#be queer do heresies

[rijl]

Happy Palm Sunday

[missnekonyan]

The whole "humans were made in the image of God" thing hits differently when viewed from the angle of gender. As an entity, God is technically beyond gender. But They use gendered language as a means to connect with humanity.

In that same vein, a [tumblr] post once opened my eyes to how the perception of gender and how it works is technically different for everyone. People use the construct and concept of gender to connect with each other - to express themselves. I think it's a beautiful thing.

In that sense, humanity is like God. The creation reflects the Creator. Gender isn't inherent, but it helps explain concepts that may be difficult to describe without it.

This is especially fitting since my view of my own gender is linked to my belief in divinity. Like God, I am beyond such conventions. But for simplicity's sake, gendered terms can help relay it to people.

[laurashapiro-noreally]

Looking for something to read?

Oh look, it's another recs post! This time I'm featuring two stories per author. These are writers I always make time for, whose work stands out as unusually hot, clever, funny, or smart -- sometimes all of the above.

I'm gonna start you out strong with two by @werpiper: After Hours takes Aziraphale and Crowley to the baths after their oyster supper, and all sorts of interesting pleasures are there for our angel to sample. Piper's Crowley is one of my favorites: always evaluating the situation, not quite aware of what his own heart is doing but feeling it anyway.

Fitting In is a new story, still a WIP, but I am utterly tantalized by Muriel's first taste of love -- and tea. This is already rich in detail, soft and fragrant, and I can hardly wait for the action to get going in earnest. The pairing seems surprising but when you think about it for ten seconds of course it makes sense. Sex workers help the curious, the awkward, and the inexperienced every day, bless them.

If you enjoy these, check out @werpiper's back catalog -- they have done a ton of ineffables-through-the-ages, and their series Miracles and Heresy is worth many delightful hours of your time.

I love what @copperplatebeech has been doing lately:

He's Not My Friend is a T-rated story that explores Aziraphale's constant refusal to acknowledge his relationship with Crowley, and Crowley's mirror of that, and how things glacially shift over time. It is subtle and yet specific, it will make you ache and smile.

All Of The Above, also T-rated, is a warm and fuzzy alternative to that, a hilarious celebration of true friendship that made me laugh out loud and still got me right in the feels.

@copperplatebeech can do everything, from quiet, gentle, and romantic to devastating plotty AUs to extraordinarily horny established relationship to absolutely ridiculous humor. Do dive in if you haven't already.

Next up, @cumaeansibyl, master of kink:

better living through technology manages to shove everything I want in a dirty story into less than three thousand words: uptight Aziraphale reduced to sodden wreck, Crowley gleefully showing him what he's been missing, character-driven erotics, and exceptionally funny dialogue.

indulgentiam peccatorum nostrorum is somehow all that and more, turning the "I was wrong" dance into a kink (something I can't get enough of, recs welcome). This one is post-Bastille so it is extra-juicy. Mind the tags!

@cumaeansibyl has a gift for established relationship one-shots, which readers of mine will know are my entire jam. They also have a mind-meltingly hot inverse!omens AU that features different variations of angelic/demonic Crowleys and Aziraphales for our ineffables to play with.

A new-to-me author, Calico, has me hanging by a thread with their Ineffable Romans series. If you want to remember that your ineffables aren't human, that they are inordinately clever but very stupid, that the feelings they have for each other are truly beyond what anyone alive has ever felt, Calico may be the writer for you. This stuff is deep. Also hot af.

Sub Rosa reads like a nasty shag at Petronius', but there's so much more going on here. It is Extremely Queer, driven by power dynamics, and Crowley is fully demonic here and absolutely in control...or is he?

The Intemperance of Liber Pater continues on this theme, with dialogue-driven smut that reads less like a seduction than an inevitability. There's another story in this series, unfinished, and I can't wait to see what happens next.

Last but not least: two short pieces by @ineffabildaddy. I stumbled on their stories just this week and I absolutely love their approach, which I've not seen done quite this way before.

take me as your wife has a tight first-person perspective as Crowley meets Aziraphale for a meal and imagines (or is it his imagination?) that Aziraphale is suggesting Certain Things about how they might occupy themselves later. Indeed, is he suggesting even more? Something about their relationship? Or is it all in Crowley's head?

Only in Dreams is kind of a companion piece, from Aziraphale's point of view -- though hundreds of years later. This one's set after the events of S2 and although just as romantic as take me as your wife, it also offers an ineffable take on the ol' glory hole concept. Just in case you thought I was getting soft. 😏

@ineffabildaddy has a whole series of poems and ficlets like these and I can't wait to explore them all.

[queerliblib]

Do you have any philosophy books or queer philosophy recs for Pride Month? I want to beat my philosophy professors over the head (metaphorically of course)

oooo fuck yeah okay so first thoughts are:

Feminist, Queer, Crip by Alison Kafer - envisioning new futures through environmental justice, reproductive justice, cyborg theory, transgender politics, and disability (oh here’s the audiobook of it)

Neuroqueer Heresies by Nick Walker - link is for the audio book (available) our ebook copy has a 6mo wait time 😬. By a queer autistic scholar, contains notes on the Neurodiversity Paradigm, Autistic Empowerment, and Postnormal Possibilities

The Queer Art of Failure by Jack Halberstam - about "finding alternatives-to conventional understandings of success in a heteronormative, capitalist society” through an investigation of ‘low theory’ (in contrast to ‘high theory’/‘high culture’)

okay so not all of these are traditional philosophy, per se, however they are heavier on the theorizing so if you’re hungry for more queer theory I also recommend these:

Queering Anarchism

Cruising Utopia

Identity Poetics

Who’s Afraid of Gender (any Judith Butler is worth a read though, also in audio)

Refusing Compulsory Sexuality: A Black Asexual Lens on our Sex Obsessed Culture (also in audio)

Y’all Means All: The Emerging Voices Queering Appalachia

[mactiir]

I know the average reading comprehension on this site is zero but I'm different. I'm applying wildly inappropriate analysis lenses to popcorn media. I'm doing a queer theory reading of Horus Heresy novels. Now I'm doing feminist analysis of Warhammer 40k canon. Now I'm applying Marxist analysis to The Outsiders. Time for a historical analysis of The Locked Tomb. A post-colonial reading of the entirety of Doctor Who. A psychological anlaysis of Twilight. On the horseshoe scale of reading comprehension I'm at "so much reading comprehension that it loops back around to not understanding books at all actually". You can't stop me. I'm literary analysis Georg

[laziestgirlintown]

4 (of 8) eps in I want to recommend Netflix's Kaos. N's trailer would have you believe it's "What We Do On Olympos" but it's darker than that. It's for the Greek mythology nerds. (Well, it's for me.) I don't want to look for gifs to not be spoilered (Fated?). But the gods are cruel and the people are queer, and hubris and heresy is punished, and people are cruel and the furies do not relent, and your prophecy is bullshit until it isn't, and no one gets out of Hades, including Hades. Or? Also, importantly, there's a kitten.

[meanderingmedievalist]

In the middle ages, clerics were actually the most likely to practice necromancy and it was their heavy use and dissemination of magical texts by these clerical men led to the rise in blaming women for witchcraft — leading to the mass, female-dominated "witch" burnings in the 1600s. From Richard Kiekhefer's introduction to Forbidden Rites: “To the extent that these early witch trials focused on female victims, they thus provide a particularly tragic case of women being blamed and punished for the misconduct of men: women who were not invoking demons could more easily be thought to do so at a time when certain men were in fact so doing.” “The study of late medieval necromancy gives an exceptionally clear and forceful picture of the abuses likely to arise in a culture so keenly attentive to ritual display of sacerdotal power. Our own society, more fascinated with sexuality and its abuse, has its own concerns about miscreant priests and their abuse of young boys; the clerical misconduct most feared in the late Middle Ages was of a different order.” During the middle ages, the church controlled through the lens of spiritual and magical power: women's use of herbs and medicines to control reproductive rights and bodily autonomy was marked as witchcraft. Queer folks' identities and lives were marked as demonic possessions & expressions of devilry. Ideas not in line with Church doctrine were marked as heresy and marks of moral corruption - to believe in heresy was to risk your eternal life. Books deemed too dangerous for "the masses" were burned. Meanwhile, clerical men were summoning demons and using their role as spiritual leaders to coerce women into romance or marriage, to control their congregations, to defeat and punish their opponents and enemies. Does it not sound familiar? Perhaps they did learn from the devil. After all, the devil speaks in inversion.

To quote my cohost over on @maniculum: "History doesn't repeat; it rhymes."

Never forget: every accusation is a confession.

[andreablog2]

I feel like heresy isn’t a thing in the traditional sense anymore because people really can’t be evaluated on their belief systems if nobody believes in anything but I do think it’s a thing more so regarding personalities or just having a different philosophy on life. And it’s more expressed through action rather than formal thought. It’s like a war on non anglophones, the culturally poor, the queer and the autistic…it sounds kind of schizo but I’m just over it

[misspjsuperior]

Like many contemporary artists I too was inspired to capture my own Roan of Arc interpretation based on Chappell Roan’s recent VMA performance. I was especially enamored with the shiny armor and imagined Chappell singing into a sword like a mic, bearing the banner of her cause, of her people. It makes artistic sense for the rising pop star to reference and embody Joan of Arc as a modern champion of LGBTQ+ expression. How tho? Why is Joan of Arc, martyred by being burned at the stake, so popular in Queer art through the generations?

To understand, we must know what was actually deemed to be her crime. Witchcraft? Sorcery? Heresy? All of these were her charged but NONE of these were her actual convictions.

Jeanne D’Arc also known as Joan of Arc is famous for having been martyred as a heretic after leading her French army to seemingly impossible victories against the English occupation during the Hundred Years’ War and her body at the stake to be burned is a popular theme in art about her life.

But heresy was not successfully convicted against her. Saint Joan was murdered by the state, by England, solely on the grounds of cross dressing.

After prolonged, intensive questioning by Cauchon and the other members of the tribunal, Jeanne d’Arc gave them no answers that could constitute heresy. They accused her of practicing sorcery, but she testified repeatedly that she only followed the word of God and believed in the infallibility of the Church and Pope.

The clerics then proclaimed that her cross-dressing was an abomination to God, to which she answered, “the clothes are a small matter, the least of all things”. However, Cauchon soon realized that through a technicality in canon law, the tribunal could condemn her on this small thing.

The tribunal convinced Jeanne d’Arc to sign a legal document stating her submission to the Church and recanting her claims about hearing the saints’ voices. Attached to that document was a cedula, or royal decree, also avowing that she would no longer wear men’s clothing. Upon her renunciation, the tribunal released Jeanne d’Arc back to prison without indicting her for any crime.

Yet, three days later in prison, Jeanne d’Arc was again wearing men’s clothes. In a later trial, some testified that guards had stolen Jeanne’s female clothes and replaced them with male clothes. Whatever the case, as soon as Cauchon heard the news, he immediately condemned her for lapsed heresy on the grounds of cross-dressing. The same day, the tribunal handed Jeanne d’Arc over to the secular court for her punishment: burning at the stake.

The execution took place May 30, 1431, in the public marketplace of English occupied Rouen, France when Joan was only 19 years old

Now with proposed bills in US states like Texas, Florida, and Ohio that call for children’s genitals to be examined in order to play sports to prove cisgender participation status and which proper jailing parents who do not force their trans children to present as cis, it seems we are have regressed back to 15th century European standards. But yknow the US is still the champion of the colonizing English, look we Americans are still speaking their language right now! No more home of the free than Orleans was before Joan rose up in her power.

Whether or not Joan was actually trans masculine or any other kind of Queer, the fact remains she was murdered on a gender biased technicality. Let’s not let that keep happening over 600 years later.

[1-1sundial]

one of my favorite things is the live chat replay for the ultrakill act II full ost premiere.

things get interest around when The Abyss and The Serpent plays, the track for when you're fighting the leviathan:

at around 37:26, a user types ⚠ LEVIATHAN ACTIVITY ⚠ twice in quick succession. an innocuous enough message.

someone decides to copy-paste it a few seconds later.

hakita, lead dev and composer, posts a comment regarding that track, as he had been doing for every track thus far.

meanwhile the first signs of infection are present.

⚠ GOOBER ⚠ is a reference to a gif, which ⚠ LEVIATHAN ACTIVITY ⚠ presumably was inspired by.

the levels of ⚠ LEVIATHAN ACTIVITY ⚠ continued to increase.

believe it or not, it had yet to reach full strength. hakita continues to commentate but finds his insight into the production of the music juxtaposed against the spam:

at some select moments, you could find the entire chat window to be nothing but warnings of ⚠ leviathan activity ⚠.

hakita, as much as he is a queer shitposter with his finger on the pulse of the retro FPS community, has yet to acknowledge the ⚠ activity of the leviathan ⚠, instead ignoring it and providing more commentary. on the bright side, this meant the message wasn't being forbidden, although it would be excessive to employ such moderation measures against a pre-recorded premiere stream anyway. hakita is not anti-fun; if the ⚠ leviathan was active ⚠ and you wanted to post about it, you were allowed to.

the song ends. the leviathan is no longer active. the spam seems to die down as Chord of the Crooked Saints begins to play.

it seems to be dead. not only is the leviathan no longer active, the entire tone of the ost has shifted. The Abyss and The Serpent was the last track of the wrath layer, a water-themed layer nearly the polar opposite of the next layer, the heresy layer.

and yet from the ashes, a new type of ⚠ activity ⚠ rises. you see, Chord of the Crooked Saints is a drone. it has no melody or percussion, it is simply a continuous sound which is played as soon as you enter heresy, which has quite possibly the most metal and badass introduction to any layer. Chord of the Crooked Saints is infamous because it is part of what made the introduction to heresy so jarring and memorable.

of course, the law of the internet states that the better something is and the harder it goes, the more likely people are to be silly about it.

going forward, this would be the entire stream, for what little music there was left in the OST:

hakita could no longer withstand the levels of ⚠ activity ⚠.

a reference to a weird fucking creature thing named "armboy" that hakita hid as an easter egg out of bounds in heresy.

and this is how the stream would continue. various new types of ⚠ activity ⚠ would be detected and posted about en masse, ad nauseum. it was glorious.

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

In The Woods Somewhere

Chapter 3: Fall Of Man

Summary: Memory is a monster.

Pairing: Father Ignatius x nun!afab!Reader

Word Count: -3k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat 18+!, Discourse About Trauma, Past Trauma Triggering An Episode, The Usual Heresy, Angst… Lots Of It!

A/N: I don't even write slow burns…how did we get here?!

No pressure tagging: @queer-crusader @theprettiesthead @midnight-mess @blueberrypancakesworld @theidiotwhowrites

But the wind has picked us up now, we're hanging in the air

And as you grip me like an animal that you're about to spear

"Be good to me, " I whisper

And you say, "What?" and I say, "Nothing, dear"

- That Unwanted Animal By The Amazing Devil

Bowing down to the inevitable change of season, the leaves of the thick and mighty chestnut tree right behind the herb garden turned from a vibrant green to countless shades of orange and auburn, one color variation more beautiful and intricate than the other; chlorophyll withering away to grant the tree one last show of its beauty before the leaves would be dead and rotting on the floor in mere weeks.

Beautiful thing, you thought, looking at the tree from behind a dust and dirt-smeared, thin glass window, so unbothered and simply perfect in the way it grew out of the dark soil for decades now.

“BHAAAAA.” Sister Carla tore you out of your musings, not only mentally but physically as well, pouncing at you in a playful manner, nearly knocking you over, back slumping on your hay mattress.

“Carla, please.” You shoved the younger woman back, her gleeful smile dying down remarkably fast in such juvenile innocence that you regretted the harsh tone rolling over your tongue.

“Sorry.”, You tried to catch her mood from falling further, consoling her with a smile you had to work your face for, “I’m just very tired, be gentle with me, dear.”

“Oh, I figured.”, Sister Carla grinned again as she made herself comfortable next to you, the bed barely being wide enough to accommodate, “Wandering the hallways at night and smelling strange after that. Where have you been? You know you can tell me. Please? Please tell me, I want to know.”

“Carla, I’ve told you already.”, Keeping that lie of a smile plastered to your face, you took the Sisters hand gently in the palm of yours, “It’s been the wool itching against my skin so much that I mindlessly scratch it all open. Then I went into the kitchen to grab some of the alcohol Sister Margarita keeps to clean the scratches. Did you know that alcohol keeps scratches and cuts from getting infected?”

The younger woman shook her head, her rusty brown hair falling into her slim face. It didn’t surprise you just one bit that she didn’t know, being raised in this cesspit of censorship and carefully spoon-fed knowledge and education.

“Is that why you stink so much? The alcohol, I mean.” To nonverbally underline her point, Carla scrunched her nose after curiously prodding fingertips had nudged against the discolored collar of your gown.

You nodded, a sense of uncomfortable uncleanliness tugging at your insides.

“Can you please save me some from the lunch? I’d like to clean myself up, yeah?” Carla jumped off of your bed, crossing her arms in front of her chest and tilting her head to the side.

“You already slept through breakfast! Sister Margarita is getting really upset with you and Sister Iphigenia is worried. What am I supposed to tell them, huh?” Sister Carla had a point but she mustn’t know why you very willingly slept through breakfast and wanted to avoid lunch at any cost as well.

“Please tell them that I will grab lunch a little bit later and see to my chores right after because I’d like to clean my dress before the stains are too dried up to do so.” You tried reasoning with her and Carla opened her mouth to respond but a new, much more exciting thought raced to be uttered first.

“Oh, I haven’t told you yet, did I?”, Your brows knit together, feigning obliviousness, “We have a visitor!”

Sister Carla bounced on her heels, face beaming with excitement because the periodical stays of Father Ignatius unfortunately really came as the most exciting thing happening in this outsourced circle of hell.

“Oh? Already?”, Your throat rendered dry, mind reeling and thrashing in poor attempts of trying to shove the freshest memories out of your thoughts, “See? Even more reason to get freshened up properly, no?”

“Hurry! Talk is that he brought some things from the mainland for us!” Carla was almost squealing before throwing you one last look and dashing away, probably to the kitchen to help Sister Iphigenia with the cooking.

Oh, you sure knew that he had certainly brought things from the mainland. Whisky, cigarettes, and who knows what else and you could hardly believe that there were things amongst pleasure-stained sacrilege that were meant for the convent.

The thing he’d brought for you so far was chaos. Nothing but chaos and confusion, temptation - planting it in your head, his spindly roots working themselves through every layer of your conscience, making you feel like you couldn’t get rid of him even if you tried to cut him out of you.

Father Ignatius wasn’t a man of god, he couldn’t be, no, he was a hypocrite and a pretender…just like you.

As Sister Margarite brabbled an endless cacophony about the gardens of the monastery, her pride and joy, the supple inventory of the apothecary, and the almost finished renovation of the little chapel, Ignatius couldn’t bother to listen to any of it to save his life. Maybe he should propose a vow of silence upon the convent, perhaps a doable task for the upcoming weeks of lent in about 6 months. For endless minutes, the elderly woman went on and on and on about things that wouldn’t tickle his interest in the slightest, not in a hundred years’ time.

Occasionally, Father Ignatius nodded along pretentiously, taking a sip from his tea that could most certainly use some sugar or honey but god forbid and heaven shall burn anything in this place was ever made with the intent of being enjoyable.

His thoughts drifted off, away from the lunch table in the small dining room, slithering along the cold stone tiles beneath his feet and back to the confessional, towering crooked and lackluster in a nook down the hall. The memory of your wide, frightened eyes held him in an iron-tight grip, evoking a distinct flush of anger directed towards anything that had you scared and distraught like this. Ignatius knew this kind of scare that had flickered in your eyes, a sentiment way beyond awe and reverence, something had shaken you so harshly in the past that it was haunting you ever since. It hadn’t been the first time seeing you look that way at him, no, most certainly not.

Ever since the very first time Ignatius had set food past the ancient door frames, you’d looked at him like this, endlessly sharp splinters of trauma replaying in your mind, that if you dared to put your eyes on him at all; trails of nagging guilt and intangible amounts of internalized shame gushing from your lashlines, the very type of sadness everybody here, but especially Sister Margarite, was hellbent on ignoring.

Every few months, he’s watched you getting a little worse, the way you carried yourself a twinge more disheveled, at times almost regressive and him being in no place to really help you because he hardly understood what was actually happening to you in the first place; that was until the previous night: You quivering and shaking next to him after trying to purge the contempt out of your body by violently ripping at your throat - poor thing.

He chewed down at the inside of his cheek reflecting on his unfortunate whim of trying to get to you, lapping at you like that without even giving it a second thought. Fucking idiot. Ignatius suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at himself. It had been way too much, he’d come off too strong for someone in such a delicate state to handle, practically sticking his finger in the helplessly festering wound and drilling a nail into it.

His eyes darted right past Sister Margarite, out of the dingy, rectangular window that didn't close properly anymore and probably never really had, a swiftly moving, stark white spot catching his attention as he watched it rush towards the woods.

“How long till lunch you said, Sister?” He tilted his head to the side, managing a brief smile.

“An hour, maybe two, Father. Cooking over a fire takes a bit of time, you understand.” Sister Iphigenia explained and apologized in one go.

“But of course, no rush. Would you excuse me until then, Sisters? I feel like taking a walk, enjoy the fresh breeze away from the city.” Ignatius was getting up from the table already whilst still talking, not waiting for the women to actually agree or disagree; they wouldn't dare to talk back anyway.

“Oh, please, enjoy!” Sister Margarita answered this time, not trying to hide her being somewhat upset with her monologue being forcefully ended.

“Will do.” Ignatius tapped his hand onto the table before pushing away, not just the need for a cigarette quickening his steps.

You cowered crouched down, hunched above the water’s surface in such a curve that you nearly fell forward into the narrow creek rippling cold water between your digits as you scraped your nails over the tarnished wool of your overdress. The cool of the water mixed with a stiff breeze ghosting amongst the trees caused your skin to erupt in waves of goosebumps over and over, the thin linen underdress hardly enough to keep your body’s warmth from disappearing into the air that smelled like rain, amplifying the earthy fragrance of the soil getting crushed beneath your boots.

Getting the stains out of your gown came as a troublesome task you didn’t expect. Cold water should’ve rinsed the dried blood out of the fabric just fine but you surely had to pick and scratch at it quite a bit to see any difference.

“I came to apologize.” You halted instantly, startled, sucking the air in sharply as your brain played catch up with your thoughts that ran wayward like a spilled sack of potatoes.

In a matter of seconds, you shot up from your compromising position, the soaked overdress falling to the ground with a wet thud as you turned around to see the priest standing a little uphill, waiting along the walking path. Synapses fired away relentlessly but no muscle wanted to move just now as you thought about picking up the next best stone to throw at him, ready to hurt the devil in the means to make him stay away, instead, you stood there frozen, staring like a bewildered animal, deciding whether to fight or flight.

“I am earnestly sorry for my behavior last night.”, Father Ignatius came walking down slowly, hands in the pockets of his cassock, “I want to apologize.”

A brittle twig snapped underneath the sole of his shoe and the cracking sound was like a gunshot to you, eventually tearing you out of your stupor and making you lunge forward without a plan; the only objective being survival.

“Stay away from me!” You shrieked at the man whose eyes widened rapidly.

Father Ignatius stumbled back but not nearly as quickly as you came after him, palms flailing through the air aimlessly as to where they thunder down on him - shoulders, chest, face, wherever it hurt was fine.

“You cannot do this to me!”, You heart was almost hammering through your ribcage and your voice broke over and over, not familiar with being used at such volumes, “You are supposed to keep me from all this worldly malice!”

One palm stuck down against his and the priest groaned out, his own hands trying to get a hold of your wrists that were flying through the air like the ends of a whip.

“Sister!”, Father Ignatius huffed, trying his best to remain calm and de-escalate the situation, “I need you to calm down. I am not here to do you any harm, Sister!”

However, his voice wasn’t enough to get through to you, quite the opposite, hearing him talk only fueled the desperation, the fear of being dirtied by a man's hand yet again and punished for things that weren’t your fault to begin with.

“No! You don’t understand!” The words clawed their way out of your dry throat, bordering on being sore with your yells very soon.

“Then tell me!”, First, his hand caught your right arm, the left following swiftly as you lost the momentum, “What do I not understand?”

You tried to tear yourself out of his grasp but his hold on you was too strong, firm but not painful, and within seconds your shrieking turned into sniffled sobbing; anger fed by fear mellowing into drowning despair.

Father Ignatius stared at you, eyes ever attentive yet gentle. He was shocked at the intensity of your outburst but internally groaned at himself because he could’ve figured just by the state you were in.

Lost in your own train of thought, thrashing through a spectrum of emotions that wasn’t kind to you, you rambled at him.

“Stop…stop it. This is all I have left. I can’t go back home.”, Now the words slipped past your lips in a stumbled slurry, “I can’t fuck this up, too. Please.”

“Hey, hey…it’s going to be okay. Breathe.”, The Priest took a step closer to you, thumbs gently caressing over your pulse points in an attempt to calm you, “Look at me. I know you don’t belong here, neither do I.”

Just as he carefully asked you to, you looked at him, a gush of tears threatening to spill from your lash line as it trickled from your tear ducts.

“What…what do you mean?” You mouthed, your tone barely there anymore whilst you turned horribly self-aware of your vulnerability, your affliction of wanting attention, and what it did with you once you started getting just the most meager amounts of it.

“Those things you feel. The things they don't want you to feel in a place like this. They are normal, human, you know that. There is no shame in feeling desire.”, You just blinked at the man whose gaze turned soft, features losing their aura of indifference, he pitied you, “There's no shame in having those urges and acting upon them. It's just…normal.”

Ignatius breathed the last word as an expression of his eternal exhaustion about the incredibly regressive ways of his church.

He watched you calm down slowly, the air between him and you stagnating, loading up with what felt like electric tension and he knew this had to stop, he had apologized and now it was upon him to leave you to take care of your dress.

“This is my opinion and I know it wouldn't fare well with the Sisters. Perhaps another secret to share? If you'll have me.” Ignatius wanted to let you know that you had the reins, that it was your call to make, giving you the power of choice back that had been stripped from you in the monastery.

His eyes dropped to the scabbed cuts along your neck and collar bones, a stark contrast to the thin white underdress hardly covering anything.

Unlike almost a decade ago, it wasn't Ignatius who shoved himself at you in a dusty closet like the janitor's son had done, no, he wasn't lunging at you like a hungry wolf, teeth gnashing and ready to bite in the supple flesh of you bottom lip, a shaky hand finding its way between your legs, palm curving, taking as you had tried to pull back in shock. Instead, it was you who took the leap of faith and stepped forward, closing the distance between your bodies and Ignatius wasn’t howling and barking at you, he was humming as mouths touched, lips pressing against one another tenderly, cautiously even.

For a moment, you forgot to breathe. The taste of herbal tea and a recently smoked cigarette swapping into your mouth as you just went along, stumbling through the interaction as his tongue stroke yours. The janitor's son hadn't kissed you like that, he'd eaten you alive, swallowing the sounds of panic and discomfort, shushing you to shut up or you'd be found out.

Whore.

An icy tingle shot up your spine into the nape of your neck, making you jerk your head like a pupped tugged along at its strings.

“Did I hurt you?” Father Ignatius eyes widened as he immediately loosened his careful grasp around your wrists.

“No.”, You waited for the pain of the sudden and violent twitch to fade, “Sometimes…sometimes that happens when bad memories come back.”

Time halted as you looked, stared at Father Ignatius, admiring how his hair started to curl from the humidity. Handsome devil in a cassock, silver cross heavy against his heaving chest, lips glossy with your saliva and you couldn't decide whether to run or cave, the thrum in your body so ancient and aching.

You wanted him, wanted to feel him, wanted to know what it was like not to feel disgusted and wretched in your own skin. A hand shot forward to grab at the black of his garment and you pulled, inviting him and Ignatius followed suit.

“You're not painful. You're gentle.”, You whispered, lips almost touching again, smelling him in your space but for once it didn't arouse any fear, “Would you have me?”

“Not here. Not like this. You're freezing. It's about to start raining soon.”, Broad palms cradled your waist, squeezing gingerly, “I know I'm asking a lot but do you think you can sneak out after nightfall?”

“To where?” You asked eagerly.

“The chapel? Think about it. If you want that, I mean. I'll be there.”

[rijl]

Pietà with Mohammed Salem's photo of Inas Abu Maamar embracing the body of her 5-year old niece, Saly. Saly was killed on October 17 in an Israeli airstrike on Khan Younis.

"In this season of Lent, it seems to many of us that Jesus is on the cross again with thousands of crucified Palestinians around him. It only takes people of insight to see the hundreds of thousands of crosses throughout the land, Palestinian men, women, and children being crucified. Palestine has become one huge golgotha. The Israeli government crucifixion system is operating daily. Palestine has become the place of the skull."

(From the 2001 Easter message of Naim Ateek, Palestinian liberation theologian and Anglican priest.)

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

This came in as an ask along with some spam and my phone app did the horrid delay-lag thing where it updated the screen just as I was hitting delete on spam and nuked your non-spam ask. Apologies. I have excavated it as a screenshot from my email notifications and hope you end up being able to see it.

To answer your question:

Do I think the parent company that laid off 900 employees in March would do better than the heartless CEO and upper management that just laid off 220? I doubt it. Generally, the larger the company, the worse this sort of thing gets, and also the less likelihood you'll have diverse stories and non-mainstream content.

One of the things I love so intensely about Destiny is the queerness and cultural diversity they have within their characters, and the nuance and complexity the writers were able to bring to those narratives. It's why the story is as rich and beautiful as it is. I think it would be healthier if the people who have cost so many employees their livelihood with their poor management decisions (including selling Bungie to Sony in the first place) were replaced with people who actually loved the game. But I don't know if that is even possible at this point.

I also don't think that means that we will necessarily not see good stories in future, despite so many deeply beloved writers being cut away from the thing they poured so much love into for so long. A thing that is necessary to remember is that writing for a project as huge as Destiny is done in teams, not by individuals working on their own, and that when you are on a creative team, your influence lingers long after you leave. Your contributions inspire others on the team and they inspire yours.

Collaborative creativity is amazing because of that energy and synergy and symbiosis among the people working in these teams. The creative environment within Destiny has been drastically altered. But that doesn't mean those teams are now dead. The energy of those who are gone will linger and live on in the work of the team that remains (provided that work is allowed to be expressive at all).

"To love is to be changed." To create lovingly in a group means every individual who participates is changed by it. That's why it hurts so much and why it is going to be so hard for the individuals affected to recover from this, both the ones that were amputated from the team and the ones who remain.

I don't think Destiny will ever be 'back to normal.' You can't cut out such strong and beautiful creative voices from a team and still expect it to sing the same song. But those who remain may still sing, and that song may still be beautiful. And the influence of those who have been ripped away will continue, because collaborative creativity is like that. People within a group like this form an ecosystem and change each other. We won't get to hear what the new songs will sound like on their own until after Heresy, but those remaining have had so much taken from them. I think they deserve to be given a chance to be heard.

Stories are powerful. When you find a story that speaks to you deeply, it impacts your own thoughts about yourself. That is why so many of us are grieving what has been done to the beloved work of art, storytelling, and gameplay that is Destiny.

Do not let your grief keep you fixated on the past. This is an unwelcome change, but that does not mean there is no future for those who were ripped away from their teams, and it does not mean there is no future for what they worked on. We may still yet explore the vastness of space beyond Sol. Do not give up on any of these creative people. Support them, watch for what they do next, send them appreciation and gratitude and love.

Hope in darkness, finding ways to deal with irrevokable change, and healing from grief are all at Destiny's core. They aren't just pretty stories. They matter so much because they are essential. We need them.

Eyes up, Guardian.

[dontfindme625]

I think aziraphale is the patron saint of heresy. I don’t mean that he would do anything to affront god, but i feel like he would help people no matter what a silly pope said. If you pray to him, suddenly your abortion becomes a lot easier to get. If you pray to him, you will find other queer people. Aziraphale is who you pray to when the church can’t help you

[ritunn]

Trans in Golarion: A Sample of Pathfinder's Trans Representation

Golarion, like any world, is home to people of many walks of life, but one thing it does very well is trans representation. There isn't a Lost Omens lore book without at least one trans character, in fact there's typically multiple! So, with pride month here, I wanted to highlight some of my favorites that don't get much press. Shardra, the shaman iconic, and Mios, the thaumaturge iconic (both pictures above) are one trans woman and enby you're probably familiar with already, but let's get you acquainted with some more! If you aren't of course acquainted with them, I recommend reading the Meet the Iconic stories for them.

Meet Shardra Geltl!

Meet Mios!

Iltara Clavela

Lost Omens Grand Bazaar, Pg. 48

The owner of Material Changes in Absalom, a fashion boutique, day spa, and a place where not only can your clothing be changed, bur your entire body, Iltara was born in Irrisen to the far north. Born to two parents who made a bargain with a winter fey to have a son that could wield fey magic of frost and winter so that he could lead their army in a wretched second Winter War, this wouldn't be the case. For the fey realized that he had not a male spirit, but a female one instead and that he would never lead anyone in war. The child begged her parents to let her abdicate her name and find the magic to align body with spirit, but they refused. So, when enlisted, she fled and found the fey to ask for the body she desired, but the fey could do no thing. Coming up with a second plan, the child asked if it could help her escape and to that it agreed, only for her name. A simple bargain, one that was happily made as the child renamed herself Iltara.

From then on, she would use her skills to take on odd jobs, but never used her magic for fear of revealing herself as a winter witch. Eventually, she helped fixed the clothes of some entertainers who invited her on as their seamstress and when she had grown close enough to them, she revealed her magic and she was asked to perform herself as a magician. Iltara agreed, only if they helped her find the magic she sought. The group toiled and the entertainers were confused by her obsession until she emerged with an enhanced visage. Illtara had finally achieved what she always dreamed of and now helps make the process for others like her much easier.

Ahran Benimaya

Lost Omens Grand Bazaar Pg. 36

Another merchant within the Grand Bazaar, Ahran is the tattooist at Kraken's Ink Tattoos, working there with his boyfriend, the azarketi, Brine. Growing up in the devil worshipping capital of Cheliax, Ahran's family were Shelynites, devotees of the goddess of art, Shelyn (who is quite queer herself may I add). However, with the state religion focused firmly on Asmodeus who isn't exactly a fan of the more chaotic free loving goddess, Ahran's family had to be careful. However, Ahran himself grew to be a talented artist to the joy of his parents, a skill he'd make use of upon moving to Absalom once one of their neighbors warned them they'd been accused of heresy and had to flee.

There, Ahran saw a shop selling a serum of sex shift for sixty gold pieces and thought it'd be the best way to align his body to his true identity. However, making that much money would be no simple task drawing portraits of others at Absalom's docks for copper pieces. So, he went to Kraken's Ink Tattoos and asked to become an apprentice to tattooist and owner at the time, Maelara, a tiefling dwarf of exceptional skill. Maelara found her new apprentice shared that skill, his artistic talents coming in handy, and soon enough he had enough gold to purchase the serum and become who he was always wished to be. A decade later Maelara retired and Ahran has run the shop ever since. If you ever need a magic tattoo (or just some normal ink), he's your man and even features in book one of the Stolen Fate adventure path.

Ishii Bunji

Lost Omens Firebrands Pg. 42

A member of the revolutionary group called the Firebrands, Ishii "The Tyrant Breaker" Bunji is infamous for his jubilant demeanor and towering physique as a former sumo champion. One of the many people who aided in tearing down the tyranny of the Jade Regent in his homeland of Minkai, Ishii helped rebuild afterwards but a question stirred in his heart. "What good is strength if not used to protect the vulnerable?" This led him to joining the Firebrands and eventually becoming one of their most formidable warriors. Able to win fights against champions, spellcasters, war machines, and even battalions himself, he joins small rebellions rather than full revolutions, an equalizing force that nothing can stop. When the rebellion is over, he stays behind to rebuild, cooking his signature hot pot for others in his massive shield that also happens to be a family heirloom, a singing steel cooking pot. A symbol of not only protection, but one of hearty meals and a better tomorrow. These actions have lead him to receiving many love letters and quite a few lovers as well, but he's not quite interested in marriage and thus remains the Firebrands' most eligible bachelor.

Passenger

Lost Omens Firebrands Pg. 45

Passenger was among the many androids who crashed in Numeria, unlike many androids, all of Passenger's companions had died. Every other incubator held incomplete or damaged bodies and the only sign of identity they had was a damaged plaque calling them "Passenger #-". Taking this as their name, they ventured into Numeria and were taken in by a group of scavengers who they soon left when they heard the Black Sovereign Kevoth-Kul, ruler of Numeria, was accepting androids into his court in the capital of Starfall. There they met more of their kind and learned of their android nature, but when a group of Firebrands made their way to the court looking to enter the dangerous Silver Mount for adventure, Passenger was intrigued and tagged along.

This adventure left Passenger wanting more and they declared themselves a first-mark Firebrand and staged even more expeditions into the Silver Mount with their tinkering experience and any who wished to join helping them. One of these people was Tyen-Ra, a human tigerkin, and over the next few months they discovered an annihilator robot which they fixed up and named Scrapheap. Using their newly found scorpion mech, they left Numeria and accumulated more members and a reputation as the Fire's Finest, traveling across Avistan searching for adventure, fine food, and fun wherever they went. Scaring a few along the way with their terrifying mech, only to ease their fears when the Fire's Finest popped out.

Beirivelle Starshine

Lost Omens Knights of Lastwall Pg. 42

The Knights of Lastwall are home to numerous prominent trans women, most notably Anevia, a major NPC in Wrath of the Righteous, and the leader of the organization, Kalabrynne Iomedar. Beirivelle herself is newly knighted but already rising through the ranks with her skills as a bard devoted to Shelyn. Born in Absalom to a noble family, Beirivelle was arranged to marry another high-ranking member of Absalom's noble houses and live an uneventful life. When the lich known as the Whispering Tyrant attacked the city, however, she realized she wanted more from life. Her spouse's tastes thankfully weren't very feminine and she was able to exit it gracefully, but she only was able to flee home after an intense argument with her father.

Ever since becoming a Knight of Lastwall, however, the dainty romantic has been making alliances for the organization, first with the Scarlet Rose after a candlelight dinner with its leader, Filarina Grantsliem. In addition to these duties, she gathers stories as any bard does, adventuring with anyone from the brutal orc skullhunters to the Chelaxian Hellknight Order of the Torrent who hunt down kidnappers, aiding all with her divine magic and bardic knowledge. As well, she finds other "late blooming" girls and those who have yet to bloom at all and helps them find their own path away from harsh families or dire circumstances. For now in her official duties, she uses her diplomatic skills to recruit adventurers and locals, doing her best to protect them. All the while trying to court the anti-Geb factions of Nex who despise the necropolis for the decades long war the country had with it, hoping to get their help with dealing with the undead. That is proving difficult to do as it feels impossible to navigate its byzantine court politics. Thus, she continues her search for allies to aid in that endeavor.

Conclusion

You have any trans characters you love in Pathfinder not mentioned here? I know Il'setsya Wyrmtouched is one I adore and even a character belonging to freelancer, Amber Stewart, who has done work for many TTRPG companies, even getting her own villainous arcanoloth featured in D&D's Planescape book. Perhaps you'd like to share your own trans TTRPG characters whether in Pathfinder, D&D, or another game! If so, I'd love to see them.

[librarycards]

Top 5 philosophy books to do with neuroqueerness or mad theory!

(I need help with a proposal lmao)

I have a hard time trying to decide which of the books I've read are more in the "philosophy" genre, so I'm going to give you some books mostly from rhetoric/composition/literary/cultural theory that deal with philosophical elements of nq/Mad epistmology:

For the Proper Philosophy, certainly read Foucault's History of Madness.

For works that touch on NQ/Mad philosophical concepts but which I don't think would fall under philosophy Proper:

J. Logan Smilges, Queer Silence: On Disability and Rhetorical Absence.

M. Remi Yergeau, Authoring Autism.

Nick Walker, Neuroqueer Heresies.

Phil Smith, Writhing Writing: Moving towards a Mad Poetics.

Ann McGuire, War on Autism.

For more disciplinary philosophy stuff, try Shelley Tremain's biopolitical philosophy blog for resources as well as Kathy Fritsch's body of work.

I hope this helps!!