#you are a priest!! you are so devout your god loves you in particular and the way that is expressed is through necrosis and rot

[asharaks]

i get the gentle healer trope completely like i understand the appeal fo a character who drains themself for the sake of others of a character who is self sacrificing to the nth degree who dedicates their life to saving people, often at their own expense.

but also clerics are fucking crazy man especially clerics of death and the grave and stuff. i love clerics who cause more damage than they heal who can't touch without harming clerics whose blood runs necrotic and whose gods gifts are acid and poison and violence - not even evil clerics. people who are sworn to the dark and distasteful aspects of service, who perform their tasks with filthy hands, bloodstained faith.

people who are so devoted to their god they take on the things no one else is willing to do, who sacrifice their own innocence and their own peace in the name of faith.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

How to train your Drake, Ch 3

You know the drill babes. TWs for this chapter: religious indoctrination, self-harm (for religious reasons), just general religious trauma tbh. Also lies, manipulation, and possessive behavior

Previous part

If you were to ask Marinette why she had chosen Tikki to be her patron, she would likely tell you that she had always been an orderly person, of course she had chosen Tikki. Just look at how neat the lines in her skin were! Clearly, it was important to her.

This was a lie.

In reality, she didn’t remember. She knew she had chosen, Tikki hadn’t been forced upon her in any way, no one had told her that she needed to choose this god in particular. To do so would have been a crime.

Her parents were good people, anyway, they wouldn’t have taken such a big decision away from her. Even if they had, why would they sway her towards Tikki instead of their own patrons?

No, she had chosen Tikki of her own volition. This, at least, she knew.

She didn’t know much else, though.

She didn’t remember choosing. She figured that her thought process at the time hadn’t been all that complex. Perhaps a vague nod at whichever word she thought sounded coolest, or a finger pointing to a particularly pretty statue. She had only been three, after all, and most three year olds aren’t going around thinking ‘yes, I love rules so much, I wish there was a god I could thank for their existence!’

Despite this, she could confidently say that she had chosen the best patron.

After all, Tikki was… Tikki. Need she say more?

She could, of course, but why would she need to? Surely anyone could see the god's good points. It was Tikki, after all.

Admittedly, she understood all too well why one might not immediately understand her devotion to the god. There had been a time, when she was young and dumb and didn’t know better, where she, too, had not been able to see what the big deal was.

It was no excuse, but to be at least a little fair to her, she hadn’t quite understood what was going on at the time, and that had led to a terrible first impression. Her parents fussed for hours over the too-puffy white dress and the veil in her hair, talking about how this ceremony was going to be the most important day of her life. The long walk and the eyes on her, all encouraging smiles and polite claps. The confusion as she was sat down on the altar, slightly chubby legs swinging back and forth as she watched them prepare the knife. The way she had put her arm out willingly when asked – her parents had told her it was a big day, she had to be good! The momentary shock as a knife, larger than her entire forearm, was laid against her skin.

And a lot of pain and screaming.

It had ended quickly, for her patron was kind, but she hadn’t been able to calm down for the rest of the day.

She had been taken back to the temple a month later.

She knew now that it was necessary, that she would learn to love the god enough that, had she not been drafted, she would have become a priest… but she would never forget how betrayed she had felt when her parents handed her the knife for the first time.

Still.

She was a devout follower. One of the god’s most devout.

And yet.

There were whispers and speculation that Tikki might also be the goddess of luck, as well as order. But then why had her goddess allowed for her to be drafted? It was her name among hundreds of eligible townsfolk, what had the chances of her being chosen? Why had her patron not fudged the numbers in her favor?

Had it been because it was a rule? A set procedure that she, as the goddess of order, could not bring herself to interfere with?

Marinette might be able to accept that, even if it hurt.

But the problem was that she didn’t know that that was the case.

Was it because of those first few times, when she was young and dumb, where she had sworn to hate her patron because of all the pain she had caused her?

Was she simply not enough?

She blinked open bleary eyes, forcing a yawn to have a reasonable explanation as to why there were tears forming. She lifted her head despite a strangely intense kind of exhaustion threatening to drag her back under. Part of her was tempted to curl up and allow herself to sleep once again. After all, Tim made for a remarkably warm ‘pillow’, and sunlight was only barely peeking through the window.

Tim almost seemed to encourage this, his arms tightening around her and his lips coming to press against the crown of her head.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

“Mnf,” she said eloquently.

At least he seemed to find it amusing. His lips pulled into a wide grin against her skin. “We can sleep longer, if you want.”

Damn him for tempting her.

But she shook her head, slowly pushing herself up to sit.

Her gaze caught on the bags under his eyes. Maybe she hadn’t been the only one stressed about their possible impending doom. Though she wasn’t sure why he was stressed, Tim would probably get through all of this scott-free regardless of whether she succeeded in killing a supposedly unkillable dragon.

 “Did you sleep at all?”

“I don’t need as much sleep as you do,” he said.

She wasn’t entirely convinced, her fingers coming up to rub the space under his eyes. “You sure about that?”

“I can’t lie,” he reminded her.

“Not being able to lie doesn’t necessitate telling the truth.”

He gave a quiet huff of laughter. “Okay, fine. No, I didn’t sleep. The ground is uncomfortable.”

She smiled faintly. “You know, we could have dragged one of the many mattresses from the other rooms.”

“…oh,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, leaning to press a short kiss to his lips.

His smile turned a bit dopey.

She slowly pushed herself off of him, stretching out aching limbs. Even if she had used Tim as a pillow, there was no changing the fact that they had been on the floor. She didn’t even realize how uncomfortable she had been until she was no longer in that position, groaning as she tilted her head this way and that, craning her neck in a fruitless attempt to get at least one of the knots out.

Tim made no move to do the same. He seemed more or less content to simply watch her.

Hadn’t he said he’d been uncomfortable?

She supposed that he could simply show it differently, or that faerie were more adaptable, but…

Marinette shook her head. Fae were known for being good actors, they tended to hide things just for the sake of seeming more palatable. Of course, this often looped right back around into making things slightly more uncomfortable, their strangeness presenting itself for everyone to see.

She sighed and offered him a hand up. Now, he seemed eager to stand, if only so he could lace their fingers together once he was on steady feet.

Marinette smiled faintly.

The expression soon faded, though. She glanced towards the door. She might just have to retrace her steps around the castle, seeing as any potential inhabitants could have moved to places she had already checked overnight. Which, frankly, she didn’t want to do. Partially because the dragon counted as an inhabitant, but also because she was tired. She hadn’t eaten since before she’d gotten to the castle, and that wasn’t even taking into account ‘proper’ meals.

She had just helped him up, and yet she wanted to drag Tim back down and lay with him forever.

However, she couldn’t stay here. Who knows when the dragon’s latest offering was. It might come lumbering inside any moment.

So, it was time to leave.

She had one more thing to do here, though.

She made her way over to the altar, tugging up her sleeves as she went. It was probably a bit too soon to be offering again, but if she didn’t do this it was extremely likely the god would come to dislike her. It was common practice to offer out of courtesy whenever passing through, which was why she had done so the day prior. However, now that Plagg had allowed her to use his altar as sanctuary without smiting her in her sleep, she would be expected to offer as a form of thanks. And, if there was any god in particular that she didn’t want to offend on the day she was supposed to be going up against a dragon – a dragon that he was, apparently, the patron of, no less – it was the one that controlled bad luck.

Tim picked up the knife and lazily cut through his bandages, rather than taking the time to unwrap them normally. She sent him a halfhearted glare out of the corner of her eyes, but he merely smiled.

“What?”

“You could cut yourself,” she chided.

“That’s kind of the point,” he said, spinning the knife in his hand and raking it back up the inside of his arm.

She rolled her eyes and said nothing. Mainly because she had no real retort for this. She knew already that he cared far less about maintaining order when it came to his offerings, and that that was fine, even if she would never do it herself…

So, she merely sighed and, once she had braced her arm on the table, began to unwrap the bandages around her arm.

There were enough of them that she almost considered joining Tim in taking a knife to them, albeit more carefully, but then that would be admitting he had won, which would be terrible. She was already going to die later, no need to add insult to injury by making herself lose one of the last ‘arguments’ she was ever going to have.

No, she was going to unravel this all herself, by hand.

At some point, she used the knife to cut the excess off, since it had begun unfurling onto the floor, and the bandages were clean enough to use again. Or use at all. Really, why Tim had felt the need to wrap it around her so many times was beyond her…

Her eyes caught on the speck of red beginning to poke through the white.

It had sept through far further than she had expected it to…

A tiny flicker of pain made itself known, the bandages pulling at her scab in a way that ached.

Her fingers hesitated for just a moment.

She tore the bandage off, yanking it down her arm. Part of her was still expecting to see the usual – a simple, thin line in her otherwise smooth skin. Instead, she was met with the rotten smell of old blood and a ripping of flesh.

She had taken off a chunk of her scab with the bandage. Dully, she thought it hurt, she thought she might have heard herself hiss in pain, but this was nothing compared to the ringing in her ears.

She wasn’t supposed to have a scab at all.

Her skin was supposed to have been healed over. Gods always heal over wounds that came from offerings. That was what they did, after all they couldn’t let people bleed out, they weren’t cruel.

And yet.

Blood spilled down her forearm. Some of it soaked into the bandages, now hanging limp around her wrist, but most of it dripped down onto the altar.

Marring the clean stone.

Plagg had come by and collected their offerings, he knew.

He had left her to bleed on purpose.

The blood drained from her face.

She knew a sign – a message – when she saw one.

Plagg… wasn’t just the dragon’s patron, he was their patron. As in he actually paid attention to them and heeded their pleas.

No wonder this dragon is said to be unkillable, she thought dully.

She looked at Tim, worrying her lip with her teeth. She was going to die soon (today, a traitorous part of her mind whispered), whether that be through a smiting or divine intervention or the dragon simply being steered towards her. There was no reason for her to keep him with her, knowing this, but…

She didn’t want to die alone.

She didn’t want to die at all.

She wanted to go home.

Tim took her hand in his, turning her arm, palm up, to try and stem some of the blood flow. With careful, slightly shaky fingers, he rewrapped her arm with the discarded bandages. She watched the torn skin disappear from sight, watched her blood disappear in a sea of white cloth. He tied it off in a neat little bow. With the cleaner parts of the already soiled bandages, he wiped away some of the red trailing its way down her arm.

He sent her a careful smile. “I think that was enough for today.”

She cast her gaze downward. The altar looked like the scene of a crime, red strewn messily over the table. She hadn’t even realized she had bled that much.

She swallowed thickly, barely managing to return Tim’s smile.

“Let’s get you out of here,” she said, giving his hand a tight squeeze. One that she hoped would convey that things were fine, that she would make sure he got out of this okay, that she would protect him like the ‘Savior’ she had said she would be when they first met.

For a moment, she thought he might just argue. He looked like he had half a mind to demand to stay with her.

“I want –.”

His voice cut off abruptly. He turned his face away, but she could see the way his jaw set in irritation.

He was a fae, and fae couldn’t lie.

He didn’t want to stay. Of course he didn’t. They had only known each other for around a day, if even that, why would he want to risk his life for her?

Tim interlocked their fingers, squeezing her hand even tighter than she had his.

“I guess it’s better to get this part over with,” he said, eventually.

She bit back a wince, but ultimately agreed.

So, hand in hand, they made their way outside of the castle.

The castle grounds were strange. A deep trench separated the dragon’s land from that of the forest, so far across that she thought even a dragon could fall down it, had they not had wings. In fact, she considered whether a dragon had possibly carved it into the Earth. At first glance, she had assumed that it had simply seen a convenient place to live where it could easily defend its hoard and decided to take advantage of it… but were those claw marks digging into the sides? Or just natural weathering?

Though she supposed the dragon couldn’t be happy, if it had gone through the effort to separate its land only for humans to stubbornly make their way across it. A small, rope bridge spanned the ravine. It was manmade, and not particularly sturdy, and swayed with every little step, but it was enough for knight after knight to come in search of the dragon’s head.

Marinette wasn’t eager to make another trip across, but she figured it was not really her problem. Chances were, she would never get to step upon it ever again. Her mission had long-since changed:

She had to get Tim off the ‘island’. Once she had made sure he was safely out of range, she would head back inside and look for any other hostages. And probably die in the process, but she wasn’t going to think about that right now!

One thing at a time!

Like the bridge!

It may not be her problem, but it definitely was Tim’s problem.

He… didn’t seem particularly enthused about it, either.

He walked over to one of the two pegs holding the bridge to the ground.

“It doesn’t look all that sturdy.”

He was right — it definitely wasn’t sturdy, the entire time she had been making her way across it, she had been praying to the god of transportation that she could have safe passage. If they managed to get across it again, she’d make sure to visit the Temple of Kaalki to pay her thanks before coming back to face the dragon.

He knelt to pull on the wooden peg that held the bridge in place, checking to make sure it would stay in if they were both to step upon it.

It definitely wouldn’t have, because it popped right of place without him exerting any effort at all.

Not wanting to let the rope drag him down with it, he let go.

They watched the peg slip out of its loop and tumble right down into the chasm below.

A shiver ran through her when it disappeared from view. They didn’t even hear it hit the bottom.

“We… we can fix this,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “We can find something else to be a makeshift peg.”

Tim hesitated, thinking, his head twisting to look at the castle for ideas, but then his eyes caught on her sword, gleaming faintly in the setting sun’s light.

“Your sword, we can use that,” he said, holding a hand out for it, expectant.

She gave it to him.

Only after she saw his expression turn into a sharp grin did she truly realize what was going on.

With one deft swing, he cut the last rope holding the bridge in place and she could only stare as the only path out was taken from her.

He rose slowly, spinning the sword in his hand, testing the weight of it.

“Good quality. Nice and sharp. Wouldn’t have done much to my true form, but it was a nice attempt.”

And then he tossed it into the ravine as well.

She took a few steps backward, terror rising in the back of her throat, leaving an acrid taste in her mouth. She glanced behind herself, towards the fall so far below, wondering which fate would be worse.

By the time she looked forward again, Tim was directly in front of her, too close for comfort, enough so that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

She couldn’t back up, not without tumbling over the edge. Couldn’t even shift her feet to try and get leverage if she wanted to go down fighting. There was no way she would get out of this alive.

“Don’t kill me,” she pleaded regardless.

“Oh…” He brought a hand up, and she barely held back a flinch when too-sharp nails neared her throat, but he merely continued on to cup her face. “I would never hurt you.”

She had convinced him, somehow, and yet still it felt like she had lost.

“You’re far too precious for that.”

Precious. Like the people Tim had said sometimes were kept by dragons, simply because they wanted them.

She didn’t know which was worse: that he had been playing her for a fool the whole time, or that she had fallen for it.

He looped his other arm around her waist, and she cursed internally over the loss of choice, the fact that she could no longer step back and let gravity take her instead (though, if she were to be honest with herself, it probably wouldn’t have done much, dragons had wings, and she doubted he would let her go that easily). Long fingernails dug into her, not enough to break the skin, but enough to remind her that he could.

“I don’t –,” her voice wavered despite her best efforts. “Please, I don’t want to stay here.”

His lips pulled into a slight frown, and it looked genuine, but she felt mocked regardless. “You don’t want to go back there, do you? They sent you here to die.”

And wasn’t that just great? She’d known, of course, that she wouldn’t be allowed to go back if she failed to kill the dragon, that the options were victory or death.

She trembled, tears welling in her eyes. She shook her head rapidly, unsure what she was even saying ‘no’ to at this point. His question about whether she wanted to go home or the prospect of staying.

He took it as an answer, though, and he smiled as he pulled her in closer, his arms around her just a little too tight.

His fingers slowly combed through her hair, sharp nails detangling tiny knots with ease.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you have everything you could ever want. Clothes, jewelry, food. I’ll even learn to steal crops, just for you!” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and the tears finally began to spill over, staining the shoulder of his shirt. “There might be a little adjustment period, but… I promise I’ll do everything I can to ensure that my human is happy.”

>>>>>

Next part

Tag: @jeminiikrystal

[fantastic-nonsense]

If you’re comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear more about your thoughts/ideas about religion/the afterlife, and how that’s influencing your Batman religion fic!

the tl;dr is that I'm a cradle Episcopalian whose mother is an Episcopal priest and that's deeply influenced my view on both the afterlife and religion in general. Personally? My view on the afterlife is...probably closest to the "heaven and hell aren't any kind of physical place or specific experience, it's eternal communion/separation from God's grace and your loved ones" interpretation.

Generally, I think that organized religion should be a way for people to come together under a general agreement of doctrine and behavior, discuss/argue about any deep difficult questions they have about the universe together, and experience the divine as a collective. I'm happy with the Episcopal Church and I've never felt a reason to deeply question my commitment to their particular understanding of the Christian tradition; I like the beliefs, rituals, and practice I grew up with and even though I've explored other denominations and other religions altogether, I've always landed right back where I started. They're a progressive denomination that, as a collective body, is genuinely committed to living out what I see as God's mission for humanity: caring for the world as it has been given to us and loving and helping our neighbors as ourselves. So I stay here.

As far as those beliefs affect the 'Bruce Wayne Religion Discourse Fic' (as I've lovingly termed it):

DC has decided on multiple occasions that Bruce is an atheist, to which I say: that's dumb DC, you have multiple pantheons running around and one of his best friends was literally the Goddess of Truth for a bit. The Abrahamic god canonically exists in-universe and the Spectre is his wrath embodied. The afterlife is a place people can physically go to and come back from (otherwise resurrection couldn't happen). This is the hill I die on when it comes to comics and it's that absolutely no character who lives in that universe should be an atheist (I've talked a little bit about this before here in regards to Tim Drake). They can be a non-worshipper, and frankly that's a completely understandable place to be in the DCU, but being a non-believer makes them look unbelievably dumb and illogical.

Anyway: Bruce is canonically Jewish due to the Accidental Jewish Retcon, which happened when DC created Kate Kane, an explicitly Jewish character, in 2005 and then made her Bruce's maternal cousin. This makes Martha Wayne (and thus Bruce) ethnically Jewish. However, it is ALSO canonically true that Thomas and Martha were buried as Christians, and the Waynes have been heavily coded as Episcopalian for decades. And yet he's supposedly atheist despite growing up in two religious institutions that have long-standing and exceptionally forgiving traditions around questioning/challenging divine authority, exploring doubt, and doing deep dives into theological doctrine.

So we're in an interesting place where Bruce canonically grew up in an interfaith household until his parents were murdered and also explicitly explored the tenets of multiple religions and spiritual practices during his training years abroad. And yet no writer wants to touch it! We get oblique references to his Jewish heritage occasionally, but other than that we largely do not see religion happen in Batman stories unless the central character is Helena Bertinelli/Huntress (a devout Catholic) or Jean-Paul Valley/Azrael (a cult survivor who basically acts devoutly Catholic). So I went 'well okay, I'll do it.' So the fic is focused on Bruce’s childhood growing up in an interfaith household and his incredibly complicated relationship with organized religion as he grows up, becomes Batman, and starts acquiring kids.

While I have not written anything except a tentative outline for it, I think my own beliefs are probably affecting how I approach the fic even conceptually, as I'm both Episcoplian (influencing how I'll approach that part of Bruce's exploration) and more than happy to explore my personal headcanon that Bruce ends up with a frankenstein set of beliefs that mix-and-match Episcopalian Christianity, Reform Judaism, Buddhism, and a few other things. It would be difficult not to, given all that he's seen, done, and experienced. Bruce is a very skeptical person who deeply believes 'seeing is believing', and I'll be trying my best to balance Bruce's canonical approach to such matters with how the DCU has portrayed religion and how the varying religions deal with massive soul-searching questions IRL.

......also I simply think that if Ollie Queen ever tells him that he met Jason in heaven/the afterlife while he was dead, Bruce would go home and cry for an hour, and I kind of want to write that scene.

[rahleeyah]

Hi Leah! I have a question that you may not have an answer to but maybe your followers may know.

On a few occasions, I have seen some post that say Chris Meloni in the past may have said or tweeted something transphobic. I can't find evidence of it anywhere!

I don't agree with everything he post on Twitter. Mostly the pro cop tweets. Given his job I don't expect anything different. Mariska has posted the same. But Chris for the most part seems like an cool dude. I don't know him personally so I don't have a blinding trust in him but I have yet to see any huge red flags.

Are they confusing Chris for Elliot? Elliot has said some pretty shitty things. But so have all the characters from SVU. I watched the Pose episodes he starred in with Dominique Jackson so I don't get where him being called transphobic is coming from.

Did he say or tweet anything or are antis making this up?

whew ok i debated not answering this at all bc i don't like to give a platform to the random garbage the antis spew, but in this case i felt like i needed to address it.

re: the transphobic thing. i had to look it up, bc a) i'd never heard anyone say this and b) i have a hard time believing that chris "be weird" sex positive ultra liberal meloni was transphobic on main. if you google chris and trans or transphobia, the first thing that pops up is one tweet thread from two years ago. literally just google "chris meloni transphobic" it's the first hit. he retweeted a video of some sort (i can't find the actual video now) and cracked a joke. you can look it up for yourself and decide how you feel about it; i think it was in poor taste, but he's also a (then) 58 year old white dude, and there was no particular hate or malice behind it, and when people called him out for transphobia he tweeted asking why. not whining, he literally said "Ok so I am getting the idea that my honest reaction is transphobic. Why?" the comments in reply to that are pretty divided, as again his words were not blatantly hateful, and people had a variety of responses. it's not a clear black and white. but that's literally the only thing; the next hit for chris and trans issues is an article from the advocate years ago where he talks about raising kids in an "lgbt inclusive" family. trust and believe if there had been more than one incident, there would have been more thinkpieces about it; this one tweet incident spawned several results and at least one youtube video i could find, but there's literally nothing else.

this is really a subpoint of part 1, but elliot wasn't transphobic, either. elliot literally sits beside a trans kid who asked him what he'd do if his son was trans and he says he'd try to understand and love his child anyway.

which leads me really to the final paragraph of your message, sorry i'm out of order here, but. elliot didn't say a lot of shitty things. that's an anti myth. elliot stabler, devout catholic, says things like "when god gives you a uterus then maybe we'll care about your opinion" to anti-abortion priests. elliot is the one in the early seasons who tries to make olivia be more compassionate towards a man with mental health issues. he's respectful of women, he's gentle with children and victims, he doesn't bash gay people or trans people or do any of that socially conservative bullshit. the only victim he ever belligerently didn't believe is in doubt, and the entire point of that case is that neither of the people involved was believable. that's just literally not who elliot is. was elliot violent? sure! liv is too! but the show - bc it is copaganda, so of course it does this - takes pains to show elliot's aggression only being directed towards other aggressors; elliot isn't beating up every random person he meets.

circling back to chris's pro cop tweets; if you search his twitter feed for "police" or "cop" all you find are hits about Uvalde and Jan 6. like. like literally, all the way back to 2013, there's nothing about cops in there beyond "hey jan 6 was bad" and "the police failed those kids". the oldest tweet, from 2013, is someone asking him "has playing a cop changed ur view of crime/punishment & law enforcement" to which he responded "i learned some gnarly stats." he doesn't even say what those stats are!!! like i'm sorry the data simply is not there he's not tweeting pro-cop shit. again unless you count the jan 6 stuff, but i feel like "an armed mob attacking capitol police in an attempt to overthrow the government is bad, actually" is maybe a little more nuanced than "pro cop".

all of that goes to this point: celebrities are human, and fallible, and make mistakes, and should not be held up as some kind of paragons of virtue who say the right thing 100% of the time. but it is important to remember that just bc we hear something doesn't mean it's true; we gotta look for the facts. you won't find a lot of facts from fans on twitter; the antis will keep repeating the same made-up lines that justify their point of view, and hardcore chris fans will refuse to believe he's capable of saying something unkind. you gotta look for the data, and decide for yourself.

but we also gotta remember; we are not all born knowing everything we need to know about rights issues, about communities other than our own, about life and the world and people. we are all gonna hear something for the first time at some point, and we are all gonna be faced with a choice to learn and grow, or continue on the same path as before. we all gotta allow ourselves the grace to say something wrong, hear that we're wrong, and try to be better. if someone doesn't try to be better then we say fuck 'em.

[modernmagdalene]

Saint and Crystal Associations Part 2

Once again, I’m posting this as a potential resource for other Christian witches or Christian mystics (whatever you call yourself). These are my own personal associations, not official associations of any Christian denominations, so if they don’t feel right for you feel free to use different crystals with different saints. Thanks and enjoy.

Saint Francis of Assisi --> Amber

Francis is best associated with Amber. While not technically a crystal it still is used in a lot of crystal magic. Francis is a very complex saint who helps with a lot of different things: voluntary poverty, helping the poor, antiwar, and oneness with nature. Amber is very old and connected deeply to the earth. It helps with grounding, clarity, patience, wisdom, dissolves negativity, eliminates fear, and balances emotions. All things Francis needed to leave his life of privilege behind and follow God. I think it represents much of who Francis is and can help support the same virtues that Francis represents. 

Saint Brigid --> Opal

St. Brigid would be associated with Opal. Brigid is a saint that is very connected to the goddess Brigid. Their stories are extremely intertwined that you can’t really talk about without the other. Both are connected to fire, love, and hope and that’s all things Opal is connected with as well. I also personally tend to associate Opal with the divine feminine and Brigid connection to a goddess makes that work as well.

Saint Julian of Norwich --> Moonstone

Julian of Norwich I said in a comment that I associated with Lapis Lazuli but then relaized I was already using that crystal with St. Perpetua and Felicity. So I did some more research and decided that Moonstone would work really well for Saint Julian of Norwich. Moonstone is obviously associated with Lunar magick and the moon is also regularly associated with femimine energy. Which works wonders with St. Julian who often depicted God as femimine. One of the things that made her contraversal. St. Julian of Norwich had visions and was a prolific writer. Moonstone helps those seeking wisdom and strengthens psychic abilities. St. Julian of Norwich is also a known cat lover so have moonstone carved into the shape of a cat is even better. 

Saint Mary MacKillop --> Obsidian

(Trigger Warning Mentions of sexual abuse in this.)

Mary MacKillop is the first saint of Australia and one of my favorites! Mary MacKillop reported a priest who was abusing children and not longer after a friend of this priest used his connections to get her excommunicated. Her excommunication was eventually lifted. I have always admired her strength and resilience. That’s why I chose obsidian for her. Obsidian shines a light on the negativity and clears it away, helping us to choose the path leading towards light and love. It is also a protective stone as it used to be used for weapons. If you need to fight the devil obsidian is up there with tourmaline as an excellent crystal to clean house.     

Saint Raphael the Archangel --> Ametrine

St. Raphael the Archangel is another favorite of mine. If you use a Protestant Bible you might not have read about him. Raphael is featured in the Book of Tobit which is only in Catholic and Orthodox Bibles. The Book of Tobit is an epic love story between Tobias and Sarah that also features thievery, exile, and fights with demons. Where Michael and Gabriel tend to appear to humans briefly then leave. Raphael, disguised as a human, travels with Tobias throughout the whole book. Raphael is most associated with healing and I connect him to the crystal ametrine. Ametrine is associated with healing, harmony, strength, balancing physical and spiritual life, and aids in contacting spirit guides. This works with Raphael’s connections to healing. Furthermore, Raphael’s role guiding Tobit and being a spiritual being working on earth makes ametrine perfect in helping to connect with him. Use this stone and ask him to help find balance in your practice and assist you with finding spiritual guides.

Saint Rita --> Smoky Quartz

St. Rita is the patron saint of impossible tasks. She is someone I rely on when I really need to overcome an obstacle or problem in my life. She is also prayed to when someone has a deadly illness or serious problem helping with things that seem impossible to deal with is just her jam. Because of this I associate her most with smoky quartz. This crystal is super powerful and is a great grounding and balancing stone. It absorbs negative energy like a sponge (because of this it should be cleansed often-ish use your best judgement). It’s so useful and can even cleanse other crystals. It keeps all the negativity away from you which is something that one really needs when dealing with impossible situations.

Saint Mary Magdalene --> Celestite

Mary Magdalene is one of my favorite witchy women in the Bible. She wasn’t scared away like the other disciples when Christ was crucified, she was the first to preach about the resurrection, and was active in preaching and teaching others about Christ. One of my favorite stories about her comes from the Orthodox tradition where she was preaching to Emperor Tiberius Caesar about Christ and turned an egg red to prove to the emperor that Christ’s story and power was true. I associate Mary Magdalene most with Celestite. Celestite raises spiritual vibrations, promotes spiritual growth, and aides in communication with the spiritual realm. This crystal also boosts self-worth and self-expression, all things Mary Magdalene had in abundance. Mary Magdalene also seems to be the most connected to the spiritual world out of all the apostles (with the exception of maybe John) so this crystal is perfect for her.

Saint Joan of Arc --> Bloodstone 

St. Joan is a warrior and protector. I also consider her a trans and/or genderfluid saint who will naturally protect trans and genderfluid peoples. Because of this I associate her most with bloodstone. Bloodstone promotes justice and strength, it is also good for healing and renewal, but bloodstone is probably best known for boosting spells and banishing spirits. Or as I prefer to use it, boosting protection spells and banishing TERFs.

Saint Francis de Sales --> Kyanite

St. Francis de Sales is one of my favorite saints purely because he is the patron saint of writers and I am someone who greatly enjoys writing. Kyanite is the crystal I use with this saint. It promotes creativity and also dispels negativity aka those negative thoughts that tell you that you can’t write. It’s also supposed to sharpen your focus which can be especially helpful with writing or any creative work, especially if you are easily distracted like me.

Saint Anthony of Padua --> Amazonite

St. Anthony was one of my grandmother’s favorite saints and probably the saint I use the most in day to day life. He is the patron saint of lost items. He was a devout priest and taught students from a book of psalms. He once tried to preach to people who refused to listen to him. He instead decided to preach to the fish who all started to gather near the shore to listen to him. When people saw this they decided they should listen too. So you know when in doubt preach to fish I guess. Anyway, I associate St. Anthony with amazonite. Amazonite helps sharpen the mind, aids communication and promotes good luck all of which are great attributes for learning and teaching, finding lost items (that’s the good luck bit), and aiding communication could help you talk to people or fish, your call. 

Saint Valentine --> Rose Quartz 

St. Valentine did a lot but he is most associated today with marrying couples in the Christian church during the height of Roman persecution. So naturally I associate him with rose quartz, a crystal that promotes love and fertility, dispels loneliness, opens the heart to compassion, and even strengthens faith. The perfect stone for this romantic saint. 

Saint Scholastica --> Citrine 

St. Scholastica was the twin sister of St. Benedict, and was the founder of the women’s benedictine order. As someone who went to a benedictine college I have a fondness for her. If you are a storm witch in particular I think this might be the saint for you. At one point Benedict and his monks visit Scholastica and her nuns. Scholastica didn’t think she would live long enough to see her brother again after this meeting so begged him to stay the night, but Benedict didn’t want to spend the night outside his monastery and told her he couldn’t. So Scholastica prayed and a massive thunderstorm suddenly came making it unsafe for Benedict and his monks to travel. And here is my favorite bit:

“Realizing what had happened, Benedict reproached her: "What have you done, my sister?” Scholastica answered simply, "I asked a favor of you, and you refused to listen to me. So I asked my God, and He, more generous than you, granted my request.” Once again Scholastica’s pleas won the favor she was seeking.” 

With Scholastica I associate the crystal citrine. Citrine is all about manifesting change, protection, creativity, and success all things she needed to live the life she did.

Saint Dymphna --> Blue Lace Agate

St. Dymphna is one of my favorite saints and she is one I utilize often. She is most associated with mental and emotional illnesses. If you are a spoonie witch this is the saint for you. Because of this I associate her most with Blue Lace Agate, which helps people express themselves (helpful when going to therapy or a doctor) and also helps with dealing with any sorts of fears or anxiety. (Reminder: That utilizing this saint and crystal is meant as a prayerful way to ask for help dealing with mental and emotional illness. It is not a replacement for therapy or meds.)

St. Sara-la-Kali --> Jasper

St. Sara-la-Kali is the patroness of the Romani people. She is said to have helped the Three Marys of the Bible arrive safely in Gaul after she had a vision of them arriving. She used her dress as a raft and helped the women get to shore despite the tumultuous waves. She was also extremely generous and often collected alms for the poor. I associate her most with jasper. A crystal native to Romania it aids in peace and wisdom and also is particularly helpful during times of transition by providing stability and protection. It also supports perseverance and acceptance, something we definitely need Sara's help with right now.

[solinarimoon]

A Place in This World

A/N:  This is my entry for @mrsalwayswrite 350 follower challenge.  Congratulations on your 350 followers!  You desreve them and so many more! My prompt was for the sense of sight and old books.  I focused on an OC I created that could potentially mold into a larger story.  This one shot takes place during season 3 of The Last Kingdom at the nunnery in Wincelcumb. 

Warnings: angsty, bastard, and abandonment.

Word count: 2219ish

A Place in This World

The rustling of Edlyn’s steps echoed along the corridor.  She tried to keep her feet light and gentle as she walked, but the bare walls and cold floors captured all sounds.

Evening meal would not be served for another hour or more.  Instead of waiting to be roped into helping prepare the food, Edlyn had taken her first opportunity to explore the new convent she was thrust upon.

Rounding the corner, Edlyn came up short when she saw a door ajar at the end of the hallway.  Peering into the room, she saw a warm glow from the fireplace illuminating a small chamber.  Lining the walls on one side, across from the fire so their spines danced in the flickering light, were shelves of books.  

Without thinking, Edlyn crossed the room and ran her fingers across the dusty volumes.  Slowly, her eyes rose taking in the sight of so many new stories to read.  One book in particular caught her eye, near the top shelf.  Edlyn glanced around to her side and saw a short stepping stool.

Carefully, she moved the stool before the shelf and climbed to reach towards the volume.

“It would be polite to inquire for permission before taking a book from our meager library, young lady.”

The sudden shock of hearing a voice, startled Edlyn.  She lost her footing and stumbled off of the stool to thump into the wall, somehow managing to refrain from knocking any of the books off in the ordeal.

“I’m sorry?” she questioned once she regained her footing.  She turned to face the other side of the room obscured by the open door.

“I was suggesting you ask if it is alright for you to take a book from our library.”

An elderly nun sat in a cushioned chair next to a round table.  There was a large collection of pages in front of her.

Edlyn cautiously approached the woman and squinted at the writing on the pages.

The nun settled herself back into the chair and folded her rheumatic hands into her lap, allowing Edlyn to view the pages properly.

Reverently, Edlyn slid several of the pages towards herself and picked them up to bring them nearer to the firelight.  

“You must be Edlyn.”

The young woman nodded wordlessly.  

“And what has brought you to our convent, young Edlyn?”

Shifting her eyes to meet the nuns and then back to the papers, Edlyn replied, “I believe you already know the answer to your question.”

“I know what my abyss has told us.  But despite my youthful appearance,” the crone chuckled wryly, “I am old enough to know that there is usually more than one side to stories like yours.”

Frowning, Edlyn brought the pages back to place on the table.  Contemplating how best to answer, she wandered back towards the bookshelf.

“Were you told of my parentage?”

“I was,” replied the old woman.

“Well being the bastard daughter of a king does not allow for a large selection of lifestyle choices.”

“Your brother found a path that did not include confinement in a monastery.”

Shocked, Edlyn quickly turned her head to meet the woman’s sharp, birdlike eyes.  Those eyes bore into Edlyn daring her to refute her words.

“Yes, he did.”

Edlyn had not expected to hear her brother mentioned, but in truth it was the second reminder of him she had since entering the room.

“Tell me,” the woman compelled Edlyn.

Edlyn sensed this particular nun was not to be ignored or contended with.  Sighing, she stepped back onto the stool and reached for the book on the high shelf.

“When we were children, after our mother died, my uncle paid the church to house us and to keep us together.  I’ve no doubt that he was largely influenced in this decision by our father as well.”

Edlyn stepped off the stool.  Glancing around the room and seeing no other chair, she picked up the foot stool and brought it to rest beside the fire. 

Taking a seat, she continued, “Osferth was always the more studious child.  Being twins, you might think we would favor one another, but we could not have been more different.  Even our looks did not favor each other. He is light.  Light brown hair and gentle, blue eyes.  And you see me before you.  Hair the color of raven’s feathers and eyes stormy like the sea.  He enjoyed our lessons, was courteous, respectful.  He was devout and the apple of the eyes of many of the nuns.”

“And I am guessing you, young Edlyn, were not those things.” 

Chuckling mildly to herself, Edlyn shook her head in reply.

“Abyss Bethylda was constantly recalling my attention back to our lessons.  I have a sharp tongue and a questioning and goading nature… Or so I am told,” she shrugged.

“So I ask again, how is it I find you here, in my library at this convent? It does not seem like the life that you would choose for yourself.  If I may make such a judgement after only meeting you a moment ago.”

Edlyn stared down at the book in her lap.

“This book contains stories of the viking raiders and their plunder of Northumbria?”

“It does,” answered the woman with a ponderance in her voice.

“As children, the one thing my brother and I had in common was a love for books.  For stories, really.  Our Uncle Leofric would visit us often.  We always listened to his war stories with rapt attention.  And we always found ourselves most fervently reading accounts of the northmen.  Particularly the attack at Lindisfarne.”

Gazing down at the bound pages, Edlyn traced the words and found her mind returned to a moment many years past.

~~~~~~~ 10 years earlier ~~~~~~~~

“Edlyn, don’t!” Osferth exclaimed as his sister climbed on top of the table.

“Hush, you’re meant to be guarding the door, Osferth.  And it’s fine.  I just need to step here and then I can reach it,” Edlyn whispered harshly. The ten year old placed a foot onto the shelving encased on the wall beside the table she was currently standing on.

Osferth turned back from peering out the door and down the hallway.  

“There is no one coming.  Did you reach it yet?”

“Not...yet….almost,” Edlyn spoke while straining to reach her arm up higher.

“Edlyn!” Osferth whined while approaching the table. “Why don’t we just ask someone to get the book down for us?”

“Yes, why don’t you?” A deep, rumbling voice came from the doorway. 

With a gasp, the young girl and her twin both turned to see who had caught them in their plot. Edlyn’s foot slipped and she shrieked as she felt herself begin to fall.

With two large strides, the man crossed the distance with the speed of a cat to snatch Edlyn before she hit the floor. 

“Uncle Leofric!” Edlyn exclaimed while throwing her arms around the man's neck.

He let out a hearty laugh. 

“I have missed you too, little Eadlyn.”

He placed the young girl onto her feet. 

“Keeping up with your studies, Osferth?” He asked while stretching his arm out to grasp the boy's shoulder with a fond smile. 

“Of course, Uncle. Abyss Bythilda suggests I should pursue becoming a scholarly priest.”

Quickly, Edlyn cut her brother off, “why would you want to do that Osferth?”

The boy turned his face down to the floor and shuffled his feet, mumbling “I never said it was what I would want. Only what the abyss suggests, Edlyn.”

“Stop giving your brother a hard time, young lady,” Leofric commanded. “Now, children, what was it you were willing to risk such daring behavior to access?” He asked while approaching the shelves. 

Osferth was quick to reply, “it was the accounts of the Northmen’s raid on Lindisfarne!” 

“This one up here,” Leofric asked while sliding the volume off the shelf and bringing it over to the window.  He opened the tome and turned to have a seat on the bench resting underneath the window’s ledge.

The children nestled next to him as he began reading the account aloud to them. 

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

Edlyn broke from her reverie to look back up at the nun.  She found the woman’s own eyes studying her.

“If you had met Osferth when we were ten, you would have seen him as the one pursuing a life of God fearing obedience and prayer. Abyss Bythilda certainly thought so.  But we all realized much too late that he did not want that life any more than I did, than I do. He ran away in order to pursue a different life.  He left me behind.”

Edlyn spoke these final words softly, while bringing her eyes back to the book in her lap. 

“And what stopped you from also leaving the safety of the church?  You have a reputation for being strong and independent, young one.  And it is no secret that you have refused to take the vows, becoming one of our Order.  It is what has sent you to our doors from your previous nunnery.  Do you intend to continue to take advantage of the church’s generosity for the rest of your life? Being a bastard but still using your royal lineage to garner room and board”

Edlyn jerked her head to meet the older woman’s gaze once more. 

“You do not hold back your questions, do you old woman?”

Chuckling, the nun replied, “No I do not.  I am Sister Agatha. And I would not see a soul such as yours crushed under the obedience and piety that our lord demands of his disciples. Why is it that you stay? Truly?”

Edlyn stared at the old woman, not daring to trust herself to speak.  The woman’s questions cut to the core of the inner demons that Edlyn felt warring inside her head daily.  Her spirit longed to follow in her twin’s footsteps.  Osferth had left her.  He had struck out to forge his own life.  And Edlyn could not dismiss his betrayal. 

She longed to lead a life that was more.  More than what the church could offer.  More than prayer and obedience. More than quiet contemplation and reflection.  Just… more.  But the truth was that Edlyn was scared.  From her very birth, she had been forced to face adversity.  The life of a bastard daughter of a king.  She had endured the abandonment.  The rejection of her father.  Then the loss of her mother and being thrust upon the church. Then when her uncle was lost in battle.  And finally the abandonment.  Waking up to find Osferth gone.  

When he left, he had placed the account of the northmen’s attack on Lindisfarne on her bedside table along with a short note.  

“I can not remain here any longer.  

I must make my own destiny and find my own way. 

 It is where God is leading me.  I will miss you dear sister.

All my love,

Osferth”

Edlyn could barely make out the words in Osferths scratchy hand through the tears overwhelming her eyes.  With all of the loss in her life, all of the hardship, Osferth had been hers to rely on.  The twin piece of her soul that she could cling to when the rest of the world was dark and desolate.

And he had left her.

In the deepest and most secret part of her heart, Edlyn knew she was terrified to be abandoned again.  It was what kept her tethered to the church.  The church, despite her nature to rebel and push back on the strict and stingy rules, had always been there for Edlyn. 

“You ask why I stay, Sister Agatha? Truly?”

The sister answered with an unwavering stare.

“I stay because I fear to lose myself out there.  The church is my safe harbor in a world that I fear would drown me. But despite your blunt words, they ring true.  I am not made to be wedded to God.”

Edlyn frowned at her hands gripping the pages of the book in her lap.

Sister Agatha considered the young woman before her for some time.  

“We will see about that, young one.  We have had many young women come to our halls seeking refuge and protection.  And I have seen the lord call to some of them and seen him deliver many from peril.  I have also seen women find their courage and forge their paths.  Paths that do not lead to a life of nunnery.  I realize I have just met you, young one, but your eyes speak to me of great things.  We just need to find your mettle.”

Edlyn gazed at the old woman, thinking over her words.

Before she could formulate a response, Sister Agatha rose and held out her arm to the young woman.

Standing and replacing the book on its shelf, Edlyn took the older woman’s arm and the two retraced Edlyn’s previous paths to the kitchens to check on dinner.

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

Aethelflaed rode fast and hard towards Wincelcumb nunnery.  Eadlyn did not know it, but the arrival of her half-sister would bring about immense upheaval in her world.  And Sister Agatha’s predictions were soon to bear fruit.  Eadlyn would find her courage. And she would find her family and place in this world along the way.

Tagging my usuals (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my list):

@maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @morosemagick @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @obipoelover @ecarroll1978 @93xdiagonxalley @nobodys-business-world

If you would like to read more of my works, you may do so here

[raeynbowboi]

Building an Embodiment of the Fairytale Princess (2.0)

This is nothing new. I’ve done this build before, which I’ll link right [here]. The post did really well, and people seemed to love the concept. However, since then, Mythic Odysseys of Theros and Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything have both come out, bringing with them not only new subclasses, but new features, spells, mechanics, and elements that I couldn’t take into consideration the first time around. So, I decided that rather than just adding a tag on post like I did before, I’d just remake the build with the new features being taken into consideration. Like before, the focus of the build is to create an embodiment of the generic fairytale princess and not any one particular character. So without further ado, let’s get into it.

Like before, we’ll be choosing Variant Human for our race of choice. We’ll channel Sleeping Beauty to be gifted by the fey with blessings of Beauty, Grace, and Song for +1 CHA, +1 DEX, and Performance proficiency. We also get a bonus feat, and thanks to Tasha’s, we can now take Fey Blessed for +1 CHA. However, if she doesn’t cast with Charisma, then substitute those CHA bonuses with Wisdom instead.

The generic fairytale princess is a maid of purest heart, so we’re Lawful Good. But for your more rebellious princesses, Neutral Good or Chaotic Good are also valid.

Background is obviously Noble for proficiency with History and Persuasion.

CLASSES & SUBCLASSES

BARD

This one seems pretty obvious. Bards love to sing and dance, like your stereotypical princess. Because Charisma is their top stat, and they have expertise, it can make them great negotiators, and allow them to excel in dialogue interactions.

GLAMOUR

This college is very fitting for a fairytale princess, as it is focused on making oneself as beautiful and charming as the Fairest of Them All.

LORE 

Lore bards share information, whether they tell stories, recite plays, share philosophy, or spread juicy gossip, the Lore Bard gets more magical secrets, and added expertise to make your princess an even bigger Mary Sue. In actual medieval history, princesses often learned to play instruments and sing, recite prayers or poems, or tell stories to visiting guests, and it was considered a part of her education and duty to do so.

CLERIC

While not every princess is a devout religious girl, their stories tend to be set in the medieval period when a good princess would have been expected to be chaste and pious. So on that front, worshiping a good deity would be befitting of such a character.

LIFE

The fairytale princess raises up those they care about, and nothing is more supportive and helpful than keeping your friends on their feet. The Life Cleric turns your princess into a kind soul who weeps for her friends and patches them up after the battle, turning your princess into a useful ally against the wicked witches and dangerous dragons.

LIGHT

Not all Fairytale Princesses are passive or support players. Those who lean toward Light are the princesses who stand as the Big Good of their story and battle the forces of Darkness with the power of the Light. Of the three Cleric options that fit the archetype, this is the best option for being a powerhouse in combat.

PEACE

Don’t get me wrong, I still hate this domain for wearing the skin of the Love Domain we were supposed to get, and you can absolutely still play it that way. How this domain went from Love to Togetherness to Pacifism is beyond me, but it’s a fairly strong subclass. The classic princess archetype is supposed to be gentle and kind, fitting for one who worships a god of mercy and forgiveness. It’s a value often toted as the strongest characterization of the early Disney princesses.

DRUID

My first time building the fairytale princess, I ignored Druid as an option because the wildshaping didn’t really make sense for a fairytale princess, but a lot of the Bardic Magical Secrets were used to steal Druid spells. However, thanks to the optional rules from Tasha’s, Druids can now use their Wildshape to summon fey that take on the shapes of animals instead of turning into the animals themselves, which makes Druid far more viable, as summoning animals is very in-character for a fairytale princess.

DREAMS 

The Circle of Dreams has heavy Fey associations with references to the Summer Court ruled by Titania. It also is strongly focused on healing, and has a very Fairy Tale flavor to it. It’s an especially great option if you want to invoke Sleeping Beauty, as you can cloak your party while you sleep and send messages to people through your dreams.

SHEPHERD

The fairytale princess is strongly associated with animal buddies, and nothing makes better use of that than the Shepherd Druid, which focuses on amassing an army of critters. What’s more, the Unicorn Totem is very fitting, not only because Unicorns only approach maidens with pure hearts, but Shepherds of the Unicorn Totem get empowered healing.

SORCERER

The sorcerer is born with a spark of something special in them, and a lot of fantasy royalty have magical powers that other people in their world lack.

DIVINE SOUL

The princess doesn’t literally have to be the descendant of the gods, as the original name for the subclass was more about being favored by the gods. Still, if you want to lean into the idea of the princess as the Big Good against the Big Bad, then having her be born with the spark of the gods inside her makes for a neat characterization.

WILD MAGIC 

With the new Sorcerer Shards as I’ve come to call them, we were introduced to the Feywild Shard, which was heavily geared toward Wild Magic Sorcerers, which seems to be WoTC’s way of saying that Wild Magic Sorcerers are the fey-linked sorcerous origin, so I’m including it because of our fey connection. 

WARLOCK

This is the only class where there’s exactly one good option, but it’s one that works surprisingly well.

ARCHFEY 

As a Warlock with a Pact of the Chain, your fairytale princess can choose to Find Familiar any cute little animal companion, or a Sprite to be your Fairy Godmother. Or rather, you can sign a pact with your Fairy Godmother, and use your Chain Pact to summon one of her emissaries to help you. The Archfey patron themselves can act as your Fairygodther, granting you and your party boons and aid where they need it.

WARLOCK INVOCATIONS

Agonizing Blast Armor of Shadows Beast Speech Eldritch Mind Eldritch Sight Gift of the Ever-Living Ones Shroud of Shadow Voice of the Chain Master

CHARISMA vs WISDOM

The big split in how you build your princess falls down the line between these two camps. The wise princess works better as a Druid/Cleric, while a charming princess is more of a Bardlock. For me personally, as much as the Cleruid fits the fairytale princess, the stereotype of the princess is usually that she is gullible, naïve, and overly trusting. Insight is a wisdom check, and something the classic princess archetype is usually bad at. Granted, Animal Handling is also Wisdom, but the Bard’s expertise can overrule a low Wisdom score. Think of it like a clash between Princess Zelda from the Legend of Zelda vs Princess Peach from Mario. Princess Zelda is wise and is much more focused on leadership and protecting her kingdom. Peach is more about the pretty dresses and having servants help her. They’re two very different camps on the princess archetype. Ultimately, which one you choose will depend on the type of princess you wish to invoke. The Classic Damsel or the Wise Matriarch.

SIDEKICKS

A new feature added in Tasha’s, sidekicks are secondary characters that can help the party and are basically simplified character builds with fewer bells and whistles. There are three main camps:

Expert. Experts are clever and knowledgeable, be they minstrels, librarians, pickpockets, merchants, or assassins. They can pick proficiency with DEX, INT, or CHA saving throws, and can be proficient or an expert with any five skills of your choice, and humanoids also gain proficiency with light armor, simple weapons, and two tools of your choice.

Spellcaster. Trained in the secrets of the Arcane, be they a priest, a fortuneteller, or a magical creature. They can choose proficiency with INT, WIS, or CHA checks, and can be proficient in Arcana, History, Insight, Investigation, Medicine, Performance, Persuasion, or Religion. They choose a roll to determine their spell list: Mage (Wizard), Healer (Cleric, Druid) or Prodigy (Bard, Warlock). The sidekick has access to the spell list of the classes their role aligns with, as well as casting with that stat.

Warrior. trained fighters, be they a soldier, a city guard, a trained animal, or a hired sword. They can pick proficiency with STR, DEX, or CON saving throws, and their skill options are Acrobatics, Animal Handling, Athletics, Intimidation, Nature, Perception, and Survival. Warriors can pick a fighting style: either Offensive to add +2 to attack and damage rolls, or Defender to impose disadvantage on hitting creatures other than them while within 5 feet of the princess.

Generic Princess Sidekicks

Humanoid Guard Warrior (bodyguard) Humanoid Commoner Expert (handmaiden, governess, etc.) Humanoid Magewright Spellcaster (court mage, or advisor) Any Beast-type Warrior (animal companion)

Fairytale Inspired Sidekicks

Seven Dwarves - Dwarf Warrior Fairy Godmother - Sprite or Pixie Spellcaster Prince Charming - Humanoid Noble Warrior Wicked Witch - Barovian Witch Spellcaster Beast - Gnoll, Jackalwere, Orc, or Troglodyte Warrior Puss in Boots - Awakened Cat or Tabaxi Warrior The Frog Prince - Awakened Frog or Grung Warrior Three Little Pigs - Awakened Pig Expert, Spellcaster, & Warrior Big Bad Wolf - Wolf Warrior or Awakened Wolf Expert Robin Hood - Redbrand Ruffian or Bandit Expert Djinn of the Lamp - Dust, Ice, or Magma Mephit Spellcaster Pinocchio - Giant Stone Statue Warrior White Rabbit - Awakened Rabbit Expert Cheshire Cat - Awakened Cat Expert or Spellcaster

There is no actual limit to the number of sidekicks your character can have, so in theory, your fairytale princess could have an entire posse of talking animals hanging out and helping her.

Skills, Spells, and Features

As a Variant Human, we got Performance proficiency alongside our Fey Touched feat, and as a Noble, we have proficiency with Persuasion and History. For everything else, we’re just looking to be a standard Fairytale Princess. So we should look to be proficient with: Animal Handling, Arcana, Religion, Nature, or Medicine.

BASIC FAIRIES

Dancing Lights Faerie Fire Healing Spirits Spirit Guardians Summon Fey Conjure Woodland Beings Conjure Fey

BASIC PRINCESS THINGS

Animal Friendship Command Heroism Speak With Animals Animal Messenger Calm Emotions Find Steed Warding Bond Zone of Truth Conjure Animals Mord’s Magnificent Mansion

SNOW WHITE

Armor of Agathys Mirror Image Beacon of Hope Aura of Purity Heroes’ Feast

CINDERELLA

Fabricate Creation True Polymorph Wish

SLEEPING BEAUTY

Sleep Phantasmal Killer Dream Wall of Thorns Dream of the Blue Veil

THE LITTLE MERMAID

Charm Person Shatter Suggestion Tidal Wave Compulsion Control Water Dominate Person Maelstrom Control Weather Tsunami Storm of Vengeance

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

Charm Monster Unseen Servant Tiny Servant Animate Objects Awaken Hold Monster Summon Fiend

Last time I built the fairytale princess, I gave her exactly 1 build. 18 levels of glamour bard and 2 levels of Archfey Warlock. But recently I’ve begun to instead put more stock in leaving builds open, showing instead the options that a player has to choose from. So, for this update, I’m not pushing for a specific build. I’ve laid out the appropriate spells, and the types of princesses that a player can strive to emulate with their spell lists. Consider this more of a guide to help you decide how you want to play your fairytale princess.

[ficforce]

A Moment Of Weakness

Foien x Reader Foien Li had a reputation for being devout to a fault, he didn’t seem to have a single black mark against him and it was hard not to respect him. He could be a little judgemental and he was strict with rules of the Church but also very fair, he led by example for the most part, but he was one of the first to tell other’s that he was nowhere near perfect. Foien felt a light touch on his shoulder as he was crouched by the flowers in the garden weeding them, “Lieutenant Li.” The man had recognised her light footsteps along the path before she had even approached and a small part of him had hoped she would continue past him, an even smaller part of him hoped she would stop to speak with him. Things felt different now, the loss of Rekka, the scandal caused by his radical ideas and the loss of Foien’s right arm all weighed heavily on his shoulders as well as the Company’s… the thing that bothered him most was his moment of weakness. Surely he had ruined things…

Still, he put on a smile and softened his voice, “Y/N, good morning…” he stood up, dusting off the dirt from his knees, and then turned to face her properly, “Oh,” Foien’s brows furrowed as he looked at her slightly off coloured face. Her eyes were glassy and her skin looked a little clammy, he noted the slight sway as she stood there and Foien reached out to hold her upper arm gently, “Are you sick? Y/N you should go in and rest, I’ll take you.” He wouldn’t listen to any protests from her, instead ,he guided her up the steps and into the towering hallways toward her dormitory room – they made it half way before Y/N leaned against the wall after stopping suddenly. “…Y/N?” the back of the man’s fingers brushed her hair out of the way and he bent down a little to look at her, worry etched into his face, “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?” Y/N nodded and Foien made them backtrack the short distance to his room, unlocking it quickly so that she could escape to his small ensuite. Foien left her for a short moment, heading to the kitchens he asked for a pitcher of water with lemon slices, smiling at the Sister when she tried not to fuss over him as he was awkwardly holding the pitcher handle and a glass precariously in his one hand. Everyone was trying so hard not to take pity on him - he hated it. By the time he got back and nudged the door open with his foot Y/N had finished emptying her stomach contents, she looked down sheepishly as she came out of the little side room and didn’t put up any resistance when Foien asked her to sit on the bed – it would be safer if she suddenly felt faint. “I’m sorry…” Y/N mumbled, “I’ve not been feeling great the last couple of weeks. Sometimes it’s the morning and sometimes it’s in the evening, I only wanted to say hello…” her fingers gripped around her cross, pulling the chain a little in a nervous habit, once he held the glass out to her she dropped the cross and took the glass, “I’ve not really seen you since…” She didn’t need to finish her sentence, Foien was already turning his head in shame and her silence was deafening,”I took advantage of your kindness, Y/N, I honestly don’t know how to… even what to say.” They had to talk about it eventually, he knew they did, it was just difficult to piece the words and feelings together out loud. How did he even begin to explain himself for the liberties he had taken that night? Foien removed his hat to place it on his desk, a small distraction so that he didn’t have to look her in the eye for a few more seconds, “I behaved appallingly. I haven’t treated you with the kindness and respect you deserve since – I feel like I’ve betrayed your feelings…” The man lowered his head in shame, murmuring another apology. He felt her hands take his and the soft touch burned, “Foien,” she whispered, “You were suffering, so much had happened and…” her cheeks heated, “And you treated me so gently, Foien. You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to.” Y/N’s fingertips traced over the back of his hand but he pulled away a little and she felt a sting come up behind her eyes, a pressure of wanting to cry but knowing she couldn’t hurt him anymore than he was already. “If anything… I took advantage of you.” She remembered how broken he had seemed that night, despite Rekka’s betrayal and crimes, they had held a funeral for Lieutenant Hoshimiya. Foien had been suffering both mentally and physically because of his injury, Karim had sat with his hands tented and a blank look in his eyes - guilt eating away at him like a cancer. Y/N had waited at the back of the Cathedral for her Lieutenant, she had watched quietly as Foien sat beside his friend and tried to offer him comfort, Karim couldn’t bear to look at Foien. It had been heart breaking to watch Lieutenant Karim fall apart as Foien tried and failed to tent his hands in a final prayer, Karim felt responsible for all of it. Eventually ,Captain Burns took over and the blonde man had made to leave, she had followed him out when she saw him stumble and helped him back to his room. Whilst she had been

changing his bandages Foien had leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers. Soft and timid, so unsure that she would return it but when she had pulled back in surprise and seen his eyes, pleading with her for comfort, Y/N had leaned back in to kiss him. She hadn’t always been a Sister, she had lived an adventurous life before finding her calling to the Church, something that had shocked her friends but brought her such peace, enough to join a small convent in the south before working her way toward Company 1 as a fire soldier. A man’s touch wasn’t strange to her and Foien’s touch had been confident, his deep, longing kisses experienced and heady. There was no doubt in her mind that she wasn’t the first woman he had ever been with but the way he whispered her name, like it was the most sacred word to him, and the way he worshipped her body, kissing every inch of her, apologising over and over for defiling her like he was but needing it so much, it made her feel like the only one. He took comfort from her and she knew that the moment it was over he regretted it. Foien had been as polite as he could be, begging her forgiveness as he practically shoved her out of his room and then she had heard him praying aloud, confessing his sins and trying to find excuses for his weakness. She was a mistake and Y/N had tried to console herself that, even if for a moment, she had lifted some of the terrible weight from him and gotten the kisses she had desired for so long. They had barely spoken since and it was that in particular, that hurt her. They had always been close, similar interests and sense of humour, they liked to swap reading recommendations, they liked to take care of the gardens and she was under his care when they were out on missions. Being attracted to him had always felt so unfair to her, Y/N adored his kindness and devotion, she loved how he was with the little ones and the rare times she got to see his eyes always left her breathless. Kissing him should have been all of her dreams come true, if only it hadn’t been so bittersweet. Had he wanted her or would anyone have done in his moment of need? “I’ve missed you…” Foien murmured and finally looked up at her. “Really?!” Her hands came up to cover her mouth, a hot flush coming up on her cheeks at her reaction and she lowered her voice, “I… I’m sorry, I’m just really happy you said that.” It was embarrassing to admit it but now that he had said that he missed her she couldn’t help but open up too, “I hate the way things are, I know we can’t be together and that likely you don’t even want that but we don’t have to stop being friends - we can’t change what happened or what’s going to happen next. I needed to sp…ugh…” Y/N’s stomach churned again and she took a deep breath in before releasing it slowly. The Priest frowned and tentatively rested his palm on her forehead, she didn’t even seem warm, he moved to sit beside her on the bed and held her chin up so that he could inspect her face. “You haven’t felt well for a few weeks? Have you seen a doctor? Your eyes are a little glassy but otherwise, you look beau-” Foien cut himself off for all of a second before he decided that lying was no better than any other sin, “Beautiful. You always look beautiful, Y/N. I should confess that I wanted to make love to you for the longest time and I’m not sorry for what happened between us - just the circumstances that led to it. I’m so tired of the pity in people’s eyes, I’m so tired of feeling like I’m alone and thinking that this isn’t a test of faith from God but that he’s abandoned me… I’ve lost my friend, I’ve lost my arm, I’m losing my faith and -“ “You’re not losing me.” Her arms were around his neck quicker than she thought possible, her fingers buried in his hair as her other hand squeezed his shoulder, “You’re not alone, Foien. I won’t let you be and it’s not out of pity but out of love.” She didn’t pity him, she was proud of him and she really did love him… even if he couldn’t do the same. “Don’t choose between me and the Church, I’m happy just being able to be by

your side.” “I want to choose you, I choose to believe in you and the words you’re telling me too.” His face buried into her hair and he took in a shuddering breath, “I’m choosing not to lose anymore and love more than a religion, I’m choosing to love you as I have wanted to for so long.” A long moment of silence passed, far less tense than any of the others before and as he began to relax in her arms she let out a shaky sigh. She moved back a little and took his hand from her side, moving it over her stomach instead and looking up at him shyly, “You’re not losing anything anymore, just take what I can give you… and share what you have given me.”

[sometimeswritingsometimesdying]

dreaming in gold

aka the one where i vent furiously through my favorite character

a/n: i wrote this after receiving some ~bad news~, and lately i’ve been having a weird relationship with religion, so enjoy? also, i know my experience with religion is not the one everyone has so just know this portrays religion (christianity, more specifically) in a morally-grey/good way since it’s been taken from my own personal experience. Also @ people who know me irl and follow this blog: i told u u didn’t want to see me post my fics. i TOLD u 

warnings: death of a parent, implied homophobia (sorta), implied alcohol/drug abuse, lots of religion and religious imagery, illness mentions, blood mention, this is set in what i imagine is the late 80s but idk really u chose

pairing: moceit

wc: 1.8 k

Summary: patton looks for closure and he isn’t sure why

ao3

also thank u @pheonix-inside for beta reading this for me :)

He stood there, in front of the doors, hands jammed into the pockets of his coat and nose scrunched up. It was the middle of january, and the streets were mellow and sad, with few people roaming around them, a sharp, cutting wind accompanying them with each step.

And there, in front of the large, wooden doors, at seven pm tight, stood Patton A. Moore. He Didn't even know why he was doing this. He didn’t have to do this. But he’d gone out for an evening walk, as he’d taken up to doing, and his eyes had fallen on the local church’s doors. 

He wasn’t a religious man. Maybe he had been, as a kid, when all it took in his head to talk to Him was a simple “hey, god?”, but he’d given up faith a long time ago, when life got hectic and his mind was clouded.

No, Patton Moore was not a religious man.

He didn’t question it, didn’t question his motive, didn’t question the reason he had felt a draw towards the doors. He was going to walk away and not think twice about it.

“Are you here for mass?” he turned his head to his left, finding a priest opening one of the side doors with a warming smile. “It was over about twenty minutes ago but i’m sure you’ll find what you need anyway.”

Patton looked at the man in silence, about to refuse his offer, but he was shivering slightly out there, and there was a warm lighting coming from inside that door, and beyond whatever reasoning he could give himself- he nodded and thanked Father and walked straight in.

The church was, as most churches he remembered, rather grand. The marble and the gold and the paintings- the statues and the candles and the organ- it all pulled together a rather magnificent scene.

Above it all, the smell hit him most. The old smell of dust and benches and perfume that reminded him of the many afternoons spent with his father, sitting in the very front row of those seats. The light from the streetlamps filtered in through the glass mosaics, casting colorful shadows across the floors.

It was inviting. Loving, almost.

He took a seat in the second to last row, close enough to the doors for a light and chilly wind to nip at his scalp. It seemed to be reminding him of how much he wasn’t meant to be here.

He tapped his feet nervously, staring at the cross that hung in the apses of the church. It was weird. Everything was too familiar and yet too estranged and out of touch for him to understand. He was feeling, feeling something akin to devotion, perhaps. Was this what people described as devotion? A feeling of grandeur and confusion upon such a place? Upon such a scene?

What was there to be devout about when the candles people had so dearly lit up would only be burnt out by the end of the night? Perhaps everything, perhaps nothing. He didn’t know, but then again he hadn’t known as a kid, and perhaps that’s when we learn most about feelings like these.

Soft steps caught his attention as the same priest that had opened the door for him walked down the aisle to his particular row of seats. The man stared at him as he stared at his feet.

“What is it exactly that you’re here for?” Patton shrugged, playing with his wedding ring. It hadn’t been a legal wedding, perhaps. It was, after all, illegal still, but to him it had felt just about real enough. Enough for them, at least. He heard the sliding of Father’s robe as the man slid onto the bench.

“Are you a religious man, son?” Patton blinked. No, he wasn’t. But he was here, wasn’t he? He didn’t own a rosary, but did he believe in god?

Well why else would everything happen? Fate? No, no, not fate, not destiny. Love then-

He shrugged. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Father nodded thoughtfully.

“What about your father?” Patton raised an eyebrow, hoping not to be noticed. “You can tell a lot about a person when you know their father.” Father said, evidently noticing Patton’s skepticism. “Was your father a devout man?”

“He was-” Patton paused, playing with the ring on his finger. “He was, but he was a sinner too.” he stopped and chuckled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. What’s he doing? He’s a thirty year old man sitting in an empty church for the first time in a decade. He wasn’t meant to be here. 

And yet. 

“He drank. He smoked. All the usual sins, still came to mass.” he tilted his head. “You know?”

Father just looked ahead. He nodded and smiled. “I expect you followed in his footsteps?”

Patton observed him, nervously playing with the golden band on his ring finger. “Yes and no. I didn’t turn out particularly devout-”

“Yet you’re here,” Paton sighed and nodded, moving around in his seat.

“And yet i’m here.” Father tilted his head. “I don’t know- I don’t know why i’m here. Why am I here?” he asked, more to himself and the room than anyone, or anything else.

Father took a while to answer, but the air was just about warming up Patton’s hands and Patton thought nothing of it.

“Sometimes we wander into places asking for answers to questions we don’t know-” the man paused. “That we don’t know we even need to ask.”

They fell into silence after that. The good meter and a half that divided them seemed to only become more and more unrecoverable as time progressed, and as moments turned to seconds and as seconds turned to minutes.

The silence was deafening. It was all too reminiscent of a hospital room and Patton’s hands were getting cold again.

“You- you talk to god, correct?” he asked, through a trembling voice and a whisper. 

Father turned to look at him, posture ever so inclined. “In short, yes, but it’s not-”

“Just- tell me one thing,” Patton said, faulting on his usually so polite manners. “Why him?” he took a shuddering breath. “Why him of all people? Why him? And why now of all times?”  he chewed on his lip and shrugged, helpless. “Does god have an answer to that? He makes all of this happen,” he paused, looking down at his hands, lying limp in his lap. “doesn’t He?”

He heard no response, he heard no response for a long, long time.

“When did it happen?” A short humorless chuckle escaped him.

“So there is no answer?” No response. He looked up at the ceiling, observing the alfresco that popped out between golden arcs. “This morning. My brother called me.” he shrugged and smiled a sour, bitter smile. “My father he- started feeling ill and coughing up blood and-” he felt his eyes start to water and he could feel his cheeks reddening. “and they- they called an ambulance but there wasn’t much they could do and- and i wasn’t there.”

He shook his head as he felt a tear roll down his face. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeves until Father handed him a handkerchief. He took it, albeit rather reluctantly and held it in his hands, playing with the edge of it. It had him focusing on something, as he tugged on the string and folded and unfolded the piece of cloth.

“I wasn’t there.” he raised his hand to gesticulate and then let it fall. “I wasn’t there. My brother was. I wasn’t.” he shrugged, his voice slowly turning back to normal from the small whisper it had fallen into. “I told him to go to hell eight years ago, and I never looked back. I never spoke to him again.” he took up a sudden interest in the footrest on the bench in front of him, as he avoided eye contact with the only other person in the room. “Sort of ironic that now I'm here of all places, huh?” Patton paused for a moment, took a deep breath. He raised his eyes and looked around him- at the statues and the crosses and the alfrescos and the rows upon rows of empty seats. It was familiar. Old and familiar and all too loving.

Father stared ahead, a conflicted expression on his face.

“You asked me why He would let this happen,” he said, all at once. Patton nodded, although he wasn’t being asked anything. “You asked me why He would let this happen and, in complete honesty, the answer is a rather morbid one.” he paused. “If there is an answer at all, that is.”

“Well then,” Patton smiled tight lipped. “Enlighten me?”

“Perhaps it’s what you needed and He was simply helping you through it,” Patton was about to open his mouth to protest, but Father held up his hand in a stopping motion. “What i mean, is that you’re here now, aren’t you? In a way, you’ve reconnected with your father.” Patton pulled his coat tighter around himself, although his hands were warm. He supposes that he did. Maybe. He wasn’t so sure, but, then again, he wasn’t sure about anything right then and there.

And they shared a silence, then. A silence that was filled with the smell of perfume and benches and old scrolls and a golden lighting that found its way in from outside and the texture of the dark wooden seats. Father smiled at him, that weird, familiar smile that felt all too loving to show to a man like him. The bells rung out.

Eight pm.

He heard a soft “Patton” when he closed the door behind him. It took him longer than normal to take off his coat and his scarf, feeling Janus’s eyes on him as he worked through the motions. He'd always done them in a breeze but lately they felt so heavy.

He turned around, his eyes landing on his husband leaning in the doorway, in all his pajama-pants-and-t-shirt glory. He wasn’t smiling, not a sympathetic or a ‘everything-will-be-alright!’ smile either. He was frowning, the deep kind of frown that made lines appear on his face and his eyes darker.

Patton walked up to him and kissed his cheek. They stood there for a few minutes more, Janus stroking his hand and Patton intently staring at his shoes.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, making Janus snort and shake his head.

“I should be asking you that,” he said, interlocking their fingers. Patton half-smiled at him.

“I’m-I’m,” Patton paused. “I’m something. I went to church,” he added hastily. Janus tilted his head.

“And did that help?” Patton smiled, shaking his head.

He walked past Janus, slipping his other hand into his husband’s and heading to the bedroom. “Let’s just get some sleep.”

He dreamed about something golden.

[kootenaygoon]

So,

It takes balls to put Bigfoot on the first page of your literary novel, especially if the rest of the book isn’t actually about the nine-foot behemoth but is rather a multi-generational losing-of-faith narrative that wrestles with the concept of belief itself. What happens when you lose a belief? How does it feel to mourn a lost faith — in Santa, in Luke Skywalker, in Jesus Christ? That’s the question that occupied author Sarah Butler while she composed her debut epic The Wild Heavens, and as a former Catholic it’s a subject that comes with a certain amount of baggage.

“How many fairy tales survive our childhood? Where does belief end and imagination begin? I wanted this book to begin with a loss of faith in someone who is deeply invested, so the question became, what would that take? Eventually I decided on a very particular sort of animal encounter that would rattle the faith of someone who was, at heart, a nature-loving creationist,” Butler told Literary Goon.

“In the first pages of the book my main character Sandy’s grandfather, Aidan Fitzpatrick, essentially has Darwin battling God in his thoughts. He’s a seminary student on his way to becoming a Catholic priest, but the encounter with this strange animal shakes him off that path, and instead he goes to study biology on the coast. If he’d gone through with his plans, he would never have married and had a family. So in a sense, without this encounter his granddaughter would’ve never been born. It’s her origin story.”

Butler herself is a “hopeful agnostic” when it comes to the Pacific Northwest’s most elusive type of “charismatic megafauna”, and has studied geography and biology as well as volunteered on research projects studying endangered animals while living in the mountain town of Nelson, B.C. Much of her free time is spent out in the surrounding wilderness, and the encounters she’s been through have led her to adopt her own free-form, nature-based pseudo-religion, based on the wondrous things she’s discovered during her treks. When she thinks of church, of sanctuary and ritual and the supernatural, she’s more likely to imagine a waterfall than a pulpit.

“For me there’s a parallel between seeing a wild grizzly bear in its natural habitat and what I felt as a little kid in church, and I think this is actually not an uncommon perspective in people who enjoy spending time in natural spaces. Those were the two strongest influences in my earliest years, nature and religion. In the book, Sandy grows up not-religious but her grandfather’s choice to leave the church colours their lives," she said.

"I often think of the word observant, and how it has two meanings — meaning you notice things, or you adhere to a faith, and maybe they are the same thing, or maybe not.”

It took Butler 10 years to write this story, a project she took on while working as an entrepreneurial single Mom. As it progressed, she reflected on the number of people in her life that had lost their faith but never talked about it. God had become Voldemort, a deity we were too embarrassed to admit we ever had faith in. Like Bigfoot.

“I remember what it felt like to be a devout little 7 or 8-year-old Catholic school girl, and then being severed from that belief system. It was hard. That loss of faith was more complicated than I realized at the time. And I think it’s interesting how many people leave their religion, then never talk about it—because, for some of us, it leaves more traces than we think. Sometimes there are fragments that stay behind – both magic and shrapnel.”

The Wild Heavens is a dreamy, contemplative novel that takes place over a single winter day in a B.C. cabin in the mountains. It takes readers through Sandy’s memories, including those of her grandfather’s encounter with the Sasquatch-esque creature, and pivots around a tragic disappearance that has scarred her life. With gorgeously rendered prose Butler evokes a reverence for the natural world that feels, yes, very religious. But that doesn’t make her evangelical.

“One trait that I think is common among people who have left Catholicism is that we have this allergy to dogma. I never wanted  to come at the story as though I had something to teach or dictate,” she said.

“It ended up becoming more philosophical because I spent so much time thinking about it over the years. Ultimately the book is about the characters and their relationships with each other and their own beliefs, but I also really enjoy exploring those bigger questions. It can take the story to some intriguing and unexpected places. I’m not trying to provide answers so much as share my questions.”

The Literary Goon

[elizabethan-memes]

Can you elaborate on Erusamus and the reformation please, or at least point me toward sources? Politics make more sense than philosophy to me, so I see the reformation through the lense of Henry VIII, or the Duke of Prussia who dissolved the teutonic order, or France siding with the protestants during the 30 Years War because Protestants > Hapsburgs

So sorry to take so long!

If you needed this answer for academic reasons, given that summer term is pretty much done I’m probably too late to help, but I hate to leave an ask unanswered.

HELLA LONG ESSAY BENEATH THE CUT SORRY I WROTE SELF-INDULGENTLY WITHOUT EDITING SO THERE IS WAY MORE EXPLANATION THAN YOU PROBABLY NEED

Certainly religion has been politicised, you need look no further than all the medieval kings having squabbles with the pope. Medieval kings were not as devastated by the prospect of excommunication as you’d expect they’d be in a super-devout world, it was kinda more of a nuisance (like, idk, the pope blocking you on tumblr)  than the “I’m damned forever! NOOOOOOO!” thing you’d expect. I’m not saying excommunication wasn’t a big deal, but certainly for Elizabeth I she was less bothered than the pope excommunicating her than the fact that he absolved her Catholic subjects of allegiance to her and promised paradise to her assassin (essentially declaring open season on her).

I think, however, in our secular world we forget that religion was important for its own sake. Historians since Gibbon have kind of looked down on religion as its own force, seeing it as more a catalyst for economic change (Weber) or a tool of the powerful. If all history is the history of class struggle, then religion becomes a weapon in class warfare rather than its own force with its own momentum. For example, historians have puzzled over conversion narratives, and why Protestantism became popular among artisans in particular. Protestantism can’t compete with Catholicism in terms of aesthetics or community rituals, it’s a much more interior kind of spirituality, and it involves complex theological ideas like predestination that can sound rather drastic, so why did certain people find it appealing?

(although OTOH transubstantiation is a more complex theological concept than the Protestant idea of “the bread and wine is just bread and wine, it’s a commemoration of the Last Supper not a re-enactment, it aint that deep fam”).

I’ve just finished an old but interesting article by Terrence M. Reynolds in Concordia Theological Quarterly vol. 41 no. 4 pp.18-35 “Was Erasmus responsible for Luther?” Erasmus in his lifetime was accused of being a closet Protestant, or “laying the egg that Luther hatched”. Erasmus replied to this by saying he might have laid the egg, but Luther hatched a different bird entirely. Erasmus did look rather proto Protestant because he was very interested in reforming the Church. He wanted more people to read the Bible, he had a rather idyllic dream of “ploughmen singing psalms as they ploughed their fields”. He criticised indulgences, the commercialisation of relics and pilgrimages and the fact that the Papacy was a political faction getting involved in wars. He was worried that the rituals of Catholicism meant that people were more mechanical in their religion than spiritual: they were memorising the words, doing the actions, paying the Church, blindly believing anything a poorly educated priest regurgitated to them. They were confessing their sins, doing their penances like chores and then going right back to their sins. They were connecting with the visuals, but not understanding and spiritually connecting with the spirit of Jesus’ message and his ideals of peace and love and charity and connecting with God. Erasmus translated the NT but being a Renaissance humanist, he went ad fontes (‘to the source’) and used Greek manuscripts, printing the Greek side by side with the Latin so that readers could compare and see the translation choices he made. His NT had a lot of self-admitted errors in it, but it was very popular with Prots as well as Caths. Caths like Thomas More were cool with him doing it, but it was also admired by Prots like Thomases and Cromwell and Cranmer and Tyndale himself. When coming across Greek words like presbyteros, Erasmus actually chose to leave it as a Greek word with its own meaning than use a Latin word that didn’t *quite* fit the meaning of the original.

However, he did disagree with Protestants on fundamental issues, especially the question of free will. For Luther, the essence was sole fide: salvation through faith alone. He took this from Paul’s letter to the Romans, where it says that through faith alone are we justified. Ie, humans are so fallen (because of the whole Eve, apple, original sin debacle) and so flawed and tainted by sin, and God is so perfect, that we ourselves will never be good enough. All the good works in the world will never reach God’s level of perfection and therefore we all deserve Hell, but we won’t go to hell because God and Jesus will save us from the Hell we so rightly deserve, by grace and by having faith in Jesus’ sacrifice, who will alone redeem us.  The opposite end of the free will/sola fide spectrum is something called Pelagianism, named after the guy who believed it, Pelagius, who lived centuries and centuries before the Ref, it’s the belief that humans can earn their salvation by themselves, by good works. Both Caths and Prots considered Pelagius a heretic. Caths like Erasmus believed in a half-way house: God reaches out his hand to save you through Jesus’ example and sacrifice, giving you grace, and you receive his grace, which makes you want to be a good person and do good works (good works being things like confession of sins, penances, the eucharist, charity, fasting, pilgrimages) and then doing the good works means you get more grace and you are finally saved, or at least you will go to purgatory after death AND THEN be saved and go to heaven, rather than going straight to Hell, which is what happens if you reject Jesus and do no good works and never repent your sins. If you don’t receive his grace and do good works, you won’t make the grade for ultimate salvation.

(This is why it’s important to look at the Ref as a theological as well as a political movement because if you only look at the political debates, Erasmus looks more Protestant than he actually was.)

There are several debates happening in the Reformation: the role of the priest (which is easily politicised) free will vs predestination, transubstantiation or no transubstantiation (is or isn’t the bread and wine transformed into the body and blood of Jesus by God acting through the priest serving communion) and the role of scripture. A key doctrine of Protestantism is sola scriptura. Basically: if it’s in the Bible, it’s the rules. If it’s not in the Bible, it’s not in the rules. No pope in the bible? No pope! No rosaries in the bible? No using rosaries! (prayer beads)

However, both Caths and Prots considered scripture v.v. important. Still, given that the Bible contains internal contradictions (being a collection of different books written in different languages at different times by different people) there was a hierarchy of authority when it came to scripture. As a general rule of thumb, both put the New T above the Old T in terms of authority. (This is partly why Jews and Muslims have customs like circumcision and no-eating-pig-derived-meats that Christians don’t have, even though the order of ‘birth’ as it were goes Judaism-Christianity-Islam. All 3 Abrahammic faiths use the OT, but only Christians use the NT.)

1.       The words of Jesus. Jesus said you gotta do it, you gotta do it. Jesus said monogamy, you gotta do monogamy. Jesus said no divorce, you gotta do no divorcing (annulment =/= divorce). Jesus said no moneylending with interest (usury), you gotta do no moneylending with interest (which is partly why European Jews did a lot of the banking. Unfortunately, disputes over money+religious hatred is a volatile combination, resulting in accusations of conspiracy and sedition, leading to hate-fuelled violence and oppression.) The trouble with the words of Jesus is that you can debate or retranslate what Jesus meant, especially  easily as Jesus often spoke in parables and with metaphors. When Jesus said “this is my body…this is my blood” at the Last Supper, is that or is that not support for transubstantiation? When Jesus called Peter the rock on which he would build the church, was that or was that not support for the apostolic succession that means Popes are the successor to St Peter, with Peter being first Pope? When the gospel writers said Jesus ‘did more things and said more things than are contained in this book’, does that or does that not invalidate the idea of sola scriptura?

2.       The other New Testament writers, especially St. Paul and the Relevation of St John the Divine. (Divine meaning like seer, divination, not a god or divinity). These are particularly relevant when it comes to discussing the role of priests and priesthood, only-male ordination, and whether women can preach and teach religion.

3.       The Old Testament, especially Genesis.

4.       The apocryphal or deuterocanonical works. These books are considered holy, but there’s question marks about their validity, so they’re not as authoritative as the testaments. I include this because the deuterocanonical book 2 Maccabees was used as scriptural justification for the Catholic doctrine of purgatory, but 2 Maccabees is the closest scipture really gets to mentioning any kind of purgatory. Protestants did not consider 2 Maccabees to be strong enough evidence to validate purgatory.

5.       The Church Fathers, eg. Origen, Augustine of Hippo. Arguably their authority often comes above apocryphal scripture. It’s from the Church Fathers that the concept of the Trinity (one god in 3 equal persons, God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit) is developed because it’s not actually spelled out explicitly in the NT. Early modern Catholics and Protestants both adhered to the Trinity and considered Arianism’s interpretation of the NT (no trinity, God the Father is superior to Jesus as God the Son) to be heresy. Church Fathers were important to both Catholics and Protestants: Catholics because Catholics did not see scripture as the sole source of religious truth, so additions made by holy people are okay so long as they don’t *contradict* scripture, and so long as they are stamped with the church council seal of approval, Protestants because they believed that the recent medieval theologians and the papacy had corrupted and altered the original purity of Christianity. If they could show that Church Fathers from late antiquity like Augustine agreed with them, that therefore proved their point about Christianity being corrupted from its holy early days.

Eamon Duffy’s book Stripping of the Altars is useful because it questions the assumptions that the Reformation and Break with Rome was inevitable, or that the Roman Catholic Church was a corrupt relic of the past that had to be swept aside for Progress, or that most people even wanted the Ref in England to happen. Good history essays need to discuss different historians’ opinions and Duffy can be relied upon to have a different opinion than Protestant historians. Diarmaid MacCulloch’s works are good at explaining theological concepts, he is a big authority on church history and he’s won a whole bunch of prizes. He was actually ordained a deacon in the Church of England in the 1980s but stopped being a minister because he was angry with the institution for not tolerating the fact he had a boyfriend. The ODNB is a good source to access through your university if you want to read a quick biography on a particular theologian or philosopher, but it only covers British individuals. Except Erasmus, who has a page on ODNB despite being not British because he’s just that awesome and because his influence on English scholarship and culture was colossal. Peter Marshall also v good, esp on conversion. Euan Cameron wrote a mahoosive book called the European Reformation.“More versus Tyndale: a study of controversial technique” by Rainer Pineas is good for the key differences in translation of essential concepts between catholic and protestant thinkers. The Sixteenth Century Journal is a good source of essays as well.

[lady-divine-writes]

Saturday with the Boys (Rated T)

(Because I needed some general hijinks with Crowley, Adam, and Warlock. XD Inspired by this post.)

“How much do you want for this here picture frame, ma’am?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, dear. It should be marked.” Wilma pulls her reading glasses down from her white crown and examines the ceramic frame. She actually knows how much she’s asking for it. It says clearly on the front – five pounds. But this man more than likely wants to haggle. So she procrastinates parting with that information, slowly fixing her glasses on the bridge of her nose for show. She’s had 20/20 vision since childhood, and at seventy-seven, that hasn’t changed a whit. But she milks this moment, making herself seem more infirm than she honestly is in the hopes of getting a few pity pounds out of this poor schlub who happened upon her yard sale on this fine Saturday morning.

To be honest, she bought this God awful picture frame on her disaster of a third honeymoon. The whole marriage was ripe for the rubbish heap about four months in and yet she stayed with her darling Henry till the man died of sepsis a year ago – a week before his life insurance policy matured.

This frame is all she has left to remember him by.

Well, this frame, a house, a vacation property in Belize, and a ten million pound inheritance.

If no one buys the stupid thing, she’s going to toss it into the air and shoot it with an air rifle.

“I’m … I’m having a bit of trouble reading this, love,” she says in an appropriately quavering voice, pointing to the tag in the corner. “Does this say five pounds? Or fifteen? It’s been such a long morning out here in the sun. I can’t seem to tell …”

“How about I give you twenty and we call it a day?” the man holding the frame, a soon-to-be-present for his new wife, offers with a smile.

“Oh!” Wilma feigns astonishment while inside her head she pats herself on the back for playing him for a sucker. God, she should have been an actress! She squandered so much of her long life as a common housewife. “That’s so gracious of you! Thank you, my dear!”

“You’re more than wel—“

The end of his sentence gets severed by a vintage car screeching up to the curb and stopping with a jerk. The doors fly open and three people race out – a tall, lanky man with flaming red hair and sunglasses, dressed all in black like an undertaker, accompanied by two young boys around twelve – one with straight black hair, the other a curly dirty blonde. The curly-haired boy hugs a black-and-white terrier to his chest, whispering to it as all three plus dog race over to Wilma, sitting bewildered at her card table beneath a large oak tree.

And they look in a panic.

“Excuse … excuse me,” the curly-haired boy begins, “but we need to see any cursed amulets you may have for sale!”

“Wh—what?” Wilma asks, eyeing the three suspiciously, the dog especially. “What are you going on about?”

“Please!” the dark-haired boy begs. “It’s a matter of life or death!”

The dog barks. The curly-haired boy hugs him.

“It’s all right, Kevin,” he coos. “We’ll get this curse reversed. I promise you.”

“Is this some kind of a joke?” the man buying the frame asks incredulously.

“I can assure you it isn’t,” the tall man says seriously. “We’ve had a bit of a run in with … with … well, uh …” He rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, looking down and to the side, hard to tell through the dark lenses of his glasses.

“Well, spit it out, mate!” the man says. “A run in with a what?”

“A … a …”

A demon,” the dark-haired boy finishes, a peculiar twist to the corner of his mouth that makes the man with the frame suspect he might be lying.

“Right,” he says, moving in front of Wilma to guard her from these three hooligans trying to pull a horrible prank on this poor old woman.

The dog whines, sounding for all intents and purposes desperate, and the curly-haired boy sighs. “I know it sounds unbelievable, but we’re telling the truth!”

“It won’t be Halloween for ages, young man, so I suggest the three of you climb back in the car you rode in on and get out of here before I phone the authorities!”

“Don’t do that!” the black-haired boy cries. “We’re not trying to cause trouble! Honest!”

“No! No, do!” the tall man says as if the man with the frame just came up with the best solution ever. “Maybe they can help! Do you happen to have the phone number of a local priest perhaps? Maybe a shaman?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” frame man scolds, turning on him with venom in his voice. “Encouraging these boys to participate in this reprehensible behavior!”

“Reprehensible!?” the man in the glasses scoffs. “Right! And what do you expect me to tell Kevin’s mum when we bring home a dog instead of her little boy? Hmm? Sorry, ma’am! We could have helped him out, but we didn’t want to disturb the neighbors! They have a right to sell their tacky goods in peace, your son be damned!”

“Are you mad!?”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be pleased that the wretched animal appears to be potty trained at least. And uni? No need for that! Think of all the money she’ll save!”

“Look, young man,” Wilma interrupts finally, having tried this entire time to figure out if there was anything on her table that she could pass off as a cursed amulet. Unfortunately, the only thing that might have sufficed walked away for seven pounds over an hour ago. The man in front of them, going on about demons and dogs like a nutter, might be insane, but if she’s right, that watch he’s wearing is worth a pretty penny. And driving an antique Bentley in mint condition? He could at least afford a hundred pounds or more for some useless bauble. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but could you please move along? You’re scaring away paying …”

The dog in the boy’s arms growls, long and low, a menacing curdle that stops all conversation dead, everyone within a hundred feet suddenly fearing for their lives.

“Uh … Kevin?” the boy says while everyone but the tall man takes a step back, eyes glued to the animal as if expecting him to explode. And he does in a sense, letting loose with the loudest, angriest bark ever to come from an animal, his mouth opening wide, unhinged, revealing seven rows of razor sharp teeth.

And for a split second, his eyes glow red.

“Saints preserve us!” Wilma mutters, crossing herself with a shaking hand and standing so quickly, her chair topples backwards.

“It’s getting worse!” The boy carrying the terrier looks to the man in the dark glasses for help.

“I was afraid of this,” he says. “Get him back to the car, boys! I don’t think an amulet can save us now! Best to get him away from these God fearin’ people before … you know.”

“Before … before what?” Wilma calls after them, too terrified to follow for an answer.

“You don’t want to know,” the boy with the straight black hair says.

“I recommend you all go inside, find your crosses and your Bibles and start to pray,” the man in the glasses says, holding the door to his car open for the boys and the dog. “I feel … judgement day a’comin’.” He looks skyward, examining the clouds, frowning at something that only he sees. The man clutching the frame and Wilma look up, too, trying to see it, but all they see are clouds. Nothing more threatening than that.

But Wilma in particular, as devout a Christian as her Christmas and Easter attendance can attest, isn’t about to admit that.

“Oh dear Lord! Everyone! Get inside! Quickly!” Crowley hears as he climbs into his Bentley and peels away, trying to restrain his laughter until they’re completely out of earshot. Once they turn the corner and tear up the following block, Warlock and Adam crow.

“Did you see the looks on their faces?” Warlock snickers, putting out a fist for Crowley to bump.

“I know!” Adam giggles, wrapping his arms around Dog’s neck. “That was even better than the last one!”

“How’s about we call it a day and go get some ice cream?” Crowley suggests. “I think that guy with the frame might actually call the police.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Adam says. “I think Dog’s had enough. Or should I say Kevin.”

“Oh, all right,” Warlock agrees, even though he was really hoping they’d hit one more yard sale before the day was up. But ice cream is cool, too. Less of a chance of getting him dragged back to mom and dad by the police.

Of course, that’s never been too big an issue since Nanny is always there to bail him out.

“And remember, darlings,” Crowley says, merging on to the M40, “what’s the most important thing to keep in mind about today’s little adventure?”

“Don’t tell Aziraphale,” both boys say in unison.

Crowley peeks into his rearview, beaming at the two boys with pride. “Brilliant.”

[emjee]

In honor of Maundy Thursday, a day on which I always listen to the Jesus Christ Superstar cast recording, I give you my unsolicited ramblings on how I would direct this show if I were queen of the world and completely unbeholden to The Really Useful Group:

I once saw an outdoor production of Superstar that was in modern dress and it worked really well, so I’m totally stealing that. I live in an imperialist country in decline, so there are a lot of parallels between Jesus’ time and my own, which on the one hand makes the Gospel even more relevant, but on the other hand YIKES.

So! Off we go.

The chief priests are in business suits. Pilate wears a judge’s robe.

If I could remove every insinuation that Mary Magdalene is a prostitute I would, although it would require some significant lyric alteration (see above: not beholden to The Really Useful Group). I truly mean no disrespect to sex workers--Jesus hung out with them and respected them, it’s just that Mary Magdalene wasn’t one, there is no scriptural support for that idea.

The only white person in this cast is Pilate.

I do love the arena setting that NBC had when did they did Superstar live--it really fits the vibe of the show. Alternatively, outdoors. Something with a very thin fourth wall.

Most importantly, “Superstar” is the finale. Honestly, this is already true. It is the thematic finale of this the show, and the crucifixion scene with the Seven Last Words always falls flat for me. (Crucifixion also falls apart in a modern setting, and a firing squad or something doesn’t have the same torture factor. Cut it altogether, it’s not the actual point of the show.)

This brings me to the actual point of the show and why I, a devout Christian, am fond of it: it picks a lane and it stays there. It makes no comment on the divinity of Jesus. It’s about questions. “Superstar” as a song is one of the best illustrations I know of what is known as the Scandal of Particularity: Christians believe that God was Incarnate as a human being who lived in a particular place (occupied Judea) in a particular time (during the reigns of Caesar Augustus and Tiberius). And the song “Superstar” is like: “Why this time? Why this place?” Judas sings “Superstar” from outside of time and space, and thus speaks for every person who’s like “That’s a bit of a wild claim now, innit?” Because yeah, it is. Christianity is BONKERS, y’all, there’s no point in denying it. 

Also, “I Don’t Know How to Love Him” is one of the best descriptions of how terrifying unconditional love is. I want a Mary Magdalene who can play this role not as straight-up romantic love, but as a complicated mix of emotions and attachments. Every one of Jesus’ followers in this show is constantly struggling to understand (as they do in the Gospels, and as many Christians continue to do).

I want to make this show about how different people make different choices based on their questions about who Jesus is, and about an imperial power that silences a dissenter who scares them--which, as it happens, is what’s going on in the Gospels, among other things.

If you’ve read to the end of this, bless you. I’d love to keep talking about this, so I welcome your thoughts.

[boriking]

Who is a True Christian?

What is it that us Christians need to do in order ensure our salvation? The Bible and many saints have told us but it seems we do not listen. Especially online many Christians who are devout to the dogmas and doctrines of their faith don’t exhibit this particular virtue. I am of course talking about the virtue of charity.

The reason for this essay arose a year ago when a couple of friends of mine were having a Bible study and we read the Parable of the Wedding Feast (Matthew 22: 1-14) together. To summarize: a king is holding a wedding feast for his son and sends servants to invite guests but those invited give excuses or even kill the servants. The king then angrily destroys the city and kills the murderers in retribution. He orders his servants to go out into the main road and invite whomever they find. And so they do, the scripture notes the people they gathered were “good and bad alike” and they all attend the banquet. When the king goes out to meet the guests he sees a man “without a wedding garment” he orders this man to be thrown out into darkness “where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

When we read this we focused on the wedding garment. It puzzled us. We turned to commentaries from the Church Fathers to see if they had anything to say that could help us.

I’ll start with St Gregory the Great:

“What then must we understand by the wedding garment but love? That person enters the marriage feast, but without wearing a wedding garment, who is present in the holy church. He may have faith, but he does not have love.”

George Leo Haydock:

“Wedding garment, which Calvin erroneously understands of faith, for he came by faith to the nuptials. St. Augustine says it is the honour and glory of the spouse, which each one should seek, and not his own; and he shows this, in a sermon on the marriage feast, to be charity. This is the sentiment of the ancients, of St. Gregory, St. Ambrose, and others. What St. Chrysostom expounds it, viz. an immaculate life, or a life shining with virtues, and free from the filth of sin, is nearly the same; for charity cannot exist without a good life, nor the purity of a good life, without charity.”

And finally St Augustine:

“The garment that is required is in the heart, not on the body, for if it had been put on externally, it could not have been concealed even from the servants.”

So we see here that the garment is Love. The Heavenly virtue of Charity is the sign that you are saved. Not by faith alone. Even in the Epistles, Faith is followed by Hope and Love “but the greatest of these is Love” St Paul says (1Cor 13:13). Not Faith.

So reading these commentaries (in the Catena bible app that I highly recommend you download) we were astounded because we had been faced with an uncharitable attitude from many profeessed Christians online, particularly on Twitter.

Jesus gave us 2 Commandments when confronted with which of the 10 commandments is greatest Our Lord summarizes them into two:

“He said to him, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment.

The second is like it:You shall love your neighbor as yourself. The whole Law and the Prophets depend on these two commandments.”” (Matthew 22:37-40)

During the Last Supper He gives one more commandment:

“I give you a new commandment: love one another. As I have loved you, so you also should love one another. This is how all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (John 13:34-35)

Now God, in His Goodness, has given us many living examples of these three commandments in the various lives of the saints. I’ll give a couple of my favorites. One example is from St Thomas Aquinas, when a couple of friars played a prank on him telling him to look out the window because there are pigs flying. He ran to look and replied to their laughter with “I’d rather believe pigs can fly than my own brethren could lie.”

Another more recent example would be Pope St Pius X. A man born with such innate interior holiness he impacted all those around him. Whether it was his home or seminary or parish or later, the whole world. He was devout and obedient in all three of Our Lord’s Commandments. Many trads online only seem to like him because of a quote of his about beating modernists. Yet if you examine his whole life you see someone with a complete love of poverty, of God, his flock and his brethren. In a time when it seems like we don’t have many good priests or bishops here was a proper shepherd, a true spiritual father. Reading his life has really changed me. I suggest you all do the same. Study and contemplate his life.

These are pressing times and we need to be steadfast with these things I have shown you all of we will lose our souls. Take care of yourselves and may God bless you all.

[iturbide]

Not necessarily an AU ask, but do you have any headcanons for Grimleal religious practices? Do they have daily prayers, attend regular sermons, etc?

Gods I have so many Grimleal headcanons okay it gets crazy up in here when we start in on Plegia’s religion

I personally tend to think that Plegians perform daily religious observances, which take place either before dawn or after sundown.  Grima was not truly a dark dragon, but their eyes were exceptionally photosensitive, so they didn’t really care for the sun; most of their activity, especially where interactions with mankind were concerned, took place at night, so most of the Grimleal services continue to reflect this. 

The moon phases also play into this quite heavily – Plegia even operates on a lunar calendar because of this.  The first new moon after the longest night of the year (aka Grima’s Night) is considered the start of their new year, and each new moon thereafter marks the start of a new month.

Eclipses are also considered to be incredibly fortuitous, in particular total solar eclipses, and when one approaches pretty much the whole nation shuts down to witness the event. 

Daily observances are often performed at home, and generally involve prayers offered in the direction of the setting sun and simple actions (drawing Grima’s Mark – touching the thumb and one finger to the forehead, eyelids, and heart before clasping both hands with fingers laced).  At the new and full moons, there are also temple ceremonies, which are much more involved and often include recitation from Grima’s Truth.  

Grimleal are by no means required to attend temple ceremonies, of course: while many do, it’s not uncommon for families to hold dedicated observances at home, reading from the religious texts on their own.  This makes it significantly easier for people with young children or ailing family members to take part, and oftentimes a temple priest will come to visit those unable to attend either shortly before or after the service to confer blessings upon them. 

Along with the daily observances and bi-monthly sermons, there are several key observances that the Grimleal keep: Grima’s Night, the new year, and the Day of Remembrance. 

Grima’s Night is the biggest festival day in Plegia.  Taking place on the longest night of the year, when Grima’s powers are at their peak, Grima’s Night is a celebration of those who have already left the world and joined Grima’s embrace.  The day is spent in preparation, hanging decorations, cooking, and setting places for those both living and departed (with mementos of the dead marking their places); at sundown, there is an ceremony invoking Grima to send the spirits back to their friends and families, and then the rest of the night is spend feasting and talking and laughing and sharing the events of the year gone by before the spirits must depart with the sunrise. 

New Year’s takes place on the first new moon after Grima’s Night (so should Grima’s Night itself fall on a new moon – which is quite the auspicious sign – the new year would begin the following month).  Much like Grima’s Night, planning and preparation takes place throughout the day leading up to nightfall; however, the preparation is as much individual as it is communal, with each person reflecting on the year past, things done well and mistakes made, and endeavoring to right wrongs, mend bridges, and otherwise start off the new year with no lingering ills or bad blood remaining from the one prior.  It’s also said that the best time to offer your heart to someone (propose marriage, or at least announce your feelings) is on the new year, because if they’re turned away you have the new year to mend; and if they’re accepted, you have the new year to grow closer to the one you love. 

The Day of Remembrance is a somber day, by comparison to the others.  Taking place on the longest day of the year, it commemorates not just Grima’s Fall at the hands of Naga and the First Exalt, but of all those lost in the conflicts that followed.  Everyone wears white in mourning (the color death and mourning, of bleached bone under the sun) and fasts through the day as they’re able; just before sunset, there is a religious service to honor and remember those lost…and with the setting of the sun, the ceremony reminds everyone that though Grima fell, their protector was not destroyed, but simply became part of the earth, One with the Shadow of the World, and continues to watch over and guide them. 

Grimleal temples are generally round, enclosed spaces with skylights.  Grima’s radial body symmetry played at least a minor part in the early design, but now such radial planning is common throughout Plegia, with many of their cities having streets that lead toward a central temple (which is as much a place of worship as it is a defensible location for citizens to take shelter at). 

The skylight is also a throwback to the time before the fall.  Because the fell dragon was so huge, landing was almost impossible, so it was difficult for them to convene with humanity; however, the Dragon’s Table – far and away the tallest structure in Plegia – had a central skylight at the top, and humans would go there to convene with Grima, who would fly around the tower and speak with them.  While the spire was initially meant as the resting place of the Earth Dragons, Grima’s followers gradually modified the rotunda at the top, adding the colored stones and other artistic touches.  After Grima’s fall they added the altar to serve as a memory of their divine. 

While not required, a great number of temples built after Grima’s fall are actually built underground, with only a small dome visible from the surface.  Grima’s fall left the dragon’s bones scattered throughout the nation, and many ended up being buried in the sand; many in Plegia believe that their divine is part of the earth now, and such subterranean construction makes them feel closer to Grima. 

Grimleal traditionally bury their dead, for much the same reason that they build temples belowground as much as possible.  After death, a body is wrapped in a shroud bearing the Mark of Grima before they’re buried in special graveyards filled with plants, be they trees or flowers.

These grave sites are special, not just for their greenery, but also for the fact that a small piece of Grima’s body is buried at the heart of each one.  Even communities far from Grima’s bones have this memento at the hearts of their cemeteries, for it is believed that Grima still has a connection to their scattered remains, and by burying the dead close to Grima’s own they can be safely taken into the fell dragon’s embrace. 

The bones of the dead are considered sacred, as well, because those remains are the anchor that spirits may use to return to the world on Grima’s night.  For this reason, cremation is considered sacrilegious, because it destroys the bones and untethers the spirit from the world, preventing their return. 

Animal bone is handled and treated differently, but with equal care: the Grimleal endeavor to use every part of the animals they hunt and keep, which includes using their bones for tools and armor.

Blood is a key part of the most important Grimleal rituals; however, only a small amount is ever required (usually no more than a pinprick, at most a shallow cut).  For religious ceremonies, obsidian blades are used for the ritual drawing of blood; while the priests carry finely wrought obsidian daggers, most devout Grimleal carry small shards for use in private observances. 

Black, violet, and gold all have key religious significance, and are widespread throughout the nation; red is widely valued, but tends to carry fewer religious connotations (though it is still used for ceremonial purposes).  

and holy heck this got out of hand whoops 

[anastpaul]

Thought for the Day – 16 January – The Memorial of Blessed Giuseppe Tovini OFS (1841-1897)

St Pope Paul VI and Blessed Giuseppe Tovini

Saints of Brescia

Excerpt from St Pope John Paul’s Homily

EUCHARISTIC CELEBRATION ON THE OCCASION OF THE CENTENARY OF THE BIRTH OF THE SERVANT OF GOD PAUL VI AND THE BEATIFICATION OF GIUSEPPE TOVINI

HOMILY OF POPE JOHN PAUL II Brescia Sunday, 20 September, 1998

With deep affection I greet you, city of Brescia, so rich in works of Christian inspiration;  I greet your priests, religious and the many lay people who in their various ecclesial and civil offices have distinguished themselves by their religious, social and cultural commitment.

2. “Peter, do you love me?”.   We can say that Paul VI’s life was a response to Christ’s question – a great proof of love for God, the Church and mankind.   He loved God as a gracious and caring Father and during the important moments of his life, especially those burdened with difficulties and suffering, he displayed a very strong sense of the divine fatherhood.

When, as Archbishop of Milan, he decided to hold a popular mission to instil new energy in the city’s Christian tradition, he chose as his basic theme – God is Father.   Then on 6 August, 20 years ago, as he neared the end of his earthly life at Castel Gandolfo, he wanted to recite the Our Father as his last prayer.

And what can be said of his passionate love for Christ?   His was an essentially Christocentric spirituality.   In the homily to mark the beginning of his Pontificate, he explained that he had chosen the name of Paul because the Apostle “loved Christ supremely, because he greatly wanted and strove to bring the Gospel of Christ to all nations, because he offered his life in Christ’s name” (30 June 1963, in Insegnamenti I, [1963], pp. 24-25).   On another occasion he added that it is impossible to leave Christ out of consideration, “if we want to know something certain, full, revealed about God, or rather, if we want to have a living, direct and authentic relationship with God”(General Audience, 18 December 1968; L’Osservatore Romano English edition, 26 December 1968, p. 3).

3. To his love for God the Father and for Christ the Teacher, Paul VI joined an intense love for the Church, for which he spent all his physical, intellectual and spiritual energies, as the touching confession he made in Pensiero alla morte testifies:  “The Church … I could say that I have always loved her … and that I think I have lived for her and for nothing else” (cf. Pubblicazione dell’Istituto Paolo VI, Brescia 1988, pp. 28-29).

Flowing spontaneously from this love for Christ and for the Church was his pastoral passion for man, with an acute insight into the sufferings and expectations of the contemporary age.   Few have known, as he, to interpret the anxieties, desires, toils and aspirations of the men of our century.   He wished to walk at their side, to do this he made himself a pilgrim on their roads, meeting them where they lived and struggled to build a world of greater attention and respect for the dignity of every human being.

He wanted to be the servant of Church which evangelised the poor, called with every person of goodwill to build that “civilisation of love” in which not only the crumbs of economic and civil progress go to the poor, but where justice and solidarity should reign.

4. The roots of Pope Montini’s particular sensitivity to the great social questions of our century are sunk deep in his Brescian origins.   In his own family and then during the years of his youth in Brescia, he breathed that atmosphere, that fervour of activity which made Brescian Catholicism one of the significant landmarks of the Catholic presence in the social and political life of the country.   Addressing his fellow citizens at the beginning of his Pontificate, Paul VI expressed this debt of gratitude: “Brescia! The city which not only gave me birth but is such a part of the civil, spiritual and human tradition, teaching me as well the meaning of life in this world and always offering me a framework which, I think, will withstand future experiences ordained over the years by divine Providence” (cf. Address to a Pilgrimage from Milan and Brescia, 29 June 1963, in Insegnamenti I [1963], p. 647).

5. Bl Giuseppe Tovini was certainly a great witness of the Gospel incarnated in Italy’s social and economic history in the last century.   He is resplendent for his strong personality, his profound lay and family spirituality and for his generous efforts to improve society.   Between Tovini and Giovanni Battista Montini there is — as a matter of fact — a close, profound spiritual and mental bond.

In fact, the Pontiff himself wrote of Tovini:  “The impression he left on those I first knew and esteemed was so vivid and so real that I frequently heard comments and praise of his extraordinary personality and his many varied activities – astonished, I heard admiring expressions of his virtue and sorrowful regrets at his early death” (cf. Preface by Giovanni Battista Montini to the biography of Giuseppe Tovini by Fr Antonio Cistellini in 1953, p. I).

6. Fervent, honest, active in social and political life, Giuseppe Tovini proclaimed the Christian message, always in fidelity to the guidance of the Church’s Magisterium.   His constant concern was to defend the faith, convinced that — as he said at a congress — “without faith our children will never be rich, with faith they will never be poor”. He lived at a sensitive time in the history of Italy and the Church and it was clear to him, that one could not respond fully to God’s call, without being generously and selflessly involved in social problems.

His was a prophetic vision and he responded with apostolic daring to the needs of the times, which in the light of new forms of discrimination required of believers a more incisive leadership in temporal affairs.

Aided by the legal skills and rigorous professionalism that distinguished him, he promoted and directed many social organisations and also held political office in Cividate Camuno and Brescia in the desire to make Christian doctrine and morality present among the people.   He considered commitment to education a priority and prominent among his many initiatives, was his defence of schools and the freedom of teaching.

With humble means and great courage he laboured tirelessly to preserve for Brescian and Italian society what was most particularly its own, that is, its religious and moral heritage.

Tovini’s honesty and integrity were rooted in his deep, vital relationship with God, which he constantly nourished with the Eucharist, meditation and devotion to the Blessed Virgin.   From listening to God in daily prayer, he drew light and strength for the great social and political battles he had to wage to safeguard Christian values.   The Church of St Luke, with its beautiful image of the Immaculata and where his mortal remains now rest, is a witness to his piety.

On the threshold of the third millennium, Giuseppe Tovini, whom today we contemplate in heavenly glory, spurs us on.   I invite you in particular, dear lay faithful of Brescia and Italy, to look to this great social apostle, who was able to give hope to those without voice in the society of his time, so that his example will be an incentive and encouragement to everyone to work generously today and always to defend and to spread the truth and the demands of the Gospel.   May he protect you from heaven and sustain you by his intercession.

Dear Brescians, you have received a great religious and civil heritage – treasure it as an incomparable patrimony and bear active witness to it, with that ingenuity and integrity, that fidelity and perseverance which distinguished Paul VI and Giuseppe Tovini.

7. “I have fought the good fight…. The Lord stood by me” (2 Tm 4:7,17)   These words from the second reading of the Mass summarise the spiritual experience of the two figures we recall today with devout admiration.   We thank God for their witness – it is a precious gift, not only for Brescia but for Italy and for all humanity.   Their memory must not fade with the passing of time.   In different fields and with different responsibilities, they sowed so much good, they fought the good fight – the fight for Truth and the civilisation of Love.

May Mary, Mother of the Church, help us take up their legacy and follow in their footsteps so that we too will be allowed to answer Christ like the Apostle Peter: “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you” (Jn 21:17). Amen!

Holy Mother Mary, Pray for Us!

St Pope Paul VI, Pray for Us!

Blessed Giuseppe Tovini, Pray for Us!

(via Thought for the Day - 16 January - The Memorial of Blessed Giuseppe Tovini OFS (1841-1897))