#discuss the clergy at least

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

The problem with a lot of period dramas is that I literally grew up in a more convoluted class system than they depict so I can hardly take them seriously whenever the working classes come up.

[galedekarios]

waterdeep's festivities & celebrations

(credit: midnightfriday)

in contrast to baldur's gate, which has few festivals and gatherings, waterdeep in contrast has a great variety of them, prompting volo to write the following about waterdeep in his chapbook about the city:

"At many times of year, hardly a tenday can pass in Waterdeep without the staging of some rite, race, or rousing ceremony of civic pride." (from: Volo's Waterdeep Enchiridion)

in this post, i want to give an overview of these holidays and festivals. some of them are mentioned in the game, like fleetswake in a banter between gale, lae'zel and wyll, but most of them are not. they give an interesting insight in the city, its history and its people.

the most used calendar in faerûn is the calendar of harptos. it's pictured above to give you an overview of how the months and seasons work in faerûn.

The days making up a tenday did not have formal names. If precision was required, the number of the day and the number of the tenday were used, as in, "the fourth day of the first tenday of Flamerule". Days of the month were typically written as the numerical date followed by the month name, for example, "15 Hammer" or "15th Hammer". Informally or poetically this could be spoken or written as "the 15th of Deepwinter". [x]

the names of the months in faerûn are:

hammer (deepwinter)

alturiak (the claw of winter, the claw of cold)

ches (the claw of sunsets)

tarsakh (the claw of storms)

mirtul (the melting)

kythorn (the time of flowers)

flamerule (summertide)

eleasis (highsun)

eleint (the fading)

marpenoth (leaffall)

uktar (the rotting)

nightal (the drawing down)

hammer 1: wintershield

Marking the start of the new year, this observance is a widely recognized day off work, when folk sip warmed ciders and broths (often laced with herbs for health and to bring on visions) and stay inside. They tell tales of what interested them or was important in the year just done, and discuss what they intend to do or should deal with — or things that everyone “should keep a hawk’s clear eye on” — in the year ahead. Such talk inevitably leads to discussions of politics, wars, and the intentions of rulers. Maps are usually consulted, and it’s widely considered lucky to possess and examine a map on Wintershield. Map sales are brisk in the tenday preceding this holiday.

alturiak 14: the grand revel

Led by the clergy of Sune, Sharess, and Lliira, the Grand Revel is a day of dancing, music, and the consumption of sweet treats of all kinds, from chocolate to red firemint candies. Although some of the dancing is wanton and performed for show, large-scale ring dances in the street for all ages are also popular. All the dancing ends at dusk, after which bards and minstrels perform at “love feasts” for families. Couples — or those desiring to become couples — slip away together to kiss, exchange promises, and trade small tokens of affection (often rings blessed by clergy with prayers of faithfulness). Even if you have no paramour, indulge a little in the dance and food of this fine tradition. The night might be cold, but your heart will be warmed.

we learn in the game about sharess, we hear a bit about sune, the goddess of beauty and her temple of beauty in waterdeep in a banter between gale and shadowheart, but lliira is mentioned only in passing: llira is a minor goddess in the faerûnian pantheon. she's called the joybringer and is the embodiment of freedom and happiness, inspiring many poets and musicians. gale does mention her in game - or at least the llirian suites that his piano is enchanted to play.

ches 1: rhyestertide

This holiday is named in honor of Lathander’s first prophet, Rhyester, a young blind boy who was cured of that blindness by the dawn’s light on this day more than seven centuries ago. That holy event occurred in the vicinity of Silverymoon, but Lathander has long had a much larger temple in Waterdeep, and a following to match. Each of the faithful dons bright garb of sunrise hues and keeps one eye covered until the next dawn in honor of Rhyester. If you want to feel like a local, catch the eye of any celebrant you see and wink. Fine friendships have grown from far less.

ches 19: fey day

The veil between this world and the faerie realm of the Feywild is thought to be weak on this day. Though this phenomenon provokes caution in rural areas (with folk avoiding woodlands, putting offerings of food on doorsteps, and the like), it is an occasion of much drinking, singing, and dancing in Waterdeep. The wealthy host elaborate masked balls, while poorer folk don costumes of their own make and travel door to door, gaining brief entry into the celebrations in exchange for performing a song or a short play. All adopt the guises of fey beings and the supposed rulers of the Feywild, such as Queen Titania, Oberon, and Hyrsam, the Prince of Fools. Those inclined to remain sullen in the face of such frivolity had best stay home, for celebrants do their utmost to evoke a smile from those they meet.

chest 21 - 30: fleetswake

This festival celebrates the sea, maritime trade, and the gods of the sea, navigation, and weather. It spans the last tenday of Ches, and includes a series of boat races, the Shipwrights’ Ball at the Shipwrights’ House, and guild-sponsored galas at the Copper Cup festhall. According to custom, the winners of the various competitions don’t keep their trophies and earnings, but deliver them to the priests of Umberlee at the Queenspire, her temple on the beach by the east entrance to the Great Harbor, at the conclusion of the festival. The last two days of Fleetswake are the occasion of the Fair Seas Festival. During this time, there is much feasting on seafood, the harbor is strewn with flower petals, and City Guards go from tavern to tavern collecting offerings for Umberlee. Collection boxes also appear at large festival gatherings. Upon sunset of the final day, the collected coin is placed in chests and dumped into the deepest part of the harbor. This festival has existed in a number of forms since the first trade-meets occurred here more than two millennia ago, and an uncountable amount of wealth remains sunken in what has long been known as Umberlee’s Cache. The area is closely watched by merfolk guardians, whose standing orders are to kill anyone attempting to disturb it. Rumors abound that the chests have magical protections; one story tells of thieves who stole some of the collection years ago and tried to leave the city under false pretenses, only to see a squall spring up as soon as their ship left the harbor. A huge wave shaped like a hand swept the thieves overboard, but spared the ship and its crew.

this festival is one of the few mentioned in baldur's gate. as stated previously gale, wyll and lae'zel mention it in one of the banters between them in act 1:

Lae'zel notes that Gale knows a lot about mind flayers. He responds with information about his training. If there, Wyll chimes in as well. Lae'zel: You strike me cleverer than most istiki, Gale. Multiple tutors, I should guess.devnote Gale: Many a wise man and woman indeed. Waterdeep is the home of myriad scholars. Wyll: Ah, the City of Splendours. Spent a whole Fleetswake there with my father. What a delight.

tarsak 1 - 10: waukeentide

This festival has long gathered a number of older holidays under one name, stretching those celebrations into a holiday season that lasts a tenday. Among the rituals in homage to the goddess of wealth and trade are these: Caravance (Tarsahk 1). This gift-giving holiday commemorates the traditional arrival of the first caravans of the season into the city. Many parents hide gifts for their offspring in their homes, telling the children that they were left by Old Carvas — a mythical peddler who arrived with the first caravan to reach Waterdeep, his wagon loaded down with toys for children to enjoy. Goldenight (Tarsahk 5). This festival celebrates coin and gold, with many businesses staying open all night, offering midnight sales and other promotions. Some celebrants and customers decorate themselves with gold dust and wear coins as jewelry. Guildsmeet (Tarsahk 7). On this holiday, guild members gather in their halls for the announcement of new policies and a celebration of business concluded for the year. These gatherings culminate in a gala festival and dance sponsored by several guilds, which lasts from dusk till dawn and overruns the Market, the Cynosure, the Field of Triumph, and all areas in between. Leiruin (Tarsahk 10). In times long past, Waukeen caught Leira, the goddess of illusions and deception, attempting to cheat her in a deal, and buried her under a mountain of molten gold as punishment. A commemoration of that event, Leiruin is the day for guild members to pay their annual dues and for guildmasters to meet with the Lords of Waterdeep and renew their charters for another year.

waukeen is a goddess and her domain is trade and wealth.

mirtul 6 - 9: the plowing and running

Rural areas around the city observe this holiday in the traditional sense of shared activities of plowing fields and moving (or “running”) livestock. But within the city, the holiday is celebrated with a series of races. Foot, horse, and chariot races are run through courses in each ward, and the winners from each ward compete at the Field of Triumph. If you really want to see the wards come to life, this is the time. Pick your favorite, wear its colors, and cheer alongside its residents. Better yet, if you’re of an adventuresome bent, register in your favored ward and compete! Who knows? Your name or visage might soon have a place in the House of Heroes.

kythorn 1: trolltide

On this day commemorating Waterdeep’s victory in the Second Trollwar, children run through the city acting like trolls, banging on doors and growling, from highsun till dusk. Home and shop owners are expected to give the children candy, fruits, or small items. Those who give no treat can expect to become the target of a trick at sundown. This mischief typically takes the form of “troll scratchings” at doors and windows. Those with more malicious intent sing screechingly in the wee hours, and hurl raw eggs at windows, signs, and the heads of those who try to stop them. Have some candy on hand or some sweet rolls, and all will be calm where you live.

kythorn 14: guildhall day

This day is a time of trade fairs. Most shops are closed, and street sales are suspended for all but walking food peddlers. Guildhall Day celebrates the fruits of everyone’s labor with revelations of new products, innovations, fashions, and signage extolling the extent and quality of guild members’ services and wares. These offerings usually take the form of glittering displays, but guilds sometimes also sponsor brief plays or other hired entertainments (jugglers, singers, magic shows put on by hedge wizards and professional raconteurs) at which prizes or free samples are distributed. Many guilds try to recruit during this time. Guildhall Day is an excellent time to browse the city’s merchandise — and it doesn’t matter if you can’t afford what you see, because you can’t buy it that day anyway.

kythorn 20: dragondown

This day in Kythorn is celebrated with bonfires and rituals to “tame” or “drive down” dragons. In Waterdeep, the celebrations take the form of parades that center around effigies built of wood and cloth and filled with straw. Each effigy is named and has a traditional depiction, for it represents one of a handful of dragons the city has faced in its history. After being paraded to a square near where the dragon was defeated or driven off, the enormous effigy is burned. The height of the celebration comes when the effigy of Kistarianth the Red is burned on the slopes of Mount Waterdeep. A dracolich version of Kistarianth is then carried up the slopes and burned as well. These proceedings symbolize the defeat of Kistarianth first by the paladin Athar, and again decades later by his son, Piergeiron. Tradition dictates that the winners of the races run during the Plowing and Running take the role of the dragons’ slayers, with the champion of the chariot race representing Athar and the champion of the horse race playing Piergeiron.

flamerule 1: the founders' day

This day commemorates the birth of the city. The Field of Triumph is the site of illusory displays that chronicle the history of Waterdeep, as well as martial exhibitions by the Guard and other worthies. Many festhalls sponsor Founders’ Day costume contests, with prizes going to those who wear the best recreations of the garb of historical personages. Once banned as frivolous and distracting, the practice of veiling Castle Waterdeep with an illusion has been reinstated. Several mages come together to produce the effect, which seemingly transforms the castle into the ancient log fortress of Nimoar. The illusion typically lasts from midday to sunset (unless someone has the audacity and magical might to dispel it) and is regarded as a stunning work of magical art.

flamerule 3 - 5: sornyn

Sornyn is a festival of both Waukeen and Lathander, and is used for planning business, making treaties and agreements, and receiving envoys from unknown lands and traditional foes. Much wine is drunk over this three-day occasion when, as the saying goes, “My enemy is like family to me.” If you are a newcomer to the city, this time is an excellent opportunity for you to engage with new partners in business or to gain financial support for some endeavor. My agreement to write Volo’s Guide to Waterdeep was signed on a warm Sornyn evening many years ago, so who knows where your own initiative will take you?

flamerule 7: llira's night

Originally a celebration held only in Waterdeep, this holiday has since spread up and down the Sword Coast. It has received a recent boost in popularity from the custom started in Baldur’s Gate of lighting celebratory smokepowder fireworks — all purchased from Felogyr’s Fireworks of that city, and utilized only by the City Guard, of course. This nightlong festival honors the Lady of Joy with dances and balls throughout the city. Pink beverages, ranging from healthy juices to deadly strong intoxicants, are imbibed. The boom and crackle of smokepowder explosions go off all night long, so you might as well stay up with the locals and enjoy the show.

eleasis 1: ahghairon's day

Many small rituals are held throughout this day, dedicated to honoring the first Open Lord. The Lords of Waterdeep toast Ahghairon and the Watchful Order, and guildmasters toast the Lords in Ahghairon’s name. Commoners leave violets (Ahghairon’s favorite flower) around Ahghairon’s Tower, on his statue in the City of the Dead, and atop the altars of the House of Wonder. Bards perform songs in honor of the wizard all over the city. The Open Lord visits taverns and inns throughout Waterdeep to wish the people well — giving short speeches, offering toasts to Ahghairon’s memory, buying rounds of drinks, or paying for meals or accommodation. Needless to say, establishments of those sorts are generally full throughout the day.

if you are interested to learn more about ahghairon - who is mentioned too by gale in passing - or rather his lost nose - you can do so here: i've written a more extensive meta about him in this post.

eleint 21: brightswords

On this day, the City Guard, the City Navy, and the City Watch — all in glittering array — conduct parades, give demonstrations of martial skill, and stage mock battles. Those desiring to join their ranks are given a chance to demonstrate their prowess, usually with wooden practice weapons in contests against veteran soldiers. Makers and vendors of weapons sell their wares openly in the markets, experts who can hurl or juggle weapons show off their skills, and the wards compete in wrestling and boxing matches. The most anticipated part of the day is when horses are cleared from the Field of Triumph and the surrounding streets so that the Griffon Cavalry can perform aerial displays over the crowds in the stadium. Members of the Watchful Order present the cavalry with illusory foes to fight, allowing the griffon riders to engage in thrilling battles as the people watch.

marpenoth 3: day of wonders

The imaginative inventions of the Gondar are revealed on this day and paraded through the city. These devices range from something as humble as new cabinet hinges to massive mechanical constructs that walk or roll about. Failure is the paramour of invention, though, meaning it is a rare year when there isn’t some notable disruption of the celebration. The flying chair of Marchell was one such recent oddity — a device that worked marvelously on the way up but was incapable of descending. Marchell was rescued by the Griffon Cavalry, but his flying chair drifted away and was never seen again.

marpenoth 7: stoneshar

Stoneshar is an all-faiths day during which folk strive not to be idle. Even children at play are encouraged to dig holes, build sand castles, or construct crude models. Waterdavians consider Stoneshar the best day of the year to begin construction of a building, either by digging out a cellar or laying a foundation. The common wisdom is that folk who undertake new projects on Stoneshar can expect blessings upon their works in the coming year, whereas individuals who do nothing constructive on this day can expect all manner of misfortune to rain down on them in the year ahead.

marpenoth 10: reign of misrule

Swift on the heels of Stoneshar comes the Reign of Misrule. This day honors Beshaba, goddess of misfortune. People of the city are expected to break trust, belie oaths, and disobey the normal order — as long as no laws are actually broken and no rift is made that can’t be later bridged. During the Reign of Misrule, nobles serve meals to their servants, children take control of schools, priests give worship to their god’s foes, and any who wish to may participate in a guild’s trade. Pranks are played by and on many, from simple tricks to those requiring elaborate planning. Sundown brings an end to the festivities, and most folk spend much of the night cleaning and reordering things for the following day. Many visitors decline to participate, but doing so often inspires misfortune rather than avoiding it. For fear of catching the bad luck of cynics, citizens do their best to avoid talking to anyone known to not have played along, or dealing with them in any way until Gods’ Day.

marpenoth 15: gods' day

This holiday observes the anniversary of the end of the Godswar in 1358 DR, when the gods of Faerûn returned to the heavens. Private shrines are brought out into the open, and many people wear holy symbols of their favored deities. A Gods’ Day tradition in Waterdeep strictly limits the use of magic, in remembrance of the wild magic wrought during the Time of Troubles. Though not outlawed fully, spellcasting is allowable only in self-defense or in cases of extreme need. At night, this holiday becomes solemn and serious, as many Waterdavians offer prayers in thanks for the lives they have under their gods. The Griffon Cavalry sets up an immense bonfire at the peak of Mount Waterdeep, honoring the fallen and the risen gods Myrkul, Cyric, Kelemvor, Mystra, Helm, and Ao who appeared here. In thanks for their defense during Myrkul’s invasion and the resulting fires that raged through the Southern, Dock, and Castle Wards, Gods’ Day is also a semiofficial “Be Kind to the Guard and Watch Day” in Waterdeep. Feel free to participate by handing out small gifts and kind words, but be aware that any gift of greater value than a few nibs might be interpreted as a bribe.

marpenoth 30: liar's night

This holy day pays tribute to Leira and Mask. To placate those deities and ward away their attention, folk of all walks of life don masks and costumes (magical or mundane) to disguise themselves and play at being other than what they are. Commonly seen mask styles include the black mask symbol of Mask and the mirror face of the priests of Leira. But there are no bounds on the disguise you don, and the more elaborate and outlandish it is, the more celebrated the wearer. The festivities begin in the evening, when people place candles in hollowed-out gourds or pumpkins carved with faces. Each pumpkin represents a person donning a mask, while the light inside represents the truth of the soul. For as long as the candle remains lit, lies told and embarrassing things done don’t sully a person’s reputation, so celebrations often descend briefly into anarchic hedonism. Misfortune is said to come to anyone who returns to their pumpkin after celebrating to find it unlit, so buy a candle of good quality and put your gourd beyond reach of the wind. Intentionally blowing out someone else’s candle or smashing someone else’s pumpkin is taboo, and risks the wrath of both gods — yet it does occur. Tricks and pranks of all kinds are common on this night, and folk expect lies and foolishness. Pickpockets are rife on this day, so few carry much coin with them, having secreted it away somewhere the previous evening. Instead, people fill their pockets and belt pouches with candies. Traditionally, a pickpocket is meant to take the candy and leave a token in return (a tiny toy, a colorful paper folded into a shape, or the like), but this has changed over the years into adults exchanging candies among themselves and simply giving candy to children who ask for it. By custom, no deals are made nor contracts signed on Liar’s Night, because no one trusts that parties will abide by them. Illusionists and stage magicians (whether through magical or practical abilities) make the rounds to entertain private parties (having been paid in advance the previous day) or to perform in public spaces, in the hopes that a good show will earn them a meal, and perhaps a place at a private party in the future.

uktar: selûne's hallowing

On whatever night in Uktar the moon is fullest, Waterdavians celebrate Selûne’s Hallowing. The goddess is the focus of worship throughout the full phase, of course, but the major ceremony on this night is a parade of worshipers leaving the House of the Moon at moonrise and moving down to the harbor, where the high priestess wields the Wand of the Four Moons in a ceremony blessing all navigators. This holy relic is said to be the mace wielded by Selûne in her first battle against Shar, and again in a fight with her sister during the Time of Troubles. It miraculously appeared in Waterdeep after the Godswar, and has since been the focus of many divine signs. You can view it in the House of the Moon at other times of the year, but only from a well-guarded distance. If you’re lucky, you might see the Wand of the Four Moons weep. Droplets said to be the tears of Selûne manifest on the mace from time to time, and are collected by the priestesses for use in potions that can heal, cure lycanthropy, and be used as holy water.

uktar 20: last sheaf

Sometimes called “The Small Feast,” this day of residential feasting is held in celebration of the year’s bounty. Small gifts (traditionally hand kegs of ale, jars of preserves, or smoked fish and meats) are exchanged among neighbors, and “last letters” are gathered for carriage by ship captains and caravan merchants — so called because they are the last to leave the city before travel becomes difficult. Of Waterdeep’s many celebrations, this one is perhaps the most relaxed and relaxing. Plan to spend a little extra on good food and enjoy a meal with those nearest you, be they dearest hearts or the folk across the hall in the inn.

nightal 11: howldown

In honor of Malar, members of the City Guard leave the city in groups on this day to hunt down known threats to farmers and travelers, including brigands, wolves, owlbears, ogres, and trolls that haunt the roads and wilderness. These hunts typically last no longer than a tenday. During the same span of time, the City Watch engages in its own rigorous hunt for malefactors within the city walls. If you’ve any reason to doubt your standing in the eyes of the law, avoid Waterdeep for at least a tenday after Howldown. With no real hunting to do of their own, the children of Waterdeep spend Howldown engaging in mock hunts of adults dressed up as monsters, and play at the killing of these predators.

nightal 20: simril

When dusk comes on this day, folk go outside to locate particular stars that were lucky for their ancestors, or that were associated with their own births. They then attempt to stay up through the night, celebrating outside with bonfires, song, and warmed drinks. Cloudy nights often draw larger crowds than clear ones, since glimpsing your star through the haze is thought to be a blessing from Tymora. Inside buildings, service folk keep roaring fires and engage in making food to keep celebrants fed throughout the long night and into morning of the next day. If you have no particular star of your own, you’ll find many vendors of star maps willing to divine which is yours — based upon your place and date of birth — and to point you in the right direction for a shard or two.

all information is taken from volo's waterdeep enchiridion.

i hope this was helpful and information to some of you!

🖤

[wrathofrats]

You are so real about more swiss angst

I think all the ghouls are so used to seeing Swiss as like this unmovable force. Nothing effects him and he’s always there for them, always ready to comfort or defend. It probably doesn’t help that he tries to suppress any negative emotion.

So the first time they need him hurt, emotional or physically it’s almost uncanny to them. Obviously they would help him they all care about him but seeing him like vulnerable scares them, they aren’t used to that. So for a moment they just don’t know what to do.

Oh I … yeah I went very very far with this one.

Warnings for suicidal ideation, mental illness, mentions of suicide methods and self harm methods. No descriptions, but it’s implied. Like Swiss doesn’t do anything it’s just mildly discussed. Hurt no comfort. Please if you’re sensitive to any of this then this fic isn’t for you <3

1.4k. Swiss has ideas he’s sure are a secret, mountain is desperate to help him.

—————————

Mountain is the first to recognize the pattern.

The ghouls are funny beings. Little is known about them, especially by the clergy. All knowledge mostly comes from old text books about religion that were purely guessing and any other research that the quintessentials and air ghouls could get done in their spare time while in the infirmary or the library.

Quirks about anatomy, behavior, how their different magics worked but there was a limit on knowledge beyond doing things that were cruel or unusual. So some questions were left unanswered.

Alpha and omega had been alive for longer than anyone knew possible. Hundreds of years in the pit that they barely remember combined with what they had topside and yet were more than likely not even close to being in the latest part of their lives, still thriving and able to work even as their hair grayed and their skin wrinkled on their topside forms. It was interesting to say the least. No known human methods being able to hurt ghouls, or at least in any lasting capacity that they knew of.

Mountain is smart, knows every ghoul like the back of his hand. Able to know what they’re thinking before they do most of the time.

Swiss had been distant. His dinner appearances were short and snipped, leaving food on his plate for dew and cirrus to fight over. It was always a word of just being tired and he would scarf down a sandwich later, even if mountain never noticed the amount of bread to go down by the next morning.

The bags under his eyes only deepend everytime mountain saw him. Dark purple like he only gets a couple hours of sleep every few days. Which in his defense wasn’t too abnormal, but usually he would crawl into bed with someone after a while to at least have some company as his thoughts raced. Mountain and cumulus always offered to stay up with him, even if he wasn’t going to sleep he didn’t need to be alone.

The other evidence was tricky, something mountain couldn’t exactly prove and when he tried to explain it to cumulus or rain both told him he was thinking too hard, looking for reasons to be so concerned so it was more justified, but there was a feeling he simply couldn’t shake.

He noticed lingering glances at things. The way Swiss looked a little too long for the tums when dew had asked him to grab him one, the way he seemed to stroke the leaves of the hemlock that grew in the greenhouse sometimes. Brushing his fingers over the leaves as if he was attempting to ingest it through touch alone even if he knew it was a stupid idea. Even Swiss’ razor had gone untouch for a while. His stubble grew, Swiss saying he just wanted to see how it looked even if mountain knew he hated the feeling of it being too grown out.

A part of mountain truly worried about exactly what he was up to. That one day he would walk in on a worst case scenario that even he couldn’t bring himself to bear thinking about.

To Swiss the ideation was a funny thing. Nothing he thought about was even promised to work. Not that he wanted it to. Or did he? Swiss didn’t know. In his mind he was half certain every method he had heard about on tv or the internet wouldn’t even work for a ghoul, so it was dumb to think about anyways even if the thoughts didn’t leave him. The itch to just …. Try,

Did he want this?

Does he know what he wants?

No. The answer to that was no, he was sure of that. Months of feelings he couldn’t quite place like his being was devoid of emotions at all, only feeling them adjacently when he thought he was expected to but, other than that? He doesn’t think he’s felt anything. It’s gross, like there’s a film on his skin that he can’t quite rid himself of no matter how hard he scrubs. A shadow, or fog that follows him, even if it sounds cheesy to him.

Sometimes he steals bottles he shouldn’t from the cabinet and places them on his bedside table, like he wants it to taunt him. He wouldn’t actually do it, he was pretty sure at least. Just enough to keep him on edge, enough to keep him cowardly.

Mountain is the first to say anything. Walking into his room one night while Swiss just holds them for the adrenaline rush.

He doesn’t panic. He can’t.

“Swiss” mountain breathes once he opens his door. Staring at the multi ghoul who looked like a child caught with a stolen chocolate bar.

“I wasn’t going to”

“I know, can you put it down?” Mountain takes a step towards him cautiously. It hurts, Swiss wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to. Right? He wasn’t. He swears. But the way mountain looks at him like he’s a wild animal or someone standing on the edge of a cliff is embarrassing. He’s fine, it’s not like that.

“I promise. I’d never”

Mountain creeps closer to him, still acting as if Swiss could be set off by a hair trigger.

“Swiss please, can I at least hold them for you?”

“Not like it would do anything. I’m a ghoul, sure I could down anything in that cabinet and I’d come out with a stomach ache and lecture from aether” Swiss mumbled to mostly himself. Mountain feels a pit in his stomach at the idea that Swiss had thought about this. Even if he already assumed that he did. He sits on the bed slowly, not trying to reach for the bottle yet.

“Just … please. For me. For now. Put them on the night stand, ok stardust?” Mountains tone was light as if he was talking to a child. Did he really not trust Swiss? He isn’t like that.

He wasn’t going to.

Right?

Whatever. Swiss slams the bottle onto his nightstand a little harder than necessary. He’s not a child. He can be trusted with .. whatever this bottle was. He didn’t care.

“Now what” Swiss asks, petulant. He hated acting like this. They know it’s not like him.

“What’s going on, you’ve been off for weeks”

“I haven’t been off. Maybe it’s just winter. I don’t know I’ll get over it” the sick feeling in Swiss’ stomach grows at the fact that mountains been watching him. He doesn’t need to be watched, he’s grown. Swiss is his own being and doesn’t need to be baby sat to make sure he’s getting all his nutrients like mountain is doing.

“I’m worried about you”

“Then waste your time worrying about something else. I’m not making you do it”

Mountain isn’t the angry type. Usually composed in any situation but there’s a different type of anxiety walking in on someone as important to him as Swiss holding a fucking bottle of pills acting like he’s fine. The jittery feeling in his nerves felt like it was trying to escape, tears pricking at his eyes.

“God fucking damn it Swiss�� he started, choking on his own thoughts, “you’re not ok, why are you doing this? You promised you’d always go to someone if you needed anything”

“You can’t fucking save everyone mountain”

It’s gross. Childish and he knows it. The grime on his skin growing with every dumb insult and petulant impatient response he keeps firing like a cornered dog. Mountain can’t save him. He doesn’t need saving. He wasn’t going to do anything.

“Yeah but if I can’t save you than what am I supposed to do”

“What are you talking about? It’s not your job”

A dry sob racks mountain, even if he promised he would try not to do this. Not in front of Swiss.

“What am I supposed to do without you?”

“I wasn’t going to do it” Swiss tries again. He’s never seen mountain cry, at least not this hard. His voice stays eerily calm. He promises he cares. He does.

“The fact that it’s even an option is enough”

“It wouldn’t have worked. Even if I did it it wouldn’t have worked”

“I don’t care. I love you too much, I don’t care”

Mountain swiftly grabs the bottle, shoving it into his sweatshirt pocket to return to the cabinet downstairs. He returns to find Swiss rolled over to pretend to sleep, done with the conversion. He understands. He loves him and he understands. Mountain sleeps on the bare floor that night next to his bed. Just to be sure.

The next morning Swiss finds the cabinet empty. He feels embarrassed, ashamed of himself. There was no need.

He wasn’t going to do it. He swears. Right?

He wasn’t.

[inaconstantstateofchange]

I come to you on my hands and knees (relevant to the topic right lol) begging for any and all info on Bane, Banites and how it all ties in with Gortash. I love you in advance. <3

Bane and His Cult

Alright, so after twelve and a half hours of research I still don’t fully feel like I have enough, but at a certain point I just need to get this out there, and if there is anything you – or anyone else – would like to see explored in more detail, please feel free to ask! 

Note: I love getting asks like this! There is such a vast quantity of Realmslore that having some sort of specific focus for my deep-dives is a huge help, and knowing the topic is of interest to others is a huge motivator. I also greatly enjoy getting to put my training as a historian to work, as there is so much to interpret and archive alike. 

As ever, these writeups will align with current 5e lore, and draw from 3.5e for additional supporting information. On rarer occasions – and always noted – I will reference 1e and 2e, but with the caveats that there is much more in those editions that is tonally dissonant with the modern conception of the Forgotten Realms, and thus generally less applicable.

We’ll begin with one of the most recent conclusive descriptions of Bane, from the 5e Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide, an overview of the current world-state of, well, the Sword Coast: 

Bane has a simple ethos: the strong have not just the right but the duty to to rule over the weak. A tyrant who is able to seize power must do so, for not only does the tyrant benefit, but so do those under the tyrant’s rule. When a ruler succumbs to decadence, corruption, or decrepitude, a stronger and more suitable ruler will rise.  Bane is vilified in many legends. Throughout history, those who favor him have committed dark deeds in his name, but most people don’t worship Bane out of malice. Bane represents ambition and control, and those who have the former but lack the latter pray to him to give them strength. It is said that Bane favors those who exhibit drive and courage, and that he aids those who seek to become conquerors, carving kingdoms from the wilderness, and bringing order to the lawless.¹

This gives us the briefest summation of what draws people to the Cult of Bane: the desire for power and control, often deriving from a sense that they lack exactly those two things. Bane is the quintessential deity of lawful evil, which – if you’ve read any of my previous posts on the sociology of the Nine Hells – bears a striking similarity to Baator itself, the realm of lawful evil, and the place where Enver Gortash spent at least a portion of his formative years. 

The majority of the following excerpts derive from 3e, which went into far more detail on the specificities of the Faerûnian gods, including their dogmas, holy days, et cetera. One important point to note, however: any discussions of Bane’s scope of power are no longer accurate, as the time period in reference is about one hundred and twenty years before Baldur’s Gate 3 is set, at a time when Bane had just returned to life – and godhood – as nothing less than a greater god. By comparison, during Baldur’s Gate 3, he is a quasi-deity, having abandoned most of his previous godly power in exchange for the ability to directly meddle with Faerûn – forbidden to the gods by the overgod Ao – and gambling that he would be able to regain his lost power and prestige in so doing.²

The dogma of Bane – that is, the core tenets and philosophies that his followers seek to emulate – is as follows: 

Serve no one but Bane. Fear him always and make others fear him even more than you do. The Black Hand always strikes down those that stand against it in the end. Defy Bane and die — or in death find loyalty to him, for he shall compel it. Submit to the word of Bane as uttered by his ranking clergy, since true power can only be gained through service to him. Spread the dark fear of Bane. It is the doom of those who do not follow him to let power slip through their hands. Those who cross the Black Hand meet their dooms earlier and more harshly than those who worship other deities.³

Even were there nothing else to go off of, this would tell us a great deal about the group dynamics of any followers of Bane, whether established church or fragmented cult. Just as in the Hells, hierarchy is everything to proponents of lawful evil. Any cult of Bane would have a strict order to its power structure, and there would be limited – practically nonexistent – tolerance for any questioning or insubordination of that order. To the minds of Banites, such is simply the natural and superior ordering of the world. These interactions are detailed below: 

Within the church, the church hierarchy resolves internal disputes through cold and decisive thoughts, not rash and uncontrolled behavior. Bane’s clerics and worshipers try to assume positions of power in every realm so that they can turn the world over to Bane. They work subtly and patiently to divide the forces of their enemies and elevate themselves and the church’s allies over all others, although they do not fear swift and decisive violent action to help achieve their aims.³ 

The manner of tyranny that Bane holds to is similarly calculated – he is not interested in mere shows of force, but rather in insidious plots that twist and make use of existing rule of law to legitimize tyranny wherever possible. A social tide operated ostensibly within the laws of the land is far more troublesome to fight back against than a simple army.⁴ 

As far as specific ritual and day-to-day workings of the cult, some can be evidenced here, in broad strokes: 

Bane’s clerics pray for spells at midnight. They have no calendar-based holidays, and rituals are held whenever a senior cleric declares it time. Rites of Bane consist of drumming, chanting, doomful singing, and the sacrifice of intelligent beings, who are humiliated, tortured, and made to show fear before their death by flogging, slashing, or crushing.³ 

In this sense, rituals seem most likely to be used as a display of power and a test of subservience, leaving lower-ranked members of the cult at the whims of their superiors, expected – as noted previously – to attend to their commands with the same alacrity they would use were Bane himself to speak. The rites themselves are designed to reinforce and glorify the primary aspects of their god’s domain: the tyranny of forcing submission and pain from the weak. 

Faiths & Pantheons, published a year after the Campaign Setting supplement, provides a similar description of the rituals of the cult of Bane, along with some intriguing and flavorful additions (noted in bold for ease of comparison): 

Their religion recognizes no official holidays, though servants give thanks to the Black Hand before and after major battles or before a particularly important act of subterfuge. Senior clerics often declare holy days at a moment's notice, usually claiming to act upon divine inspiration granted to them in dreams. Rites include drumming, chanting, and the sacrifice of intelligent beings, usually upon an altar of black basalt or obsidian.”⁴

As, in the “present day” of Baldur’s Gate 3, Bane has lost much of his foothold on power and his Faith’s old domains, the specifics of architecture of Banite keeps are no longer quite so relevant. However, in times past, when his Faith worked far more openly and held much greater power, the philosophy of Bane was expressed through the architecture of his churches and strongholds: 

Tall, sharp-cornered stone structures featuring towers adorned with large spikes and thin windows, most Banite churches suggest the architecture of fortified keeps or small castles. Thin interior passageways lead from an austere foyer to barrackslike common chambers for the lay clergy, each sparsely decorated with tapestries depicting the symbols of Bane or inscribed with embroidered passages from important religious texts.⁴

The social capital of a Faith – a broad term used to encapsulate all followers of a single deity – is often heavily intertwined with the power of its god, a mutualistic relationship that runs in both directions. More social weight behind the Faith means its god’s name and will is conveyed to more people, some or many of whom might apportion some worship or act in alignment with that god and empower them by so doing. More power for the god means more divine actions that can bolster their own image and the reach of their clergy. At its height in the late 1300s, the Faith of Bane was one of the most prominent and powerful, with comparable might to that of a small kingdom.⁵

Something that is important to bear in mind in a setting such as the Forgotten Realms, not only polytheistic, but an environment where the gods being worshiped are demonstrably existent, is that the followers of evil gods are not likely to be obtrusive with the less savory aspects of their dogma. Not only would that, in the majority of cases, do more harm than good to their deity’s long term goals, in the words of Elminster: 

A dead foe is just that: dead, and soon to be replaced by another. An influenced foe, on the other hand, is well on the way to becoming an ally, increasing the sway of the deity.⁶

All of this aligns with what we see of the Cult of Bane and its operation in Baldur’s Gate 3. While it does not have the same sway and might behind it as it did a hundred years before, through manipulation of law and carefully applied pressure – of whatever form most likely to yield the desired results, be it threats, bribery, blackmail, or use of hostages – Gortash has enacted a steel web of delicate, ensnaring tyranny across the entire city. 

We can even find present-day expressions of the interactions of the cult members, and find that they hold true to what their forebears experienced, further proof of the consistency of lawful evil. A personal note found on the body of a dead Banite guard at the Steel Watch Foundry calls the Black Gauntlet in charge of the Foundry Lab, Hahns Rives, a “disgrace to the Tyrant Lord”, and notes the writer’s intent to “compile a list of Rives’ shortcomings for the Overseers.”⁷ These shortcomings include: 

1. Rives failed to reprimand Polandulus for making jokes about Lord Gortash! 2. Rives missed the morning mass to Bane - twice! 3. Rives didn't punish Gondian Ofran when she missed her gyronetics quota merely because she'd lost a finger that day in the punch press.⁷

We can see evidenced here the constant scheming for position and recognition consistent with this manner of lawful evil hierarchy. Both devils and Banites orient their day-to-day lives around how to prove themselves to their superiors, while also undercutting them at any chance they have to prove their own superiority, with hopes of being raised above them. 

This is only reinforced further by another text found within the Steel Watch Foundry, Bane’s Book of Admonitions. Its text is not written out for us, but described as such:

A book of adages and precepts for Banites, providing the basic tenets of worship of the Lord of Tyranny, with suggested prayers for common situations. The heart of the book is Bane's Twelve Admonitions, a dozen rules for proper Banite conduct, with punishments specified for failure to comply. The book opens easily to a page with two of Bane's most popular admonitions, number six, the Reprimand for Leniency, and number seven, the Rebuke for False Compassion.⁸

The most likely scenario is that this book was used by the “Overseers” referenced by the anonymous Banite writing of Rives above. The exact position of the Overseers is not made clear, but from context and knowledge of Banite hierarchy, we can infer that they inhabit a place in the hierarchy above both the guard and Rives himself, and that their role is to ensure all those below them uphold the tenets of Bane at all times, never losing sight of his will. 

In that context, it makes sense that they would both have a book of specific punishments for specific infractions – rule of law, after all – and that, given the attempted report on Rives, punishments (“admonitions”) for the crimes of leniency and false compassion – and all compassion is false when your conception of the world does not allow for its existence – would be those most referenced. It would be incredibly important to the unity of the cult, as well as to Gortash’s plans, to harshly punish any observed leniency or break from Bane’s law among members of the cult.

Not only would failure to control the situation at the Foundry potentially spell failure for the schemes of Bane’s Chosen, any unpunished step out of line by members of the cult would be seen as tempting others to do the same, a trickle of dissent quickly becoming a flood. Better to ensure that all adherents live in merited fear of the consequence of failure. 

After all, it is said of Bane himself: “He has no tolerance of failure and seldom thinks twice about submitting even a loyal servant to rigorous tortures to ensure complete obedience to his demanding, regimented doctrine.”⁴

And, in an appropriately lawful hierarchy, the same rule must apply from the bottom, to the top.

¹ Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. 2014. p. 26.

² Descent into Avernus. 2019. p. 231

³ Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting 3E. 2001. pp. 237-8

⁴ Faiths & Pantheons. 2002. pp. 15-16.

⁵ Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting 3E. 2001. p. 93

⁶ Ed Greenwood Presents: Elminster’s Guide to the Forgotten Realms. 2012. pp. 135-6.

⁷ Rives’ Failures as a Banite. Baldur’s Gate 3. In-Game Text.

⁸ Bane’s Book of Admonitions. Baldur’s Gate 3. In-Game Text.

[coffeeghoulie]

You said you love writing Dewther and you do so amazingly hence give us Dewther with 44 for the kisses please

I do love writing dewther lol, I hope you enjoy!

#44: a kiss out of lust

from this prompt list

Dew knows what Aether's gaze feels like, feels it on the back of his head for hours. He stands ramrod straight, just behind and to the right of Sister Imperator, arms crossed behind his back as she speaks to clergy members from the other branches of the Ministry.

Aether's doing the same for their Cardinal, but Dew knows intimately what the brush of his particular brand of quintessence feels like, like the whisper of knuckles run along his cheekbone. He can feel it even through the silver of their new masks, but knows better than to break formation to return Aether's stare.

The meetings have been going on for hours and hours, and Dew waits without complaint, his mind going a little soft as the discussions drag on. He just focuses on the feather light caress of quintessence, the heat of the bigger ghoul's gaze on the back of his head, drifting down his back.

Eventually, the two groups converge, Sister and Copia having their own discussion, and it's so much worse when Dew can see the way Aether's pupils blow when they make eye contact for the first time all night. Behind his mask, Dew raises an eyebrow, reaching out mentally, tugging on that invisible thing that binds them.

These new uniforms, Aether almost hums into his mind. He doesn't finish his sentence, but a rapid fire flash of images and feelings jolt down their bond. Dew grits his teeth, trying to keep his composure in front of the heads of the infernal church.

Bastard. Dew hisses, and he watches Aether lift his chin, silent laughter shaking his shoulders once before he regains his composure. When they finish yapping...

I'm holding you to that, you know. Aether hums. Dew sets his glare on Aether, not breaking eye contact until Copia and Sister finish their meetings, dismissing them to have their own private discussion.

Dew at least has the decorum to keep up the facade as he walks out of the meeting room, Aether following close behind. Dew can feel the bigger ghoul getting closer, and if he really stops to think about it, he can feel Aether's body heat radiating against his back. He keeps his same, measured pace down one hallway, another, a third, until he thinks they're far enough away from any of the humans who they had been serving.

He turns on his heel, snatching Aether's tie and hauling him into an alcove; Aether, to his credit, drawing on his quintessence to bring the shadows in like he's pulling a blanket over them.

"How dare you try and turn me on in front of Imperator," Dew hisses as he yanks down his balaclava, clawed hand still white knuckling Aether's tie. It's a delightful addition to their mandated uniforms, just like the suspenders and the tight fit pants, featured heavily in the mental assault Aether had tried to get him to slip up with.

"It worked though, didn't it?" Aether croons, letting himself be dragged in by what's essentially a leash. Dew rolls his eyes, yanking a little harder until their mouths collide in a heated kiss, the cutout edges of these new masks clacking together.

Aether groans into it, big arms wrapping around the newly-fire ghoul's waist, hauling him closer as he deepens the kiss. Dew gasps as he tastes grease paint, the ozone that's him just underneath. It's hungry, teeth and tongues and spit, Aether hissing and fingers tightening around his waist as Dew's sharp fangs nick his bottom lip.

Eventually they have to part to breathe, Dew's skinny chest heaving as he remembers how to use his lungs. "Fuck," he laughs, light-headed and giddy.

"Indeed," Aether says, leaning forward to knock the horns on their masks together, and his eyes crinkle in a way that Dew knows means he's waggling his eyebrows.

Dew raises a hand to smack his chest, faux-frustrated. "Really though, in front of Imperator?"

"I'm sorry, Dew," Aether says in a way that doesn't sound sorry at all. "You see, you just look really good in the uniform, you can't blame me."

He punctuates his sentence by hauling Dew's hips closer, and the smaller ghoul groans as he feels just how affected Aether actually is. "You're not kidding."

Aether steals another hungry kiss, smearing more paint across Dew's mouth. "Why would I be?"

Dew yanks again at Aether's tie. "Let me take you back to the den and I'll let you do something about that."

Dew watches Aether's eyes light up like stars. "You've got yourself a deal, darling."

[simlit]

Chosen of the Sun | | dawn // fifty-two

| @rollingsim | @catamano | @keibea | @maladi777 | @poisonedsimmer | @amuhav | @sani-sims | @mangopysims | @izayoiri | @thesimperiuscurse

next / previous / beginning

THERION: What do you mean “King”? ELION: Yes, pray tell, what do you mean? TAYUIN: Why should we discuss anything in front of you? Can’t you wait outside? KYRIE: Tay… ELION: Rest assured, Prince of Faeries, I’ve no love in my heart for the Church. I won’t betray you to the clergy. I’m just here to keep your sainted priest safe and sound. KYRIE: He’s true to his word. At least, he’s kept it thus far. EIRA: What happened to your respect for authority? ELION: Darling, the only authority I’m interested in is in this room. EIRA: You really need to evaluate your priorities. KYRIE: Enough. Can we please focus? Lord Tev’us, care to explain? TAYUIN: I wouldn’t. We have no idea who this guy is. SARAYN: And why should I care either way? As far as I can tell, no one is trying to murder us. To these so-called vigilantes, the Chosen Ten must look like helpless victims drafted into a merciless battleground. If they’d like to bring the fight to our front, I am more than happy to accept the challenge. EVE: Let’s not be unreasonable. I’m sure most of us here would prefer to avoid violence. At least we should all be fully aware of all the stakes. So, if you will, please proceed. Let’s put everything out on the table here and now. SARAYN: Very well. It’s no secret. When the Valkyrie and I were transported into the past— thanks to your charming display of self-control— EVE: That’s so unnecessary! ASTER: If this whole magic tradition thing falls through, we ten would excel as a theater troupe! KYRIE: Lord Tev’us, do continue. SARAYN: We were witness to, what I assume to be, some sort of cover-up. One of the Chosen murdered by elves of the royal guard. KYRIE: Are you certain this is what you saw? SARAYN: Without question. ÅSE: Deathling is not wrong. It was all very confusing. Though, it seemed that all were familiar. They knew each other. Still, they killed him all the same… SARAYN: Before he was slain, the elf, Castien Thallan, alluded to having angered his father. The ambush seemed to be the escalation of a particularly long-standing conflict. Either Thallan’s father had substantial pull in the royal sphere, or was one who could command such an attack. Someone like the King. THERION: Killing his bastard and hiding the evidence? That’s low. SARAYN: Perhaps. In any case, the guard made it clear that Castien was not the first.

[duskspring]

A Picnic and Magic - Ghouls&Human Children

Domestic December- Day 19

Summary: The Clergy hosts a picnic to teach its children about the ghouls

Content (do let me know if I forgot anything!): No dialogue, they/them AND chronically ill Zephyr

Word count: ~1.2k

The Ministry saw a lot of new faces each year. Yes, most new recruits came with the success of the Ghost Project, but there was also a portion of children being born into it by Siblings of Sin. And although some new parents chose to leave the abbey after birth, others wanted their kids to grow up there.

The grounds housed a second, smaller building for families, one where children wouldn’t be exposed to some of the more egregious sinning by accident and where they could attend various classes.

Raising those kids at the ministry did come with a few challenges, mainly their understanding of the ghouls. At first, most kids either didn’t understand or flat out feared them. Thus, the upper clergy had to come up with a solution.

The plan was simple, on one particular warm summer day there would be a picnic for all to attend, where the ghouls would get a chance to interact with the children and try to win them over with the use of their powers.

Although not everyone got to attend. More stoic, quick tempered or sensitive ghouls had been kindly asked to not show up. At least not on that day, but maybe next time. The kids had to be eased into it, you see. Most of them didn’t complain, not minding the lack of responsibility towards the most frail individuals.

Another hurdle came with their masks. A real discussion was raised of if the children would be more afraid of the masks or their glamoured forms. Eventually it was decided into a split, where if there was more than one ghoul representing an element, one of them would be wearing their mask.

Different parts of the grass field were dedicated to said elements. Children were encouraged to visit them all by means of offering a variety of foods and games at each section, as well as a showcase of the ghouls’ powers of course. For every ghoul there was a sign with some basic facts about them, to humanize them further in the eyes of the kids.

At the water section it was just Rain. Although six more (partially) water ghouls walked the ministry halls, all had been deemed either too scary or too… Dewdrop. Still, he was excited to show off a bit, and most of his fellow ghouls came to stand with him from time to time. Especially Ifrit who also stood alone.

He was mostly in charge of keeping everyone cool by, when given permission, summoning splashes of water to spray people with. He did so mostly by conjuring it from his index fingers while he held his hands in gun gestures.

As stated, Ifrit was the second lonesome ghoul. Once again, the other fire ghouls were either too scary or too… Dewdrop.

He was acting like a firebreather, but mostly summoned shapes and letters of fire in the air, spelling out kids’ names, much to their amazement. Although he was the most directly dangerous, he made sure everyone stayed at a safe distance.

Omega and Aether worked together to represent the quintessence element. Phantom had been considered as well, since he mostly came across as harmless, but his packmates knew he would probably get overwhelmed very fast.

Quintessence was a hard element to show off physically, so they mostly helped hurt kids feel better or read their emotions, in an attempt to impress.

Omega was already more well known, helping out families from time to time and having been there for the delivery of most of the children. Many asked to hug him as a familiar, which he never minded. He’d accidentally turned into the posterghoul for all of them; someone friendly and approachable, who would help you out in times of need.

Mountain and Pebble showed off plants and flowers they’d helped grow and even summoned some brand new ones on the spot to hand out. Most children, however, only focused on giggling about their height difference. The smaller of the two was not at all amused at first, but got less annoyed at it throughout the day, while the other kept awkwardly trying to laugh it off.

And finally there was air. Zephyr, Cirrus and Cumulus had been easy picks, since they were already known among adults as nice and calm individuals. As part of the older generation of ghouls, the only missing air ghoul had always been less concerned with being family friendly, although Secondo did drill into his mind that he should try his best not to scare anyone. Still, it was best for him to sit this day out.

The present three worked together very carefully to raise some of the children a little bit off the ground. Their small feet dangled maybe a few inches high at most, but every last one was ecstatic. Most of them ran to their friends afterwards, telling anyone who would listen that they had just flyed.

There was no representation for multi ghouls that day. Copia had tried to explain to Swiss as kindly as possible that his smile would probably scare the kids more than comfort them. And Aurora still hadn’t properly adjusted to interacting with adults, let alone children.

As the day progressed, even some of the more cautious kids had at least admired the ghouls from afar. All parents were very supportive of them, encouraging them to approach the ghouls and telling them they were all friendly.

Every last ghoul had been popular with someone throughout the day. Some kids had jokingly retaliated against Rain by getting their own water guns and it turned into a whole game of him versus the children, where they would oh and ah when he managed to stop a spray midair.

Some other kids had discovered Ifrit’s functionality as a jungle gym, and were climbing up to his shoulders and hanging from his outstretched arms. All the while he stayed very still, treating it as a work out to try and keep them all up.

Omega had already been liked, but when it got time for the kids to go home that sentiment had spread to Aether as well. He’d probably be able to help out in the family infirmary from that point on as well, something he felt immense pride for.

Pebble ended up getting his hair braided by two little girls, summoning flowers Mountain suggested for them to weave through it.

Zephyr had gotten quite a few questions about their wheelchair in the blunt, frankly rude way that children asked questions about those sorts of things. They’d answered them in as simple terms as possible, kindly correcting anyone who had accidentally said something distasteful.

Cirrus and Cumulus had started singing a few songs throughout the day, getting a small choir of children together and helping them sound their best. A few of them asked to receive vocal lessons more often, and although Cirrus was a bit nervous about interacting with such young kids so much, Cumulus was nothing but excited to make it a reality.

Eventually the time came for everyone to go have dinner. The ghouls all got a lot of goodbye hugs, and although the day was a fun success, they were all glad to finally get a break again.

Needless to say, the picnic worked wonders, with the Clergy already trying to plan the next one.

[My Main Masterlist | Domestic December Masterlist]

[jvlianbashir]

Ok so I’ve now thought about this, and after a tiny deep dive into what each suit stands for and this is my suggestion for you to consider. (The four suits were meant to symbolize the four “pillars” of medieval society)

Hearts symbolizes the church/clergy: TOS, it’s the thing everything else is built on, it established star trek’s ideology and it’s the most idealist

Spades symbolizes the military/aristocratic class: TNG, I think it makes more sense. If only because Picard is Like That. My explanation for this isn’t super strong but the vibes are there

Diamonds symbolizes the merchant class: DS9, obviously. They’re the shopping mall at the airport.

Clubs symbolizes the peasant class, or if you want to be less openly hierarchical about it, agriculture: VOY, let’s be real, they’re doing the backbreaking work to survive here. They don’t have anybody else supplying them with what they need so they’re cooking food, scrounging for resources, etc

ohhhhh very cool to learn the lore and history of card suits! thank you!

my only gentle counter proposal for hearts is that DS9 is definitely the trek that comes to mind for me regarding the discussion of faith, religion, and clergy (at least if we are speaking literally as opposed to sense of idealism and philosophy/principles.)

more than one of the main cast are religious or even function as central religious figures themselves, with sisko being the Emissary for the bajorans and odo being a Founder, who are revered by the vorta and jem'hadar as living gods. the first officer is openly devout and we have more than one space "pope" character for the bajorans who are plot-critical. the ferengi religion is also explored in relative depth and their cultural/spiritual leader is featured prominently as well. even the primary antagonist dukat sets himself up as a cult leader and later as a physical vessel for the spirits of the opposing side of the bajoran religion.

from the beginning the prophets and the bajoran faith are deeply woven into the core of the story.

that said, i definitely agree that TOS establishes the overarching ideology of trek and is most faithful to it and i like DS9 being aligned with the merchant class as well, with how many civilian (and merchant!) characters it has in its cast

[theboywithburninghands]

Okay this is probably the last time this is gonna happen BUT I have a third chapter of Arranged Marriage Funnybunny for you. I have ZERO idea if it's up to snuff, but I tried and I have results. Oh, but fair warning, some dark subject matter is discussed, since the time period the story is based around sucked for everyone. Be careful, okay? Oh and uh @fernstarsblog and @variberii you wanted to be tagged so here you go if I did it wrong I'm sorry uuuuuughghghg T/W: Discussions of abuse (no actual abuse just overpanicking anxiety and discussions of the backwards-ass laws in place), era-appropriate sexism, tobacco use Primum Peccatum Ch. 3: The One Thing We've Got

The mustang skidded to a halt in front of The Shutnyk estate. Pomni shakily dismounted the horse, losing her footing on the stirrups and falling onto the cobblestone of her mother’s garden. She knew she was in for a world-class punishment when she got into the house, but, truth be told, she didn’t much care. Her plan to join the clergy failed. She had sobbed herself dry and ran herself sick. She was too exhausted to be angry anymore. She just wanted to wash up and lay down. Surely tomorrow she would feel a renewed sense of rage at her situation. Tomorrow she would scream herself hoarse at her imbecile parents again, and that repugnant Krolik family and their son. But for now, she just wanted rest. 

The mustang shook his harness, snorted, and cantered off into the night. Pomni watched him go until he had reached the main road, turned with a whinny, and galloped westward towards The Gray Church. She then turned and plodded towards the house. Her shoes chafed her heels, rubbing the previously dormant blisters angry red again. Her father would no doubt sit her in his study and reprimand her for hours about how disloyal and ungrateful she was. He might flog her. Perhaps she wouldn’t even be allowed back into the house, and be forced to sleep outside, the mosquitos draining her of all her blood and poisoning her with malaria. It was what she deserved… How could she return home after the way she acted, the things she said..?

She felt the metallic, salty taste of tears hover in her throat before the front door opened, casting a shaft of lamplight across the stone path. Pomni covered her face with one hand and squinted her eyes at the sudden intrusion of light. 

“Pomni..!”

She waited for the inevitable shouting to begin. She expected a sharp hand across her face as soon as she lowered her hand. 

“Ms. Pomni, are you quite alright?” 

The person silhouetted in the doorframe was neither her mother nor her father, it was-

“Zooble!”

The caretaker of the manor walked carefully down the porch steps, reaching Pomni and hovering their hands out as if to catch her in case she fell. 

“Goodness sakes, Miss Pomni, you look…”

“Awful.” Pomni finished for them. 

“…I was going to say ‘a state,’ but now that you’ve said it, yes, you look awful.”

Pomni managed a weak smile. Zooble’s dry wit managed to somewhat ease the tension.

“Mother and father are going to be so angry with me…” she sighed.

“Indeed. But they’re out looking for you right now. I’m the only one here at the moment.” Zooble replied. 

Pomni let out a groan of relief. At last, a tiny sliver of luck… 

“I know it’s late, Zooble, but could you draw me a bath…? I’d like to at least not dirty my bedclothes…”

“I agree. I don’t enjoy the idea of you bringing that fetor hovering around you into the house…” Zooble said. “I’ll warm some water for you. You can stay in the foyer to avoid any more bugs… But ONLY the foyer.”

“Thank you… Truly, thank you.” Pomni sighed. She could have hugged them for their kindness, but if they were correct about her stench, then perhaps not. She followed Zooble into the manor, removing her shoes and sitting on the bottommost step as they climbed the staircase up towards the bathroom.

“…Zooble?” Pomni called. 

Zooble turned to look at the bedraggled girl halfway up the stairs, their claw still on the banister. 

“You said… my parents were out looking for me” she continued.

“I did.” 

“…Did they say anything about… a search party? Or any other person or shapeperson helping them look for me?” Pomni inquired.

Zooble thought for a moment. “…To my knowledge, no. They spent a good quarter of an hour bickering before taking off in the carriage.”

“…I see. Thank you.” Pomni said before turning back to the front door. Zooble looked at her a moment longer before heading up the stairs to fill up the washtub. 

—

Pomni spent the wait for her bath gazing anxiously at the front door. She expected to hear the hoofbeats of the family horses, Maple and Juniper, and the clattering of the carriage’s wheels at any moment. Her livid parents would burst into the room, see her sitting barefoot and stinking on the bottom step, and then…

That moment never arrived. Zooble had the bath heated and perfumed in a half an hour at most. How they managed to work so quickly was a mystery, but one Pomni hadn’t the energy to ponder. 

Getting the chance to immerse her insect bites and the blisters on her heels in warm, frothy water was an experience Pomni might have equated to The Allfather’s embrace in The Hereafter. Absolutely transcendental. She felt herself nodding off while submerged up to her nose in the bath, kneading shampoo into her scalp and thoroughly scrubbing with the loofah to keep herself awake. She picked a few bits of twig and other grime out of her hair and behind her ears. As much as she would have liked to remain soaking a bit longer to ensure her welts would disappear by morning, she didn’t want to be awake for her parents’ return. So she reluctantly dredged herself out of the bath, toweled off and slipped into the nightgown Zooble left hanging on the bathroom door. 

She entered her bedroom. It was sparsely decorated, exactly how she liked it. Just the red-orange mahogany wardrobe, her canopy bed with frilly white bedclothes, and her library book perched upon her nightstand, her oil lamp placed beside it. Her window overlooking the garden was thankfully closed. She sometimes forgot to shut it in the warmer months, which inevitably led to hunting down every mosquito and gnat that bumbled into her room with a swatter or a shoe. 

She drew the bedclothes aside and climbed into her bed. She truthfully hadn’t expected to sleep in here tonight, given her outburst and escape attempt, but she hadn’t expected any of the events that would transpire when she woke up that morning. It was difficult to fathom that all of this marriage nonsense only happened this evening, it felt like a lifetime ago. 

Before she had a chance to muse on the subject any longer, however, her eyelids drooped and exhaustion ushered her effortlessly into slumber. 

—

A thunderous knocking at the door roused Pomni from her sleep. Panic briefly flared in her belly, believing it to be her parents, returned from their search, demanding entrance into her room so they could punish her. However, she saw the whitish glow of daylight filtering through her curtains. She slept the entire night. 

“Pomni! Buongiorno, Pomni!” her mother called from the opposite side of the door. “Hurry and put on your clothes, dear, the Kroliks will be here any moment!”

She heard footsteps retreat down the hall towards the staircase. Pomni scratched the sand out of her eyes, managing to pry herself off of her mattress and look about her room. A gaudy red dress hung on her bedroom door along with some new red pumps and stockings laid out neatly in front of her wardrobe. She heard her mother and father talking heatedly downstairs, something about whether or not someone had reminded Zooble to polish the silver. 

The Kroliks… Oh, blazes. Her father did say something about meeting with them yesterday. Had she slept through to the afternoon? From how exhausted she was, it wouldn’t surprise her. 

She slid out of her bed, plodding over to her wardrobe and opening one of the doors, examining herself in the looking glass hanging on the other side. Her hair was sticking up in odd places due to sleeping on it damp, but her mosquito bites were practically unnoticeable. She checked her heels. There were some raised, tender areas where her blisters had been, but they no longer hurt unless prodded. 

She found her hairbrush in the wardrobe and combed her hair down until it was no longer protruding in odd places, a reasonable imitation of her usual bob cut. She looked at the outfit her mother had chosen for her and let out a long exhale through her nose. Red and blue were her favorite colors, but they were more suited for paintings or flags, not dresses. That ostentatious red dress, with its puffy sleeves resembling half-deflated balloons, looked like something one might wear to a masquerade party at most. Only it was missing the sweet anonymity that a mask would grant her. 

Pomni already felt anger bubbling up inside of her again. So it was time to meet the man she was being pawned off to. As a financial favor for his already wealthy parents. A man that she’d never laid eyes on. She could vomit. In fact, she might, right in front of everyone. Maybe that would make this Jax lose interest. 

She thought about putting on one of her usual dresses and going downstairs, but she presumed that she was in enough trouble already after fleeing last night. The only reason she was back here at all was that awful shapeman with the huge teeth. Some ruffian not even Zooble knew about forced her to ride back to this sham. If she ever saw him again, she would take that cane of his and-

She heard the front door open and her father speak.

“Ah, welcome, welcome Sirs and Madames! I’m positively tickled to have you here! Come inside!” 

They were already here. 

Pomni hurriedly grabbed the dress and pumps and rushed to pull them on. This was so unfair, she didn’t have enough time to stew in her anger! She managed to get into the dress, pausing a moment to see how she looked in the mirror. She looked… like a child, wearing her mother’s clothes. Her head poked out of the dress like a puffball mushroom. Outstanding. Truly, she was the envy of Thumbelina. 

There was another knock at her door, quieter this time to keep up appearances in front of the guests.

“I haven’t put my face on, yet.” Pomni grunted.

“Va bene, but be quick. They’re waiting for you~!” Mirella sang. 

“I am truly blessed this day, ” Pomni sneered, although her mother took no notice of her sardonics, heading back downstairs to speak to their guests. 

Pomni took her time doing her face. Nothing special, some powder, foundation, a thin eyeliner and blush. She never wore lipstick. The texture made her feel nauseous.

Pomni took a deep breath. She briefly thought about leaping out of her window and making a mad dash for the pier. In these shoes, she’d probably snap an ankle as soon as she hit the cobblestone. She spritzed herself with some perfume, bit down hard on her tongue to keep from screaming, and exited her room.

“Ah, here she comes!” 

Mirella stood a few paces away from her daughter’s room, no doubt on her way to hurry Pomni along once again. Beside her stood a beastwoman, a tall, dull orange rabbit humanoid in a soft pink sundress. Pomni met her eyes for a moment and immediately glanced away, feeling her scalp begin to itch. 

“Pomni, this is going to be your new sister-in-law! Her name is Kaylee!” Mirella explained. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Pomni kept her tongue between her teeth, waiting for frustration to subside enough for her to follow the insipid social guidelines. She curtsied, glancing up at the beastwoman for as brief a period as she could.

“How do you do..?” she said glumly. 

The beastwoman curtsied back. “Charmed to meet you, Miss Shutnyk. Oh, and if you’ll pardon me, Mrs. Shutnyk, my name is Kali. ‘Kah-lee.’ Don’t worry, it happens all the time.”

“Ah, my mistake. Oh, look at you, Pomni, you’re gorgeous! I knew that dress would bring out the blue in your eyes! Turn around, I want to see  lolhow it fits your body!”

“Mother…” Pomni pleaded. 

“Don’t be so shy, Pomni, just one little spin!” 

Pomni bit hard on her tongue again and spun in a quick circle, her arms rigidly at her sides.

“Oh… it looks perfect! My little fashionista! Pomni, come meet the others!”

Mirella led Pomni downstairs into the foyer. Four rabbit beast men stood in a semicircle chatting, before they all glanced up at Pomni. The largest of them had blue fur, a veritable wall of a beastman in a black tailcoat, gray trousers and tall, brown boots. He smoked a briarwood pipe, chewing the end contemplatively as he looked up at Pomni. The three others were much trimmer than the blue one, but were dressed similarly, waistcoats complementing their fur color, tight trousers and tall boots. One rabbit was hot pink, another charcoal gray, the last one forest green.

“Well…” The green fellow in a brown tailcoat suit eyed Pomni with noted interest. 

All four pairs of their yellow eyes fixated on Pomni made her want to collapse into vapor. Mirella trotted downstairs with ebullient energy, 

“Here she is, gentlemen! Your newest member of the family! Pomni, this is the family patriarch and your soon to be father-in-law, Mr. Drexl Krolik!”

Mirella motioned to the largest rabbit in the room, the one with blue fur. He took his pipe out of his mouth and expelled a short plume of smoke.

“H-How do you do..?” Pomni said, curtsying again. She heard the green rabbit give a rather unsubtle snort.

“How do I do?” Drexl echoed. “I’m doing rather well. It’s splendid to finally put a face to a name.” 

He offered a paw. It was about half a size larger than Pomni’s. 

“Oh, Pomni, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. Beastfolk usually greet one another with a gesture called a ‘handshake.’ All you nee-” 

Pomni held out her hand and shook Drexl’s paw. His grip was unsurprisingly firm, but Pomni squeezed his massive hand with all of her own strength in kind. 

“I know what a handshake is, mother. We learned about it when I was six years old.” 

The green rabbit let out another snort. 

“Ah- Yes, er… anyway, these three gentlemen are Jax’s older brothers.”

The three rabbits behind Drexl all came forward. 

“My brood,” Drexl said, motioning to the pink, gray, and green rabbit. “Altonicus, Osvaldo, Boone.” 

“Greetings, miss. Everyone calls me Alton.” Altonicus said, shaking Pomni’s hand with both of his paws. 

“How do you do..?” Pomni replied.

Osvaldo, the gray rabbit, merely nodded and shook Pomni’s hand. 

“How do you do..?” Pomni repeated. 

The green rabbit, Boone, put his hand out. 

“How do you do?” “How do you do?”

Pomni jolted a bit as Boone parroted her salutation at exactly the same time as she did. He grinned wolfishly and put his hands into his jacket pockets. Pomni felt her face grow hot. 

“Now, has anyone seen Jax? I could have sworn he was here just a moment ago…” Mirella asked.

“Ah, he requested that he’d like to meet Ms. Shutnyk alone. For… ceremony’s sake, I believe.” Alton spoke up. 

“He always did get cold feet with an audience involved.” Boone said with a chuckle. Drexl sniffed. 

“He’s in the library.” Osvaldo said. 

Pomni chewed on her tongue. The library. The first thing he decides to do is invade one of her sanctuaries uninvited. She loathed him. 

Kali left Mirella’s side and went to join Alton, who linked arms with her fondly. They must have been married. Pomni wondered if their marriage had also been arranged… 

“Well don’t be shy, Pomni! Go and say hello!” Mirella prodded. 

Pomni looked at her mother and swallowed. Her mouth and throat were drying out. 

“Mother, about what I said last night… I’m sorry.” she said abruptly.

“Oh dear, what happened last night?” Boone inquired, tilting his head with curiosity. Osvaldo rolled his eyes.

“Boone, hold your tongue.” Drexl grunted, not even turning around. 

Mirella smiled. “Oh, darling, water under the bridge. Zooble told me that you came back right as we left to look for you. But enough about me, go see Jax! Go on, shoo!”

Pomni turned and walked across the foyer to the library. As she passed the entrance to the dining room, she saw her father and Zooble discussing something privately. She met both of their eyes. Her father stared a moment then turned his gaze away. Zooble simply nodded. Pomni nodded back. She was in their debt… 

She reached the door to the library, steadied herself, and entered.

The library was a small, sunny room, the East wall lined with windows that looked out onto the back garden. It brought in plenty of natural light, to the point of almost not needing the oil lanterns placed here and there. Oak bookshelves lined the west wall, the door to the dining room right beside them in the Northwest corner. 

There was the soft clink of something glass behind her, and Pomni turned. In the Southwest corner, leaning against the wall with a book in one hand and the other in his waistcoat pocket, was another rabbit. Purple, unlike any of his brothers, and a good deal slimmer. He wore a gray waistcoat, slightly lighter gray trousers and black boots, with a crimson ascot tucked under his chin for an extra shock of color. 

Jax glanced her up and down. He, like his brothers and father, had yellow eyes and a wide set of teeth. His smile must have been enormous, but at the moment his affect was flat as a board. 

“Are you going to say anything?” Pomni asked, putting her hands on her hips. 

Jax looked at her for a moment longer. “Do you want me to?” he replied. 

“No.” Pomni turned away, staring out the window at the back garden. 

The honeybees enjoyed her mother’s azalea bushes. It was always a pleasure to simply sit and watch them work, gathering pollen from the pink-red blossoms, when a book wasn’t maintaining her attention. This could be the last time she ever watched those bees on those flowers… just another tiny moment of hundreds taken from her by her parents’ imbecilic idea… 

She spun around to look at Jax again. He looked up from the book he was reading, or pretending to read. 

“Just so we’re clear, Mr. Krolik. I didn’t agree to any of this. I don’t know you, I don’t pretend to know you, and I don’t pretend to know your family. If I could find any escape from marrying you, I would in a heartbeat.”

Jax looked her in the eyes, which made her begin to itch all over. She maintained eye contact for as long as she was physically comfortable before looking back out the window at the azaleas. Jax looked back down at his book, licking his finger and turning the page.

“What? Are you dumb? You have no response to any of that?!” she demanded.

“You told me to say nothing. I’ve said nothing.” Jax replied, not taking his eyes off of his book. 

“You-” Pomni bit her tongue. It was so tempting to grab that book, HER book, out of this hand This… This ingrate was who she was trapped with for the rest of her days?!

Jax closed the book with a loud clap, sliding it back on the shelf. He then turned to look at Pomni. 

“You’ve met my family,” he drawled. 

“I shook their hands. I wouldn’t say I met them.” Pomni retorted.

“I was told you dislike being touched. That was brave of you.”

“And who told you that?” Pomni demanded.

“Your mother. She’s quite amiable.”

“Then marry her and leave me in peace.”

Jax chuckled, and Pomni felt a deep need to drive her fist into his stomach. 

“I appreciate your wit. I’ve been told that you humans often lie to put up appearances to avoid risking your reputation. Clearly, this doesn’t apply to you.” 

He took a few steps closer, Pomni taking an equal number backwards.

“Don’t come any closer.” Pomni hissed.

Jax sighed, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Listen, Miss Shutnyk. I understand that you’re incensed.  But a marriage is a marriage. Our families have made the proceedings.”

“I’m well aware. Why do you think I tried fleeing to join The Gray Church? It was to avoid being wed to a stranger!” Pomni retorted. 

“That I didn’t know. You continue to impress me.” Jax grinned for the first time. His smile was indeed enormous, stretching almost wide enough to cover half of his face. 

“You continue to make me feel ill.” Pomni snapped, but Jax’s smile remained unfettered. 

“I assume you’re frightened that you’re going to lose your autonomy completely, yes? That you’ll be treated like a prisoner that cooks and cleans and looks after the children we must inevitably have.” 

“Please stop talking.” Pomni replied. 

“Is that what you want? I don’t think it is.” Jax shot back, keeping that confident smile. 

Pomni felt something inside her burst. Anger rushed through her body. She marched forward, grabbed Jax by his waistcoat and pushed him into the bookshelf, knocking several books onto the floor.

“What does a mooncalf like you know about what I want?! You don’t know the first thing about me! I bet you’ve never thought about anyone else in your entire life!”

Jax, initially taken aback by her sudden burst of fury, regained his smile.

“You don’t know the first thing about me either. I’m hurt that you think I’m some kind of narcissist. Now, would you please let go of my coat? I’m rather fond of it.”

Pomni looked him in the eyes before letting him go, turning back to the window. Jax dusted himself off and picked up the books that fell off the shelf, neatly tucking them back into their places. 

“As I was saying… you’re worried about losing your autonomy. Well, let me offer an olive branch by saying I don’t intend on taking it from you.” 

He dusted off his paws and slid them into the pockets of his waistcoat again.

“To our families, this is business. Nothing more, nothing less. They don’t care about how we feel. So let me assure you right now, I’m not going to touch you or make you forfeit anything you care about. We don’t even have to share a bedchamber once we get our own house.”

Pomni glared at him. “I don’t want to marry you at all.” 

“I don’t want to marry you either. But like I said before. There’s no way for us to get out of this, so we might as well make it painless. Correct?” 

Pomni looked down at the floor. Was he being… serious? Or was this another cruel joke life was trying to play on her? “...How do I know you aren’t just feeding me lies? You’re telling me what I want to hear so I’ll be glad to marry you, and then you can mold me into the perfect little housewife.” Jax frowned. His hand fiddled with an object in his jacket pocket. “You really are a presumptuous little thing, aren’t you?”

“What did you just say?!” Pomni snapped. 

“Ms. Shutnyk. I’m well aware I can’t make you trust me. But think about this. If I wanted to make you a perfect housewife, I wouldn’t need to hide it.” 

Jax walked past Pomni and looked out into the back garden as well.  

“If I desired, I could tell you that you were going to have seven children, and if you so much as hesitated to acquiesce, I could hit you. Starve you. Probably worse. And why? Because the law allows it. Did you know that there’s a law in place that makes it just about impossible for a woman to initiate a divorce? It states-”

Pomni interjected.

“It states ‘In order for an appeal for divorce issued by a man’s wife to be legally viable, an officer of the peace must witness the husband engaging in physical or mental abuse of his wife or child.’ Section 3, Subsection 5, Paragraph 2. You’ve forgotten that my father was your father’s magistrate.”

Jax smiled at her. “Of course. So, when I say that I don’t intend to make you perform any wifely duties apart from wearing a ring and living alongside me, I’m being truthful.” Pomni stared ahead for a long time. 

“...Prove that you’re being truthful.” she uttered after a time. “How can I prove that, Ms. Shutnyk?” Jax asked with a tilt of his head. His long ears bobbed with the motion. 

“Lie with me. You’re going to tell my parents and your father that we’ve had a long, insightful discussion. We’re going to say there was more to one another’s character than we initially thought, and that we can’t wait for the day of our marriage. And then you are going to walk out of my house, and not return until the ceremony. Our parents have everything planned already, so there is little further to discuss.”

Jax Krolik smiled once again. It was uncanny, certainly, but something about it was… interesting, to Pomni. “Then come along, ‘Mrs. Krolik.’ We have a lie to spin.” He offered a hand. Pomni looked at it like a foreign object. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, quirking an eyebrow. “Well, we have to make it somewhat convincing.” Pomni rolled her eyes and took his hand. The two of them exited the library, motes of dust flickering in the beams of sunlight. 

[eldritch-spouse]

I can just imagine Agner being embarrassed as he and Patches’ obsession watch as his dad does the most obnoxious shit. “Oh I’m sorry about this… he can be uh, quite a lot. Actually that’s an understatement—I’m sorry.”

Actually though, I wanted to know about Stitches and Agner relationship. Does Agner view Stitches as his dad 2.0, post-separation? What does Stitches think of Agner?

One of the better aspects of having Patches as your obsessor, is that Agner will eventually be made aware of your situation. Hopefully not by finding you in a cage inside his supposed dad's lab, but it's going to happen one way or another.

He can feel the headache incoming immediately. How is it that Agner, a being who has only seen so very little of the world outside of The Clergy's Eye's walls, has more common sense than a dullahan that's been walking this Earth for centuries? Unbelievable.

He can't do much of anything for you, especially not freeing you, but he can try to calm you down and explain why things are the way that they are in this establishment. The large bobble doesn't really try to sell his maker to you as someone you should love, but he does tell you that, for now, you might as well try because your chances of survival without Patches' aid are null. In case you have not been captured, Agner is a lot busier trying to get Patches to not make an ass of himself and be overly creepy. The abobblenation would really like some more vaguely sane company, and if his dad ruins this for him, he's going to be pretty livid...

In regards to Stitches, Agner sees it in an almost comforting way.

He remembers his first few days alive. How everything in his body was falling apart, and the several bobbles that comprised him desperately and confusedly wanted to take over, to have control, to separate. He was torn at the seams and frantically changing pigmentation, changing attitude, his sense of self forever muddled- Everytime Agner had one of those fits, the panic he experienced as he felt himself ceasing to exist was world-shattering and he doesn't wish it on anyone.

To know his father goes through a process somewhat similar to this (at least in his eyes) both frightened and made Agner feel immense pity. He would initially try to wrangle Stitches inside and keep a very close eye on him, trying to get to Patches and stop the episode early. Stitches just laughed at this.

Eventually, he came to understand that the whole thing is a lot less destructive to Patches' mind, that he can take it, that there's only him and Stitches and they can co-exist surprisingly well. It was a very novel concept for the bobble, one he almost didn't want to believe, but at some point it started making sense- And Agner could rest easy, knowing everything was okay.

That being said, Stitches automatically assumes he's also Agner's dad -Not that he knows too much about what's expected of him as a father- And Agner assumes Stitches is his dad too.

It was never something the two openly discussed, it just is.

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

sorry if you’ve done anything similar to this, but what about HCs for getting wine drunk with the papas? could be spicy or silly! ty ty ilysm!

I need a little silly in my life, so I did some wine drunk shenanigans! Hope you enjoy! <3

Minor Tag Warning for Alcohol and Drunkeness

Reader Getting Wine Drunk with the Papas!! (Ambiguous relationship)

Papa Nihil: Nihil isn't a big wine drinker, but he won't say no to wine with dinner or a good movie. The easiest way to get him to want a wine is watching a movie while you eat some good old authentic italian pasta. Nihil claims he can't eat pasta without it! It's always a red wine and an older horror movie. You can't beat the classics! But you have a good time every time you get wine drunk. The wine turns you both in Mystery Science Theatre, and you do nothing but laugh and comment on any and everything about the movie! Sometimes the wine makes you do something crazy, like try to play a board game! But the night always ends the same. All the food and drinks gone and you both just chatting until you fall asleep. It's always safe and cozy, even when you wake up hung over. Though the wine is always blamed for when suddenly Nihil is getting billed for several new movie streaming services he can't remember signing up for.

Papa I: Neither of you were TRYING to become drunk. It started innocently enough! There had been too many complaints about the Unholy Communion wines tasting awful. The Siblings of Sin were not shy in requesting something more decadent and easier to stomach. You and Papa, on your insistence, decided to find something to start using Clergy wide. In your mind it was a fun time to try all the fancy drinks with your favorite person! Papa was more happy to indulge you and just wanted to solve this as quickly as possible. But you are a bad influence. Convincing him it was a waste to do a traditional wine tasting! So after many glasses neither of you found the perfect communion wine... instead you found yourselves laughing on his couch. Trying to have unserious philosophical discussions through slurred speech. Papa admits it's the type of fun he needs outside of his brooding and serious ministry duties. Imagine your surprise when he invites you over again. This time to share a bottle just for you two!

Papa II: You were never a big wine drinker until you became close to the second Emeritus. Papa has the most well stocked wine cellar you have ever seen! Many people forget that under his classy and collected exterior is a man who loves to party! Or at least unwind and let go. So every once in a while he will ask you to pick something for dinner, or if you just want to sit and drink with him. Most of the time it's in his music room where you put in vinyls and just sink into the expensive sofa. You find he's much more talkative when properly drunk, and more willing to have fun. There have been many times Papa has decided that being drunk is the perfect time to teach you how to dance! You've fallen a few times, but both of you always laugh it off and go back to finding a good song to listen to! You always enjoy the looser side of Papa! The man who drunkingly explains the rise and fall of the Beatles in the music industry. Or he enjoys the way you cried once because you found your favorite song on one of his albums, and insisted he put it on repeat.

Papa III: Now THIS is when you both get the best gossiping time! It's actually a biweekly ritual you two share when you both have the time! Wine bottles out, the charcuterie boards full, and both of you ready to blow off steam! Life is so stressful, so why not find time to have a good wine with the best company? It always starts the same. One of you raging about the current annoyance in your life, and the other popping open a cork and pouring your glasses full. It usually starts with both of you venting, to both of you chatting, to both of you laughing your asses off about nothing. Sometimes you get drunken ideas, like rearranging the furniture that neither of you can move! Other times you decide you need a late night take out run (DRIVEN BY A GHOUL OF COURSE) and come back with bags full of fast food. This last time you both woke up to Papa's closet sloppily 'organized'. the only clue being a Marie Kondo video on your phone, and all of his socks in a basket. It's always in good fun!

Papa IV/Cardinal Copia: When it comes to wine, you and Copia always promise yourselves 'one glass'. But sometimes, you just need a whole bottle or two. You both agreed it's not that you NEED wine to unwind; but it's nice to indulge once in a while. So the times you do get drunk off of wine, it's planned and thought out. Copia will select the best bottles he can for the night, and you get the best dinner or snacks to pair with it. You always do a quick glass cheers to each other and have at it! Like with Terzo, sometimes you just need to gossip or vent. Other times it's to unwind and NOT think about the day. Others it's to celebrate and find something fun to do! You've both woken up from your two person party wearing expensive lamp shades! This is one of the few times you both get into mischief together! Terrorizing the gardens at night, or finding your way into Copia's office to fuck around with his paper work. Anything to keep you two occupied! Your favorite time so far had been turning his office into a miniature club with strobe lights and his lava lamp collection. You were both pretty bewildered when you saw the mess you made the next day!

[nesiacha]

Anacharsis Cloots: A Noble "Internationalist" Revolutionary, Hard to Pin Down

To this day, I still don't know if Cloots was a genuine revolutionary—both idealistic and, in a way, visionary—or a great cynical opportunist, possibly even a hypocritical revolutionary. I still can't figure him out. I once discussed Chaumette here, who I consider one of the most complex revolutionaries of this period, but at least I never doubted his revolutionary fervor. He remained clean. Cloots, however, is a different case.

Anacharsis Cloots was born in 1755 in the Duchy of Cleves. His father was an advisor to Frederick II, and his family was elevated to baronial status. He studied in France, returned to Prussia, and after his father’s death, moved back to France. He inherited an enormous fortune, largely from colonial sources. He identified as French. Cloots traveled extensively throughout Europe but hurried back when the Bastille fell. He entered political life, writing pamphlets and contributing to newspapers such as Brissot's Le Patriote Français or Desmoulins' Révolutions de France et de Brabant. He joined the Jacobin Club in 1790, proposing a motion to completely sever ties with the Church, rather than drafting a Civil Constitution of the Clergy, emulating what the Americans had done.

On June 10, 1790, Cloots presented various foreigners in support of the revolution to the Constituent Assembly, including Europeans, Arabs, and Chaldeans. He proclaimed himself the "Orator of the Foreigners' Committee" and declared that the Federation would be a celebration of the human race. According to him, “Twenty-five million free men have awakened the peoples buried in long slavery.”

He corresponded with Joséphine de Beauharnais, saying, “I was at the foreigners' celebration in the tribunes of the palace, as ambassador of the human race, and the ministers of tyrants looked at us with jealous and uncertain eyes. This national celebration transports you two thousand years back in time, by some ancient hue; it also transports you two thousand years forward, by the rapid progress of reason, of which this celebration is the early and delightful fruit.” For Cloots, the French Revolution had to extend beyond France’s borders, and in some ways, he was a precursor to internationalism.

However, he was a staunch supporter of the colonial system and was vehemently opposed to the abolition of slavery (let's not forget that his family's wealth came from the colonies, so was this cynicism, hypocrisy, opportunism, or selfishness?). During the debate between Barnave, Brissot, and Robespierre, among others, Cloots sided with Barnave. Letters have since questioned how Cloots, while claiming to be the "orator of the human race," could support slavery. Initially sympathetic to La Fayette and Barnave, Cloots later aligned with Brissot before denouncing the Girondins as enemies and even taking a shot at Marat in the process.

Cloots expressed deep hatred for the aristocracy and for Mallet du Pan, whom he grouped together with Marat, which is rather surprising. Here’s an excerpt: “March forward and we will avoid the mud of the vile Marat and the infamous Mallet du Pan.” He despised the agrarian laws proposed by revolutionaries like Momoro and later Babeuf. For Cloots, property rights were absolute (to be fair, many revolutionaries, even the so-called “enragés” or "exagérés" know as hébertists, were hesitant on this issue). Cloots believed social inequality was necessary because the rich ensured the subsistence of the poor (a summary of his thoughts by Vovelle).

After the King’s failed flight to Varennes, Cloots declared himself a republican but did not sign the Champ de Mars petition. His reasoning was that de-Christianizing the people took precedence, which seems like an odd priority compared to the petition. Here’s one of his justifications: “As long as the French attend the sorceries of the mass... it will be difficult to cure them of the deception of the royal phantom.” There were French people in favor of de-Christianization who still signed the petition, so his reasoning seems dubious. Meanwhile, Cloots argued for the abolition of nations. He initially aligned with the Girondins on the issue of war but feared the August 10th insurrection. However, after this, he distanced himself from the Girondins.

In 1792, Cloots finally obtained French citizenship. He once again attacked both Roland and Marat simultaneously. He voted in favor of the King’s death without delay, saying, "I know no other sovereign than the human race, which is to say universal reason: I say no." He also declared, "I likewise condemn to death the infamous Frederick William."

Cloots supported more revolutionary wars and aligned himself with the Hébertists, particularly due to their stance on the de-Christianization campaign. He was at the height of his glory when he became president of the Jacobins in 1793. However, revolutionaries like Robespierre began to attack him. In his newspaper Le Vieux Cordelier, Camille Desmoulins attacks Cloots (and Chaumette) "Anacharsis and Anaxagoras believe they are pushing the wheel of reason when in fact it is that of counter-revolution; and soon, instead of letting papism in France die of old age and starvation, ready to breathe its last breath without giving our enemies any advantage, since the treasure of the sacristies could not escape Cambon by persecution and intolerance against those who wish to liturgy and be liturgied, I urge to you to send a force of constitutional recruits to Lescure and Roche-Jacquelin".

Here’s an excerpt from Robespierre’s speech . When Cloots was asked where he came from, he responded that he came from Prussia, "a future department of the French Republic" in his words.

Robespierre’s attack: "Can we consider a German baron a patriot? Can we consider a man with more than 100,000 livres in income a sans-culotte? Can we believe a man who only associates with bankers and counter-revolutionaries, enemies of France, to be a republican? Citizens, do you regard as a patriot a foreigner who wants to be more democratic than the French, and who is sometimes seen with the Marais and other times with the Montagne?" He continued, "There is a third crisis that Mr. Cloots might boast of, but it will only involve fools or scoundrels. I am speaking of the movement against religion, a movement that, matured by time and reason, could have become excellent, but whose violence could bring about great misfortunes, which we must attribute to the aristocracy's calculations."

Cloots was expelled from the Jacobin Society, but he defended himself in writing, saying, "Lepeletier was once a marquis," and "if Marat had been born half a league further, he would have been Prussian." He attributed his misfortune to "loving humanity too much and not enough the cliques and personalities... France or Gaul, you will be happy when you are cured of individuals." He remained optimistic about his fate, remarking, "This speech (by Robespierre) would have had me hanged two years ago, but now it is not very dangerous in the time of organized sans-culotterie... The Abbé de Saint-Pierre was not hanged for his universal aristocracy; I will not be guillotined for my universal sans-culotterie."

However, on December 26, 1793, the Convention decreed the expulsion of citizens born in foreign countries from the national representation. Cloots was soon arrested and imprisoned. At first, he did not despair and wrote a manifesto addressed to "Hommes de bonne volonté." When Vincent and Ronsin were arrested and later released, they reportedly crossed paths with Cloots—though I would need to find the sources for that.

In any case, Cloots was brought to trial alongside the Hébertists, including Momoro, Ronsin, Vincent, Hébert, and others—some were fervent extremists, others were more dubious figures used to further discredit the Hébertists. Cloots remained very calm and defended himself the best. When a juror named Renaudin told him, "Your system of a universal republic was a deeply meditated treachery that gave the crowned heads a pretext against France," Cloots responded, "The universal republic is part of the natural order; I may have spoken of it as the Abbé de Saint-Pierre spoke of universal peace. Moreover, I can hardly be suspected of supporting kings; it would be quite extraordinary if the man burnable in Rome, hangable in London, and breakable on the wheel in Vienna were to be guillotined in Paris." Cloots faced the guillotine with great courage, urging his fellow condemned to die with dignity, reportedly in a calm tone. According to Tulard, he even made a joke to lighten the mood of the condemned, while Ronsin gave the same advice in a much harsher tone. Cloots was said to have worn a wide smile as he climbed into the cart and faced death with good humor.

So, was he just an opportunist, as Mathiez suggested? Jaurès had a great deal of sympathy for Cloots, saying he had a "warm internationalism," while Soboul referred to him as embodying a "bourgeois cosmopolitanism." Perhaps Cloots was all of these things at once, as historian Antoine Resche hypothesized.

Unfortunately, this kind of "racist" internationalism (I put it in quotes because the term didn’t exist, as far as I know, in 1790) would continue even among the most fervent figures on the left. The majority of deported Communards ( the Communards of 1870) supported the repression of the Kanaks and excluded Algerians from the fraternal republic they had dreamed of, a republic for which some had given their lives.

I’ll conclude with Antoine Resche’s excellent assessment of this figure ( in his site Veni Vidi Sensi): "Internationalist and yet a supporter of the colonial system, extremely wealthy, opposed to any form of land redistribution, yet close to the Hébertists—Cloots remains a difficult personality to pin down, but he certainly does not leave anyone indifferent."

Reddit: thanks to @anotherhumaninthisworld for finding in Camille Desmoulins' journal the passage where he attacked Cloots on dechristianization

Sources:

Antoine Resche

Jean Jaurès

Albert Soboul Anacharsis Cloots, l’Orateur du genre humain

Michel Vovelle

[totallyofficialtacobell]

I resent vampires for always dressing like alt goth teens and doing kinky sex acts or alternatively being basic as fuck. A few ideas for vampires:

A cowboy vampire that was bitten in the mid 1800s Wild West and continues to dress and act like a classic sheriff from a western but feeds on outlaws and criminals

vampire that is just a whore and feeds by eating women out while they’re on their period (alternatively: not a whore just a creative pacifist)

An ex-clergy member vampire who hates himself, open up discussions for mental health issues or toxic relationships with possible self harm using crucifixes (opportunities for an absolute breakdown because god no longer cares about him even though he’s still devout)

A vampire where the rules for vampires are essentially that whatever constraints you believe effect vampires effect you if you’re a vampire (basically if someone who doesn’t believe in vampires or has no clue what they do is turned there are no effects except a thirst for blood, classic vampire rules only apply as the rules are learned because they’re really just a combination of manners and belief magic

Reblog this around because I want someone to write at least one of these if they find it interesting, if you do send it to me!

[blueratgrmln]

🌟OPEN DISCUSSION about the 2020's era of shipping culture, Sonadow in the Sonic Fandom, and how well-intended activism can circle back to the language and violence of oppressors 🌟 (Broken down into PARTS for the sake of readability and my own attention span lol. >>>FULL ESSAY HERE<<<) (>>>PREVIOUS PART HERE<<<)

PART 5

LANGUAGE AND VIOLENCE OF OPPRESSORS

Now is where I will delve into the connection between Sonadow shipping (and overall shipping) debates and how well-intentioned activism loops back into mimicking oppressors. Thinking about how Sonadow is historically important to the Sonic Franchise, the Sonic Fandom, LGBTQ+ Sonic Fans, and maybe even video game history as a whole, I feel major discomfort and even dread when I see so many people (particularly those that are young) throwing around very serious accusations at (fellow) Sonic Fans and (fellow) Sonic shippers. Accusations supporting pedophilia or pedophilia itself is one of the most egregious. I've seen it thrown at Sonadow shippers, Vector x Espio shippers because Vector is 20 and Espio is 16 (despite it being another extremely popular LGBTQ+ headcanon-ed ship due to lack of representation), and even Knuckles x Rouge because Rouge is 18 and Knuckles is 16. It strikes me as counterintuitive and unnecessary at least, and actively dangerous at most/worst, seeing fellow Queer people utilizing the morality-policing, fear tactics, surveillance methods, censorship mindset, and rhetoric/language of our oppressors and using those things against the people in their own communities. Realizing that long-time Sonadow fans who felt inspired to come out and be unapologetically Queer because of that specific ship have been facing harassment and slander from fellow Queer people (who are likely younger than them), getting called "pedos" or "dangerous" or "suspicious" or "unethical" over the mere act of creating representation and Queer Joy with fictional characters and seeking some sense of comfort while surviving homophobic environments...bluntly, my stomach is churned and my blood is boiled. The last thing we need in this rapidly backwards-turning world is more in-fighting within the broader LGBTQ+ community that distracts our thoughts, emotions, time, energy, organizing, education, community-building, and activism away from the oppressors who are causing us real-world tangible harm, suffering, and death.

A random teenager on the internet drawing fanart of Sonic and Shadow holding hands, or even random adults on the internet drawing suggestive art or outright porn of these characters, is NOT going to be the catalyst that rapidly or gradually normalizes pedophilia or inspires worldwide support for unethical relationships. And yes, this includes content about the "weirdo/unethical/dark" ships that are found in the shadowy fringes of the internet and Fandom spaces. I am uncomfortable with a lot of it myself. But those ships and the people that engage with them ALSO can't have the same level of impact and reach (key words: Same Level) that real life oppressive systems have to cause widespread suffering. The key difference that makes widespread abuse possible is that the real life oppressive systems are disguised as wholesome safe environments that develop trust and closeness with community members. Those oppressive systems and the harmful people that support them are usually NOT on the freaky/dark/weird fringes of society, they don't outwardly appear that way, and they demonize the "degenerates", not associate with any such label. The Catholic church institution is a big example, the institution covering up uncountable cases of their clergy members abusing minors while those clergy members are positioned as a pure, trusted facet of society that people actively look to for guidance, safety, and belonging.

At NO point am I ever going to say that everyone online is perfectly pure and that we should ignore everyone's behavior online. When we do encounter legitimate creeps causing harm to real people (not watered-down definitions of what being a creep means) we absolutely need to call them out and keep each other safe. HOWEVER, by pitting fellow Sonic Fans, fellow Queer people, fellow shippers against each other with this blanket "us vs them" mentality that overshadows the real life patterns and signs of how widespread oppression and real world harm happens, we end up accomplishing a lot of what our oppressors want anyway: divisions, distractions, and outright mimicking the violent language and behaviors that they display toward us at ourselves. This is the point where well-intentioned activism goes wrong and circles back around to oppression without meaning to.

Many people are super-duper-sure that they have dismantled all of their -isms and -phobias and now identify with labels and movements that are on the right side of history. But all of us STILL need to be aware of the fact that our thought patterns, behaviors, logic, and emotional responses can be tied to previously held beliefs and mindsets, and they can sometimes carry over and linger in our minds even after significant "character development". This is true even if we don't immediately realize it and think that we are a "safe person" within our own marginalized communities and for other marginalized communities. It can be really hard to identify if/when that is happening sometimes, but it is pertinent that we are actively checking in with ourselves, listening to constructive criticism, and cross-analyzing whether we are unintentionally mimicking the language, behaviors, and violence of our oppressors, and what effects that can have on the people in our shared communities and the people we care about.

PART 6 HERE

[zombie-rott]

"Blood In The Boardroom."

Inspired by the prompt: “I just started my period...."

Content: Approx 1178K words.

Relationship: Established Papa IV (Copia) X Reader (She/her)

Trigger warning: Blood. Talk of menstruation and the trials that go with it.

Synopsis:

Today was not the day for you to take your period. You had too much to do and no time to be in this much pain.

Notes:

Inspired by the above prompt and the fact that today, while out for a run, I had the worst period pain of my life.

~ ~ ~ ~

The first indication that something was array was a quick, stabbing sensation in the lower left of your abdomen.

You flinched, but only slightly, before brushing it off as nothing. 

Then there was another. And another. Until you couldn't remember a time when you weren’t in pain. The date flashed in your mind and you remembered that you still hadn't menstruated in well over thirty-five days. 

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. There wasn't time for this and certainly not now. You had a meeting to attend with several other clergy members and had planned to go for a run later that evening. But as you felt a familiar trickle, you decided it was best if you at least take the time for a hygiene break. You made your way to the nearest restroom to make use of the free sanitary supplies. You’ve never been prepared because your cycle never enabled you to be, so you felt eternally grateful to whom ever’s idea it was to put a hygiene basket in almost all the restrooms in the abbey. 

Just as you chose your weapon and began to slip into one of the stalls, you felt another stabbing pain. Still, you were trying to put it to the back of your mind. All you wanted to do was to take care of this situation and get to your meeting. Followed swiftly by everything else you had planned but at double speed. You even considered forgetting your run to crawl back into your warm bed.

You soon realised, as you stared at the blood in your underwear, that this might be worse than you first thought. It was heavy. Extremely heavy. And the pain made it all the worse. You suddenly felt woozy, not at the sight of the blood, you were well prepared for that, but rather the amount. 

“Shit.” You cursed out loud as another wave of pain washed over you, “Fuck. I don’t have time for this today.” 

You took a few moments to steady yourself, dabbing as much of the blood from your underwear as possible and inserting the tampon. The pain wasn’t constant at the moment. It came in waves with no particular pattern. Bearable. But things would escalate, and you knew they would. The real question was how long had you got before you were doubled over, nauseous and in desperate need of a co-codamol? It could be anywhere between thirty minutes to three hours. 

“I can do this.” You thought as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

You washed your hands and proceeded with your morning, all the while continuing to try and ignore the inevitable. 

The first twenty minutes of the meeting were fine. You felt the stabbing intensify periodically but it quickly leveled out. This was manageable. You’d worked through worse. You distracted yourself by concentrating on the others in the room. 

Sister Imperator talked numbers, mostly, followed by Primo and Papa Copia arguing about tour dates. Then there was a brief discussion about the sort of refreshments that should be expected in a meeting of this calibre. Obviously started by Terzo, the resident coffee connoisseur. 

But then you lost interest because your lower back started to twinge too. Suddenly, the pain bloomed across your whole abdomen. You inhaled sharply and gripped your hands across your stomach. 

“Sorella, are you okay?” 

You looked up to meet Papa Copia’s concerned gaze and nodded. 

“Si, Papa. Just a little hungry. I didn’t quite manage breakfast.” You joked. 

He nodded in response, brows furrowed. You knew he didn’t believe you, but you’d rather not announce to the whole room that you had suddenly taken your period. You had expressed to him often enough in the privacy of your shared quarters that you'd been experiencing premenstrual symptoms. And you were both slightly concerned that you were so late seeing as children, while not out of the question, were simply not currently feasible.

The meeting was continued for another fifteen minutes, during which time you had tried your best simply not to appear too much in pain. You held your hands tightly to your stomach, pressing against it mimicking pressure and heat. Papa Copia continued to look over at you periodically, clearly aware that you were in some sort of pain. He always could read you like a book. 

“Okay, amici. I think that’s all we really have, si?” He said abruptly, standing up and addressing  the room, “Let’s cut this sort and go enjoy the day, eh? 

“But C-” Sister Imperator began. 

“Whatever it is, it can wait, si? It’s such a beautiful day outside, we should be out enjoying ourselves.” He gestured to the window before lifting his mug from the table. That was always a sure sign that he was ready to leave. That damn mug went everywhere. 

Sister Imperator huffed. The other men made no argument, always happy to get a meeting over with. They wasted no time in launching themselves for the door, closely followed by a mumbling Imperator. You remained sitting, concentrating on keeping your expression as close to neutral as possible. 

“Amore, you’re in pain.” 

It was a statement, not a question as he made his way around to your side of the desk. He knelt down and linked his arms around your front, bringing his head to rest on your shoulder. You lean back against him and let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. The pain was terrible. Not the worst you’d ever had but certainly up there. 

“I had so much to do today.” You said, defeated. 

“It’s that time, eh?” 

You nodded. 

“Let’s get you back to bed, okie dokie?” He said as he helped you up and out of your chair. You winched as the stabbing intensified. The cramps in your stomach had made their way around to your lower back, creating a ring of pain. 

Copia spends the journey back to your quarters talking. You just listened, taking in his voice and concentrating on the way he rolled his R’s in certain words. He gripped your hand tightly in his, gently stroking his thumb over your knuckles. 

It felt like an age before he pushed open the heavy oak doors for you. And even longer still that you were wrapped in your duvet, a fresh set of underwear and lounge clothes on. You inhaled the smell of your bed and curled inwards on yourself.

But then you felt someone sit down beside you and heard the television switch on above the fireplace. 

“Copia?” You asked, already aware of the answer. 

“Yes, amore?” He replied. 

“You can’t stay. You have too much to do.” 

“I am the Papa. If I want to take a sick day with amore mio, then I will.” He lay down and wrapped his arms tightly around your back.

His hands searched for where you clung to the hot water bottle at your abdomen. You snuggled back against him, taking in his scent and easing into his arms. 

“Would you like to watch old re-runs of bad reality TV, or a movie?” 

Lucifer Morningstar, you loved this man. 

[threewounds]

the clergy at my church have been trying out updated language for the liturgy that removes most instances of overtly masculine language to refer to god, which i think is really cool

we had a forum meeting to discuss what the congregation liked/didn't like about the changes, and someone said some pretty overtly non-affirming things about the changes, calling them "wokeism," bringing up trans people in a negative way, etc.

as a non-binary person, i was pretty upset by these comments, but i managed to voice my support for the changes in an assertive and vulnerable way that i'm hoping at least makes that person think more deeply about their attitude toward people they see as "other" and how those people are also children of god and deserving of dignity and understanding