#The Sect of the Imperative.

[ruled-by-cool]

Chi Avende Backstory. Now out of order!

In some timelines, Zane never came to serve the Many.

The Many called a different champion to Omelas, and usually, things more or less worked out. But without Zane, the godthief grenaal was not entrusted to Xur. In some timelines, the grenaal was entrusted to people as dedicated and vigilant as Xur, and was kept safe.

Maybe, if Nene hadn't gone looking for it in AVE, it would have stayed safe. But she knew a little too much, and the Sect was able to defeat its guardians and claim it as their own.

[qiu-yan]

one topic i've been interested in lately is the idea of moral luck.

let's start somewhere else. i was surprised to learn that the question of "do moral dilemmas exist" is actually debated upon in moral philosophy. broadly speaking, a "moral dilemma" is a situation in which the agent can only choose one of several mutually exclusive options, and yet the agent has moral reasons compelling them towards each option. some philosophers have argued that, given a sufficiently robust moral philosophy, a "genuine" moral dilemma cannot exist: the moral philosophy will organize the differing moral reasons for each course of action into a hierarchy, in which more important moral reasons override the others; thus, the moral philosophy will always be able to identify one or more correct courses of action.

based on my own analysis - if one takes a more moral-pluralistic point of view, though, this is no longer true. moral pluralism indicates the view that multiple different values can all be equally valuable and morally significant, even when they are contradictory. in this case, a moral reason may not be able to override another moral reason. in my opinion (which i am not sure if lines up with official ideas of moral pluralism), this entails the return of the moral dilemma. after all, if the agent can only choose one of several mutually-exclusive courses of action, and the agent has genuine moral reasons for each course of action, and these moral reasons also cannot override each other - then it seems the agent is doomed. no matter what the agent chooses to do, they will be violating some moral reason. they will be committing some moral wrongdoing.

the idea that someone is doomed to commit some moral wrongdoing is referred to as moral tragedy.

this is all kind of abstract, so let us consider a more concrete example. first, let's consider the trolley problem. from a deontological perspective, the perfect duty of not violating the categorical imperative by killing the 1 person comes before the imperfect duty of taking action to save 5 people from death; hence, the correct choice is to not pull the lever. from a utilitarian perspective, the outcome in which 5 people live and 1 person dies involves less harm than the outcome in which 1 person lives and 5 people die, so pulling the lever is the correct choice. however, from a more morally pluralistic point of view, both the choice of pulling the lever and not pulling the lever involve violating some moral duty. people have a moral duty to not kill people, and people also have a moral duty to not allow people to die through inaction. you can only either kill the 1 person to save the 5 people or allow the 5 people to die through inaction. no other choice exists. thus, no matter what choice you make, you will be violating one of those two moral duties; you are trapped in a moral tragedy.

now let's consider another example. suppose you are jiang cheng, and wei wuxian has just busted wen ning's wen remnants out of the jin labor camp at qiongqi pass. from a more morally pluralistic point of view, you are also caught in a moral tragedy: no matter what choice you make, you will be violating some moral duty.

if you choose not to stand by wei wuxian, then you are violating some of your moral duties. wei wuxian is your martial brother; you have a duty towards him. wen ning and wen qing helped you greatly in the past; by the virtue of reciprocity, you owe it to them to help them too. furthermore, as a human being, you have a moral duty to stand against the mistreatment of innocent people. choosing not to stand by wei wuxian entails violating all three of these moral duties.

however, if you choose to stand by wei wuxian, then you are also violating some of your moral duties. you are the leader of the yunmeng jiang sect, which is currently recovering from near-absolute annihilation and thus lacks the resources the other great sects have. as the leader of yunmeng jiang, you are its representative: thus, you standing by wei wuxian when he has alienated lanling jin means that you are making yunmeng jiang stand against lanling jin. and since the jin sect is tied to the other two great sects via the venerated triad, if yunmeng jiang stands against lanling jin, then the situation will become all three of the other great sects against your one weak recovering sect.

you are the leader of the people in yunmeng jiang. those people just fought a war for you. as their leader - or even simply as someone for whom these people bled and suffered - you owe it to them to put them first. as a leader you exist for your people. if you act in violation of what is best for your people's safety and happiness, if you actively choose to put them in danger, then you have broken the social contract by which they gave you authority. then you have failed your duty. and since choosing to stand by wei wuxian puts everyone under your protection in danger, choosing to stand by wei wuxian entails violating your moral duty as a leader.

so. no matter what choice you as jiang cheng make, you will be violating some moral duty. you will be committing some moral transgression. you are caught in a moral tragedy.

from a morally pluralistic point of view, any choice in a moral tragedy entails some moral wrongdoing. so what determines whether you end up in a moral tragedy or not?

luck.

it's commonly said that a person's moral character can be determined from the choices they've made in their life - judge a man by his actions and all that. in other words, we look at what moral violations he has committed, as well as what morally upstanding acts. and yet! if he's ended up in a moral tragedy before - then he had no choice but to commit a moral violation, because all of the available choices were moral violations! does that mean that a person's moral character is subject not just to his own choices, but to luck as well? whether or not you can be called a good person or a bad person is affected also by merely how lucky or unlucky you were?

i do not personally use the framework of "good person" vs "bad person" very often; the utilitarianism i favor cannot be used to judge entire moral characters. however, it certainly is the case that other people will judge an individual's entire moral character by the choices they've made. and yet, it seems that - again and again - the concept of moral luck is not considered.

who did not have moral luck? who ended up in a moral tragedy?

wei wuxian. jiang cheng. lan xichen. jin guangyao. nie mingjue. and many others.

who did have moral luck? who avoided all the moral tragedies?

lan wangji.

[niceandaccurategoodomensanalysis]

I was not able to find the source for this pic! If you know about it, please let me know in the comments or via direct! Thank you!

Religious trauma in Good Omens: Aziraphale's case

We talk about religious trauma and the state of constant psychological abuse and manipulation experienced by those who suffer it, using Aziraphale as an example.

DISCLAIMER

This post is about painful experiences and the different ways you can react to them. This may affect you in particular and be difficult or stressful to deal with.

Here I intend to speak to you about the trauma of Aziraphale. I use the singular not because it is a single event, but because it is a very specific type of trauma to which ours has been subjected continuously since the beginning of time: religious trauma.

WHAT IS RELIGIOUS TRAUMA

Religious trauma is a complex type of trauma that usually has its greatest impact during the period of development: a person grows up in a social context that is regulated according to the dictates of any sect, which greatly influences the way they approach reality and, above all, themselves.

Often, this trauma begins to affect the existence of the victim even before they begin to speak and thus have the capacity to articulate the memories associated with it. It is not necessarily this trauma that is marked by significant events: very often it is its impact on everyday life that literally conditions the people who experience it, placing them on a well-trodden path of conventions and moral imperatives from which they must not deviate.

We are all (obviously, given the fandom) familiar with the concept of original sin. When a person is brought up with the view that we are all born sinners because we have literally inherited that sin and must spend our lives making amends for what is in our nature, several things happen:

_we live with a constant sense of shame and fear of not making it, of not being enough; _we blindly trust those who raise us and show us the way, and we may not want to see the inherent hypocrisies and contradictions because that would bring us into conflict with reality; _as a result, we have an incredible fear of authority and will tend to respect hierarchies even when they do not make much sense to us, and also try not to question what we are told; _we want at all costs to be 'part of the herd' and conform to the group, so we will suppress anything that we feel is different and might cause us trouble.

Now let's consider that, growing up in such a context, we become aware that something is not quite right for us. It could be anything from realising that we have sexual urges, to being attracted to someone of the same sex, to feeling uncomfortable in our own bodies, and so on.

In response to all of this, we experience feelings of shame, self-loathing and a desire to repress that which takes us away from what is the right way to be.

All these things are cruelly represented in our beloved angel Aziraphale.

AZIRAPHALE'S TRAUMA

It is really difficult to talk about Aziraphale's pain, although it is probably the most obvious and easiest to explain in the series. Because it is tangible, it is realistic, many of us experience it all the time and can relate to it.

Aziraphale has won us over with his almost childlike tenderness and joy, with his tenderness for the little things, with his tendency to take to heart the well-being and happiness of every human being in front of him. He is pure, genuine, sensitive and always on the side of good. But behind his façade of a happy and enthusiastic little creature, there is a frightened, abused, insecure child full of shame and self-reproach. This will always condition his actions and will lead him to the painful and, as we shall see, inevitable epilogue in which he rejects Crowley's love to follow Metatron to Paradise.

TO DO WHAT IS RIGHT OR TO DO WHAT I MUST?

We immediately see how Aziraphale lives in a state of perpetual contradiction due to his strong sense of morality: in the series, the first thing we see of him is the moment when he gives Adam and Eve the flaming sword he received as guardian of the Eastern Gate, so that they would not be completely helpless in their escape from the Garden of Eden.

As well as entertaining Crowley (and winning his immediate admiration), the episode shows us from the outset that Aziraphale has a moral compass that always points in a very precise direction: the good of others. This will often lead him in the series to act on impulse, only to have to face the consequences of constituted authority, and create in him an everlasting sense of remorse: almost immediately he is asked by God himself to account for the sword, the very sword that was in danger of becoming an instrument of destruction in the hands of one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse - except that it was then the key to preventing it.

Unable to fight his nature, Aziraphale finds himself repeating the same actions over and over again: in the miniseries about the life of Job, his tenacity to save innocent creatures at all costs leads him to confront Crowley head-on, discovering his plan to circumvent the orders he was given and not kill anyone. But the web of lies he and the demon have woven tightens around him as Gabriel, Michael and the other angels descend to give Job the good news that he will be able to have more children in exchange for those who have been killed.

Aziraphale is thus forced to make a choice: tell the truth, exposing Crowley's deception and leading to the presumed murder of Job's children, or lie, saving everyone but tarnishing himself with what he sees as an unforgivable guilt. Our angel, as we know, chooses to lie. This causes him tremendous pain and leads him to believe that his fate is sealed and that he must fall. Despite having made the right choice.

Fortunately, as we know, none of this happens. But the fear of doing the wrong thing is always with him.

NATURAL ENEMIES

Aziraphale never makes it a secret that he despises Crowley's demonic nature. Never.

It is painful to compare the admiring look he gives him in S2E1 when he meets him in his angelic version, intent on starting the nebula he has been working on since the beginning of time, with the veiled look of shock (not to say a little disgust) he gives him in S1E1 when they meet again as an angel and a demon, on the walls of the Garden of Eden.

However, as soon as it starts to rain and Crowley gets close to him, Aziraphale immediately takes him under his wing. Aziraphale is an angel, and as such he loves no matter what. It is his peculiar and almost poisonous trait that leads him to help and to forgive even those who have wronged him.

Aziraphale believes that Crowley should be forgiven and loved, but he cannot accept that he has feelings of love for him. This leads him to reflexively despise himself for what he feels, and to push Crowley away whenever he gets too close: think of the argument under the gazebo, or when, confronted with Crowley's suggestion that he take him for a ride after giving him the thermos of holy water, he tells him that he "runs too fast".

It is already obvious to us viewers, and to Aziraphale himself, that he has feelings for Crowley that go far beyond camaraderie, but he cannot let go of them: the fear of retribution and the contempt he feels for anything that is not angelic leads him once again to flounder in contradictions and adopt that yo-yo attitude that characterises all his interactions with Crowley.

THE FINAL TEMPTATION

Crowley is a demon sui generis: he is not really evil and does not mind harming others. In fact, if he can, he actively avoids doing so. However, he does enjoy temptation, and one of his favourite targets is our beloved angel. Still during the miniseries on the life of Job, we see Crowley's first successful temptation of Aziraphale: while the two are patiently waiting for the storm to pass in the cellar of the mansion, Crowley offers him a drink, but Aziraphale refuses, not wanting to succumb to the intoxication of the wine.

Crowley then suggests that he try some human food. The angel is initially disgusted, but makes no objection, and is so impressed by what he tastes that he devours the entire roast beef on the table. Crowley is delighted, and this gag of temptation for an invitation to dinner is repeated throughout the series. Whether the invitation comes from him or from Crowley, each time Aziraphale eats contentedly and our demon watches him eat with satisfaction.

Crowley can therefore be said to be initiating Aziraphale into the pleasures of the flesh, which he will indulge in to the fullest. Aziraphale is a hedonist who loves refined and special things: from antique books to bespoke clothing, passing records, tea and sushi. He loves the objects he surrounds himself with and treats them with care: remember the white gloves he wears before leafing through the only existing copy of Agnes Nutter's Prophecies!

Aziraphale delights in touching his surroundings, and we have already talked about how his predominant love language is physical contact. As much as he can control himself, he touches our demon every time he gets his hands on him. He cannot help it. He desires it, and while Aziraphale has not realised this for the better part of 6,000 years on Earth, in the last century he has come to acknowledge it openly.

This leads Aziraphale to experience another contradiction: he wants to have more physical contact with Crowley, but he cannot. Crowley is a demon, he is the enemy, he is everything he abhors, but the angel he was is always there, alive, before his eyes, and it is out of love for that angel that Aziraphale accepts Metatron's proposal, faced with the prospect of being able to take Crowley back to Paradise with him. So they could be together, in the sunlight, with the approval of God and all, in an angelic way.

But Crowley unexpectedly, desperately, refuses.

Our angel feels betrayed, but has no choice but to accept Crowley's will.

Here is the irreparable, the ultimate temptation our demon could offer: a kiss, a last desperate cry for love, a plea for help, a series of meanings too great to be expressed in words. Crowley grabs Aziraphale by the lapels and for a few very long seconds their lips meet.

Aziraphale has never experienced anything like this before (probably not even Crowley) and feelings stir inside him that he has never even been able to name. Feelings that frighten him, feelings that bring back his contempt for himself and his being far from angelic nature. Aziraphale desires Crowley, discovers that he wants to be kissed by a demon (as the writers of the show themselves have revealed to us), and all of this clashes with everything he has ever been. He has just witnessed the contempt of angels and demons for the love of Beelzebub and Gabriel, he has just risked extinction for helping the fugitive Archangel, and yet Crowley tempts him with a sweet and terrible kiss.

But Aziraphale is an angel, and as such he loves and forgives.

So he forgives Crowley.

But Crowley, by definition, is unforgivable: disappointed and embittered by his beloved's rejection, he leaves.

Aziraphale does not really want to go to Paradise, but his desire to be part of the herd, his need to be loved and accepted by his faction, drives him to go, to do what is right, what is expected of him as an angel.

As he gets into the lift and asks Metatron what his task will be, he discovers that he will have to deal with the very thing he had already averted in the past: the Second Coming, the Last Judgement. He realises his mistake, realises that he is trapped, and once again wonders if he should do what is right or what he must do.

This time, however, it wins what he must: after one last look at Crowley, watching from afar, Aziraphale climbs into the lift with Metatron that will take him to Paradise. His trauma is so deep and ingrained that it has removed any prospect of being worthy of love except in the light of divine approval.

Although leaving everything he loves - Crowley, Earth, the Library - causes him enormous pain, Aziraphale must return to Paradise and fulfil his destiny.

More infos at Religious trauma syndrome - Wikipedia

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[copiousloverofcopia]

For the ghoul fuckers out there, here is my recent commission for @dantesunbreaker featuring our favorite gremlin, Dew!

Thank you so much for allowing me to write this for you. It was once again a pleasure and thank you for letting me to share it with others as well!

Also once again please be gentle with me I am not the best when it comes to ghoul content, but I am so happy that you all are giving me a change!!!

If you are interested in commissioning me, my carrd info can be found on my pinned post!

Never Change

The upcoming tour has you on edge when your devilish lover Dew decides to create a stir. While he meant no harm, the ghoul's antics only add to your frustration. When things reach their max and you can no longer continue, it's up to Dew to remind you on how to relax.

Also available HERE on AO3!

Definitely NSFW below the cut

Your head was pounding. The dark circles under your eyes, beginning to feel like a permanent fixture on your face and It seemed that as of late that the days grew longer and the nights shorter. You had begun to feel the weight of all the responsibility, you had at one time so willingly taken on. Now taking its toll more than you had ever expected. 

At first you were elated to have even been asked. Working hard for the Ministry to ensure a successful tour for the Impera cycle was something any siblings would be honored to be a part of. There were days, however, when you hardly left the main office. The small room set aside for you, covered in an endless array of paperwork and incomplete itineraries. 

At times it felt like you too were collecting dust, just as the numerous artifacts and forgotten tomes that surrounded you. More often than not, worried that the more you accomplished—the more you still had to get done. The ominous feeling of dread hitting you from the moment your eyes peeled open with the light of the sun. All of it, you often thought, would be a little less infuriating if it hadn’t been for your own personal gremlin—Dew. 

You had fallen for him some time ago—back when you first became selected as a Canon for the Cardinal. A prestigious position within your Italian sect of the Ministry. You were ready to make a name for yourself just when Dew came into your life. Instantly drawing you in with his fiery and unpredictable nature. He was a force to be reckoned with, and he kept you on your toes. 

The excitement between you left you with a sense of meaning—feeling more exhilarated and alive. All of your desires found to be mutual, leading to a romance between the two of you that rivaled that of Antony and Cleopatra. Hot and heavy, it was a wonder you ever got anything done. All of that, however, came crashing down when Cardinal Copia became Papa. 

Your workload tripled overnight and suddenly you had gone from being able to sneak away to an alcove for some steamy afternoon delights, to being stuck behind the same four walls. Working day in and day out for weeks on end. No end in sight until the beginning of the tour. Worst of all, once the Ghost tour started and Copia left, Dew had to go with him.

You had tried not to think about it. Secluding yourself from the rest of the group. Dew, at first doing his best to give you space. At some point however, there was only so much he could give before a ghoul like Dew could no longer contain his natural urges. 

This week was the worst of it. Dew finding new and inventive ways to drive you mad. First was him clawing up the sofa in the office. Leaving behind a trail of threaded up seams and worn down arm rests. He was a glorified cat in his own right, you thought, praying Sister Imperator would not hold you accountable. 

The rest of the week Dew filled with the antics, the likes of an impetuous child. Trying desperately to gain your attention and doing his best to distract you from your responsibilities. Taunting you with the feel of his slick tongue running down the nape of your neck. His claws, grazing at the heat of your sex, all while you were elbow deep in monotonous paperwork.  It took all the power you had inside you to shoo him from the office. The aching he left between your thighs—absolutely torturous. 

You weren’t sure which was worse, the sexual edging or that he finished things off yesterday with a naked roll in the expense reports. Dewdrop, taking advantage of your quick trip to the refectory, to cover the pages in something wet. You, returning to find him amongst the pile of papers, all of them streaked in black ink and fluids. Of which the origins you dare not ask. 

While you had tried to explain, in vain, why it wasn’t the time or the place. No matter how hard you tried you just couldn’t bring yourself to explain it in a way the ghoul would understand. To him it was all fun and games. He was teasing you after all, and if he wasn’t allowed to have you then this was the best way he knew to spend the time. 

Now as you sat at your desk, you waited for the next Dew episode to take place. Feeling the tears pricking at your eyes when the door to the office creaked open. Your scrunkly handsome, mischievous, and smug ghoul wasting no time to step inside. Noticing right away when he walked in, that your face held more than the suggestion of tears.

“Hey babe… what’s got you all?” Dew asked, gesturing over his face with his hands. You let out a sigh, taking in a deep breath in through your nose, before exhaling sharply through pursed lips. Feeling the resolve you had been holding on to, quickly crumbling down. 

“I—I just can’t take it any more Dew.” you told him. Sobbing into your hands as he quickly closed the space between you. 

“Hey, hey, hey peanut. Tell me what’s going on? Are they adding more work for you again?” he asked, ready to throw hands with whatever clergyman had the balls to give you even MORE to do. 

“No, that's not it.” you sniffled. Drying the tears with your sleeve as they fell from your eyes. Dew’s normally grumpy face, turning soft and concerned in their wake. His tail, coming to rest sullenly between his legs.    

“Then… then what is it?” he asked, seeming to be genuinely unaware of what troubled you. The ghoul, bringing himself to sit beside you on your desk. Hopped up along the edge like a wistful kitten, wanting to comfort you. 

“I am overwhelmed, that's true. Sister is on me to finish up all the contracts for the European venues and to top it off I just found out they are adding another date in September that I need to work out the details on and well… frankly Dew,” You paused, deciding to tell him the truth once and for all,”...you are NOT helping.”  

“What? What do you mean?” Dew asked you, feeling a bit blindsided by your comment. Unsure of exactly what you were trying to tell him. 

“I am running on empty. I have so much left to do and all this stuff with you is making the load feel ten times worse. I just wish… I just wish you’d stop with all the crazy while I am trying to work!” you yelled, putting your head down on the desk. The pounding inside of your skull intensified. It was all out in the open now. Dew pressed his lips together, feeling the weight of your words. Wishing he could take back everything he had done the past week.

“Hey…” he began, nudging you with his horns. You carefully lifted your head to meet with his gaze. This time your impish lover was staring back at you with soft, loving eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” you asked him, wiping away the remainder of your tears. Dew pulled you into his arms. Wrapping you in them, allowing you to release in his embrace. 

“I’m sorry, I let things get out of hand. I never in a million years wanted to make you unhappy and I surely didn’t want to make you break down.”

“Oh Dew… it’s not just you. I—” 

“No, I know… but I could have done better to make sure you weren’t getting into a bad place. That was also my fault. I promise you that this will never happen again.” he smiled, running his hand over your hair. 

“I don’t want you to change Dew…” you told him. Worried that he might have misinterpreted what you were trying to say. 

“I am not talking about changing who I am, baby. I am talking about not adding more to your plate when you are at max.” he explained, assuring you that your lovable Hellraiser would still be the same ghoul you fell in love with.  

“Good, cause I wouldn’t have you any other way.” you smiled, bringing your lips to his. Feeling the heat rising between you. Your heart, already beating away as the blood went surging through your veins. 

“Promise me something, will you?” he asked. 

“Of course… anything.” you smiled, finding Dewdrop’s look of sincerity–incredibly cute. 

“Never let this happen again, ok? Don’t wait until you are on the edge before you say something to me. Promise me that you will start to take breaks when you need them. You aren’t invincible babe. You need time to ground yourself too.” Dew explained. You nodded in agreement, surprised that such sage words came from such an unlikely source. Clearly his time spent in Copia’s company was rubbing off on him. 

“I promise.” 

“Good. You know, even us ghouls know what it’s like to need a break. I can empathize with you more than you think. The long hours on the road, lack of sleep, the constant needing to bring your A-game. I promise you, the constant burnout will make things harder and you’ll get even less done in the end.” 

“Really?” you said, though you shouldn’t have been surprised. Dew was part of Ghost and had been for some time. Of course, he knew what it was like to live in chaos and like he was running on fumes. 

“Really… so make me a deal. I promise if you start giving yourself the time you need to recoup, then I will stop being such an ass.” Dew winked, “Deal?”

“Deal.” 

“...and you know there is one thing I can do to help you relax—if you’ll let me.” he smirked. Instantly your skin was flooded with goosebumps. Your body, knowing even before he’d made a move EXACTLY what that one thing was. Dew dropped off the edge, turning to lift you up out of your chair onto the desk as he buried his face in your neck. 

Teeth scraping along a delicate spot as he breathed his hot, steaming words of affection against your skin. His claws, gently traveling down your chest to your stomach as he unbuttoned your shirt. Feeling his desire for you growing hard against the inside of your thigh. Already your body, getting wet at the mere suggestion of him.

“I’m gonna show you just how well I can get you to relax baby.” Dew purred as his fingers slid over your zipper—undoing your pants. You hummed in approval, wiggling out of them as fast as you could without losing your position on the desk.  

“Show me… I need you.” you moaned. Chewing on your bottom lip and watching as his deep, piercing eyes fall to the center of your lap. His fingers, finding their way diligently to the wet spot of your underwear. Dew wasted no time teasing it with his digit. Rubbing you there until it was soaked all the way through. 

“That's right baby… that's what I wanna see. I love how fucking wet you get for me.” he growled. Moving now to sink his fingers fully inside you. His fangs, following suit as he bit into your neck. 

“Ah!” you cried out. Reveling in both the pleasure and pain combined between you. Rolling your head from side to side as the sensations overwhelmed you in the best way. Dew began to lick and suck at the bite. Leaving purple marks of ownership behind them. It would be clear to anyone who saw you, that you belonged to him. That he belonged to you. 

As you leaned back on your elbows, Dew lifted up from your neck  to watch as he pushed his fingers carefully past your folds. Licking his lips as he pumped them in and out of your dripping wet pussy. Hungry to taste you more than anything he had ever tasted before. Not satisfied enough just to have watched you squirm.

“You’re so good for me.” he purred again. His thumb, circling over your swollen clit before he began once again dipping his fingers in and out of you. Your hands, wandering over his sleek back and tangling in his long hair, just before you reached his horns. “Fuck.” he groaned, he loved that. Knowing that they allowed you more control—and he was determined to let you use them. Happily guiding his mouth down along your folds.    

“Ah…mmm…” you mewled as Dew dropped down between your legs. His tongue slithering through your wet lips and licking up inside you. Alternating between sucking on your clit and lapping at your folds as he gently worked your insides with his hands. Humming against you as he did it–the vibrations driving you absolutely mad. 

“Mmmm… So... fucking... good.” he moaned, palming his cock with his free hand. You wanted him. Needed him. Knowing that riding that cock and having him knot you was the only thing that could release you from the built-up tension. Your fingers gripped tightly onto his horns.  

“I’m cumming… oh fuck I'm cumming!” you cried as he pressed hard into your g-stop. The sensation of his touch on the soft, velvety tissue—sending your hips up in the air. Dew, smiling against your clit as he felt you cum. Letting you ride out your orgasm on his hand while he delightfully lapped up your fluids. The juices covering his face when he pulled up to kiss you. 

You were breathless and weak as you laid there on the desk. Unsure if you’d ever be able to move again—though you certainly wouldn’t have had it any other way. Your body, still falling from the heights of passion you’d reached when Dew lifted your legs up and over his shoulders. Hastily pulling his throbbing, leaky cock out from the confines of his pants. 

“I think you’re still a bit tense.” he teased, you too blissfully pleasured to even respond. Well at least not with anything coherent. Dew began running the head of his cock up through your slick. Rubbing at your entrance to finish wetting himself before he was ready to slide inside. 

He didn’t need to bother; you were already so needy and ready for him. Your hips rising up against his shaft. Trying hard to guide his cock inside. Begging for him to fill you, to provide you with the friction you so desperately desired between you. Thankfully you hadn’t had to wait long when Dew plowed his way in. 

“Oh, fuck me!” you yelped as he pushed himself in to the hilt. His meaty cock, meeting with the farthest point of you. Dew was only too happy to oblige. Withdrawing backward, just so he could more forcefully pound back into you. You gripped tight to the back of your legs. Dew’s hands placed on either side of you on the desk to help steady himself as he thrusted away. Fucking harder and harder into your tight, little core with every thrust.  

At one point it crossed your mind that you and Dew were most likely fucking on top of the expense reports from that morning. At that moment, however, neither of you cared. Your body, too engrossed in how good it felt to have him inside you. Bucking away as he pressed tight across your walls, filling you so well you could hardly stand it.  

“Dew… I wanna cum… cum with me.” you mewled. Your wanton cries of desperation, making Dew grit his teeth, hoping to hold back his own climax. There was nothing so hot as you begging for him to let you cum. 

“You want me to cum baby? Well, you gotta cum for me first.” he demanded, his tail snaking up your leg and teasing at your asshole. The fluids from your drenched pussy, spilling down over it as it worked its way inside. 

“Ah!” you cried out as his tail entered you. Slowly fucking your ass as Dew continued to fill your pussy to the brim with his cock. You couldn’t barely stand it. Stretched fully inside by him. The sensation made you want to explode. Unable to hold back as your orgasm came ripping through you so fast that you soaked the desk below.

Dew wasn’t satisfied yet. Lifting up and gripping the back of your legs as he pounded harder. His thumb brought back to your clit, continuing to fuck you in both your holes. His tail swirling around inside your ass and pressing up against his cock, from the other side of the thin walls, while he thrusted into you. 

Neither of you could sustain it much longer. The wet sounds of his lap, meeting over and over again with yours, was absolutely salacious. The well earned sweat, dripping down his back as he continued on. His speed, beginning to slow as he grew closer to his own climax. 

It was unmistakable when you felt it. His cock, beginning to swell all around inside. Pressing against all the right nerves as he spread you out, knotting you. His tail, continuing to move in and out. The two of you panting and whimpering as the pressure inside continued to build.  

Finally Dew couldn’t last any longer. Cumming hard into you. Ropes of hot, sticky cum—painting the back of your walls as his tail slipped from your ass. You, beginning to completely unfurl before him when you clamped down on him once again. Tugging tightly to his knot as you felt the force of yourself squirting around him.   

And just like that it was over, Dew collapsing on top of you. More spent than he had ever been before in his life. It seemed that this relaxation session was just as much for him as it was you. You held him against your chest, your breathing beginning to settle. A sense of calm, that was promised to you by your ghoulish lover, taking hold. 

“You see,” Dew began while still panting away, “there is nothing like a good fuck to help you relax.”

“Agreed.” You told him, both of you laughing in one another’s arms. There was nothing more you would ever need, than to be held by those arms. No matter how crazy things got, Dew would always find a way to level with you. Even in times that didn’t involve an overwhelming amount of sweat and cum. 

“Thank you.” you told him. You were finally relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever. Even more so now, knowing that you could come to Dew with your problems. Knowing that you could be honest with him and that it was ok to give yourself grace when you needed it. No matter what he would always be there for you.

“Anytime.” Dew smiled, helping you up from the desk so the two of you could clean yourselves off. Suddenly, as you rose off the desk, a look of concern spread across his face. Accompanied by an even more worrisome nervous grin.

“What?” you asked, not sure you wanted to know the answer as you picked off the stray papers sticking to your back.  

 “Now… don’t get mad, but I think we might have gotten some jizz on Copia’s permit agreement. 

“Dew!” you laughed, giving him a tap to the chest, “Never change.”

[two-corpses-in-the-burial-mounds]

It's interesting to me how much of the fandom seems to be convinced that Wei Wuxian has low self-worth, considering that I (having only watched the live-action, admittedly) see very little evidence of this in canon.

I assume this is because of his tendency towards self-sacrifice, which shows up multiple times in canon like with the golden core transfer, but I personally think this is a false equivalence. Yes, Wei Wuxian often makes decisions actively detrimental to his own health and wellbeing; he gives his golden core to Jiang Cheng, he takes a curse from Jin Ling, he takes the Wen brand for Liu Qingyang and he takes a whipping from Madam Yu and considers the loss of a hand for Lotus Pier.

However, in none of these circumstances does this choice seem to be made from a lack of care for himself. Instead, it is usually made because he thinks he can handle the situation better than the person in question. Wei Wuxian thinks that between him and Jiang Cheng, he can better handle not having a golden core. Between him and Jin Ling, he thinks he can overcome the course where Jin Ling cannot. The Wen brand is less premeditated, but again the pattern is clear in that Wei Wuxian makes the choice to take the brand because he thinks having it on his chest is better than Liu Qingyang having it on her face. At the fall of Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian decides that his pain and his hand is an acceptable loss for the lives of everyone in Lotus Pier.

These acts hurt him, but that is a side effect of a larger goal. The choice to handle these events himself does not indicate a lack of value in himself, but rather a prioritization of other goals. However, there seems to be a common conflation of Wei Wuxian's prioritization of others with his not caring or valuing himself. However, if Wei Wuxian doesn't value himself, then why does he make such an effort to survive for as long as he does? If he does not value his own thoughts and opinions, then why does he argue with Lan Qiren in the Cloud Recesses study arc? The problem is not that Wei Wuxian has low self-worth, it is that Wei Wuxian's decision-making process weighs harm to himself as acceptable in the pursuit of his moral imperatives. He wants to live without regrets and stand with justice, and to stand with justice, sometimes he has to walk a single-plank bridge. Necessarily, that will sometimes hurt him.

I suspect this association of Wei Wuxian's sacrificial acts as indicative of low self-worth stems from modern Western storytelling practices, which are deeply interested in the psychology of our characters. Recent media has been interested in the consequences of heroism on the hero themself and fandom especially is heavily interested in the psychological ramifications of these actions on characters. There's an idea that's been popular lately that extreme heroism is inherently self-destructive, and the solution to this is to raise a character's self-worth to convince them that they, too, are worth saving.

Now, whether this applies to Wei Wuxian is up to interpretation. However, he views his actions as correct in many of the sacrificial cases indicated above and these choices are framed by the narrative as being in some way noble. I don't think it's radical to suggest that the above actions cause harm to Wei Wuxian's self; that is not in question. I do, however, doubt that increasing Wei Wuxian's self-worth would change any of these decisions. He isn't throwing himself into harm's way because he believes his life is worth less than those he is taking harm for, he does it because he understands the harm he is incurring and chooses to take it upon himself because he thinks it minimizes the harm that would be done.

Rather than leaving the Jiang sect leader without a golden core, or a child with a very dangerous curse, or a young female cultivator permanently disfigured, or allowing Lotus Pier to be attacked and slaughtered, Wei Wuxians chooses to accept consequences in their place. It is more difficult to replace a sect leader than a head disciple. It is more difficult for Jin Ling to overcome the curse, so Wei Wuxian does it in his place. It is less consequential for a young male cultivator to take that brand to the chest than for a Liu Qingyang to be disfigured unjustly, so he does. It is more important than him, as a singular disciple, that Lotus Pier is safe. This is how Wei Wuxian approaches these problems.

Raising Wei Wuxian's self-worth would not change the reasoning behind these choices. He would not revisit these situations and decide to take a different course of action due the inherent value of himself as a person. His value as a person has always been part of the equation, but it is not his priority.

Self-sacrifice does not inherently equal unwellness. Recent trends in Western storytelling suggest that self-sacrifice is both admirable, but an indicator that a person is struggling. However, there are other models of heroism. There are other sets of values. In some moral systems, the willingness to commit self-sacrifice, even when a person does want to live and does value themself, is an admirable virtue. This appears to be the framework that Wei Wuxian is working within.

Does self-sacrifice inherently mean that a person does not value themself? I don't think so. But it's interesting that a lot of people seem to think it does.

-- Right Corpse

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm gonna briefly chime in Right Corpse's post here with my thought as an Asian person:

I totally agree with what RC said here. I don't think self-sacrificing should be conflated with low self-worth. A person can view themselves as noble, upstanding and honorable (which, inherently is a very confident mindset) and be self-sacrificing as a result of that mindset, because helping others in spite of yourself in a dire situation is essentially a very noble trait.

And I'm glad RC brought up Western storytelling practices, because I thought the difference between Western and Eastern's mentality is exactly where this discourse came from. Western mentality is individualism-based, and Eastern mentality is more collectivism-based. Western mentality values individual's well-being, rights and freedom, while Eastern mentality values the well-being of group/societal-unit as a whole. I'm not saying one is better than other, I'm simply pointing out that it makes sense for Wei Wuxian to act the way he did given the setting of the story, regardless of his own view of himself. No matter how much self-worth a person has, growing up in this setting means the expectation is that you'd always put the clan's well-being, your family's well-being above your own. Filial piety is a very heavy expectation in this society, clan loyalty is a very heavy expectation in this world.

A noble, morally-upstanding cultivator who pride himself as such should be doing what Wei Wuxian was doing. And a big part of the MDZS story is definitely a criticism toward all of the clans and cultivators, who call themselves all those traits and did the opposite. Wei Wuxian saved Jiang Cheng not only because he viewed Jiang Cheng as his brother, but also because saving the leader of your clan when you have the mean to was the right thing to do, both for your leader but most importantly, for the clan as a whole, for the region of Yunmeng. Hundreds of people rely on the Jiang family and Lotus Pier, and Jiang Cheng is the figurehead of it. You can argue that Wei Wuxian can take over if JC is indisposed, but that's not how it works, that's not how politics works. So Wei Wuxian made the best choice for the collective given the circumstances, even if that came as a cost to him, and to circle back to what RC said earlier, Wei Wuxian calculated the risk and believed that he can handle that cost, and he did.

Similarly, Wei Wuxian saved Jin Ling because he believed as an adult, he could handle the risk better than a child like Jin Ling, and as a man, he could live with a scar rather than a young woman like Mianmian. In fact, I think he took pride in himself in all of these instances. He didn't boast about them to other people, but I think he's proud of himself that he can live according to his principles and never fail them.

-- Left Corpse

[prince-liest]

MORE nieyao omegaverse shenanigans!!!

please imagine a nieyao (or 3zun) ABO AU where jin guangyao is an omega and is constantly taking scent-blockers. not because he's hiding the fact that he's an omega - that pigeon flew the coop a long time ago and it certainly isn't helping his standing in jinlintai, unfortunately - but because he's violently allergic to the very concept of broadcasting his feelings to everyone in jinlintai, all of the time, via scent.

he's not even the only one! it's not uncommon for people to be on scent-blockers in jinlintai for this exact reason. it's not amazing for politicking to be physically incapable of maintaining a pheromonal poker face when someone says something that you just vehemently disagree with! besides, it's rude to make people deal with your emotions all the time like that. not to mention the reputation jin-zongzhu has around omegas...

but it's very much a jin cultural thing that jin guangyao adopted after the sunshot campaign. other sects have their own ways about it, but the nie in particular maintain a sort of pride about their dynamics just as they do about their history as butchers, and to hide to that extent in the unclean realm is frequently assumed to be inherently dishonest. why would you use scent-blockers if you didn't have bad intentions?

(of course, many people use them anyway - milder ones, ones that change a scent rather than eliminating it entirely as jin politesse dictates, an extra layer of secrecy not just about the scent itself but the fact that what is being communicated is manufactured - but nie mingjue has never had to consider something like that.)

and thus this becomes one of the reasons that nie mingjue cannot reconcile jin guangyao with his perception of his former deputy, meng yao. the lack of scent - it makes jin guangyao seem cold, distant, fake - seemingly an entirely different person.

except.

at some point.

perhaps jin guangyao is off his blockers, or more likely, one day nie mingjue's alpha hindbrain has had enough of these oppositional shenanigans and simply locks onto jin guangyao, labeling him irrevocably as 'MATE!' in nie mingjue's brain and making him so much more sensitive to jin guangyao - likely without jin guangyao even realizing.

so now nie mingjue can suddenly tell, at least in the cases of stronger emotions, exactly what jin guangyao's body is trying to broadcast.

when he realizes what happened, he expects to detect... he's not even sure. smugness. irritation? maybe even hate.

what he gets is fear, and fear, and more fear. jin guangyao is just so scared, all of the time, that it drives almost everything else into non-existence as far as his pheromones are concerned. he simply never feels safe. it's so bad that it's giving nie mingjue a sympathy headache any time he's around his youngest sworn brother.

and perhaps at some point in the past, nie mingjue had even gotten into it with jin guangyao about the scent blockers - nie mingjue perceiving dishonesty vs jin guangyao feeling frustrated that once again da-ge is looking down on him for something that jin guangyao feels is imperative for his own safety - and jin guangyao had said that, well, nie mingjue accuses him of manipulation and lying so often anyway, how is he supposed to trust that if nie mingjue could smell anything that he wouldn't just assume it's part of jin guangyao's supposed manipulations anyway?

(it doesn't help jin guangyao's frustration that nie mingjue insists that hiding one's scent is dishonesty when, actually, jin guangyao could do with the oppressive 'angry alpha' that often layers all over the place on top of nie mingjue's already large physique and looming presence being toned down a little bit, thanks)

and nie mingjue was like, that's ridiculous, that's not something you can manually control (jin guangyao just smiled at him, the same way he smiles at nie huaisang when he thinks the young master is being naive) - except now he's realizing that maybe jin guangyao had at least a little bit of a point, in the sense that it turns out that it's actually really difficult to be righteously angry at someone who so vividly feels unsafe and afraid whenever you express that, in a way that jin guangyao's crocodile tears never got to him. he feels a sudden kindred spirit with lan xichen.

tl;dr: nobody gets kicked down any stairs, and nie mingjue is forcibly familiarized with what, exactly, jin guangyao's emotional perspectiive is at least, as well as finding himself curbing his own temper because yelling at someone who is smiling at you while circulating their spiritual energy to stop themselves from hyperventilating about it just. feels really bad. nie mingjue is used to feeling like he is in the right and he doesn't know what to do with this. he is right! but... surely being shown the righteous path shouldn't be making jin guangyao feel like this.

(and maybe nie mingjue picks up on the sudden spike of increased stress - and, wow, he didn't know that jin guangyao could be more stressed, isn't there a maximum? - when jin guangshan starts pressing his bastard son to 'take care' of the nie mingjue problem.)

[mdzs-fics]

Days of Gusu Past by TheChocoChick

Time-travel fixit 42 chapters (complete) 86k words

But last night… last night had changed everything. Lan Zhan, ever the patient husband, had held onto him tightly as he wept over Sizhui for the millionth time, the wound as raw and fresh as it had been the night it happened, until at last he cried himself to sleep.

He’d started having nightmares. All the things he had done wrong were flooding in his mind as he slept once again. Only this time was different, this time he wasn’t stuck in the endless loop of going too slow to help his family or trying to speak out and warn them only to be met with silence. Here, he was outside himself, watching as the world in front of him fell to ruin again and again.

And then the voice came.

It was quiet, and soft, and familiar. He’d heard that voice somewhere before…. Somewhere where the water ran wide and the air was always warm, and the flowers bloomed all year long. Its deep sound was comforting, low enough to echo in his chest and make him feel alive. He’d asked that voice to sing for him many times, he thought.

And as that man’s voice washed away the dirt, and the dead, and the dying… it was peaceful. And it spoke, clear and close and comforting in all the ways he needed it to be. And in this moment, this critical moment, it gave him a choice.

“You may ignore me without blame and try to keep what remains of the time with what you have left, or hear my lost truth, and I will bring back all you have lost and more as my thanks.”

And lost in a sea of guilt and regret, it had been to easy to fall into that comfort and agree. All he’d had to do was sit and listen, be quiet and learn. And he had learned. So much so, that once the morning broke and he waved his husband off to go about his work, he had left a small letter for Lan Zhan in their room, folded neatly on the guqin, explaining what he was about to do, and that he shouldn’t worry if things were to seem bad, because he would always come home to his Lan Zhan.

If only he actually had such confidence.

The Voice had explained to him in great detail on what he was to bring when traveling, what he would need to know to draw strange new, and powerful arrays, and how imperative it was that he commit to nothing without first thinking through his action’s consequences. It was a delicate balance they’d explained to him, and as he mixed a small portion of his blood with the cinnabar paint, he hoped his desperate idea would work. From what he knew, the theory was sound, now he just had to make it through.

As we begin this story, tragedy strikes a post-canon Wei Wuxian. A reassuring voice provides a means to go back in time … a time much further back than he initially thought: Gusu lecture time.

The story follows canon along meandering tracks. Lan Wangji accepts an invitation to Lotus Pier, for example. Wei Wuxian dreams of a guqin playing, asking after Wei Ying. And then the two go on a night hunt with some Junior Jiang disciples and a qi-stealing demon.

The storyline continues with a failed attack on the Cloud Recesses and then an attack on Lotus Pier where ��

“Who… what are you?” screamed one of the Wens, dropping his sword and attempting to flee, only to be speared by a strand of darkness and lifted up to meet his eyes.

“Who am I?” Wei Wuxian laughed, feeling his eyes blaze brighter as he flicked the man into the lake. “I’m the damn Patriarch.”

After the rescue of Sect heirs kidnapped by Wen Ruohan, there is a visit to the Xuanwu of Slaughter where the black sword has to be abandoned in order to save heirs who have been subtly poisoned by a no-longer-living maniac working for Wen Ruohan. A Wen Ruohan who knows that Wei Wuxian is from the future because one of the rescued heirs was a horribly tortured Lan Xichen.

By this point, we are firmly entrenched in this very different past. The ending chapters provide a very satisfactory resolution to the Sunshot campaign and hints of a much better future to come.

[dewdrops-whammy-bar]

Special Ghoul my beloved...

Tagging @puppsworld bc he seemed enthusiastic about this (thanks for the yelling!!! You will never catch me I'm too slippery >:3)

Written in bullet format bc brain is going too fast to make coherent sentences let’s goooo

Warning for references to self-harm/self-mutilation, blood, and autocannibalism! This gets messy y’all

BEFORE:

Ok so Special isn’t a “true” ghoul. They’re a human who turned themself into a ghoul via an unstable and experimental ritual.

This has resulted in issues like mobility issues from excessive scar tissue. Turns out doing your own top surgery isn't such a great idea.

Which human you may ask?

Mary Goore themself! (I had to. I love them ok sue me /lh)

BACKSTORY:

Mary ended up at the Ministry when they took a rough turn in life. They had heard of the Ministry before and were already subscribed to that sect of Satanism but didn’t have any interest in joining an organized religion. They knew the Ministry would take them in so they headed to the Sweden location.

They weren’t officially a Sibling but were in the process of becoming one. (They didn’t really want to, but it was the only way the Ministry would let them stay.)

They heard about the Ghost project starting up and jumped at the chance to get involved with music again

Unfortunately the only way to get involved with that was to be a high-ranking sibling (which could take years) or a ghoul. You can see where I’m going with this.

Mary found an old book deep in the library that detailed a prototype ritual of turning oneself into a ghoul. They decided they had nothing to lose and started planning.

THE TRANSFORMATION (this is where it gets gory):

The ritual involved a lot of carving sigils into skin and a ritual disembowelment. The book strongly recommended a few people help with that but Mary said fuck it I’m doing this myself

Gave themself top surgery while they were at it (transgenderizes your metalhead twink)

They died obviously. At least their mortal vessel did

Mary crawled out of the Summoning well the next night as a ghoul and promptly ate their former body. Yummy.

They kept their skull and some bones bc that’s fuckin metal

GHOUL LIFE:

Seestor was NOT pleased when she found out what had happened

But Mary/Special couldn’t really be Banished, they weren’t from the Pit.

So she begrudgingly let Mary join the Ghost project

They ended up as a co-writer and concept musician and eventually a spokesperson

They go by either Mary or Special, but their friends mostly call them Mary. Special is more of a title to them. Don’t call them Phil unless you want your insides to become outsides.

They have sick scars all over their body from their transformation!!

They don’t have an element, but they do have a bit of magic.

They’ve got a lot of unsettling traits. They don’t blink a lot, they walk silently, and they’ve been known to cause disappearances in nearby towns. A ghoul’s gotta eat.

They’re outwardly cold and grumpy but they’re pretty chill if you get on their good side. They despise Imperator and higher-ranked Ministry members but are protective of Siblings.

They hate the friendly voice they have to put on for interviews, but it’s one of the only times they can let down their mental mask around other people and just chill. (Lots of complicated feelings there, possible hurt/comfort idea?)

They only take off their mask around people they trust.

They like to scare new residents by standing in dark corners and staring at them.

They’re close with Terzo’s ghouls, Cowbell, and a couple humans.

They trust Cowbell the most bc they’re both kinda misfits.

Ghouls only need human meat once in a while but Mary has more cravings for it than most. Ministry members are off limits though.

They were referred to as “it” for a while (mostly by Imperator and her most loyal following) so they aggressively correct anyone’s pronouns (Theirs and others’). It’s the one of the only cracks in their “cold creepy ghoul” demeanor. They’re especially protective of trans Siblings.

They’ve been known to appear from the shadows and correct a condescending cardinal on a Sibling’s pronouns.

Special ghoul my beloved… this was super self indulgent and fun to write. Feel free to use this as inspiration for art/writing!

[gravehags]

still thinking about maid of honour terzo

he’s arguing with the cake decorator because they didn’t get the 24 carat gold flaked sugar roses exactly the way curator reader wanted even though she said they were perfect anyway and not to worry about it

he’s assigning ghouls as bodyguards in case ???? someone wants to crash the wedding for whatever reason

he’s telling secondo to shut his bald mouth when he tells terzo he’s being a diva

primo could officiate the wedding and dew is the flower girl 🫶🌼

i love literally everything about this. reader’s family seeing the ghouls and being like i’m sorry is that a tail and then half of them not even realizing it’s a satanic wedding, they just think it’s a really weird sect of catholicism. sister imperator getting ripshit and tearing up the dance floor. copia crying when reader walks down the aisle to a string arrangement of life eternal and terzo diligently fixing his makeup for him when she gets to the altar. i love it here.

[hindahoney]

I've had this question for a while, and Google is useless. Can you help (or redirect me to someone who can?)? I am Sicilian and I have spent the last 5 or so years of my life working to reconnect to my culture and heritage (I grew up/live abroad). It is imperative to me that I live my life with a connection to Sicily and Sicilian culture because I didn't grow up with it and I want to stay connected to my ancestors and history. However, I'm considering converting to Judaism. Judaism has deeply affected Sicilian culture and plays a big but unspoken role in Sicilian culture and identity, from customs to food to how we decorate our religious places. If I do convert, would it be possible to be both Jewish and Sicilian? I don't want to sacrifice my culture for my faith, but I will hybridize the two if possible.

This is a complicated question, and I think my answer isn't going to be the most well-rounded because I'm not intimately familiar with Sicilian culture. This might be a better question for @spacelazarwolf, as I know that they are Italki. I'd like to preface this by saying that if you were to ask another Jew you'd probably get a different answer (and if someone disagrees with me, feel free to reply with your own answer, I'm sure more answers would help anon). I'm relatively traditional, so my answers reflect this.

I know that Jews have maintained a presence in Italy for centuries, so I have no doubt that Italian culture has at least been somewhat shaped by Judaism, though I can't imagine by much considering most of the country is Roman Catholic. There are no rules saying that you cannot maintain your own ethnic identity and culture along with your Jewish identity. Jews exist in every multitude you could think of, so it's certainly possible and allowed for you to have two identities at once.

What I question, though, is how you would hybridize a predominantly roman Catholic culture with a Jewish one, and more than that, why you would want to. Converting to Judaism is a complete lifestyle change and is incredibly difficult, it's something that you need to really want and be willing to do almost anything for. If you are already saying that you aren't willing to sacrifice for it, it makes me wonder if it's necessarily for you. Which is fine, you can appreciate and learn about Jewish culture and religion without converting. There is an aspect of Judaism that encourages (some would even say requires) a rejection of assimilation into any outside culture, and is something that is stressed in the Torah numerous times. Now, actually enacting this rejection is complicated, as we don't realize just how much the hegemonic culture affects us, but depending on the movement you're converting to I imagine more right-wing sects of Judaism would have an issue with a convert who wanted to convert to Judaism just to "hybridize" it to a separate culture they're trying to adopt. Traditionalists would say it's inappropriate and potentially disrespectful to go into a religion that has existed for thousands of years just to change it to what you want it to be, but others would argue that Judaism is constantly evolving, so there is space for you to be Jewish and whatever else you want to be, and that everyone's Judaism looks different.

So, TLDR: many Jews would not see a problem with this at all and say if you can find a balance, go for it. While others would say that when you convert to Judaism you, in many ways, reject your own culture in favor for another, and that Judaism should not just be part of your life, it should be your life. So, certainly, this depends on what movement you want to convert to, and while it's possible to convert to Judaism and also acquire a separate culture at the same time, some people would have a problem with this.

[v-ividus]

49. Faith as a Double-Edged Sword: The Paradox of Belief

“Faith is not an aesthetic emotion but something far higher, precisely because it has resignation as its presupposition; it is not an immediate instinct of the heart, but is the paradox of life and existence.” — Søren Kierkegaard

Faith, that intricate tapestry woven from the threads of human experience, reveals itself as an elusive entity — an ideal that, like a mirage, dances just beyond the reach of empirical verification. This juxtaposition of belief teeters precariously on the precipice of existential ambiguity; it serves as both a balm for the human soul and a catalyst for moral decay. Kierkegaard’s poignant proclamation positions faith beyond mere emotional whim, painting it as a resignation steeped in a paradox that both liberates and shackles the human spirit. What is faith if not a construct steeped in the shadows of doubt, yet illuminating a path toward real community and purpose?

It is within these ethereal constructs that we begin to recognize faith as a double-edged sword, capable of inciting both transcendent unity and irrefutable discord. See how individuals tether their identities, building bridges out of beliefs that may simultaneously fracture society — a dance of creation and destruction forged in the fires of conviction. The existential tapestry grows richer then, as we toy with the fragile threads that bind us to one another while resembling the chaotic and unpredictable nature of the universe itself.

Socially, this notion of faith expands into a multi-dimensional perspective, fracturing into myriad sects and ideologies, each vying for dominance over the others. The fanatic’s earnestness can slip seamlessly into tyranny; groups often devolve into echo chambers, fostering a culture of moral supremacy. Intellectually, this leads us to confront sociological paradoxes: how faith, as an instrument of convergence, can morph into the crucible of division. Are we to abandon the very essence of belief simply because it can be co-opted into a tool of oppression?

Faith and Moral Frameworks

Faith can violently shape moral frameworks, imprinting its ethos onto cultural identity with remarkable intensity. When individuals collectively embrace a specific belief system, they unwittingly codify their ethical landscapes, each moral imperative becoming a branching avenue to explore human behavior. Herein lies an alarming truth: as we fill the void of uncertainty with conviction, we simultaneously convert doubt into dogma, forcing the world to conform to our curated moralistic dictates.

Yet, this nature of moralism is not universally beneficial. In contrast, the assertion of one's ethical compass may lead some to adopt a rigidly exclusionary stance towards others — a psychological phenomenon that manifests as learned psychopathy, where allegiance to a cause eclipses empathy for the "other." The fervent belief that one holds the ultimate moral truth can ooze into cruel societal practices, targeting those who dare challenge the established order of thought. The moral convictions that bind communities can just as easily split them, engendering an intellectual stagnation masquerading as righteousness.

As communities enhance their identities through shared beliefs, they often lose sight of their ethical fluidity. Rather than engaging in critical dialogue, they continue to reinforce a monopole of moral absolutism. If faith offers a sense of identity, how much autonomy are we willingly relinquishing? The ethical foundations crafted from singular perspectives reveal themselves to be dangerously fragile, constantly threatened by the reality that, while faith may carve moral structures, humans are indeed the architects of chaos.

The Role of Community in Faith

Communities bound by faith burgeon with the promise of connectedness; people rise as one, shoulder to shoulder, and share in collective rituals that offer solace and strength. This social cohesion births networks of support — a refuge fortified against the capricities of individual experience. Yet, here lurks a darker undercurrent: the development of insular communities that brandish their beliefs as shields while erecting barriers against external influences, creating an environment ripe for breeding intolerance and bigotry.

The paradox penetrates deeper as we ponder — does faith breed community, or do communities breed faith? It serves as a feedback loop, with individuals seeking security in belonging, triggering a cycle that ultimately quenches the thirst for independent thought. When identity is crafted through collective beliefs that remain unchallenged, dissent becomes anathema, and voices that dare to question face a simulated ostracization.

This cultural phenomenon permeates digital spaces, where the adrenaline rush of validation provides a dangerous allure. Online, communities thrive on reaffirming shared beliefs, yet the contrasting reality amplifies a dissonance among diverse ideologies. By creating binary camps, how do we reconcile our inherent need for connection with the toxic compliance to ideology? Are we simply disciples of our own constructed narratives, haplessly neglecting the arduous journey toward critical reflection?

Faith and Existential Reflection

In acknowledging faith's duality, we embark upon a profound journey of existential reflection. Kierkegaard draws us into a darker deeper inquiry: if faith is intertwined with resignation, what are the consequences of holding certainty in a world laced with ambiguity? Our innate need for understanding clashes with the understanding that life's uncertainties provoke disquieting questions. It is here, in this contemplation of faith, that we confront the haunting specters of existential dread.

The modern landscape, infused with rampant skepticism and secular ideologies, has prompted many to grapple with the implications of faith's absence. The void left by lost certainties, then, engenders a peculiar curiosity: can we construct our moral imperatives independently or do we flounder blindly through learned biases? The struggle to reconcile faith with existential inquiries shapes the narratives through which we view morality, ethics, and community.

This blend of introspection, tempered by the harsh realities of lived experience, forces us to confront the chasm between belief and reality. The paradox of faith incites a rebellion against complacency — a clear call to embrace uncertainty while simultaneously fighting against rigid and ineffective interpretations of meaning. Should we not, then, reflect on our commitment to moral and ethical inquiry through a myriad lenses, challenging the structures we previously held necessary?

The Ethics of Online Behavior

Online platforms have catalyzed a unique venue for the moralistic principles that individuals now aspire to uphold. Yet, this brave new world reveals troubling trends: anonymity breeds cowardice, enabling behaviors uninhibited by the constraints of traditional social frameworks. Individuals who partake in online ideologies often suffer from a psychological disconnect — slipping into a state where learned psychopathy engenders a callousness, compromising the integrity of every interaction.

The audacity of one’s beliefs can pave pathways of interaction replete with contempt. The bite of keyboard warriors surfaces from deep-rooted insecurities, echoing the fragility of their convictions — these expressions of rage often mask a profound discontentment with self. As one expresses outrage, which can veer dangerously into aggression, the ethical milieu gets compromised in favor of sensationalism.

In grappling with the dilemmas of ethical engagement, we come across questions grounded in integrity: What do we stand for in virtual communities? Are we mere vessels for ideologies, or do we retain the capacity for principled engagement? If faith drives us, are we not called to embody its virtues even in contentious digital discourse? The ripple effects of our digital ethical standards manifest not merely in our lives but resonate across generations, establishing norms that can either uplift or debase our moral landscapes.

Blind Cowardice and Ethical Liabilities

In a world steeped in moral ambiguity, the specter of blind cowardice emerges — an aversion to confronting the deeper implications of issues steeped in faith-instilled convictions. The ease with which individuals abandon their principles under the weight of societal pressures leads to an erosion of integrity, blurring moral lines that ought to remain distinct. The battle within, the struggle against the cowardice that clamors for safety in conformity, reveals itself as both an internal and external conflict.

This cowardice is not merely mental vacillation; it manifests in behaviors that eschew ethical responsibility, constraining us into patterns of dishonesty. The relationship between faith and integrity forces us to confront challenging questions: When do beliefs become mere performance? How do we remain truly mindful of our interactions, striving towards moral clarity in a world bent on moral relativism?

The implications of blind cowardice ripple through the fabric of our communities, creating environments where insincerity thrives. Do we preserve our convictions on social media platforms for the sake of perceived status? In a climate punctuated by the rejection of discomfort in favor of affirmation, we must become thinkers committed to introspection — searching for truth, even when it lies uncomfortably close to the heart of our existential crises.

Conclusion: The Path Forward

In this tumultuous journey of dissecting faith’s paradox, we must unfurl the layers of human experience and embrace the richness that comes from engaging critically with all of our beliefs. Faith, in its glimmering complexity, demands that we not only bask in its illumination but also grapple with the shadows it casts upon our ethical foundations. To pursue clarity through dialogue, inventiveness, and a profound understanding of self will cultivate an atmosphere of growth, leading to richer, more diverse interactions among communities.

Thus, we find ourselves embarking on a winding path — one imbued with hope, yet punctuated by the necessity of courage. While faith will inevitably shape our moral frameworks, we are tasked with discerning the difference between dogmatic adherence and thoughtful inquiry. Encouraging fostered relationships, open-minded discourse, and courageous self-reflection ensures our actions remain aligned with our beliefs, nurturing a culture of accountability and ethical stewardship in every arena of life.

As we cultivate our moral compasses, we discover that the true essence of faith transcends rigid boundaries. It is our task to fortify the structures of community, ensuring they expand rather than constrict. It is through this dynamic interplay between faith and moral inquiry that we unravel the paradox, embracing its implications while fostering transformative possibilities that empower us towards genuine, longstanding, uncompromising uprightness in every single way.

[ruled-by-cool]

Chi Avende Backstory. Now out of order!

As an Armada soldier, Xur led a battle against the League of Suns that ended in a disastrous defeat.

Without Xur, the Armada didn't get that far. The League had a decisive victory instead of a last-minute rally, they gained more of a hold on their part of space, and were in more of a position to drive away the Realm. 

Their territory expanded. Because the League is open to Landrean settlement, the League's expansion gave Landrea more cities.

That allowed the Sect of the Imperative to spread.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Pacifism

Thou shalt not kill was a religious command, and pacifism began as a religious or quasi-religious doctrine. The condemnation of individual retaliation appears in most “higher” religions and philosophies — so that the submissive non-resistance of Christianity is closely analogous to the non-violence of Indian religion, the non-assertion of Chinese Taoism, and the defiant non-resistance of Socrates and many of his successors. The power of non-violence over violence, of apparent weakness over apparent strength, of right over might, is illustrated in every mythology — Jack the Giant-Killer, David and Goliath and Daniel in the Lions’ Den, Rama and Ravan and Gautama and Mara, the Battle of Marathon or the Battle of Britain, Horatius on the Bridge or the schoolboy’s voice saying Play up, play up, mid play the game, or Thurber’s Termite. The difference is that Jesus and Gautama and Mahavira and Lao-tse and Socrates have ordered non-retaliation as a moral imperative rather than merely pointing it as a moral to a story. But it was only individual non-retaliation — the State still had to punish offenders at home and fight enemies abroad. And there were several personal inconsistencies — Jesus told us not to resist evil, but he drove the money-changers from the Temple by force; Socrates would not resist the Athenian state, but he fought bravely enough in the Athenian army; Marcus Aurelius as a philosopher was a convinced Stoic, but as a Roman Emperor he persecuted Christians and fought barbarians vigorously; Asoka was converted to Buddhism and renounced war, but he kept his conquests and ruled as firmly as ever.

The contradiction between the known wrongness and the continued use of violence has usually been rationalised by the assertion that life in this world is either evil or illusory, so that either you have to do bad things for good reasons or else it doesn’t really matter what you do anyway. Followers of theoretically non-violent systems have in practice tended to make life tolerable by treating the more difficult doctrines as counsels of perfection or to withdraw from it into asceticism or quietism or both. This tendency is of course greatly reinforced when a religion or philosophy becomes established by the State. “Every Church,” said Tolstoy, “excludes the doctrine of Christ.” The story of pacifism is ini fact the story of the way monks and heretics preserved the doctrine of Christ despite its rejection by the Churches.

The early Christians, who were heretics themselves, often took non-resistance seriously. It is well known that many of them refused to sacrifice to the Roman gods and were martyred; it is less well known that many of them similarly refused to bear arms in the Roman legions and were also martyred. Many writers, such as Origen and Lactantius, made uncomplimentary remarks about war; Tertullian’s De Corona condemned it out of hand. The change came at the beginning of the 4th century, naturally enough, when Christianity was made the state religion of the Roman Empire— when, according to the Spanish humanist, Luis Vives, “Constantine entered the house of Christ with the Devil by his side.” This was when the revolting doctrine of the “just war” was invented, though to see it at its best you must read Augustine or Aquinas, The Czech theologian, Petr Chelcicky wrote a book called The Net of Faith (1521), which described how the net had been strong enough to hold little fish like the early Christians but was broken by big fish like Constantine, so that they nearly all got away. But not quite all. The doctrine of non-resistance was held by early heretical sects like the Montanists and Marcionists, and later ones like the Albigenses and Waldenses always tended to condemn war (and, as often as not, the Warfare State as well). The same was true of 16th century humanists like Erasmus and Vives. But modern pacifism began with the followers of Wyclif, the Lollards, and of Hus. When the extreme Hussites—Taborites— were routed in 1434 by their moderate enemies— Calixtines— after twenty years of bitter war, the survivors became non-resistants under their new name of Bohemian Brethren; the Moravians were a later branch who emigrated to America. Many “anabaptist” (i.e. extreme Protestant) sects followed the same pattern of pacifism following disaster after the fall of Minister in 1535. The Dutch Mennonites and Collegiants, the German Schwenkfelders and Dunkers, and the English Brownists and Baptists, were only a few of the unknown number of anabaptist sects who turned towards anarchist pacifism in the 16th and 17th centuries, when it became clear that the Kingdom of Heaven was not of this world.

But the best known of all the peace sects is the Society of Friends* which has been chiefly responsible for keeping Christian pacifism alive during the last three hundred years. There have been many later sects —the French Camisards, the Russian Molokans and Dukhobors, the AngloAmerican Shakers, Christadelphians, Seventh Day Adventists and Jehovah’s Witnesses— but the Quakers have had the greatest influence, because they have taken the maximum part in conventional life with the minimum compromise of their principles, and because they have been so much more tolerant than most other religious groups. The Quaker “peace testimony” appeared as early as George Fox’s reply to Cromwell’s Army Commissioners in 1651 and James Naylor’s last words in 1660, and it was formally stated in the ofl&cial declaration of the Society in January 1661 : “We certainly know and do testify to the world that the spirit of Christ, which leads us into all truth, will never move us to fight and war against any man with outward weapons, neither for the Kingdom of Christ nor for the kingdoms of this world .. When we have been wronged we have not sought to revenge ourselves. Never shall we lift up hand against any that thus use us, but desire the Lord may have mercy upon them, that they may consider what they have done.” This is a perfect formulation of the doctrine of non-resistance (and is exactly what Winstanley had been saying ten years earlier — how many disappointed Diggers became Quakers?). The remarkable thing is that the Quakers have never wavered from their first position.[2] Penn’s “Holy Experiment” of Pennsylvania was from its foundation in 1682 to the fall of the Quaker regime in 1756 the nearest to a non-violent state in history. Robert Barclay said in his Apologia (1676): “It is not lawful for Christians to resist evil or to war or fight in any cause.” Johnathan Dymond said in his Essay on War (1829): “Either we must refuse to fight or we must abandon Christianity.” This is still the Quaker view, and Quakers have always taken the lead in both the official peace movement and the unofficial pacifist movement. When A. C. F. Beales set out to write his History of Peace (1931), he was “surprised to find that every single idea current today about peace and war was being preached by organised bodies over a century ago, and that the world-wide ramifications of the presentday peace movement can be traced back in unbroken continuity to a handful of forgotten Quakers in England and America at the close of the Napoleonic Wars.” Thus it was quaker initiative that led to the formation of the British Peace Society in 1816 and of the National Peace Council in 1905, and Quakers have always been active in warrelief work (which has twice won them the Nobel Peace Prize). More important, it was Quakers who bore the brunt of resistance to the demands of the Militia Acts between 1757 and 1860, both by public protest and by individual conscientious objection. So they tried to prevent war happening and resisted when it did.

The point is that Quakers don’t actually follow the doctrine of non-resistance at all. Fox told Cromwell in 1654, “My weapons are not carnal but spiritual,” but they were highly effective weapons for all that. (“The armed prophet triumphs,” said Machiavelli, “the unarmed prophet perishes.” Fox’s soul goes marching on, but where is Cromwell’s?) Quakers have never been reluctant to protest against social injustice. Elizabeth Fry’s prison work is hardly “non-resistance”. It was Quakers who led the campaign against slavery, from the early protest of the German Friends in Pennsylvania in 1688 to the formation of the Society for the Abolition of the Slave Trade in 1787, and right on to the end. In fact one of the most interesting things in the history of modern dissent is the close connection between professed nonresistance to evil and sustained resistance to racial oppression. William Lloyd Garrison, the American Abolitionist leader, wasn’t a Quaker because he wasn’t a Christian, but he was a total non-resistant, and so were many of his colleagues — such as Whittier, Ballou and Musser. Indeed he symbolises in his own career this curious connection, for he was not only the founder of the New England and American AntiSlavery Societies and editor of the Liberator but also the founder of the New England Non-Resistance Society and editor of the NonResistor,

One day it might be worth making a detailed examination of the Boston Peace Convention of 1838, where the Non-Resistance Societywas formed. It passed a resolution “that no man, no government, has a right to take the life of man, on any pretext, according to the gospel of Christ,” and issued a Declaration of Sentiments, including the following: “We cannot acknowledge allegiance to any human government . , . Our country is the world, our countrymen are all mankind [this was the motto of the Liberator] ... We repudiate all human politics, worldly honours and stations of authority ... We cordially adopt the nonresistance principle.” Here is pure Christian anarchism, derived from 17th century Puritanism— no wonder it excited Tolstoy so much. But these gentle unworldly pacifists were right in the front of the campaign against slavery, and Garrison was notorious for his language about the American slave-owners, which was no less violent than Bertrand Russell’s about the present rulers of the world. Non-resistance indeed!

The fact is that theoretical non-resistance only means non-resistance in practice when it remains silent. The mere declaration of conscientious objection to violence is a form of resistance, since it involves nonco-operation with the State’s key functions of oppression and war. The State can tolerate the abolition of slavery, but not the abolition of war as well. When Jesus abrogated the traditional talion law he was unwittingly challenging his State. When Dymond said in 1826, “Now is the time for anti-slavery exertion; the time will come for anti-war exertion,” he was similarly threatening his State and ours. As Bourne said in 1918, “We cannot crusade against war without crusading implicitly against the State.” It is because most pacifists never realise this that they are constantly surprised by the hostility their behavour provokes. Most pacifists are really sentimentalists— hoping to get rid of war without changing anything else, so you can bully people as long as you don’t actually kill them. It was because the greatest of all pacifists— Tolstoy— saw through this sentimentalism that he became an anarchist after 1878 as well as a pacifist. He never called himself one, since he used the word to describe those who relied on violence, but his eloquent and unequivocal condemnation of the State makes him one of the greatest of all anarchists too. His remark that “the most frightful robber-band is not as frightful as the State,” is simply an echo from Augustine’s City of God without Augustine’s pious reservation: “Without justice, what are States but great robber-bands.” And because Tolstoy utterly denied the justice of the State’s authority, he had to proclaim the duty of total resistance to the State’s totalitarian demands. It is ironical that he derived the right of resistance to the State from the same source that Augustine derived the right of oppression by the State— God.

“The clear and simple question is that,” he said in his Letter to the Russian Conscientious Objectors (1909): “Which law do you consider to be binding for yourself—the law of God, which is your conscience; or the law of man, which is the State?” The answer is in no doubt. “Do not resist evil,” he said in his Letter to a Hindu (1908), “but do not participate in evil either.” The doctrine is non-resistance, but the implication is obstinate resistance. He had already said in his Letter to the Swedish Peace Party (1899): “Those in power neither can nor will abolish their armies.” And the solution? “The people must take the matter into their own hands.” Here we see how religious pacifism and political anti-militarism came to the same conclusion before the Great War, for what Tolstoy was advocating was in fact a non-violent general strike, individual civil disobedience on such a scale that it became direct action, a revolutionary technique similar to those proposed by William Godwin, Pierre Proudhon and Benjamin Tucker, an anarcho-syndicalist insurrection without the insistence on violence that disfigured the thought of Bakunin, Kropotkin and Malatesta. But how can such a strike be organised? In the event the pacifists were shown to suffer from the same false optimism as the anti-militarists, for when the Great War came their non- violent general strike turned out to be just as much of a myth as the industrial; general strike; and they were reduced to individual conscientious objection when they were called up.

It is often thought that military conscription was unknown in this country until the Great War, but as well as the old Militia Acts there were the press-gangs and the most efficient recruiting sergeant of all, hunger; Professor Coulton’s reference to “hunger-conscripts under the name of volunteers” was no exaggeration, and it was hunger that kept the British Army going until war became too professional and too efficient in killing people. Conscription in its modern form appeared on the horizon only when the weakness of British military preparations was revealed by the Boer War (the first serious war for half a century), and the foundation of the National Service League in 1902 began a long campaign for compulsory military service. Even when the Great War came the Government delayed as long as possible, hoping that Alfred Leete’s picture of Kitchener saying Your Country needs You would be enough. But within the first year the failure of voluntary recruiting led to National Registration (of all men and women between 15 and 75!), and this showed that two million men of military age had decided not to fight for their King and Country. After this the process was fairly rapid, with “attestation” in October 1915, conscription for single men in January and married men in May 1916, and further extensions in March and May 1917 and again in January and April 1918. Conscription didn’t come to an end until August 1921.[3]

Nothing is more instructive than the way the leaders of the Labour Movement rejected every stage in this process before it happened and then accepted it afterwards, condemning the principle of conscription all the time they were collaborating with it. In the same way they managed between the Wars to oppose pacifism and unilateral disarmament on one side and conscription and rearmament on the other, and once again they accepted the fact of conscription when it returned in April 1939; after the last War, of course, it was the Labour Government that extended conscription in 1947 and also decided to manufacture and test the British Bomb. All with the best intentions. In much the same way the Official peace movement — the conference and arbitration people — which had been trying to build igloos in the Sahara for a century, collapsed as ignominiously as the Second International in 1914 and offered even less resistance in 1939. On both occasions the only people who stood firmly and unwaveringly against all war were the extreme pacifists and the extreme socialists (including many anarchists). Here we come up against the really crucial problem, which consists of two questions — Who are the real war-resisters? and How can the warresisters really resist war?

The answer to the first question was given in the Great War, when the Labour and peace movements utterly failed to resist, when the “conscientious objectors” were found to have political as well as religious principles, when the people who formed the No Conscription Fellowship in November 1914 and began going to jail just over a year later turned out to be mostly Quakers and members of the ILP. Real pacifism and real anti-militarism were the same thing, though some people followed one rather than the other, since they persuaded the same end by the same means. Religious people had to have political feelings to make the public protest, and political people had to have religious feelings to take the punishment. Remember how unpleasant it was to be a “conchie” in the Great War.

It is estimated that 6,000 men went to prison, and the common sentence was two years; worse, you could be arrested immediately after release ,if they wanted to play cat-and-mouse with you. More than 650 people were imprisoned twice, and three were actually put inside six times. Arthur Creech Jones, later a Labour Colonial Secretary, was sentenced in succession to 6 months, 12 months, 2 years and 2 years again; Fenner Brockway, founder of the NCF and later of the Movement for Colonial Freedom, got 6 months, 12 months and 2 years. (Notice how both of them were strong anti-racialists as well as anti-militarists.) At least 34 men were taken over to France in May 1916 and sentenced to be shot, though Asquith stopped any of the sentences being carried out; and more than twice that number died as a direct result of brutal treatment they received in custody, which was quite normal. It is a valid criticism of individual passive resistance to war to point out that it is ineffective, but critics must admit that it demanded considerable courage and determination. The obvious corollary is that this determination should somehow be employed more effectively, and the obvious hope between the Wars was that it would be properly organised.

But that hope was false. The NCF was dissolved in November 1919, though it was revived in February 1921 as the No More Wat Movement; in February 1937 this was absorbed by the Peace Pledge Union, which had been formed after Dick Sheppard’s famous letter of October 1934. (It is odd how Arthur Ponsonby’s similar declaration of December 1927 has been forgotten, while the Peace Pledge has become part of the national memory, along with the irrelevant Peace Ballot of 1934–35 and the unimportant Oxford Union resolution of February 1933). The result was in effect to dissolve the alliance between the religious and the political war-resisters, and this couldn’t be restored by the War Resisters’ International (which was formed in Holland in 1921) because its British section was the predominantly religious PPU. It is true that the PPU kept the faith alive and got well over 100,000 members by 1939, but it was passivist as well as pacifist, and when the war against Fascism came and thousands of men broke their pledges, it was reduced to publishing literature and counting up the numbers of COs in the registrations (seldom more than 2% and usually less than 1%). So after 1945 the situation was far more hopeless than it had been before 1914, because the war-resisters had failed miserably twice-over, and far more urgent too, because the Bomb meant that the next war really would be the war to end war, and everything else with it. The first question had been answered, but there was stili no answer to the second one — How can war-resisters really resist war? Perhaps it was just because everything had become so hopeless and so urgent that the answer came at last

[dubconartist]

His Favorite's Favorite: 1983 Fisticuffs

Rating: General

Copia was just a boy of thirteen, such a lucky number. After he and Nihil had their talk years previous, he had begun to allow himself to stand out from the crowd and it had done him good. While each child raised within their numbers was valued by their sect, there were only a handful of children that the Ministry at large concerned themselves with. It had, for years, been only Papa Nihil’s three boys that needed to be factored into future plans because by birthright the three of them each held the official title of cardinal, though they had done nothing to earn that place. Now, however, Copia's name was being brought up with increasing frequency. What studies they should start him on. What role he might play in their futures. How important it was that he should cultivate leadership skills.

[rest under the read more or on AO3]

Nihil figured these were all things that came with being in Sister Imperator's favor. She had always made time in her comings and goings to visit young Copia, to be there for him as much as she could. Personally, the Papa could not understand the fascination with this child. Copia played games all day, talked nonsense at anyone who would listen, was incredibly awkward when he tried to socialize, and stole the good snacks out of Nihil's desk. Nihil thought he was a little weirdo if anything, though not entirely intolerable. They were almost alike sometimes and those were the times Nihil would begin to find him tiresome.

There was a spiteful determination that seemed to have taken root in young Copia, a rebelliousness that twisted limitations and criticism into challenges by which to prove himself. When bullied he would bite back as good as he got with a viciousness that reminded Nihil so much of Sister Imperator that he figured the boy must be actively trying to emulate her. While Copia appeared perpetually unfocused, apparently doing anything other than the task at hand, his assignments would still be turned in on time with exceptional marks. Psaltarian had said the boy was likely brilliant and could very well run the Ministry one day, if he started taking things more seriously.

Copia had briefly tried to befriend Nihil's sons a few years prior but the older boys had rejected him outright. The eldest, already a grown man, had ignored the young boy's presence entirely but the two teenagers seemed almost offended that this unimportant child was speaking to them like they were equals. They had begun to act as if Copia was encroaching on their territory somehow, like he was a threat to their livelihood.

“Stop trying to be one of us, kid.” Nihil's middle son told the boy one day. “You don't matter.”

“I don't matter?” Copia seemed deeply offended but only mildly surprised and bit back, “At least I'm wanted.” The young man’s fist met Copia's face with a force fueled in no small part by the fact that it had been an entirely factual statement. Copia, with what must have been a thirteen year old’s version of a battle roar, threw himself entirely into a fight with the older boy. Nihil's other sons merely watched the conflict, not helping their brother because they were nothing if not disloyal. The youngest in particular seemed to be delighted with the turn of events, possibly even rooting for the child just because it would be nice to see his brother lose.

Though five entire years younger and much smaller, Copia held his own in the fight and when the boys had finally been dragged apart by Nihil and Psaltarian, Copia had a black eye and a wild grin of satisfaction. Nihil's son had a split lip, a deep bite wound in his arm, and a bruised ego. “You're gonna get rabies, man.” The youngest son laughed at his brother. The black ring blooming around the Copia's eye reminded Nihil of a cardinal’s makeup.

In the afternoon’s meeting that they had been heading to before having to break up the fight, for the first time ever, it was Nihil that brought up plans for Copia's future. “I’d like to make Copia a cardinal.” It had been the black eye that had put the image in his head and the angry puncture marks in his son's arm that sealed the deal.

Sister Imperator sputtered, “Who t-Do you-Are you-” she was at a loss, apparently. “Why?” she finally settled on a simple enough question that she could actually finish it before aborting the sentence entirely.

“The boys are useless.” the disappointment in his progeny was clear on his face. “We will eventually need someone who can lead despite the incompetence of the Papa they must deal with.”

Not to miss the opportunity, Sister Imperator replied quickly, “Well I certainly understand that.” and she seemed rather pleased with herself while Psaltarian chuckled softly. Nihil looked deeply offended but had the good sense to say anything in response.

The next time Nihil saw Copia was when they had all gathered for a black mass. The boy went to his new place among the clergy, right next to Nihil's sons. His red robes and black rimmed eyes were identical to the young men beside him and marked him their equal. The three sons were livid.

“My little Cardi!” The Sister greeted him softly from a few rows ahead.

“Your Dark Excellency.” the boy nodded in a formal manner to Sister Imperator. Cardinal Copia turned to Nihil's sons and nodded in the same manner, “Assholes.”

[copiousloverofcopia]

Hi this is the anon who asked about Copia and Cirrus earlier. I got nervous about asking about them so did anon. But yes I would be interested, I love them so much together ❤️ thanks for answering the ask!!

Hello Ghestie!!!!

I have finally finished your requested follow up for our dear Papa Copia and his expectant Prime Mover Cirrus!

Hope it was worth the wait!!!!

Hope you all enjoy!

Commissions are OPEN, please see pinned post for Carrd info!

Thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the divider. 🦇

His Pride and Joy

Copia and Cirrus as enjoying the quiet moments between them before welcoming their child...but a surprise soon awaits them.

Also available HERE on AO3! If you haven't read part 1, My Lioness you can read that HERE to start!

Read more below the cut!

The light shining through the old window was warm and inviting. The dust from an endless wall of books, glistening like glitter as the rats began scurrying past the spines. Rows of them, both old and new, filled with text containing all manner of subjects. Prized possessions in this was a place of knowledge and work.

"Ah…be careful amore you are carrying precious cargo." Copia stressed, a concerned look on his face as he helped direct Cirrus to sit on the sofa within his office. The very heavily pregnant ghoulette, smiling up at him as she set down the pile of books she'd been carrying and heeded her husband’s request. Brushing softly back the lock of salt and pepper hair that fell in his face. 

"My dear sweet Papa, I'm made of hellfire…not glass." She giggled, "Just relax." 

"If only it were that easy." Copia sighed, kissing his lover's palm. Cirrus knew it was hard for him. Copia was a nervous man by nature, and had Cirrus been mortal he may have had more reason to worry. Ghoulettes, however, were stronger than that. 

Ever since that night, their amorous confessions laid bare upon arrival home, they were inseparable. A Papa and his Ghoulette Prime Mover. It became known quickly that Cirrus had conceived. The rest of the ghouls were shocked at the news. All except Cumulus who knew from the beginning that Cirrus was head over heels in love.

It was a quick, rather gaudy ceremony. One that was honestly done with Sister Imperator’s insistence. Never enough for her to have kept things simple, she assured them the Ministry would spare no expense. While it was a spectacular event to be sure, Copia and Cirrus much preferred the quiet ceremony shared earlier that day. 

Illuminated in the early morning sun, excited hands struggling to still as they held onto one another. Facing into each other's eyes with all the wonder that was creation as Primo recited the rites of the ritual. Copia caressing his lioness’s face as he declared his undying love. The half ghoul kit within her belly, still too small to show. 

It was the small moments that meant so much to them. They had the flashy thrill of the tour behind them. Content to spend the next couple of years in domestic bliss. Quietly awaiting the birth of their child before the chaos of the next tour cycle began. Both of them, content as they settled into ordinary life in the Abbey.

Today was no different. Copia, having to spend his day scouring through papers and taking calls from other sects of the Ministry. So many moving parts that it was hard to keep up. His impending fatherhood, the only thing keeping him surprisingly sane. 

Cirrus calmed him. The Papa's lunch hour, usually spent with his head in her lap, now having to settle for a seat beside her. Cirrus was even more breathtaking with each day. Her face so delicate, smile heartwarming, and her tail, swaying happily behind her as she stared over to him. He was a lucky man indeed.

Copia brought himself to his knees before her. Settling in the space adjacent to her lap as he let out a surrendering sigh. Pressing his lips gently to her swollen belly, heavy with their child. Cirrus lifted him back up to face her. His eyes, full of the joy and panic that takes hold of all expectant fathers. 

“Well you're going to have to try.” she said, giving Copia a warm look of encouragement. 

“Si, but you have our bambino in there.” 

“Papa!” She playfully chided. Copia nodded in acknowledgement before rising to meet with her. Their eyes, closing to the feel of one another's lips. Loving and sinfully hungry for each other at all times. Swiss, having teased them that if the ghouls were like cats Cirrus would be carrying multiples. 

“I need you amore.” Copia grinned, lowering his mouth over her jaw and neck. Cirrus melting under him as she always did. Unable to deny her Papa his request. 

“Papa…I…” she began, losing her constitution to speak as he nibbled at her neck. His freshly shaven, unpainted face—so smooth and warm against her skin. 

“You are so beautiful this way. You're positively glowing Cirrus…truly. If it were up to me I'd have you this way always. Full of our child and so soft.” Copia hummed against her as his interests traveled to the precipice of her thighs. Cirrus slowly, parting them for him as he used his other hand to knead her breast. Kissing and drawing her into his mouth. Sending the ghoulettes head rolling backward, as the pleasure from his mouth on her and the suggestion of his touch thrilled her. 

Just as she resigned to his whims, they both were met with surprise. A gush of fluid, making it way from inside her like the biblical fluid of Noah. A powerful proclamation that their child was preparing to make themselves known. The two of them immediately set on edge.

“Oh cazzo. What did I do?!” Copia yelped. His hands, held to the side of his head as he allowed reality to sink in.  

“Seems it's time.” Cirrus smiled, breathing slowly through pursed lips. Allowing herself to calm before dealing with her husband’s anxieties. This was it. The Emeritus child was on their way. 

It was over almost as quickly as it began. Roars of perseverance and the sounds of cries, dissipating in the quiet of the room. Copia was in awe of her. Images of what had transpired, still dancing in the back of his mind as he sat at the side of Cirrus’s bed. The ghoulette, sleeping soundly for the first time in ages. Her husband, at her side with their newborn daughter nestled gently in his arms. 

Copia had been a mess. Trying to stay strong during the birth, but it was Cirrus who was the strong one. So brave for risking everything to bring such a perfect thing into the world. A gift made with love from one another and the first half ghoul, half human born into the Papal line of succession. So small and innocent, but already so mighty as she yawned. Revealing the tiny, budded fangs and sleeping soundly in her father’s arms. 

She was just as beautiful as her mother and even more precious to him. Her pale grey skin, hinting at her infernal heritage and only the suggestion of horns atop her head. Tailless, like her father and blessed with Cirrus’s nose. She was perfect.

“She needs a name Copia.” Cirrus said, quietly awaking to see her husband falling completely in love with his daughter all over again. 

“You didn’t do too bad yourself.” she smiled, Copia quickly giving her a look of disbelief as he replied. 

“Oh amore.” he whispered, trying to not awaken their daughter, “...you were absolutely magnificent but for now you must rest, si?” Copia both praised and insisted.

“Cirrus, I almost fainted.”

“But you didn’t.” she giggled, “...she is beautiful, isn’t she?” the ghoulette asked him. Appreciating this sweet moment between them. The first time they were truly together as a family. Both of them, staring at the little life they created, so full of happiness. 

“That she is. My absolute pride and joy.” Copia said when both he and Cirrus instantly looked at one another once again. 

“Lucifer. Copia, that's it.” Cirrus beamed, her husband kissing her forehead and minding her horns before speaking.  

“You’re right…Joy… her name is Joy.”

[itsbinghebitch]

wenzhou really tested my toxic ship preferences because the whole time i was WAITING for shit to go down after wkx is revealed to be the ghost sect leader but no. it just turns out that zzs is an absolute freak with no real moral compass and just accepts wkx for who he is. but there's something so special about them that surpasses the common romance trope of loyalty til death, which is really just the ethical dimension of their relationship. wkx straight up claiming: "There are too many people who want to be heroes in this world. I like watching the show but not being part of the show [...] As a wanderer in this world, all I need is you." paralleled ofc with the four sages of anji who all have made a spiritual decision to wander the world together and not be part of the common politics and drive for power.

wenzhou for me is a love story based in ethical imperative: two people who have experienced the destructive power that comes with "being part of the show" as wkx puts it. zzs as part of tian chuang and wkx through his father's political entanglements that led to his death. but that transformative experience of detachment is nothing without a soulmate, someone to deliberately choose to leave behind the world of will and power. in that way i almost prefer the original novel wenzhou where they weren't originally childhood friends but just found each other by that common denominator: both faraway wonderers, both existentially lonely until they meet each other. the type of loyalty that only comes with mutual recognition through the other. i would kill for them