#good boy guinefort

[passerine-parable]

A few days ago, I learned about St. Guinefort, a folk saint, who was a dog, who despite the efforts of the church, had a following into the 1930s.

St. Guinefort was a very good boy, who belonged to a French knight, who left his household for a time for some manner, leaving the dog to guard his baby. When he returned, the house was a wreck, the baby was gone, and the dog greeted him with a bloody maw. Fearing the worst, the knight slew him on the spot. As Guinefort lay dying, the knight investigated the scene, and found the baby safe and sound, and the body of a dead snake. Guinefort had done his job.

Long story short, they made the dog a saint. The family planted trees over his grave and even through persecution a small cult of Guinefort persisted, tying ribbons in Guinefort’s forest as prayers of healing for their infants.

Faith is funky for me these days, but I lost my dog exactly a month ago, almost to the very hour, and it is comforting to know, or at least imagine, that there is at least one very good dog to greet her in whatever comes next. The rebellious heretic in me simply loves that there is a dog saint.

Thank you if you’ve read this far! Do some more research, it’s a fun story. I’ve been thinking about making stickers, or maybe even pins. are people interested ? Comment or message me?

[vaakkuna]

Happy feast day of the best (non-canonical) saint there is, St. Guinefort!

[maeowl]

good boy, saint guinefort!

prints here

[catholic-character-tournament]

It seems so obvious but - there's a folk saint wiki?!

It's not obvious, this is like niche catholic thing. So folk saint are dead people or other spiritually powerful entities (such as indigenous spirits) venerated as saints but not canonized by Rome and this is the wiki I'm talking about. Praying to folk saints is most common in Latin America but it exists everywhere. Rome really dislikes this practice, saying the practice is "paganism" or "satanic", but who cares about what Rome thinks. People like to pray to folk saints because they feel more approachable than traditional (cough cough white European) saints and some people are outside of the "catholic" society (criminals, sex workers, addicts). We're not praying to them because we think they are God (just like we don't think canonize saints are God), we're asking them to pray for us.

(I only really pray to Saint Guinefort since he's a good boy and wish to keep my own puppy safe and healthy)

Santa Muerte is probably the most famous folk saint, popular amongst the most marginalized sectors of society, including criminals and drug traffickers but also migrants and queer people. Vice has an excellent mini-documentary about her. Her and like Santa Claus, he's pretty popular too.

Some other folk saints most people on Tumblr have heard of are: Stalin (patron saint of communism), Che Guevara (Warfare & revolution), Roberto Clemente (racism, athletes, Latinos), Princess Diana (mental health & tabloids), Pablo Escobar Gaviria (drug traffickers).

[octopationaltherapy]

A Vinter Boy Chapters 5 and 6

Original Omegaverse fiction. Alpha/Alpha. Alpha/Omega. Omega/Omega. M/M. M/M/M. Background F/F, M/F, M/M relationships.

Lots and Lots of Spanking

TW: Eating disorders, past sexual abuse, past child sexual abuse

Read on AO3

OR

Chapter Four: Conversing

It was nearly nine o’ clock by the time Asher had swallowed half his breakfast, and only  with ample goading, coaxing, and warnings from the doctor.

“Very good.” Darius says when the boy pushes a, finally, half empty bowl across the table. He carries it to the sink. “Let’s see, what’s next?”

He stops and looks at the clock on the wall.

“Group therapy.” He says.”Though, of course you can’t have a group with just one, so I suppose that makes it just ‘therapy.’ Come with me to the parlor.”

The boy follows without a word, the only noise being the scrape of his chair against the kitchen floor as he scoots himself away from the breakfast nook. Darius seats himself in an armchair, placed in the corner near the window, and gestures for Asher to sit in the chair across from him, the window in between them.

It is only after the boy is seated that Darius realizes he has offered him Alexander’s seat. He swallows.

The manor had changed quite a bit since the closure of his school. The art room became a dining room, and the parlor lost most of its seating to instead accommodate intimate gatherings between adults. He’d even added a wine rack on the back wall, where his desk used to be. Alexander’s chair, however, had remained.

To be fair, it wasn’t only Alexander’s chair; he had kept Margaret’s, too. They were a set, the pair of them, Queen Anne’s styled things with dark, wooden frames and striped, yellow upholstery. They were in surprisingly good shape when the school closed, unlike Tom and Robin’s loveseat, which had ink stains set in too deeply to ever get out, or- God forbid- Samantha and Collin’s sofa which had holes dug into it, the yellow filling pulled out during particularly tense moments of group.

Darius presses forward to avoid remembering more than he already has.

“Alright, Asher.” He says. “I’m sure you had some form of group therapy at St. Guineforte’s. This will be similar, except it will be just you and me. Why don’t you start by ranking your mood on a scale of one to ten?”

The boy  is quiet for a moment. His foot, bare, taps gently against the carpet. It is an odd thing, odd like his eyes. Not quite a paw but distinctly different from a fully human foot, with four, larger toes and a long arch  that gave way to a high ankle. The boy could walk with his heel on the ground, unlike a hybrid with fully digitigrade legs, but often elected to walk on his toes instead..

“Are you going to answer or do you need a warning, Asher?” Darius presses when the boy is silent a moment too long.

Without a word, the boy holds up his index finger: one.

“One.” Darius repeats. “Why is that?”

Asher shrugs glaring down at the floor.

“What emotion are we feeling Asher?”

Now, Asher offers nothing, not even a shrug.

“Oh!” Darius interjects, excited. “Do we need an emotion wheel? I believe I have some in my office. You’ll have to come with me to get them of c-”

Asher cuts the doctor off with a growl.

“Angry.” He signs

“We’re angry?” Darius asks softly. “Why is that?”

Asher says nothing for a long while, slouching further in his seat. His foot taps rapid-fire against the rug, the way Tom’s had years ago. Finally, he brings his right hand to his face and signs: His hand is shaped for the letter ‘F’ and he taps each cheek once, close to his nose. Darius does not recognize it.

“I’m sorry.” The alpha says. “I’m afraid I don’t-”

The boy sits up, apparently startled, and a blush rises to his face. Slowly, he begins to finger spell.

“F-L-O-W-E-R-S.” 

“Flowers.” Darius blinks, then says it again. “Flowers. You’re angry at Dr. Flowers?”

Asher says nothing. He turns his head to look out the window.

“You’re angry at Dr. Flowers,” Darius says slowly, sympathetic. “Because she left you here?”

Asher’s ears flatten against his head, then stand back up. His eyes move to study the doctor, then he turns his head to follow suit. Slowly, he nods.

Darius laughs outright.

“Asher, what was she supposed to do?” He asks, joyfully incredulous. “Your behavior has lost you a place at every institute for omegas in the state!”

Asher casts his gaze back out the window, pouting.

“What is your end goal here, Asher?” Darius presses. “Your next stop is auction.”

At the mention of the word, Asher is on his feet, glaring down the doctor. He snarls, baring his teeth, hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Darius rolls his eyes.

“One.” The doctor warns flatly., “And it will be an automatic consequence if you do not retake your seat.”

Asher falters, unsure. He offers another growl, but it’s half-hearted, lacking confidence.

“Careful, Asher.” Darius warns, voice gravely stern. “We could repeat the events of last night so easily.”

At this, the boy’s eyes widen. His tail, bottle brush and stiff, drops between his legs. He retakes his seat, but insolently, lounging with one leg draped over the arm, as though he were unbothered. Darius ignores this, denying the boy the fight he wants.

“Alright.” He sighs. “We’re angry at Dr. Flowers, but have we thought of any ways our own behavior might have led to this outcome?”

Asher says nothing, looking back out the window.

“I can think of a few, if you need help.” Darius offers.

Still the boy says nothing, only shrugs.

“Let’s see.” Darius begins. “There was the time you carved a phallus into a door at Perkin’s.” 

Asher huffs, and slumps further in his seat.

“Or the syrup you poured all over the floor at Eastern Shore.”

The boy snickers, but straightens when Darius when looks at him with an expectant tilt of the head. The doctor presses on.

“Or the thousand dollar PECS board you smashed at Mary Margaret’s.” He says.

Thump, Thump, Thump.

The boy has made no move to respond , but his tail wags between his legs, making quiet thumps against his chair. Darius snorts.

“Oh, we’re proud of that one, yeah?” He asks. “We didn’t like Mary Margaret’s?”

Asher shakes his head.

“Why not?”

Asher holds his arms in front of his chest as though he were cradling an infant, and rocks them back and forth.

Baby.

“They treated you like a baby?” Darius asks.

Asher nods.

“Well, is that what you were acting like?”

The boy ducks his head, snickering. Darius grins.

“Is that a yes?”

The boy shrugs with a roll of his eyes, meeting the doctor’s gaze. Darius clears his throat.

“Well, Asher.” He says, sitting straighter. “I will only treat you like a baby when you do act like one, and as for leaving-”

The doctor hears the words leave his mouth before he decides to say them, a pattern etched so deeply into his throat he could never forget it. He recounts them like an adult recalling their childhood rote, automatically, and with a cold, eerie nostalgia.

“Everyone who has passed through these walls has wanted to go home, and everyone wants to go home quickly, but it simply doesn’t work like that. Keep your focus on yourself, put your energy into your progress and your growth and things will get easier. You’ll earn privileges, have a little more freedom to move about, and-”

Here, he catches himself. What was he saying? This wasn’t his student! He wasn’t keeping this boy.

“And- And.” He falters. “And if what you want is to leave, then you’ll be happy to know that Dr. Flowers is looking for alternative placement as we speak.”

At this, Asher perks up, sitting straight and proper in his chair.. His tail thumps quietly behind him. Darius grimaces, he wasn’t supposed to tell him that.

“If you behave.” He amends. “If you behave, you;’ll have another place to go, understand?”

Now, it is Asher’s turn to snort. He nods, with a tight, knowing grin and a roll of his eyes. Darius sighs, and checks his watch.

“Alright.” He huffs, resigned. “That might as well be group. What’s next? Finishing?”

∼✢∽

Chapter Six: Conversational Hazards

Samantha fought every time, and this time was no different.

Lectures beforehand were useless. She would simply sit and glare the entire time, arms crossed, locked in a stalemate with the alpha. Afterwards, she was more receptive. She didn’t cry, or at least hadn’t yet, but often stood from her place over the alpha’s knee with red, wet eyes and indents in her lip where she had bitten down to keep from crying out. She had never been punished two days in a row.

He had offered her hugs in the early days, which she always refused. More recently, he began foregoing the offer.

“Let me hug you, Samantha.” He said gently, and the first time the girl had only eyed him wearily with her red eyes, unsure, distrustful. She had left without a hug.

“No thanks.” She’d said harshly the second time, and took her place in the chair to glare, defiance rekindled. Darius had almost begun to think it was a mistake to offer at all, until the third time.

“Let me hug you, Sammy.” He said, watching as the girl redressed with shaking hands. 

She eyed him again, still suspicious, but then her gaze dropped to the floor. Her front teeth found their place dug into her bottom lip again, and she nodded, wordlessly. Darius pulled her close, and she gave a single, choked sob, fingers twisting into the back of his suit jacket.

“You’re a good girl, Samantha.” Darius murmured against her scalp, and released her. 

She snorted.

“No I’m not.” She laughed, wiping her eyes. “I’m here.”

Today, Darius did not even bother sitting her in the armchair, late as they were. He was as ready for the fight as she was.

“Are you going to take off your trousers and get over my knee?” He asked harshly as soon as the door was shut. “Or shall we go ahead and start the wrestling match, as usual?”

The girl hopped into a fighting stance in response, grinning, and only half-joking.

Darius scooped her up fairly easily. The girl was strong for an omega, especially a female omega, athletic and practiced in every sport she’d been allowed to try. She was still an omega, however; she would always be more lean than muscular, and cursed with the short stature of the gentle dynamic.

She thrashed violently as Darius pressed her against his chest, in the same hold he’d practiced on Alexander the night before. With another brat, he might have tried to subdue them more quickly, more practically, but he had learned not to present Samantha with any opportunity, as she would take it.

The girl was scrappy, not above clawing or biting, or even the occasional crotch shot. She had sunk her teeth into Darius’s forearm during her first punishment, leading with the canines and leaving four puncture wounds in her wake, leaking blood. She had left plenty of other marks, as well: scratches from her nails, bruises from harsh, desperate kicks. A proper hold was the only thing that worked.

Darius held her, then, arms crossed over her chest, and dragged her backwards to the armless chair, reserved for punishments. He planted her legs between his own as he sat, and closed them between his knees. Then, he bent her over, right elbow planted between her shoulder blades to keep her in place as he took her shorts down himself.

“Eighteen warnings, you’ve earned.” Dairius said as the girl thrashed in his lap. “Five for each is ninety. Then, there’s those thirty extra you earned for your comedy routine.”

“It was only twenty-eight!” Samantha cried out, wriggling uselessly against the alpha’s grssp. 

Darius exhaled a laugh.

“Yes, that’s right.” He said. “Because Alexander’s was only half a vote, Be sure to thank him later, for saving you those extra two.”

He began.

Samantha always went silent as soon as the first smack landed, thrashing present, but softened. He knew they hurt sorely, because she tensed violently before each, making the sparse covering of fat she had even less effective at softening the blows. 

Around sixty, her legs began to shake, and at eighty-four, her breathing became ragged. Darius softened his blows, feeling a pang of sympathy for the thirty-four left.

When he was done, he instructed her to rise, and she did, red-eyed and trembling, still. He told her to kneel, and watched the split-second fight cross her face. She dropped to her knees with her eyes closed, as though she couldn’t bear to watch herself do it.

“I’m sorry, Alpha, for backtalk.”

“There’s more.” Darius said flatly.

“And disobedience.”

“Still more.”

“And disrupting group.”

“Still missing one.”

Samantha exhaled shakily. 

“What?” She asked. Then, “Oh, profanity.”

“No.” Darius said. “Well, yes, but there’s another.”

Samantha looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“I don’t know.” She said.

“Think.”

“Um.” She faltered, fidgeting on her knees. “Violence against authority?”

“No,” Darius snorted. “You didn’t get a chance to do that one.” 

“Can you give me a hint?”

“What were you acting like downstairs?” 

“Samantha.” She snarked.

“Careful.”

“Okay, okay.” She said quickly. “But I really don’t know.”

“A brat.” Darius answered. “You were acting like a brat.”

“And that’s against the rules?”

“Yes.” Darius said, unable to stop the snicker that climbed up his throat.

“But we’re your brats!” Samantha grinned. “That’s why we sleep here.”

“Yes,” Darius grinned. “But you’re not supposed to act like it.”

He sat back in his seat, and motioned for her to get on with it.

“Enough. Apologize properly, from the beginning.”

“I’m sorry alpha, for disobedience, profanity, backtalk, interrupting group, and acting like your brat.” She smiled up at him, eyes still wet with unfallen tears. Sheepishly, she added. “Is that okay?”

“Fine for now, considering how late we are.” Darius sighed, warm and fond. He ruffled the hair atop her head as he rose, disheveled from her fight.

“Come here, Samantha.” He said. “Let me hug you.”

Readily, she folded into his arms.

“Alright.” Darius said as he released her. “Pull up you trousers and have a seat in the armchair.”

Samantha blinked.  The scent of her sour-orange stress filled the room, as it rarely did.

“I thought we were late,” She said.

“We are.” Darius retorted. “So sit, and don't make us later.”

“But-”

“Now, Samantha.” He snapped. “Unless you’d like to go back over my knee.”

She pulled up her pants and sat, without another word. Darius took his own seat behind his desk.

“Samantha, how long have you been here?” he asked, bending to pull open the bottom drawer of his desk: current student records.

“A month.” The girl answered flatly.

“Oh, longer than that,” Darius corrected, pulling the girl’s file from the drawer. He flipped it open, laid flat on the oak desk. “You got here first of June, which means you’ve been here forty-four days, including today. How many of those days do you think you’ve earned a punishment?”

The girl snorts. 

“Forty-four.”

“No, not at all.” Darius said with a shake of the head. “You’ve only been punished on eighteen of those days, which means you’ve gone twenty-six days without earning a punishment at all! So, we know you can do it.”

Samantha shrugged. 

“I never said I couldn’t.”

“Right.” Darius affirmed with a tight-lipped smile. “But let’s look at the days you did get punished, shall we?”

He flipped through the pages in front of him, clearing his throat.

“First and second June, days one and two, no punishment- off to a good start.” He said, then flipped the page. “Third June, day three, you climbed a tree and received an automatic punishment. You then tried to bargain your way out of your punishment by refusing to leave said tree until I agreed to forego it. You wound up staying in the tree an additional three hours and received an additional one hundred and eighty swats, one for each minute, earning you two hundred in the end.”

Samantha stifled a snicker. Darius continued, pressing his lips together.

“Third, fourth, and fifth June, no punishment- good girl.” He said, flipping another page in her file. “On the sixth, you earned three by talking during group and being late for finishing. You proceeded to climb onto your desk and attempt to stage a riot, resulting in fifteen warnings before I gave up and carried you to my office. The violence against authority that took place therein earned you another forty, resulting in one hundred and twenty-five swats when all was said and done.”

He flipped another page and continued, speaking louder, more quickly.

“Seventh June, No punishment. Eighth June, no punishment. Ninth June,” and he paused here to look the girl in the eye- “Ben caught you tryin to climb the fence in the courtyard during rec. You then led a chase around the property and- when finally caught- had received thirteen warnings and an automatic consequence. Violence against authority and destruction of another’s property then brought that to a total of three automatic consequences- and poor Ben is still  in his spare glasses, by the way. In the end, you earned one hundred and twenty-five swats.”

Darius rested his chin on his hand, eyeing the girl.

“Are we noticing a pattern here?”

“You guys don’t like it when I climb things?” Samantha snarked.

“Nineteen for backtalk.” Darius sighed. “But the point I’m trying to make- and I’m sure you already know- is that you are more than capable of behaving. In fact, I don’t think you’ve ever received a punishment two days in a row! Once you’ve earned one, however, you double down and make things worse for everyone involved. I don’t think I’ve ever given you less than a hundred spankings in one sitting.”

Samantha shrugged, gaze cast down and to the side. She said nothing.

“You don’t like to be spanked,” Darius said softly. “Do you, Samantha?”

Samantha balked.

“Of course not!” She replied.

“Then why not behave?” Darius asked. “Instead of earning a hundred of them every other day?”

“I do!” The girl argued. The, sheepishly, added. “Sometimes.”

“And when you don’t you really don’t.” Darius snorted. “Why is that?”

Samantha shrugged again, shoulders tight as her eyes bore holes into the carpet.

“I don’t know.” She said, fidgeting. “I mean, I might as well.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, if I’m already in trouble…” The girl trailed off, grimacing.

“If you’re already in trouble, then what?” Darius balked. “See how many you can earn?”

“No!” Samantha said quickly. Then, “Well-”

“Well?”

“I don’t know.” She said. She squirmed in her seat. “It’s all the same, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“You know.”

“I don’t.” Darius argued. “Samantha, is there really no difference to you between twenty spankings and two hundred?”

The girl was quiet for a long while.

“I don’t know.” She said finally.

“You don’t know?” Darius asked. “You don’t know the difference between twenty and two hundred?”

“No!” Samantha said quickly. “I mean I don’t know why.”

“You don’t know why two hundred and twenty are different?”

“No!” Samantha said again, and huffed. Darius was quiet for a moment, and allowed the girl to collect her thoughts.

“I don’t know why I do it.” She said when a moment had passed, voice soft, remorseful. “I guess I just know that no matter what it is, it’s gonna be bad, so I’d better put as much time between me and a punishment as possible. Does that make sense?”

Darius cocked his head, thoughtful.

“I think I understand, yeah.” He said, gentle now.  “A spanking is bad, no matter how few you get. So, you prolong it any way you can, even if that means earning more spankings in the meantime. Is that right?”

Samantha sat up, as though startled.

“Um, kind of.” She said, resettling in her seat. “But it sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

Darius snorted.

“Then stop doing it!” He balked.

“I don’t know if I can!” The girl said all at once. “I don’t know, it’s like, I know it’s a bad idea as soon as I do it, but I can’t stop myself! Sometimes I think if I make it too hard you’ll just give up.”

“I won’t.”

“I know.” Samantha groaned. 

Darius sighed, and checked his watch.

“Alright.” He said. “I think your peers have enjoyed enough unplanned freetime, but I want to make a deal with you before we go.”

“A deal?” Samantha asked.

“Yes.” Darius replied. “I do it with everyone, from time to time- a bit of incentive to extinguish a particular problem.”

He cleared his throat. 

“If, the next time you earn a punishment, you can stop yourself from earning any more warnings for the following thirty minutes, you will earn a reward.”

“What reward?” she asked.

“Up to you.”

“Room change?”

Darius snorted

“No.”

Samantha sat back against her seat, and thought for a moment.

“What about a weekend home?”

Darius pressed his lips together. 

“It would be quite early for you to receive a weekend pass.” He sighed. “However, I could let you off the grounds for an hour or two to have lunch with your father.”

Samantha’s eyes widened.

“Really?” She asked.

“If  you hold up your end of the bargain.” He affirmed. “Deal?”

“Deal!” The girl agreed eagerly.

“Then, let’s get going.” said Darius, rising. “We’ve hardly time for lessons at all.”

∼✢∽

Darius Vinter loved the summer best of all. Spring was busy, filled with formal and graduation, and packed to the seams with courting and arrangements for weddings. It wasn’t the brats that kept his hands full during this time (though he may have wished it were), rather, the thirty-something day schoolers, whose wealthy parents he relied upon to keep his school open.

Yes, spring was a whirlwind. At this point, his senior class was all but mated, but that hardly meant the work was done. He would have upwards of fifteen weddings to attend before the season was over; most would ask him to prepare a speech. At the same time,the day school underclassmen were beginning the courting phase, which left the doctor with mountains of paperwork.

Each student had a profile to fill out: a short autobiography,interest questionnaires, a list of priorities and deal breakers. Then, there were their suitors, who applied by the hundreds to take home a Vinter Omega. Darius spent most nights in spring hunched over a desk, reading until his vision blurred.

Summer, however, was the light at the end of the tunnel, the reward that came after it all. His brats, who now had his undivided attention, followed a more relaxed schedule than they would during the school year. If he could help it, he would only take new brats during the summer as well, to give them time to acclimate before day schoolers arrived. It was this time, relaxed and intimate, that he witnessed some of the most audacious acts of defiance from his brats.

He and Samantha had emerged from his office and made their way down the hall to the classroom, where Ben oversaw the hushed conversation of the boarders during free time. Ben was sitting at the alpha’s desk, grinning in mid-conversation  with Tom, and rose when the alpha entered the room, excusing himself without a further word. The omega tucked his pen into his sketchbook and closed it.

It rippled through the room that way: an understanding, a change of demeanor. David turned from Collin, who was still whispering to him, and faced forward in his seat, and Collin got the hint shortly after. Joshua sat up from his slouched position. And opened a notebook on his desk. Margaret recapped a sharpie she was using to color her nails, and sat up straight. Robin propped his head on his hand instead of laying it down on his desk, and Gabriel shut his notebook closed on the paper airplane he was folding.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so rushed, Darius would have noticed Alexander in the back, in the seat behind the one Samantha was taking, a book laid flat on the desk in front of him.

”Alright.” Vinter said as the door closed behind Ben. “We’ve only got thirty minutes, so let’s get started. Today’s topic is conversation.” 

Conversation, table manners, grooming and dress; these were the type of basics he reserved for the summers, to catch his brats up to the day schoolers arriving in September. He saw the interest leave Gabriel’s eyes as soon as the topic was introduced, his hand perched on his notebook to resume his paper crafts as soon the doctor wasn’t looking.

”The first thing to know is introductions.” Vinter continued. “It’s important to introduce yourself upon beginning or joining any conversation with anyone you haven't met before. Gabriel, can you give the class an example of an appropriate introduction?’

He expected the boy to sit up with a start, caught, but he didn’t, droning his answer as he continued folding his paper.

”Hello, my name is Gabriel Whitfield, I’m the youngest son of Trisha and Paul. May I ask your name?”

”Good.” The doctor praised reluctantly. “Now put your crafts away, and that’s one for disrespect. I am to have your full attention during lessons.”

The boy complied with a groan.

”Gabriel gave a perfectly appropriate introduction, and that is how many of your peers arriving in September will intoroduce themselves, since their families are fairly well known in Maryland.” Vinter continued. “For the rest of you, it may be more appropriate to introduce yourself as a student of mine rather than by your parents’ names. Collin might introduce himself as Collin Wheeler, a student of Dr. Vinter, for instance.”

Darius continued on this way, one eye on his watch: never tell someone they’ve forgotten you, just introduce yourself again; don’t interrupt, and apologize and allow the other person to continue if you do; and personal space, not standing too close to someone. He watched their eyes glaze over as he spoke; bored out of their minds, the lot of them.

He didn’t blame them, really. The day had been eventful, and it was early, still. Between the amount of emotional energy his wards had spent in group and the morning grog, he knew it was unrealistic to expect them to give him their undivided attention to a lecture.

So he would end his lecture, then.

“But that’s enough talking about talking.” He said, clapping his hands together. “You’ll learn more by practicing. Let’s break into pairs and roleplay meeting each other at a party, yeah?”

A bustling tumult filled the room as the omegas rose from their seats. David paired with Collin, as usual. Samantha made for Alexander, but Vinter took her by the shoulders and steers her towards Joshua instead. 

“You need the practice.” He muttered into her ear.

Margaret paired with Robin; and Gabriel with Alexander, who had sat behind him. Tom stood and looked around the room, before meeting the doctor’s eyes with a shrug.

“You and I will be together.” Vinter said, and crossed the room to partner with the boy.

They practiced, then, Vinter keeping one eye on the other pairs while conversing with Tom. 

“Hello,” He said, extending a hand to shake. “I’m Darius Vinter, head of Darius Vinter’s School for Obedience. And you are?”

“My name is Tom Hayashi, I’m a student of Dr. Vinter.” Tom said, sounding bored.

“You should introduce yourself with your full name.” Vinter corrected. “And sound like you’re excited to be here.”

Tom grimaced.

“I want them to call me ‘Tom,’ though.”

“Then follow up  with ‘please call me Tom.’” Darius suggested. “Try again.”

He did, but Darius wasn’t listening, attention captured by Gabriel and Alexander, who he watched over Tom’s shoulder.

Gabriel appeared to be trying in good faith to follow the doctor’s instructions, but Alexander stood closed-off and hunched, as far away from the taller boy as he could manage to get. Darius interrupted the boy in front of him.

“Excuse me for a moment please, Tom.” He said, and weaved behind the boy to Gabriel and Alexander.

“Alexander,” He began, good-natured, voice raised to draw the entire group’s attention. “I know I emphasized personal space, but you don’t have to stand that far away from him. Here, watch me.”

Vinter took Gabriel by the shoulders and  by the shoulders and maneuvered him out of the way. Then, he stepped in front of Alexander.

“You want to be close enough that you can shake the person’s hand.” He said, still addressing the entire class. “But not so close that you cross into their personal space-”

He steps closer, closing the gap between himself and the boy, then bends so that they are nose to nose, mere centimeters from each other.

“Hi! How are you?” He chirps, purposely obnoxious. “I’m Dr. Vinter! Who are you?”

Alexander makes a noise of disgust and takes a step backwards. A laugh ripples through the classroom. Vinter straightens

“Yes, see.” He continues. “He didn’t like that at all.”

He bends back down, so he is in the boy’s face again.

“Bit reminiscent of last night,” He says. “Isn’t it?”

Darius felt it before he realized what happened. It hit next to his right eye, running wet and clammy down the bridge of his nose. He straightened, and wiped it with his hand.

The room was silent as the doctor examined his fingers. He could smell the fear coming off of several students: David’s burnt wool, Robin’s spoiled strawberries. It shone wet under the old, candescent lights of the classroom, and stretched membranous between his fingers.

The boy had spat on him. Vinter grinned viciously. 

“Tom,” He said calmly. “Please retrieve Ben from downstairs. Alexander and I are going to have a chat in my office.”

Tom obeyed without a word, hurrying through the doorway. His catnip-scented stress followed him.

Alexander shuffled backward, taking several steps in quick succession

, but Vinter seized him by the arm.

“What terrible etiquette.” The doctor sneered. “You’ve earned yourself a private lesson.”

With that, he grabbed tho boy under the arms and dragged him out of the classroom, towards his office. Ben, led by Tom, was ascending the last few steps of the staircase as Vinter dragged the boy. His wide, brown eyes met Vinter’s, and he rushed into the classroom to attend to the abandoned students. Vinter pulled the boy into his office.

Alexander fought desperately, bu it lacked the venom of the previous night. Instead, it is marked by the burnt-coffee scent of his fear, the first  time the doctor had ever caught wind of it. He managed to wrench out of the doctor’s grasp, but was easily caught moments later by the superior speed of an alpha.

“Let go!” Alexander cried, and thrashed with all his might.

He sunk his teeth into the doctor’s forearm, stretched across his chest: a set of teethmarks to compliments the scratches on the other side. Vinter sighed.

“Violence against authority is another twenty.” He said dryly, and pinched the boy’s jaw between the molars to get him to release.

Another burnt wave of stress dissipated from Alexander’s scent glands as Vinter pries his jaws off of his flesh, and, for just a moment, he stilled. Then, his thrashing resumed, with more vigor than ever.

“Be still, Alexander.” Viner ordered, to no avail. 

The boy began kicking, and Vinter sighed. He wrestled Alexander into a proper hold, and Alexander thrashed harshly the entire time. Finally, he managed to drag him to the armless chair. 

The boy stilled again when the doctor took down his trousers, making a choked noise in his throat. Then, he growled, as vicious as he could manage.

Darius rolled his eyes, and growled back.

There was no mistaking an alphan growl for an omegan one. Darius had held back, growling with only a fraction of the venom he could have easily managed, given the situation. It was twice as vicious as the one Alexander had conjured moments before, summoning every iota of hatred he had for the alpha as he lay across his lap for the second time. Now, the boy stilled completely, defeated and afraid. The room felt colder, filled with his burnt-coffee fear.

Darius felt a pang of sympathy in his chest.

“Be good and I’ll go easy on you,” He said softly. “Understand?”

At first, he thought the boy wouldn’t respond, frightened into silence. Then, he heard it, small and weak, just barely audible:

A growl.

Darius sighed. He would not be going easy, after all. 

“Alright.” He said, exhaling. “Forty for violence against authority. Ten for threats, and we’ll go ahead and throw another ten in for disrespect. How many does that make?”

Alexander said nothing, silent and rigid across the doctor’s lap.

“Sixty.” Vinter answered for him. “Same as last night. Sixty seems to be your number. Let’s begin.”

Vinter began harshly, swinging his palm down with full force, but quickly lost his resolve. The boy’s fear became more and more potent with every smack, and the doctor found himself softening without meaning to, the natural reaction of an alpha to an omega in fear. The boy took sixty swats in silence, not shedding a single tear.

“You ay stand when you’re ready.” Vinter said softly, having landed the last swat.

Alexander stood immediately, declining any kindness from the alpha. He dropped to his knees without being asked, glaring down at the floor.

“I’m sorry for being disrespectful, alpha.” He muttered. 

“Look at me and try again.” Vinter instructed. “And that was more than disrespect.”

Alexander huffed, ragged and breathy. Reluctantly he met the alpha’s gaze. Unfallen tears shone in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, alpha, for disrespect and violence against authority.” the boy said, and a beat of silence passed before he added, “And making threats.”

“ Good boy.” Vinter praised. “Would you like a hug, Alexander?”

Lexander stammered, taken aback.

“What?” The boy balked.

“You seemed very upset.” Vinter clarified. “I’d like to comfort you, if you’ll allow it.”

“You’d like to comfort me?” Alexander spat in disbelief. “If I seemed upset, alpha, it was your doing!”

Vinter exhaled, fondness forming in his chest.

“I’m afraid I was only doing my job.” He said calmly. “Which is to provide my students with appropriate consequences for their actions.”

Alexander hummed, a gesture that brought a grin to the doctor’s face. It was a mirror of the noise he often found himself making at his students.

“That wasn’t what I would call appropriate.” He muttered bitterly.

“Well, it’s a good thing it isn’t up to you.” Vinter said warmly, and rose from his seat. “If you don’t need comforting, you may take up your trousers. It is past time for lunch.”

[milkpunches]

St. Guinefort illustration. Good boy forever and always.

[catholic-saint-tournament]

SAINT GUINEFORT IS A GOOD BOY!!!!

propaganda for the dog saint woof woof

[acreaturecalledgreed]

dream blunt rotation and why (fictional or dead idc who)?

oh shit okay

ive thought about this but my answer changes a lot

saint olga of kiev (i just think it'd be funny), public universal friend, snoop, fucking fluttershy, vash the stampede, and snufkin

saint guinefort is also there but he is not doing weed because he is just a dog i just want him there because hes a good boy

[lesbianlanval]

this isn’t st guinefort, this is just St Christopher in the specific orthodox traditions where he’s a werewolf. not to be rude but it literally says christof next to his head.

Anyway, St Guinefort, the greyhound who was a saint:

Extremely long story short, he killed a snake to save a baby, but the blood over him and the child make it look like the dog had attacked them. His master killed him, but then realised what had happened and guiltily buried him under a tree; the tree became a sacred place that people could take sick children to be healed. We know of St Guinefort from a source complaining that this was secretly a demon, because a dog, of course, cannot be a saint. But there was a dog who was a saint, and his cult persisted for at least 800 years, so I think Guinefort won.

[seraphimfall]

Holy Dogs— Catholic Folk Saints

catholicism has an insanely diverse history and culture. with more than 1 billion adherents across the world, there’s bound to be variance in worship and commemoration. one of the best examples of this is catholic folk saints.

simply put, folk saints are saints of the people. they are holy figures who are honored as patrons by a local population, but not officially canonized in the vatican.

some are legends. some were old gods from polytheistic religions. some were real people. and some, believe it or not, were dogs.

that’s right! a good boy can sometimes be so good, they’re saintly.

St. Guinefort of Lyon

feast day— august 22nd

patronage— infants

st. guinefort was a greyhound who was said to live in 13th-century france. according to legend, guinefort was a loyal companion for a knight who lived near the city of lyon. one day, the knight went out to hunt. he left his infant son at his house, under the watchful eye of guinefort. when the knight returned, he found the infant’s room in chaos— the cradle was overturned and blankets were torn. the son was nowhere to be seen, and guinefort was sitting in the corner with bloody jaws.

under the belief that his son was eaten by guinefort, the knight drew his sword and killed the dog. only then did he hear his son crying. turning over the cradle, the knight realized his son was alive and well. lying next to him was the body of a viper, covered in dog bites. guinefort had killed the snake to protect the infant, making a mess of the nursery in the process.

the knight, grieving his mistake, took guinefort’s body and dropped it down a well. he constructed a shrine out of the well to honor him. when the townsfolk heard of the dog’s martyrdom, he was venerated as a patron of infants. mothers would often visit his shrine if their children were sick, praying for his protection.

Negro Matapacos (Black Cop-Killer)

feast day— august 26th

patronage— protestors, street dogs

negro matapacos was a stray dog who lived in the streets of santiago, chile. he would most notably hang around university campuses. he didn’t technically have an owner, but he was cared for by a woman named maría campos. she would feed him and give him a place to sleep. every morning before he left, she would tie a red handkerchief around his neck and bless him.

from 2011 to 2013, nationwide student protests rocked the country. as the demonstrations persisted, police began to turn to violent forms of crowd control. to the student’s surprise, there was soon a stray black dog protesting alongside them. he would lash out aggressively at approaching police, but was kind and protective towards the civilian protestors.

he soon earned the name negro matapacos, which translates to “black cop-killer” in english. it was a title that reflected his job perfectly.

during his participation in the protests, he showed absolute resilience against police violence. he would accompany protestors into tear gas, and even endured getting hit with water cannons. as the protesting continued, matapacos never retreated.

remarkably, he survived the demonstrations. the black dog gained media attention, and was honored as a hero and revolutionary icon. matapacos went on to live a happy life. he died on august 26th, 2017, attended by his caregiver and vet staff. according to various sources, the canine sired 32 pups before his death.

in 2019, protesting once again erupted in chile. although matapacos was not able to be there, he certainly was in spirit. his image was drawn on countless signs, and he was the subject of street art by revolutionary artists. he was a patron saint for the working class of chile, and is honored as such to this day.

[figdays]

St Guinefort Patron Saint of Good Boys Patch // QuailteaGoods

[thestalkerbunny]

Wait wait wait wait, there is a saint that is a dog?!

There is-lemme tell you the story of a Good Good Boy because sometimes Theology is interesting

St. Guinefort is indeed a greyhound from the 13th century who was the beloved companion of a knight and the Knight left his infant son in the care of dear Guinefort-when he came back, he found the room a wreck and his son missing with Guinefort covered in blood. In horror and anger, thinking his dog killed his son, he kills Guinefort only to find his infant son alive and well with a dead viper near by-a snake was going to bite the baby and it was the loyal dog was the one who opened a can of ass kicking on it and that’s why there was blood everywhere and the house was a wreck. The Knight was so sad that he killed his hero dog friend that he dropped the dog’s body down a well and planted trees around it and set up a shrine for Guinefort. Guinefort later became known for the protection of infants and people would bring their ailing babies to his grave to pray for his help.

Some stories also say that Guinefort was the dog of another saint called Roch who spent his life tending to the sick until he also contracted the plague and was driven out of town; Guinefort was the one who brought him food and water and when Roch died, he ended up with the family who took care of him until his own untimely death

There is a welsh version of this involving a Wolfhound who babysits the baby and kills a wolf that invaded the house and tried to eat the baby who was known by the name of Gelert. (which is the version I grew up learning.) It’s an actual place you can visit called Gelert’s Grave. It’s said that after he buried his dog friend, the knight never smiled again.

He’s sort of an unofficial Saint because the church is funny about who or what gets sainthood and at the time in the 1930s, it was regarded as a cult because people thought the women who went to go pray for their babies to be healed or protected were trying to invoke demons. And eventually Guinefort’s grave was dismantled and the trees cut down; but people still prayed to him as late to the 1960s. The church never officially canonized Guinefort because he never ‘lived a holy life’ or ‘did any miracles’ ....because he was a dog. And making a dog a saint would be.....heathenous.

I don’t know why not, he is a good role model. Be a good boy, be loyal, be stead fast, protect the babies, be a best friend. All very good holy aspects I believe. Plus I don’t think...dogs are capable of ....sinful acts. They’re dogs.

[fromvellum]

St. Guinefort Charity Pin PREORDER! $5 from the sale of each pin will go to the Greyhound Safety Net, a local greyhound rescue charity.

Guinefort was the loyal greyhound of a knight. The knight tasked Guinefort with watching over his infant child while he was out hunting. When the knight returned he was shocked to find Guinefort with blood on his mouth, the cot overturned and the baby nowhere to be seen. Assuming the worst of the dog, the knight slew Guinefort for killing his child, however upon committing the act, the knight heard a baby's cry and turned over the cot to see his child unharmed next to the dead body of a viper. Guinefort was thus revered for his loyalty and innocence and was regarded as a local folk-saint who would watch over children.

One of the original Good Boys, St. Guinefort will look after children whose irresponsible parents have left them on their own with the dog.

The pin will be hard enamel, the halo is recessed gold plated metal and the blood is red translucent enamel. He is just over 2″ long and has a backstamp, two posts and rubber clutches. Guinefort is AU$23 (plus shipping) and he should ship in March 2020 (all going according to plan)

[corvidaeya]

St. Guinefort, Slayer of serpents, protector of the small and a good good boy!

[greetings-from-the-void]

Why Saint Guinefort clearly needs to be made an official Saint

The fact that Saint Guinefort is not officially acknowledged by the Catholic church is a terrible and grievous injustice that ought to be rectified asap.

Behold and consider his tale:

Saint Guinefort was a great wind hound and very good boi. He bravely and miraculously saved his masters young child from a snake attack that would surely have been fatal for the toddler and died a true martyrs death for doing so. For his master misunderstood the situation. When he returned home and found the crib upturned and bloodied with the child seemingly gone, he thought that Guinefort had harmed it and in his anger killed him. Only then did he find the child, unharmed under the crib, with the dead snake beside him. Obviously feeling terrible, he buried the dog in a well around which trees were planted.

Soon, miracles begun to occur on good Guineforts grave. Children brought to the site were miraculously healed from their ailments. The people of the area recognised this sign of God and made a Saint of the good doggo.

But alas, the Church and its inquisitors refused and continue to refuse his obvious rise to sainthood and denounce his praise as superstition. A great error indeed.

Clearly, Guinefort should be accepted into the ranks of sainthood. In fact, I propose he be made the Patron Saint of Children, as every child ought to have a good holy doggo to protect and look after them.

[joshversus]

... Holiday Gaming, Year 5

It is absolutely batshit that I’ve been running these stupid Risus one-shot adventures every December for half a decade.  And yet, here we are, and once again I close out a year’s tabletop RPG play with a chaotic mess of wild improvisation and half-baked ideas loosely themed to midwinter celebrations.  You can read about previous years adventures here, here, here, and here.  

This year formed a direct sequel to last year’s game, which was itself a semi-sequel to the first holiday one shot.  

Following a lawsuit alleging image infringement, trademark violations, defamation, and mail fraud (among other charges), Lucifer settled out of court.  As a result of the arbitration, Lucifer (Satan) is legally obligated to fulfill those letters intended for Santa which, due to misspelling, have been delivered to the Infernal Pit instead.  The letters from Good Children, in particular, must be fulfilled on Christmas Eve as is the expected contract with Santa.  Of course, Lucifer himself is embedded waist-deep in Cocytus, the frozen lake at the bottom of Hell, and anyway you don’t get to reign over the entire Inferno without delegating, so the work has been farmed out to lesser demons.  The easy letters are dealt with by imps and various minor servitors, but there remain a few more problematic missives, and the Devil has appointed these to five of the lords of Hell to handle before Christmas morning.  

Our player characters are:

HAAGENTI, President of Hell, governor over 33 legions, in the shape of a winged bull. (Polymath 4, Boozehound 3, Demon 2, Alchemist 1)

AMDUSIAS, Duke of Hell, governor over 29 legions, in the shape of an upright unicorn. (Magical Musician 4, Treebender 3, Booming Voice 2, Demon 1)

BARBATOS, Duke of Hell, governor over 30 legions, in the shaped of a devilish bearded man. (Demon 4, Dr. Doolittle 3, Treasure Hunter 2, Fortune Teller 1)

FURFUR, Earl of Hell, governor over 26 legions, in the shape of a hart with a fiery tail. (Cupid 4, Thunder and Lightning 3, Demon 2, Soothsayer 1)

MARCHOSIAS, Marquess of Hell, governor over 30 legions, in the shape of a winged wolf with a flaming mouth. (Rowdy Boy 4, Demon 3, Fundamentally Honest 2, Flamethrower 1)

(Our demonic cast is directly but loosely based off their attributes as recorded in The Lesser Key of Solomon.)

Lucifer lays out the deal: Get this done before dawn. They’ve got to follow the rules Santa laid on in arbitration:

No teleporting inside the residence.  They can teleport to it, but must get inside physically.

No damage.  No blasting the walls down with hellfire or the like. Santa doesn’t do property damage.

No getting seen, unless being seen fosters belief in Santa Claus and the Magic of Christmas.

If milk and cookies or other snacks have been left out for Santa, they must be consumed.

Letters from Good Children must be fulfilled.

There are five Good Child letters left. Lucifer has provided them with a magic sack which will provide the next letter as each is fulfilled, and also potentially provide gifts or other useful tools (no guarantees).  The letters are revealed first with names and locations, and only once the party is at the residence is the child’s request made visible.  It is also established that the demons all basically have a roughly 13th-16th century European level of understanding.

LETTER ONE comes from Jimothy Sanchez of Passaic, New Jersey.  Jimothy lives with his father Oliver, stepmother Alanis, and his older stepsister Quinn. Jimothy is eight.

The demons arrive via teleportation outside the two-story suburban home of the Sanchez family.  They are confused by the environment, but immediately begin debating how to get in.  Examination of the letter reveals that Jimmy wants a “fidget spinner” and to “go to space like an astronaut.”

Barbatos begins interrogating a nightbird for information on how to get inside. “You’re tellin’ me you want to get in there to give a little boy a ‘present’?  You fuckin’ pervert,” the thickly-NJ-accented bird replies.  Eventually, the bird summons some pigeons, who attack Marchosias.  Furfur responds by summoning lighting to strike the bird’s tree, which splits and bursts into flames.

This wakes the father inside, who (as can be seen through the window) calls the fire department, although the demons are unclear on what’s happening.  Barbatos turns himself into an approximation of Santa (long white beard, red sharkskin suit, curling ram’s horns) as the fire department arrives. Marchosias and Haagenti teleport back to Dis to visit the infernal library and attempt to unravel the word “astronaut”. Amdusias attempts to pull a key out of the magic sack, but gets a viper instead, which she discards on the ground where it almost immediately bites a fireman.  Oliver Sanchez comes outside, and Barbatos introduces himself as Santa, leading to a great deal of confusion.  Marchosias and Haagenti return, and Haagenti attempts to sell the Santa con by turning into an elf, but succeeds only in turning into an Elf on the Shelf, all of which causes Mr. Sanchez to faint.  Barbatos picks up the EotS and they and Marchosias go inside.  After getting the rundown on what “astronaut” means, Barbatos attempts to get a book on Space from the bag, and gets a book about NASA.  Amdusias downs the milk and cookies, and is revolted by the lack of parasites.  Based on the book, he goes to the Moon, where he attempts to collect a footprint left there by astronauts.  Since it’s all moon dust, he just gets a fist of dust.  He brings that back and stuff it and a wooden top (provided by the sack in response to a request for a fidget spinner) into the stocking labeled Jimothy, and the demons collectively bug out while the firefighters attempt to revive their envenomed compatriot.  

LETTER TWO comes from the children of St. Guinefort’s Home for Disadvantaged Children, an archaic Catholic orphanage in NYC’s Lower East Side.  Surprisingly, the children have not requested anything unreasonable, but have requested a badminton set so they can play together.  Haagenti and Barbatos teleport to the roof of the building in search of a chimney, and finding one Barbatos tosses Haagenti (still in stuffed elf form) down it.  Haagenti hits a metal barrier and finds himself trapped.  Furfur joins them and drops a steaming, acidic load of demon poo down it, burning a hole through the closed flue and dumping Haagenti into a disused storeroom.  Barbatos turns into a rat and follows him down.  Haagenti attempts to take the form of a child and only manages to become a naked, horned baby with a devil’s tail, but is at least able to crawl around.  Barbatos goes for Santa mode again, but this time ends up worse, appearing gaunt and skeletal in his red garb.  Barbatos stuffs the baby Haagenti into the magic bag, a transimensional experience which shatters his mind and that of Furfur, who was scrying on their progress at the moment.  The two have a close encounter with and narrowly avoid the notice of a nun doing the rounds, and manage to quickly locate a room full of sleeping children, where a sad, Charlie-Brown-esque tree sits with no presents around.  Outside, Amdusias attempts to prevent any undue attention by summoning the sound of a traditional Christmas carol, but unwittingly makes everyone in earshot lose Whamageddon instead, followed by Fairytale of New York.

Back inside, Barbatos extracts the extremely dazed Haagenti from the sack, and then attempts to get a badminton set out of it.  The sack provides everything required: net, rackets, shuttlecocks, posts, post-hole digger, cardboard tube forms for pouring concrete anchors for the posts, bags of concrete, a backhoe and steamroller for flattening the court, turf, grass seed, chalk, a spreader, etc.  The room is very full, and the tree is entirely obscured.  

The demons retreat to Central Park, where they have a brief altercation with some hoodlums, before heading to the next home.

LETTER THREE was from Emily Chen of Hollywood, California, where she lives with her mother Amy and three brothers Ted, Leo, and Bobby in a three-bedroom apartment on the fifth floor of a walk-up building.  Emily, as the letter reveals, wants a pony.

Amdusias’s tree-bending bends a palm over the fence and lets everybody past the gates of the building, and the demons gather around the door to apartment.  Barbatos uses his treasure-finding skills to locate a key.  It is inside the apartment.  A cat is sensed inside, and Barbatos attempts to convince the cat to let them in.  The cat explains that even if it wanted to, it can’t work the lock.  A bribe of fish is offered if the cat will retrieve the key and push it under the door - the cat agrees if they will give it sushi.  A key is pushed under the door.  It does not fit in the lock.  Haagenti turns it into a more ductile metal to make it fit into the keyhole, and then attempts to firm it up so it can be turned, but in doing so ends up fusing it into the keyhole.  The cat demands sushi, which when extracted from the bag is revealed to be a piece of tamago nigiri.  An offer of salmon is made, but the cat again points out they are not capable of working the locks.  One of the demons tried to turn the cat into a human.  The locks click, the door opens, and a very sexy, very naked, and entirely testicle-less human man is revealed, demanding salmon.  The salmon is given, but the former cat asks for its balls back in exchange for letting them in and not just blowing up their spot right then and there.  Magic succeeds in restoring the man-cat’s genitals, and after garbing himself in a child’s gym shorts and some flip-flops, the cat leaves into the Hollywood night and the demons are free to enter. 

The living room bears a silver metallic tree, which confuses them, but they quickly and successfully extract a full-sized live pony and a bale of moist hay form the sack, the demons depart.

LETTER FOUR comes from Bethany-Ann Mayweather of South Carolina.  Bethany, it turns out, lives in a heavily-fortified survivalist compound in the woods with her dad (Steve), two brothers (Jesse and Dave), and two sisters (Katie and Donna-Lee.  The entire place is surrounded by an electrified fence topped with razor wire.

Emily would like to go to school like other children.

Things get weird.  Amdusias bends a tree over the fence, and Furfur drops down to discover that the clear ground between the fence and the building itself is heavily mined, exploding instantly (but non-fatally, because demon).  Lights are going on at the compound as Furfur starts bouncing around setting off mines and motion-sensing lamps.

Marchosias has the idea that the humans at the first house had somehow summoned that metal chariot in response to the burning tree by talking into that weird curved oblong shape, and that if they do the same maybe the metal chariot will help them get in.  Reaching into the bag extracts a banana.  Marchosias holds it to the side of his head and says hello.

“Hello?” says a sleepy voice from the banana.  “Who is this?”

“Uh, Mark,” responds Marchosias, who is Fundamentally Honest.  “Are you the...cops?  There is a little girl and there is a lot of gunpowder and fire and explosions.”

“What?  No, this is Raffi.  How did you get this number?  Is this a prank?”

It is established that this is not a prank (”Did Steve put you up to this?” “There’s a Steve here but no.” “From Blue’s Clues.” “I don’t know who or what that is.” “Mark, I’m looking at this caller ID here, and it just says ‘banana’.  What’s going on?”).  Barbatos teleports to this ‘Raffi’, the shock of which causes Raffi to suffer a heart attack and die. Barbatos resurrects Raffi as an undead revenant, and after difficulty (”Raffi, how do we call the police?” “RING.  RING.  RING.  BANANAPHONE.”) manage to extract the magical incantation “911″ from the former children’s entertainer.  Marchosias invokes this to the banana and connects to emergency services, and after a very complicated discussion (and some light aerial reconnaissance to pinpoint a location) succeeds in convincing them that there is a dangerous, heavily-armed incident at the compound and a child is in danger.  SWAT is being sent.  Meanwhile, Furfur is drawing gunfire from the survivalist dad, and Amdusias uses spectral music to distract him while they slip inside.

The six-foot-tall unicorn-headed naked figure reaches the crude two-dimensional paper Christmas tree inside the survival bunker and attempts to eat the dry saltines and rehydrated powdered milk that has been left out.  They are interrupted by the sleepy-eyed and tow-headed Bethany-Ann, who asks who they are.  Amdusias explains that they’re subbing in because Blitzen is sick.  Blitzen is Bethany-Ann’s favorite.  Amdusias tells her she’s going to get to go to school soon, and after a hug sends Bethany-Ann to hide under her bed until some nice people come get her.  Furfur attempts to use his lightning powers to dash Blitzen-like over the compound to drive home the Christmas-ness of it all, and instead burns holes through a number of trees as he accelerates to an appreciable fraction of the speed of light.  The remaining demons depart as militarized police descend on the compound.

THE FINAL LETTER is from Marcus Fitzwilliams III, son of Buck and Nancy, brother to Samantha, of Casper, Wyoming.  Marcus is ten, and he would like “a fortnite”.  The demons gather outside the ranch-style suburban home and debate what that means.  Eventually, they decide this means he wants to spend a night in a fort, and locating the Fort Caspar Museum nearby they plan to liberate the child from the house and take him there.  They decide against a plan to bring the fort to the house on the grounds that this might cause property damage.  Everyone but Marchosias goes to the backyard; Marchosias, who at this point looks like Bea Arthur because of reasons, remains out front with the banana to allay suspicion.

In the backyard, Barbatos again attempts to find a key, but fails.  He does detect a dog, and attempts to convince the dog to let them in.  The dog declines. “Stranger bad.  Bite stranger.”  An offer of bacon is made, and raw bacon pulled from the sack.  “Bacon good.  Bite bacon.  Bite stranger.  Good dog.”  This goes back and forth for a bit, and the dog starts barking.  Barbatos attempts to turn into a dog to sell the bit, and turns into a massive, ebon mastiff with glowing red eyes.  The bacon falls on the ground.  Furfur is now hiding in trees behind the house, joined by Amdusias, who attempts to keep things under control by bellowing “somebody let that dog out for a walk”, which comes out in a titanic demonic shout which rattles windows and kills the azaleas.  Lights come on.  The backdoor opens and Buck, carrying a rifle, looks at the giant demon dog and Haagenti, who is still a demonic baby, and the pile of bacon.  In the trees, the flaming tail of Furfur glows. 

“MA, GET UP AND CHECK THE FRONT, I THINK THE METHHEADS ARE TRYIN’ TO ROB US.”

Shit goes sideways quick.  Nancy opens the front door and sees Bea Arthur standing in her yard talking into a banana, and confirms the meth suspicion to buck.  The dog escapes into the yard and eats the bacon.  Baby Haagenti jumps on mastiff Barbatos’ back and the two dash into the house as Buck fires wildly at them and the intruders in the trees.  Nancy shoots the bananaphone and the side of Bea Arthur’s face.  Inside the house, Haagenti and Barbatos dodge bullets semi-successfully.  Haagenti scarfs cookies while Barbatos abandons the original plan and reaches into the bag while thinking “Fort Night”, pulling forth a card with a download code for Minecraft.  Furfur pulls his lightning-assisted flight trick over the house while Amdusias tries a bellowing “HO HO HO” so loud and infernal it shatters windows in houses throughout the neighborhood.

The list complete, the demons depart for Dis, where they are quickly met by Asmodeus, who tells them the boss wants to see them. The demon lords report total success, but receive a thorough chewing-out from Lucifer, who details the many, many violations they have committed and the agonies he is going to inflict on them for their failure.  

“You know the ring where we bury people up to their face in flaming shit?”  “Yeah, that one’s great.”  “Not for the humans.  I’m going to turn you all into humans and stick you there for the next thousand years.”

The demons attempt to portray their actions in a favorable light, and Amdusias protests and attempts to get the sounds of Michael Bublé’s Let it Snow to play and encourage the spirit of the holiday to earn them some clemency. However, it turns instead into Snow’s Informer as Belial reveals himself from behind Lucifer’s torso and tells them he was following and reporting on them the whole time, everyone gets in a Christmas “no, fuck you”, our heroes are consigned to flaming shit, and credits roll. Happy Holidays, everyone.