#slavery calendar

[theprofessionalpromptmaker]

Prompt Advent Calendar 2022: Day 23

Person A is a shopkeeper who gets broken or damaged toys from the North Pole/Santa’s warehouse and refurbishes and gives them away to local charities on the winter holidays, since Person A has a contract with Santa. Person B is an elf who lost their joy of toy-making and escaped Santa’s sweatshop and comes under the protection of Person A.

[yinyuedijun]

NIGHT FLOWER: part i

Your place in the world was one of a tool. This was true of every slave: you were all things to be used. Kakavasha understood this about you, and he understood this about himself. It was how he survived all those years ago, and it’s how he survives now. And so, when Aventurine goes into his first heat in years and decides to suffer it alone, you can only think of one way to get him to accept your help: You offer to let him use you.

written for @/lorelune's spring fever collab & @ficsforgaza

13.5k words of omegaverse, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst with an eventual happy ending. gn alpha reader + omega aventurine (they each have both amab and afab genitalia). explicit piv sex, reader bottoms, the sex is consensual but emotionally complicated and deeply sad. cw slavery, racism, gendered violence, including very brief and non-graphic (but direct) references to sexual abuse during slavery. the sa and slavery are not eroticized. dead dove do not eat, mdni.

thank you to @acerathia, @minnaci, @owlespresso for all your help with beta reading and to @kosmiccarma for brainstorming omega aventurine hcs!

“I’ve alw███ l█ved ███, Ka██v█s███”

You knew it from the moment you met him.

Gaunt, pallid, weighed down by heavy chains. Irises that glowed like the auroras back in your world. Delicate features that made every passerby in the market stop to read the description on the placard. (Sigonian, it said, although you couldn’t read at the time. Avgin. Male. Omega. Sixteen years old. Sixty Tanba, no tax.) He had an all-consuming scent that was impossible to ignore—one that possessed you, made your heels dig into the dirt, every atom in your body resisting the impatient jerk of the chains at your wrist. Even through your muzzle, through the perpetual stench of carbon-steel and blood, you could smell it: honey and wildflowers. A fragrance that settled deep within you, flooded you with a warmth that felt like home.

Aventurine is not a spiritual person. He once told you this, his smile cold in the glow of an artificial moon. He'd been deeply religious as a child, but hasn’t since cared for fairy tales about fortune and fate, three-eyed goddesses or merciful rainfalls. Hasn't thought about anything like a destined love. He thinks the idea of a true mate is laughable, that no such bond could ever be forged between an omega and an alpha. That nothing so unconditional could ever exist.

You know differently, of course. You've known it from the moment you met him, from the second you laid eyes on him and thought, I need to help you, and I need to protect you, and I need you to be safe, and you’d never once heard the word ‘love’ in your life—slaves are never loved by their masters, after all, and you'd always been nothing but a slave—but every atom of your being knew that you loved him, that you'd always love him.

And when your master cradled your face that night and crooned that he owned you, that you'd always be his obedient, alpha pet—for the first time in your life, you knew that he was wrong.

You didn't belong to your slaver.

You belonged to him.

To Kakavasha.

These days, Aventurine does not smell like honey, and your jaw is not restrained.

Your muzzle was one of the first things that Aventurine threw away when he bought your freedom. According to the Amber Era system, it had been several months since the murder of your shared master. Ninety-five Star Calendar days after the Interastral Peace Corps had arrested Kakavasha. An entire rotation around the black hole at the centre of your wretched galaxy, all of which had been spent in the captivity of some new mistress. She picked you out because she liked your calming scent and the look of your face, but mostly she used you for the fighting pits just like your old master.

Aventurine had been sitting in the audience of your final match, then bought you out right after you won. “I’m in need of a fighter,” he’d said, smiling in his thick furs and jewels. He played the part of a slavemaster perfectly, his gloved hands wandering the span of your aching shoulders, touching the bloodied maw of your mask. “And I’d be willing to pay top credit for yours.”

She protested. You were her most prized possession, one of her greatest investments. Slaves from your planet were hard enough to come by—alphas capable of reproduction, nearly impossible. And you were so well-behaved, so poised, so endearing in a way that was rare for alphas. She was fond of you. Her omega slaves were fond of you too. They would be distraught if you left, and that would complicate her household affairs—and surely Aventurine, as a respectable owner of human capital like herself, could understand how inconvenient that would be?

Aventurine bared his teeth in a gracious smile. (You’d never seen Kakavasha make such an expression before—so disarming, so cunning, a crescent moon beneath snake eyes. He’d never smelt like this either, like an expensive cologne layered with bleach, and it left you feeling nauseous, wondering if he was ill.) He flirted his way into her good graces, made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and then he brought you into the first-class ship on which he’d arrived. You were so stunned by its luxury—the handwoven carpets, the crushed velvet seats, the imported tea from several galaxies away and the custom-ordered outfit he had bought for you—that you nearly missed the tremble in his hands as he punched numbers into the remote control lock for your chains.

He had regained his composure by the time he pulled away your muzzle, though. He threw it carelessly to the ground—your titanium chains, too. Then kicked both away with his shined leather shoes.

“There,” Aventurine said, smiling cheerfully. “Much better, don’t you think?”

“Vasha—” you started, voice thick with wasted grief, and all you wanted to was reach for him, to double check that he was real, but he placed a finger to your lips and stopped you. You stiffened at the satin touch, but he seemed unbothered.

“‘Aventurine’,” he corrected.

You stared blankly. “What?”

“‘Aventurine’. Like the gemstone. That’s my name now.”

“You—” Your voice caught in your throat. You realized that you’d been holding your breath. You always had the habit of holding your breath in the luxurious, private rooms of very rich men, because you never liked what happened in them. Forcing yourself to breathe, you asked, “You gave yourself a new name?”

“No. The IPC gave me a new name. They gave me a job, too.”

“A job?” you asked, voice faint. Now that you were breathing again, you were noticing once more just how bizarre he smelled. Sterile and expensive and completely foreign. “You’re free now?”

“Well, I’m a freedman, but I don’t know if I’d call myself free. I’m a bit… indebted to the IPC, let’s say. But that’s fine. I can’t complain. I mean—look around. This beats the fighting pits, doesn’t it?” He gestured lazily at your surroundings, and you nodded.

“It’s nice here,” you replied, feeling absurd but not knowing what else to say. Once Kakavasha got talking, it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.

“You like it here? Good. This room’s yours. Mine is the next one over. You’ll live and work here, with me. I’ll make sure you’re paid well. Full benefits, vacation, salary, and overtime. The standard pay for your role is seventy-thousand credits per month, but I’ll see if I can get you more. HR is pretty strict about their hiring policies, but—”

“You’re hiring me?”

Aventurine went very still, his smile tightly controlled. His eyes remained fixed on you, but they seemed less snake-like, now. They looked more familiar. More afraid.

“I’m offering, yes,” he said neatly. “You’ll be part of my personal security detail. I don’t have the contract for you to review yet, unfortunately. I didn’t arrange one ahead of time because, well”—he laughed, as if this were polite conversation and he were making a joke about the weather—“I didn’t know if I’d find you alive. But things worked out in my favour. They always work out in my favour. I’ll make sure they’ll work out in your favour too, so long as you’re with me. So you’ll consider it, won’t you? Staying with—working for me, I mean.”

Your eyes went soft. Beneath the artificial fragrance, you finally caught a hint of his familiar scent—more wildflower than honey at that moment, the way it always is when he’s scared.

“Kakavasha—”

“Name your price,” he said loudly, “and I’ll match it.”

You sighed. “Vasha,” you said more gently, and his shoulders relaxed at the subvocal shift in your timbre, at the famed alpha Voice that necessitated your muzzle, “I don’t care about the money. Of course I’ll stay here. But—what happened? Why did you kill him yourself? Why didn't you let me do it? That was the plan. It was always supposed to be me.”

It was my job, you thought then, just as you had thought to yourself every night, curled up in your bed and trying to recall the scent of fresh honey, to keep you safe.

He shrugged and said, “It would have been too risky to involve you.”

“You were caught and sentenced to death. The risk was already too high.”

“But the stakes weren’t,” he replied simply, and before you could ask what he meant by that, he continued, “and it worked out, didn’t it? I work for the IPC. You work for me. We’re freedmen now. Whatever I've lost, it doesn't matter. Our gains far outweigh it.”

“And what have you lost, Vasha?”

He smiled at you, charming and distracting. A crescent moon beneath snake eyes. “Nothing of value,” he reassured you, and even though you could feel the calm of an omega’s voice washing over you, even though it released all the tension in your body, all you could smell was cologne and wildflowers, and you knew that he was lying.

Vasha once told you, curled up and quiet on the basement floor, that he despised his eyes. They were supposed to be a sign of blessing from Gaiathra Triclops, but they'd never brought him anything but trouble. They were the first thing that the slavers always noticed about him, the feature that made him such an alluring commodity. Their aurora glow, their strange beauty, their promise of a rare opportunity: a chance at owning a specimen of an exotic, endangered species, possibly the last of its kind. These are all things that you've heard in the parlour of your master’s house as he entertained rich company, the crowd of them gawking at his human curios.

Avgin are said to make the most beautiful slaves, he'd often say. And Avgin omegas are said to be the most beautiful among them. What do you all think? They'd all hum, peering closely at Kakavasha’s features, and inevitably someone would joke, I think I'd like to borrow him sometime, and then they would all laugh while your pulse ticked up and you imagined tearing at their throats. Vasha would search for your gaze in these moments, giving you a long, pointed look: Don't do anything stupid.

He’d always been so blasé about it, the way people fixated on his Avgin blood. You'll never understand how. He didn't react to any of the comments, the groping, the innuendos. He was, however, distinctly unimpressed at the way that your master liked to play him up as a rare and expensive acquisition, as a sign of his own status. It's embarrassing to watch, Kakavasha had remarked. Everyone knows that Sigonian slaves are uncommon but cheap—people always think we’ll bring them more trouble than our worth. This was how Kakavasha had ended up in the market in the first place: because his last master had been robbed, and he'd been wrongly blamed for it.

The blame, to this day, has never stopped. People—powerful people, politicians, businessmen, socialites—look at Aventurine’s eyes and immediately reach for their pockets. You've seen it for yourself, these spineless despots and scammers feeling for their wallets. Sigonian, you know they're thinking. Liar, cheat, thief, whore, worthless, worthless, worthless. Your hands tighten around your blade each time, a loaded gun with a finger on the trigger.

Alphas are said to be violent by nature. Aventurine has often called you the one exception to this rule: the most docile, good-hearted alpha he's ever met. But this is a lie. You do have a predator instinct, and it comes out in full-force whenever you’re around these particular types of men. These types who notice Aventurine’s eyes and see a thief; these monsters who see his irises and imagine what it would be like to bed him. You’d kill them if you could. It would be so easy, especially now that you are an IPC dog. The Company is already such a violent force; what would be one more murder?

But Aventurine has never ordered you to punish anyone. (Don't do anything stupid, he always tells you with a glance, smiling through every humiliation.) Nor has he ever seemed bothered enough by these meetings to try concealing his heritage.

A fellow Asset Liquidation Specialist once asked why he didn't just hide his eye colour—it would likely be better for fostering relationships, negotiating deals—but Aventurine had shrugged it off. I'm a gambler working with the IPC, he'd said. Do you really think a pair of coloured contacts would make anyone trust me? He'd laughed, and his voice had carried a threatening edge, and his coworker had shifted visibly at it. Being an Avgin is the least threatening thing about me, wouldn't you say?

You think that Aventurine likes being seen as a threat. Sometimes you wonder if this is why he doesn't mind wearing his eyes so much, but abhors keeping his scent. He washes his clothes until they're free of his disarming sweetness and then masks himself with an unsettling blend of ambergris, jasmine, and wood. And he is on suppressants all the time—hasn’t had a single heat since the day he killed his master. Hasn't smelled like himself, either.

At the end of the day, it’s manageable being an Avgin in this business, he often comments, spraying half a bottle of masking cologne on himself, but you can't be an Avgin and an omega. Wouldn’t you agree?

You'd know better than me, you reply, noncommittally—and truthfully.

But you're an alpha, he observes. Don't you have an opinion?

You don't pay me to have opinions, you always remind him, stone-faced. You pay me to stand here and look scary. And Aventurine always laughs at this, and he always wires you money and calls it a bonus as he pesters you for an answer, and he always gets distracted and starts scrolling through all his shopping wishlists instead. I saw this thing the other day and thought of you. And this too. Would you like either of them? Would you like them both? I’m a very generous manager, you know. I'll buy you anything you like.

But even though he always gets distracted, Aventurine never forgets. Sooner or later, he inevitably circles back to these questions—these anxieties about his scent, about his eyes, about his blood. He never cares for anyone else’s opinions, but he's always been curious about yours. Even when he was Vasha, he wanted to know what you thought.

He’d been sixteen years old and delirious with heat the first time he asked you, face wrinkling with pain as he spilled his thoughts. It was so incoherent, so sad, you thought it must have been about a fever dream. Mama Fenge, he kept saying. Mama Fenge blessed me, She blessed me, I'm blessed, it rained when I was born—did you know that? My luck, I was lucky. The Katicans, they never caught me. They got everyone else, but not me. I was blessed by Her. I'm going to save my people. I will. I'll save my sister. My eyes are proof. My mistress liked them. Said they're beautiful. Worth sixty whole coppers. A blessing. He pulled you close, pressed his scalding face to your scent gland, and his whole body shuddered with relief. This was the first and only time he'd allowed you to hold him, and it was only out of desperation, out of his mind. Do you like them, alpha? Do you like my eyes? Why? Is it because they're beautiful? Because they're from Gaiathra?

“I like them because they're yours,” you'd replied, and Kakavasha had laughed deliriously.

This is when he told you he hated them: I'd close them forever, if I could.

When you were younger—dumber—you had a habit of squirrelling away every spare coin you came across. You collected them in a little purse that one of the omega slaves had sewn for you—a thank-you for always keeping the other alphas away from her—and you hid it underneath a loose floorboard. By the time that Kakavasha was arrested, you'd saved up twenty-nine Tanba. You’d wanted enough to buy Kakavasha’s freedom and then to set him up for a comfortable life.

It had been a stupid plan. An embarrassing one. If you ever confessed it to Aventurine, he'd laugh at you. Slaves can't buy other slaves, he'd say. Leave the schemes to me next time. You’re too good-hearted for it.

You’d already known that, of course. You knew that you didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him, but you wanted to. God, did you want to—you spent every waking moment thinking about it, every sleeping moment dreaming of it. It wasn't even that you desired him, though he was beautiful and fragrant and more delicate than anything that had ever touched you in your life, which was only your master’s hands and your muzzle and your chains. Aventurine would feel so soft in comparison, you’d always figured. It made your heart ache, thinking about getting to hold something so lovely.

But really—that desire came second. What came first was how mated omegas feel safe around their alphas, and you so desperately wanted him to be safe. Kakavasha had looked so frail, so grim, as your master took his chains and led him home from the market, and you could smell the fear coming off him in waves. And you could do nothing to stop it. You had nothing you could use to stop it—nothing other than your hands that could kill for him and your pheromones that could soothe him and your useless heart that wanted to collect sixty Tanba for him. That was all you had.

So you failed in the end. Of course you did. You didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him. You couldn't even do for him the one thing you could have done—which was to kill. And Kakavasha suffered for your incompetence. He had to dirty his hands with blood and gamble his way into wealth and then suddenly he was freeing you, not the other way around.

And now you are comfortable. You'll lead an easy life from now, Aventurine reassured you when he brought you onto his ship all those years ago, and he's kept that promise. What about you? you'd asked him then. Will you lead an easy life with me, if you're working for the IPC? And he had smiled and lied to you: Yes.

It had been a painfully obvious lie. If you were a smarter person, you'd have never believed it in the first place. Aventurine has no interest in leading an easy life, because an easy life would be less profitable, and less profit would mean less safety. And he is always, always worried about being unsafe. It is indiscernible to everyone but you—an alpha (his alpha, always his, even if he doesn't want you) who has watched over him for so long that you can detect every shift in his scent. No matter how much cologne he drowns himself in and no matter how strong his suppressants are, you know when he is afraid.

And here is the bitter truth, the ultimate proof of your shortcomings:

Aventurine is always afraid.

It is a beautiful day on Agnisahr, and you can tell that Aventurine is about to throw up from worry.

You're sitting in the middle of stunning wealth—Aventurine in his feathers and jewellery, you in your tailored jacket—in a lobby made from marble and pale sandstone, with a view of palm trees and rolling, scarlet sand dunes beyond the window. The waitstaff addresses him as Honoured Guest and they keep his crystal chalice filled constantly with water—one of the most expensive commodities on the planet. Aventurine has been drinking from it religiously, which is strange as he typically has the habit of forgetting to hydrate. A faint wildflower scent is drifting from his slender form. These are the only giveaway to his mood: he's otherwise as pokerfaced as ever, smiling calmly as he discusses his plans to sabotage the local government and acquire the planet for the IPC.

“This is a very dangerous mission,” you state flatly.

“All my missions are dangerous.” He takes a sip, one pinky up. “The IPC pays me well for a reason. As they say—”

“‘High risk, high reward.’ I know.” You try not to sound bitter, though you allow yourself to sound tired. “I still do not think the risk is worth the reward in this case.”

“I think over 5.6 million in credits is a great reward, actually. We could do a lot with that kind of money.”

You raise a brow. “What could an extra 5.6 million get you that you can't already buy?” It is—as Topaz would say—‘chump change’ in comparison to his current wealth, which sums to a number so vast that you can't wrap your head around it.

Aventurine pretends to miss the point. “Tons! We could buy a new spacecraft. Get another mansion. Or—we could take a vacation to Penacony. I hear it's quite nice there.” A playful smile. “I could get us a penthouse unit. With a featherbed.”

You frown. Sometimes Aventurine likes to flirt when you're being stubborn—not out of interest, but as a ploy to distract you. He’d developed the habit after he joined the IPC. It used to fluster you, but now it only makes you cross your arms.

“You could die,” you point out.

“You'll protect me.”

“No, I won't. You always find a way to get rid of me when things are most dangerous.” You give him an accusatory stare. “You never let me do my job.”

He's too shameless to deny it. “And it's worked out fine, hasn't it? I haven't died so far.”

“Yes. Just by dumb luck.”

“I beg to differ. My luck is quite reliable.” He sets down his glass. Glances back outside. A microexpression, brows knotting for the briefest second as he studies the sky. “I'm not worried.”

“You're a shit liar.”

That gets him to look at you, letting a small frown pass over his face. “No, I'm actually a great liar. You're just too good at reading me. It's very inconvenient, you know.”

“I can't help it.” You lean toward him, making a show of it as you sniff. An orchid-like scent—faint but unmistakable—has seeped into artificial ambergris and wood. “It's hard to ignore.”

He hums. He isn't frowning anymore—but doesn't look happy, either. “I should change suppressants.” He taps the side of his empty glass, fidgeting. Aventurine never fidgets: it's an amateur giveaway. “These ones clearly don't work well enough.”

“That won't help. I know you too well.” Your eyes soften. He's looking outside again, the blues of his irises distant. “You're worried, Aventurine. More than usual. Let’s back out of this—let Jade handle it.”

“The mission isn't what's bothering me,” he says patiently. “I just don't like this planet.”

“Because you can tell it's dangerous.”

“No. Well—it is, but nothing I can't handle.” He leans back. “I just dislike the weather here.”

You arch a brow. “...the weather?”

“Yes,” he says neatly, “it's too dry here. I'll break out.”

You open your mouth. Close it. It is possibly the most absurd thing you've ever heard, and certainly the worst lie that's ever come from him. For as long as you've known him, Aventurine has had flawless skin, marble-smooth, and ever since being freed, he’s never really cared much for looking handsome so much as looking rich. But he maintains his serious expression: all-in on the farce. “Did you know that outside the capital, this planet hasn't had any natural rain in a quarter of an Amber Era? And the stellar winds are terrible. I don't know how people live on a planet like this.” His eyes narrow at the cloudless sky. “The IPC is going to need to do a lot of terraforming if they want to make this into a merchant hub.”

“Aventurine.”

“It'll be a pain crossing the desert—the elements will ruin my clothes, you know,” he continues. “It won't be so bad while we're on the ships, but we’ve got to go outside from time to time. Can't make any friends otherwise.”

“Aventurine.”

“And there's nothing to do for fun when we’re not working.” He sighs dramatically. “I can't wait to get our 5.6 billion and leave for someplace else. I'm being serious about Penacony, by the way—”

“Aventurine.”

“—though not about the featherbed. I'll get you your own room, obviously. And I'll buy whatever dream experience you’d like. What kind would you want?”

Finally allowed a chance to speak, you say, “One where you retire.”

“Retire? Why would I ever do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe you decide you've made enough money.”

“No such thing.”

“Then you can settle down with someone.”

That makes him smile. It feels mocking. “Me? Settling down? With who?”

“Who knows. Someone who will treat you better than the IPC, I hope.”

“Anyone that nice would run in the other direction. But never mind me. This would be your dream experience. What happens to you in it?”

“I stop chasing after you and get to live out the rest of my days in peace,” you say dryly, and Aventurine blinks. “Please stop deflecting. The IPC gave you a suicide mission. We will both die if we stay here.”

He looks serious now. “I wouldn't let you die.”

“You can't know that.”

“Well, I do. And I've got decent chances at surviving too—at least one in ten.”

You feel like sighing—a deep, aggravated noise is heavy in your throat—but Aventurine doesn't enjoy it when you show anger around him. It's the one omega instinct that he can't ignore, you suppose: unease around an aggressive alpha. Voice tightly controlled, you say, “You’re going to bet your life on one in ten?”

  “Sure. My chances were worse on the last planet, and things worked out great. It'll be the same on Agnisahr.” Aventurine raises a hand, calls for the bill. The conversation is over. You lean back in your seat, watching sourly as he pays tens of thousands of credits just for water.

“You know, they say the royal family is backed by an Aeon,” you can't help but point out, once the waiter is gone. A last-ditch effort. Aventurine smiles at it, amused. Like you're a child.

“So what?” He glances outside, at the desolate landscape beyond the oasis—nothing but red sand, a blue, rainless sky, and two radiant suns shining above it all. “The protection of a god is nothing compared to the schemes of human beings. And gods abandon their people all the time, anyway.”

During your tenth day on Agnisahr, you realise that something is deeply wrong.

It takes you some time to understand what’s happening. At first you think that whatever political danger you’ve intuited is much worse than you thought, and that’s why Aventurine has been so pale, so discomforted, so exhausted. Then his scent starts changing—he switches clothes two, three times a day (because of all this heat during Agnisahran days, he tells his new business associates) and spritzes his nape with his cologne almost religiously—and you wonder if he is sick with something. If the food in this planet has something that disagrees with his Sigonian biology, or if he has picked up one of the local filoviruses, or if someone’s poisoned one of his meals because they’ve correctly identified him as a threat. Aventurine dismisses every single one of these theories when you bring it up, and—as if in denial—only attributes it to the weather. (I’ve never done well in deserts, he tells you, his eyes on his phone screen. I'm not used to them. It is above 300 Kelvin, and you do not see a single bead of sweat on his neck, and his cheeks are not even a little flushed.)

You only figure it out when he is too ill to get out of bed one morning and forbids all the IPC staff from coming near his hotel room. It sets off alarms immediately—Aventurine, no matter how sick, will work and see through meetings as long as he is mentally capable of it—and so you naturally ignore his orders and check on him, using the spare key to his sleeping quarters that you're given as a policy. And as soon as the door cracks open—as soon as you step inside only to be hit with a violent, cloying sweetness—you realise what’s happening and slam the door shut behind you.

“You’re in heat,” you blurt out, and Aventurine—a shivering, panting mess on the bed—groans in response.

“Why are you here?” He turns toward you, still lucid enough to glare at you through the tangled mess of his hair. His voice is weak, but no less self-possessed: “I was very clear—no company today.”

“I am your personal bodyguard,” you remind him mildly. Your voice is calm—both non-threatening and non-condescending. “Those orders don’t apply to me. If things feel suspicious, I look into it. And they felt very suspicious.” Your brow knits as you study his clothes. Mulberry silk clings to his form, soaked through with sweat. Thin, eucalyptus sheets are tangled up around him. There are only two pillows. No water bottles. No knotting toys.

Nothing.

“You didn't know you'd be in heat,” you realise. “What happened to your suppressants?”

“I don't know.” There’s a quiet, frustrated edge to his voice. Vulnerable too. It makes you think of when you were both still slaves, and Aventurine was confined to the basement of the manor—the one that all omega slaves were made to ride out their heats in. Either they would do it alone or were ordered to spend it with some alpha, usually either a friend of the master or an alpha slave he wished to reward. That's when they're most pliable, he'd tell his guests, or sometimes even you. They get so desperate they'll present themselves to anyone. Then amused laughter from the other party—How obscene!—as you looked away, blood hammering in your ears.

You had been your master’s favourite. His most obedient, most profitable pet—striking enough for his guests to admire, deadly enough for his audiences to bet on, docile enough for him to enjoy. Good enough for him to reward, and he often rewarded you with his most beautiful slave: his Avgin omega. Just don't mark him, he’d said, fastening the muzzle around your mouth. It'll ruin his market value. Who knows if someday he'd sell Kakavasha off to some alpha master who wished to claim him, he said. Though I don't think there's anyone in this star system who'd want a Sigonian for a mate, let alone a Sigonian slave. Then he’d paused, eyes scanning over you. As if contemplating. But maybe they'd try to get Avgin whelps out of him, he added, and you felt like throwing up.

You'd never mate him in those moments, your muzzle always prevented you from saying. You didn't even want to think about touching him, and he didn't want to think about it either. Even in the cruel grip of his heats, with nothing but the thin mat beneath him and his slave’s rags around him, Kakavasha hadn't wanted any kind of contact from you, rejecting any chance of solace. Don't, don't—not again, not again, he'd begged. Then as the nights marched on and his mind grew hazier, he’d start whimpering too: It hurts, alpha. It hurts. Help me. It hurts. Don't touch me. Not again. It hurts. It hurts. Stop it, please stop it.

It gutted you.

It went against every instinct, not to touch him. To let him lie there, in scorching, lonely pain, when all you wanted to do was to dispel it. It would be so easy to press yourself against him and let his skin cool against yours, do the one thing that your body was good at other than killing. But not again, not again, I can't anymore, I don't want it, I never wanted it, and all you could do was sit there, unmoving. Watch as the most delicate, precious thing you had in your life shatter.

And standing here now, watching Aventurine shatter before you once more—it is unbearable. He needs a nest, you keep thinking. He needs a nest and some water and some kind of touch, some kind of relief, but not again, not again, and you’re still a slave, still a worthless and stupid slave, and Kakavasha is still crying on a basement floor and you can't do anything for him.

“You need help, Aventurine,” you say, voice soft, and his whole body tenses. His scent dips, and the scent of florals overwhelms you.

“No,” he breathes, “I don't.”

“You do. You're sick.” You bite your lip. Your heart splits as you suggest it, but you say, “I can call a professional.”

“No,” he spits. The facade is gone. The poker face has cracked. The anger and the pain and the fear are all on full display, and his voice sharpens: “No strangers.”

No foreign scents, you realise he's demanding. A new scent would probably make him feel unsafe.

Then let me help you, you think of pleading, but not again, not again, and you're filled with so much shame at the thought that all you can do is look away.

“Then—can I do anything?” He goes still. “Not—not that, but something to make you more comfortable. I can build you a nest, at least—”

“No.” He takes a deep, shaking breath. “No nests. I don't need one—”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don't,” he says. His voice is wavering now, on the verge of crumbling with fever and pain. “I've never—I’ve never needed a nest, I don't—I don't want to—” He presses his face into his pillow. “I need—I need to be alone, fuck—”

He doesn't mean to whine. The cry for distress is instinct, something that all omegas are programmed to do in heat. You’ve heard that they’ve evolved to make this noise as a way of appealing to nearby alphas for help, but you think this must be a lie as you never once saw your alpha master giving mercy to any of his omega slaves. Still, whether it is your biology or not—the noise that Aventurine makes has your heart aching so much you can't help but step forward. But he shakes his head and inches away, shuddering violently, and then his voice echoes again in that cold basement—not again, not again, and don't touch it anymore, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore, not again, and it's all you can do to back away until your spine is pressed against the door.

“I'm sorry, Vasha,” you say, strained. “I’m sorry. I'll leave you now.”

As the door shuts behind you, you catch a final glimpse him—face pressed into the pillows, shivering.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was crying.

When you were both slaves, Aventurine hated seeing you during his heats.

Kakavasha was normally calm around you. Most of the time, he was even friendly (he was friendly to everyone whom he thought could be useful), but he was different during his heats. Sometimes he was vicious; mostly he was withdrawn. Nearly always, he wanted to be left alone. In those moments, all he could register was your alpha scent and his memories of what other people had done to him during his heats. And while you'd have hated to leave him, despised the idea of him being offered to another alpha—even more than that, you hated violating this boundary of his. Hated that you were allowed to do whatever you wanted to him. Hated being the reason he felt so unsafe.

Hated being an alpha.

Now that you no longer have the orders of your slavemaster hanging over you, it is the least you can do to respect Aventurine’s wish of being left alone. He has every right to privacy, and you have every obligation to give it to him. But instead you have been standing here, outside his door, for a full system-hour.

Every time you try to leave, your body is wracked with anxiety. The thought of other people—other alphas—coming near him in this state makes you seethe, your hands flexing at your side. The predator instinct comes out, and the people around you notice it. Every person unlucky enough to walk down this hall scurries away under your glare, even the other IPC staff wandering about to look for Aventurine: Must be their mate on the other side, they remark to one another, and then they're gone.

It is a hard thing to hear. You are not his mate. You are not even a heat partner. If you were, then he wouldn't be in so much pain. Not now, and not back then.

Aventurine has never had easy heats. You keep replaying your memories of all his past ones, each one a wound in your heart: the aching sweetness of nectar and honey; his withering body as he clutched his abdomen and curled up; the tears and sweat staining the mat beneath him. And above all: the fear. The scent of it, the sight of it, the sound of it in his voice. Stronger today than any other day.

By instinct, you know that he cannot persist like this. That this time is somehow worse than all those other times, and that he will become seriously ill if left alone.

After nearly an hour and a half, you finally open the door, fearing the worst.

“Aventurine?” you say quietly, but there's no response, and your stomach drops as you see him.

His body is pale, listless. If it weren't for the fragrance washing over you or the sweat on his temple, you'd worry that he was dead.

Tentatively, you reach out. Rest a hand on his forehead, and it scorches you. He stirs at the touch, doesn't open his eyes—but the quiet sigh of relief is unmistakable. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to reach for you.

“Aventurine,” you say gently. “Aventurine, I'm going to take care of you. Is that alright?”

He doesn't respond. You grimace, pulling away to fetch things for him: several spare pillows from the closet, an extra blanket too. From his suitcase, you grab a few of his sweaters, all thick cotton and fleece. He’d had a sense that Agnisahr would be cold at night. Deserts always get cold after sundown, since sand doesn’t retain heat, he'd told you while he was packing. Or I think so, anyway. Don't know why. Must have read it somewhere. Then he’d given you a long, unreadable look before saying, Make sure to bring a jacket. The warmest one you have. The elements on a planet like Agnisahr can kill a person—even a person like you.

I’m sure I’ll be fine, you’d dismissed him. I can survive anything. Any kind of weather, any kind of illness, any kind of pain: these are all things your species is known for being able to endure, the trait that made you such a prized slave in your master’s eyes, such a useful agent at the IPC. You hadn’t given Aventurine’s warning any thought and hardly paid attention to what you’d thrown into your own suitcase.

It surprises you, then, that you find one of your sweaters in his luggage. Made from Sedanian cashmere and heat tech designed by the Intelligentsia Guild. Cloud-soft and warm to the touch. Aventurine had bought it for you before you were deployed to Jarilo-IV to collect intelligence for Topaz. Warmest thing in the known universe, he’d commented. One of a kind, too. Remember to wear it, alright? Don't let my money go to waste, now.

You stare at it, kneading the fleece between your fingers. You hadn’t mentioned wanting to bring this sweater. You’d lost it in your closet some months ago and forgot about it. Aventurine must have remembered and gone looking for it, because—why? You aren't sure. Probably because it’s warmer and softer than anything he owns, you guess. Of course he’d want to wear it.

You throw it into the pile of things you’ve collected for him.

You take it all to his bed, the mattress dipping as you sit next to Aventurine. One by one, you scent each item with your wrist, watching him carefully the whole time. You’re quiet as you lay them out around him, leaving him undisturbed as you build a nest. You order water and electrolyte drinks too, and you’re quick about going to the door when you hear room service knocking—with how feverish he is, he probably badly needs it.

Aventurine is awake when you come back. His breathing is still laboured, pained—but calm.

“I said I didn’t need a nest,” Aventurine says, though he doesn’t sound angry. You wonder if he’s too weak to be. His voice is faint, and his eyes are barely open—focused on the pile of blankets and clothing around him.

“You’re welcome.” You open a bottle of water, hold it out to him. “Drink.”

Aventurine pauses, stares at the offering like it's some kind of foreign object. But he accepts it eventually, sitting up and taking it from you. He winces with the movement, which he tries to hide. He ignores your frown as he drinks, and he doesn't stop until the bottle is empty.

“There are more,” you say, pointing at the several additional bottles on the nightstand. “And some food and some painkillers. I don't know how well they’ll work. This isn't a normal heat. If you're alright with it, I'll call a doctor and—”

“Everything smells like you,” he says quietly, and you stop.

“...yes. Unless they’re mated, nests usually feel most comforting to an omega when they smell like an alpha.” You swallow, looking away. “...you don't have a mate, and you didn't want a professional, so this was the only option I could think of. I'm sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He picks out one of the sweaters that have made its way into the nest, the Sedanian one. “I don't mind it.”

“Oh.” You let out a breath. “Then—can I call a doctor?”

His grip on the sweater tightens. “No.”

You frown. “Aventurine—”

“I’ve never needed a doctor before,” he says. He sounds unbothered, but he's fidgeting with the sweater now. “I don't need one now.”

A lie. He almost certainly needed a doctor in some of his prior heats, but you don't push the matter. “Maybe you don't need one,” you say instead, “but it would help.”

“I don't need help,” he says, and you look at him in disbelief. He catches your expression, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Not more than you've already done, I mean.”

“I’ve barely—”

“Contact Topaz. Tell her I'm incapacitated. Tell her…” He hums. “Tell her I have food poisoning. The personnel too. It's not time-sensitive, our business on Agnisahr, so it shouldn't matter if I need a few days off.”

“You really need—”

“Give my regrets to our Agnisahran friends. Deliver it in person. They see you as my right hand, so they’ll most appreciate it coming from you. Topaz can help you with the verbiage. And—try to socialise with them a little, won't you? I think that little omega princess of theirs likes you. Some of the courtesans too, and they have surprising influence.”

“I do not want to be around any omega other than you right now,” you say before you can stop yourself, and Aventurine stops, blinking. His expression is blank, if perhaps a little curious—but his scent shifts. You can't identify how. You add quickly, “I’m not leaving you alone when you’re this sick.”

“Ah. Right.” Aventurine looks away. His voice sounds strange, and his heat must be getting to him again, because it carries a hint of pain. “But you have to. The IPC’s goals take priority.”

You frown. “Your life is more important than the IPC,” you say, and he laughs. Loudly.

“What? This is just a heat. I’m not going to die.”

“You don’t know that without seeing a doctor.”

“I do. I’m willing to bet money that I won’t die.” He cuts you off before you can reply: yes, you're always willing to bet on your life. “And even if I do, that would still be less important than Agnisahr. Do you know how many resources are on this lifeless rock?” His mouth slants. “If we mess up here, I’m dead anyway.”

“I wouldn’t let them touch you.”

“Yes, you would—because they would kill you too.” Aventurine sighs. His eyes close, and his brow creases—a sign that whatever reprieve he was lucky enough to get is about to end. “Go do what I asked. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll… see a doctor if you do.”

You stand immediately. “Alright. I’ll be back to check on you.”

“I know.”

You stop at the door, giving him a long look. Seeing him like this—lying on a proper bed, cradled in a warm nest, with water and food and medicine nearby—you feel a little better. This is leagues beyond what he’d been afforded in his days as a slave, at the very least. Even if he isn’t free, at least he isn’t trapped.

But it still doesn’t feel good, having to step away. The last thing you want to do is talk to other people, pretend to have interest in other omegas. There are an astonishing number of them who are interested in you on this planet—that princess, and some baron’s son, and one of the prince’s favourite paramours—but you can’t bring yourself to care even for business purposes when Aventurine is like this. You can't act as if you are enjoying yourself when you know he is in pain.

You wonder about telling Topaz the truth. You wonder if she’d be worried enough about Aventurine to let you neglect this mission and cover for you instead, without letting Jade or Diamond or anyone else dangerous know. Not that you think that anyone at the Company particularly cares about Kakavasha—it’s only that he’s valuable. Aventurine of Stratagems is valuable. How many worlds have fallen because of him?

But he seemed unwilling to bet on his worth to them. Which is startling, given how often he's bet on it in the past.

“What’s so important about this planet,” you can’t help but ask, “that the IPC would rather you die than lose it?”

He’s silent for a long moment. His eyes are closed—hidden—but you can see his knuckles whiten as he clutches the Sedanian sweater.

“Copper,” he says. “They want it for the copper.”

When Kakavasha first suggested a friendship to you, it had felt like something in between a proposition and a threat:

Go ahead, he'd said. Use me as you wish. You can even stab me in the back if you want. Just be mindful of this: I don't make deals that don't pay off.

It might have been a strange way of making friends in any other circumstance, but in a house of slaves, it was a natural one. You had not been a clever person—still aren't—but you understood that your place in the world was one of a tool. This was the place of all slaves: you were all things to be used. Your body was a thing to be used. It was valuable for its strength, for its hardiness, for its threat in the arena and for its convenience in your master’s bed (or in a dark basement, or within a heat house, or inside whichever omega your mistress ordered you to calm down). It did not surprise you that Kakavasha wanted to use it as well. It did not surprise you that Kakavasha expected you to use him in return.

You never would have, of course. Kakavasha was not a thing to be used—he had always been a mate. Though you were happy to let him use you, because all you were was a tool anyway, so it was really all you could offer him: to be used.

None of this has changed for you. You don't think any of this has changed for Aventurine, either. With each new friendship he makes, he repeats those familiar words: Use me as you wish. And with each person who accepts, this is exactly what they do: they use him, and they use him, and they use him until suddenly they notice he's tricked them and they've got the losing hand.

You damned gambler, they always spit. You Sigonian wretch. All you know is how to manipulate people. Thief, liar, cheat, whore. Despite all these insults, Aventurine always smiles at them. Cry as they might, he’s won his bet and has their world in his palms.

Winner takes all, he sometimes gloats.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. This is all Aventurine knows; these are his great guiding principles in life. (He's told you this point blank, stacking up chips in his favourite gambling dens with a self-satisfied grin.) You often find yourself coming back to these conversations, particularly when you need to convince him of something.

And right now, you very badly need to convince him of something.

Aventurine is ignoring his doctor’s advice. His suppressants are unstable in extreme temperatures, he's been told. During travel on Agnisahr, they'd degraded, and now he’s experiencing his first heat in several years. Of course it's going to be painful, his doctor had said. I can prescribe you some medication to ease the symptoms, but really—nothing will work better than a heat partner. It doesn't need to be a mate. Any alpha will do.

The doctor had been an alpha. You had asked for a beta or omega, but alphas tend to dominate in Interastral Medical Schools, so they're in short supply. Aventurine had been still the whole time, face unreadable, but you could tell he wanted to throw up at the stench of an unfamiliar alpha. You had stepped between the two of them, not bothering to hide the animosity in your voice. We’ll take the medication, you had said, and the doctor had sniffed the air and nodded at you in approval.

Probably won't need it. An alpha like you could sort him out with just a few rounds, he told you, and both of you stayed quiet as he left.

You still aren't talking, or even looking at each other. Aventurine has lay down in his nest again, closing his eyes, while you stand as far away as physically possible—at the door where you'd just shown the doctor out. With the room shut off again, windows closed and door locked, Aventurine’s scent is starting to flood your senses once more. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him shivering.

“What do you want to do?” you ask.

“Nothing.” He swallows. “I'll be fine.”

He's afraid. You can tell he's afraid. And you can tell he’ll be more afraid if you take even a single step closer to him, so you nod and say, “I'll go pick up your medication, then,” and Aventurine doesn't stop you. You can see him curling up in his nest, face pressed into the cashmere sweater.

But he still doesn't stop you.

After a few more days, Aventurine finally breaks.

There is a rare sag to his shoulders when he calls you to the room, along with a taste of dread in the air. You haven't seen him so vulnerable in years. Aventurine is not an open person, so cunning and self-possessed in his wealth—but Kakavasha was more brittle, more powerless, flayed raw and open even though he didn't often get the whip. (It would ruin his value if he ever scarred—his looks were his greatest selling point, your master said.) He was especially defeated when forced to spend his heats with an alpha he didn't want. You wonder, a vice grip of pain around your heart, whether this entire situation is simply an extension of that. Whether he is calling you here against his will, this time compelled by his pain, rather than his master. Whether this luxury suite feels like that wretched basement to him.

He doesn't look at you when he talks, nor does he sit up. He remains curled in his nest, nearly clinging onto the blankets and clothes.

“That stupid medication,” he pants out, sharp even in his heat, “isn't working.”

“I can tell.” Your brow knots. He’s in so much pain, it is palpable. “I”—you hesitate, voice dropping. “Can I help you?”

He goes quiet. As both Aventurine and Kakavasha, he has always been disinclined to accept help from other people. There is no such thing as unconditional help in his mind—only leverage and weakness. He hates it when people have leverage over him, and he hates being weak. Both are things that can be exploited, and Aventurine always needs to be the one doing the exploiting. He always needs to be in control.

Even like this, the last threads of his sanity about to snap, with every circuit of his omega biology trying to drag him into insensible lust, he fights viciously to be in control.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. Control and being controlled. This is how he's always lived. This is how he's always survived.

This is the only way to let him maintain control when he is most afraid of losing it.

“I don't mind,” you say quietly, “if you use me.”

Even through the haze of heat, Aventurine’s eyes sharpen. “What?”

“I don't mind if you use me,” you repeat, voice neutral. Unfeeling. The proposal might sound cruel to someone else, but not you. After all—your place in the world is one of a tool, and this is what you've always done as an alpha and a slave: sleeping with people to take care of their needs, or sometimes just their desires. It did always make you feel strangely hollow, but you think it will feel just fine with Aventurine. All you've ever wanted to do is keep him safe, and surely, this will do that, but—

“I'll only help if you want. I don't want to force it.” You lower your eyes. “But if you do want it, I'll be careful with you. You can lead. I promise.”

“...I know.” Aventurine’s voice is weak, cracks with pain, but you can tell he's speaking with clarity. “I know you will be.”

You look up. “Then you'll let me help?”

Aventurine looks away—a sign that he cannot adopt his usual smile. He’s clutching that sweater again, pressed close to his chest.

“Just your wrist,” he says quietly.

You listen carefully. “What?”

“I just—I just want your wrist.” He looks away. “Your—your scent gland. Only that.”

“Okay.”

You get up, then falter. When it was your job to comfort your mistress’ omega slaves, you were told to enter their nests—no permission needed from them, no permission needed from you, because only her permission ever mattered for anything. The omegas were usually too delirious to care, often had even begged for it with the state of mind that they were in. But Aventurine is different. He's not like you, and he's not like them. He's never bent to any of his masters’ wills. And even if he did, you wouldn't want to have him bend to yours.

Instead of climbing into his nest, you ask, “Can I sit on the bed?” He doesn't answer. “Just the edge of it,” you add, and you hear him exhale.

“Fine,” he says, breathing measured.

“Thank you,” you say, and he gives you a confused look. But then you're reaching out with a hand, offering it, and he is quickly distracted.

Aventurine drops the sweater, grabs your hand almost immediately. He turns over your palms, fingers tracing your heartlines—as if testing you, as if mapping out territory. He runs his thumbs along the veins of your wrists, too, right over your scent gland, and you have to force yourself not to shudder at the feeling. You only stay still, letting him explore the contours of your hands, letting him acclimate to the feeling of your skin. He laces his fingers with your own, a latticework trap, and he finally drags his wrist along yours.

Both of you inhale sharply.

You can't react. You know it'll scare him if you do, but it's hard to keep still. The way his scent blossoms, the way it mingles with yours, the way it all washes over you—what you're doing can hardly be called touching, but you feel like you're going mad. Especially when he flushes like that, his vibrant eyes fluttering shut. Especially when the sweetness of honey overtakes your senses. Especially when you can smell the way his body is reacting, all that wetness and heat and slick dripping between his legs. You don't miss the way his thighs rub together, nor the hard outline of his cock straining against his pants.

Aventurine shudders. He brings your hand up to his face, rests his cheek in your palm. His skin is flushed and burning with fever, and it's no wonder that he's sighing with relief at your touch. You try not to stare at the way his mouth falls open. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze a hazy violet and blue—before he closes his eyes again and presses his lips into your wrist.

Fuck.

“Aventurine—” You have to stop, voice strangled, when you feel the full softness of his lips working against your skin. He’s panting now, laboured breaths sweeping over your veins. Then you feel his teeth catch, a gentle nip on your flesh, and when he groans into your racing pulse—deep, relieved, desperate, a noise that makes your gut flare with heat—you realise you can't do this.

You pull back your hand, and Aventurine startles.

“Aventurine,” you say, voice strained. Maybe we should stop, you want to say, but he cuts you off.

“I need”—a shaky breath—“I need more.”

You watch Aventurine carefully. His pupils are dilated, blue irises nearly eclipsed. His cheeks are rosy, and he can't stop panting. You can fully smell his arousal now, even through his silk clothes. He's desperate, needing to be filled.

But he also looks torn. His brows are knotted, and you can taste a faint hint of fear in the air now. His knuckles clutch at the sheets, almost white, and he stares at them. He can't look up. He can't look at you. His whole body is tense, like he wants to bolt—and if he weren't so weak, you think he might actually.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He doesn't nod. He also doesn't shake his head. His arms clutch at his midsection as he winces. He doesn't look like Aventurine. He looks like Kakavasha. It makes your heart ache as you watch him give into his body’s demands, wearing the same expression he did on the day your master bought him.

“...don't use your Voice on me,” Aventurine—Kakavasha—says quietly.

It takes you a moment to realise what he's asking. “I won't.”

“And”—his eyes somehow grow even more evasive, hidden by his long lashes— “don’t touch my commodity code.”

His commodity code. His commodity code that is seared into his scent gland. His code that, if you kiss, will ease his agony instantly. His code that, if you bite—will chain him to you irreversibly.

“Of course I won't,” you say instantly.

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

“And—” Aventurine looks away, jaw tight. His voice is quiet but wrought with tension: “—I don't like when people put things inside me.”

Something claws the walls of your heart.

“That's fine too,” you reply. “I don't mind doing it the other way.”

Aventurine’s sigh is nearly inaudible, but unmistakable. His scent shifts a little bit, the wildflower fragrance fading ever so slightly. But he doesn't come to you. He merely sits there—waiting. Expecting. Maybe dreading. Even in the senseless daze of heat, he’s too anxious to move.

You approach slowly. Though you're overwhelmed by the bouquet of his scent, though you feel a curl of heat in your belly in response to it—you are slow. Alphas are supposedly victims of insatiable lust whenever around an omega in heat, absolved of every action they take, but you are convinced this is a lie. You have never once wanted to handle Aventurine with such cruelty. You think that inflicting violence on him, more than anything else, would go against your biology. Every molecule in your body would reject putting him in such pain or inciting such fear. So you are careful when you approach him, slow as you inch up to him—but you do not think it helps.

Aventurine lies down, his face turned away from yours. His eyes squeeze shut, like he's expecting this to hurt. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you lean over him, draping your body over his—the only position you've ever taken an omega in, other than mounting them from behind.

(You do not want to mount Aventurine. You never have. It is an impersonal position, a position that omega biology supposedly would force him to enjoy, a position that alphas have likely dictated him to enjoy. You think there is nothing you would hate more. In your weakest, most selfish moments, in your worst ruts, when you’ve allowed yourself to fantasise about mating Kakavasha—you are always facing each other, and he is always looking at you with his eyes you've always loved, and it always feels intimate. Never impersonal. Never dictated. Never forced.)

Aventurine is so honeysweet beneath you. More fragrant than any omega you’ve ever been with. You glance at his commodity code, trying to ignore the scent of his branded skin, then lean down to press your face against the other side of his neck, where a faint scar mars the otherwise flawless slope of his nape. Like every other omega slave you've ever slept with, the scent gland there has been excised: a precautionary measure to reduce the risk of an unwanted mating bite.

(Not unwanted by them—the wants of a slave never matter—but unwanted by their owners. A mating bite would ruin the code seared into their neck, claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. It would hurt their resale value. Only owners are allowed to claim slaves in such a permanent way—and the wants of a slave have no relevance there, either.)

It's a funny thing, this surgical scar. Even with their gland missing, you've noticed that most omegas like having their neck scented by you anyway, probably from some vestigial instinct. You guess that Aventurine won't be any different, that maybe it will comfort him. But when your lips skim the scar left on him by his owner, his entire body stiffens beneath you. His fragrance cuts into your lungs, sharp.

You recoil, as if burned by the touch of him.

“Sorry,” Aventurine is quick to say. He tries to glance at you, but his diamond pupils quickly avoid you again. “Don’t worry about me. Just do whatever you need to do.”

“But you're scared,” you point out, and you see his brow twitch. “You’re scared when I touch you.”

“Not scared,” he lies. “Just…”

When his eyes finally look at you—land on your lips—you understand.

A bite would claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. If you lost your mind—give into the insatiable lust of an alpha whenever around an omega in heat—you might bite him, and then you would own Aventurine.

And Aventurine would rather die than be owned by anyone again.

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already know what you need to do.

“It's okay,” you say gently, and his brow knots. “I have an idea.”

Aventurine is always afraid.

This is a fact that has haunted you since the day you met him. You've wondered about how to fix it—the bare minimum as his mate (always his, even if he doesn't want you)—and you’ve never quite pinned down how. Because when someone has spent their life in perpetual fear, how do you make them feel safe? When their life is constantly at risk, how do you ever make them feel calm?

You still aren't sure of the answer. But after seeing Kakavasha become Aventurine, you now have a good guess.

It is clear from his scent that Aventurine does not feel remotely safe right now. Not when you leave to fetch something from your own room, and not when you return. The anxiety thickens when he sees, in your hands, a very familiar muzzle.

Aventurine stares. He is not smiling, but he also does not reveal his discomfort on his face, even as beads of sweat line his temple. But his voice is too controlled, too calm, when he asks, “You kept the mask.”

You nod.

“I told you to throw it out,” he points out, “when I freed you.”

“I know. Sorry. I don't know why I kept it.” You remember how tightly you clutched it before the incinerator, thinking about how strange it would feel, discarding something that you'd worn everyday since you presented—but you don't tell him this. Instead, you say, “But it’s convenient.”

Before Aventurine can say anything, you toss him the remote.

“You’re afraid of my bite and my Voice, but you don't have to be with this,” you explain. Your tone is gentle, soothing. Probably disarming coming from an alpha, with how he is in heat. Perhaps that's why he’s studying the remote rather than chucking it away. “You'll be in full control if I wear this.”

Control. Mere seconds after you say it, you can smell his fragrance change again, mellowing. It's only a brief moment of calm that fades when you latch the mask onto your face, but he doesn't smell as nearly as stressed before.

Aventurine watches you carefully as the carbon steel swallows your maw, its old and familiar edges biting into you. For the first time in years, you cannot tell what he is thinking—truly poker-faced even to you.

“You aren't bothered by wearing that thing while we do this,” he says—asks?—and you shake your head. The muzzle was part of you for years. You were wearing it when you killed someone for the first time. You were wearing it when you went into rut for the first time. You were wearing it when your master had sex with you for the first time. It doesn't bother you that you’ll wear it when you have sex with Aventurine.

If you could speak, you would ask him, Why do you think it would bother me? But all you do is gesture for him to sit up. To switch places with you. You lie down—something you've never done with an omega—and wait for him to get on top.

Aventurine stares at you for a long, quiet moment. It's followed by a sigh of relief. Disarmed, he—for the first time in any heat you've witnessed—finally relaxes. His scent wafts over you as he climbs between your legs, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hands as he parts your thighs, almost scalding.

He doesn't bother getting you ready, too needy to think rationally, but he doesn't have to anyway. You've been wet ever since you felt his mouth touch your wrist, hard ever since you heard him groan into it. You're equally desperate to get some relief as you feel his cockhead sliding against your opening, leaking all over your entrance as his slick drips onto your thighs. His breath shakes as he enters you, and he can't hear it with how you're muzzled—but you groan just as deeply as him at the tight stretch.

You hear him swear when you clench around him, watch him lean over you. His arms shake as he supports himself, refusing to succumb to his heat even as he chases his relief. You seek out his gaze (just as in your dreams, facing each other, intimate), and his neon eyes catch on your eyes for a brief, breathtaking second—

—before he looks away.

There's a flash of—you don't know what, maybe pain? Or fear?—in his irises as he does. A twitch of the brow, a tell he'd normally rather die than let slip. You have the realisation, as Aventurine moves inside you, that even while you're muzzled, even while he has complete control over you—he still can't stand having sex with you. Probably because he can't stand being in heat in general, you tell yourself. Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore. He'd have this reaction to anyone.

Still—you didn't expect him to have this reaction to you.

Your hands twitch, possessed by an old instinct to cover your eyes. But you'd probably scare Aventurine if you moved your arms, so all you do is dig your fingers into the sheets and squeeze them shut. You tell yourself again and again that he'd hate having sex with anyone in these circumstances—not just you. And then you tell yourself, as a desperate, broken moan leaves his branded throat, that he would also come inside anyone in these circumstances, caught within the cruel grip of his heat.

Aventurine stills inside you as he finishes. He pants, sweat dripping down his temple as he shudders in his ecstasy, his spend hot and thick inside you. You can feel his fever break as he comes down from his high, the heat coming off his body easing into a manageable warmth.

Do you feel better, you try to say, but you can't move your mouth while your mask is on. So you wait patiently for Aventurine to come back to himself, watching him carefully as he pulls out and rolls onto the mattress beside you. He finally glances at you then. His eyes narrow once they land on you, confusion flicking through them. Then displeasure. He reaches for the remote.

To your surprise, he immediately punches in the code to unlock your muzzle. Aventurine has apparently remembered the numbers after all these years, as if the moment he freed you has been since seared into his memory.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing you say, and Aventurine gives you a confused look. He’s still panting, dazed, so you ask, “Can I check your temperature?” And when he nods, you confirm your suspicion: he's still much too warm.

There is an ache between your legs and a strange hollow in your gut (because you aren't very experienced with receiving, you think—your body likely just isn't used to the feeling of it), but you quickly forget them. All you can think of is Aventurine, and how he’s still unwell, and how you need to comfort him. The instinct is so strong that you don't even say anything as you get up, straightening out your clothes.

“Are you leaving?” Aventurine asks. His voice is neutral, completely unbothered, but the thought is so horrific to you that you turn back to him with wide eyes.

“Of course not. I'm going to get you water and medicine.” A beat. You stare at Aventurine’s eyes, then think about how he hid them from you during sex. The hollow feeling comes back, but it's mostly eclipsed by your anxiety at the next thought: “...do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to?”

“I—” I'd rather die, you think. Being forced to leave him right now would feel like tearing out a piece of yourself. You don't know if there's an alpha in this world who could leave their mate in the middle of a heat. And even if he is unmarked, unattached to you—you still think of yourself as his mate. (His, always his, even if he doesn't want you.) “I would prefer not to. I am your heat partner. I'm supposed to take care of you.”

You hear a quiet breath. “Right. Of course. You're always so conscientious.” Aventurine nods, as if convincing himself of something. “Try not to take too long.”

“I’ll come back soon,” you promise, and the air sweetens. Encouraged, you add, voice gentle: “I’ll bring that medication, and then we can have sex as many times as you need after I come back. I'll make sure you're not in any pain anymore.” You pause, studying him. “Is there anything else you need to feel better?”

His fragrance changes once more, this time in a way you don't totally recognize. “No.” His voice sounds strange. His scent is still foreign, fluctuating, possibly hinting at some kind of pain. The heat must be getting to him again—and of course it wasn't enough, what you just did, what you can provide. He likely needs to be filled to get any kind of lasting relief, but you left him empty. “No, that's all I want.”

You nod, forcing yourself to look calm. Ignoring the emptiness in your gut. It didn't feel bad, but you hope it'll feel better next time you have sex. You think it will. Alphas are supposed to be filled with an insatiable lust near omegas in heat, after all. And even though you’ve never felt that before—never felt anything sleeping with all those omegas in your mistress’ house—you are sure you'll eventually feel it around Aventurine.

But the feeling never comes. Even though you can tell that his heat has returned by the time you're back—sweat beading his temples, laboured breaths at his lips, his bottoms now discarded, with full evidence of arousal between his legs—you don't feel much of anything as you reach for your mask again.

“Don't,” Aventurine says, before it can clasp around your face. You give him a curious look. He explains, “Don't. I don't want to have sex again. Not yet.”

You stare at him, shifting. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. Not knowing how he wants to use you. “What can I do?”

He gives you a long look. “Come here. I… I want your scent gland.”

It's a sensible request. If there's a way to seek relief without fucking someone—without fucking you, which he clearly hated doing—you're sure Aventurine would prefer it. So you climb into his nest, holding your wrist out for him, and—

“No.” His voice is quiet. “I want the one on your neck.”

“...oh.”

You stand there, not sure where to move. If he wants you in his nest again, or if he’d rather do this standing. You’re relieved when he demands, “Lie down.”

You expect him to get on top of you when you do. Assume that he wants complete control—but he instead lies down beside you. Presses his body into yours, and then his face into your neck. His nose and lips brush against your scent gland, a full-body shudder running through him, and—

—and now you know for a fact that it is a lie that alphas want nothing other than to fuck an omega when they're in heat. Because even like this, with his lips sweet on your neck, with the sheets soaked with his slick, with his spend leaking out of you—you do not want to have sex with Aventurine. You only want to hold him. You only want him to keep scenting you. You only want to scent him back.

You only want him to feel safe.

You breathe in deeply, lungs flooded by honey. You think of what it felt like to hold him in that cold basement, when he was delirious with fever and pain, and you think about how different his scent is now. How much sweeter it is. How much calmer he feels.

“Do you feel better?” you ask, and he doesn't respond, but you know the answer. His hands come up to dig into your shirt, and he presses into you like you're a sweater in his nest. Silence blankets over you both, calm and warm. His laboured breath starts to improve.

He does eventually speak.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “what you smell like?”

You stare at him. Your master used to say that you smelled good, but he'd never elaborated, and you hadn't wanted him to. “No.”

Aventurine breathes in.

“You smell like—” A little sigh, shaking and feverish, leaves him. “You smell like rain.”

Your eyebrows tick up. “Rain?”

“Yes. Or not just rain, but”—he pauses, next words quiet—“more Iike after it rains. You smell like the desert after a rainfall.”

“Oh.” You don't know what to say to that. Feeling distinctly like it's a silly question, you ask, “Is that a good scent?”

“Some would think so. Especially to people from the desert. You probably smell like a blessing to them. Although…”

Aventurine goes quiet again. You stare at the chandelier above you, all crystal and white gold, and wait.

“Although?” you prompt.

“...although I wouldn't really know,” he says. “It’s just a hunch. I bet it's why so many omegas on this planet like you.”

You couldn't care less about those other omegas. All you care about is Aventurine. “And?” you say. “Do you like my scent?”

His reply never comes. He just breathes deeply again, seeking relief from your neck—not intimacy. Any alpha’s scent would work; that doctor told you so. Any alpha’s touch would work, too. There are no special feelings involved here. Your place in the world is one of a tool, and tools are never especially liked nor disliked. Their value exists only in how they can be used.

You don't know why you even bothered to ask the question.

But then something strange happens: Aventurine curls against you, pressing even further into you. His lashes flutter against your pulse again; it ticks up in response, beating fast against his lips.

“I do,” he says quietly. “I do like it.”

You swallow. “But I guess that's because you're in heat. Any alpha would smell good to you, wouldn’t they?”

“No.” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt. “No, I like it because it's yours.”

You know better than to read too much into his response. Aventurine had already said it earlier: No foreign scents. He's only tolerating this whole arrangement because you don't smell unfamiliar to him. Only able to use you because you are the least threatening option.

But the words break something in you—break the thing that made you unable to throw out that little pouch of copper coins that you were saving up for Kakavasha’s freedom, the part of you that made you wear that carbon-steel mask for him. It is this part of you that has your eyes squeezing shut and your arms wrapping around him. You know he’ll recoil, reject you, but just this once—you need to try.

Aventurine doesn't push you away.

He melts into you instead, inhaling deeply. Your scent gland tingles with the warmth of his breath, the feeling of his lips. He seems—comfortable.

You can't fathom why he’s staying in your arms. Perhaps he's simply desperate for some kind of relief from his heat, just like when you held him in the basement while he was delirious from pain. But Aventurine had spoken to you with clarity just now, and his skin doesn't feel scalding so much as warm, and his scent is so different than from that moment. So sweet and so gentle, without a trace of fear. It makes your heart squeeze. As much as you've always wanted Aventurine to feel safe, you'd never imagined that his scent would be so beautiful when he is.

It makes your heart ache. You've never held anything so lovely before, and you’ve never felt so warm before, and it all makes up for how badly it hurt to let Aventurine inside you. How hollow it made you feel to let him use you. How none of that matters as long as you can keep him safe like this, because you belong to Kakavasha. You'll always belong to Kakavasha, in a fate that was chosen for you on the day you met him.

You're his, always his—even if he’ll never want you.

end part i

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and thank you most of all to YOU! I appreciate you so much for reading this chapter. thank you so much for sticking it through.

additional end notes

[eleasis20]

Astarion's Gravestone is Wrong

I know a lot of people have seen this reddit post, translating the gravestone

The redditors translation looks correct, but the actual writing on the gravestone is contradictory to the in-world calendars.

DR or Dale Reckoning, the calendar supposedly being used on the gravestone, is the most commonly used calendar in-world. It's also the calendar that states BG3 occurs in the year 1492.

But looking at the translation, there's an immediate error here - the dates suggest that Astarion was born not 200-ish years ago, but 1200-ish years ago. And the date that Astarion adds to his grave also doesn't match the present year of 1492, instead reading as 1020 years ago.

There's nothing wrong with the translation, that's the matching letters alright, but the inscription itself is incorrect.

As pointed out by another Redditor, the most likely explanation for this, is that the devs accidentally used the wrong calendar. In the Forgotten Realms (the universe BG is set in) there are multiple calendars, and DR is just the most popular one to use. Another calendar is NR or North Reckoning, which states the current year for BG3 is 460, much closer to Astarion's date of 468 than any other calendar given.

I write this because I've seen a few people claim Astarion's birth year as 1229, just adding a 1 in front of the gravestone date to make it fit the DR calendar better. But this also doesn't work as that would make him 263 as of BG3, and Astarion repeatedly says that he was Cazador's slave for around 200 years (I believe he at one point specifies under 200, but I can't remember when), not 224 years or 2 and a quarter centuries.

It would also mean that the current year for BG3 is 1468, which is contradicted by multiple texts in the game that suggest the current year is 1492.

So, if we presume that the DR was a mistake, and this is actually meant to be NR, we can translate the dates this way:

229 NR= 1261 DR

268 NR = 1300 DR

468 NR = 1500 DR

Now there's another issue, in that the present day date still doesn't match the given one of 1492. It's 8 years later in 1500.

However, given that 1300 - 1492 is 192 years, and Astarion never gives a concrete timeline outside of around 200 years, I think the last date being wrong can be considered either another slip from the dev team, or an error on Astarion's part as he carves that date himself.

So, the real dates for Astarion's timeline should be:

1261 - born.

1300 - turned into a vampire.

1492 - current date/escape from Cazador.

This still preserves him being turned at 39, but makes it so that he spent 192 years in slavery, and is 231 years old in total.

An in-universe reason for these errors could be that Astarion was originally from the Waterdeep area, where NR is more commonly used, and the Baldur's Gate carvers got confused when making his gravestone. Plus, Astarion has canonical issues with dissociation and memory loss, possibly causing him some confusion over the current year when he carves his addition.

[whencyclopedia]

Easter

Easter is the Christian holiday that celebrates the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth three days after he died from crucifixion by the Roman magistrate Pontius Pilate (c. 30 CE). Easter Sunday is the culmination of the week-long events that preceded his death, re-enacted every year in liturgical ceremonies known as Easter Week. The word, 'Easter' may have derived from the work of St. Bede the Venerable (672-745 CE) who wrote a history of the conversion to Christianity by the Anglo-Saxons in Britain (Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum). In his writings on the calendar, he claimed that Eostre, an Anglo-Saxon and German fertility goddess, was the local term for the month of April. Eostre celebrated the renewal of fertility each spring, with symbols that included eggs and rabbits (both ancient concepts of fertility and renewal of the cycles of life).

Historical Context

Beginning with the gospel of Mark (c. 70 CE), all the gospels relate the suffering and death of Jesus of Nazareth, a Jewish prophet who proclaimed that the God of Israel would soon establish his rule on earth. Pesach in Hebrew, pascha in Greek, was one of the three mandatory pilgrimage festivals in ancient Judaism. Passover re-enacted the story of the Jews' slavery in Egypt when God delivered them from the oppression of Pharaoh (as related in Exodus 12). As the tenth and final plague on Egypt, God would send the angel of death among the Egyptians "to kill the first-born of Egypt." To protect the Hebrews, they were to slaughter a lamb and place its blood upon their doors. Exodus contained the command that the Hebrews were to re-enact and celebrate this event each year. The lamb was to be slaughtered on the 14th day of the month of Nisan and eaten on the 15th. Jews followed a lunar calendar, so it did not always fall on the same day every year.

It was during this festival that Jesus was executed by Rome. After his death, his body was placed in a nearby tomb. His women followers went to the tomb on Sunday morning, only to find his body gone. His followers proclaimed that he had been raised from the dead by God. This central event of resurrection was celebrated as the most important event in the life of Jesus. Christmas was not celebrated until after the conversion of the Roman emperor Constantine I in 312 CE.

The followers of Jesus took his message to the towns and cities of the Eastern Roman Empire, where Gentiles (non-Jews) soon outnumbered the Jewish followers. For Gentiles, the story of a dying and rising god would have sounded quite familiar. There were native cults known as “mystery cults” that required secret initiation rituals. The major ones were centered on gods and goddesses, such as Demeter and Dionysos, who had suffered death but then were resurrected to life again.

Continue reading...

[wolfywolfy]

I am becoming a firm believer that Astarion was raised/lived in Waterdeep before ever becoming a Magistrate in Baldur's Gate and being turned.

The fact that his tombstone uses Waterdeep's calendar feels like a hint towards it. Could have been an oversight from the team (it is kind of needlessly complicated) but it would be neat if it was on purpose.

Also, his first answer to the magic mirror below the blighted village hints that he misses his "real home, the one he hasn't seen in centuries." This could be a literal house, but alternatively if we interpret it as a "hometown" instead, it would mean he's not from Baldur's Gate at all.

He certainly fits the bill for a high elf who hails from Waterdeep, imo (snobby lmao) but Waterdhavians are also known to be, uh, not quite as shitty. He might have moved to Baldur's Gate because he knew he could be more successful (and corrupt) there.

Mostly I love the idea that he's from Waterdeep because it adds so much depth to his petty dislike of Gale. Of COURSE he hates Gale at first!! He is the poster boy of Waterdeep and everything a Waterdhavian should be! It's something Astarion would never be able to return to being, forever changed by centuries of slavery and torture. And it makes him bitter, because Gale reminds him of the place he used to call home.

[itsawhumpsideblog]

The Safehouse, pt. 16

CW: for institutionalized slavery, mentions of abuse, treatment of people as things, medical details (some here, more next time)

Advice from the Box Boy Liberation Movement:

Although your contacts are available to offer assistance 24/7, you are best positioned to advocate for your rescuees' needs. However, it is also true that connecting rescuees with the services they need presents a unique challenge. Many services are more difficult to access without the identification and documentation available to free people. One of the most challenging parts of your job, from an administrative perspective, is balancing the needs of your rescuees with the constraints inherent to having those needs met in secret.

The night of Mikey's fall, once the rescuees were safely in bed, Angie went downstairs, cried into Tim's shoulder for twenty minutes, and then took a deep breath, dried her eyes, and got on the phone. She sat in the kitchen with the receiver in her hand for almost an hour, but when she hung up, Mikey had an appointment for surgery.

The bad news was, it was for the following Friday, five days away. But at least it was on the calendar.

After a night of unsatisfying sleep for the whole house, Tim and Angie opened the door to the rescuees' room to find Nathan and Francis awake, both looking pale and tired. Tim went to Francis to take his temperature, as they did every morning to populate a medical chart that Tim was keeping, and Angie helped Nathan sit up and situate his leg more comfortably.

"I don't think we got a whole lot of sleep," Nathan said. "Any of us."

Francis nodded agreement and looked over at Mikey. "Mikey was in pain during the night," he said. "Francis is... is worried about him. Francis does not mind the lost sleep and he has often gotten by with less, but... he is worried about Mikey- about his friend."

"Well, then I've got good news," Angie said, trying to sound cheerful. "Let's see if Mikey is ready to wake up and we'll talk about it."

Ordinarily, she would have let Mikey sleep on but he didn't look as if it was doing him much good. His face was very pale and he kept shifting his head, as if searching for a more comfortable place to lay it. His arms were placed on the pillows exactly as Tim and Angie had left him and whenever he twitched his shoulders, there was a hitch in his breath.

Angie bent over the sleeping boy and smoothed his hair back, trying to wake him as gently as possible. "Hey, Mikey," she said in a very quiet voice. "Wake up for a little bit and see us? We won't keep you up too long."

With a gasp, Mikey roused instantly from sleep to wakefulness and his head shot up and swiveled from side to side. His expression was panicked until his eyes landed upon Nathan, who was giving him an encouraging- if rather sad- smile.

"Morning, buddy," Nathan said. "How you feeling?" Mikey did something expressive and mournful with his face that neither Angie nor Tim understood, but his fellow rescuees did. Francis tensed and shook his head and Nathan frowned. "That bad, huh? I'm sorry, buddy."

"Mikey says that his arms hurt him badly," Francis translated, giving voice to the expression. Mikey gave him another look and Francis continued, "He would be grateful for any relief you can give him. He says it is unbearable."

Mikey nodded, looking between Tim and Angie with an expression so pleading than even they understood it.

"I'll get you some medicine," Tim said. "It won't be perfect, but it'll help a little bit." He stood and left the room, the rest of the household waiting quietly behind him.

The quiet did not last. Mikey shifted his hips and gasped, feeling the movement affect his shoulders. He pressed his head back into the pillow, biting his lip, his face contorted in pain.

"Oh, geez," Nathan muttered under his breath. Angie put her hand on Mikey's head and stroked his hair with her thumb, knowing that it wouldn't help. It seemed like a very long time until Tim came back.

Once Mikey had taken the medicine and there were packs of frozen vegetables on his forearms, he sighed and rolled his head to the side to look at Angie.

"You said you had news," Nathan reminded her, possibly on Mikey's behalf. It was hard to tell, sometimes, whether Nathan was speaking for himself or for one of the others; it was easier with Francis, who had yet to use the pronoun "I".

"We've got an appointment scheduled for you, Mikey," Angie said. She had to resist the urge to talk to Nathan, as if he needed to translate the other direction. "It's not until Friday, but Friday will be here before you know it."

The news was not greeted with quite as much enthusiasm as she had hoped for. Nathan looked relieved, but Mikey just stared at her, his face unreadable, and Francis looked openly nervous. The two of them held a brief visual conversation and Francis spoke up.

"Ma'am, what will they do to him?" His voice got very quiet as he added, "Will he come back to you, or go... elsewhere?"

"He'll come back here," Tim said firmly, and began by addressing the unspoken concerns. "So first of all, don't worry about that. Nobody's going anywhere and we are not kicking Mikey out or getting rid of him. The doctor is just going to take care of his arms. He'll need surgery to put everything back in the right place, so it stops hurting all the time, and then he'll recover right here with us."

Francis nodded, still looking uncertain, but less frightened. Mikey was still watching Angie closely, but his eyes flicked to Francis and then Nathan and one of his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, I'm sure Angie will stay with you," Nathan said. "It'll be like when I went to get my cast, remember? Angie went with me and she stayed with me for the whole thing. You'll stay with Mikey, right, Angie?"

"Of course I will!" To Mikey she added, "I'll be there the whole time, if you want me. Don't even worry about it, we won't let anything bad happen to you."

Mikey still looked a little skeptical, but Francis looked vastly relieved.

"And they will fix his arms and then allow him to leave?" Tim had to remind himself that in Francis' world, nobody was allowed to make the choice to leave independently.

Tim nodded. "It'll probably happen like this. Angie and Mikey will drive to the hospital and meet our contacts there- other Liberation Movement volunteers. They'll get Mikey ready for surgery, help him go to sleep, and fix his arms while he sleeps. So far, so good?" Francis nodded. "Then he'll wake up in a quiet room, in a comfy bed, with Angie right there next to him. When he's fully awake, they'll put him back in the car and she'll drive home. He'll probably have a cast and some stitches from the surgery, but he's going to feel a lot better."

After another silent conversation with Mikey, Francis nodded again. "Francis is sure that it will be alright," he said. "And Mikey trusts Ma'am, so he says he will do it. He says almost anything would be better than this."

The week passed both very quickly and too slowly. Mikey only got out of bed when Tim helped him to the bathroom, although his legs seemed to work well enough.

"He's afraid to fall again," Nathan explained. "He doesn't want to go down the stairs unless he has to."

"I don't blame him," Tim replied, and the four of them spent most of the week in the rescuees' bedroom, keeping Mikey company whenever he was awake. Angie disappeared for a couple of hours and returned with a wheeled coffee table, on which she set up the TV so that Mikey could see it from his bed.

"It might be good to have after you get home, too," she said. "You might want to spend a lot of time sleeping at first." They took turns picking the shows, a gentle way for all three of the rescuees to practice making choices.

Nights continued to be a struggle; Mikey's pain seemed worst in the evening and nothing they said or watched was enough to take his mind off it entirely. Francis often wanted to be helped to his bedside, where he sat very patiently for the hours it sometimes took Mikey to fall asleep, speaking quietly in that narrative, stilted way he had. He found that Mikey liked it when he retold the plot of shows they had watched as if they were new stories.

When Friday morning arrived at last, it was hard to tell whether the predominant mood in the house was anxiety or excitement. Tim kept smiling and humming to himself; as a medical professional, he had no fear of hospitals and was looking forward to Mikey's recovery finally getting underway. Nathan was more talkative than usual, which could have meant anything or multiple things, but Francis was plainly nervous and, when they came to bring him downstairs for the day they found that his hands were shaking and his fever had risen in the night.

"Probably stress," Tim told him, intending to be reassuring.

"Francis is very sorry," he said wretchedly as Tim lay him on the couch, shivering and pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. He had the hood up, but was wiping clumsily at his sweaty forehead. "Francis will try to be good. But he is worrying about Mikey. Hospitals are..." He could not finish the sentence.

"Don't worry about it," Tim assured him. "Everything's going to be fine." He put another blanket over Francis and tucked a cool cloth into the hoodie. "We'll watch a little TV and they'll be back by dinner time."

"Yes, Sir."

Mikey was apparently in agreement with Francis about what hospitals were like, because he was fully awake, wide-eyed and pale when they came to get him ready to go.

"Are you excited to have it all done?" Angie asked. Her voice was cheerful, but she had admitted to Tim earlier that she had butterflies in her stomach regardless. It would be the first time she was alone with one of the rescuees for so long, and what if Mikey needed something and she couldn't understand him? Tim had assured her that it would be fine, but she couldn't shake the weight of the responsibility that seemed to rest more heavily on her shoulders that morning.

Mikey bit his lip and nodded, not looking sure at all. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips tightly together as they sat him up, very slowly and carefully.

"Let's just leave his shirt where it is," Tim suggested, to Mikey's immense and obvious relief. "They'll help him get into a hospital gown when he gets there, anyway." They helped him maneuver his left arm back into the sling and then held a pair of sweatpants for him to slide his feet into. "We'll get your shoes downstairs," Tim told him. "Easier to walk down that way, if you're not worrying about tripping."

A visible shiver ran through Mikey at the idea and his breath caught, but he nodded and stood up, very slowly and carefully. Tim pulled the sweatpants up to his waist and, for the first time in several days, with Angie in front of him and Tim at his side, Mikey walked downstairs.

When he stepped onto flat ground and felt safe looking up, Mikey found that a farewell committee had convened in the front hall. Nathan was leaning on his crutches, grinning reassuringly at him, in total confidence that he would return safely, which did make Mikey feel better. Nathan had been to the hospital and come back, and surely so would he. Francis was seated in a chair Tim had brought from the kitchen, bundled in his sweatshirt and smiling in spite of the alarming red of his cheeks and the way he held his head with one hand.

Take care of yourself, Mikey said with a look.

"Francis will be better soon," Francis murmured. "But don't worry about Francis- Sir will look after him. Ensure that you look after yourself, Mikey, and Francis will be anxious to see you home soon."

Don't worry too much, Mikey replied and tried to smile for Francis.

"Don't stress about it, okay, buddy?" Nathan said. He limped forward and tousled Mikey's hair. "You're gonna do great- you'll just go to sleep and when you wake up, your shoulder's gonna feel so much better! And we'll be waiting here for you when you get back."

Mikey nodded and caught Nathan's eye. Thanks, he said. See you tonight.

"See you tonight."

Getting out to the car wasn't as difficult as getting down the stairs had been, Mikey felt, but it was very strange and a little unnerving to be outdoors. Last time he was outdoors he- Mikey cut the thought off and put it purposefully out of his mind. He didn't want to start shaking and risk another fall.

Master picked up a throw pillow from the couch and then he and Mistress walked on either side of Mikey, hands out like they might need to catch him, and led him around to the far side of a small, grey car. Mistress opened the door and Master helped Mikey crouch down and get his legs in and sit back. Then Master pulled out some kind of restraint that Mikey had not noticed; Mikey realized he must have an apprehensive look on his face, because Master smiled. Sinister? Amused? Mikey watched his face intently, waiting to find out.

"It's a seatbelt," Master explained. "It'll help keep you safe. It clips over there, by your hip, and it's designed to come off when you push the red button. I know the button is hard for you, but Angie will help you get it off when you get to the hospital, okay?"

Mikey was fairly sure he had no choice and nodded. He held his breath as Master pulled out the belt and crossed it over his body, so that it held him down at the hips and chest. There was a click as the belt was secured and Mikey moved his head from side to side, trying to look at the belt. Tentatively, he leaned forward and was both surprised and relieved to find that the belt moved with him, instead of holding him tightly to the seat.

Master laid the pillow on Mikey's lap, under his right arm. "I know Angie will drive as carefully as she can," he explained, "But the roads can be a little bumpy. That should keep the ride from being too hard on your arm." When Mikey nodded, he gave a little smile and closed the door gently.

Next, Mistress got in the car and Mikey was surprised to see the she was also wearing a belt, like his. That made him feel better, he realized. If Mistress was going to use one of these, then perhaps they really weren't a restriction or a punishment. Maybe it really would help keep them safe.

"Okay, here goes," Mistress said. She pushed a button, did something with a lever, and then the car was moving, backing out of the driveway.

Mikey took a look at the house from outside, the first time he had seen it that way. He wasn't sure how he felt about any of this; on the one hand, if he really was going just to have someone take care of his arm, then it was a happy occasion and he ought to feel happy. But on the other hand, Mikey couldn't trust a situation so unknown, and so the happiness he hoped to feel remained tinged with nervousness as the car picked up speed.

Next time: Mikey and Angie check in to the hospital; at home, Francis and Nathan worry.

Master List

Notes: This went from a one-part plotline to a two or three part plotline real quick.

Tag list: @pigeonwhumps, @cepheusgalaxy, @i-eat-worlds, @honeycollectswhump @taterswhump, @starfields08000 @whumpsday, @fruitypinapple00, @currentlyinthesprial

[deadpresidents]

"At 30 minutes past midnight this morning of Palm-Sunday the 4th of April 1841, died William Henry Harrison, precisely one calendar month as President of the United States after his inauguration. The first impression of this event, here where it occurred is of the frailty of all human enjoyments, and the awful vicissitudes woven into the lot of mortal man. He had reached but one short month since the pinnacle of honour and power in his own country. He lies a lifeless corpse in the Palace provided by his Country for his abode. He was amiable and benevolent. Sympathy for his sufferings and his fate, is the prevailing sentiment of his fellow-citizens. The bereavement and distress of his family, is felt intensely, albeit they are strangers here, and known to scarcely any one. His wife had not yet even left his residence at North Bend, Ohio, to join him here. An express was sent for her two or three days since, but the tidings of death must meet her before she can reach this city.

The influence of this event upon the condition and history of the Country, can scarcely be foreseen. It makes the Vice-President of the United States, John Tyler, acting President of the Union, for four years, less one month. Tyler is a political sectarian of the Slave-driving, Virginian Jeffersonian school. Principled against all improvement. With all the interests and passions, and vices of Slavery rooted in his moral and political constitution -- with talents not above mediocrity, and a spirit incapable of expansion to the dimensions of the station upon which he has been cast by the hand of Providence unseen through the apparent agency of chance. I trust in humble hope of the good, which it always brings forth out of evil. In upwards of half a century, this is the first instance of a Vice-President's being called to act as President of the United States, and brings to the test that provision of the Constitution which places in the Executive Chair a man never thought of for it by any body. This day was in every sense gloomy."

-- Former President John Quincy Adams, who spent almost his entire post-Presidential life serving in the U.S. House of Representatives after leaving the White House, on the death of President William Henry Harrison and succession of John Tyler, in an entry to JQA's personal diary, April 4, 1841.

Since President Harrison was the first President to die in office and Tyler the first Vice President to succeed to office, it was not entirely clear whether that meant Tyler was merely "acting President" or had fully assumed the Presidency. Adams was one of many leaders who believed that Tyler's role was meant to be that of a caretaker, but Tyler claimed all the powers and trappings of an incumbent President, setting the "Tyler Precedent", which established Presidential succession for everyone who followed.

[April 4, 1841 diary entry by John Quincy Adams, courtesy the Adams Family Papers at the Massachusetts Historical Society.]

[3rdeyeblaque]

Today we venerate Hoodoo Saint Harriet Ross Tubman aka Black Moses on the 110th anniversary of her passing🕊

Whew! A legendary Freedom Fighter, Mama Moses wore many decorated crowns as a mammoth Abolitionist, chief Conductor on the Underground Railroad, an expert Hunte and Lumberjack, a Nurse, an armed scout & spy for the Union Army during the Civil War - becoming the 1st Woman to ever spearhead an armed military assault. Later, she opened her door to the elderly, sick, & disabled, and advocated for them until her death.

Born Araminta "Minty" Ross as the middle child of 9 siblings to enslaved parents on a plantation in Dorchester County, MD, she suffered a massive blow to the head that would spur a lifetime of seizures, headaches, deep slumbers, & visions. She went on to marry a "Free" man by the surname of Tubman & took on her mother's first given name, "Harriet". In 1849, her husband, parents, & siblings were set to be split up & sold off. Under the cover of darkness, she fled the plantation solo on foot and followed the North Star to escape the jaws of slavery by way of Philadelphia, PA. She'd survive13-19 rescue missions back into the Antebellum South, liberating over 300 souls, as the most infamous Conductor on the Underground Railroad who, over the span of a decade, had "never lost a single passenger", which dubbed her the nickname, "Moses". The bounty for her life maxed out at $40K. Freedom wasn't free & Mama Moses never hesitated to remind her passengers of that. She carried herbs to silence a crying baby and pulled a gun on any cowardly man who might give away their position.

"You'll be Free or Die. " - Mama Moses to her passengers on the Underground Railroad.

Venerated as a Hoodoo Saint to many, Mama Moses was a Seer, a Clairvoyant Dreamer, Dream Interpreter, a Revolutionary Conjurer Woman & Rootworker - born to parents of the same cloth. She received Divine messages & Ancestral knowledge/wisedom through prophetic visions & dreams. Mama Moses proudly attributed her unparalleled death defying success to her Divine guidance, Conjure, Rootwork, intuitive gifts & her faithful willingness to trust/follow them.

Folks have a tendency to grossly undermine, if not outright ignore, the significant pillars that Hoodoo Cosmology, Religion, & Tradition played in her life and in her fight for freedom. Recently, archeologists uncovered her "spirit cache" at her family's home in Maryland; these were some of the Blackbelt Hoodoo staples of her time including: glass bottles - for protection against evil spirits, a figurine made it iron nails - possibly a something akin to an Nkisi, a copper button, perfume bottle topper, and other red & blue items.

Mama Moses transitioned peaceful & free at her home/on her land in Auburn, NY where she is rests at the cemetery in Auburn, NY. She is still expected to be immortalized on the $20 bill USD, however that promise has yet to be met.

We pour libations & give Mama Moses her 💐 for her bravery & selfless service. May she bless the elderly, disabled, young, women, & Workers who seek/fight for freedom.

Offering suggestions: Milk, Apples, & Orange flowers

🌟 FINAL copies of The2023 Hoodoo's Calendar are available for purchase (once sold out, that's it)! Subscribe to the official e-newsletter for the latest updates & exclusive content access. https://thehoodoocalendar.square.site 🌟  

[burnwater13]

Kuiil with Grogu in his home on Arvala-7. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 7, The Reckoning. Calendar by DateWorks.

Caption: And we do it not for payment, but to protect the Child from Imperial slavery. None will be free until the old ways are gone forever. - Kuiil

“None will be free until the old ways are gone forever.”

Grogu could still hear Kuiil’s words echoing in his mind. He missed the Ugnaught. He had been kind, helpful, thoughtful, and generous with his time and his skills. It was Grogu���s considered opinion that Kuiil would have made an excellent Jedi. 

He was also pretty sure that Cara Dune didn’t agree with Grogu about that at all. She had been very upset with the Ugnaught. At first, Grogu thought it was all about Kuiil saying that the former drop trooper looked like she was a clone. Not a ‘Clone’ from the Clones Wars clones, but from a general population of clones from the cytocaves of Nora. 

Grogu had no way to know if that was true or not. He could say he’d never seen anyone else who looked just exactly like Cara Dune, but then he hadn’t actually met everyone in the galaxy either. It was possible. Kuiil was knowledgeable about such things since he’d worked in the gene farms. If any of the four of them were going to know one way or the other, it was probably Kuiil. Cara hadn’t liked that information, but clones were people, right?

Anyway as that meeting continued, it became clear that Cara was pretty upset that Kuiil had worked for the Imps. Grogu had expected Din Djarin to come to the Ugnaught’s defense because he clearly didn’t have a problem working with someone who might have once been on the other side of that whole mess, but the Mandalorian was unfortunately, characteristically silent. 

Kuiil wasn’t. He explained why he had ‘worked’ for them and all the choices he had. It was pretty simple. Save his family and kin folk, or give up. Kuiil wasn’t a quitter and Grogu was grateful for that. He was a pragmatic person who had learned a lot during his life and did what he could to make a difference. 

Cara was just lucky that Kuiil didn’t ask her why she had problems with her chain code. She hadn’t always toed the line. She had said as much when they first met her on Sorgan. She thought the Mandalorian had come after her. What had she done that anyone would put a bounty on her head? You don’t get a fob without a reason, even if it’s a crummy reason which Grogu knew all about.

Eventually they agreed to disagree. Which Grogu found weird. Grogu was pretty sure that Kuiil wasn’t pro-Imperium. He had been pro-saving his clan from the Imps. Cara Dune had been from Alderaan. She knew what it was like to lose friends and family because of the Imperium. She fought them one way and Kuiil fought them a different way. They both still fought them. 

At the time Grogu didn’t have an opportunity to talk to either of them about the issue and the Mandalorian had mostly been silent about the whole thing, except for the fact that Kuiil went with them to Nevarro and paid for protecting Grogu with his life. 

Grogu didn’t know if Cara Dune had been sad about that or not. The Mandalorian had been. Grogu was pretty sure that his beskar encased protector had cried over losing their friend. His voice was subtly different when they were back on the Razor Crest and he had taken a long time in the privy. Grogu figured he’d washed his face because he absolutely hadn’t shaved his whiskers off. Grogu could still hear them scratching the inside of the Mandalorian’s helmet. 

Now, well, they were on Nevarro in their cabin. Din Djarin was a land owner there. Grogu had been adopted and was now called Din Grogu. He was also a Knight of Plazir-15. The actual official title was pretty long and Grogu only mentioned when he wanted to bug his dad about being asked to do extra chores. Grogu wondered what Kuiil would think of all the changes. 

Would he be proud of them? Would he laugh when he saw that IG-11 had become IG-12, and then IG-11-M? He had told the Mandalorian that it mattered who the droid imprinted on and it had. IG-11-M was a marshal, protecting the fine people of Nevarro. He didn’t have to follow the ‘old ways’ that had made Grogu the target of the assassin droid’s skills. 

Cara Dune was off on some sort of super secret mission for the New Republic with a chain code that no longer reflected her checkered past. It was like she had paid a debt for herself and that made a difference. 

Just as importantly, Moff Gideon was gone, more or less. The person who had supported the Empire with the work of his hands and mind because he wanted what the Empire was doing to last, was finally gone from their lives. Grogu hoped that was true. The Moff had tricked them before and anyone so tied up in cloning experiments wasn’t likely to have forgotten their own history when it would allow them to ‘live’ forever. That’s really what Kuiil’s voice was reminding him about. 

They had to make sure that the old ways were gone forever. That wasn’t something that took a quick trip to Mand’alor and the ability to wield the Force. They would have to work on it every day, like their lives depended on it. Because they did. 

But until they had to put their armor back on and set aside hand carving wooden flutes, Grogu planned on having a lazy day, looking at the clouds, eating dung worms, and maybe taking his dad fishing. He’d found a new pond and it was only half a Mandalorian deep, which was obviously good for his dad. 

He still hadn’t managed to find the time to teach his dad to swim. Someday, when the old ways were gone forever. Grogu has spoken.

Kuiil speaking to the Mandalorian (out of frame) on Arvala-7, near the blurrg corral. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 7, The Reckoning.

Caption: None will be free until the old ways are gone forever.

[thedansemacabres]

THE 2024-2025 BRONTOSCOPTIC CALENDAR

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

[IMG ID: A scene of a lightning strike at light. The background is empty, sparing a few clouds illuminated by the light of the strike. There are two lightning strikes, one to the left that extends beyond the image, and another that stops slightly beyond the halfway mark of the image. The lightning strikes are a vibrant yellow, contrasting against a purple background, with the light around the strike taking on a striking red-pink.]

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Content warning: The brontoscoptic refers to several possibly triggering events, such as death, disease, and abortion. The text also refers to common practices in the ancient world such as slavery and misogyny, which we must acknowledge for the evil it is.

A new year, new dates for the Brontoscoptic calendar! This year is a bit odd for the translation, the new moon in cancer was June 21st—meaning the majority of the “June” month is in July. The calendar picks back up on the next new moon, which is August 4th. Therefore the brontoscoptic month of July is in August. Strange for us to think of, but lunar calendars do not always translate easily into Gregorian.

Supposing that publicly, in all augural teaching, the ancients assumed the moon to be a reference point (for under this heading they classified both thunder and lightning signs), one likewise may correctly select the phase of the moon as a factor for reckoning, so that, beginning with Cancer, we shall make observations of thunder day by day, beginning with the first day of the lunar month, and following lunar months. From this [study] the Etruscans transmitted observations localized according to the regions that are struck from the sky by thunder. — Divining the Etruscan World: The Brontoscopic Calendar and Religious Practice, Jean MacIntosh Turfa

JUNE-JULY 2024

CANCER JUNE 21ST-JULY 22ND

LEO JULY 23RD-AUGUST 22ND

FULL MOON IN CANCER JUNE 21ST, 2024: If in any way it should thunder, there will be an abundance of fruits, with the exception of barley; but dangerous diseases will be inflicted upon bodies.

12:00 JUNE 22ND: If in any way it should thunder, women in labor will have an easy delivery,

but there will be abortion of cattle, yet there will be an abundance of fish.

12:00 JUNE 23RD: If in any way it should thunder, there will be a scorching and drying wind, such that not only grains but even the soft fruits will be parched through and through and shrivel up.

12:00 JUNE 24TH: If in any way it should thunder, the air will be cloudy and rainy, so that out of a moldy dampness the crops will rot.

12:00 JUNE 25TH: If in any way it should thunder, ill-omened for the countryside. Those responsible for villages or towns will be thrown into a state of disorder.

12:00 JUNE 26TH: If in any way it should thunder, just as the crops are maturing, some sort of wild pest that has sunk deep into them will waste them.

12:00 JUNE 27TH: If in any way it should thunder, diseases will infect [men], but not many shall die. And although the cereal crops shall be successful, the soft fruits shall dry up.

12:00 JUNE 28TH: If in any way it should thunder, it indicates wet weather, and ruin of the grain.

12:00 JUNE 29TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be a loss of flocks through being overrun by wolves.

12:00 JUNE 30TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be frequent death, yet prosperity.

12:00 JULY 1ST: If in any way it should thunder, there will be days of heat, burning but harmless; there will be glad festivities in political affairs.

12:00 JULY 2ND: If in any way it should thunder, the same thing as on the preceding day.

12:00 JULY 3RD: If in any way it should thunder, it announces the fall of a ruler.

12:00 JULY 4TH: If in any way it should thunder, the atmosphere shall be burning hot, but there will be abundant harvest and good flow, not the poorest, of the river fish. Bodies, nevertheless, shall be utterly weak.

12:00 JULY 5TH: If in any way it should thunder, the winged creatures shall be injured during the summer, and also the fish shall perish.

12:00 JULY 6TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens not only dearth of the necessities of life, but also war, and a prosperous man shall disappear from public life.

12:00 JULY 7TH: If in any way it should thunder, there shall be days of burning heat and destruction by mice, blind-mice [field mice] and locusts. Still, it brings abundance and at the same time murders to the people.

12:00 JULY 8TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens destruction to the crops [soft fruits]. 

12:00 JULY 9TH: If in any way it should thunder, pests destructive to the crops shall perish.

12:00 JULY 10TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens discord for the community.

12:00 JULY 11TH: If in any way it should thunder, it means there will be a dearth of wine, but an increase in the other crops, and an abundance of fish.

12:00 JULY 12TH: If in any way it should thunder, the hot weather will be especially ruinous.

12:00 JULY 13TH: If in any way it should thunder, it announces good cheer, a putting aside of ills, and an end to disease.

12:00 JULY 14TH: If in any way it should thunder, it announces plenty.

12:00 JULY 15TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be wars and countless ills.

12:00 JULY 16TH: If in any way it should thunder, the winter will be especially harmful to the crops.

12:00 JULY 17TH: If in any way it should thunder, there is danger from the army for the men in power.

12:00 JULY 18TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be a good harvest for the crops.

12:00 JULY 19TH:  If in any way it should thunder, the affairs of the queenly city [Tarquinia] will be improved.

12:00 JULY 20TH: If in any way it should thunder, in a short time there shall be frequent death. 

AUGUST-SEPTEMBER 2024

LEO JULY 23RD-AUGUST 22ND

VIRGO AUGUST 23RD-SEPTEMBER 22ND

LIBRA SEPTEMBER 23RD-OCTOBER 22ND

12:00 AUGUST 4TH, NEW MOON: Upon the new moon, if in any way it should thunder, there shall be plenty, yet there shall be ruin [“Ruin” or “a falling” (πτῶσις) of the flocks: the connotation of falling down, or away, might have described a particular disease condition.] of the flocks.

12:00 AUGUST 5TH: If in any way it should thunder, the late autumn will be good.

12:00 AUGUST 6TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signals a heavy winter.

12:00 AUGUST 7TH: If in any way it should thunder, the airs will be turbulent, so that of them will be born scarcity.

12:00 AUGUST 8TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be an abundance of grain, yet it is the downfall of a virtuous ruler.

12:00 AUGUST 9TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens death-bearing diseases to the fortunes of slaves.

12:00 AUGUST 10TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be rains harmful to the grain fields.

12:00 AUGUST 11TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signifies peace for the community, but ruin for the cattle herds, and a dry cough shall infect.

12:00 AUGUST 12TH: If in any way it should thunder, it foretells a vision of the gods and the advancement of many good men.

12:00 AUGUST 13TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be lifesaving river waters.

12:00 AUGUST 14TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signals hot weather and stormy rain and a scarcity of grain.

12:00 AUGUST 15TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be unexpected cold in the summer, because of which the necessities of life will be spoiled.

12:00 AUGUST 16TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will appear the most poisonous reptiles.

12:00 AUGUST 17TH: If in any way it should thunder, it shows one man will come to power over many. But this man is most unjust in state affairs.

12:00 AUGUST 18TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be dissension among the common people and a scarcity of grain.

12:00 AUGUST 19TH: If in any way it should thunder, the king of the East … will be overcome [by?] war …and disease will be received from dry hot weather.

12:00 AUGUST 20TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signifies the succession of a great ruler.

12:00 AUGUST 21ST: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens a dearth of crops due to rainy weather.

12:00 AUGUST 22ND: If in any way it should thunder, it signifies war and the destruction of the powerful. On the other hand, there will be a plenty of cereals.

12:00 AUGUST 23RD: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens an unhealthy drought.

12:00 AUGUST 24TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be disagreement among the subjects, but not for long.

12:00 AUGUST 25TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signals good things for the affairs of state, but for the bodies, diseases around the head.

12:00 AUGUST 26TH: If in any way it should thunder, the dissension of the common people will come to an end.

12:00 AUGUST 27TH: If in any way it should thunder, it shows the possible misfortune of a powerful man.

12:00 AUGUST 28TH: If in any way it should thunder, it will go badly for a band of youth and also for the crops along with them. It will be a disease-bearing time.

12:00 AUGUST 29TH: If in any way it should thunder, after great plenty there will be famine.

12:00 AUGUST 30TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens subcutaneous eruptions to [men’s] bodies.

12:00 AUGUST 31ST: If in any way it should thunder, there will be a dearth of water and a plague of poisonous reptiles.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 1ST: If in any way it should thunder, it signifies a good harvest.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 2ND: If in any way it should thunder, men bent on vengeance shall slip into the worst kind of treachery.

[AUGUST] 12:00 SEPTEMBER 3RD: If in any way it should thunder, the affairs of the state will be slightly better, and there will be plenty.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 4TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens both diseases and at the same time a dearth of the necessities of life.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 5TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens both [public] trials and debates among the common people.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 6TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be a dearth of foodstuffs for both humans and dumb animals.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 7TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signifies that the women are the more sagacious.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 8TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be an abundance of honey, yet a lack of both water and the other foodstuffs.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 9TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signals harsh winds and diseases at the same time.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 10TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens harmless disease to the four-footed.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 1TH: If in any way it should thunder, it proclaims good health for men for a full year.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 12TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens bodily pains and wretchedness for the greater part of the people.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 13TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be a good harvest, yet the downfall of reptiles and harm to men.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 14TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be an abundance of cattle fodder and of acorns, but in the first ripening season, it will go badly.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 15TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be plague upon the bodies of both humans and dumb animals.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 16TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signals war for all the people, yet an abundance of crops.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 17TH: If in any way it should thunder, affairs will change for the worse.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 18TH: If in any way it should thunder, it promises a deep peace.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 19TH: If in any way it should thunder, the men of lowly degree shall be gloomy.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 20TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens civil war.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 21ST: If in any way it should thunder, the women and the servile class will dare to undertake murders.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 22ND: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens a plague on the cattle and disorder in the affairs of state.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 23RD: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens at once prosperity and discord among the commons.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 24TH: If in any way it should thunder, affairs will be moderately good for an entire year.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 25TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signifies that the lightning bolt shall fall, and warns of slaughter.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 26TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens the loss of wellborn youths.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 27TH: If in any way it should thunder, it foretells that during a stormy winter there will be a scarcity of soft fruits.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 28TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signals war.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 29TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens at once wars and treachery.

12:00 SEPTEMBER 30TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens at once wars and treachery.

12:00 OCTOBER 1ST: If in any way it should thunder, it signals both an abundance of crops and a loss by death of cattle.

12:00 OCTOBER 2ND: If in any way it should thunder, it signals no sort of reversal.

12:00 OCTOBER 3RD: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens diseases in the city over which it [the thunder] is cast down.

OCTOBER–NOVEMBER 2024

LIBRA SEPTEMBER 23RD-OCTOBER 22ND

SCORPIO OCTOBER 23RD-NOVEMBER 22ND

12:00 OCTOBER 4TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signifies both a good harvest and good cheer.

12:00 OCTOBER 5TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be discord among the common people.

12:00 OCTOBER 6TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signifies heavy rains and war.

12:00 OCTOBER 7TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signifies the downfall of a powerful man and preparation for war.

12:00 OCTOBER 8TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signifies an abundance of barley but a decrease in wheat.

12:00 OCTOBER 9TH: If in any way it should thunder, there shall be power among the women greater than [what is] appropriate to their nature.

12:00 OCTOBER 10TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens a disease and out of it, a disaster for the servile class.

12:00 OCTOBER 11TH: If in any way it should thunder, it indicates that those especially powerful will consider crooked dealings in government, but they will not achieve their aims.

12:00 OCTOBER 12TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens that a disease-bearing wind will blow.

12:00 OCTOBER 13TH: If in any way it should thunder, there will be strife in the area in which the thunder is let loose; for another place [it is] not inapplicable.

12:00 OCTOBER 14TH: If in any way it should thunder, the underlings of the wellborn will foment revolution in the state.

12:00 OCTOBER 15TH: If in any way it should thunder, it says that the time of harvest shall be very rainy and there shall be famine.

12:00 OCTOBER 16TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens grave famine.

12:00 OCTOBER 17TH: If in any way it should thunder, it threatens diseases.

12:00 OCTOBER 18TH: If in any way it should thunder, it signifies a wet spell, but at the same time, prosperity.

12:00 OCTOBER 19TH: If in any way it should thunder, it is made known that there will be good sprouting, but [the plants will be] fruitless.

12:00 OCTOBER 20TH: If it thunders, it threatens a lack of the necessities.

12:00 OCTOBER 21ST: If it thunders, it signals both famine and wars.

12:00 OCTOBER 22ND: If it thunders, the fruits of the trees will be successful, but there will be diseases and sedition among the commons.

12:00 OCTOBER 23RD: If it thunders, it threatens the destruction of a famous man and war.

12:00 OCTOBER 24TH: If it thunders, it threatens ills and losses for the people.

12:00 OCTOBER 25TH: If it thunders, it signals prosperity yet a heavy and wet winter.

12:00 OCTOBER 26TH: If it thunders, it foretells a time of need during the winter of the year.

12:00 OCTOBER 27TH: If it thunders, it threatens a drought. There will be an abundant harvest of the hard-shelled fruits [tree nuts?]; around late autumn though, they will be destroyed by storms.

12:00 OCTOBER 28TH: If it thunders, out of civil unrest a tyrant shall be raised up, and he will be undone, but the powerful will be destroyed utterly with insufferable penalties.

12:00 OCTOBER 29TH: If it thunders, a corrupt ruler will be felled by divine decision.

12:00 OCTOBER 30TH: If it thunders, powerful men will work hatred toward themselves, and shall take sides against each other.

12:00 OCTOBER 31ST: If it thunders, there will be signs revealing great things. Beware lest it pour rain upon the fire of joyful elation.

12:00 NOVEMBER 1ST: If it thunders, it threatens a severe drought.

12:00 NOVEMBER 2ND: If it thunders, affairs of state [shall change] from worse to better.

NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2024

SCORPIO OCTOBER 23RD-NOVEMBER 22ND

SAGITTARIUS NOVEMBER 23RD-DECEMBER 21ST

12:00 NOVEMBER 3RD: If it thunders, it threatens a corrupt tyrant over the affairs of state.

12:00 NOVEMBER 4TH: If it thunders, there will be prosperity but the destruction of the mice of dry land.

12:00 NOVEMBER 5TH: If it thunders, it signifies hurricanes and disturbances by which the trees will be overturned; there will be a great disruption in the affairs of common people.

12:00 NOVEMBER 6TH: If it thunders, the lower classes will have the upper hand over their betters, and the mildness of the air will be healthy.

12:00 NOVEMBER 7TH: If it thunders, there will be a surplus of all the necessities excepting grain.

12:00 NOVEMBER 8TH: If it thunders, appearance of future abundance, yet harvest will be less plentiful and autumn practically empty of fruit.

12:00 NOVEMBER 9TH: If it thunders, pulses will be plentiful but wine less.

12:00 NOVEMBER 10TH: If it thunders, an earthquake with roaring is to be expected.

12:00 NOVEMBER 11TH: If it thunders, it threatens destruction to wild beasts.

12:00 NOVEMBER 12TH: If it thunders, it signifies the downfall of a praiseworthy man.

12:00 NOVEMBER 13TH: If it thunders, it signifies a strange sort of wind will be of service to the pastures.

12:00 NOVEMBER 14TH: If it thunders, there will be prosperity, but wind squalls will oppress.

12:00 NOVEMBER 15TH: If it thunders, commerce [business dealings, contracts] will be good, and prosperity in addition. He who controls the government with heavy hand will not be strong for very long.

12:00 NOVEMBER 16TH: If it thunders, it threatens war and the loss of flocks to death.

12:00 NOVEMBER 17TH: If it thunders, there will be scarcity from a dry and searing wind falling upon the crops.

12:00 NOVEMBER 18TH: If it thunders, men will be weakened in such a manner that they will seem to be unrecognizable.

12:00 NOVEMBER 19TH: If it thunders, good fortune for a rich man and for men wellborn.

12:00 NOVEMBER 20TH: If it thunders, it signifies a plentiful grain supply brought in from foreign lands.

12:00 NOVEMBER 21ST: If it thunders, it warns the downfall of a ruler or the overthrow of a king, but it warns both discord among the common people and abundance.

12:00 NOVEMBER 22ND: If it thunders, it warns there will be a festering wound, and for the many, extreme suffering out of the discord.

12:00 NOVEMBER 23RD: If it thunders, there will be coughing sicknesses and oppression of the heart.

12:00 NOVEMBER 24TH: If it thunders, it threatens for the people, bad conditions and spotted diseases.

12:00 NOVEMBER 25TH: If it thunders, the people will be of marvelously good cheer.

12:00 NOVEMBER 26TH: If it thunders, out of the discord of those in power, the common people will oppress [others].

12:00 NOVEMBER 27TH: If it thunders, there will be heavy misery resulting from misfortunes.

12:00 NOVEMBER 28TH: If it thunders, there will be an increase of animals, but at the same time they will suffer thirst.

12:00 NOVEMBER 29TH: If it thunders, it signifies heavy rains.

12:00 NOVEMBER 30TH: If it thunders, there will be a dearth of the necessities.

12:00 DECEMBER 1ST: If it thunders, a year of serious disease.

12:00 DECEMBER 2ND: If it thunders, it signifies not merely prosperity, but even fewer enemies, and good cheer for the state.

DECEMBER-JANUARY 2024-2025

SAGITTARIUS NOVEMBER 23RD-DECEMBER 21ST

CAPRICORN DECEMBER 22ND-JANUARY 19TH

12:00 DECEMBER 3RD: If it thunders, it signifies discord for the city.

12:00 DECEMBER 4TH: If it thunders, it foretells prosperity.

12:00 DECEMBER 5TH: If it thunders, situations will pertain through which the lower classes will oppress [their] betters.

12:00 DECEMBER 6TH: If it thunders, grain will be better.

12:00 DECEMBER 7TH: If it thunders, it signifies storm for the state, and disease for humans and dumb animals alike.

12:00 DECEMBER 8TH: If it thunders, borers will ruin the grain.

12:00 DECEMBER 9TH: If it thunders, for those who are in the west, both humans and dumb beasts, diseases.

12:00 DECEMBER 10TH: If it thunders, it says gluttony shall come about from menacing diseases.

12:00 DECEMBER 11TH: If it thunders, the common people will be led into misery, but an abundance of daily provisions.

12:00 DECEMBER 12TH: If it thunders, for those in power, it makes an end to their perverted plans. A parching wind will wrack the trees.

12:00 DECEMBER 13TH: If it thunders, men shall give blessings to the god, for the wind shall blow out of the east.

12:00 DECEMBER 14TH: If it thunders, it indicates insomnia for some time for men.

12:00 DECEMBER 15TH: If it thunders, a wealthy yet sickly period threatens, tormenting bodies with internal worms.

12:00 DECEMBER 16TH: If it thunders, poisonous snakes shall somehow be gently undone by the men.

12:00 DECEMBER 17TH: If it thunders, the fish especially plentiful, but it shall plague the water-bound beasts. The commonwealth rather better.

12:00 DECEMBER 18TH: If it thunders, the creation of locusts and field-voles, to the king, danger, and there will be an abundance of grain.

12:00 DECEMBER 19TH: If it thunders, it signifies plentiful fodder for the flocks.

12:00 DECEMBER 20TH: If it thunders, it signifies war and woes for city folk.

12:00 DECEMBER 21ST: If it thunders, welfare of women.

12:00 DECEMBER 22ND: If it thunders, it signifies famine not of long duration.

12:00 DECEMBER 23RD: If it thunders, the mice shall perish; an abundance not merely of grain but also of pasturage, and a plenty of fish.

12:00 DECEMBER 24TH: If it thunders, it signifies a year of well-being.

12:00 DECEMBER 25TH: If it thunders, disease-bearing wind will blow.

12:00 DECEMBER 26TH: If it thunders, the watch post shall complete for the state good service against enemy tricks.

12:00 DECEMBER 27TH: If it thunders, there will be a very dangerous war.

12:00 DECEMBER 28TH: If it thunders, it signifies a civil war and the death of many.

12:00 DECEMBER 29TH: If it thunders, it threatens the same.

12:00 DECEMBER 30TH: If it thunders, many of the councilmen of the wealthier rank shall be ruined utterly by cowardice.

12:00 DECEMBER 31ST: If it thunders, the lower classes will do better, but the hoped-for fruit harvest shall be destroyed.

12:00 JANUARY 1ST: If it thunders, the mortals shall live in a condition more favored by the gods. Naturally, evils [will come] in due proportion.

JANUARY-FEBRUARY 2025

CAPRICORN DECEMBER 22ND-JANUARY 19TH

AQUARIUS JANUARY 20TH-FEBRUARY 18TH

12:00 JANUARY 2ND: If it thunders, it signifies a year of well-being according to concord.

12:00 JANUARY 3RD: If it thunders, a plenty of fish and especially of fruits.

12:00 JANUARY 4TH: If it thunders, men will excessively consume their flocks because of a dearth of fish.

12:00 JANUARY 5TH: If it thunders, winter will be heavy, yet [there will be] abundance also.

12:00 JANUARY 6TH: If it thunders, it threatens mangy diseases.

12:00 JANUARY 7TH: If it thunders, the men shall be visited with visions of the faces of the gods, they shall experience a bad outcome.

12:00 JANUARY 8TH: If it thunders, it signifies the same for all.

12:00 JANUARY 9TH: If it thunders, virulent disease; out of it, though, will be an abundance of crops, but a plague on the flocks.

12:00 JANUARY 10TH: If it thunders, there will be the downfall of a famous man.

12:00 JANUARY 11TH: If it thunders, it threatens slaughter for men from diseases, but the fish shall be abundant.

12:00 JANUARY 12TH: If it thunders, heat-bearing shall be the summer season, and plenty imported from foreign lands.

12:00 JANUARY 13TH: If it thunders, it threatens diseases from diarrhea.

12:00 JANUARY 14TH: If it thunders, plenty, yet diseases it threatens.

12:00 JANUARY 15TH: If it thunders, it signifies at the same time civil war and abundance.

12:00 JANUARY 16TH: If it thunders, many will set out for war but few shall return.

12:00 JANUARY 17TH: If it thunders, newfangled affairs for the state.

12:00 JANUARY 18TH: If it thunders, it threatens that small locusts shall be born, yet there will still be plenty.

12:00 JANUARY 19TH: If it thunders, there shall be a heavy war.

12:00 JANUARY 20TH: If it thunders, it threatens prolongation of war.

12:00 JANUARY 21ST: If it thunders, it tells a lack of the necessities.

12:00 JANUARY 22ND: If it thunders, it threatens a hot and disease-making wind will blow.

12:00 JANUARY 23RD: If it thunders, the summer will be hot but plentiful in crops.

12:00 JANUARY 24TH: If it thunders, it signifies a disease for men but a harmless one.

12:00 JANUARY 25TH: If it thunders, it threatens civil wars for the city, and a plague on the beasts of the woods.

12:00 JANUARY 26TH: If it thunders, a movement of troops to war, but it will turn out well.

12:00 JANUARY 27TH: If it thunders, it threatens diseases for the slaves.

12:00 JANUARY 28TH: If it thunders, the king will help many.

12:00 JANUARY 29TH: If it thunders, the hatching of locusts.

12:00 JANUARY 30TH: If it thunders, it signifies the most healthful leanness for the bodies.

12:00 JANUARY 31ST: If it thunders, it signifies a rebellion against the kingdom and, reasonably, war.

FEBRUARY-MARCH 2025

AQUARIUS JANUARY 20TH-FEBRUARY 18TH

PISCES FEBRUARY 19TH-MARCH 20TH

12:00 FEBRUARY 1ST: If it thunders, a fast wind will blow, but not dangerous.

12:00 FEBRUARY 2ND: If it thunders, there will be unlooked-for war.

12:00 FEBRUARY 3RD: If it thunders, it shows after victory, loss for those in the war. Still, there will be plenty.

12:00 FEBRUARY 4TH: If it thunders, the common people will agree to make peace.

12:00 FEBRUARY 5TH: If it thunders, it signals health for the flocks.

12:00 FEBRUARY 6TH: If it thunders, it threatens a coughing sickness, but signifies an abundance of fish and of fruits.

12:00 FEBRUARY 7TH: If it thunders, there will be a slave revolt and recurring illness.

12:00 FEBRUARY 8TH: If it thunders, the ruler of the state shall be in danger from the people.

12:00 FEBRUARY 9TH: If it thunders, the king of the East shall be in danger.

12:00 FEBRUARY 10TH: If it thunders, it signifies rapid movement of wind, and a plenty of grain, but a dearth of other crops.

12:00 FEBRUARY 11TH: If it thunders, it signals famine [reaching] just up to dumb animals.

12:00 FEBRUARY 12TH: If it thunders, men shall be damaged in their faces, but there will be much fodder [for horses/cattle], and a plenty of fish.

12:00 FEBRUARY 13TH: If it thunders, it threatens diseases.

12:00 FEBRUARY 14TH: If it thunders, it threatens need, and the birth of mice, and the destruction of four-footed creatures.

12:00 FEBRUARY 15TH: If it thunders, servile revolt, and punishment for them, and abundance of crops.

12:00 FEBRUARY 16TH: If it thunders, the people shall be oppressed by the king.

12:00 FEBRUARY 17TH: If it thunders, it threatens non-dangerous diseases.

12:00 FEBRUARY 18TH: If it thunders, affairs circulating abroad shall make the people rise up.

12:00 FEBRUARY 19TH: If it thunders, when the king will have victory, then the common people will have the upper hand/stronger position.

12:00 FEBRUARY 20TH: If it thunders, there will be abundance of imported goods, but a coughing disease will afflict bodies.

12:00 FEBRUARY 21ST: If it thunders, the king hated by many shall be the object of a final plot.

12:00 FEBRUARY 22ND: If it thunders, there will be plenty, but also there will be an abundance of mice and of deer.

12:00 FEBRUARY 23RD: If it thunders, it signifies good order for the city.

12:00 FEBRUARY 24TH: If it thunders, it signifies disease following want.

12:00 FEBRUARY 25TH: If it thunders, there will be unrest among the slaves.

12:00 FEBRUARY 26TH: If it thunders, many shall be cut down by a man in power, but in the end he himself [will be killed].

12:00 FEBRUARY 27TH: If it thunders, it signifies nonthreatening diseases.

12:00 FEBRUARY 28TH: If it thunders, the fish of the sea shall be plentiful, but yet the flocks will be ruined by death.

12:00 MARCH 1ST: If it thunders, the condition of the air oppressive, and disease-bearing forall.

12:00 MARCH 2ND: If it thunders, it threatens plentiful death.

MARCH-APRIL 2025

PISCES FEBRUARY 19TH-MARCH 20TH

ARIES MARCH 21ST-APRIL 19TH

12:00 MARCH 3RD: If it thunders, it threatens war and the ruin of wealthy men.

12:00 MARCH 4TH: If it thunders, wheat in less supply, but barley better, and an increase in livestock, but there will be a wasting away of humans.

12:00 MARCH 5TH: If it thunders, there will be civil unrest.

12:00 MARCH 6TH: If it thunders, men shall be troubled not only in visage but also in their very minds.

12:00 MARCH 7TH: If it thunders, there will be a large harvest, a destruction for men.

12:00 MARCH 8TH: If it thunders, destruction of grain supplies and especially barley.

12:00 MARCH 9TH: If it thunders, it threatens destruction though not for long to humans.

12:00 MARCH 10TH: If it thunders, the greatest affair will inflame the state, and also fish will increase and yet dangerous wild beasts shall perish.

12:00 MARCH 11TH: If it thunders, worse the barley.

12:00 MARCH 12TH: If it thunders, the wild beasts shall undo the humans.

12:00 MARCH 13TH: If it thunders, good deliveries [in childbirth] for women.

12:00 MARCH 14TH: If it thunders, it threatens frequent death and unseasonable winds.

12:00 MARCH 15TH: If it thunders, there will be plenty, yet at the same time, political unrest.

12:00 MARCH 16TH: If it thunders, it threatens loss of progeny, and an onslaught of poisonous reptiles.

12:00 MARCH 17TH: If it thunders, the air shall carry plague, creation of both wild beasts and mice.

12:00 MARCH 18TH: If it thunders, to the people, auspicious, but of the powerful ones, bad [will come] out of discord.

12:00 MARCH 19TH: If it thunders, summer will be most fruitful.

12:00 MARCH 20TH: If it thunders, it threatens a heavy wind and eruption of pustules on bodies.

12:00 MARCH 21ST: If it thunders, there will be a throng of reptiles, and in addition, of worms.

12:00 MARCH 22ND: If it thunders, it signifies fine breezes.

12:00 MARCH 23RD: If it thunders, it signifies abundance.

12:00 MARCH 24TH: If it thunders, the air will be disease-carrying but not lethal.

12:00 MARCH 25TH: If it thunders, it threatens deformity for men, but destruction for birds.

12:00 MARCH 26TH: If it thunders, it threatens good health for men, but destruction for both fish and reptiles.

12:00 MARCH 27TH: If it thunders, to those living luxuriously, a reversal. There will be wars, and a heavy storm.

12:00 MARCH 28TH: If it thunders, it threatens hot weather, and a lack of water, and scabs on bodies.

12:00 MARCH 29TH: If it thunders, it signifies unrest among the commons.

12:00 MARCH 30TH: If it thunders, it prophesies abundance, yet at the same time, a disease-giving wind will blow.

12:00 MARCH 31ST: If it thunders, it signifies war and abundance.

12:00 APRIL 1ST: If it thunders, it signifies good things with long duration after great divisions of the people.

APRIL-MAY 2025

ARIES MARCH 21ST-APRIL 19TH

TAURUS APRIL 20TH-MAY 20TH

12:00 APRIL 2ND: If it thunders, for the entire year there will be strife and disagreements.

12:00 APRIL 3RD: If it thunders, it shall end the threatening affairs.

12:00 APRIL 4TH: If it thunders, for the state, discord following famine.

12:00 APRIL 5TH: If it thunders, there will be boundless prosperity.

12:00 APRIL 6TH: If it thunders, the spring will be sunny and the summer fruitful.

12:00 APRIL 7TH: If it thunders, the same and even better.

12:00 APRIL 8TH: If it thunders, a heavy wind will arise, which shall move the affairs of powerful men.

12:00 APRIL 9TH: If it thunders, it signals rains.

12:00 APRIL 10TH: If it thunders, it threatens ruin of man and creation of wild beasts.

12:00 APRIL 11TH: If it thunders, destruction to the four-footed.

12:00 APRIL 12TH: If it thunders, it signifies heavy rain and the creation of locusts.

12:00 APRIL 13TH: If it thunders, a powerful man in politics or a general is endangered; on his behalf, battles will be waged, and the wild beasts shall fall upon man.

12:00 APRIL 14TH: If it thunders, there will be plenty but the wild beasts shall be destroyed and the fish shall increase; and reptiles will trouble habitations but will not be harmful.

12:00 APRIL 15TH: If it thunders, it signals prosperity but threatens a death of men and birth of wild beasts.

12:00 APRIL 16TH: If it thunders, it signals hot spells and drought and a great throng of mice and fish.

12:00 APRIL 17TH: If it thunders, healthful the year, yet lacking in necessities.

12:00 APRIL 18TH: If it thunders, something unexpected will befall the people; ruin upon ruin for men and four-footed beasts.

12:00 APRIL 19TH: If it thunders, it signifies a period of severe rain, and disease, and the birth of locusts, barrenness [of crops] near at hand.

12:00 APRIL 20TH: If it thunders, a very dry summer and destructive.

12:00 APRIL 21ST: If it thunders, man will live with better behavior at the same time as more prosperously.

12:00 APRIL 22ND: If it thunders, it signifies prosperity after wars and hot spells causing destruction.

12:00 APRIL 23RD: If it thunders, destruction of birds, but a plenty of daily supplies.

12:00 APRIL 24TH: If it thunders, it signifies discord.

12:00 APRIL 25TH: If it thunders, it signifies prosperity.

12:00 APRIL 26TH: If it thunders, new affairs are given birth among the people.

12:00 APRIL 27TH: If it thunders, it announces [the] acquisition of imported slaves [prisoners of war]. 

12:00 APRIL 28TH: If it thunders, it signifies abundance imported from abroad.

12:00 APRIL 29TH: If it thunders, there will be a plenty of marine fish.

12:00 APRIL 30TH: If it thunders, the women shall obtain the better reputation.

12:00 MAY 1ST: If it thunders, there will be some powerful, self-possessed man of the kingdom, through whom [will come] good cheer.

MAY 2025

TAURUS APRIL 20TH-MAY 20TH

GEMINI MAY 21ST-JUNE 21ST

12:00 MAY 2ND: If it thunders, it threatens civil discord and the downfalls of fortunes.

12:00 MAY 3RD: If it thunders, sign of justice, bearing prosperity to good men, and paltry things to evil men.

12:00 MAY 4TH: If it thunders, it signifies profit out of a grain supply brought from abroad.

12:00 MAY 5TH: If it thunders, anger it threatens of those more powerful against the upright.

12:00 MAY 6TH: If it thunders, it signals a hot summer early [in the season] but a healthful year.

12:00 MAY 7TH: If it thunders, civil wars will arise.

12:00 MAY 8TH: If it thunders, it signifies all good things and a prosperous season.

12:00 MAY 9TH: If it thunders, it signifies heavy rains bearing disease.

12:00 MAY 10TH: If it thunders, it signifies victory for the kingdom and good cheer for the powerful ones.

12:00 MAY 11TH: If it thunders, of upright men there will be advances.

12:00 MAY 12TH: If it thunders, it signals the same things.

12:00 MAY 13TH: If it thunders, rains and prosperity and ruin of fish it signifies.

12:00 MAY 14TH: If it thunders, for men and for cattle destruction it threatens.

12:00 MAY 15TH: If it thunders, good health and prosperity it signifies.

12:00 MAY 16TH: If it thunders, it signals a plague.

12:00 MAY 17TH: If it thunders, it signifies abundance but at the same time the birth of field-voles.

12:00 MAY 18TH: If it thunders, it signals a plenty of daily supplies.

12:00 MAY 19TH: If it thunders, it signals discord and thoughtlessness of men.

12:00 MAY 20TH: If it thunders, a powerful man in the state shall be deprived at once of both reputation and property.

12:00 MAY 21ST: If it thunders, it signals divine anger.

12:00 MAY 22ND: If it thunders, it signifies good fortune for the crops, yet war for the state.

12:00 MAY 23RD: If it thunders, it will be the destruction of the flies.

12:00 MAY 24TH: If it thunders, it signifies a rain helpful for the sprouting time.

12:00 MAY 25TH: If it thunders, there will be discord among those in power, but their plans will be exposed.

12:00 MAY 26TH: If it thunders, peace during the entire year.

12:00 MAY 27TH: If it thunders, it signifies great hope of fruits and scarcity of harvests.

12:00 MAY 28TH: If it thunders, omens from the sky incredibly shall be revealed.

12:00 MAY 29TH: If it thunders, by shields the people shall be saved.

12:00 MAY 30TH: If it thunders, a zephyrus will prevail.

12:00 MAY 31ST:If it thunders, a shower of good things.

JUNE 2025

GEMINI MAY 21ST-JUNE 21ST

CANCER JUNE 21ST-JULY 22ND

12:00 JUNE 1ST: If it thunders, it signifies flight for the common people and loss of honor.

12:00 JUNE 2ND: If it thunders, it threatens need.

12:00 JUNE 3RD: If it thunders, it signifies abundance imported from abroad.

12:00 JUNE 4TH: If it thunders, the air will be mild and the crops will be plentiful.

12:00 JUNE 5TH: If it thunders, there will be an interchange of hardships in political affairs, and wheat more plentiful than barley. The pulses, however, will be ruined.

12:00 JUNE 6TH: If it thunders, it signifies that crops will ripen in haste and will be ruined.

12:00 JUNE 7TH: If it thunders, there will be abundance of birds and fish.

12:00 JUNE 8TH: If it thunders, ill-omened for the common people.

12:00 JUNE 9TH: If it thunders, it signals plague, but not exceptionally life-threatening.

12:00 JUNE 10TH: If it thunders, it announces storms, heavy rain, heavy floods of the rivers, a throng of lizards and of reptiles.

12:00 JUNE 11TH: If it thunders, abundance to be hoped for both on land and sea.

12:00 JUNE 12TH: If it thunders, there will be destruction of fish.

12:00 JUNE 13TH: If it thunders, it signals an increase in river waters, but diseases for men.

12:00 JUNE 14TH: If it thunders, there will be eastern war and great want.

12:00 JUNE 15TH: If it thunders, it signifies abundance.

12:00 JUNE 16TH: If it thunders, atonement must be made on account of terrible news.

12:00 JUNE 17TH: If it thunders, it signifies rainy weather.

12:00 JUNE 18TH: If it thunders, discord and out of it war and a lack of daily supplies.

12:00 JUNE 19TH: If it thunders, through good will of the people, some man shall be exalted to the height of good fortune.

12:00 JUNE 20TH: If it thunders, for those in the east, prosperity, but for those in the west, not the same.

12:00 JUNE 21ST: If it thunders, atonement must be made on account of terrible news.

12:00 JUNE 22ND: If it thunders, it signals heavy rains and destruction of marine fish.

12:00 JUNE 23RD: If it thunders, it signifies a good and fruitful rain.

12:00 JUNE 24TH: If it thunders, great evils such that those hearkening [to them] shall pass away from grief.

12:00 JUNE 25TH: If it thunders, a hoped-for resting place and slackening of evils.

12:00 JUNE 26TH: If it thunders, good for those working upon the tilled land.

12:00 JUNE 27TH: If it thunders, there shall be prodigies, and a comet shall shine forth.

12:00 JUNE 28TH: If it thunders, it shall be the same.

12:00 JUNE 29TH: If it thunders, it signals northern war, but not dangerous for commerce.

12:00 JUNE 30TH: If it thunders, the sprouting crops will be chilled by the winds.

FULL MOON IN CANCER 12:00 JULY 10TH: Upon the new moon, if in any way it should thunder, there shall be plenty, yet there shall be ruin [“Ruin” or “a falling” (πτῶσις) of the flocks: the connotation of falling down, or away, might have described a particular disease condition.] of the flocks.

References

The Religion of the Etruscans. (2006). In University of Texas Press eBooks. University of Texas Press. https://doi.org/10.7560/706873

Turfa, J. M. (2012). Divining the Etruscan World: The Brontoscopic Calendar and Religious Practice.

[hebrewbyinbal]

The month of Nissan /nee-'sen/, that starts today, holds a special place in the Hebrew calendar, marking the beginning of spring and a time of renewal and liberation. Nissan ushers in a period of profound reflection and joy, most notably through the celebration of Passover /'pe-sakh/, the festival commemorating the people of Israel exodus from Egypt and their transition from slavery to freedom.

Nissan is a month brimming with anticipation and spiritual rejuvenation. The air is filled with the promise of new beginnings as nature awakens from its winter slumber, mirroring the themes of liberation and renewal that are central to Passover. This festival, falling on the 15th day of Nissan, invites us to clear our homes and hearts of leaven, symbolizing the removal of ego and material excess to make space for growth and new possibilities.

The themes of Nissan extend beyond Passover, influencing the entire month with a sense of hope and transformation. It's a time when we are encouraged to reflect on our personal journeys, considering how we too can break free from the limitations and constraints that hold us back, whether they be physical, emotional, or spiritual.

In Nissan, we also read the Song of Songs, a biblical text that celebrates love and the blossoming of the natural world, further emphasizing the themes of renewal and connection that are so palpable during this time.

The month of Nissan challenges us to embrace change, to seek freedom in all its forms, and to renew our commitment to growth, learning, and the values we hold dear. It's a reminder that, just as the the people of Israel found their way to freedom with faith and courage, we too have the strength to overcome the challenges we face and to emerge renewed and emboldened to pursue our highest aspirations.

Sounds too relevant? I know...

As we step into Nissan, let us do so with open hearts and minds, ready to embrace the lessons and opportunities this month brings. May it be a time of meaningful reflection, joyous celebration, and profound personal and communal renewal.

[thedeafprophet]

The idea that the masters and the calendar council is at all comparible morally as groups is the most laughable thing I've heard. The masters? Who as a whole has millennia of killing and torturing people and the destruction of cities? On an individual level of medical rape, slavery, experimentation, poisoning, other things of nonconsent, etc.

Those guys?

Are at all comparable to the group of people who are just trying their best to make a difference in the world? At most May has issues and October can be cruel.

September is like in his 20s, sure let's compare him to the horrible creatures who even got banished in space for crimes.

I enjoy the masters as characters but come on, seriously?

[soullessjack]

Israeli propaganda is really some dystopian fucking nonsense. AI Generated evidence of Hamas leaders? Pretty painted actresses who can barely hold back their smiles as they walk through destroyed buildings? Just straight up lying about a fucking school calendar? It’s actually unbelievable, and for a little bit I wondered “how can this be the propaganda that brainwashed people so extensively they can’t even register Palestinians as people who are suffering,” but then I remembered all of the propaganda that the US has pumped out that is still embedded into our very lives and culture. carrots being good for our eyesight? A straight up lie told by the British to hide their radar technology during WW2 (also, a fucking looney toon convinced half of us that rabbits eat carrots as much as lions eat meat).

I’m not sure what point I’m trying to make or if I’m even trying to make one at all, but if anyone ever has any more questions like “how can they believe [insert lie]” like I did, I think it’s worth looking at our own history and what we were told and what we believed or still believe to this day before we ask. “how can they be this cruel and inhumane to literal children?” “how can they think this tiny baby is a part of Hamas?” look at any instance of European colonization or American slavery. look at Japanese internment camps. look at any minority group that has ever been compared to an animal or portrayed as unintelligent savages that need to be civilized. it’s not a question of who has the worst history or shifting blame. It’s that the Israeli government has been perpetuating the same notions against Palestine to its own people for decades, as the American government has perpetuated to us against countless groups, and many of those notions have become even staples of our own pop culture; like the association of weed, crack, guns, poverty watermelon and fried chicken to Black people all pretty much being a product of slavery and Reaganism. just the general association of poverty, drugs and violence with minorities is a product of propaganda in itself.

I think I’ve finally found the point I wanted to make, and it’s this: before we start criticizing Israeli people for so easily believing the propaganda of the IDF and their government, consider what we have easily believed from our government and, say, the CIA. consider how easily they sold it to us, and how it still affects our country now. the Israeli government and the American government are not just allies of each other, but also very similar in how they operate and brainwash their own people. their “birthright” to Israel is about as real as our Manifest Destiny was (as in, not at all). their viewing of Palestinians as “children of darkness,” or “cockroaches” or “Hamas/terrorists,” is not at all far from our viewing of Muslims as terrorists, or Indigenous people as savage and wild.

There are patterns here, patterns that have always been here, and it’s beyond crucial that we start recognizing them and going forward with that knowledge.

[we-were-beautiful]

The Fox and The Hounds pt. 3

A/N: I did switch up the writing style just a little bit and I am sorry if that throws people off. It is much easier for me to write in this style than the other but hopefully y’all will still like it. Also this fic takes place before the first war so there are some references to keeping humans as slaves which we know most of the high fae did  so heads up on that. Also I realize I worked myself into a corner and now have to come up with names for 17 doggos so please leave any suggestions  for names as I am drawing a blank on this. I will also accept people who want to beta read this for me to help me find silly mistakes that I know I miss

Summary: Its autumn court tradition to give your mate a fox kit before your ceremony. after years of knowing the Vanserra’s a mating bond snaps between the Autumn Heir and a well known smoke hound breeder

Warning: Brief mention of slavery 

 WC: 2.3k 

A month had passed since the mating bond had snapped between Eris and myself, and  since that fateful morning so much has happened since. Paprika has grown quite a bit and is an adventurous little creature. The hounds tolerate this new fox in the household but tend to ignore the small creature that nips at them. I had spent much of my time at the forest house with the Vanserras and Eris. This time has given Eris and I a chance to get to know one another on a more personal level rather than just the surface level friendship that we had previously had. However the last month had also been a never ending calendar of events that the two of us had been forced to attend. Balls, parties, and dinners; if there was an event with the nobility  Eris and I were to be in attendance. 

As it stands I am currently directing my fathers human slaves as they packed my clothing for a weekend away. Apparently Eris had arranged a weekend away for just the two of us with my father and his. To get to know each other away from prying eyes and without chaperones. It was a bit nerve racking; we had never really been on our own, either one of our parents or siblings are always with us or we are surrounded by the nobles of the court. The gentle bump on my hand pulls my attention away from my thought Paprika had hopped into my lap and decided that I needed to pay attention to her. A small smile gently forms on my face as I run my hand across the foxes soft fur “Y/N” my eyes glance to the door as my mother waltzes into the room. The humans give her a bow before returning to their task 

“Mom” I addressed her as she sat down next to me.

“How are you feeling, Darling.” she runs her hand through my hair 

“I’m not sure. We’ve never really been alone together.” I sigh and pick up Paprika to snuggle her to my chest. “And now we are going to be alone for a whole weekend. I don’t even know where to go from there.” 

“Well this is how you get to know each other Darling, if your father didn’t think it was a good idea he and Beron would not have agreed to Eris’ plans.” Mom gently takes one of my hands in hers “You two are mates, the mother deemed you to be his perfect match. Worse comes to worse you can always fall back on your hounds”

True enough Eris had requested that I bring my hounds along. So it will be us and 18 dogs in whatever little cabin that Eris had planned for us to stay in. We had introduced the dogs last week at our home so that they could get to know each other. Thankfully the meeting had gone relatively well. Ramiel was her typical self but didn’t start any fights with Eris’ hounds so we counted that as a small victory. A few servants from the Forest House had come earlier to collect the hounds and bring them to the location. 

The clock on the wall ticks reminding me that the hour grows closer to the time when Eris is going to come and get me. I am hoping that he will be amiable to take a minute out of our trip. Bella’s puppies are now at the stage where we start letting the new families pick out which pup they want. Beron had come by earlier this week to pick out which pup would be his. I figured Eris would like to have an opinion on what pup we should keep as we are going to be sealing the mating bond in a little more than two weeks. A puppy would be a gentle start to see how well we can make decisions together as a pair. 

The gentle brush against my mental shields jolts me out of my thoughts 

“Where did you go Dear?” Mom’s voice breaks the silence. Her soothing tone is as comforting as it has been throughout my whole life. 

“I was wondering if Eris would mind postponing our trip for a little bit so that we can pick out which pup to keep.”  I explain to her 

“That sounds like a wonderful idea darling. I’m sure Eris will not be opposed. Quite frankly I’m surprised he got you a fox and not a puppy.” I had heard about that little bet that my parents had made. She thought for sure that Eris was going to find a smoke hound pup, whereas Father bet that he would go the traditional route with a fox kit. Turns out Father who was born and raised in the Autumn Court and who was Eris Godfather was right about my mate sticking to tradition.

“While I wouldn't have been sad with a puppy I had always dreamed about a fox.” As if knowing that we are talking about her, Paprika lets out a little yip wiggling in my arms to her back wanting her stomach scratched. I gently scritch her soft underbelly. A knock sounds through the door 

“Enter” Mothers voice rings out. One of the butlers head pokes into the room

“Lord Eris is here for Lady Y/N.”  He addresses the two of us. Mom quickly stands offering me one of her hands. I take it and allow her to pull me up off the bed. 

“Thank you.” She dismisses him and he nods and walks away 

“Come my love, your betrothed is waiting for you.” She places a quick kiss to my forehead 

The walk from my room to the foyer seems to take forever. The soft clicks of Ginger and Paprika’s claws on the wooden floor break the unnerving silence. Even though I had gotten to know Eris on a surface level this was a weekend without others to buffer. Sure there would be a servant who would come and prepare our meals, but other than that it would just be the two of us. The thought both filled me with excitement and fear. As we approached the door Cinnamon eyes met mine. There he stood in all his glory. Eris Vanserra always immaculately dressed, somehow managing to seem out of place in our home. A soft smile formed on his face as he turned fully to face us. 

“Lady L/N.” He bows towards my mother, walking over to the two of us. He takes my hand and places a kiss on the back of it. A habit he had started once the engagement was formalized “ My Mate.” 

“Lord Eris.” I curtsy, the hem of my riding dress pooling on the floor before rising. He had told me multiple times that I did not need to bow before him or address him as lord; I was his mate, his equal but life in the court had taught me protocol on how to interact with the highlord's family. Eris releases my hand placing his on my chin gently tilting my head to look at him. 

“How many times must I tell you Mate that you are allowed to call me just by my name.” 

His tone could be read as cocky, his grin doing nothing to dispute that. Something in his eyes however seemed almost sad at the formality 

“At least once every time we meet.” and more if the Highlord was around. I was always cautious around Beron, even though he was my fathers best friend he was notorious for his anger and cruelty. Which I had no desire to experience, hence the formality with my soon to be in-laws. 

“This will change after the wedding “ He cups my chin tilting my head to look at him “you are my mate and equal, I won’t have us going through life with you addressing me formally” 

We stare each other down for a moment seemingly lost in each other. Something that I had noticed in the time we spent together. We tended to get lost in a little bubble of just the two of us even in a room full of people. A small cough from my mother pulls us out of it, making me jump backwards slightly away from the fiery haired male.

“Y/N, the servants have finished packing your things for the weekend.” She laughs at the situation and how easily we got lost in each other forgetting that we had an audience “Didn’t you mention wanting to show Eris something before you left.” 

“Oh, Yes” the puppy I had nearly forgotten. “If it's not too much I would like to gather your opinion on something before we depart for the weekend.” 

“Of course my mate, whatever you need it is never a problem .” He gently holds out his arm for me to take. I thread my arm through his getting ready to lead him towards the kennels Paprika danced between the two of us bumping into our legs to get our attention, the little kit was eager to set out on an adventure and given that her leash had already been attached she was more than ready to get out of the manor. 

“I will leave you two alone then.” Mother walks over and gives me a kiss on the forehead “enjoy your weekend my love.” 

She turns to face Eris and a saccharine smile grows on her face “I trust you will take care of my daughter Eris.” while not a threat the intention was clear as day, hurt my daughter and I will make you wish for a merciful end. 

“Of course lady Charis. It's just a weekend so that we can get to know each other outside of the court. I will make sure she is taken care of and protected.’ He bowed his head towards her not truly understanding that it was more than just a mothers threat to keep her child safe. She had kept her powers hidden from everyone here in Autumn and when I showed similar powers I was taken  to the night court to train and hone these gifts alongside my cousin. 

“Goodbye Mother, I will see you when I return.”  I smile at her before gently pulling Eris towards the door. 

“Goodbye my dear, I love you.” She always told us that when we left it didn’t matter how long we would be gone she always made sure to tell us she loved us. 

“I love you too.” I smile at her over my shoulder as I lead my mate out the door and towards the kennel. 

We walk in silence for a few moments before Eris speaks up. 

“What did you want my opinion on Y/N” straight and to the point as he typically was but not in a cruel way but rather inquisitive. As if curious to what his bride might want. 

“Well I plan on keeping one of Bellatrix’s pups, and since our ceremony is in two weeks I figured you might like a say in which puppy we keep.” I open the door to the kennel letting him walk inside. “The Highlord already selected his pup, as promised he did have first pick; I have a few families coming next week to select their pups. By the time of our ceremony the pups will be just about ready for their new homes.”  I led him back towards Bella’s large cage, swiping one of the dog tags embossed with the L/N crest, a simple way of knowing who the hounds belong to. “So we still have 5 pups to choose from.” 

‘I trust your judgment on quality hounds Y/N seeing as you are the most talented breeder in the court, but thank you for wanting my opinion” his voice seemed softer now that the two of us were away from prying eyes. 

Stepping into the cage Bella stands and walks to the two of us nudging my hands with her large head. It is a sight to see Eris drop to his knees to pet the pups, but the smile that he wore showed that he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I moved to kneel beside him gently petting the pups who were excited to see us. The runt of the litter worms his way into my lap circling around a few times before laying down. I had always been rather fond of this little guy. Even though he is smaller than his siblings he seemed to have inherited Khalid's personality, and if he's anything like Bella he will grow into a formidable hound. Eris reaches over to pet the pup's head playing with his velvety floppy ears. 

“You’re fond of this one.” it's not a question rather a statement. 

“I am, he reminds me so much of Bella when she was a pup. I ran a hand along his soft fur looking over to Bellatrix who had laid down beside me.  

“Does he have a name?” Eris looks to me and then to the pup. 

“No, I don't generally give the pups names, I let the families decide.”  It was a method that kept me from getting attached to the pups and wanting to keep all of them. 

“We can take some time this weekend to pick out a name.” Eris smiles at the pup, “I think he will be a great addition.” 

A smile grew on my face, this pup had weaseled his way into my heart, and I knew I would have chosen him on my own, but to have my mate agree to the runt of the litter made my heart happy. In times like this I can almost forget the whole situation that we are in. Right now we are just a couple picking out a puppy; no courtiers, no parents, just Eris and Y/N.  I clipped the tag onto the collar, the metal cool against my fingers. Eris reaches over and grasps my hand still holding the tag. 

“We will need to get you some different tags for your hounds when we return.” His voice is smooth and calm.

Reality hits me again. We were going to be mated in two weeks and I wouldn’t just be Y/N the daughter to Beron’s most trusted advisor and member of the court. I would be Y/N Vanserra wife and mate to the heir of Autumn. 

Taglist: 

@imma-too-many-fandoms @judig92 @fall-myriad​ @j-brielmalfoy @highlady-ofillyria @percyjacksonspeen @nyctophiliiiiaaa​ @b0xerdancer

[nesiacha]

Critic about Henri Guillemin

Hello everyone. Sorry for the moment with the exams, which are more exhausting than expected; I haven't been able to start the one on Manon Roland yet. I promise I'll get to it tomorrow. In the meantime, here's a free post (another one will follow within the hour but is a very mini post).

The scholar in question is Henri Guillemin. Let me say that this polemicist is worth a hundred of our overly listened-to polemicists on today's television (like Ferrand or Bern). He doesn't need to use music, unlike them, to try to convince us, nor does he rely on special effects. He has works that I find quite good, such as those on Jean Jacques Rousseau or Jules Vallès. In fact, on many historical figures, our preferences align. He dismantles characters that are a bit too untouchable for my taste. Even though he likes the character of Robespierre, he didn't hesitate to find faults in him, such as the fact that he relentlessly pursued Jacques Roux illegally to the point where he committed suicide (him and his colleagues, let's be clear, he wasn't alone in this mess).

The problem I have is with his method. For example, he doesn't like Danton and prefers Robespierre. The problem is that he invented that Danton sought Robespierre's downfall from the moment Danton joined the Committee of Public Safety. No, in reality, they were allies until January-February 1794 (Frimaire in the Republican calendar if I'm not mistaken). Danton was against dechristianization, whereas Guillemin said he was for it. Guillemin greatly admires Chaumette (and so do I, even though I hate his appalling misogyny; I appreciated that, along with Marat and others, he wasn't just against slavery but openly applauded the slave revolt, whereas even anti-slavery figures like Olympe de Gouges were against it, and people like Robespierre, although anti-slavery, remained too much moderate on the question of revolt, in my opinion). So, for some unknown reason, Guillemin will say that Robespierre had nothing to do with the execution of Chaumette, which is false; at the very least, he condoned this mockery of justice. If he had been against it, it would be well known (I think in this case it wasn't intentional because Guillemin also greatly admires Jacques Roux and rightly attributed his death to Robespierre and his colleagues). Do you see the problem? Furthermore, he is one of those scholars who believe that Robespierre's death put an end to the social revolution, which is false; in my opinion, it was at the execution of Charles Gilbert Romme and his colleagues (although Henri Guillemin mentioned this event).

Regarding his work on Napoleon, it was a disaster, and he himself admitted it; he did it too quickly to try to show the dark side of the man, but unfortunately, it turned into a complete mess (and I'm a fervent anti-Napoleonist who's saying this). For example, on the rupture of the Treaty of Amiens, he will say it's Napoleon's fault and not England's. False. Although he deserves credit for talking about the horrible reinstatement of slavery, the very costs gift to his political and family entourage, earning money , the bellicosity of Napoleon, his thirst for power, and the fact that he is too much put on a pedestal, which is true, we can't discern with Guillemin's very great bias what is true or false (although I admit I took great pleasure in listening to the refined insults Guillemin hurled at Napoleon, it's not a sound reasoning he made).

In any case, Napoleon is still adored; the lobbyists, the various governments, have every interest in perpetuating the stupid idea of a providential man, among other things. So, there's nothing to fear from a man whose memoirs and various lobbyists have made him a legend. I doubt he deserved it considering the results he achieved.

Despite all the esteem I have for Guillemin, who is not a historian (so we can forgive his errors more easily), who is very respectful in debates (something many people should take inspiration from today when we see the circus on television), as I said, he has done excellent work in some of his videos like Voltaire and Rousseau, has demonstrated that one can have a critical and relevant analysis by simply being erudite, has taken initiatives to dismantle "untouchable" people for the time and even today. He acknowledged when his errors went too far. Even today, although I would never cite him again in support of a historical argument, I watch some of his videos. Criticizing Guillemin is also being able to criticize ourselves; our judgment is not infallible, and we should be able to submit it to others for correction. But it is not because we are not historians that we can’t give our very long opinion :)

Reedition: like anotherhumaninthisworld  said and make a lien to prove it in comment Robespierre signed the warrant of Chaumette or even drafted it https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k6216050q/f35.item.texteImage

[techtow]

Understanding Passover and Other Jewish Holidays: An Easy Guide

Passover, also known as Pesach, is one of the most significant holidays in the Jewish calendar, celebrated with rituals that have deep historical and spiritual significance. Alongside Passover, there are other important Jewish holidays like Purim, each with its unique traditions and meanings. In this article, we'll explore what Passover is, its importance, and touch on other Jewish holidays, infusing a bit of Jewish humor to lighten our exploration.

What is Passover?

Passover is a Jewish festival that commemorates the Israelites' exodus from Egypt, which is detailed in the Hebrew Bible in the Book of Exodus. The holiday lasts for eight days in most Jewish communities (seven in Israel and among some liberal Diaspora communities), and it involves a number of rituals and customs designed to remember the hardships of slavery and the joy of liberation.

The central ritual of Passover is the Seder, a festive meal where the story of the exodus is retold using a text called the Haggadah. During the Seder, families and friends gather to read the Haggadah, eat symbolic foods placed on the Passover Seder plate, and discuss the themes of freedom and slavery. Key elements of the Seder include eating matzah (unleavened bread), maror (bitter herbs), and other foods that symbolize various aspects of the exodus story.

The Significance of Pesach

Pesach is another term for Passover, and it highlights the holiday's emphasis on passing over the houses of the Israelites during the tenth plague – the slaying of the firstborn Egyptians. This event led to Pharaoh releasing the Israelites from bondage, marking the beginning of their journey to freedom. Pesach is a time for reflection on the struggle for liberation and the value of freedom, themes that resonate in many cultural and historical contexts.

Other Jewish Holidays: Purim

Purim is another joyful Jewish holiday that usually occurs a month before Passover. It commemorates the events recounted in the Book of Esther, where Queen Esther helps save the Jews from extermination in ancient Persia. Purim is marked by public readings of the Book of Esther, giving charity to the needy, exchanging gifts of food, and enjoying a festive meal. One of the more fun aspects of Purim is the tradition of dressing in costumes, which adds a playful element to the holiday.

Jewish Humor

Jewish humor, known for its wit and often self-deprecating nature, plays a significant role in how these holidays are celebrated and perceived among Jewish communities and beyond. Humor can be found in the playful customs of Purim, the creative parodies during Passover, and even in everyday life. It's an integral part of Jewish culture, offering a unique way to cope with past adversities and current challenges while celebrating joyous occasions.

Closing Thoughts

Understanding Passover and other Jewish holidays offers insight into the rich tapestry of Jewish tradition and culture. These holidays not only commemorate historical events but also offer time to reflect on broader themes of freedom, bravery, and joy. Whether you're Jewish or just interested in learning about different cultures, the stories and traditions of Jewish holidays provide valuable lessons and an opportunity for universal reflection on the human spirit's resilience.

In exploring these holidays and the humor interwoven with these traditions, we get a glimpse into the heart of Jewish cultural identity—marked by endurance, faith, and an unending zest for life. So next time you hear about Passover, Pesach, or Purim, you'll appreciate the depth and vibrancy these celebrations bring to the Jewish community and the broader world.