#narthex

[ember-atelier]

Power Plant - City of Arcsunder.

A small coal-fired power station built and operated by the Astangel Electric Power Company in the Narthex district of Arcsunder. At full capacity it generates approximately 100 megawatts of electricity.

#isometric #Narthex #Arcsunder City

[bimshwel]

that's shoe bix

a comic strip idea that wasn't very amusing or obvious so i decided to make it worse and more obvious to amuse myself

#bealix #narthex #comicstrip #garbage

[ukdamo]

Today's Flick photo with the most hits: the titular mosaic in the narthex of St Saviour in Chora, Istanbul.

#narthex #st saviour in chora #mosaics #Byzantine #church #Istanbul #turkey #museum

[thewordwideweb]

Words you'll never use, Volume Two

In case last week’s post on words you will never use wasn’t enough for you, we herewith present Words You’ll Never Use, Volume 2. (Please note: “herewith” is not one of them, but probably should be).

Let’s start off with a tasty one. You’ll probably never use – or even hear – the word “tracklements” unless perhaps you spend some time in England. Tracklements is a term that covers a wide range of savory condiments, such as various mustards, relishes, chutneys and so on, usually served with a meat dish. British food writer Dorothy Hartley is believed to have coined the word in 1954. She said it was derived from a dialect word, “trankelment,” which meant “trinkets or ornaments.”

If you overdo the tracklements with your dinner, you might have trouble fitting into your “cuirass.” A cuirass is a piece of armor that covers the torso. It can be a single piece or multiple pieces joined together to cover the front and back. Although a cuirass is usually formed of metal, the word itself comes from Latin words that mean “leather,” which was the original material for a cuirass. And no, I did not include this word simply because it has the word “ass” in it.

Before you go to war in your cuirass, you might seek a benison from the chaplain. “Benison” is just another word for benediction or blessing, although “benison” was around for hundreds of years before benediction. It’s from Latin words meaning “to speak well of.”

You may have to go to the narthex to seek your benison. “Narthex” refers to the lobby, vestibule, porch or antechamber of early churches. The narthex was at the end of the church farthest from the sanctuary. Hey, nobody wants you bringing your muddy hobnailed boots and dirty cuirass into the sanctuary, right? “Narthex” has its roots in a Greek word meaning “giant fennel,” but damned if I know why.

I hope you’re not damned to suffer from “nyctophobia.” No, wise guy, it’s not the fear of “nycts.” It’s an extreme, irrational fear of the dark or nighttime.

Things that go bump in the night could lead to “ligyrophobia.” That’s a fear of loud noises. (Shhh!) I might mention that the word “phonophobia” means the same thing, but I know at least one of you clever old-timers would make a joke about a fear of record players.

I could also tell you that yet another word for ligyrophobia is sonophopbia, but that would just be supererogatory, and we wouldn’t want that. Things that are “supererogatory” are superfluous, more than required, above and beyond what is necessary.

Come to think of it, this whole post is supererogatory.     

#word of the day #words #language #humor #tracklements #cuirass #benison #blessing #benediction #narthex #church #phobia #phonophobia #superfluous

[bitchfitch]

Hi. I was for a brief period of my life in training to become an Episcopalian priest. (before the excommunication thing) and I was Today Years Old When I Found Out Churches Are, As A Rule Of Thumb, Cross Shaped.

#Like. i was excommunicated from the Catholic church idk if that like. Invalidated the- its not important #Anyways the word i was looking for when i found this out is Narthex. the word of the day is Narthex. #which is the like foyer area in a church. #my excuse for this is that i was Uber blind at that point in my life #anyways i needed the word narthex for fanfic reasons so like. Maybe the excommunication Is an all denominations thing

[jawbonejoe]

#this is to test linguistics not actual height #polls #architecture #architecture mfs do not come for me i know the words ‘narthex’ and ‘transepts’

[funshinebf]

liking characters with religious motifs is all fun and games until u have to memorize the anatomy of a church in order to figure out what the hell is going on in any fics taking place inside one

#my post #idk wtf a parish is or a steeple or. what are the other ones #narthex. naves. idk. theres more and i dont know any of them #does anyone have any models of church anatomy names for me

[thenighteternal]

Serpentshrine - Blaze of the Narthex

#allegiance to the myth #serpentshrine #Blaze of the Narthex #music

[rhapsodomancer]

As I am acquainting myself with the Episcopalian church, I'm realizing that this is where all of the gay ex-Catholics ended up after the requisite period of shame-induced atheism or agnosticism, like. I guess I knew it but I didn't like, realize it

#slaps the doors to the narthex #this bad boy can fit so many gay people in it #*this may not apply to the church of england/anything outside of the american anglican communion #or even like... acna

[dailyadventureprompts]

Faction: The University of Taloncliff

"Enter with open eyes and behold the truths of the world unending" -Inscription beneath the fountain of the pensive sage, in the gatehouse courtyard.

Founded by dedicates of Ioun who wished to study where the land met the sea and sky, the institution that eventually became the University was founded three centuries ago when the sages of Taloncliff found themselves inundated with eager pupils who had travelled far and wide seeking their wisdom.

Growing quickly along with the coastal village that supported it, the university is today one of the most famed and foremost centres of learning on the continent entertaining scholars of what seems like every discipline imaginable. If the party needs to know something, Taloncliff is the place to go.

Adventure Hooks

Gaining access to the halls of knowledge is not as easy the heroes may hope, as only those who have joined the university are allowed to peruse it's near endless archives and deep vaults of lore. That said there are other options: they might find a sympathetic ear at one of the tea-houses wherein students and faculty partake in the boisterous debate discouraged in the august lecture halls, or persuade a smuggler of forbidden literature to clue them in on the tunnels beneath the university's walls.

The easiest way to gain entry by far however, is to simply join as a student, bypassing the yearly enrolment process by earning an invitation as a renowned seeker of knowledge... or by having the party's noble patron purchase your way in.

Alternatively, you could start your campaign with students already enrolled as students of the University, engaging in a few apprentice level adventures before flashing forward to when they've graduated to doing fieldwork.

Also, I'd be remiss if I made a whole faction dedicated to learning and didn't mention my advice/system for how you should let your players research in campaigns, which you should check out before exploring the University's inner workings below the cut.

Though it appears stately and unified from outside, behind its alabaster walls Taloncliff is in fact a contradictory mess of overlapping "Curricula" like a dozen different organizations of varying sizes dressed up in a wizard's robe trying to look important. Each Curricula is named after one of the original Sages and follows generally in their footsteps, here are some of the most relevant:

Curricula Endaris: The prestigious institute of learning to which the noble families of nearby realms send their learning minded scions. Endaris gave council to kings, and her followers teach statecraft, diplomacy, history, as well as the good governance of the land itself. One of the largest factions and the one most likely to receive outside donations, Endaris maintains a strong influence over the rest of the university as holding onto its coin purse.

Curricula Jadek: Adherants of the knowing mistress who maintain the campus as part of their devotion and studies into more mystical forms of knowledge. They tend to be inward focused and act to balance out the other voices, giving them a respect that superscedes rivalry.

Curricula Gazerette: a wizarding school that functions like a music conservatory, looking to instill a basic level of competence in all students while hunting for talent that could be refined into something prodigious. Gazerette wanted only the best from his apprentices, and the cutthroat rivalries between Gazerette wizards are the stuff of legend, going back nearly as far as the university's founding.

Curricula Oddolgyn: Still headed by the ancient eleven astronomer of the same name, last of the original sages. This group operates out of the university's observatory studying the ephemeral patterns of the firmament and the multiverse beyond. Currently small and thought of mostly as dabblers It's been more than a century since they were superseded by Gazerette as the foremost of Taloncliff's mages.

Curricula Narthex: Adventurous and daring, the explorers of the Narthex always seem to be recounting their last great expedition or planning their next, even maintaining their own airship docks to make it easier to seek out new horizons.

Shortly after one of the party have really proven themselves to be a true asset ( or liability) to the school, they'll receive a note that says "seek to Know the secret of the waters, at the place where Torthane met her Mistress". This requires catching up on some very old University gossip, as well as tracking down some otherwise unnoticeable histories that are always misfiled in the library. Doing so reveals Torthane to be one of sage Jadek's first pupils, one who frequently clashed with her austere teacher about his insistence that dedication to Ioun and true knowledge meant abstaining from the physical world and the "earthly knowledge" that came with it. Torthane loved Ioun, but she also loved the ladies, and was said to meet with her lovers right under Jadek's nose in a particular garden that the campus grounds have since grown to encompass.

These clues further lead the party to the statue of the fountain of the pensive sage, which boasts a statue of Jadek poking his staff into a basin of ever rippling water. One who looked closely might notice a glow distorted by the ripples of the fountain, and that if the primary spout is plugged or diverted that the glow originates from where Jadek's staff disturbs the unearthly white sand that rests at the basin's bottom. (Leave a comment if you can figure out what the party will need to draw in the sand to progress)

With the passphrase entered, a secret stair opens in the cobbles surrounding the statue, inviting the party down into a dungeon crawl that takes them to the university's flooded foundations. After battling past arcane traps, more puzzles, and creatures of the tide, they stumble into a room wreathed in cascading water, in which the images of a dozen or more cloaked figures manifest and pass judgment upon them. The question that the figures are to argue: Are these trespassers cringe?

Some of the figures will argue that the party are indeed cringe, a never-before seen collection of narcs, fuckboys, killjoys, and karens. It will be up to the party to plead their case. If they manage to win over a majority of the crowd then the waters will part and they'll be invited into the secret headquarters/speakeasy of Curricula Torthane, the resident secret society of Taloncliff made up of all those who are willing to bend the rules and collaborate in the pursuit of knowledge and those little pleasures that are so often neglected in scholastic dourness. You haven't lived till you've had wizard moonshine, so cheers and bottoms up troublemakers.

Further adventures

I'll be adding more Taloncliff adventures in the future, so feel free to check out my blog.

While the party is sure to meet no end of red tape as they explore the campus, they'll make an easy ally in Oroteia, a rising star in the Gazerette and Narthex Curricula who seeks to overturn every expectation placed on her by her by others after discovering her lowborn country origins. Blazing a trail through the University's establishment, she'll see the party as useful allies against whatever campaign level threats the rest of the institution is too set in their ways to even contemplate dealing with.

#faction #wizard #seeking knowledge #ioun #heist #press start #seaside #seaside settlement #mystery #arcane dungeon #arcane #taloncliff

[boundinparchment]

Con Clavi - I

You serve the church of the Tsaritsa, under Father Pantalone. Faith is a gift you received long ago but a certain heretical Harbinger is determined to push those boundaries. Il Dottore/Female Reader. Eventual Pantalone/Female Reader. Reader is a Canoness/Nun. Inspired in part by straw-bunbun's Priest Pantalone art. Story is rated Explicit. Minors DNI. Religious symbolism, corruption, many many liberties, eventual smut. Dead Dove applies. Available on AO3 here.

You suppressed a shiver as you listened to the reading by the man standing at the pulpit.  This hour was always the most difficult, you found, not because of the service itself, but because it was always coldest just before dawn.  Of all of the hours of the Divine Office, Prime was, by far, the most tedious.

Those who wanted to stop in for service before they began their day of work did so and were scattered amid the pews.  

Father Pantalone continued on with a prayer concerning work and called for a blessing from the Tsaritsa for those whose safety would be compromised that day.  He treated Agents and miners as equals in his service; before the eyes of Her Most Holy, all were human, Hers to protect.

Your knees ached from genuflection, the wooden kneeler only marginally better than the stone beneath it.  There was no cushioning here.  Some said it was because the Father was a stingy miser; others claimed it served as a reminder that the Tsaritsa’s love was the true comfort.

After this, you would eat in silence before delving into a contemplative study for the morning.  Terce would be observed, and then you would begin your day.  

As a canoness, it was expected of you to take on a social service as part of your dedication. You spent most of your mornings and afternoons educating noble daughters in-between observations of the canonical hours.  

You felt more like a governess than a nun at times.  If not for your strong pull to the faith, you would have considered such a position.

Fate had other plans.

And it was better than nursing.

You needed the Father’s opinion on a particular student prior to their appointment, now that the thought crossed your mind.

As service wrapped up, you responded with the appropriate, “Glory to the Tsaritsa,” before the procession exited the sanctuary, accompanied by song.  

The Father usually waited in the narthex to see people off.  With so few in attendance, save the monastic communities, perhaps you would be able to speak with Father Pantalone early...that would save you the headache later.

You waited until the congregation cleared out and then made your way over to the golden-eyed priest, smoothing out your white tunic, the color expected of your order.  

“Good morning, Father.  May I have a word?” you asked.

“Blessing be upon you, sister.  What can I assist with?”

He always wore a smile, as he did now, one that fooled the common person into making a decision to put even their very last mora into the donation tray during mass.  Such an act would, to some, seem disingenuous, corrupt even.  It ensured that the church remained open.

Towards you, the gesture was an attempt to keep you from taking too much of his time.  If he were approachable at this hour, you would not seek him out again.

“One of my students was recently betrothed, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Yes, I gave approval on the match to both families.  The announcement should be out this week, Archons willing.  Is there reason for concern?”

His smile grew tighter as the words passed his lips.  A strange man, Father Pantalone; full faith in the Tsaritsa but a strange disdain for the rest of the pantheon.  Your revered mother once said that with the way he balanced the church’s books, one would think he worshipped Deus Auri (or Yanwang Dijun as you once heard used).

Usually the request you were about to make would have gone to the revered mother you served but both families supported the church financially.  They paid for the recent reinforced ceiling above your head and the doors that kept out the cold.

Doors that were pushed open by a single figure with a white cloak, bird-like mask over his eyes, and a vicious grin.  His blue hair was plastered with snow, which he trudged in without so much as a toe-tap.

Only Harbingers such as the Father himself wore martial bands on their cloaks, you knew.  And this man certainly wasn’t Tartaglia.

“Shut the door, Dottore.  You didn’t have to bring the weather with you,” Father Pantalone snapped, his smile dropping instantly.  “What are you doing here at this hour?”

The man you now knew as Dottore waved an errant hand and the front doors to the church slammed shut with a final gust of wind.  

“I’m heading back to the Palace after an examination of the northern chasm.  Surely even you wouldn’t allow a fellow heretic such as myself to freeze, would you?  Doesn’t everyone have a place among your flock, Father Regrator?”

He spoke with an arrogance that made your blood boil even more.  As if his interruption wasn’t enough.

The priest regarded the other man with exasperation and disdain, his authority immediately undermined.  It was well-known that Father Pantalone held the Tsaritsa in the highest regard, which most used to refute the rumors that he was nothing more than a money-hungry clergyman.  It was an accusation you never thought to be rooted in anything other than envy and spite.

But Lord Harbinger Dottore spoke with a level of certainty that only came with his position.

Father Pantalone turned his attention back to you, intent on ignoring Dottore, who was now looking up at the ceiling with a sharp-toothed snarl.

“Excuse my colleague’s interruption, Sister.  What were you saying?”

“The young lady wrote a recent essay regarding the duty of the faithful.  It was an interesting analysis on the purpose of marriage and how one might consider matchmaking to be an antithesis to fate.  Her family’s recent choice is clearly a source of contention.”

“A topic that you’re more than equipped to handle, Sister.  After all, you ran away from your own betrothal, did you not?”

You swallowed the dark desire to ask the Tsaritsa to damn him.  

“Something I’m certain neither family wishes for her to emulate.  It would be a shame for them to blame the church if that came to fruition.” The quick, humble save fumbled from your lips as your eyes darted between the Father and the other Harbinger.

Golden eyes disappeared in amusement as the priest gave a soft chuckle.

“I suppose you are correct, dear Sister.  I’ll speak to the Revered Mother about the matter.”

His tone was dismissive; you would receive nothing else from him and determined to escape higher political matters, you bowed and began to head out of the narthex.  You caught whispers before Father Pantalone’s voice rang out again, stopping you in your tracks.

“Sister, you are on your way to breakfast, are you not?”

You turned and regarded both men again.  Dottore’s obscured gaze was no longer on the ceiling but on you and you felt your skin crawl.  Anyone in service to the Harbingers, to the Tsaritsa in any capacity, knew of Il Dottore, the Second Harbinger of Eleven, and his unusual stance on the world.  

Completely unfaithful in the Seven, including the Archon he served, and yet he held a station only surpassed by Capitano.  He was outranked by empathy, some said, for the Captain was often willing to lend his strength to all who asked, provided their goals aligned.

“I am, yes, Father.”

“Please take our guest to the kitchens and see he leaves through the back entrance when he’s finished.  I would rather he not be seen coming and going from the front doors and not immediately combusting.  I have a schedule to keep but even I am not unkind to blasphemers.”

In any other capacity, you would have found his remark humorous.  Father Pantalone’s posture was rigid, his jaw tight, and although he smiled, nothing in his brow signaled he enjoyed nor believed the words that came out of his mouth.  

And you had no choice but to agree, even if it meant interrupting the usually silent breakfast, for Father Pantalone had already walked away.  Naturally.  You asked something of him; it was only expected he would ask something of you in return.

To Dottore, you said: “If you would follow me, Lord Harbinger.”

You led the Second Harbinger through the side corridors and back outside, along the covered walkways around a courtyard.  The sun had yet to rise, torches imbued with Pyro throwing shadows as you made your way to the kitchens.  Dottore stopped for a moment, and when you no longer heard a second pair of footsteps, you paused and turned to find him regarding the snowy courtyard, the fountain frozen.

The firelight made his shadow look like a hulking bird.

“Is your student wrong, in your opinion, Sister?” he asked.

“I’m not quite sure I understand your question, my lord.”

You did but you weren’t going to outright answer him.  Not when he was keeping you from the warm hall and your morning coffee.

“To consider an arranged marriage sanctioned and approved by the Tsaritsa to be an attempt to control fate.  That by your student not having a say in the matter, having no control over her life, her own fate is undermined?”

It was too early for this, you thought bitterly.  And Pantalone said too much in front of the wrong person.  Not the first time your own history slipped through during conversations it shouldn’t have.

“That would depend on whether one believes it is the Archons or Celestia who has control over fate,” you said at last.  “Archons interpret the Heavenly Principles but there is a divide on whether the Archons act on their own or Celestia can override their will and therefore they are nothing more than figureheads.  Either way, free will is…difficult to define.  Some find comfort in it; others prefer the idea that another power is in charge of everything.”

“Diplomatic, Sister, but not what I asked,” Dottore chuckled.  “I suppose I should expect as much from someone in Pantalone’s realm but you strike me as someone who has defined free will for herself.”

You suppressed a shiver as you watched a black bird, some kind of corvid that lived around here, flew from a nearby tree and settled into the snow.  It buried its head before it wiggled, covering itself as it played with the newly-fallen powder.

“One should have a say in the long-term decisions of their lives,” you replied.  “Marriage is one of those decisions.  Many know how to wield a hammer and nail two pieces of wood together.  Some can build houses.  Others simply rely on that skill to repair what needs to be fixed and leave it at that.  Faith should be a compass, a guidebook; nothing more than a tool by which to live.”

The corvid made a sound as it wriggled and hopped about, soon joined by its companions.  Here, the birds were well-fed and clever for it, often seen as blessings of the Tsaritsa for their playful and comforting nature.

Elsewhere in the nation, they were absolute menaces.

Your answer seemed to satisfy him, for Dottore’s chest rose and fell once, warm breath snaking from his nostrils as if he were a long-lost dragon.

He fell in step with you again and when you reached the kitchen, he left your side and settled in front of the fire almost immediately.  Attentive eyes fell on you as you spoke to the cook about making sure the Harbinger left through the service entrance.  

In silence, you brought a cup of coffee and a plate of food to Il Dottore.  The only acknowledgement you received was a silent turn of the head along with a slight nod.  

At least he had the decency to respect the atmosphere.

Normally, the smell of coffee and warm bread was enough to shake you from the cold.  You would have spoken softly about what others were reflecting on that morning, sought guidance on which verses might provide insight.

Not today.

The coffee tasted burnt.  The bread felt stale.  The meat was cold.

And too many people were watching.  As if they knew.

You left your hot drink unfinished and tucked the errant bread into your pocket.  As you wished your fellow Canonesses a good morning and departed, you felt ice bloom over your shoulders, unfamiliar and attentive.

As you passed the courtyard, you paused only long enough to break up the bread and feed the eager birds.  They fluttered and squawked, picking up the pieces eagerly.

This morning’s reflections would be tedious but worthwhile.  Reminders of why you came to the arms of the Tsaritsa to begin with.

#dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #priest pantalone #tw religious themes #eventual smut #dddne #dead dove #corruption

[spooky-boi-writes]

Ao3

“Stop!” Nico shouted, fending Eros off with his bare hands. He sobbed, tears falling to his shirt and arms flailing in panic.

“Face yourself, Nico di Angelo.” The god’s lips sneered at the boy, the blood red shade in stark contrast with the perfect white of his teeth. His golden hair partially covered his bright blue eyes and his beautiful wings fluttered in the wind. If Nico wasn’t being traumatized in the moment, he would have taken a moment to stare in awe of the godly beauty in front of him.

He writhed and scratched and tried his hardest to separate himself from the being. “Please! Please…” his words came out in soft whimpers, exhaustion enveloping his limbs. He felt choked. He felt like the entire world was wrapping a chain around his throat and dangling off of it just to hold him down. The feeling of blood on his hands was vivid except he couldn’t see any.

“You cannot hide.”

“I know! I know I know I know- I tried- I’m still trying- just please-“ he screamed. He yelled and scratched his throat until he was horse and then he kept screeching. He screamed at his grandfather and the boy who wouldn’t hang out with him once he called Ares cute and he screamed at the girls who wouldn’t let him play dolls with them on the playground when he was seven. He screamed for Bianca- for her having to protect him- and for his mother who couldn’t and wouldn’t and for her putting it on Bianca. He screamed at the priest who threw him out of the church for what he said in the confessional.

“I’m sorry! I’m fucking sorry- just- please! Let me go. Please.” He tried to wipe his face on his shoulder but was too constrained by Cupid. “Please. I’ll feel however you tell me to. Please.”

The voice boomed.

“Wake up.”

Nico’s eyes were wide open and sheets were trapping him where he lay. Each movement he made felt both distant and hyper-real. Tears sprung to his eyes as he straightened himself up, tearing his blankets and fleeing from his bed. His cabin was dark, lit with nothing but a small sun nightlight Percy had given him. “Thought that since you couldn’t stop staring at Will, that light would help you make it through the night.” He had said, a teasing glint in his eye. Nico rolled his eyes and nudged Percy away. He was used to teasing. He didn’t like it.

He took a deep breath, then another, then sobbed before he could complete his third. He shook, his vision was blurry, and suddenly his usually comfortable cabin became cruel and claustrophobic. The photos that Will had hug up of people Nico should consider friends peered at him demeaningly. As quick as his legs would take him, Nico sprung from his cabin to the middle of camp.

The cool breeze helped him calm his hyperventilating. Above him the stars shone beautifully, but he couldn’t see. His tunnel vision took him to the top of half blood hill. In the tree Festus was resting, and by it the Athena Parthenos looked down on him. His breath caught in his throat and he used their combined shadow to travel to the nearest church.

Our Lady of Victory.

The church towered over him. The mighty and tall doors were locked. He was not welcome here.

He shadow traveled just inside the door.

He exited the narthex, stepping through brown doors and walking along the long isles of pews. At first his steps were slow, cautious, quiet. Then he began to sprint. He didn’t stop until he reached the altar.

He fell onto his knees, hands planting onto the glossy floor.

“F-forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been two years since my last confession.” Two years since he found himself on this same floor, bargaining with himself that if he apologized it’d feel less like God hated him. He thought that if he was sorry enough he’d get dinner that night, or a shelter better than the night sky, because that God is a great and merciful god. If he asked for help, and believed, and loved, and feared correctly, he would stop living through hell. He thought if he apologized enough he’d stop loving the way he did.

“I- I have sinned against you Lord, and openly. I have told my friends how I feel and pretended I had pride in offending you. I have acted like I like who I am so they don’t try to fix me.” Tears fell onto the steps in front of him. “I need fixing, Father.”

He paused, trying to chase away black spots in his vision. He sat on his feet, still kneeling, and looked at the sculpting on the altar.

“For-forgive me, for I have lusted, and wanted to defile and sodomize the body you created.”

He had never lusted. It wasn’t true. In his gut he knew it wasn’t. Every time a thought like that entered his mind he had bashed his hands against his skull until it was gone. He went as long as he could without eating to train himself out of it. He wouldn’t let himself look at Will, or even Percy, for days because he knew even the purest thoughts were sins against the almighty. The everloving.

For a moment Will's blonde hair and blue eyes flashed through his mind. In Nico’s brain was the toothy grin and sarcastic personality of the first boy who made him feel human. A scream rang through the church. Statues shook. So did Nico.

Blood fell from crescent shaped wounds in his arms and palms but he couldn’t notice. He felt the eyes of God. He knew he could never be forgiven because he knew he couldn’t stop how he felt.

“Forgive me for these sins and those I have forgotten, for they still affected you, Lord.” A deep breath. “Mio Dio, mi pento e mi dolgo con tutto il cuore dei miei peccati…”

~~~~~

He opened his eyes in his cabin, woozy from the shadows grasping into his skin.

He crawled into his private shower, pajamas still clinging to his body in sweat. He turned it on, cold, and rested against the wall as water splashed harshly down. Slowly he felt the agonies melt away, his clothes heavy with water and his hair dangling in his face. Soon he turned the handle and exited, sliding onto the normal tile floor. As he rose he dropped the heavy clothes and grabbed a towel, drying himself and his hair as he went towards his dresser. He pulls on the new pajamas and lays back down. He didn't sleep at all that night.

He rested his head on his palm, zoning out whatever macho conversation Percy and Jason were having. Nico hadn’t looked at Percy once. But, then again, that’s kind of normal for him, because he can’t stand looking people in the eyes. Will keeps saying he’s autistic. Nico still doesn’t know what that means. All that Jason got was a vague look in his direction before Nico became enamored with his eggs. He squished them with his fork enough to look like he’d at least tried to eat before setting his fork down and hiding his face in his hands. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand rested on his shoulder.

“Jesus! Warn a guy next time, Solace!” He was shaking more than he usually did. They both knew it.

Will swung a leg over the bench next to Nico, straddling the wood. “Sorry Neeks. Can you handle touch right now?” Ever patient Will. Will whose dad had a child with a man. Everloving Will.

“Not right now, please.” Nico still didn’t look at Will. He hid his shut eyes behind his overgrown fringe.

“All good, I apologize for not asking first. Wanna help out in the infirmary?” Even though he was yet to look in his general direction, Nico could feel Will’s smile. “I need your bandage cutting talents to make it through my day.”

“Yeah, sure.” Nico began to stand.

“You can finish your food first, I’m just running over now and wanted to ask.”

“I’m done.” Will looked at Nico’s plate and hesitated.

“You sure, Neeks?” Will could clearly see through the (frankly, bad) facade.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

The two rose and headed off.

~~~~~

Will asked if he was okay four separate times during his infirmary shift. Nico said yes every time. Eventually, he was even able to look towards Will when he said it. It hurt every time he denied anything being wrong, but he couldn’t confide in anyone. He didn’t know how to start. He couldn’t bring Will into his sin.

#nico di angelo #will solace #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #hero’s of olympus #jason grace #percy jackson fanfiction #religious trauma #catholic guilt #solangelo #solangelo fanfiction #fanfic #pjo fanfic

[bimshwel]

thex on the agenda

an annoying creature called narthex seems to think this is a respectable look.  please feel at liberty to disagree

#narthex #anthropomorphic #annoying #dork

[ukdamo]

Today's Flickr photo with the most hits: the inner narthex of Hagia Sophia, looking north.

#narthex #hagia sophia #istanbul #turkiye

[mask131]

The Dionysos gallery (2)

Next on our travel down the Dionysos museum, we have an entire section dedicated to the Bacchanals in painting - with a few analysis here and there.

Titien's The Bacchanal of the Andrians

The Museum's website adds that this depicts the legend of how Dionysos gifted the inhabitants of the island of Andros with a river of wine. It was one of the numerous "miracles" attributed to the god by folk-belief when he became the god of the grapevine. Already in his "Bacchants" Euripides had told how, by touching a stone with his thyrsus he created a stream of fresh water, and where his narthex had touched the ground a stream of wine flowed ; and those that sought milk only had to scratch the ground near the god to see it flow, and from the god's thyrsus honey dropped...

In Ionia, on the island of Teos, a similar legend existed: it was said, by Diodor of Sicily and Pline the Elder, that at a fixed date in a calendar a stream of wine regularly flowed. At Elis, on the eve of the god's feast-day, empty jars and jugs were sealed and left alone in Dionysos' temple: by the morning, when they were opened, they were filled to the brim with wine.

Giovanni Bellini and Titien's The Feast of the Gods

The museum adds this mention: the painting is a depiction of the legend of Lotis collected by Ovid. One night, as the gods had a feast, the nymph Lotis fell asleep. Priapus got close to her, and with his famous ithyphallic nature, he decided to rape her. But as he was about to touch her body, the donkey of Silenus started making loud noises - waking up everybody, including Lotis. Lotis fled from Priapus' embrace, and all the gods laughed and mocked the god.

This painting was most notably the favorite painting of Fernand Botero.

Dosso Dossi's Bacchanal with a drunk Silenus and Bacchants frolicking around grapevine

Niccolo Frangipane's Bacchanal

Nicolas Poussin's Bacchanal

Nicolas Poussin's Bacchanal with a guitar player ; also called "Great Bacchanal"

Nicolas Poussin's Bacchic Scene

Pier Francesco Mola's Bacchus supervising the Satyrs pressing wine

Gerrit van Bronckhorst's Bacchanal with Silenus

Jacob van Loo's Scene with Bacchants

Michaelina Wautier's Bacchanal

Jacques Jordaens' Bacchanal

Giulio Carpioni's Bacchanal

Michel-Ange Houasse's Bacchanal

Francesco Zuccarelli's Bacchanal

#dionysos #the art of the myth #dionysus #bacchanal #the dionysos gallery #silenus #bacchants #greek mythology #painting #art

[plague-of-insomnia]

Six Sentence Sunday: New AU Snippet

So this is quite a lot longer than 6 sentences, but since I haven’t posted any snippets of anything in a few weeks I thought I’d go ahead and share this.

This is for the sebard AU I’m hoping to write for the holiday season, with Firefighter Bard and Priest Sebastian.

Just my favorite recipe of two broken people coming together to heal, with the added kinkiness of one being a Catholic priest, bc priest Seb is always hot, right?

Keep in mind this project is in the early stages so things are subject to change by the time it’s ready on AO3.

The witching hour, and as usual, Father Sebastian couldn’t sleep. So instead of lying in bed staring at the same cracks in the rectory ceiling for hours, he was in the sanctuary, cleaning and tiding up.

It wasn’t necessary, of course. The widow who helped him manage the church also took care of the maintenance, since he didn’t need her to cook. But idleness, Devil’s invite or not, had never suited Sebastian.

He gathered up the box of candles and went and replaced all of the plain ones around the altar before moving on to the prayer candles, some of which still glowed from the parishioners who’d lit them the day before.

Out of habit, once he’d replaced any that had burned away to a pile of wax, he lit one of his own, murmuring an “Our Father” in rapid Spanish before doing the sign of the cross.

He didn’t have anyone specific in mind when he did this ritual, and sometimes wondered if he lit the candle for himself. It was pathetic that a priest felt he needed a light to guide him to God’s help, and yet here he was. Again.

He sighed and gathered up the cleaning and other supplies to carry back to the sacristy to store them away until tomorrow night, when he’d likely repeat his vigil again.

Despite having to rise early for morning mass each day, sleep often eluded him, and he had become so used to making do on only a handful of hours of rest each day that it had become normal.

After all, the fatigue weighing heavily on his shoulders was a pleasant distraction from the emptiness within him he had tried and failed to fill with God.

He had just re-emerged from the sacristy when he heard the creak of the large wooden doors at the front of the church, which led into the narthex, just before the main worship hall, or nave.

Sebastian hadn’t yet locked up completely; it was rare for anyone to wander in so late, especially since his church was located in a quiet, peaceful residential area. And yet, despite this, Sebastian had felt it wrong for him to be awake and not keep the doors open for anyone who might seek shelter or guidance in the wee hours.

The man who entered was blond, broad and muscled, hands jammed into his pockets, wandering in as if he were lost. And perhaps he was, in more ways than one.

Striding closer, Sebastian greeted him. “Welcome, my son,” he said. “May I help you?” his voice echoed in the large, empty space, magnifying the lilt of his British accent, a corruption of the public school manor of speaking he’d picked up as a child, mangled with his mother’s Spanish flavor and years of living in Texas.

The man seemed startled, glancing around and blinking as if waking from a dream. He cleared his throat. But didn’t answer.

Now, Sebastian recognized him. Bardroy Simms. Though it had been more than five years, this man had been a part of his congregation, faithfully coming to 9AM mass every single Sunday with his wife and son, excepting the days he was on duty at the fire station.

Sebastian hadn’t been assigned here long enough to marry the man and his wife, but he had baptized their son, and given him his first reconciliation and communion, the first steps for any Catholic on their way to being a full member of the faith.

. . . And he had also given them last rites in the hospital, before the hard decision to end life support was made.

And, of course, he had presided over their funerals.

Sebastian still remembered the heat of that day, the hot sun burning into his black cassock. How Bard had stared blankly without shedding a single tear as his wife and son were laid to rest.

Until today, Sebastian had never seen the man again once the dirt was shoveled and the mourners had left. He had tried to reach out, but what could a priest who had never married—let alone had children of his own—know about the grief that man was enduring?

Sebastian’s job was supposed to be the people’s connection to God, to counsel and to guide when they needed him most, and he had failed Bard.

Bard didn’t sink into a pew, simply stopped halfway to the altar, to Sebastian. Now that he could see him better, his face was unshaven, golden stubble catching the light from the candles, dark bags beneath his eyes, his short hair disheveled.

He scratched his cheek absently, swallowed thickly, before saying, “Saw the lights were still on. Figured this’s better than falling into a bottle again.”

Sebastian inhaled sharply, took a few steps closer. “Why don’t I make you some tea and we can talk. I’m a good listener.”

The man seemed confused but simply nodded. “Thank you, Father.”

Sebastian wanted to say he was only doing his duty, helping a parishioner in need, but that wasn’t the truth. Not really. It was selfish and prideful and he’d need to do penance for it later, but the reality was he wanted to make up for his past failings.

His shoes clicked and echoed as he walked toward the front doors.

Sebastian had an idea why Bard was here suddenly after so many years’ absence. He had read about the recent apartment fire that had killed half a dozen people, including a boy of around seven. His photo and family had been all over the news.

Bard was a hero who had saved many lives that day, but Sebastian knew the boy’s death had to be haunting him. He even looked a little like the son he’d lost all those years ago.

Securing all the locks on the main door, he did a quick sign of the cross, kissing his fingers before turning back to face the altar.

Bard stood, staring up at the large crucifix that hung on the wall beneath the stained glass as if hoping for divine revelation. Or perhaps a bolt from the blue to put him out of his misery.

That was certainly a feeling Sebastian could relate to.

#black butler #黒執事 #sebastian michaelis #sebard #bardroy #priest!sebastian #six sentence sunday #firefighter!bard #modern au #bard #snippet #poi writes #human sebastian michaelis #honest man au