#father thomas

[bengerm]

Martha from wake up dead man, Father Thomas from Pentiment and Jorge from Name of the Rose make up the holy trinity of people comitting/causing murders to protect generational secrets

[secrescaryat]

// pentiment spoilers (implied ig but still there)

more of these because i was inspired

[st-grobian]

what not to say to someone who just came out, pentiment edition

(act III spoilers ahead)

[sjdolskglsl]

This asshole will make you go to mass

If you had rapscallion background it'll be this↓

[yes-we-exist]

Father Thomas when you hand him a copy of Historia Tassiae and ask him to translate from Latin:

[greentrickster]

And then Father Thomas did feel the sacred words within his soul, "Fuck this stupid baka life."

Yet lo, he did not know the shape of these words, for he was but a Swiss-Italian priest in 1810s Geneva, thus he partook of the communion wine instead.

(In other words, found a couple hundred more words to add to his introductory chapter, this AU lives, I'm just tired out of my mind at the moment and also working on a couple other stories I love. So, you know. Bouncing around from fic to fic, like the multi!fandom writer I am, love all my children, kiss their perfect foreheads, mwah.)

[yeoldecryptid]

I love how in Pentiment, as soon as you have to look through the herb huts, the nuns spill everyone’s medical history like the know HIPPA will someday exist and they want to get it out before that happens.

(me playing going: Serves Father Thomas right to have leg pain, then: aw, Mathieu has chronic nausea? Poor thing. :(

[itsmoonpeaches]

Title: Maledictus

Originally written for @palimpsestzine Labors of November, a Pentiment anniversary zine. Free to download here.

Fandom: Pentiment

Rating: T

Word count: 1,500

Summary: Sister Amalie is the only survivor when her abbey in Lower Bavaria is burned down by a mob led by a leader who convinced the town that the nuns were practicing witchcraft. Devastated and left without a home, she is relieved when a local priest, Father Thomas, takes her to a new home.

Read on ao3.

On All Hallows’ Eve—the eve of the Feast of All Saints—Heaven knocks.

Though Compline is long past, Amalie works in the scriptorium by candlelight. The dream she had earlier refuses to release her: a lamb led to the pyre, a sacrifice walking willingly toward its own end. The image persists, sharp and unyielding. She does not understand its meaning, only that she must record every vision entrusted to her.

Her hands shake over the parchment on her desk. Purple ink drips from the tip of the quill she holds, shivering with every dark droplet that splashes onto the surface.

Suddenly, screams shatter the night.

Continue on ao3.