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miks-fantrolls · 3 months

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(Content warning: religion, cults)

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Characters: Safron Zergaz, Zaros Stellon, Leyraa Azubah

(Leyraa -> @windy-trickster)

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Your name is Safron Zurgaz, and, for the first time in your stay at the House, you feel trapped.

Daily life has continued as usual. While you’d been asked a minimal amount of questions regarding Leyraa’s sudden disappearance, they had been of a tame manner. What had the two of you talked about? Had Leyraa been acting strange prior to her disappearance? Did Leyraa ever say anything that may have indicated she was planning on leaving?

Your answers were easily verifiable via the security cams the Church had variously stationed throughout the House. It helped that you’d never exactly been assigned to Leyraa either, per se, so you were never in charge of her whereabouts or what she did, especially seeing as she was a rank higher than you were. You’d been given… certain relevant information, of course. It had been given to all the other authorities in your sect, solely so those of you who interacted with her knew to be careful.

She’d had a troubled past, Deacon Zarios had said. It’s best if you avoid mentioning her past at all. At her request, we’ve wiped her memories. Help her start her new life here, Safron. Keep her from making the same mistakes that brought her here. You, of all people, should be able to understand.

You ended up seeing a lot of Leyraa. Working together through daily mass, becoming familiar with how the other preferred to do things. You inadvertently helped train Leyraa, seemingly the one person she was more comfortable with asking questions. Eventually, you began to see more of each other. In your free time, you would find yourself idling nearby wherever she happened to be, and vice versa. You would converse about small things at first, joking about the “weather” and commenting on different constellations that would be visible soon.

Zarios seemed to pick up on your budding relationship with Leyraa. One time, after daily mass, Zarios held you behind while the Proxies and other Disciples left to clean up the chapel. With a warm smile, he lightheartedly inquired about how things were going for the two of you. You didn’t think anything of it at the time—Deacon Zarios was known for personally checking in on people; it was one of his many traits that had earned him his title as a clergyman. You were honest with the man. You believed that you and Leyraa would become good friends, having had several friendly conversations since Leyraa’s arrival.

Can I confide in you for a moment, Safron? The Deacon’s expression had turned serious, sending tiny pinpricks across your skin. You consented.

I think you’re doing outstanding work, he began, especially with Leyraa. It seems you’ve really made her feel welcome here.

The Deacon paused, a contemplating look on his face. Then, a smile, as if the answer had unfolded itself before him. You may have sensed this already, but Leyraa is special. The world she’s left behind is entirely different than the one you or I came from—under any other circumstances, providing her with an amnesiac would have been out of the question. You understand that, don’t you?

You nodded. It went without saying, or so you had thought. While the Church taught the value of balance in one’s life, emphasis was always placed on one’s own free will—the decision to continue to forge one’s new life instead of returning to the old, the decision to stay here in the House. It was taught that every troll in the House had come here of their own volition. So, in your mind, it followed that despite Leyraa’s amnesia, she had ultimately chosen this life for reasons unknown to you.

Leyraa’s prying into your own past hadn’t been much of a surprise—she’d been curious from the very moment you’d met her. While Zarios warned you to avoid mentioning her past, he’d said nothing about your own. It wasn’t against Church mandate to speak about one’s past. It was encouraged by the Church, in fact, comparisons between the trolls you are now and the trolls you used to be called upon in daily mass. Leyraa had been interested enough, so you told her how you used to be a street urchin, conning others for no other reason than to Obtain.

She pointed to the belief that you were only doing what you had to survive. You had shaken your head, relapsing into Disciple mode where you explained that Survival had been your excuse for sinning—for Obtaining. A troll needed not what you had sought. Leyraa seemed to grasp the concept, although there was a slightly opaque look to her eyes, giving you the feeling that she didn’t entirely agree. You’d shrugged it off at the time. Nobody started off as a total believer. It was something that grew with practice.

As for your coming to the House, you’d explained to Leyraa that after being caught with illicit substances for the last time, you’d been sentenced to an execution of sorts. On Eclipta, the far-off gray planet that orbited in the distance, you were legally dead, never to return. Two Spectres arrived at your holding cell to escort you, and you’d been terrified at the time. How odd it was, to look back at when you first arrived and remember how utterly confused and scared you had been. Disbelieving, even, that somebody such as yourself would be sent to a haven like this, where you were treated not as a criminal, but as a living being.

A period of silence seemed to envelop the two of you at that point as you wistfully reflected on your journey to who you’d become. Amid your own thoughts, you had noticed Leyraa become interested in the adjacent window. She gazed out into the stars thoughtfully, her eyes darting back and forth as if searching for something. It had been nice, you remember. Just sitting together quietly and staring out into infinite space.

Had that been the beginning, you wonder? Thinking back, you struggle to pinpoint exactly what transpired, what specific thought you’d had, or action you’d committed that must have eventually snowballed into the agonizing claustrophobia you feel today. Not too long ago–barely a month before Leyraa had disappeared, it must have been–you remember having had inklings of this feeling. It seemed like Leyraa had entered something of an absent mood as of late. She would fail to respond immediately, often needing to be called multiple times to gather her attention. Even when alone together, you’d felt as if she were miles away in her own thoughts.

“How come I’m not allowed to leave?” she blurted suddenly. It had taken you by surprise, as your mind had currently been fixated on which flowers you wanted to put out for mass the next day. You asked Leyraa to repeat herself, which she did.

Your answer was automatic: of course she was free to leave. All members were free to leave if they wished. It was something you’d grown so used to hearing that the phraseology was unconscious.

“How come nobody ever leaves?” she responded.

That was an easy one: everyone was happy here. You disliked how her question, and your answer, made your stomach knot up.

“Then,” Leyraa finally cast her eyes onto you. “What if I’m not happy here?”

How her eyebrows pinched and how her eyes searched yours did something to you. And for once, you didn’t have the answer. You’d opened your mouth automatically to reply, then hesitated, and finally shut it again, sitting silently at a loss for what to say.

Something firmed up in Leyraa’s face. She cast her eyes away, back out to the starry window view, her lips pressed thin. She gave an imperceptible nod, as if to herself, sighing as if something great weighed on her shoulders. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t know what to say. So, like you had done many times before, you sat together in silence, star-gazing through the window. Except this time, it felt like a dark shadow loomed over you, just barely outside your cognizance.

Only a week or two passed between then and the next conference between you and Zarios. Looking back, maybe you had been a little moodier than usual. You hadn’t realized it at the time, but it was possible that something shadowed your conscience, slowly eating away through your nerves. On the surface, nothing had changed between you and Leyraa. What, if anything, did actually change, you still honestly can’t say. All you know is you were feeling… different. And Zarios noticed.

Safron, Deacon Zarios had addressed you. It was difficult to know whether the things Zarios did were intentional on his behalf—had he been searching for you specifically? Or did he just so happen to be passing by you in the hallway, you on your way to the library, and him on his way to… somewhere else? By the tone of his voice, you understood he wished to speak and acquiesced to follow him into a nearby empty lounge room.

How are things? Zarios had asked you. You recall admitting to him that you weren’t feeling well lately, that perhaps you needed to rework your sleep schedule or find more time during the day to rest. Zarios had nodded in understanding. These things are sent to try us.

A vague answer that you never really knew how to respond to. Zarios was silent for a moment before continuing.

How is your relationship with Leyraa coming along?

Again, you were honest. You were worried about her. Of course, you’d had a bit of trouble acclimating to The House when you first joined, but you couldn’t recall ever having felt as lost as Leyraa seemed to be feeling. Zarios nodded comprehendingly, gazing into your eyes with his three. You hesitated, and he raised his eyebrows slightly, sensing that you were holding something back as clearly as if you had been holding your own breath.

You gave in easily. You asked if anybody had ever left the House—had anyone ever been so unhappy as to do so? Zarios gave you a pitying look that stirred something dark in your stomach.

No, sweet child. I take it you have reason for asking this… Has something been troubling you, Safron?

You bit your lip, then explained that you had been thinking about Leyraa when you asked. You wondered about her free will. Was it right to keep her bound to her original desires when she was no longer that person? Did she have the freedom to leave as the rest of the Church did?

Zarios seemed to contemplate your inquiries seriously. He didn’t respond for several minutes. Finally, when he did respond, he folded his hands over yours, his warm skin radiant against your own.

I have not been wholly forthcoming with you, Safron. I beg of your forgiveness.

You replied with your forgiveness automatically, without needing to think about it. He nodded.

We all are sinners, Safron. We all have our own burdens to shoulder, and Leyraa is no different. However, Leyraa is—was—a killer.

You recall trying to imagine sweet, innocent-faced Leyraa as anything but the person you knew her as. She could be sassy, and she had her moods, but you’ve never been able to imagine her as anything malevolent or malicious. Your bemusement must have shown clearly on your face because Zarios then kindly smiled.

She was a unique kind of killer, Zarios continued. Hired by the empire to commit specific acts of murder.

You had done your best to follow the sentiment but still felt lost. Confused, you questioned what it was that had brought her to the House, then. Had she changed her mind about how she had been living?

Fate brought her to us as it did for you, Zarios replied cryptically. His face softened with amusement at the sight of your furthered confusion. Her own actions led her here. For her own protection, we aided her transition to living here with an amnesiac. As you are on Eclipta, she, too, is considered legally dead.

Your head swam at his words. Thinking back now, your mind still reels at the revelation. At the time, despite the gnawing pit in your stomach, Zarios’ tone had been so matter-of-fact that, even if you didn’t see it, you believed there had been perfect logic and reasoning for what happened to Leyraa.

And then the emergency alarms, just a week later, waking you from your slumber. Red and white lights strobing from the fire alarm above your front door. Hazily, you had stumbled from your bed, fumbling with the tie of your robe and tripping over yourself in your haste to leave the room. Opening the door, something paper had crunched and rustled. Distracted by the alarm, you almost didn’t stop to inspect it, but a glimpse of glittery, purple gel pen writing on a sheet of paper stopped you.

Her letter still resonates in your mind. Even though you instinctively burned the paper to ash immediately after reading it, the contents still turn over and over inside your skull. Accusations, regret, sorrow, bitterness, all blind-siding you before the discovery of the missing escape pod—what had triggered the emergency alarms in the first place.

You sit on the edge of your bed. Zarios has given you the week off despite your protests that you’re perfectly fine to work. You need the work, something to distract you from the hurricane of emotions inside of you. You actually pleaded with the man, but he was firm.

I want you to reflect, Zarios instructed you. You’ve lost someone dear to you, and none of us have answers. The best thing for your mind right now is rest and reflection.

You disagreed, but you couldn’t very well just ignore the Deacon. When your meeting ended and you’d trudged to the door, Zarios stopped you at the last second.

Consider, Zarios began, the possibility of promotion. Perhaps you’ve outgrown your duties as a Disciple.

The Deacon smiled warmly at your blank stare.

Just a thought. We can discuss it next week once you’ve thought it over.

#safron zurgaz #mikwrites #waaaaaa #leyraa #house of astros #zarios stelon

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absolute-immunities · 4 months

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triggered by the Amars calling succession to the Presidency by Cabinet officers, rather than the House Speaker, “apostolic succession”

the succession to Rome is by election of the College of Cardinals??? it doesn’t just go to the favorite of the last Pontifex???

sure, Christ picked the Apostles, and the Apostles picked the bishops for particular seats, cf. Tertull. Praescr. Haer. 32; Iren. Adv. Haer. 3.3.1, but ever since the proper succession to any particular seat has been by election

see, e.g., Jerome, Dialogue Against the Luciferians, ch. 11 (translated by Peter Norton, Episcopal Elections, 250–600: Hierarchy and Popular Will in Late Antiquity (Oxford, 2007), 5):

The truth is, the men who are elected to the episcopate come from the bosom of Plato and Aristophanes. How many can you find among them who are not fully versed in these writers? Indeed everyone, whoever he may be, is ordained at the present day from among the literate class and makes it his study not how to seek out the marrow of Scripture, but how to tickle the ears of the people with the flowers of rhetoric.

Cyprian, Ep. 55.8.4 (Norton 13):

Cornelius was made bishop by the judgment of God and his Christ; by the testimony of almost all the clergy; by the vote of all the people who were present [de plebis quae tunc adfuit suffragio], and by the committee of senior bishops and good men.

cf. Cyprian, Ep. 67.3 (Norton 15):

the people definitely has the power either to choose worthy bishops or to reject unworthy ones [quando ipsa <plebs> maxime habeat potestatem vel eligendi dignos sacerdotes vel indignos recusandi]

Ambrose, Ep. 63.2 (Norton 13):

rightly it is believed that he whom all have asked for [as bishop] is chosen by the judgment of God [merito creditum quod divino esset electus iudicio, quem omnes postulavissent]

Apostolic Constitutions 8.4.2 (Norton 24):

and so, I, Peter say that a bishop to be ordained is to be, as we have all already commanded, without blame in all respects; a chosen person, picked by the whole people; and when he is named and approved, let the people assemble, with the presbyters and bishops that are present, on the Lord’s day; and let them give their consent. And let the principal of the bishops ask the presbytery and people whether this is the person whom they desire as their ruler.

And if they agree, let the bishop ask further whether he has a good testimony from all men as to his worthiness for such a great and glorious authority; whether all things relating to his piety towards God be right; whether justice towards men has been observed by him; whether the affairs of his family have been well-managed by him; whether he has been irreproachable in the course of his life.

And if all the assembly together act according to truth, and not according to prejudice, and witness that he is such a one, let them the third time, as before God the Judge, and Christ, the Holy Ghost being also present, as well as all the holy and ministering spirits, ask again whether he be truly worthy of this ministry, so that in the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established.

And if they agree the third time that he is worthy, let all be asked for their vote; and when they all give it willingly, let them be heard.

And then, after order has been called, being made, let one of the principal bishops, together with two others, stand near together, the rest of the bishops and presbyters praying silently, and the deacons holding the divine Gospels open upon the head of him that is to be ordained.

Leo, Ep. 10.6 (Norton 38):

Let he who is to be in charge of everybody be chosen by everybody. [Qui praefuturus omnibus est, ab omnibus eligatur.]

Leo, Ep. 14.5 (Norton 43):

When it comes to the choice of a bishop, let him be installed whom with harmonious agreement the clergy and people have requested; and where the votes of the parties are split among diVerent candidates, the future bishop will be he who, in the metropolitan’s judgment, is more deserving and has greater support, so that no bishop is ordained to those who do not want him or who have not requested him; and so no city which is not allowed to have the bishop it wanted will either despise or hate an unwanted bishop, and become less pious than is proper.

[Cum ergo de summi sacerdotis electione tractabitur, ille omnibus praeponatur quem cleri plebisque consensus concorditer postularit; ita ut si in aliam forte personam partium se vota diviserit, metropolitani iudicio praefuturus qui majoribus et studiis iuvatur et meritis: tantum ut nullus invitis et non petentibus ordinetur, ne civitas episcopum non optatum aut contemnerit aut oderit; et fiat minus religiosa quam convenit, cui non licuerit habere quem voluit.]

Cod. Iust. 1.3.41 (Norton 34):

with this law we ordain that whenever in any city there should be a vacancy for the bishop’s throne, the inhabitants should make a resolution concerning three candidates, men of sound faith and pious habits . . . so that from these the most suitable might be promoted to the bishopric.

apparently Gratian helped kill the tradition by mangling a letter from Pope Celestine, dated 428. see Kenneth Pennington, The Golden Age of Episcopal Elections, 1100–1300, 35 Bull. Medieval Canon L. 243 (2017)

Celestine’s letter originally read:

No bishop should be given to an unwilling flock. The consent and desires of the clergy, laymen, and senate are required.

[Nullus invitis detur episcopus; cleri, plebis et ordinis consensus et desiderium requiratur.]

but Gratian edited that down to its final sentence, and extracted from it the black-letter rule that “the people don’t elect their bishop”:

The people do not elect [their bishop], but consent to the election.

[Plebi non est eligere, set electioni consentire.]

The consent and desires of the clergy and people are required.

[Cleri plebis consensus et desiderium requiratur.]

that isn't what it says, Gratian!

contra, e.g., Lumen Gentium 3.20–22, which reads the Fathers for all they’re worth and, not finding its own doctrine in them, cites to them with a “cf”, and even has the guff to cite the Apostolic Tradition (ca. 215), which reads, in Botte’s edition:

and in Dix’s edition:

Romish guy, wise: “electus ab omni populo”? “consentientibus omnibus”? what could that possibly mean? ....... probably means the Pope picks them ......

it's an election, dumbass!

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sanddusted-wisteria · 3 months

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A Builder, a Researcher, and a Rooftop, Ch. 30: Adrenaline

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"...Everythin’ is gonna be jus’ fine.”

Also on AO3

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FHMMP. FHMMP.

The builder tried not to flinch as they fired another round of cannon shots. Even with the practice round early this morning, the recoil still felt overwhelming.

They pushed away the memory of how warm it felt under Qi’s covers. Held so gently yet somehow so tightly in his arms.

One of the soldiers shouted as they charged towards them, sword raised. The builder grit their teeth as they shoved their foot square into the soldier’s chest as they reached the top step. The soldier yelped and tumbled back down, smacking their head on the cobblestones below.

The builder felt a flash of relief as the soldier lied there and groaned, bringing a hand to their head.

Across the square, Justice was taking on three soldiers at once. They turned the cannon towards him and carefully lined up a shot through the scope. The instant Justice was out of the way, they pulled the trigger.

FHMMP.

Direct hit. Two of the soldiers were thrown like dolls down the street. The builder could just barely hear a shout of “Much obliged!” from Justice.

They ignored how they noticed the dull hint of sadness in Qi’s eyes when they woke up that morning. How he didn’t want to let go when they hugged outside the Research Center before reporting to their stations.

In the space between shots, the builder’s mind wandered back to Qi. They remembered the few occasions where they sparred. Qi never won. It seemed like he was more focused on doing flashy moves with his hammer. That hammer always looked way too big for him anyway.

But despite that, and despite how scared he was yesterday, as they hold the cannon in their hands, pivoting its massive weight like the telescope on its mount, they can’t help but feel like he was protecting them, in a way.

He had calculated how much air went into every shot, how much force it would use to blast these soldiers away, how difficult it would be to move the cannon around and fire it.

And then he did it again, just to make sure.

All for them. All for Sandrock.

Qi has more courage than he thinks, the builder thought as they lined up another shot.

The thought disappears with another FHMMP from the cannon.

They tried to forget how broken he sounded when he cried.

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A Selection of Sermons from the 2nd Deacon of Meidi… A History of the Church of the Light… Plantbox Growing: A Primer… Old World Weapons of Mass Destruction… Why Electricity is a Force of the Darkness…

Qi sighed, dropping the hand that was coasting along the spines of the books. Nothing good to read in here. If they had any speeches from any of the other, significantly less-draconian Deacons, maybe he’d be interested.

He turned around and sat on the nearest pew, eyes wandering about the wide open hall of the temple. It was all so unfamiliar. Obviously, as a researcher, he wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this.

It was arguably…blasphemous. From their view and his.

And yet, here he was.

There was a palpable tension about the room, and not just from Qi himself. Everyone was scattered about, talking quietly amongst themselves to try and calm their nerves. That, and to ignore the muffled sound of gunshots in the distance.

The mayor was reading a story to her daughter, who was cuddled up into her mother’s side.

The two remaining clergy members were standing vigil over the minister, heads bowed and hands clasped together in prayer.

The salvagers were playing with their son. They seemed to have the most energy of anyone in the room.

Qi looked to be the only one in the room without a conversation partner. It made his mind wander to what could be happening outside, where the builder was.

The builder… The only one who could man the air cannon. The one who held him in his weakest moment and promised to protect him. The one he…

BANG!

The doors to the temple suddenly flew open, the latch completely flying off.

Qi’s heart stopped.

Soldiers suddenly appeared from outside. Dark uniforms. Hidden eyes. Swift movements. Guns and batons.

Screams erupted throughout the hall, some out of panic and others out of rage. Some ducked behind the pews, shaking as they covered their heads. Others huddled together, the stronger poised at the ready to defend the weaker. Qi felt as if the air in his lungs had disappeared. He suddenly realized he was on the floor. When did he fall out of his seat?

The soldiers poured into the room, sweeping the room and pointing their weapons at everyone. “Up against the wall! Now!”

Hands flew up as everyone backed away. A flash of panic ran through Qi as he briefly stared down the muzzle of one of the soldier’s guns as it swept past. He scrambled to his feet and did as he was told.

Several soldiers made their way towards the back where the minister was resting. Dan-bi and Burgess, despite the terror on their faces, stepped in and spread their arms wide, blocking the minister. The soldiers paid them no mind, easily shoving them aside. But instead of shooting or beating Matilda, they…helped her up?!

Through the cries of the townsfolk and the barking of the soldiers, Qi could hear some shouts of surprise. Matilda stood up, a bit unsteady from her injury, but simply grabbed her cane and made her way towards the temple doors, flanked on all sides by soldiers. She didn’t make eye contact with any of them as she passed, her lips set in a thin, straight line. She left the temple without a word.

“There’s too many of ‘em!” One of the soldiers shouted. “No space!”

Qi felt sick. His head was reeling.

“Uh…there’s that apartment building or whatever. Take some of ‘em there, I guess,” said another soldier.

“Eh, fine,” said the first one, scanning the line that Qi was in. “Oi! Cabbage hair! Purple! And uh, you, glasses!” He jabbed a finger at Qi. “Get over here!”

Another wave of nausea hit him. He forced his feet to move through the paralysis that had taken hold of his whole body.

One of the soldiers opened the temple door. “Alright, single file. Keep yer hands up. No sudden moves, no talking, no funny business.”

As they started walking, something suddenly raced through Qi’s mind. He tried to suppress it. If he thought about it, he might just keel over and vomit right there and then. But the more he demanded himself to not think about it, the more it surfaced, screaming and clawing its way out of his subconscious.

Qi hadn’t even realized that they had reached the apartments already. All he could register was the existence of a single, dreadful question:

Is it my fault…?

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“I’m so sorry, everyone…” came a familiar grandmotherly voice from off to the side.

The cannon suddenly sputtered to a halt.

The builder whipped around to see…Matilda.

Minister Matilda.

The town’s glowing beacon of Light.

Plunging her cane straight into the ancillary power unit. Rendering the cannon useless. Defiling Qi’s invention and validating all his anxieties—

“YOU!” the builder roared, lunging forward to shove Matilda off. She fell flat on her back with a cry of alarm. The builder unsheathed their weapon, snarling as they advanced on her—

Rough hands suddenly grabbed them. Their hands were suddenly empty. They yelled and squirmed, trying to break free. Two soldiers yelled something back, but the builder couldn’t hear them over the blood rushing through their ears.

Meanwhile, Matilda had picked herself up and cut the power supply to the cannon. Right as she withdrew her cane, the builder had lost their fight. The soldiers shoved them against the floor. They grunted as a knee pinned their back.

“Orders, ma’am?” said one of the soldiers.

Matilda scowled. “Get off of them. That use of force is out of line.” That normally friendly voice…giving orders like that… The builder’s head was spinning.

“Y-yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.” The pressure on their back was lifted off, though the firm grip on their elbows and wrists remained. The soldiers awkwardly lifted them back onto their feet.

Matilda’s stony expression didn’t change. She turned to address every soldier in the square. They had all surrounded the other Sandrockers in small isolated groups. “Take the high risk ones to the Civil Corps building. The rest get sent to the temple. If I see any of you do any more than leadin’ ‘em peacefully to the detainment locations, a mutiny charge will be the least of your worries. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Wh-what the fuck?!” the builder yelled. “Why—why you?!”

Matilda’s face eased into that familiar friendly smile. “I’m so sorry, builder. I wish things could pan out different. Really, I do!” That calm, reassuring drawl was getting on the builder’s nerves. “But…what’s an old lady to do? At the behest of her own nation, for the sake of her children and the posterity of her people…”

“So were Sandrock never ‘your people?’” the builder spat. “You think leaving us for dead and getting picked off by the most hostile nation in the world is ‘posterity?!’”

Matilda sighed and shook her head. The builder couldn’t help but feel like it was just for theatrics. “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like, dearie. Compelled by orders…” She hummed. “You and me, two peas in a pod, eh? Just bein’ good lil worker bees for our higher ups. For the common good.”

“You shut the hell up…!”

“Well now, let’s not get too tangled up here,” Matilda said placidly. “Maybe it’s best if you cool off a bit, dearie. We ain’t gonna have a proper conversation when we’re all shaken up like this, are we now? Don’t worry, we’re gonna put you somewhere safe. And you’ll have all the time you need to calm down.” She nodded to the soldiers holding them. They started turning around.

“Wh—no! Argh, turn around, damn it! I’m not done!” The builder struggled some more, to no avail.

“Oh! Of course! You must be worried about Director Qi! Oh, how silly of me to forget.” came Matilda’s voice from behind them. The builder’s veins turned to ice. The soldiers paused to let them listen.

“If you do anything to do him, I swear to fucking—”

“Aw, don’t you worry now! Everyone in Sandrock is safe as can be. We’ll just be keepin’ an eye on y’all for a little bit. And we’ll give all y’all food and water and everythin’. Everythin’ is gonna be jus’ fine.”

The builder didn’t know what was stronger: their fury or their fear. Fire and ice clashed in their heart as they were unceremoniously paraded away down the street.

Away from their bastion of hope.

Away from everyone.

Away from everything.

“…Jus’ fine…”

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#i debated calling this chapter 'epinephrine' to match the last chapter but then i'd probably get them confused lol #my time at sandrock #mtas #shady's fics #mtas fanfic #brr #mtas spoilers

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angeltreasure · 10 months

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What if we don't have a vocation? I've been so worried about that for years

In the view of the Catholic Church, a vocation is the way God calls you to serve Him in the world. The process of finding out God’s call for you in this life is discernment.

(Keep in mind that no vocation is greater than another. All are holy if we pursue to serve God and love Him.)

There are four vocations:

Single Life. “Commit their lives to serve others in their work and prayer.”

Married Life. “ Faithful commitment to each other consecrated by the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony, they strive to please God through their devotion to each other and building a faith driven family.”

Priesthood. “Conformed to Jesus Christ through the Sacrament of Holy Orders, priests are called to be chosen instruments in the world.”

Religious Life (deacons, sisters, brothers, monks, nuns for example). “Commitment in life to live as Christ lived through vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.”

———————

Everyone starts off as single because that’s how we are born. God has a plan for your life. If you would like to learn how to discern we must learn to listen to the still, small voice of God in our heart. Do not be afraid: everyone can discern. Here’s some awesome link….

I can offer more if you are interested! May God bless you.

#asks

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commonwealthoccurences · 2 years

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Hi! Could you please do one with Sole confessing their feelings for a companion accidentally during an argument/disagreement? If it's too lengthy for all of them, I'd love to read one for Hancock!

Sorry for the long wait and the odd collection of companions! I wanted to do them all but I knew I'd probably never get around to posting if I did them all at once. Thank you for your request < 3

Cait:

“God, you’re so stubborn.”

“Yer tellin’ me! I swear to God, yer just tryna get yourself killed!”

Sole couldn’t resist the urge to roll their eyes. Raiders had taken up the Combat Zone again and they’d decided to start problems in the surrounding area. Someone had to take them out, and Sole refused to ask Cait to go back there. She was tough, there was no doubt about that, but that place held bad memories, traumatic ones, she had told them so herself. Yet, she was refusing to let Sole deal with the situation without her. “I’m not trying to get myself killed, and I’m trying to make sure you don’t either.”

They fumbled with the supplies they were packing. Cait had half a mind to stop them, to shake some sense into Sole that might convince them that not letting her help was completely and utterly stupid. “I don’t understand. Do y’ think I’m too weak to help ya?”

“Cait, no, of course that’s not it.” Sole turned back towards her, almost disappointed in themself for not realizing how she’d take their protectiveness.

“Well, that’s how it looks.” She snapped back.

She was creating distance before they realized it, across the room as soon as they could blink and obviously furious. Sole felt like they could slap themself, knowing how defensive Cait could get because of her past. After taking a moment to steady their breaths, they turned. “Cait, please. I don’t think you’re weak, I know you’re not weak. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection.”

“I know you don’t need it, but I want to provide it anyway.”

“Why?” Cait whirled around. It was obvious they had a single chance to justify themself before they were getting a real argument.

“Because I love you, okay?”

It was Sole’s turn to snap a little, which wasn’t exactly the way they wanted to confess their feelings to her. Of course, nothing in the Wasteland was perfect, but when it came to Cait, any sort of affection had to be handled carefully, especially something of this magnitude. And they had just told her they loved her like it was an accusation.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Cait whirled around in disbelief.

They swore they would swallow their words if they could. It wasn’t that they didn’t mean it, it’s just that it slipped out before they were ready. They stared at her for a moment, dumbstruck. “Sole?” Her voice was shakier.

“We can ignore that. Sorry, I– sorry.”

“Did y’ not mean that either, then?”

“I meant it, it’s just… that’s not how it was supposed to come out. Aggressively, I mean.”

Cait looked at them in wonder, as if she was seeing them for the first time. “Are you sure?”

“What?”

“Are y’ sure you feel that way about me?”

“Of course I am. More sure of that than anything else.”

Deacon:

“Look, obviously arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere. Just– Des’ says the plan will work better if you stay here anyways. So you’re staying here.”

“And let you lure out the raiders on your own? Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“All you would be is an extra target. Stay here, for your safety.”

It was obvious Deacon was doing his best not to get fed up with how stubborn they were being, but Sole didn’t care very much. He would get over it. They would do their job. He would be safe, and that’s all that mattered. Sure, it wasn’t the best idea to go on the mission alone, but it was a better alternative to putting Deacon in harm's way. “And what about your safety?” Deacon fired back.

He was pacing, his hands on his hips, making an attempt to not snap. The lighthearted, unwaveringly joking facade he put up had cracks forming, but Sole wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “What about it?” They were making a light attempt to compensate for his lack of humor, and it clearly wasn’t working.

“I’m serious, Sole.”

“So am I.”

Deacon shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. “ Why is my safety so much more important than yours?”

“Because I love you.”

Deacon stopped pacing and Sole nearly stopped breathing. They stood stock still; you could hear a pin drop in the room. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. I said nothing.”

Sole quickly turned to gather up the pieces of their armor they always took a break from whenever they were somewhere safe. Their hands burned as they yanked the straps through their respective buckles, but their face burned just as much. Abruptly, their hasty escape was stalled as Deacon placed a hand over theirs where it gripped the strap to fasten the armor that guarded their thigh. “What did you say?” He repeated, softer this time.

They sighed and relaxed their grip on the fastener. Suddenly the idea of taking on the raiders by themselves was much less intimidating now that they had a confrontational Deacon to deal with. “I said I love you.”

Deacon laughed a little bit, which wasn’t quite the reaction they were hoping for. They looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “You know, this is a pretty ridiculous way to win an argument, but I can’t complain. It’s only gonna work once, though.”

Sole couldn’t help the barking laugh they let out, their head tilting back as they turned their hand over to hold his. “Yeah?” They challenged, their mouth curled into a grin.

“Yeah. I, uh–” He hesitated, then stopped.

They watched him expectantly, but when he refused to meet their eyes, they relaxed. “You don’t have to say it back,” they said quietly, “just… um, you’re not upset that I said it in the first place, are you?”

“No. I’m glad you did.” He let a moment of silence pass. “But you’re not going on that mission alone.”

“Deacon!”

Hancock:

The argument must’ve made sense at some point, but Sole had long lost track of whatever it was about. Anything and everything, they supposed. Tensions were running high; Mayor McDonough was threatening to expand the patrols of Diamond City guards, implying that no unapproved people would be allowed even within the range of their patrols. This, of course, was complete and utter bullshit.

Sole understood that this was bringing up a lot of bitter memories for Hancock, and conflicting feelings to boot. Somewhere, deep down, the Mayor was still his brother, and hearing such sentiments still stung even deeper than it would’ve coming from a stranger.

Unfortunately, Hancock wasn’t exactly the best at dealing with emotions, and was snapping at anyone who he came across. Even Fahrenheit wasn’t safe from his wrath when she brought up changing guard schedules.

It was tiring to walk on eggshells, to constantly wonder if they could even bring up solutions to the conflict without Hancock taking unnecessary offense and starting another argument, much less trying to have a regular conversation with him. Sole wasn’t exactly the most non-confrontational person in the world, either, and they found themself once again throwing words back and forth with Hancock.

Something about them wanting to check on a settlement in Sanctuary’s trade route had once again made him irritable, but Sole wasn’t backing down. They had a job to do. “You’re not going to treat me like a child, John. I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions, and I get that you’re dealing with your own shit right now, but you won’t let me help you. So I’m not sticking around to watch this crash and burn.”

“Great. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sole, really appreciate it. Fantastic to know that my right hand person doesn’t even think I’m a competent leader!”

Sole huffed out a breath and rolled their eyes to the ceiling. “That’s not what I meant. Hancock, if you’re not going to accept any help or put together a decent retaliation plan, I’m not staying here to watch what happens. I can’t.”

“You can’t,” Hancock scoffed. “So say it does crash and burn, why can the great General of the Minutemen not watch it happen?”

They pressed their lips together, willing themself to not start yelling at him in some attempt to get sense into his brain. Instead, they shook their head and pushed themself off the wall they were leaning against, taking the steps to gather their things from a table nearby. “I’ll be back in a week.” They said simply.

It really was too late to back out of the conversation, though, as they had piqued Hancock’s interest. He wasn’t one to give up easily. Arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes narrowed, he followed them and made himself unignorable with his proximity. When they turned to face him he placed his hands on the table on either side of them, leaning into their space.

They sucked in a sharp breath and looked anywhere but his face. “Why?”

“Hancock, you’ve lost your fucking mind. That’s why.”

“Nah. This is something else. We’ve argued before, but you started avoiding me a few weeks ago. Won’t look me in the eyes–” Hancock gently knocked his knuckle against the underneath of their chin, succeeding in getting them to lift their head and look him in the eye.

This curiosity had obviously distracted him from the brewing battle between him and his brother that had taken over everyone’s life in the last few days. Sole would’ve been grateful for anything to distract him earlier, but now they were coming up with some creative curses internally as they stared him down. “C’mon Sunshine. Spill it.”

Sole pushed past him and muttered under their breath, hiking their bag up their shoulder as they tried to get out the door. “Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.” Hancock protested, grasping their arm.

There was obviously something in their eyes as they turned to face him; he nearly took a step back at the expression on their face. It was somewhere between determination and bitter irritation, “I love you, John. And I’m not gonna sit around and watch you be so damn stubborn you let everything crumble.”

If they weren’t so upset, the way Hancock’s widened would’ve been comical. They had stunned him into silence momentarily, and then he was scrambling to speak up before they could turn and leave. “Y’ serious right now?”

His tone had softened, and they hated that they couldn’t tell whether it was pity, intrigue, or affection that laced those words. Sole ground their teeth together and gave him a look, one that was unamused and potentially heartbroken. “Come here.” He opened his arms slightly.

Sole sighed and stepped into the offered embrace. Despite the circumstances and the fact that he might’ve been preparing to let them down easy, they couldn’t help but be grateful for the respite from the constant arguing they’d been doing. His hand found their lower back as he tucked his chin on their shoulder.

The backpack was tugged from its place on their shoulder and fell to the floor unceremoniously as Sole pulled away to look him in the eyes, confused. There were only a few breaths between them when Sole realized how close they were and nearly startled. “Can I kiss you?” He asked, his rough palm ghosting the side of their face.

There was no hesitation in Sole’s nod.

#Fallout 4 #Fo4 #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Companions react #companions reaction #fluff #cait #deacon #mayor hancock #headcanons #hcs #requests

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