among ourselves:

I wrote to you in my letter not to associate with sexually immoral people— not at all meaning the sexually immoral of this world, or the greedy and swindlers, or idolaters, since then you would need to go out of the world. But now I am writing to you not to associate with anyone who bears the name of brother if he is guilty of sexual immorality or greed, or is an idolater, reviler, drunkard, or swindler—not even to eat with such a one. For what have I to do with judging outsiders? Is it not those inside the church whom you are to judge? God judges those outside. “Purge the evil person from among you.” (1 Corinthians 5:9–13)

When folks see purported Christians walking around in unrepentant sin, I cannot blame them for wanting to distance themselves. Living in unrepentant sin is tantamount to denying that one is a sinner in the first place. But here's the truth: Every human being who walks the earth is an undeniable sinner, born into sin from the fall of man: 

The Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. (Genesis 6:5). Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me. (Psalm 51:5) The wicked are estranged from the womb; they go astray from birth, speaking lies. (Psalm 58:3) And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience— among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. (Ephesians 2:1–3) If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say we have not sinned, we make Him a liar, and His word is not in us. (1 John 1:8–10)

The writers of the Smalcald Articles correctly wrote in Part 3, Article 1, that:

1 Here we must confess, as Paul says in Rom. 5:12, that sin originated [and entered the world] from one man Adam, by whose disobedience all men were made sinners, [and] subject to death and the devil. This is called original or capital sin. 2 The fruits of this sin are afterwards the evil deeds which are forbidden in the Ten Commandments, such as [distrust] unbelief, false faith, idolatry, to be without the fear of God, presumption [recklessness], despair, blindness [or complete loss of sight], and, in short not to know or regard God; furthermore to lie, to swear by [to abuse] God’s name [to swear falsely], not to pray, not to call upon God, not to regard [to despise or neglect] God’s Word, to be disobedient to parents, to murder, to be unchaste, to steal, to deceive, etc. 3 This hereditary sin is so deep [and horrible] a corruption of nature that no reason can understand it, but it must be [learned and] believed from the revelation of Scriptures, Ps. 51:5; Rom. 6:12 ; Ex. 33:3; Gen. 3:7 (source)

We cannot continue in sin if we have been truly brought into the Body of Christ. Paul gives us a lesson on this topic in Romans 6:1–18:

What shall we say then? Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound? By no means! How can we who died to sin still live in it? Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death? We were buried therefore with Him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with Him in a death like His, we shall certainly be united with Him in a resurrection like His. We know that our old self was crucified with Him in order that the body of sin might be brought to nothing, so that we would no longer be enslaved to sin. For one who has died has been set free from sin. Now if we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him. We know that Christ, being raised from the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him. For the death He died He died to sin, once for all, but the life He lives He lives to God. So you also must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus. Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body, to make you obey its passions. Do not present your members to sin as instruments for unrighteousness, but present yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life, and your members to God as instruments for righteousness. For sin will have no dominion over you, since you are not under law but under grace. What then? Are we to sin because we are not under law but under grace? By no means! Do you not know that if you present yourselves to anyone as obedient slaves, you are slaves of the one whom you obey, either of sin, which leads to death, or of obedience, which leads to righteousness? But thanks be to God, that you who were once slaves of sin have become obedient from the heart to the standard of teaching to which you were committed, and, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness. 

We must all repent of our sinfulness, and trust that Jesus will forgive us (Ephesians 1:7, Ephesians 4:32, Matthew 6:14–15). Jesus sacrificed Himself in our places, to pay the debt for our sins. He suffered the death that we all deserve. And yet through all of the pain, torture, and death, He does not hate us. He loves us so much that He gave His own life, so that we can freely receive the gift of salvation that He longs to give us. We are the lost sheep for whom there is joy in heaven when we repent (Luke 15:1–7). Jesus loves us and wants so much to gather us to him. We do not deserve what He has done for us or the gift He wants to give us, which is eternal life with Him in the new heaven and new earth (Revelation 21). 

Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, who took our place as a propitiation for us, has canceled the debt of our sins (Colossians 2:13–15). Through Him, and only Him, can we receive the amazing gift of salvation, the forgiveness of sins, and the promise of eternal life in the world to come. And the best part? It's all free. 

We don't have to pay for these marvelous gifts which none of us even deserve. He gives them to us, paid for with His blood and death on the cross. When we are brought to Him through the hearing of the Word and the Holy Spirit, we will be convicted of our sins through the Law, and it's terrifying. Seeing oneself as the wretch one is, realizing how much one has offended God, and knowing that there is absolutely nothing one can do to fix it—it's heartbreaking.

It is then, when we are truly broken from the grief of our sinful nature, that the Gospel comes to us. We discover that we do not have to fix it, nor are we expected to, because we can't. But there is One who has already done it for us: Jesus Christ, who loves us so much that He went willingly to the cross, paid the price for us, and it is through Him that we are brought back into good graces with God. There is no other way. 

Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me. If you had known Me, you would have known My Father also.  From now on you do know Him and have seen Him.” (John 14:6–7)

The reason why we should stay (or become) Christians is this: God Himself came down to us, born into flesh. Jesus, our only Saviour, paid the price to buy us (1 Corinthians 6:19–20), to save us from the wrath of God, to save us from being cast into the lake of fire (Revelation 20:14), suffering eternal torment. We can do nothing to contribute to our salvation, because it is already complete, provided to us freely by Jesus.

Being united with Jesus brings great comfort and spiritual peace. Knowing everything He has done for us, the great love He has shown for us, and that He is going to come back to collect us:

  “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to Myself, that where I am you may be also.  And you know the way to where I am going.” (John 14:1–4)

With the help of the Holy Spirit, we will endure the troubles of this world, which are many. If we endure, we will reign with Him (2 Timothy 2:12), and be brought into eternal life with God, where all of our pain, hurt, sadness, anxiety, etc. will be nevermore.

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:3–4)

We can take comfort in Jesus our Saviour, knowing that He is always with us, even to the end of the age (Matthew 28:20).

And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. (Colossians 3:15–17)

To those seeking healing, comfort, and peace; know that Jesus died for you so you might be brought to Him. He loves you always, and will forgive you of any and all sins, even the ones you think are so terrible that no one could forgive them. Trust that Jesus will forgive you, repent, and receive all the gifts He wishes to freely give you.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.  If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort. (2 Corinthians 1:3–7)