#Grand Chaplain

[socraticmethadon3]

There’s a Buddhist prison chaplain at San Quentin who works with the death row inmates. We’re messaging and trying to find a way for me to volunteer with her. She calls it her Death Row Sangha. And she isn’t paid because California doesn’t recognize Buddhist or interfaith chaplains yet. This is gonna be an uphill battle. But I’m called to do it. It’s much bigger than me

[cmesinic]

The fruits of Texas Republicans grand scheme to have School Chaplains.

[birchbow]

CLOWN CHURCH THE COLLECTION

For the me and my readers both; my reference document for Clown Church nonsense. Compiled character ref, clown scriptures, fleet ships, saints, schoolfeeder names and specialties, etc. Subject to change and additions.

EDIT: nice lmao

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Griefing Specializations

Subjugglator – frontline barbarian/tank, high damage low defense.  Not much concerned with stealth, not worried about taking hits.  Ex:  Feeder Rissan, Sungazer, Cisine, Khalse, Travye. 

Laughsassin – stealth and assassination, not good at taking hits but very good at infiltration.  Quieter/subtler weapons, or the strength and size to make one hit count.  Mime-inspired paint.  Ex: Rishet, Kurloz, Untoxxic, Hurrel

Contorturenist – field interrogation experts, armored, usually with long-distance weapons.  Clean-up crew for missions where information will need to be extracted during the process of the mission.  Ex:  Ianche and Verato Uderak, Yettah

Acrobatterer – frontline opportunist, experts in speed and evasion.  Many lighter, faster hits instead of one heavy one.  Better at taking prisoners.  Friendly rivalry with the subjugglators, because they’ll often use a noisy, head-on assault as a distraction to opportunistically whack their target on the head—sound tactics or cowardly cull-stealing depending on who you ask.  Ex: Ravell and Raywar Olemma.  If asked, some of the younger clowns would probably group Karkat here. 

Gymnabsolutionist – On missions, a form of field chaplain, praying for fallen faithful to make sure the messiahs took note of their sick-ass sacrifice.  On-fleet, spiritual council and advisors.  The oldest is expected to lay to rest the soul of the previous Grand Highblood and help the new one through their prayers/vows, although this role hasn’t come into play in a very, very long time.

Joker – Not technically a position you can train for, but colloquially a highblood who multi-classes or whose style and focus doesn’t fit neatly into a category.  Gamzee is technically a subjugglator (very big, doesn’t give a shit if he gets hit) but can rapidly flip to acrobatterer tactics. Travye's bonekind uses subjugglator style, but his bookkind doesn't fall into a category.

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Saints And Martyrs

Saint Mortor the Defender — Burned alive to protect other purplebloods from lowbloods; like his giant salamander lusus, he proved incredibly hard to burn, and his execution pyre burned for a night and a day.  Saint of aspiring martyrs.

Saint Trasti — Prayed to the messiahs for vengeance as she was cut apart by lowbloods; when they burned her corpse, the messiahs listened and brought up a plague from her ashes.  Prayers to bring a plague on your enemies or for sick/poisoned faithful

Saint Ekorot — Patron saint of pupation and cocoons, and especially the faithful who die during pupation. One of the oldest saints, said to have hatched with the lower half of her body deformed/largely missing and survived a perigee before being found by the church, surrounded by dead lowbloods and wild animals she'd killed. She was sanctified on the spot because lo, it was fucking dope as hell.

Her bladekind became the Knife of Messiahs' Mercy, the weapon the Grand Highblood uses for ceremonial culling of the faithful (By the new Grand Highblood to finish off their predecessor after the fight is won, when church kin pupate too malformed to live or are so deeply wounded in battle they won't survive, etc).

Saint Jakill — Fought an entire army despite being ripped to increasingly brutal pieces. Refused to go down, until his skull was finally split with his own hatchet. Patron saint of berserkers, death-rages and suicide missions.

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Schoolfeeders Of The Flagship Dark Carnival

Halore Travye — The Stædfast, advanced scripture and exegesis.

Separates his letters with an extra space, capitalizes nouns and the letter I. Square bracket smiles/frowns.

"sacredDidaction: T h e q u I c k b r o w n F o x j u m p e d o v e r t h e l a z y D o g . : o ["

Veneno Krelle — The Untoxxic, advanced mediculling, poisons/antidotes.

Doubles Xs and inserts them in place of similar sounds. X-eyed smiles/frowns. When speaking they tend to have difficulty finding and forming words due to a long, long career being exposed to all sorts of neurotoxins and poisons.

"abstersiveDetoxifier: If you axx me, the foxx has better things to be doing. X...X" (=uX, XnX XsX)

Ianche Uderak — The Inquirer, advanced information management/propaganda.

Hisses on S, ends all sentences as questions except the occasional Shocking Headline. Snake-tongued faces.

"mortalRigor: Sssso why wasss the fox with the dog at all? >:oY Ssscandal!! Quick Brown Fox Hass Torrid Pitch Affair With Ssslothful Barkbeasst?"

Arelux Stelos — The Sungazer, schoolfeeder of galactic navigation, omens and starcraft. 

Starts and ends with ~* and *~, replaces I and O with 1 and 0. Tends to trail out words and emphasize with capitals and multiple asterisks/punctuation when worked up, which is often. Smiles/ frowns have starry eyes.

"grandlyCosmic: ~*000h mess1ahs you w1ll **never** bel1eve what the STARS t0ld me t0day ab0ut the f0x's dest1ny!!!!*~ *u*

Belico Rissan — Warmaker, Combat/griefing, avid collector of various strife specibi

Largely normal clown syntax but will frequently phrase things with all-caps over-the-top violent language. Doesn't bother to capitalize or use periods but an avid user of exclamation points.

"sanguineEclectica: the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy barkbeast and landed in THE PIT OF A SPIKED AND BLOOD-PUTRID CULL-TRAP as a lesson to complacent wrigglers everywhere! :o)"

Karkat Vantas — Schoolfeeder of quadrantcraft, originally as a joke, but unfortunately for all the elder members of the church the new baby clowns don't know that and he's increasingly accepted and legitimized with every class he teaches.

Minera Tresor — Scriptural basics (deceased)

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The Holy Holidays

TURNING NIGHT/DAY

The troll equivalent on New Years Night/Day; for most of the population it's a raucous all-caste night of celebrating that they've made it another sweep without dying. For the church it's their most sober holiday, a reminder that another sweep came and went without the promised Vast Honk and Dark Carnival. Faces are painted white (funeral paint) during the night, and in the morning everyone takes off their paint entirely until the new sweep is rung in at noon.

In the meantime, it's expected everyone will spend the night/day fasting from food and drinks, and tempting themselves with things they want or enjoy, whether that's making your favorite food and not eating it, or hooking up with a quadrant and then breaking off before either of you are satisfied.

Then at noon everybody goes buckwild and indulges until they're sick.

ALL COLORS WEEK

A very rowdy church-wide holiday. Work forbidden, only fun and capricious impulse. Copious colored clothes and decorations, painting, and powder dye are rampant. It’s traditional to stash little brightly-colored objects (and vials of blood) throughout the rest of the sweep and then hang them out a day at a time through the week so that the decorations get slowly more colorful and vivid.  They lump the seadwellers in with the rustbloods and the last colors to get hung up on the last day are the colors of the church.  

There’s also a different major saint for each day, which some people remember to pray to and some people don’t.  There’s a lot less quiet internal prayer at this point too--if you have something for a saint or messiah to hear, you probably shout it.  

Also; massive games of--essentially--capture the flag.  Teams are assigned according to age group, with the youngest/most numerous cohort starting on the first day.  They’re split in half into a team with a seadweller-color flag and rustblood-color flag, which they play for for the first day.  After that the next age-group comes in with their color, and all three teams try to collect the flags, and onward and upward until the schoolfeeders and generals come in to play, each with an incredibly high-point-value purple flag.  You have to challenge them to a duel to win one, in whatever area they teach/specialize in.  It’s pretty widely assumed that you won’t actually beat them, they just respect your attempt enough to hand it over, but if you do everybody is like !!!!!!! WOW HOLY SHIT DUDE and you’re a hero to the rest of your team.  The points system is pretty unofficial but the more flags you have, and the higher the blood color of those flags, the more you “score”.  Winner gets preferential treatment for the next two weeks.

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Ships Of The Holy Fleet

Names of ships are subject to change when a new captain takes over, although they aren’t always changed—when Kurloz joined the fleet, the flagship was the Painted Disciple, and Kurloz changed the name to the Dark Carnival after he successfully challenged the previous Grand Highblood. 

The Blessed is intensely focused on prayer and meditation and prophesy—much less in the way of combat training etc.  You can get religious training anywhere on the fleet, esp. the flagship, but if you want to basically focus your life on spirituality the Blessed is full of like-minded trolls.  

The Orisoner is Just Straight Up Vibing to an extent that many trolls find unnerving, but the crew of the Blessed are absolutely ride or die with her/him/them/etc. His powers are 100% min-maxed into sucking hate/rage/fear out of people, and the resulting good vibes and soft euphoria are a powerful (and borderline addictive) combination. Secretly terrifying, because nobody wins fights against her--because very few people can even bring themselves to lift a hand against them in the first place.

irenicDevotion: no caps, sooo many smilies :o) and just like... emphasis extensions my duuude :oD copafuckincetic

The Sinner is a party boat, which is considered an act of worship in and of itself.  People just get rowdy and wild and live it up at all times.  If there was air in space, you would be able to hear it as you approached to board—when it’s landed, you can hear it, and it’s super eerie.  Lots of trolls whooping and honking and shouting in a big metal box.

The Libation's powers are addictive in a different way; he's physically intoxicating to be around. If he focuses, he can easily have most people, especially people who aren't used to being drunk/high, blacked out and pretty much incapacitated.

ecstaticEroticism: 8RO h'es. straiht up nightdrinking rn. look hers his 8onkinggourd. all teh 8s their 8s its little drinking gurds. motherfuckr this paryts LIT roflmao

The Joker is a pretty standard barrack ship, although it has the notable reputation that under the current captain if you’re cheeky enough to do something and do it well, you should be allowed to get away with it even if it’s against the rules. It takes the majority of mediocre-to-fair trainees every generation, and compared to the Dark Carnival, a much higher percentage of its graduates go on to live off-fleet on shuttles or colonies.

Sister Waspclaw is a walking test of ability to read a passive level of threat and calculate accordingly. Very talkative, encouraging and pleasant, with an extremely dangerous and unhinged core. Her whole philosophy is that you can get far in life by figuring out what the most daring trick you could pull and get away with is--but it's very important you don't try to take even an inch with her. She's tiny, but her claws are incredibly venomous and very few trolls in the entire church fleet can match her for speed.

toxicAudacity: wazpclaw'z zo excited to talk zhe can't even bother with the zentencez and ztuff like that and it all flowz together but if you pizz her off you're DEAD MEAT and you can tell if you've pizzed her off becauze when zhe's angry zzzzzhe zzZZTARTZ GETTING A LITTLE UNHINGED AZZZZZHOLE!!! >:o[

Elixir and Stardust are commercial centers; the two ships used to be separate, but the people living there had so much reason to cross between the two, they put boarding passages up and welded them in place, fusing them together.  People who handle the dark, mysterious and miraculous arts of financial management and resource acquisition work here.  It’s also the most common place for the few cult members who aren’t purple-blooded, one of the few places they’re comparatively safe.  Some non-church quadrants of purplebloods will also set up hive here.

The Abattoir is canny, sober, and calculating, a loyal ally until slighted and then a bitter enemy. The nature of her identity is a topic of fierce public debate, and he's certainly not giving out answers. Whether her consciousness is originally one of his bodies now inhabiting two, an amalgam of two minds indistinguishably linked, or some completely external force puppeting two bodies, everybody can agree she's damn good to have on your side, and that crossing him is a fatal mistake.

duelReactor: II speak clearly and concisely because II respect your time, motherfucker, and forsooth you will respect me similarly. II am busy today: I am on-ship and I am travelling to the flagship for work. II will be back in office by sunrise.

The Freakshow is a cesspit of violence and bloodshed. A very dangerous place, but also prime picking ground if you have strong conciliatory urges and are looking for your One True Diamond. People who want to settle shit once and for all can come here, and the winner will probably get a cut of the pot from the people betting on their death-match.  The bloodshed and rage are technically holy and irreproachable but most fleet faithful tend to give this ship a wide berth.

The Behemoth is the epitome of Alternian culture: take what you want through force of bloodcolor and unmitigated violence, and maintain it through merciless supremacy. Sharper than it likes to act, and with a blatant disregard for any power except its own monstrous strength, it's been butting heads with the Grand Highblood ever since it came to power, and only a surprisingly canny ability to judge the rare occasions it's outmatched has kept it from marching on the Big Top and trying to take the throne by force.

brutishAnnihilation: O- BIG MOTHERFUCKER, BIG LETTERS, ONLY LITTLE BITCHES BOTHER WITH PUNCTUATION -O

The Penitent is essentially church jail, for sinners and troubled faithful, especially/specifically those who don’t have any close mentors or quadrants to help rehabilitate them.  It’s also where prisoners under suspicion of church-related crimes are kept to wait for inquisition, as well as non-urgent/non-imperial messengers from outside the church who are waiting to be heard by the Highblood.

The Judgment is both incredibly stern and strict, and also surprisingly forgiving--her job isn't to decide who to cull, it's to decide which sinful highbloods can make their way back into the church, through a lot of prayer and ritualized punishment. In person, though, she's a terrifying battle-ax of a troll with zero patience for dilly-dallying or lollygagging or talking back or not talking back enough or failing to use her title or answering clearly and concisely!!! She has shit to do!

consecratedCourtroom: Very rarely embellishes. Very rarely ends sentences with anything but a period. Speaks CONCISELY to get her point across. Uses emphasis scaling that always seems a LITTLE passive aggressive and sarcastic. Occasional interjections of OVERRULED. GUILTY. DISMISSED. IRRELEVANT. Etc etc.

The Dark Carnival is a little bit of everything, but the clowns who work there are generally the best of the best in at least one area, or extremely promising.  Intensely-devoted cultists, genii of violence and/or interrogation, artists, artisans, the rare mechanics, geeks and scientists, navigators, or just trolls who show a lot of ambition and leadership, all get funneled into the Dark Carnival to be trained up as heads of their respective fields.  

Trolls are always coming and going from ship to ship for whatever they need or to visit other faithful, and there’s always the constant low level of kinship between any members of the church, but there is also a certain amount of distance between the microcultures of each different ship.

Outfitting is pretty consistent ship to ship, with exceptions; on the Penitent nobody but the sufferingmasters and the captain are allowed weapons, armor, or decoration.  On the Blessed clothes tend to be plain and austere by cult standard, but they are allowed to wear armor and carry weapons.  

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Scriptures (to date)

Beginnings - a clown book of Genesis, of sorts. Creation myths and ancient church history.

“When it started we had fuck-all but dark. And so it stayed until Messiahs pulled back the curtain and said ‘let’s get this motherfucking party started’.  And they threw stardust down and it hit mud and it made dirtbloods, baked all dry enough like they could crumble if you breathed wrong.  And it hit water and it made waders; wet, cold, mirthless salty motherfuckers with too much eye for their own motherfucking sparkle.  But where it hit oceanside it made trolls out of sand, all capricious as fuck and changing with the water.  Trolls who could go hard or give when they had to.  All balanced on the universe high wire and not ever falling sea-side or ground-side but right there on their line like the acrobatterers they were.  From the sand were made the faithful; from the beachwood their horns, their goddamn bone snapped off from sea-floor stones on mountains under the water.  And what they made was Troll.  Only that.  Just that and no motherfucking more.  And when the last world was all fit together, messiahs looked on it and said ‘motherfucking money’.  

“Remember this story, faithful, and remember its lesson.  Change yourself always like sand in the water, you motherfuckers hand-shaped of surf and whimsy.”

“Urge of chaos and whim of change be ever on your skin like paint, in your pusher like blood, on your horns like a crown.  Mirthful, faithful.  Kickass and giving no shits.”

 (Book of) Colors - church policy on lowbloods, seadwellers, social order and painting, as well as the meat of the “Dark Carnival” scriptures/afterlife mythology.  

“You’re next.  You’re motherfucking next, give no mercy because the mercy of the messiahs is only as much as fits in their hands and what’s poured out on shitblooded scum will not be given you in the dark carnival gates and—”

“The Vast Honk will deafen and take from us, and all together we’ll head on up and get our dance on through fire and over skulls and horns—”

“No fear, brothers and sisters, no fear of the waders, the brine-drinkers.  There's no mirth in the sea and no painting the water doesn't wash off and you've got your hands on the righteous shit they won't ever know. No fear of the waders, for you're higher than them.  You're higher than anybody.”

“I fucked up, I fucked up, the fault's mine and there's no motherfucker I can share it with, I fucked up, forgive me.”

Sacrament - ceremonies, specifically related to new initiates and promotions within the church.  Naming ceremonies, promotions, priesthood bestowal, etc.

Suffering - Stories of martyr deaths and heretic executions.  Unique in that it is occasionally edited or added to if the church believes a story has been included in error or that a modern event needs to be added to the record.  

“…I am lost, kin.  My eyes see no colors I know.”  

The Cult of Flesh were a heretic movement deemed too dangerous to the faith of the readers to be included in the book of Suffering. Their belief that the Messiahs came to Alternia and were raised in flesh bodies by a troll acting as a lusus has been stricken from this record; their attempt to win over the current Grand Highblood, who they consider the descendant/reincarnation of the holy troll-lusus Brother Immortal, caused a schism and internal inquisition violent enough to be purged from the accepted imperial history.

Hilarities - Platitudes and words of wisdom, including the rules of comedy, the Great Unfunny Jokes, and some really quite good dating tips.

“It’s not a wise one who leaves the place of their motherfucking heart untimely.   No laughter in the suffering of those early lost of their quadrants so rest you with heart and spade and club and diamond and speak of the fucking Hilarity to each other.” 

“Fill the night enough full of holy deed and you’ll have no need of sopor to bless you with dreaming.”

“Ha ha, you salty motherfucker.”

“Let your spade burn hot, drive you up and make you great.  In this motherfucking way your kin will increase you and I’m not just talking about your bulge, LOL.”

“The wage of weakness is death; fear the only edge sharpened by waiting.”

“Take all you can grasp in your greed and your lust.  If something you want comes to your fronds, motherfucker, take it and run like it’s yours.”

Hot Shit – Letters from a historical Grand Highblood to his matesprit.  Considered by some to be a holy template of pity and matespritship, and to others a hot piece of smut that has been hilariously canonized.

(Hot Shit 1:1) "My sister in mirth, blessed in hilarity, peerless in holy rage; u up girl? :o?"

“Only let me hear you want me!  Hold me down and devour me, my love.”

“When my feet touch soil again I’ll make my way to you.  Take me as you like, heart of my heart; throw me down and fuck me under night sky and the Messiahs will only hear me sing praise out louder.  I’m hollow as a thunderstruck tree for you, sister.  I need you like starving needs food, like rage needs mercy, like sin needs forgiveness, like pain needs pleasure.”

"In grandest tradition of hot motherfuckers at the prime of their lives, fuck if I don't get mad stupid when I'm horny, sister. :o("

"Well the fuck I will reward you when you come back to hive. So well will I show my love for your thicc motherfucking ass, not for a night and a day and a night will you get feeling back in your motherfucking legs."

Revelries - Praises and adulation to the messiahs.

"I'll sing out my praises with wicked flow to the messiahs who saw fit to smile on me.  I'll praise and shout how I'm greatly blessed, I'll cry and weep how I'm not fucking worthy; their claws are in my soul, in the shape of my body, in the beat of my pusher.  Oh, my holy kin, we are color and light inside.  We are stardust.  Hands raised and faces laughing, spitting sick and delirious, together in glory.”

“…the halls around you will be painted bright and all the glitter and shine you’d want; get ye lit as fuck, brothers and sisters, let the beauty of their holy color and noise spin your pan like a motherfucking top.”

“Oh that I’m of use to you, all times and ways and places, my idle rest is to watch your show and my dreaming to hear the holy motherfucking noise."

“For not a troll was ever made, who didn’t fuck up nightly; never a faithful hatched who deserved their seat at the show.”

“Never will we be anything but loud, nitty-gritty dirty little freaks.  Lo, pour elixir and raise a glass.”

Conviction - The duties and trials of the church

“…leave ye not the dirtbound warm of blood to crawl and scrape, and waste offerings in vain.  They owe you penance and awe and what they give you are owed to take. A good ruler does the mercy of taking.”

“When your feet are unsure and what comes on you is un-fucking-funny, seek you holy suffering in penance.”  

“Dumbass, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“If fool-ass jokers fail to learn from looking, let their bodies learn it for them; scars teach best what a motherfucker’s too deaf to hear.”

“If your kin gets you sinning, cut them away, no true fucking family can they be. If the noise from your flap be blasphemous, carve it from you and stitch shut your filthy mouth, motherfucker. If your flesh leads to sin scourge it clean, washed in blood; cut away rot, and leave only what’s holy. Repentance by mouth never saved a soul; spill blood and flesh in price of forgiveness.”

Angels - Death, last rites, damnation/double death, hell, etc.

“[death] itself is not a glory; more glorious far to walk on and trail paint where you walk.”

‘I suffer pain, and want become need…I am allowed no motherfucking means to make resistance.  I wait for death, brothers.  Pour one out for remembrance of my soul’.”

“Why seek martyrdom when you could bring a hundred down with you?  Turn martyrdom to murderdom.  Paint the way; make them pay.  Shit, kin, let’s be destroyers.”

Devotions - Prayers, repentances and rituals.  (”Leader.”  “Congregation/faithful.”)

Repentance of sin (ending) - “Hail messiahs both.”  “Their works, their great motherfucking joke in the pits of the worlds they left and in the space in between.”  “Hail messiahs both.” “Your penance is paid.”

Reaffirmation of faith - “If I go false on promised devotions let messiahs grind stardust out my bones.”  “If you’d paint the face of flawed unholy troll with the shades of our holy messiahs, answer yes brother I will.” “Yes brother, I will.”“If you believe truly in what holy mess and bloody riot will come at end of worlds, if you plan on being full and motherfucking ready, make some motherfuckin’ noise.” “(Response, freeform).”“Have your ticket ready when you kick it, give me an amen brothers and sisters.” “Amen.”  “No mercy, faithful one.” “Amen.”  “No fear.”

The Dark Scriptures - only shown to religious sacrifices before their deaths. Readers must subsequently die. Contents are a mystery.

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His/Her/Their Mirthful Majesty

King/Queen/Crown of Colors

His/Her/Their Holy Hilarity

Biggest brother/sister

The Ringmaster

[dongnan001]

This is Master of Fifth Lazarus,and some plots from his new novel.

p1 A quarrel with Supreme Grand Master

p2 Familiar Librarian bully(and I really want to see Ezekiel again😭)

p3 Lazarus and his Interrogator-Chaplain Demetrius

[empiredesimparte]

Live broadcast of ‘Le Sacre de Napoléon V’ on the national channel Francesim 2, hosted by Stéphane Bernard

(Stéphane Bernard) The Emperor solemnly hands over the regalia and all honors to the Church, symbolized by the Grand Chaplain Mgr. Morlot, so that they may receive the sacraments necessary for the anointing. It is at this moment that the Alleluia will resound. A gesture of profound symbolism unfolds before our eyes, dear viewers.

(Pope) Do you profess, our dear Son, and promise before God and the angels to observe the law, to administer justice to your subjects, to maintain peace in the Church of God with the help of His grace, in the manner that you deem most fitting…

(Pope) … Based on the advice of your faithful counselors, and to ensure that the Pontiffs of the Church enjoy the respect and honors due to them according to the holy canons? (Napoléon V) Profiteor

⚜ Le Sacre de Napoléon V | N°10 | Francesim, Paris, 28 Thermidor An 230

The Emperor of the French, Napoleon V, makes his profession of faith before Pope Gregorius XIX. It was broadcast live on television by Stéphane Bernard, the famous journalist for the crowned heads in Francesim.

Beginning ▬ Previous ▬ Next

⚜ Traduction française

(Stéphane Bernard) L'Empereur remet solennellement les regalia et tous les honneurs à l'Église, symbolisée par le Grand Aumônier, afin qu'ils reçoivent les sacrements nécessaires à l'onction. C'est à ce moment que retentira l'Alléluia. Un geste d'une profonde symbolique se déroule sous nos yeux, chers téléspectateurs.

(Pope) Professez-vous, notre cher Fils, et promettez-vous devant Dieu et les anges, de faire observer la loi, de rendre la justice à vos sujets, de maintenir la paix dans l'Eglise de Dieu avec le secours de sa grâce, de la manière que vous jugerez la plus convenable....

(Pope) ... D'après l'avis de vos fidèles conseillers, et de veiller à ce que les Pontifes de l'Eglise jouissent du respect et des honneurs qui leur sont dus suivant les saints canons ?

(Napoléon V) Profiteor

[autisticskeleton-s]

Good Omens season 2 is about what religious trauma does to indoctrinated people, and here’s why.

so i finally watched Good Omens after my friends BEGGED me to ever since the first season first dropped and even though the ending stabbed me in the balls repeatedly for several hours i can’t help but marvel about how genius the ending really is and how crucial it is to both Aziraphale and Crowley as characters

i was hesitant to watch this show bc i was indoctrinated and conditioned by evangelicalism from birth (i’m literally the kid of two ex-missionaries and my dad was a chaplain for 36 years) and i knew that i could easily get triggered if i wasn’t careful.

i’m so glad i watched this show. there’s many reasons but i really just wanna talk about the ending of s2 aka The Divorce. it went entirely over my friends heads bc none of them grew up in the church but when i watched the ending it felt like i was watching pieces of myself at war with each other even though they didn’t want to be. to me, i was watching two people so broken by heaven and hell that they don’t understand that what they’re doing is hurting themselves more than it’s hurting each other. this is a pretty long ramble so i’ll continue under the cut

Aziraphale and Crowley are two halves of the same coin (literally soulmates) and are narrative foils to each other. obviously right, i mean, everyone noticed that. but what they truly represent in the grand scheme of things is the fallout of religious trauma. Crowley has seen the absolute Worst of heaven and the angels. he’s been outcast, scorned, and tortured for (assuming based on the opening scene of season 2) simply asking questions and questioning his faith. Aziraphale is the poster child of what a good angel is in the eyes of heaven and has reaped the benefits for millennia.

what is happening here is a war between two halves of a whole, Denial vs Bitterness.

as a young child it was drilled into my head over and over that my faith had to be as strong as a rock all the time or i would crumble like sand. i idolized all the bible characters and memorized all the verses and did all the good and right things i was supposed to. i was a standard in all the churches i went to, i was the example of what a good christian was, and i knew it.

then, over time, i began to see behind the curtain on what was really going on in the church and i was devastated. how could something based on love do all of that? why am i so scared to think freely? why do i feel like i can never be good enough? the more i questioned the more shame i felt and the more bitter i became, but i longed to go back to that innocence of being the best little christian kid in the church.

Aziraphale cannot truly comprehend the uncomfortable reality that what he’s been subscribing to all this time isn’t good for him. heaven has been hurting him for a long time and he doesn’t understand that. how can something he thinks is so right, so true, so good hurt him and his friends so much? no, it must be something he’s done right? it must be some bad apples right? the whole orchard can’t be bad right? he just has to fix this. he just has to make it better for him and for Crowley and then everything will be ok again.

Crowley can’t wrap his mind around why Aziraphale cares so fucking much. hasn’t he seen what heaven and hell have done? they barely stopped the end of the fucking world!!! they tried to destroy both of them with holy water and hellfire!!!!! they’re still trying to meddle in their personal lives after everything!!! why is Aziraphale so stubborn???? why does he choose something so asinine over him? Crowley has been there for Aziraphale a hell of a lot more than heaven has, can’t he see that?

both of them are hurting deep down into their very souls and they just can’t see it. that’s what religious trauma does to you. it strips you so bare of your personhood that without your religion, who are you? without your god, you’re just an empty shell. you’re nothing without “us”, without the church.

without Aziraphale trying and failing to fix heaven, he’s never gonna understand how corrupt of a system it all is.

without Crowley learning that Aziraphale is hurting just as much as he is, he’s never gonna learn that Aziraphale really had his best intentions at heart and just wanted to do what he thought was the good thing

without both of them realizing that they’re both wrong, they’re never gonna come together and really stand up for themselves and for their friends and for earth as a whole. without this grief, without this pain, without this separation, they’re never going to be truly free

and i, for one, cannot wait to see them kick some ass when they decide that enough is enough

[edwardseymour]

“[Jane] supervised the preparations of the official announcements of the birth from her bed. It was traditional for the queen to announce the birth herself […] Jane was also expected to play a very public role in the christening of her son and, on 15 October, she was wrapped by her attendants in velvet and furs to guard against the cold and carried to the christening on a special sofa prepared for the occasion. By convention, neither Henry nor Jane attended the christening and they waited in an anti chamber as the baby was carried away in a grand procession. Jane would also been glad of the prominence given to Mary and to members of her family, and Mary stood as godparent with the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Duke of Norfolk. Jane’s kinsman, Sir Francis Bryan, also had a prominent role as one of the gentlemen dressed in aprons and holding towels as they took charge of the font. Edward Seymour was prominently placed, carrying the four-year-old Princess Elizabeth, who made a rare visit to court. The gentlemen in the procession walked in pairs, carrying unlit torches before them. The children and ministers of the king’s chapel followed. The knights, chaplains and other members of the nobility also walked in pairs. Following them, the prince was brought, carried carefully by the Marchioness of Exeter and assisted by her husband and the Duke of Suffolk. Jane’s son was dressed in a great robe with a long train borne by Lord William Howard and, over the prince’s head, a canopy was held by a number of gentlemen, including Thomas Seymour. Jane felt proud as she watched the procession go by and she and Henry would have talked quietly about their son and their hopes for the future as they waited for the procession to return.”

— Elizabeth Norton, Jane Seymour

[rats-and-robots]

Children of the Void

Hi I am making a Host for Uralon the Cruel because I'm. Normal. And I want to get this down on paper.

Some disclaimers;

I headcanon that the events of RT occur almost immediately following or concurrently with the fall of Cadia. Which is to say Uralon's Host has been outside of the Eye of Terror since before the Fall.

Uralon here is a Grand Apostle, not just a Dark Apostle, as it's implied here in the game that he's on the Dark Council;

The Children of the Void are the 27th Host.

It is important to note that very few members are original members of the Host, as they have gone through multiple battles with great losses and at least one attempted coup. Many members are converted from loyalist legions, such as Nova who was converted as a Scout from a Black Templar chapter, or were stolen from planets and made into Word Bearers, and as such have never seen Sicarus or met Lorgar.

Obviously Uralon the Cruel is the head of the 27th Host as the Grand Apostle. He is a Colchisian native and fought during the heresy. Pre-Heresy, his chapter were always known for having a more wandering spirit and when their captain died and Uralon took over as one of the first Dark Apostles, this didn't change, thus their name labeling them as the Children of the Void, children of the stars and the voidships they travel in, rarely comfortable staying in one place. They were sent on a mission to find a way out of the Eye of Terror around the barricades and succeeded, but haven't been able to re-establish communications nor return until the Fall of Cadia.

His First Acolyte is his closest blood brother and former fellow Chaplain, Eclipse. Eclipse is a sorcerer and a psyker, a very, very powerful one at that. Eclipse and Uralon used to be nearly identical in appearance, before corruption gave Uralon horns and took Eclipse's sight. He and Uralon bounce off of one another easily, and Eclipse is often the one reeling in Uralon's ambition and reminding them of their limited resources outside of the Eye. Eclipse's name obviously was not always Eclipse, but he took the name following a great conquering triumph wherein he called upon the Dark Gods and they stole both the planet's sun, and his sight. This began a bit of a trend wherein members of the Host would rename themselves after cosmic events, furthering their own attachment to their traveling and the stars. (Eclipse has also pseudo-adopted Nymet, @nightshade-victorian's Night Lord, who follows him around like a puppy.)

Aphelion is known for being rather vocal about disliking Uralon's decisions, however despite this, Uralon chose him as his Coryphaus following Aphelion's attempt at a coup within the Host, preferring to hear out and stop any further insurrections given their total disconnect from Sicarus and their perilous situation. He would give himself the name Aphelion after this, once he learned it's meaning; the point where a planet is furthest from its sun. All of this said, he ultimately respects Uralon (now) and is loyal almost to a fault. Almost.

Epoch is the Host's 'Head Apothecary' and is more augment and corruption than flesh. Epoch was a member of the Vor Nergeth, or Order of the Procurators, who was assigned to the Children of the Void's mission. While he was not originally the Head Apothecary, he was forced to take the role following Aphelion's failed coup when the former one was killed. He stays on the ship, his... 'clinic' seated close to the center. Few actually see him for treatment and for the most part he acts as a last resort or as the Host's source of toxins and conversion from human into Astartes. Epoch has two Astartes who serve as guards to his chambers, Keon and Carnephitz.

There are four units of twelve beneath them, including the Captains of each; Nova, Zheon(preceded by Aurora), Rosk, and Azimuth(preceded by the Kiava Gamma CSM).

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Tav Asks…

1 & 30 ❤️

Thank youuuuuu. I do not get to talk about my Tavs much. But also there's 3 of them so I'm putting this under a readmore because it'll get long lol

1. What would your Tav’s greetings be (at different levels of approval)?

Mardora:

Negative: State your purpose. | Beldarakin. [treacherous one]

Neutral: How can I help?

Medium: Yes, friend? | How are you fairing? | In need of some council?

High & Up: Did you need to talk, Arausamman? [Great Friend, title of respect]

Partnered: I'm always happy to talk to you. | Yes, mo dauble? [my treasure]

Special for dwarven tavs/durges: May the dwarffather protect you.

Guemarir:

Negative: Oh, it's you. | What do you want now?

Neutral & Medium: Hello, my dear. | Come to chat? | Making time for little old me? Aren't you sweet.

High & Up: Always good to see you. | You know that I'm always fond of our little chats.

Flirting: My day just got brighter thanks to you. | I can't remember the last time I felt this giddy, you know, sincerely. | If you came to try and sneak a peak at the song I'm writing for you, you'll have to be more quiet than that.

Partnered: What's on your mind, darling? You know I'm more than happy to listen.

Orulan:

Negative: What? | Can't you see I'm busy?

Neutral & Medium: Hey! | Need me to do something? | Sure, I've got a minute. What do you want to talk about?

High & Up: How's it going, friend? | Do you need me to hit something? I'll do it. | Something on your mind? I'm always good to listen.

Partnered: You know I always have time for you.

30. What does your Tav want more than anything?

For Mardora, I don't think she's entirely sure what she wants. She never had a lot of goals besides leaving home & going on adventures, which she's doing now! As such, she's not really aimless, but she's relying on the structure of the adventurer's guild she joined & being one of the chaplains for the dwarves there to kind of guide her through life. Like, there was One Big Goal & she accomplished it because she never really planned past it. In the post-game, she's helping Lae'zel to free the githyanki from Vlaakith's rule, & she wants to help her (that's her wife), but that's more Lae'zel's goal than hers. I'd say that, probably, you could say what she wants most is to figure out what she wants for the rest of her life.

Guemarir, for all his drama & verboseness & General Bard Behavior is a simple guy: he just wants to find a way to get his dad to leave him alone forever. Granted, easier said than done because Demon Who Can Easily Keep Tabs On Him, but that's still the ultimate goal.

Orulan, similarly to Mardora, doesn't really have any grand plans & is just kind of content to go on adventures. That said, I don't think they do want to figure out more. The most they would probably want to add onto "do what I want forever," is "have a partner to go on these adventures with?????" They're pretty easy-going (short tempered, but easy-going), & I don't think they really want any kind of grand plan--at least not right now. They're perfectly content to take odd adventuring jobs & tinker with the little music box their parents gave them & maybe smooch somebody (probably Gale--he wants this tiny idiot carnally).

[tagedeszorns]

Vulkan He'stan

Two versions of him - or rather his ritual branding scars - for Marine Meat Monday.

The Forgefather leads a lonely life that constantly takes him far away from Nocturne into the depths of the galaxy, where he searches alone on his own for the artefacts that the Salamanders believe hold a key to discovering what happened to their missing Primarch.

Contrary to what was said in TTS, it is not the case that Vulkan will simply appear like Father Christmas once the artefacts are collected. The Salamanders are an incredibly independent, stubborn chapter and firmly believe that nothing is given for free. Especially not their beloved Gene-Sire. Instead, the Tome of Fire and the artefacts offer the opportunity to get clues as to what happened to Vulkan.

And unlike their predecessors during the Horus Heresy, the 40k Salamanders are not at all convinced that he is still alive! The famous war cry "Vulkan Lives!" was definitely a 30k thing. More specifically, coined by Pyre Guard Captain Artellus Numeon, a Terran Salamander who, after Isstvan V, didn't believe Vulkan had been killed and who, after the events surrounding Curze's brief reign of terror in Magna Macragge City, dragged Vulkan's "dead" body across the galaxy. And managed the seemingly impossible.

In 40k, "Vulkan Lives" is no longer the flaming sign of unshakable faith. This is no longer the time of the miracles of the Grand Crusade, after all!

Do they hope he's still alive? Sure! But they are also realists. And that's why they do what's possible with what they have.

And when inexplicable things happen now and then, like a Chaplain's destroyed Crozius still working, or a dead Psyker suddenly becoming a Living Flame and simply disintegrating a Chaos Fleet … well, obviously there is still a lot to find out then!

And Vulkan He'stan is just the man to find out!

When he then emerges from the most inhospitable corners of the galaxy every now and then, he is on the one hand very happy to see Prometheus and Nocturne again, but is constantly only too aware of how far away his task removes him from his brothers. Then he allows himself a little melancholy. Shares with the Chapter Master a little loneliness that they both feel. And then he sets off again to fulfil his task.

Because that's what Salamanders do!

It was at He’stan’s request that they’d come to one of the viewing galleries in Prometheus space port. The long chamber was dark, illuminated by brazier coals. The flickering light revealed the icon of the Firedrakes as they pulled the shadows away, only for it to be swallowed as the darkness reasserted itself again a few moments later. ‘Aye, we are humbled by her savage beauty, Lord He’stan.’ Tu’Shan clapped a firm hand upon the Forgefather’s shoulder.

For He’stan it was an odd sensation. He had been apart from his brothers for a long time. His quest for the lost artefacts of Vulkan had taken him to the edges of known space, to sights he would not describe and deeds he would never speak of. To them, his Fire-born kin, he was an enigma, a distant figure whose ways were inscrutable. It was no small thing to return.

Kyme, Nick. Salamanders: The Omnibus (Tome of Fire) (S.741). Games Workshop. Kindle-Version.

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @elsie-writes! This, uh, is an old one lol

Five Lines Tag

My lines:

A sad line

A line about a book/reading

A line about fighting

A fun line

A line about hopes and dreams

I'll pull from End Times :)

A Sad Line

Like a hive of bees, the Heralds set to work immediately with their chisels and black paint. End turned its back to them and, by Izjik’s guess, began inspecting another tunnel as its route out. However, its position gave her a clear view of those who had fallen to the chaplain’s muskets. Her heart dropped as she caught sight of round spectacles speckled with blood.

No, no, no, don’t do this to me, kid, she pleaded. Solane lay prone, bleeding from a shot to her knee. Izjik barely contained her prayer of relief as she noticed the girl was still breathing. It must’ve been a glancing shot if her leg was still attached.

Yet, no one tended to her, or the other, more severely injured. Those who could walk were patched up quickly, but anyone unable to move was left where they’d fallen. There was no room for stragglers in End’s grand march.

There was nothing Izjik could do—no words she could say to sway her captor that wouldn’t just make things worse for her or the cultists. Solane couldn’t survive a wound like that unaided, though she might last an excruciatingly long time down here in the dark with her waterskin and cook’s supplies.

Spirits, girl, I’m so sorry, Izjik cried silently. At least she was unconscious now. Perhaps she would stay that way until the end.

A Line About A Book/Reading

“Pasty, you’re never going to believe what I found!”

Grinning madly, the Amaranthi set a stack of stone tablets on the table. Twenari gasped softly as she took in the geometrical, chisel-wrought script. How had the Devarises gotten their hands on those?

His face unreadable, Sepo ran his fingers across the siren tablets. Djek put his hand on the man’s shoulder with a smile.

“I can’t read siren, but I know we’re looking for major centers of religion, so I figured there’d be something about that in these things,” he said.

Sepo shuffled through the tablets, seeming to skim their titles. Twenari examined the ones he set aside. They weren’t bound or marked in any way—in fact, it seemed like each tablet was its own, contained volume. The script, though clearly made with a chisel, was breathtakingly intricate. Did each character of Llanaodan contain greater meaning than their Janazi counterparts? She figured they must, with such a constrained medium.

“You’re right,” Sepo finally admitted. “A fair few are religious. I’m not giving you credit for that though, because it’d be more impressive if you found nothing religious among siren writings. Even still, we already know the seat of siren religion—I grew up there for fuck’s sake.”

A Line About Fighting

The man cried out as he sent a net of shadows flying towards End’s head, but it or Izjik knew the feint for what it was. It jumped over the hidden patch of sticky darkness lurking in its path before dropping into a roll just in time to avoid the net.

Djek sent forth a flurry of dark spears as he retreated. He needed to keep distance between them. However, that was pretty fucking hard when End reacted like it could see the spell before he even cast it. It dodged the needle-quick strikes with a bored fluidity.

Then, it was right next to him.

Djek blinked in surprise. He hadn’t even seen it move! That was all he was able to process before a fist drove into his solar plexus. He doubled over, coughing, only to realize his mistake too late.

The short selkie drove her knee into his chin—just like he’d seen her do a thousand times with taller opponents—and everything went white. He didn’t even have the air to cry out, the space of mind to make a sigil, before she stood him up again with a monster of an uppercut and proceeded to pummel his ribs like they owed her money.

Vision swimming Djek tried for a weak hook, but End caught his hand easily. It grinned with Izjik’s face.

“You sorcerers….” It tisked disapprovingly. “All bluster from fifty feet away. But up close you’re nothing.”

A Fun Line

“Nah dude, you got thrown through a stone balcony like three days ago. Keep watch. I might not be some country bumpkin, but how hard can finding sticks in a forest be?”

Somewhere in the dark, Djek caught a glimpse of abyssal eyes narrowed into something almost like appraisal. The Amaranthi found it highly telling that Sepo hadn’t just told him to bite it immediately. He was probably worse off than either human suspected—not that he’d admit it on pain of death.

“Look for dry wood in a variety of sizes,” Sepo acquiesced with a sigh.

Djek smothered a giggle. “And I’ll bet you’re an expert at looking for dry wood in a variety of sizes, huh?”

A twig flew out of the darkness and impacted his forehead. “You’re a child.”

“Avoid any Nabafyrian cedar,” Twenari added. Either the innuendo had sailed over the girl’s head or she just didn’t care. Honestly, it was a toss-up. “It can explode when exposed to intense heat.”

“That’s…. Sure, whatever. Exploding trees.” Djek cracked his knuckles with a sigh and began to make his way into the underbrush. “Run fast if you hear me scream.”

“The head start will be appreciated.”

“Run towards me, dumbass!”

A Line About Hopes And Dreams

What would his family say? It’d been even longer since he’d thought of them and even longer still since he’d seen them. But even so… Djek pictured a tiny, rickety apartment in Fayuki’s industrial district. It was filled with grime from the air outside and noisy with the sound of too many mouths and not enough food. He pictured his mother’s rusty eyes and his father’s murky hazel. Out of all his siblings, Djek had been the only one born with eyes of true, Amaranthi crimson.

They would die if he failed, those who probably weren’t dead of starvation or industrial accidents or redlung already. Sure, everyone else would die, too. Sepo and Twenari, Izjik and Daedryn, all of the dozens of Devarises and rowdy Nacians and sirens battling under the waves.

Even so, Djek couldn’t help but imagine his big sisters Kiva and Kana, one with her gap-toothed grin and the other with her corny jokes, watching the stars fall from the sky. He wondered if little Vanik had ever managed to get the food he needed to grow taller than the rest of his siblings, if Shon and Avra had ever gotten out of the city like they’d planned. Would they all have to watch the seas boil and the sun burn out? Watch the blood of gods drip down like so much rain?

Maybe after all of this was over—if he still lived by then—Djek would pay them a visit. He’d hated his parents after they’d abandoned him, almost as much as he’d hated himself for being the child they chose to sacrifice to the streets. But his siblings had played no part in that. It wasn’t fair to lump them in with the snarl of emotion he felt whenever he looked back on his childhood.

Ah, nothing like an incoming apocalypse to make you work through your family trauma.

He would, Djek decided. When this was all over, he would go back to Fayuki—dressed to the nines, marks of a god on his hands, and flanked by his best friends, who just happened to be three of the most terrifying bastards this side of the Oresea. He would find his family’s home and waltz in for dinner.

I'll tag @rivenantiqnerd @kuebiko-writing @pluppsauthor @elizaellwrites and anyone else who wants to play :)

Your lines:

A line about friendship

A line with a lie

A line about fighting

A line about the weather

A line about determination

[tasam1075]

I've got a little runaway muse (inspiring with the wrong chapters 🤔)

here's a little snippet

Transferred

Scott woke to another day of the same monotony, for the last seven years his days had very little variety.

His 'existence' was now limited to a 6ft by 9ft 'cage' that he only left for an hour each day, although it wasn't unusual for him to be left in his cell from Friday evening right through to Monday morning with no respite.

The bland (usually cold) substance that masqueraded as food was passed through the slot three times a day, he couldn't even remember what good food tasted (or looked) like any more.

Privacy was another non existent concept for him now, his occasional phone calls were always listened to and his mail (both sent and received) read by the guards.

Even when he was taken to the showers everything had to be done in front of the guards, not even a frosted screen to give him the illusion of privacy.

As awful and degrading as it had been at the start, it had now become normal for him.

He never knew whether he should look forward to the, now infrequent, visits from his family or dread the aftermath of said visit.

After every visit he was left with the brutal reality of his existence as he was taken back to his cell whilst his visitor was always free to leave, the knowledge that life had continued for his brothers just cemented the depressive nature of death row for him.

Three marriages and the only sister he'd ever actually met was Tintin, he knew that he'd never be introduced to John and Gordon's wives (at least not socially).

Ironically he'd been, indirectly, responsible for John meeting his wife even though he'd never actually met Abigail.

Three funerals that he hadn't been able to attend, no-one had even told him that Becky and their son were both dead until months after their funerals had taken place.

He didn't even know how many more grandchildren his father was now able to dote on.

He couldn't allow himself to dwell on that, not without thinking about his own son, the son whose name he still wasn't allowed to know, the son whose funeral he hadn't been allowed to attend - how could he grieve properly for his son when he wasn't allowed to know his son's name.

Although the death row cells were not 'officially' classed as solitary confinement, that had been classed as a cruel and unusual punishment, the only non-solid wall was the bars at the front of the cells.

He knew that the cells on either side were occupied but he could only ever see the occupants of the cells opposite, none of whom were given to any form of communication beyond yelled insults and obscene gestures, he usually tried to ignore them as he retreated even further into his own personal hell of the never ending nightmares and perpetual solitude of this isolating existence.

Sometimes the prison chaplain came round on one of his semi-regular pastoral visits to the 'condemned' men, he never described the death row inmates as condemned but they all knew better, a brief despite from the soul destroying reality of his existence.

The chaplain was also the only person in the prison who ever spoke to him as if he was a normal person.

Scott cherished those infrequent conversations, a rare chance to feel 'almost' human, to feel as if someone actually cared about him, at least enough to talk to him even if the conversations were always meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

Something felt different about today though, a feeling of increased tension that he couldn't quite reconcile as he walked around the exercise area.

He almost smiled to himself as he considered the 'exercise area' that was all he was allowed to use.

Twice as long as his cell but less than half the width and all he could do was walk, no other form of exercise was permitted, twenty steps forward and twenty steps back for the entire allotted hour.

The last time he tried to do anything other than walk he'd lost the 'privilege' of his daily hour of exercise for a month.

Not even any rain to break the monotony today, even sunlight had become a foreign concept for him. He'd almost forgotten what sunshine looked like, did the sky have any other colour than shades of grey? He, almost vaguely, remembered the beautiful clear blue skies of home, the home that he hadn't seen for a decade and now would never see again.

His hour of exercise now completed the restraints were back on his wrists and he was ready for the return to his cell.

Instead of going back to his cell, however, he was taken to a different part of the prison where the leg restraints were fitted before being connected to the chain now at his waist.

He was confused the last time he'd been in such restraints was the day that he had been supposed to see his grandmother, the day that she died, the day that his own brother had hit him so hard that he'd spent the next two weeks in hospital recovering from his injuries. Injuries that would have prevented him from attending his grandmother's funeral even if permission had been granted for him to be there.

"What's happening?"

He asked, not really expecting any answer, after all his occasional questions were rarely answered by anyone these days.

"You're being transferred"

Scott just stood in shocked silence as the hood was placed over his head, how could he be transferred with no notice, where was he being taken to?

His last, and only, transfer (to date) he had a few days notice. He'd been able to send his most prized possession (a photograph of Becky from happier times) to Tintin for her to keep it safe, otherwise it would have been destroyed.

Unable to see and with the restraints limiting his movement it was a helpless Scott who was taken from the prison to the awaiting transportation.

After an uncertain amount of time, and three different vehicles, the hood was removed and he could finally see his surroundings, not that there was much for him to see.

He was seated, with the restraints still in place and secured, in a steel-grey 'room' that was only a little larger than a lavatory cubicle. The only light came from somewhere above his head

What little he could see didn't fill him with any kind of hope, his restraints had been secured so completely that he couldn't bring his hands to his face. Even standing was now impossible for him, he was completely trapped until someone returned to release him and that wouldn't happen until he reached his destination, wherever that was.

Without any indication of the passage of time Scott had no idea how long he'd been 'chained' in place, in could have been hours or just a few minutes, at least in his usual cell he had an impression of the passage of time from the regular activities of the guards, there was nothing here, no indication of anything to distract his, usually all too vivid, imagination.

He didn't even know what type of vehicle he was now in.

The sudden jolt and subsequent feeling of motion surprised him. Every sense he had, if he could still trust his senses after all these years, told him that he wasn't in an aircraft and the motion and sounds did not feel like any form of road transportation that he was familiar with, as a result he came to the conclusion he was on a train.

The rhythmic sounds and movements of the train had a soporific effort on him and Scott soon found himself lulled into a somnolent state.

Scott slept as the train moved on through the night, its long journey unremarkable until it reached the river crossing.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Michael de Adder, Washington Post :: [Robert Scott Horton]

* * * *

Letters From An American

Tonight, just before midnight, the state of Georgia indicted former president Donald J. Trump and 18 others for multiple crimes committed in that state as they tried to steal the 2020 presidential election. A special-purpose grand jury made up of citizens in Fulton County, Georgia, examined evidence and heard from 75 witnesses in the case, and issued a report in January that recommended indictments. A regular grand jury took the final report of the special grand jury into consideration and brought an indictment.  

“Trump and the other Defendants charged in this Indictment refused to accept that Trump lost” the 2020 presidential election, the indictment reads, ”and they knowingly and willfully joined a conspiracy to unlawfully change the outcome of the election in favor of Trump. That conspiracy contained a common plan and purpose to commit two or more acts of racketeering activity in Fulton County, Georgia, elsewhere in the State of Georgia, and in other states.” 

The indictment alleges that those involved in the “criminal enterprise” “constituted a criminal organization whose members and associates engaged in various related criminal activities including, but not limited to, false statements and writings, impersonating a public officer, forgery, filing false documents, influencing witnesses, computer theft, computer trespass, computer invasion of privacy, conspiracy to defraud the state, acts involving theft, and perjury.” 

That is, while claiming to investigate voter fraud, they allegedly committed election fraud. 

And that effort has run them afoul of a number of laws, including the Georgia Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations (RICO) Act, which is broader than federal anti-racketeering laws and carries a mandatory five-year prison term. 

Those charged fall into several categories. Trump allies who operated out of the White House include lawyers Rudy Giuliani (who recently conceded in a lawsuit that he lied about Georgia election workers Ruby Freeman and Shaye Moss having stuffed ballot boxes),  John Eastman, Kenneth Chesebro, Jeffrey Clark, Jenna Ellis, and Trump’s White House chief of staff Mark Meadows. 

Those operating in Georgia to push the scheme to manufacture a false slate of Trump electors to challenge the real Biden electors include lawyer Ray Stallings Smith III, who tried to sell the idea to legislators; Philadelphia political operative Michael Roman; former Georgia Republican chair David James Shafer, who led the fake elector meeting; and Shawn Micah Tresher Still, currently a state senator, who was the secretary of the fake elector meeting. 

Those trying to intimidate election worker and witness Ruby Freeman include Stephen Cliffgard Lee, a police chaplain from Illinois; Harrison William Prescott Floyd, executive director of Black Voices for Trump; and Trevian C. Kutti, a publicist for the rapper formerly known as Kanye West. 

Those allegedly stealing data from the voting systems in Coffee County, Georgia, and spreading it across the country in an attempt to find weaknesses in the systems that might have opened the way to fraud include Trump lawyer Sidney Powell; former Coffee County Republican Committee chair Cathleen Alston Latham; businessman Scott Graham Hall; and Coffee County election director Misty Hampton, also known as Emily Misty Hayes.  

The document also referred to 30 unindicted co-conspirators.

Trump has called the case against him in Georgia partisan and launched a series of attacks on Fulton County District Attorney Fani Willis. Today, Willis told a reporter who asked about Trump’s accusations of partisanship: “I make decisions in this office based on the facts and the law. The law is completely nonpartisan. That's how decisions are made in every case. To date, this office has indicted, since I’ve been sitting as the district attorney, over 12,000 cases. This is the eleventh RICO indictment. We follow the same process. We look at the facts. We look at the law. And we bring charges."

The defendants have until noon on August 25 to surrender themselves to authorities.

Letters From An American

Heather Cox Richardson

[lgbtpopcult]

Best WLW News Stories of 2022

The state of Tamaulipas voted to recognise same-sex marriage, making it legal in all 32 states.

Jean-Pierre will formally begin following Psaki's last day, which will be May 13. President Joe Biden announced in a statement Thursday, becoming the first Black and out LGBTQ person to hold the position.

The Church of Scotland has voted to allow same-sex marriages, after fresh warnings that its historical opposition had increased the church’s decline towards irrelevance.

The church’s general assembly, its decision-making body, voted by 274 to 136 on Monday to allow its ministers and deacons to opt in to officiate at same-sex weddings, ending a centuries-old prohibition.

The church’s legislation will be updated to remove references to a marriage taking place between a husband and wife, and refer instead to “parties”.

Some ministers said within minutes of the vote that they had immediately applied to be registered to carry out same-sex weddings, including the Rev James Bissett, a chaplain to the Royal Air Force’s air cadets.

Cuba has legalized same-sex marriage after Cubans voted in favor of a family code that increased protections for minorities on the island, the country’s National Electoral Council announced on Monday.

The Electoral Council said 74.1% of those eligible to vote in Sunday’s national referendum had turned out to cast their ballot.

With 94% of the votes counted as of 9am ET on Monday morning, 3,936,790 had voted in favor and 1,950,090 against – signaling an overwhelming support for the new law.

The new family code extends greater protection to women, children and the elderly, as well as allowing LGBTQ couples to marry and adopt children.

Lawmakers in the tiny nation – which has a population of about 77,000 and is smaller than the city of Chicago in land mass – voted unanimously to allow same-sex couples access to civil marriage.

“Today we vote for a law for all, which includes us all, a law of a modern country that ensures the free development of citizenship and bases its success on the most important nucleus of organization, the family, with all its diversity,” said Carles Enseñat, president of the Democratic Parliamentary Group.

The models Fabiola Valentín, Miss Grand Puerto Rico 2020, and Mariana Varela, Miss Grand Argentina 2020, thrilled the world of beauty pageants by not only confirming their relationship, but also revealing that they joined their lives in marriage, on October 28, in an intimate celebration.

Slovenia is the first country in the region that gives same-sex couples the same rights as heterosexual couples. The Parliament passed the amendment with 48 MPs in favour, 29 who voted against and one blank vote, Euronews reports.

The status does not carry the same rights as marriage, but allows LGBTQ partners to be treated as married couples for some public services in areas such as housing, health and welfare.

The Senate passed bipartisan legislation Tuesday to protect same-sex marriages, an extraordinary sign of shifting national politics on the issue and a measure of relief for the hundreds of thousands of same-sex couples who have married since the Supreme Court’s 2015 decision that legalized gay marriage nationwide.

[fideidefenswhore]

The encounter at Hailes was later remembered by Anne's personal chaplain, William Latymer, to have prompted thoughts of a grand programme of reform. This has been read as a proof of her influence on a deepening distaste for the tradition in the mind of the King. Yet what Latymer remembered was not the total suppression of the monastic estate but rather a judicious reform: 'from that time forward she advertised all other preachers of God's word ...touching the subverting of any houses of religion, but rather to make continual and earnest petition for the stay of the same.' Latymer claimed that 'the sweet sound whereof, after it came to the ears of the governor of other religious houses wonderfully revived them and gave them good hope.'

Clark, J. G. (2021). The Dissolution of the Monasteries: A New History. United Kingdom: Yale University Press.

[stellanslashgeode]

On a Star Wars related note. Given the existence of the New Sith Wars (Amillennia of conflict where Jedi became feudal lords while the Holonet collapsed and the Republic was on its last legs) and the continued resurrection of the Sith order time and again from the time of Naga Sadow whenever they were thought extinct. I kinda want to see a reverse Anakin. A Jedi fundamentalist who's obsessed with order and giving no quarter to the Dark. Someone with the same peace and justice no matter the cost ideals of Anakin who manifested it in an entirely separate way with the grimdark implication that he was right given the Sith would take over the galaxy with the Galactic Empire. How does this sound:

990 BBY. Jedi Lord Somnius, the Dreamer, had been scarred irreparably by the chaos of the Republic's Dark Age. Lord Hoth, his friend, his colleague, had died to the Sith Thought Bomb, and Somnius himself had been left terribly scarred by the last spiteful weapon of their hated enemy.

So many friends, so many loved ones, annihilated at a single moment, a final twisting of the knife after a lifetime of war and loss.

But, Chancellor Valorum promised to rebuild the Republic, greater than before. The surviving Jedi tended to their wounded, ensuring the scarred but beloved master that it truly was over. The Sith really were gone.

….. but were they?

That's what their forbears had believed too, thousands of years ago. And yet what had it caused? Ruin. The Dark Underlord. The near collapse of civilization in the Galaxy. Hundreds of billions of lives destroyed because the Republic and Jedi had been content to rest on their laurels. Because they had been complacent. Stagnant. So much blood was on their hands, for they had been too weak to do what needed to be done.

So long as a single stone, in a Galaxy of billions of stones, remained unturned, there was a chance that the Sith Cults still lived, lying in wait to once more destroy all that was righteous and beloved. That fact ate at the traumatized man day in and day out. And when it was announced that the hopeful Valorum planned to not only dissolve the Republic military, but officially de-militarize the Jedi and dissolve the Jedi lordship, after everything they had done for the Galaxy, something ….. snapped.

To this end, pouring over the holocrons of the Order and treatises in Galactic history and political philosophy, he devises a plan that, in his mind, would make it impossible for the Sith to ever re-emerge. Unfortunately for the Galaxy, this plan has a few parallels with the very ideology of Palpatine's New Order: a totalitarian, all-powerful state owed an almost religious level of devotion, ostensibly for the protection of the people and the maintenance of stability.

The Senate & Chancellor will answer directly to the Jedi Order. The Council will reserve the right to appoint and dismiss Chancellors at their leisure. The Jedi Code will become more than guidelines for force-sensitives, but a dogma to be taught in all Republic places of learning. Every man, woman, and child of the Galaxy must grow up with the values of peace, serenity, and devotion to the Light deeply inculcated into them. The philosophy of the Jedi Order will come to dominate all spheres life.

Jedi Knights will become Chaplains and Ideological Commissars within the Grand Army, bodyguards (and informants) on government bureaucrats and administrators, even the rulers of planets. The Force only desires one order, and so all other force orders, all the heretics, in the galaxy will be forced to dissolve and join the Jedi, and those who are found guilty of trafficking in the Dark - the Night-Sisters, the Sorcerers of Rhand, the Blackguard, the Prophets of the Dark Side, etc. - will be exterminated, mercilessly. This is the only way to ensure their teachings never take root again.

Finally, there must be a means of insuring no rogue Force sensitives remain at large, capable of rediscovering, or themselves inventing, Dark Side techniques. Jedi temples will be built on every last inhabited world in the Galaxy, without exception, and all children born in the Republic will by requirement have their Midichlorian concentrations tested. If the still newborn infant is found to be force sensitive, they are taken. Gone will be the inefficient and incompetent methods that allowed rogue force users to go unchecked. Those who have a connection with the Force have an obligation to defend the Light and eradicate the Dark, and so a duty to possess lifelong devotion to the Order.

The Republic will be dissolved, all its institutions and bureaucracies both de jure and de facto subordinated to a the will of clandestine, monastic religious order, a state within a state. A galaxy-spanning polity devoted solely to the Will of the Force requires a fitting name: the Celestial Realm of the Force. A theocracy & theonomy, to the greatest extent of each word.

TL'DR Belos from the Owl House if he was a Jedi.

That is very delicious. I was going to bring up Lord Hoth but you went ahead and beat me. This would be a very fine fic.