#more heresy more god killing

[rowanisawriter]

wip whenever

thanks for the tag, @cr-noble-writes and i’m glad to see the durgetash infection is spreading lol 😭

i’m writing gale/mira with some mystra weirdness again:

.

In his dreams, Mystra touches him and it feels like a cool rain shower, falling over his body gently, unhurriedly. She has always moved with excruciating slowness, the slowness of an immortal, unhurried, unbothered. He could feel then the tightness of anxiety in his chest and feels it now in a dream of a memory, a knot by his heart, awareness that there is no time, not nearly enough. At least, not for him.

The inequality of their longevity hadn’t bothered him at first, but now even in dreams he finds it unbearable, that he is but a drop in the vast ocean of Mystra’s long memory, that one day he will be gone and she will all but have forgotten him. But I choose this, he reminds himself, startling awake. I choose to be forgotten by you.

.

tagging… @mightymizora @smoreofbabylon @orlesianapologist and @loveofdetail (if you want to share any of your mystra divorce fic!!)

[kaurwreck]

for the ask game: LILAC CHARCOAL AND RASPBERRY

anon this is so sweet 😭

[ask game provided below for reference; if you'd like to play, please reblog from OP here:]

[crowcryptid]

damn they got a glassing beam in this

[burr-ell]

Something I just noticed and really enjoy about Campaign 1 is how often their story involves becoming incredibly powerful and accomplishing so much and yet still not being able to do what's truly important to them. It's not only the gutpunch of the final episode, it's a thematic underpinning throughout the campaign.

Way back in their prestream adventures, the party was strong enough to defeat the Dread Emperor and save all the kidnapped children from Tal'Dorei—except one, a child Keyleth killed by accident, an act which haunts her through at least much of the early campaign. The party defeats the Briarwoods and reclaims Whitestone, but Ripley still escapes and 19 still misses, and the Chroma Conclave raze half the continent. Percy has great intellect and access to a powerful magical amplifier and forced out a demon through sheer force of will, but his carelessness still killed Vex and he only rolls a 6 to try to save her. The party has slain a dragon and is armed with four Vestiges of Divergence, but they couldn't save Tiberius and can't even give him the proper burial they want to. They brutally slaughter Ripley, but not before she gets the revenge she wants; she kills Percy, sending him to Orthax, and spreads guns throughout Exandria. The Conclave is slain, the whole party made it out alive, but Scanlan is forever scarred by the experience and leaves, tearing the party down as he goes. Even Vilya, prior to the campaign's beginning, was at the very end of her Aramente, likely a level 16-17 druid like Keyleth was, and still failed the trial of the Water Plane and was gone for almost 40 years.

And of course, Vox Machina became some of the most powerful people in the world, slayers of a god, legends to be immortalized for centuries...and none of their power could save their brother.

Percy points out to Bell's Hells, thirty years later, that fate isn't always kind and not everyone gets a second chance, and to me that's underscored by what we don't see. Elaina is still dead. Juniper is still dead. Percy's parents and five siblings are all still dead.

I mean, if any or all of their bodies are intact, it wouldn't even require True Resurrection to bring them back—not that Keyleth or Percy are averse to a little heresy, but hey, conserve your resources. If there are bodies, all they'd need is 7th-level Resurrection; none of those people have been dead for over a century, and if they need to find the bodies, well, Vex has Locate Object and Pike gets a Divine Intervention freebie once a week, right? Even if they did need True Resurrection, it's a heftier cost but probably not something too difficult to pay over time for one of the wealthiest families in the world.

But none of them have ever done that, nor do we get an indication that they've pursued it. Vox Machina is, probably more than any other CR party, defined by grief—how individual PCs respond to their own profound losses; how they succeed and fail to shoulder each others' burdens; and at the end of their story, how they deal with one of the most painful losses imaginable, and how they move forward and find peace in spite of it. Campaign 1 is just as much about how to deal with what you couldn't do as it is about what you now can do.

[wordsbymae]

Saviour Complex- goddess!Reader x Warrior

Plot: Reader is a young goddess, still yet to come into her full power. The patron goddess of innocence and compassion, she resides deep within the forest, caring for any lost souls who come her way. Destruction finds its way to her lands, as the Emperor's men flood the forest, tasked with cutting down anyone who refuses to denounce their heathen ways. One warrior finds the reader's temple, and tasks himself with 'saving' the reader from herself.

TW: Loosely based on posiden and medusa, which if you know is a trigger warning all on its on, SA, Implied non/con, talks of religion and religious genocide. Neither the warrior's or reader's religions (so to speak) are actual practised or once practiced religions. They are completely made up. Sexual talk. This fic is from the warrior's point of view so very much misogynistic, ignorant, and him being a dick. Also breeding is mentioned (a few times, opps) I see the warrior as Pedro Pascal as Pero Trovar

Notes: This was meant to be priestess reader but I liked this idea better. Enjoy!

He would hardly call the temple before him a temple. It was nothing more than some stones and arches pilled together, hidden under the canopy of a great oak. It was not as old as the other temples he and his comrades had pulled down. The other's, older and more grand than the one in front of him, were infested by savage heathens. They had been dozens of them milling around the great stone pillars. Some leaving tokens of good faith, other's seeming to be in constant service to their wild gods.

This land he found himself in was not under the watchful gaze of the Eye. Nor were they subjects of the Emperor. Instead they worshipped petty gods and goddesses, born from mortal parent's, given gifts of power from Mother Wild. The gifts given depended on their actions as growing gods. Raised as mortals until their 20th nameday, when Mother Wild gives them her final gift, immortality. At least, immortality to a point.

They age as mortals do, but the hands of time pass ever slowly by. As they watch their family and friends grow grey and old, only days have the wild gods aged. It is said that they can one day grow old, grey and tired, succumbing to death as all living things do. But none had ever yet to reach such an age. Gods were able to be killed but it took strength and numbers to do so, and the sword of Caleen, the first wild god ever born. Caleen's own blood had been mixed with the metal, creating a sword capable of penetrating through the gifts given to them. The sword, gifted to him by the Emperor, lay dormant in its sheath by the warrior's side. It was the only method known to truly kill a wild god.

Until then, the only way to defeat a god without the sword was to force them to act in a way that went against their patronage. Salios, once god of law and order, had his gifts ripped from him by Mother Wild, when he unjustly killed an innocent man. Without his gifts, age and sickness came for him thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of years before he should have perished as a god. Yet such an act had not occurred for hundreds of years, least of all forced by human hand. So these wild gods reigned over their forgotten wood, almighty in power and reverence.

It was heresy.

These 'almighty' beings were nothing but demons, given unholy power by the forces of darkness. Born human, yet corrupted by power. It was unnatural, it was all that went against the teachings of the Eye. Humans were sinful creatures, and the more power one had, the more corrupted they became.

The warrior grimaced as he walked up to the temple. A stupid move if he was being honest. He was here alone after being separated from his battalion. But he needed a place to shelter the coming storm, the air thick with the scent of rain. He would rather face a barbarian than freeze in the wilderness. The temple seemed to be empty, no worshippers leaving offers or priests caring after the god. It was quiet and lonesome. Yet strangely welcoming. He could feel warmth emerging from inside the temple, the scent of delicate florals dancing through the air.

He hesitated at the threshold of the temple, it was clean and well looked after. The walls were lined with soft candlelight, and murals of prancing deer and maidens dancing through the woods. A statue of a woman stood silent in the middle, bathed in dark sunlight by a round hole in the roof. The statue was covered in crowns of flowers. Some placed on her bowed head, others hooked onto her arms as they reach outwards, palms facing towards the sky. Gifts of pearls, lilies and feathers of pure white were placed delicately at the foot of the statue.

He did not care to learn these savage gods names. There were hundreds of them, some more powerful than others. Some given patronage over small, worthless things. He had laughed for hours when he discovered that there was a patron god of footprints. Whoever this temple was erected for, was loved yes, but not revered.

The warrior walks deeper into the temple, becoming enveloped in a sense of peace and compassion at the care given to this little goddess. He grunts in frustration, these stupid gods and their stupid 'gifts'. When he and his brothers in arms desecrated the patron god of fear's temple, the battle was nearly lost as they nearly fell to the wild gods powers. Fear racing through their ranks. Just being in the presence of a god was enough for their powers to linger in the air, effecting a mortal humans thoughts and feelings.

This little goddess must still be here.

Rain began to fall from the heavens, it came down with a fury. Yet, the rain that fell through the hole came down in fat, gentle drops upon the statue of the goddess. Water drippled down her stone face, the warrior had to admit this little goddess was quite the beauty. If her statue was anything to go by. He walks deeper into the sanctuary, closer towards the statue. He stops just in front of her image, breathing in deeper at what he can only imagine is her scent, sweet yet comforting, there was an earthiness to it too. He reaches out to caress the stone cheek of his little goddess. What a pretty thing she was.

He kneels to take in the sight of the gifts offered to her. There were the pearls, feathers and lilies he had seen before. But now he could see spools of white wool, wrapped in ribbon, and carvings of hearts, flowers and dozens of names circling the statue.

Lightly touching the most prominent of the carved names, he allowed himself a grin. He had found the wild goddess of innocence and compassion.

He had found you.

You were the youngest of the gods, only decades since you were gifted your immortality. Yet, you had quickly become beloved by your worshippers. The patron goddess of innocence and compassion, you resided deep within the forgotten woods, caring for the animals of the forest and any travellers who crossed your path. It is said that only those in needing of help or guidance, and children looking for a home could find you. The delicate smell of flowers leading the way to your temple. The names carved upon the stone at your feet were those you had cared for over the years. Travellers lost and afraid. Children without parents or care. Women hiding from vengeful men. And men scarred by life itself. All found their way to you, to your compassionate and pure hands.

You were the last of the major gods that the warrior and his men were yet to find. Your brothers and sisters before you had fallen. Some had run like cowards leaving their temples, and their followers, to burn into the night. Others, slaughtered by his hand. Time may only harm the wild gods so much, but Caleen's sword is a deadlier foe than time itself. It filled him with joy remembering plunging Caleen's own sword into the first wild god's heart. He was the first of the wild gods and as such he was the first to fall.

The warrior stood to his full height quickly as soft footsteps made their way through the temple. They came to a stop, the owner hidden by darkness still.

Outside the storm raged on.

"That you little goddess?" the warrior jested, hand coming to rest lazily on his sword's pummel. He stepped around the statue, giving a slight kick at a doll that was laid carefully at its feet.

The sound of hesitant shuffling could be heard. His little goddess was nervous.

"May I see your face, dear one? I have come a long, long way to find you. I wish not to leave this place without seeing your face, it would break this poor soldiers heart" he pouted in fake hurt, creeping towards you as a wolf moves closer to its prey.

"Who are you?" you ask, voice calm and strong. Yet, he could sense fear in your words.

"Just a poor soldier, a lost traveller if you will. Seeking the care and compassion of your grace" he answers, bowing slightly. He toys with his pummel, he had a feeling he would not need to draw it this day.

"Are you hurt?" you plead, taking a closer step towards him, your sense of empathy and compassion shinning through.

The warrior saw his chance, and he was going to take it.

"Not physically your grace, but I have not yet broken my fast or had a drop of water in days." he furrows his brow, grimacing and holding his stomach with his free hand.

"Oh! Your poor thing!" you exclaim, rushing forward to meet him. Once in the light, the warrior damned the creator of the sculpture for failing to capture your beauty. The statue was nothing in comparison to you. Your hair was thick and healthy, framing your face perfectly. Your skin soft and supple. Lips dewy and oh so kissable.

Your were the most beautiful woman he had seen in his entire life.

And here you were, all his for the taking. You were dressed as a goddess deemed fit, perfectly tailored and fetchingly so. But all he could think about was ripping it from you in a daze of lust. You rushed up to him and guided him deeper into your temple. He only realised that the temple was much larger than it seemed when he was outside. These wild gods and their tricks. You cooed to him the entire time. Stating there would be a warm bath and fresh fruit and clear spring water for him in his room. You hadn't even noticed his weapon, or if you had, you truly were the patron god of innocence.

He allowed you to fuss over him. Allowed you to lead him deeper into your temple, until you reached an open court yard, filled with plants of all colours and sizes, soft grass below his feet. At one end a statue of Mother Wild stood, vines and flowers blooming across her figure. In the centre of it was a beautiful flowering tree, more gifts had been left here to.

He stopped you from leading him further on, his eyes set on this tree. There was magic in its very fibre, unnatural power. He could feel it.

"Everything ok soldier?" you try, hand coming to rest on his back. He flinches at the contact, it was so soft and kind. No one had touched him with such care before.

"What is this tree?" he turns to you.

"Oh! Its a magnolia tree" you grin

"No, I know that, why is it here, and why.." he stops himself, he was going to ask you why he felt power radiating from it. "why are there gifts at its base."

You give him a soft smile, gently grabbing his hand you lead you to its base. You softly bring yourself and him to the ground. White flowers fell softly to the ground. You reached a hand out to touch the bark, closing your eyes, before reopening them to look at the warrior.

"Here, give me your hand"

Without thought he places his hand in yours.

What wicked spell have you put him under.

And why does he not care to know.

With your gentle touch on his, the warrior felt heat rise deep inside him. You placed his hand on the bark, yours overlapping his.

"Do you feel it?" you whisper, voice soft and kind.

Of course he could feel it. Pure innocence, unbridled compassion and love.

He hated it.

"This tree is an extension of myself. The day I was born, when my parent's realised who and what I was, they planted this tree. They understood that they and all those who I love would grow old, die and leave me alone. This was their way of giving me a companion. The day I received my gifts and my patronage was the day I laid my parents to rest under this tree's shadow."

He watches in silence as tears well up in your eyes.

"I hadn't even turned four and ten springs yet, when...when they attacked. They were raiders from the south. Brutes, really. My parent's told me to flee, but there were younger children, pregnant women and injured men who couldn't flee, or didn't know where to flee to. So while the warriors in my village tried the best they could to defend us. I went back and forth between this tree and the village, carrying, dragging and leading all those I could to the safety of the great oak that shadows my temple. When I went back the last time, there was nothing left. Our warriors were slain and my parents...."

You break off, tears trickling down. He feels the sudden urge to wipe them from your cheek. He lets himself have the honour of doing so, and your let yourself have the pleasure of him touching you.

"Anyway, there wasn't much else I could do, so I brought them here, buried them, and cared for the survivors the best I could. It was then I was given my gifts, for my compassion for my people and my innocence in the face of death, I was given my patronage. We rebuilt our village, and life was good. But the years after I was given my final gift, were... difficult to say the least. Watching my friends grow old, have families of their own. Then watching their children age and grow grey. I... it was difficult."

You give him a pointed stare, now turning your back onto the tree and rested upon it. He removes his hand from the bark, mirroring your actions.

"Can I tell you a secret?" you plea, eyes big and soft.

"Of course my little goddess, I will take it to my grave." he sternly replies, practically giving you his oath as a holy warrior of the Eye. You thought he was joking, jesting with you after such an emotional story. You gave him a giggle and playfully smacked his chest.

"No need for that, but thank you." you trail off, thoughts of long ago in mind. He nudges you softly, eager to learn your secret.

You look back up and him and sigh, turning off into space.

"Sometimes, when I have no one to look after, and its been months, sometimes years, even, since someone has walked through my temple's door. I wish I wasn't born a goddess. I wish I could grow old, fall in love, marry, have children of my own." you look down, playing with your hands.

The warrior was troubled, yet excitement grew. You could be saved. You wished to be without the corruption of the dark forces that ran through your very being.

"But you could start a family. I have heard tales of demigods"

"Yes, but I can't" you stress turning to him. "I am the goddess of innocence, not just compassion. To bare a child would mean I am no longer innocent, therefore my powers would be stripped from me. I would be mortal again."

You huff in frustration. Even if you were able to have a child, it would still grow old, and you would be left to bury another one of your kin below your beloved tree.

The warrior was delighted. Overjoyed, perfectly happy with this news. Some gods had gifts that were hard to strip from them. How do you make the god of footprints go against footprints? Cut off their feet? Unless....

No he's getting distracted. Here he was being given his own gift, from his god. The Eye was testing him, for sure. Allow a wild goddess to continue her wicked magic, or save the mortal within. You already told him you wished to be free of your curse, the burden placed on you the moment you were born. All he had to do was take your maidenhead. Put his seed in your womb and watch it grow. And what a fine mother you would be. You had spent decades being a mother to hundreds, so what more a burden would a few of your own be. In fact he was sure your would revile in it.

You were practically begging him to fill you with his seed, with those big, soft eyes and those curves that screamed at him to take you. He was without a wife, he would have to break you in for sure. You were a wild one of course. But with a few whelps to look after and one surely in your belly, how much could you defy him?

His cock began to stir. His eyes laden with lust. You look up at him once more, brow furrowing at his darkened eyes.

"Is everything okay soldier?" you sweetly ask, actually concerned for his wellbeing.

"Let me give you the life you want, little heathen" he begs, pushing you down onto the soft grass below the tree.

"What? No! Get off!" you plead, pushing against him. He tightens his grip on your wrists.

"Give me the honour of cleansing you of your dark powers, instead allow me to gift you the honour of carrying my seed." He growls, coming down to give you a lust filled kiss.

You bite his tongue with a vengeance, the taste of blood trickles onto your tongue.

"Mother!" you scream, turning onto your belly. Reaching for the silent statue of Mother Wild. She sat impartial, watching silent and cold. You begin to sob, as the warrior pulls your hips and ass into his crotch.

"Shh, shh little goddess, it will all be over soon. You shall be my sweet wife and you shall grow fat with my child." he comforts, his words tasting like iron on your lips.

"No!" you cry, elbowing him in the nose. You get up to run, straight towards Mother Wild, you drop in front of her and beg for her help.

"Help me Mother Wild. Please!"

You were only gifted the power of healing and other small gifts that now seem useless. What could were they against a man like this? The warrior gets up with blood streaming down his chin.

"My! The little heathen has some bite, huh" he sneers, pulling his sword from its sheath. You turn to look at him in fear, surely that was not what you think it is.

"Recognise this? I drove it through your first wild gods heart, and many more of your brother and sisters since then. I wish not to harm you little goddess, but if you do not renounce your claim to your wicked birth right, then I will be forced to kill you." He almost grins at the sight of you kneeling and afraid.

'That's it heathen, fear me, fear the holy Eye.'

You turn to Mother Wild once more, pleading and begging for protection.

Nothing happens.

You sob as you are ripped from your place by the statue and dragged back to the ground under your tree. You are pushed onto the soft grass, for a moment you forget what is happening, and you are young again, watching the sky through the leaves of your tree. Your parents are still alive, you had yet to be given your gifts, and you can kid yourself into thinking life will be like this forever. You are broken from your daze as Caleen's sword is plunged into the soft dirt by your head, and you are quickly reminded what madness you found yourself in. You stare up at the warrior in front of you, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. He kneels down onto you. His blood drools out of his mouth, dripping down his chin. His eyes are filled with lust and pride.

What an evil, wicked man.

You choke back a sob in fear of what is to happen next.

"My dear one, do not cry for the life you are renouncing, cry with joy for the life we are to create." He shushes you gently, a rough hand caressing your tear stained cheeks.

"What poetry is this, that you should lose your gift of innocence the very place it was given"

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

when you think about it combining thousands of supersoldiers literally incapable of fear with a strictly atheist, rational regime was a colossally stupid decision, and not for the reasons you're thinking of

y'know those cheesy old horror movies where the protagonists are spectacularly stupid? like, they find a spoopy book bound in suspicious leather and go, "haha lets read from this WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG" and twenty minutes later they're being chased by demon minotaurs or something. and the whole time you're screaming "NO YOU FUCKING MORONS WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT WAIT WHY ARE YOU GETTING UNDRESSED NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO HAVE SEX" and then the demon minotaurs kill them while they're having loud passionate sex because god forbid horny teenagers should ever have fun. ok so hear me out, astartes and primarchs in the pre-heresy are the same as the dumbass teenagers, except for the sex-having part (i think they T-pose at each other instead)

think about it. THEY KNOW NO FEAR. they're missing one of the key instincts we possess for recognizing dangerous situations. most people who find a spoopy book bound in suspicious leather are gonna be, y'know, spooped spooked. they won't want anything to do with it. the more anxious/scared will straight up leave. but astartes literally can't get spooked! they might burn the book for being xenos filth or something but beyond that there's nothing to balance out natural curiosity and/or lust for war trophies.

and this combines really badly with the imperium's rationalism! see, even if you don't fear the spoopy book, superstition/religion/fairy tales/etc. still provide a powerful incentive to stay away from it. you're gonna look at it and go, wow, that book looks satanic, messing with it might summon demon minotaurs, i should stay away. but the imperium actively discourages that line of thought! there's no way the spoopy book can do any harm, it's just a spoopy looking book! in fact, you SHOULD read the spoopy book just to demonstrate how not-superstitious you are!

yeah so this is why fulgrim walks into a creepy temple full of ritual snake orgy and thinks, hmm that snazzy sword the snake guys are obsessively fucking around would make a nice trophy. or why it never occurs to magnus that making deals with the fair folk might be dangerous territory.

[lady-dulcinea]

Something the October 11th entry really highlights is how much Mina and Jonathan are sure about each other. How much they know each other to the point they can read each other without any perceived difficulty, and how their devotion, their partnership, although treasured and seamlessly reciprocated by both, is never even questioned by them.

When Mina receives news that Jonathan is alive, she goes, an unmarried and unaccompanied woman, all the way to find him and marry him, even tho he’s still traumatised, half mad from his stay at Castle Dracula, and in the eyes of society could very much be considered an “invalid”. But she marries him anyway, and although Jonathan does gently reaffirm the delicate state of his body and specially his mind, he never really seems overly surprised that she chose him despite it all. And in the same entry we see a similar reaction from Mina when Sister Agatha feels the need to inform her that she shouldn’t worry that Jonathan’s malady might be because of some other woman; she all but scoffs at the idea, because it hadn’t even crossed her mind. Of course there isn’t another woman. Similarly, as she eventually makes acquaintance with several men, all of them rich bachelors who grow a quick and openly affectionate bond with her, Jonathan has not a single moment of insecurity about it. Of course they all love Mina, why wouldn’t they? Jealousy requires a certain lack of confidence in your partner that neither of them has. Their worries concerning each other are always ALWAYS directed at external influences: That something will hurt them, or that something will keep them from each other.

Which brings us to October 11th, when that sureness is brought to it’s highest, most tragic peak. Jonathan knew what Mina intended calling them all to meet her before their trip. He was so sure of it he spoke with Jack beforehand to make sure it would all be documented correctly, as he himself would never be able to write down such a thing as a symbolic funeral for his beloved. And he also knew what she would make them promise to do.

Because Mina, beyond just wishing to have the littlest bit of agency over her own death, is being strategic here. She knows Jonathan will “be with her to the very end”. She does not need to know of the promise he made to her in the solitude of his diary. Their devotion to each other is a given, one they do not take for granted, but that they expect nonetheless because they know each other and the strength of their love. Had she read the promise, she would undoubtedly be shocked by it, specifically by the utter heresy of it, devout as she is to her faith. But she would not be surprised, and this entry shows her anticipating what the Worst Case Scenario could potentially do to her husband, and trying to avoid it at all cost.

No, I don’t think she gone as far as assuming that Jonathan would deliberately choose vampirism for her. He has been as much of a devout christian as her for most of their lives, and tho she is not blind to the changes the last few months (and specially the last few days) have caused on him, she would not there suggest the Holiest Love conclusion is anywhere close to his mind. For after all, she has explicitly stated that she wants to be received by the grace of God, wants the same freedom granted by the boys to the soul of dear Lucy, and Jonathan simply wouldn’t deny her that.

Right?

And guys, as much as I love Jonathan’s vow and how he absolutely refuses to let her “walk into that unknown and terrible land alone”… it is a selfish vow. Romantic to the core, but selfish. Jonathan knows that’s not what Mina wants. He phrases it in a way that makes it seem like he is doing it purely out of love for her, so she’ll not be alone, but really, the selfless thing would be to do what she asked of him today. Her soul would be free, there would be no more Dracula to torment the world and kill innocents, and when Jonathan’s time came, he would join her in heaven.

But as I said before, the only thing that ever worries them about their relationship is whether or not they are hurt and when there is something keeping them apart. Jonathan goes to Transylvania and Dracula tries to keep him there: they both suffer from the distance. The first time Jonathan went to meet a client was the first time he and Mina were away from each other since the wedding, and she expresses anxiety about that. The men want to keep Mina away from vampire business to “protect her”: both her and Jonathan are unhappy with suddenly keeping secrets from each other. “A door is locked between them” because there is a part of Dracula inside Mina’s mind and she cannot be trusted to know all their planning, and Jonathan is crestfallen about it. Their deepest source of misery is always not being with each other, not being able to communicate properly, not just be together. And they both know that. Mina is just severely underestimating how far Jonathan would go so they’re not separated. As it is, she knows her death would bring him terrible grief, and by asking the help of their friends today and making him read the burial service, she’s trying to both a) Guarantee that should Jonathan’s hand falter, more steady ones would fulfil her wish; b) Unite them once more in the care they all have for her and show Jonathan that, should the worst happen, he won’t be alone. The other will be there. He shall not be so lonely if/when he becomes a widower; c) Perhaps by reading the burial service he can become more used to the possibility of her death and ease his heart to the matter.

However, Jonathan promises nothing to anyone. He asked for Jack to make an accurate description of what happened so that no detail would be left out, and yet we hear no word of confirmation from him.

And I’m sure she noticed it, too.

[shaykai]

Okay okay okay consider Durgetash tether AU

Gortash & Durge are messing around with an artifact (from Mephistopheles’ vault?) and it ends up tethering them together (like Legend of Spyro- they can only move so far away from each other and the tether isn’t visible unless it’s actively being strained or interacted with)

They can’t figure out how to deactivate it, antics ensue (they can’t hurt each other while it’s active?)

Gortash has to put up with Durge being present in all of his meetings and just praying to god they behave themselves and don’t try to maim anybody/that nobody takes too much interest in their presence

There’s also the Urge- Gortash knows about it but now he actively has to help in dealing with it- whether that be going on murder sprees far too often for his liking or finding out the unfortunate consequences of neglecting it

Them getting weirdly close and open because they kind of have to be to function

Neither of them have easy access into their respective cult spaces/temples anymore- bringing a Banite into Bhaal’s temple is basically a heresy.

That being said, Durge can only stay away for so long before it’s problematic- it looks bad when they’ve been missing for a week and the last time they were seen was with Gortash.

Jump cut to Durge forcing Gortash to wear normal cultist attire and telling him to keep his mouth shut lest somebody recognize his voice.

Something about Orin cornering Durge and asking where they’ve been before realizing there’s a ‘cultist’ just. Standing there. Djdjdjjdjdjd Naturally she threatens to kill him if he doesn’t leave and Durge has to hurry up and make excuses and then probably run away with Gortash before Orin can clock that it’s him

Sceleritas is one of the only people who knows the situation and is tirelessly searching for a solution so that his “beloved Durge can be free of their greasy leach”

Something something people clocking that it’s weird that they’re always so close to each other (gonna say they can’t be more than 10 feet apart)- more so at places like Moonrise where nobody knows who Durge really is and want to know who it is that’s following Gortash around

Gortash having to deal with the gnolls because Durge refuses to leave them alone

Also Durge getting somewhat familiarized with mechanics and learning how they work

Ketheric genuinely not knowing that they’re tethered together for entirely too long

Balthazar being a problem if he ever finds out because he wants to do science

Also them having to learn how to fight while being stuck together

Something about their walk speeds being different- Gortash has a cane for a reason and it takes Durge a while to stop speed walking everywhere. (Gortash can match their pace, but after a while it does take a toll)

Messy sleeping arrangements

Them having to deal with each other’s triggers/really bad days TM

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

His Sun

Summary: After the Monarchy, the Emperor takes Lorgar's wife as punishment. He finds out that she is pregnant and for the first time in millennia remembers love.

Emperor and Lorgar's daughter (OC, platonic), Lorgar/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, kidnapping

Word count: 729

Song: Rammstein - Sonne

This fic was born because of this beautiful post.

Of all His sons, Lorgar was most like Him. Every detail of the appearance was amazingly similar. Even facial expressions. And it was this son who became the biggest disappointment. The Primarch of the Word Bearers was too slow to annex worlds to the Imperium. He tried too hard to restore the planets by staying on them for a long time.

But worst of all was the cult of worship of the Emperor as God. The Emperor could not allow such... heresy to spread. Fully aware of what lies the Warp. And the decision to destroy the Monarchy was carried out immediately. Besides Lorgar’s “wife” on Terra will serve as a good lesson for the primarch. He is a weapon, not a man.

The fact that the mortal was pregnant... The Emperor was not a monster. He had no intention of killing a child, especially in the womb. But it could become a hindrance. A distraction for Lorgar. Fortunately, although the child was affected by the warp, it was much less than the primarchs due to a mortal mother. In addition, it later turned out that it was supposed to be born a girl. She won't be much of a hindrance.

Or rather, that's what He thought.

The creation of the primarchs was pragmatic. They were created to protect humanity. The Emperor had no intention of getting rid of them and even planned to create a comfortable life for them on Terra... of course, after they had completed their task. For some of His sons He even felt a similar feeling of affection. Especially to Horus.

But this girl. This girl was not born according to the plan of the Emperor or Chaos. The natural way. She had no task other than just to live. And when the Emperor heard the triumphant cry of life. Something broke in Him. He remembered.

He once had children. Real and beloved from mortal women. In times of peace, when he gave up trying to move humanity forward and allowed the Earth to develop on its own. He adored them and raised them with dignity and intelligence. His sons were His pride. Although He liked girls more. They always looked at their dad with such adoration.

And they all died. They all left Him. And it hurts. A void that nothing can fill. He could no longer allow Himself to love. And yet, seeing this girl, knowing that she should have lived longer because of her father, if not live forever... He gave up.

He simply could not help but look at her sleeping in her cradle. He couldn't help but sing her songs from His childhood. Hold her in His arms. Kiss her forehead when she starts crying. She developed so slowly, so normally, completely humanly. She needed all of His care and love.

Lorgar will get his “wife” back as soon as he starts leading the Crusade properly. A mortal woman was of no value to the Emperor. But the daughter will distract the primarch. He should not hear her first word, see her first steps, tell fairy tales, teach her the wisdom of life, console her and give her his soul.

But the Emperor can do this.

He will make sure that Lorgar's daughter has the best of everything on Terra. His little sun will be raised with dignity in a beautiful Palace. He will help her find her path and purpose, but only on the condition that she will be by His side. Of course, someday a girl will want romance and build her own family. But it won’t be soon and the Emperor will come up with something.

The girl bursts into laughter as soon as her stomach is tickled. Soon her teeth will begin to cut and her wonderful eyes will become moist with tears. But He will always help relieve her pain as long as she is happy. He smiles back, continuing to bathe her small body, continuing His story about centaurs. She doesn’t understand Him yet, but that doesn’t stop Him from having a conversation with her.

He will show her all the wonders of the world. His little treasure will see all the beauty of the galaxy and grow up in a world where humanity will flourish. They will have so much time. A month of Sundays.

He will never let His daughter go.

[flagellant]

What would you say is the earliest church heresy? Like, the original big no-no

Oh see now you've hit an interesting little rabbit hole without realizing it, because we know both a whole lot and also not much about the early days of the Christian church as we understand it.

So this faith leader guy gets executed or whatever, right? And now you have a bunch of his post-postmortem followers running around spreading his branch of weird Judaism which gets twisted into the first beginnings of Messianic Christianity. But this is back in ye olde days, and also the Romans are gonna be killing any Christians they can find, so the earliest days of the church are mystery cults sporadically popping up like mushrooms. (Is the Holy Spirit like a mycelial network? Who can say)

One of these early Christians was a very popular guy named Arius. Arius told his followers that Jesus WAS born of God, but that he was NOT God himself (the word you're looking for vis a vis that relationship is that Jesus is consubstantial with God, as in, made of the same simultaneous divinity.) and therefore should not be worshipped as one would God.

Then some time passes and all the big bishops of this hot new gig called Christianity realize, wait, hold on, we need to get shit straightened out. We can't ALL be calling ourselves Christian when people are saying Jesus was a hologram, or that he was born of God but isnt God, or that he was just some guy that God really liked. We need to all sit down and decide what we as a unified and universal group believe about our religion. So they all go down to this little place called Nicaea where everyone hashes out exactly what they believe in as Christians, and the end result is that Arius was shot down, which is why in the Nicene Creed there's that one specific line that goes something like this:

Et in unum Dominum Iesum Christum, Filium Dei unigenitum, ex Patre natum ante omnia saecula. Deum de Deo, Lumen de Lumine, Deum verum de Deo vero, genitum non factum, consubstantialem Patri; per quem omnia facta sunt.

Sharp eyes may have spotted that special little word consubstantialem in there. The earliest founders of the early church basically made certain that in their formalized dogma, Arianism would always be called heretical, because Jesus' position in the trinity requires him to be equal to but distinct from the Father. All of trinitarian Christianity agrees that Arianism is a no go.

Personally I do think we should have more Judasian heresies though. Like I guess I get why so many early heresies are centered around the nature of the trinity and specifically J Dog but it does begin to grate.

[receival]

baldur’s gate 3 starters.

the following is a collection of sentence starters from larian’s baldur’s gate 3. part 2.

look at me - i’m not a monster.

stay back. i don’t want to hurt you, but i will.

no. you’re not one of them at all.

i was ready to run you through. my mistake, friend.

that’s far enough. what’s your business down here?

you revealed our location? that tongue gets any looser, (name), and i’ll cut it out.

reckon i might miss this place.

this place is more dangerous than i thought.

well, don’t you cut a fine figure.

sometimes i’m jealous of that girl. ugh - to feel so invincible again.

in your expert opinion, what’s the best way to kill a devil?

i’m certain there are answers out there. we’ll find them together.

there’s no story. none that you’re entitled to hear, anyway.

you can tolerate a great deal of suffering, so long as it has meaning.

until then, all i can do is endure.

please try to understand that it’s not something i can just talk about freely.

perhaps there’s potential in you.

honestly, your faith is your own concern. i won’t judge, one way or the other.

i think i did well by joining you.

you already know my biggest secrets. what more can you ask?

that wall’s an illusion! hiding what, i wonder …

sun, moon, and stars will still be there, waiting for us.

this place is pretty spectacular, isn’t it?

no book or painting could ever do its strange beauty justice.

a perfect ring of mushrooms … nature, or magic?

hmm. i thought that might’ve done something.

another illusion. is anything real down here?

i’m more concerned with this ‘twit’ who set a spectator on you.

a rival - a mere footnote to my legend. you should be more concerned with who i am.

the fools must have turned back. or, better yet, died in the search.

i need no more rivals. try to take this as a compliment, yes?

this presence … this magic is not divine, but fey.

little? i am a god! and i’m gonna rip you - tear you - wear you for a hat -

don’t do anything hasty, now.

i’ll just kill you and claim it for myself.

i’m the lord of murder - i’ll show you why.

if you’re expecting me to drop to my knees before you, forget it.

a wizard’s tower is his sanctum, a private place for research and respite. but as this wizard’s not home … i say we take a peek.

a strange place for a button. especially one that doesn’t work.

what good would it do for me to be troubled? we can’t save them all.

you’ll have to speak slowly. i find it quite difficult to concentrate with my condition gnawing at my insides like a teething displacer kitten.

the whole village is falling to pieces …

hey, maybe we can scare up a few dusty bottles of wine somewhere.

i like your way of thinking. split any takings we find?

what creatures live in water this dark?

i’m a rabid dirty dog. and i bite.

i could’ve killed you before you even noticed me, but i didn’t. stand down.

i can be discreet. no need for bloodshed.

share? you really are in the wrong place.

a bleeding heart, are you? reckon i’ll just roast and eat it.

what in the hells did you do to that corpse?

you do plenty for me, more than you realize. but this cannot be remedied.

are you alright? is there anything i can do to help you?

enough. bickering won’t save your friend.

run away, then.

(name) - i was so worried! did they hurt you?

who cares? we’re together now, thank gods!

i’m grateful, don’t mistake me, but … why help us?

freeze it, cock-stench. we aren’t done just yet.

pay up, and you get to skink away. resist, and i gut you.

drop it. i don’t owe you anything.

your incompetence has been my ruin.

stop! no more innocents will die today, (name).

you care for the weak. most curious.

you so much as touch me, and i’ll tear you from limb to limb.

ah - another treacherous soul walks among us.

i ain’t going down easy.

you been a shit since i laid eyes on you, (name).

strike him down. prove your faith.

your silence speaks to your heresy.

look, you have no idea what you’re dealing with …

it’s the whole damn reason we’re here, and i’m not leaving without it.

the mission comes first.

and i thought i’d heard it all. that’s some cambion-level deception.

i go where there’s shit to stir. and there’s no shortage of options.

i can’t remember much, truth be told.

centuries of torment will do that to you.

you’ve been naughty. and you know what happens when you’re naughty.

just who in the nine hells are you?

well, well. aren’t you a luscious thing?

been a long time since someone stuck their neck out for me like that.

you have a manner of irresistible desperation about you. i like it.

you know, i’ve been thinking. and i think there’s something i should tell you. nothing big or terrible, just … a small little detail about me that hasn’t come up naturally.

i want to join you - to fight by your side.

i’m sorry for barging in like this, but i had to come find you.

i won’t let you down. i promise.

we all have our burdens, one way or the other.

i’m trying to say that you’ve earned my trust in a way very few ever have … i want that to mean something.

freedom - i’d forgotten how it felt. thank you.

if you have a moment, i’d like your opinion on something.

the problem is this: a preponderance of evidence that i am a terrible adventurer.

i can’t risk re-capture. i barely escaped last time.

it was a mistake. and not one we’ll repeat.

i don’t know. he was kind of fun.

we can’t just invite danger in to our hearth like that. we must be more careful.

most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me.

an old hunter’s trick - if you can’t mask your scent, spoil it.

i prefer a weapon to stench, thanks.

you’re a monster hunter? not what i imagined.

whatever you’re hunting, your stench alone will kill it.

a quick wit is rare indeed.

know how to ask, and they’ll share that knowledge. if you’re fool enough to pay their price.

speak plainly. what is she?

i think you’re mistaken - this place looks innocent enough.

truth is like a blade, my friend. we can arm ourselves with it - or just as easily find it pressed against our throat.

i would not put you in danger.

your coyness is getting boring. tell me.

you take insult where none is intended, my friend.

how thoroughly invigorating it is to stand by one’s friend in the face of danger.

you best have one hells of an apology for me.

you must have mistaken me for someone else.

that wriggler swimming in your brain juice is a bit of an inconvenience, isn’t it?

that’s none of your concern.

don’t change the subject.

keep that hole under your nose shut.

let’s not involve ourselves in this place any longer than is necessary.

you want to play the hero so badly? fine. let’s make this interesting.

gods, it’s hot in here.

i’ve had better days. and worse ones.

i am, after all, the villain of the tale.

you truly are a soul that steels my own.

you are as thick as they come.

even i am tired of the sound of my own voice.

i stand at a precipice, but if you do not give up hope, neither shall i.

all of this … it must feel like a betrayal.

you bastard! you ruined it, you ruined everything!

slow down - what did i do?

this is an interesting way of thanking me.

i don’t need this. good luck getting out of here on your own.

i know i should head home, but … i can’t bring myself to leave.

(are you alright?) / not even a little bit. but i will be.

she favored me like a child favors a captive pet.

i promise i will not betray your trust.

i cannot thank you enough.

you will face (name)’s judgement.

i wish you could have visited at a better time.

you had no right to intervene.

you’re not one of us.

copper for your thoughts?

always a delight to speak to you.

did i play games like this in my youth? was i sweet once?

what are you doing? i’m busy here!

nothing beats the taste of stolen beer.

come on, now. they’re just having a bit of fun.

let’s do what we have to do, then get out of here.

smell’s like burnt flesh.

hold out your arm so i can mark your flesh.

i’m here to spill your guts across the floor.

pain without purpose is a terrible thing, wouldn’t you agree?

i often feel i like raw pain too much. it scares me.

as long as the story ends in death, it’s all the same to me.

forgive me, but - that look in your eyes. something terrible has happened to you.

what i see in your eyes, in your soul, is only natural.

we’ve all suffered in these dark times. it is little wonder you hear scars of pain and anguish.

touch me and you’ll lose your hand.

the pain you suffer will cleanse you - do not fight it.

you look tired. should i take over?

welcome the pain. let it become part of you.

that looks like it’s going to bruise.

not that i’m suggesting we stop for a drink, of course.

i wouldn’t want to place all my faith in blind luck.

sympathies won’t help me to survive.

your life, much like your words, is meaningless. end the latter to save the former.

looks like the booze got the better of them. they’re practically unconscious.

they’re dying for me. all of them.

why don’t you take a closer look? i’ll observe from back here.

please don’t open the creepy book!

toddlers are easier to please than you lot.

you know, i never pictured myself as a hero.

all i want is a little fun. is that so much to ask?

having performance issues, (name)?

never have i met such troglodytes.

i was hoping you wouldn’t notice i was gone.

i suggest we admire it from afar.

it would be too much to hope that’s nothing to do with us, wouldn’t it?

i go my own way - alone.

i’ll feed your innards to the ants before i do that.

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

Not story more ramble but I will still tag.

@egrets-not-regrets @bleedingichorhearts @kit-williams @sleepyfan-blog @barn-anon

Spoilers for Warhammer Fulgrim Lore.

I think the husbandry fandom has missed a profound opportunity for some juicy conflict!

So we have some general agreed upon notions for how certain legions react to Husbandry Terra. Now obviously not all of a single space marine type behave the same way but there be trends.

Salamanders, Ultramarines, Blood Angels, Thousand Sons, Space Wolves, Imperial Fists: these groups generally accept bonds and human companionship as they had decent human contact in their original timeline.

Then you've got the grumps who love the attention but getting them to admit it is like Pulling Teeth: Night Lords, Iron Hands and Iron Warriors.

But we have been missing out! On a delightfully painful side of our favorite premadonnas. The Emperor's Children.

Now they and their sire Fulgrim are often stereotyped as such. Elegant, pompous, snooty and post heresy they go completely mask off a drive full into unbound freak territory.

But their story is much more tragic than a spoiled brat leading other spoiled brats into serving the God of overdoing things.

Fulgrim isn't spoken of as much in terms of being screwed over, but looking closer he really was.

Shot to an awful industrial planet where he watched his adopted family struggle to feed him let alone themselves. It would give anybody a complex.

Needing to be useful, needing to contribute, needing to not be a burden.

And once the The Big E showed up it didn't get much better.

His sons? Suffer a geneflaw that gives them astarte cancer. He not only loses many of them, but has to make due with what he has left. Meaning no matter how well trained, he just can't conquer planets at the rate dear old dad wants him to.

His brothers? Got there own issues and probably don't take Fulgrim's struggles seriously. He's just at that spot of "Wow that sucks," and "But the others have it worse.' He probably doesn't feel like he can talk deeply to anyone.

So Fulgrim does what many unloved children do, in fact he does the same thing as Perturabo, Pushes Himself to The Breaking Point.

In Fulgrim's case, any failures he blames completely on himself. Where Perty lashes out, Fulgrim turns inward.

Until he just can't take it anymore. He decides he's going to finally be selfish. Commit fully to the pleasures and pain so he never has to remember the agony he feels, that he will Never, be good enough

Heck killing Ferrus probably cemented that feeling in him. I'm not worth anything, so why bother trying to be good. Why not just be the absolute Worst.

Heavy stuff. But this leads me to my main musing.

In 40k the sins of the father very much affect the sons.

So my proposition is...you think other space marines are clingy? They hold not a Candle to an Emperor's Child. Especially one post heresy.

If you show an EC that they can be open, vulnerable, Imperfect, around you, and you don't immediately turn tail and run from the baggage, You Will Never Escape.

They don't just crave intimacy, they crave stability, affection, LOVE.

And if you give them any indication you'll supply it, they will Never let themselves be cut off.

[unsoundedcomic]

I feel like Duane might have called for the slum homes to be burned out years ago. Filthy parasites, all of them, burn the poors so they may have a greater chance of being closer to Ssael in the next life. To the fire pits with them all!

Durlyne is a majority Ssaelit city, and one of the two Aldish capitals of the Ssaelit faith. Outside of these two large, bustling cities, the world either actively persecutes Ssaelism, or only barely tolerates it. They say the Gefendur twin gods are dead, after all, and their god killed them. It's quite a rude belief.

Because the Ssaelit are so disliked even in much of Alderode, they are insecure, and very greedy with the little power they do have. That power is most easily seen in Durlyne, in how the Ssaelit there treat the Gefendur minority. The Gefendur there find it hard to get a leg up. They get elbowed out of local government, they have trouble finding housing, they have trouble practising their faith. They start to feel as insecure and truculent as the Aldish, even though nationally, Alderode has always been skewed towards the Gefendur.

And so these two faiths fight. But because the Gefendur are at a disadvantage inside Durlyne, they are most concentrated in the slums. The slums is a mix of all manner of people, from foreign refugees, to lowborn bastards, to exiled ghersit, to professional criminals, but most of them are Gefendur.

So! You have an area of the city that is rife with crime, heresy, poverty, and pervasive anti-Ssaelit sentiment. There are lowborn and exiled Ssaelit there, but it's really the domain of the violent and impoverished Gefendur, many of them organised into criminal gangs.

So Duane's feelings on the place are Complicated. On the one hand, he used to go in there to minister to Soud; on the other hand, you can't walk down the street without child prostitutes trying to sell you their ass and their pimp trying to guide you down an alley and cut your throat. Duane grew up in Durlyne, it's his hometown, and he knows the horrible things that have happened there in the slums (called Sevencrow Court, and Blue Boy Bridge). There legitimately is not a more merciful thing to do, he thinks, than to raze the place. Not necessarily because the people there are poor, or Gefendur, but because it feels like a wholly miserable nest of suffering and hopelessness, one that only spreads its misery to the rest of Durlyne thanks to the gangs.

It's not a "haha, filthy heretics and poors, die." It's a "Anteit Vaosa, these streets break my heart, Ssael, with your khert guide these lost souls to better lives."

[useless-catalanfacts]

Who was the last deadly victim of the Spanish Inquisition?

Technically, the last victim sentenced to death by the Spanish Inquisition was María de los Dolores López, a Sevillian nun killed in 1781 for heresy. However, things didn't stop there.

The Spanish government of the Three Liberal Years (1820-1823) technically abolished the Inquisition, but the Inquisition continued the same now under the name of "Faith Tribunals". The same men who were inquisitors continued to do the same job as members of the Faith Tribunals, and the Inquisition's prisons simply became the Faith Tribunal's prisons. De facto, everything stayed the same until 1834.

Then, who was the last person killed by these fanatic tribunals?

It was this man: Gaietà Ripoll i Pla. A teacher sentenced to death in the city of València in the year 1826.

He was born in Solsona (Catalonia) in 1778. He fought in the Peninsula War against Napoleon's invasion, but in 1810 was captured as a prisoner of war and taken to France. There, he met Quakers and converted to Deism (belief in God that can be observed through empirical means, but not follower of one specific religion or Church). Four years later he came back and became a teacher.

He taught children in Russafa (nowadays, this town has been absorbed by the growing city of València and has become a neighbourhood of València), in a house built by the neighbours and also giving private lessons. Russafa was a very rural town, where most of its inhabitants worked in the fields and did not know how to read nor write.

Writings of the time show that Gaietà was very respected by the neighbours, who praised his integrity and goodness, but the fact that he did not go to mass caught people's attention. When a local woman asked him why he didn't go, he answered that he knew more than the priests. After some time, some neighbours told the Archbishop of València that this teacher was not following Catholicism's rules and wasn't making children pray in school.

He was arrested in October 1824 and jailed for two years in what used to be the Inquisition's prison in València, which was now the Valencian Faith Tribunal's prison. The inquisitor (now president of València's Faith Tribunal) Miguel Toranzo wrote that Gaietà refused to accept the truth of Catholicism and that he told children in his school that they should not say Ave María Purísima and that it's not necessary to hear mass in order to be saved.

To sentence him to death, the tribunal used the Medieval Partidas laws from Castile, which sentenced to death those Christians who had walked away from Catholicism to become heretics or Jewish. He was sentenced to be hanged and burned, but the sentence added that "nowadays no nation in Europe burns or materially sentences men to the flames", thus "the burning can be represented by painting flames on a bucket, which the executioner will place under the scaffold so that the prisoner's suffocated body will fall in it".

And that's how it went. He was hanged in València's Market Square, fell on the fake-flames bucket, and his body was thrown to the Túria river.

During all the centuries that it lasted for, the Inquisition/Faith Tribunals caused unimaginable amounts of suffering and death, not only to the people they were torturing and killing, also to their families, their friends, their neighbourhoods (consider the fear and trauma inflicted on everyone who saw it happen and knew it could happen to anyone), their whole communities (was the mostly-illiterate town of Russafa not better with the work of this kind-hearted teacher who gave its children a formal education?), and even the whole of Humanity (we have lost countless works of art, of science, philosophy, medicine, new ideas that could bring us all better times). Even after the end of the Inquisition/Faith Tribunals, even after the end of the Spanish national-Catholic dictatorship (1939-1978), there is so much that we can never get back that was taken by religious fanaticism / Christian extremism.

Translation of the plaque: València's City Council restores this plaque which was in this square between the years 1906 and 1940, in homage to Gaietà Ripoll i Pla, a freethinker teacher who had his school in Russafa and who was the Inquisition's last victim.

[noble-mold]

"A trap for two" (Warhammer 40,000: Rogue Trader Fanart)

What could be better than starting a new blog with bare ass drukhari after 2 years of creative burnout? I swear I tried to put pants or underwear on Marazhai, but it looked ridiculous. Well… maybe the real reason is that part of me didn't want to hide his delicious pale butt cheeks… hehe…

I had extremely low expectations for the drukhari romance because I've read everything I could find about their lore before playing the game. Also I've played a lot of other games set in 40k Universe in the past and read even more books and novels since then (of which I consider only the Ahriman series worthy of any sort of attention). I thought that the paths of MC (Main Character) and Marazhai would certainly diverge forever at the end of the story. If he does not kill her in the epilogue, this already will be a "good" ending to their "relationship". The game actually surprised me with a relatively good ending (good for MC and Marazhai, not so good for everyone else around them), which also felt natural and not like some sweaty fanfiction.

So, the story of my Rogue Trader is quite banal. She was the embodiment of goodness, unusual for the 40k Universe: she kissed babies on the forehead, she fed the hungry, helped the poor and, whenever possible, tried to solve problems in a peacefull manner. She resisted the temptations of ALL the Chaotic Gods, but as soon as Marazhai opened his mouth, I realized that my heroine was doomed. His VA took this character to another level. If Marazhai wasn't romanceable and they had nothing better to do in privacy of her quarters, I would imagine that my Rogue Trader makes him read books out loud to her :D Under the corrupting influence of this drukhari, my heroine turned into a typical noble who does charity and plays a saint to keep a facade, at the same time trying to keep her bloody entertainment a secret.

If you came across this post by accident and do not understand, in the name of the Emperor, what kind of heresy is in front of your eyes, than you can direct this question to "Owlcat Studios". This is not a fanfiction. In the game "Rogue Trader" there is an actual romance with drukhari with the elements of BDSM… And I am grateful for all of the unlikely causes and conditions that this romance actually became a reality and that Marazhai is male.

Nudity and a wall of text. All the things that social media algorithms "love" so much these days, oh…

Software used: DAZ Studio, Blender (Cycles)

[honestlyboringperson]

Team BEST in the Persona 5 AU! Skizz looks like utter dogshit because I can’t draw muscles! Sorry Skizz!

Also yes, Etho’s outfit is partially based on @/spell-struck’s Arcana Swap AU design for Yusuke. Go check it out! Their designs are amazing.

Again, More Information is under the cut.

Southlanders

The Scottage + Gem

Fairy Fort

Magical Mountain + Cub

Bdubs - “Scout” - The Lovers Arcana - Peter Pan/Orobas

A man of short stature and an even shorter fuse, Bdubs is a college student pursuing a degree in architecture and is known for his dubious ability to immediately know what field someone should go into. Be it art, film, or even just mathematics, his judgement is never wrong which led him to be recruited into a local theatre troupe to help with casting members to roles. This causes him to befriend a certain young prodigy actor who specializes in theatrically heroic protagonists and bombastically charismatic villains.

His persona is Peter Pan who is a famous pop culture character. Peter Pan is known for his devil may care attitude and his claims of greatness. His abilities allow himself and others to fly, and in this AU, Bdubs is known for uplifting others with both his scouting abilities and work as a phantom thief. Bdubs is also quite boastful, also fitting with Peter Pan’s character.

His Ultimate Persona is Orobas, a Great Prince of Hell and a Goetic Demon. He is the patron of horses, and gives power and control over others. He also can protect people from evil spirits and is clairvoyant. No wonder Bdubs “Horsegirl Supreme” got this guy as his ultimate persona.

Etho - “Shade” - The Hanged Man Arcana - Arahabaki/Inari-Okami

Etho is a mysterious college student known throughout the campus as being aloof, quiet, and even possibly dangerous. Those close to him know he’s just socially awkward. At a young age, he is known for his inventions in engineering and was presented with several scholarships to several prestigious institutions across the city. Unfortunately, he is horrendously bad at anything that isn’t engineering, with his apartment in shambles and his diet mostly consisting of energy drinks and a wide variety of instant ramen.

Arahabaki is a Japanese god of uncertain origin, with this particular portrayal & the one in the Shin Megami Tensei franchise being mainly inspired by the forgery by Tsugaru Soto-Sangunshi. They are a symbol of treachery, rebellion, and heresy after Emperor Jimmu found his enemy Nagasunehiko worshipped him.

Inari Okami is the kami of foxes, fertility, rice, tea, and general worldly success. They are the reason several shrines in Japan have fox statues and they are known for their ability to shapeshift. Their entourage was made up of pure white kitsune, categorized as “zenko” as opposed to the malicious “yako” kitsune.

Skizz - “Knight” - The Justice Arcana - Templar/Heracles

Skizz is Impulse’s best friend and former police officer. He currently works as a construction worker, but helps Impulse with his smithing business. He was fired after directly opposing the corruption that began to spread throughout the city’s police force, and his name was slandered. Despite these tragedies, he keeps a goofy and cheerful demeanour throughout his days. Despite no longer being in the police force, he will not overlook anything he sees as harmful.

Templar, full name Simon Templar is a Robin Hood figure coined “The Saint”. His calling card consists of a stick figure with a halo, and said calling cards were often given to corrupt politicians, warmongers, and other similar low-lives. He was described as “a buccaneer in the suits of Savile Row, amused, cool, debonair, with hell for leather blue eyes, and a saintly smile.”

Heracles is a famed Roman hero, and is considered the god of strength and heroes. He is most known for his tale of the twelve labours, wherein he completes twelve labours set by King Eurystheus to atone for killing his family after Hera makes him temporarily lose his mind. These tasks were aided by his allies and finished with a combination of strength, trickery, and camaraderie.

Tango - “Blaze” - The Magician Arcana - Guy Fawkes/Nimrod

Tango is a popular novelist and D&D master, known for his works in the fantasy horror novel franchise “Decked Out”. Although the original novels were made to satisfy his own desire to tell a compelling story, he becomes severely creatively blocked and is unable to keep up with the demands of his fans. After joining, he’s trying to start fresh with a new franchise, and is currently looking for inspiration for a new novel with the help of Jimmy.

Guy Fawkes is a key figure behind the infamous & controversial Gunpowder Plot. The Gunpowder Plot was a planned regicide, with several barrels of gunpowder being hidden within or near the House of Parliament, with Guy Fawkes being in charge of the explosives. The plan was to blow up the Parliament with the King James I inside and instate a Catholic monarch to the throne. Despite the motives being questionable, the plan failed and all the offenders, Guy Fawkes include were executed for treason. Today, in celebration of the king’s survival and the failure of the plan or simply enjoying the festivities, Bonfire Night was created, with several bonfires, fireworks, and other similar events taking place.

Nimrod is the architect of the Tower of Babel and is known as a king who rebelled against god themselves. The Tower of Babel was intended to reach towards the heavens, but God struck it down and changed the language of the people so they could no longer understand each other and scatters them across the earth.