#but whatevs its interesting to think about especially as someone raised catholic who had to contend with religion in that same way

[dirtroadkiss]

something something ronan being catholic and gansey, adam, and noah being stand-ins for the holy trinity (gansey as the father, adam as the son, noah as the holy spirit)

*edit: the reveal of ronan being more than human/a dream entity in the dreamer trilogy and the implications of that-- how it would muddy up his relationship with his god and religion in general, reposition him from worshipper to worshipped-- or someone now on equal footing with his God, etc. he almost becomes the holy trinity himself, made up of the people he loved and made him/kept him human. in this essay I will--

*edit 2: god. and all of this being symbolic of how queer people who grew up religious have to separate themselves or deconstruct their relationship with their religion once they embrace that part of themself. having to choose yourself/your truth/ your happiness over what raised and informed so much of your life. finding something new to believe in through friends, others like you, and accepting loved ones if/when they leave/are excommunicated.

[irrigos]

i was gonna reply but i had too much to say lol

its always really frustrating that FL and MotR (and the sunless games probably, but to a much lesser extent) boast about how you can be anything you want in the game, but then really arent able to execute that thoroughly. because like... well from my perspective, it wasnt even a thing they needed to promise in the first place??

especially in motr, they could have made it explicit that your character is british and anglican at the start. they didnt HAVE to say that you could make whatever character you wanted, and it could have probably lead to a stronger game overall. it's hard to write compelling, satisfying dialogue and relationships if one of the characters cant have any explicit personality or history.

i talk often about how my favorite visual novel is Dream Daddy, and part of why i think it works so well is that your Dadsona had a lot of personality and history and interests that the player really has no say in. there is no way I, as a player, can make him NOT be a single father, or not have been in a ska band in college, or not love Paranormal Long Haul Ice Road Truckers. that gives him any amount of substance, so his interactions with other characters can actually feel like something adjacent to human interactions

one of the big problems with motr (and also FL but i think its a little less glaring in FL) is that they werent really willing to add any real specificity to the character, but also there are times when specificity is necessary, or at least would make things overall better. so instead of getting a well-written player character who can actually have personal qualities for NPCs to play off of, you get this weird cardboard cutout person to play, and all the bits of specificity just feel like.... mistakes? like, it doesnt feel like they sat down and decided the PC is british and anglican, they just forgot that someone might be something different? which is, imo, so much worse! you dont get to be something other than british or anglican, but you also dont get to really interact with those identities because then they would have to admit you cant actually be anything you want to be in the game

obviously i cant speak to how alienating it is when you cant be non-christian in a game (being catholic, my religious frustrations with FL are pretty different i think lol) but as someone who can. yknow. read. its weird to play motr and notice how vague and sterile all the players dialogue is, because (presumably) fbg didnt want to take too much character creation out of the players hands, but ALSO still made a bunch of decisions for the player anyway?? why promise this level of character customization if you werent actually prepared to deliver it, AND the sacrifices made to make space for this character customization made the games writing worse?? you cant be anything other than Anglican, but you also cant really be Anglican, either, because the game always says that youve never been to St Albans before, and Theo "doesnt see a regular parishioner" (or something) when he meets you. (Or at least, that's the text I'VE always gotten. with the way the game works, it could very well be that thats not always the case and I just havent had the right background or outfit or whatever. but i feel like it's probably always true.) So instead of letting you make whatever sort of character you want in this world, they decided that religion is a thing that it is impossible for your PC to have any sort of relationship with. Even if I wanted to go along with FBG's decision that I'm Anglican, I still can't! It's really weird!! Like, they dont want to say your PC is Anglican and goes to St Albans and knows the local vicar because that would be making too make decisions for the player?? but also you cant be anything other than Anglican?? so it feels like the motr PC can only be someone who was raised Anglican but doesnt care about religion at all, which is a weirdly strong choice to make on the players behalf, especially when theres so much stuff in the game about devils and such. idk its really weird and very noticable imo

a tangential problem ive been having with motr is that you cant actually pick a gender to be?? like i know fbg has been very proud of the fact that you just pick how people address you in their games, not your characters gender or sex, and that works fine in like. sunless sea, i think. but it's really weird in mask of the rose, because that means i can be playing as a man, and romancing Archie, another man, but no one can acknowledge that thats weird, or something we couldnt have done before the Fall, or anything. like, Harjit seems aware of homophobia, and that two men being in a romantic relationship is. uh. Frowned Upon in 1862, lets say. but everyone seems blissfully unaware that that would be true of me and archie too?? so it really makes it feel like you can romance whoever you want AS whoever you want, but your relationships will always, essentially, be straight.

its just really frustrating overall. they dont want to make you define who your character is, because they want you to be able to imagine whatever character you want, but they also arent able to deliver on that (either due to opportunity costs that come with how theyve set things up, like with the gender stuff, or just because of what i can only assume is unexamined personal biases from being a team of white british people) so the whole thing just kinda comes off as.... idk. clumsy and inept at best. i really dont know why they made it like this, when it would have been easier not to

i'm just. i know i should give mask another chance now that the pacing is fixed but im still kinda bitter over things.

Like i know I already made a post on it but the literal description of the game makes it seem like you can pick who you are!!! ‘who were you before the Fall? Who will you be now?’ sounds nice, but the reality is ‘who will you be’ can only be christian and english. This was an issue I had hoped wouldn’t be carried over as much from Fallen London, but the capability for the suspension of disbelief of being anything else is worse here due to the dialogue. I understand limiting the scope of writing if you feel you are unable to write anything else properly, but this needs to be specified at least in the backgrounds or the description.

 It is always disheartening to be presented with a game that aims to advertise its option of playing as ‘yourself’, which then turns with the expectation of only one type of person. It is a shame the game will not let you be of an  Irish, Jewish, Scottish, etc. background, with the added aspect of those types of characters being present in the game making it all more confounding. Having a diverse cast does not feel as meaningful when the game doesn’t let you, as the player, be a character of your own background.

[purplesurveys]

1279

Are you and the last person you kissed in a relationship or just friends?  I don’t keep contact.

Has anyone ever pointed out that your laugh was unusual?  Hmmmm, I don’t think so. I feel like that would be the type of comment that would get to me so I definitely would’ve remembered it.

Would you get a lip piercing?  I don’t plan on getting any piercings.

Nose piercing?  Nopes.

What are you currently waiting for?  For this fucking day to end so I can be closer to Thursday and to the weekend.

Do you have feelings for anyone?  Nah.

Have you ever run over an animal?  Nope. I’ve had extremely close calls with animals who suddenly dart into the road, but fortunately these have all been situations wherein I got to hit the brakes with nobody behind me.

Have you chewed gum after someone else already has?  That’s disgusting, no.

When people sneeze do you say ‘bless you’?  Sure, out of habit and just to be polite.

When was the last time you were on a bouncy castle?  I don’t think I’ve ever been on a bouncy castle, but I’ve been on a lot of bouncy other things haha, like inflatable slides, soccer balls, Anpanmans, etc. The last time would probably be a nearly a decade ago; I definitely haven’t been near one in a while.

Have you ever went on a bouncy castle whilst drunk?  Well no, because the ones I’ve been on were situated in school fairs, which is the last place I would want to be drunk in.

Have you ever entered an art competition?  No, I have no justification to join one haha.

What is one thing you will never do? Try hardcore drugs. < Same. 

What is one food that you detest?  Pineapples.

Did you have a rebellious phase growing up?  Yeah I was a bit of a handful to raise, but I’m in firm in my stance that it had a lot to do with the way I was raised. I grew up mostly without a father figure because my dad worked abroad and I felt neglected by my mom who had her own shit to deal with. There was no stable support system to lean on, so I ended up lashing out a lot in my puberty years. Unfortunately everyone else just saw a rebellious child and not a plea for help.

These days when I show off my achievements on social media, I’ll see congratulatory comments from my mom’s friends and she’ll usually go on about some “late bloomers grow with time” narrative and it pisses me off because nobody knows how much I’ve had to grow and mature and learn how to be happier all by myself, all from scratch. If I had just received the proper care and attention early on, I wouldn’t have had to do any catching up to begin with.

What religion were you brought up with? Roman Catholic.

Are you still that religion?  Jesus no. I darted out of there as soon as I gained the consciousness to think about these sorts of things.

Do you often find yourself questioning your future?  Sometimes, but I do my best to not let it get to me.

How many friends do you have on Facebook?  Over 670.

What sort of music did you listen to when you were in high school?  I started with punk rock in the first half of high school, so I had my Rancids, H2Os, Against Me!s, Cro-Mags, etc on my iPod. It evolved a little bit towards more indie, folksy sounds towards the latter half - Banks, alt-J, Hozier, Twenty One Pilots - which I largely attribute to the crowd I was part of at the time.

What pet names do you use with your significant other?  I’m pretty straightforward so baby works out for me. Other, more specific pet names just grow naturally with the relationship, I think.

What’s the name of the store you usually get your groceries?  S&R.

Have you ever seen a theatre show?  Yeah. Most of them have been required.

What’s your favourite vegetable?  Broccoli or bell peppers.

Have you ever missed a flight?  Never. I’ve experienced several delayed flights, though, which is always such a hassle especially if the delays happen in provincial airports since they never have any recreational offers to keep passengers from getting bored other than TVs that run the same damn five ads.

Do your neighbours have any pets? Have you ever met them?  Yeah, a lot of have dogs. I’ve met some.

What color is your bedroom door?  Brown.

If you were ever to become famous, would you grow annoyed at fans?  Only towards obsessive ones who wouldn’t give me time to breathe or would go so far so as to stalk me or my loved ones. But I am a fan too, so I imagine I would actually be understanding of those who would ask for pictures or whatever as long as they were polite and not at all intrusive.

Have you ever met your favourite band/singer?  Nah. I am terrified of meeting celebrities HAHA so I’ve always shut down the chance. I’m pretty sure I would actually turn down the chance to meet BTS if I hypothetically suddenly got the magic keys to that door.

Are you embarrassed by any of the songs/singers/bands you like?  No. I feel like that sort of thing just happens in like high school, when your friends are still a bit judgmental. Nowadays I don’t see why I should be embarrassed of anything I like, especially if it’s not hurting anyone.

Have you ever written a story?  I’ve made attempts but was always terrible.

Think of the last poem you wrote: What inspired you to write it?  My homework that required me to write said poem hahaha.

Do you have a chance with the person you like right now? 

What’s the weirdest thing you were scared of as a child?  Watching commercials at night. It’s still a slight fear of mine but it’s mostly dissipated now.

Are there any embarrassing stories your family tells about you?  About me? No. I don’t have a lot of those since I was a really shy kid who barely moved a finger anyway.

In your opinion, what is the funniest TV show?  I have a *really* soft spot for Perfect Strangers, which I actually revisited yesterday :) The show was never super popular so it’s near impossible to find clips online, but when I checked YouTube I did see a slight increase in short snippets from the show so I had a really fun time binge-watching yesterday.

What is the maximum number of children you’d ever have?  Three, but that’s pushing it. Ideally, I’d have two so my first would have company.

Have you ever been concerned you had a serious illness?  Mental ones, yes.

Are you comfortable with who you are?  For the most part, yes.

Would you date someone even if you knew you’d get made fun of for it?  No. Why would it be any of their business?

Does popularity matter to you at all?  I mean, yeah in the sense that I honestly aspire to be well-liked by as many people as possible. But I don’t necessarily want to rub shoulders with popular kids.

Would you ever consider homeschooling your children?  Continued from sometime this week ider. No. I don’t think I’m capable of teaching, and generally I’d want them to be able to learn in a more open environment where they can have regular contact with different kinds of people.

Who told you about the band/singer you are currently listening to?  Well Angela got into them first and since we’re best friends, there was a certain point where she just decided to loop me into conversations that involved them. I was impossible to sway for a long time, but then one day a video compilation of them showed up on my feed, and for some reason I actually watched it, and I watched all the way through, and I was immediately intrigued – particularly by J-Hope haha. I then asked Angela to tell me more about them and the rest was...financially irresponsible history HAHAHAHA

Do you ever read fanfiction?  OMG yes. Funny you should mention that because my favorite author uploaded a brand new fic this morning, which I obviously couldn’t get to all day because I had to go to work. I’ll be reading it in all its 44,000-word glory tonight :D

Would you rather die in a plane crash, ship wreck or fire?  Plane crash. Instant and mostly painless.

What are your top five favourite TV shows?  Breaking Bad, BoJack Horseman, Friends, The Crown even though I was never able to continue it since...andddd that’s all I got.

What is your favorite superhero movie?  Not a fan of superhero movies.

If you died next week, what would be the cause of death?  Stress from overworking. I’ve FINALLY started to consider taking a leave for the first time this year because I’ve just realized just how fucking exhausted, burned out, and overwhelmed I actually already am from having no rest at all in the last 13 months.

Have you ever taken a break from Facebook or other social media? Why?  Yes, I do mass deactivations when I’m severely depressed. These days I can’t really afford to that anymore, though, since my work is closely tied to social media.

Who is the most talented person you know?  Probably Andi.

Are you currently platonic friends with anyone you’ve had sex with?  No.

Where did you and your current interest go on your first date? 

Have you ever experienced two people fighting over you (physically or mentally)? What happened?  Nah. I’ve had two people like me at the same time, but there was never any tension to watch out for since they mostly didn’t know each other.

Have your parents ever thought you were gay? What happened?  I think they know I dated Gabie and that we broke up because they’ve stopped asking about her. Everyone knew we were best friends, so the fact that they’ve avoided her as a topic for a whole year is able to tell me something.

Are your parents more liberal or conservative?  Dad’s on the liberal side, mom dances around on the spectrum a little bit. I know she’s fine with things like tattoos and having LGBTQ+ co-workers, but she’s also conservative especially towards matters like religion.

What year are you going into at the beginning of the next academic year?  No longer in school.

How far away does your closest family member live?  A few footsteps away.

If you’ve seen both, did you prefer the Disney version or the Tim Burton version of Alice in Wonderland?  It’s not my type of movie/genre to begin with.

Would you have sex before marriage? Why or why not?  Yes. I don’t see the big deal; I’ve already done it anyway.

Are you more liberal or conservative?  Liberal.

Who is your favorite Harry Potter character?  Ooh not sure. I haven’t gone back to the books in a while, so I don’t remember if there was anyone I had an attachment to.

What’s the worst that could come out of letting gays marry?  Nothing.

What’s the most sexual thing you’ve done?  Had sex...I guess? And a bunch of stuff that comes with it.

Name something that you are against.  Racial discrimination.

Why are you against it?  Because it is infuriating to see, and it shows me the very same treatment can happen to me or my family as well and that scares me, especially since some people turn particularly violent towards people of color.

Have you ever played the Tomb Raider games?  No.

Do you like it or hate it when your partner is clingy?  I imagine I wouldn’t enjoy it if I’m not as into whoever my next partner would be.

Beatles or Rolling Stones?  I don’t listen to either.

When was the last time you changed your opinion on somebody?  Not so sure about a whole change in opinion because that hasn’t happened in a while, but I grew more grateful for my manager today because I finally mustered the strength to tell her that I’m begin to struggle mentally with work and she not only encouraged (read: begged) me to file a damn leave for once, but she also got sushi delivered to my place.

What was the last thing that made you feel proud and why?  Andi was telling me about their day today and how they handled being misgendered by a prof, who then proceeded to throw a fit when he got corrected, and how they, again, maturely handled said fit. I was proud of them because there are a million ways that incident could’ve turned out, but they dealt with it in an extremely mature and calm manner considering they were the one who was wronged.

Do you feel uncomfortable when people you hardly know confide in you?  If it was about an extremely personal problem I would probably be taken aback at first, but I still would definitely make some time for them and help in however way I can, since they apparently trust me enough to confide.

What was the last thing to fascinate you?  The music video for My Universe! Super cool to watch and I love that they made a short film out of it too.

Is there a certain noise/sound which scares you?  Doors being slammed shut, because that’s what my mom does when she’s furious. She did that when I was a kid and she does it to this day, so I get extremely nervous when I hear the sound, even if it happens by accident.

Do you have a favourite microorganism? Nope.

Out of the people you know, whose birthday is next?  My cousin Bree.

If you have pet fish do you bother to name them?  I did when I had them as a kid.

Do you keep your eggs in the fridge?  Yes?

Have you ever owned chickens?  Nope.

When did you last listen to music?  Like five minutes ago. I tried to have a jazz playlist on but I realized I wasn’t in the mood for music so I changed my background noise to have a random VLive on instead. 

[alewyren]

I dislike redemption arc culture.

I hate seeing arguments over which characters are “irredeemable,” and this notion that every villain story has to be a morally didactic narrative in which the bad guy gets punished, the end.

I’m almost tempted to say we were all spoiled by having Zuko as a formative experience, because he’s really just the picture perfect redemption arc. He started out as a legit villain, but he never did anything too atrocious, had a tragic backstory that explained why he was like that, and went through three whole seasons of gradual character development. Like, Zuko was an amazing character. That’s the problem, though; he set our expectations too high for what “the perfect redemption arc” should be. Everyone expects their “reformed villain” characters to follow those same beats, but not every story is that cut and dry. There are lines between redemption and reformation, reformation and rehabilitation, rehabilitation and just... continuing to exist but no longer hurting anyone, and there’s a lot of nuance lost when people try to cram all that into the box of “redemption arc.”

Gonna be bringing a lot of different examples to the table here, but let’s start with Azula for ease of transition. She went through the same abuse that Zuko did, but she never got a redemption arc in ATLA proper. Some people say this isn’t fair. I disagree. This is not to say I don’t think she should be afforded the opportunity for post-canon character growth, because I absolutely do. I fully think she is capable of Getting Better, and spinoff media has consistently portrayed her as a sympathetic character. But like... she’s done some shit. She was a straight up war criminal, and emotionally abusive towards basically everyone in her social circle. I understand why. She was a 14 year old raised in an environment that rewarded that behavior, and never given a healthy outlet for her aggression.

The difference, in my opinion, is this: Zuko was fundamentally a good person from the start. Far from perfect, but he has a strong sense of values even as a child. Azula is not. Redemption for someone like Azula would look much different than it did for Zuko. Besides, in ATLA proper she was already filling an important villain role. She’d need her own show. (Which would be awesome, actually.)

But I think that’s where you have to ask the question: what even is a redemption arc? Is it any story where a villain stops being a villain? Is there a scale for like, “must do X amount of good deeds equal to Y bad deeds to qualify for redemption”? Must they be sufficiently punished for their bad deeds? What if reformation is possible without punishment--is punishment for its own sake truly justice? The focus people have on penance and atonement feels very baked in Christian moral philosophy. People don’t work like that. There’s not a cosmic scale of right and wrong, or a cosmic sin counter, there’s just... actions and their immediate impact. Bad people being let off the hook too easily can leave a bad taste in your mouth, and there are of course things with unfortunate real world implications which can’t be divorced from real-world context which are... irresponsible to allow in the hands of Certain Groups, but I hate this notion of “villains must be punished appropriately for their crimes, always, even if they have extenuating circumstances, even if they have demonstrated the capacity for personal growth, because that personal growth will never negate their misdeeds.”

In real life, it’s different. In real life, you can never be sure what’s going on in another person’s head. But the prison system of justice is fundamentally broken. People are rarely fundamentally evil, but there are some people who are too twisted and dangerous to society to be allowed to live without, at the very least, constant supervision. True evil is banal, rooted in social systems, not individual “bad people.” People have individual will, but ultimately they’re just the products of the environment and systems that fostered them. Setting aside the questions of whether people can be born evil or at what age you become personally responsible for your actions, you will get bad apples in any sufficiently large group of people. If someone has to be punished and removed from society, that’s not a success of justice. The fact that they reached that point in the first place is a failure of society in and of itself.

In fiction, technically everyone is redeemable. You can get into the heads of the bad guys and do basically whatever you want with them. Fiction should be responsible when dealing with real-world issues that affect real people, but it does not have to be morally didactic. Sometimes there just... isn’t an easy, morally didactic answer for dealing with morally complicated characters or situations. And more importantly, sometimes the morally didactic answer isn’t the narratively interesting answer. 9 out of 10 times, what’s more interesting to read about? A horrible villain being put to death, or a horrible villain being forced to live and grow?

Some hypothetical examples to ponder, purely in the context of fiction.

Horrible war criminal villain with a body count in the millions has all memories of their crimes wiped, or is forcibly brainwashed into being a better person. Setting aside the ethics of brainwashing: are they still required to “repent”? Would a victim still be justified in seeking penance from this guilt-free shell? Would this change at all depending on who was responsible for the mind-wipe?

More realistic: horrible war criminal villain with a body count in the millions straight up retires. Gets older. Bloodlust, national zeal, whatever once motivated them to do such evil loses its edge. They fall in love. Start a family. As they grow as a person, learn the value of life, the weight of their crimes starts to sink in. They atone in little ways, through little random acts of kindness and helping the people around them, but for one reason or another (not wanting to risk harm to their family, knowing they’ll be tortured for information? you decide) don’t turn themselves into the proper justice system and are never punished. Should they be punished, or allowed to continue existing? Would this change at all depending on the surrounding political circumstances, i.e.: whether their public execution would hold any symbolic value, whether affected groups are calling for their death? Does it matter at all in deciding justice whether this hypothetical villain feels personal guilt or regret over their war crimes? Why or why not?

Child villains. IRL there are documented cases of violent crime in children as young as grade school age, not all of whom had violent backgrounds. Should they be held to the same standards as adult villains, even if the scale of their crimes are the same? What’s the cutoff age? Are all villains under 18 capable of rehabilitation, no matter how horrible their crimes? How about 16? 14? 12? What about villains whose ages aren’t really clear, ie Cell from DBZ being like, six?

How much does backstory matter? Should it matter if there’s a good reason someone is Like That, or should their actions be judged as-is? It doesn’t matter to the victims whether or not the villain had a bad childhood, right? Moreover, does it matter at all whether someone is “fundamentally a good person,” at least insofar as genuinely caring about the people around them and caring about a moral code? People do evil things for reasons other than “being evil people.”

Morally bankrupt person who regularly fantasizes violent harm on the people around them, wholly selfish with no love for any other human being, fundamentally incapable of meaningful self-reflection or growth. Just a complete piece of shit all around. But they never have, and never will, commit any crimes, either due to some divine ordinance or just plain self-preservation/fear of getting caught. They might, at worst, just be a toxic asshole, but not one who holds any power over others. Should they be punished solely for their moral character, rather than actions?

There aren’t always easy answers. It’s okay to acknowledge that, and it’s okay to tackle hard moral questions like this in fiction. And I hate seeing this boiled down to “stop trying to redeem villains who are Actually Horrible People” or whatever. Especially in kids’ media which takes an optimistic stance on people being capable of change in the first place. Y’all gotta stop holding it to the same level of moral realism as gritty stuff for adults.

On the whole, I think we should do away with the term “redemption” in the context of morality entirely. Like redemption arc, redemption equals death, what does that mean? It implies one has sufficiently made up for their past deeds, that that’s the gold standard, but is that really ever possible? Like I said, there’s not a cosmic good deeds | bad deeds counter for every person, or at least not one that living people have any way of knowing about. And that’s a flawed way of thinking to begin with. Those bad deeds can never be erased, ever. There plenty of examples of villains who commit crimes they can never realistically atone for. Regardless of whether they want to atone in the first place, it’s like I said: in fiction, it’s often just... more fun to force them to live and deal with the consequences. But on the flipside, there are so, so many people who see themselves as “good” and use that to justify their own bad deeds. Which ties back into what I said about the whole discourse reeking of Christian moral philosophy, because lmfao @ corruption in the catholic church.

The point is. There are shades of grey. Not everything has to be a full-blown bad guy to good guy redemption arc. You don’t need to “properly atone for your sins” to be worthy of life or love.

Here are some better questions to ask than “is this character redeemable”:

Is it believable, from what we know of this villain as a character, that they are capable of becoming a good, law-abiding citizen?

How about capable of love?

Guilt?

Are they capable of any personal growth whatsoever?

Are they capable of being a positive impact on the lives of the people around them?

Is it actively harmful to leave them alive, even with clipped wings?

Is it interesting to leave them alive?

How morally didactic is the narrative as a whole?

How much forgiveness are they offered, versus how much could they possibly ever deserve?

How abstracted is this character from reality, ie: are there any real world parallels that make it uncomfortable to frame this character in a sympathetic light? (be careful not to fall into a black and white abuser/victim dichotomy)

Would further punishment or suffering be productive? (Productive, not justified, that’s a key distinction--punishment for its own sake is just pointless cruelty.)

Even the most vile, irredeemable bastards can still be dragged like... an inch. And that’s still a fun and valuable story in and of itself, even if it’s nothing remotely approaching a redemption arc and they’d very much still deserve to rot in Hell by the end of it. I don’t believe Hell is real, as much as I personally wish it were sometimes, but like. If it were, or in fictional universes where it is.

But also, there really are some characters and botched “redemption arcs” that just come off insanely uncomfortable. And there is a subjective aspect to that as well, but more than once I’ve seen people say “X villain did not deserve redemption/forgiveness” and 9 times out of 10 I’m like “that’s... really not what they got, though?”

It’s complicated.

[robert-c]

The Abortion “Debate”

The Abortion “Debate”

What has always amazed me about this was the completely untenable position of those opposed to the right to choose; as well as their moral hypocrisy.

Let’s skip over the theological debate over when life begins etc. unless we are going to live in a society where there is an official state religion, that should have no bearing on the issue. Only independent living beings can be supported, protected etc. by a government. Something living only while it is inside of a person, should give that person the primary say about what happens.

But let’s skip past that for a moment too.

Those who support these restrictions on abortion (all of which are intended to be a piece by piece removal of the right to a safe and legal abortion) believe some pretty strange things. For example, I read that a lot of women opposed to abortions believe that today it is being used as a means of birth control. There is not one shred of evidence to suggest that this is widespread let alone a majority of the reasons for abortions – BUT even if it were true…what would preventing such a woman from having an abortion do? Can anyone really be so naïve as to think that a woman who would casually have an abortion as a means of birth control would suddenly become a responsible mother? Or even use birth control? Can you even imagine her being responsible during the pregnancy? More to the point, would any of these people so sure that banning abortions for women like that actually adopt a baby from such a woman? People believe some pretty unrealistic things when it is easy for them to do so, especially when it allows them to have a simple answer to complex issues.

But let’s return to the often cited argument about when “personhood” should be defined to start. It sounds like a legitimate question but it is nothing more than a ploy to enforce a particular religious view point under the guise of a legitimate question. So let’s examine what happens when we try to go down that path. Pick any point you want before birth to claim that the fetus has become a person entitled to equal protection under the law, same as any other citizen. That would mean that every miscarriage, every still birth would have to be investigated as a possible homicide. Since the people who propose these sorts of restrictions don’t actually care about people as much as their simplistic “principles” we can skip over the anguish and emotional turmoil the women involved would be feeling. How does an investigation like that go? Do we examine every detail of the woman’s life? Did she not exercise enough? Or too much? Was she eating properly? (and what does that mean, exactly and who decides?) Did she perhaps have a drink of wine before she knew she was pregnant? And since we can’t always pinpoint the reason for the miscarriage how will we pin this on any one cause? The proposals at the heart of this “movement” are incapable of being enforced with any objectivity, fairness or accuracy. And any attempt to do so is just intrusive, in a way more personal than any of the other aspects right wingers love to complain about.

And what about those situations where health conditions force a choice between the life of the mother or the baby? Who gets the priority? If the “fetus” is accorded all the rights of a fully independent human, how does the law work in a case like that?

Let’s look at a big picture here. The one thing the world isn’t short of is people. We are not on the verge of extinction through lack of procreation. We have plenty of societal problems from people who were raised in dysfunctional families, why would we want to encourage more unfit parents to have children that they don’t want and can’t afford (financially or emotionally) to raise? I think this goes back to the idea of not wanting to be wrong and to have simple answers for all of life’s complicated issues.

I suppose we should give some examination of the religious issue, even though a truly free society cannot have an official religion. Most, if not all, of the anti-choice forces I’ve read about or met, seem to focus on a Christian version of religion for an excuse to ban it. But consider this, abortion has been around for thousands of years. It was certainly known and practiced in the time of Jesus. And yet he doesn’t mention it at all in his teachings about moral behavior.

While Catholics don’t believe in artificial birth control or abortion, it is less them and more the evangelical protestants that want to ban others choices in these matters. I suspect that the strenuous objection to others choice of an abortion is the product of various preachers, and their flock. The same flock who thump a Bible they’ve never fully read or understood, and take their beliefs from a preacher instead of from the book they claim it comes from. In other matters they will point to a passage in Leviticus claiming to condemn homosexuality (which technically only condemns voluntarily taking the role of “bottom” in such an act) but omit mentioning the passages where they would be condemned for their polyester cotton mix clothing; for eating bacon, lobster, shrimp; or for their lack of animal sacrifices at the temple.

In short, the religious objection to abortion is irrelevant in a society without a State religion and inaccurate on its own terms. It is little more than a few influential people swaying a larger group of folks who don’t want to have to think for themselves. The unfounded fear that there are people, “out there somewhere”, not living in the same confining box, seems to be the real issue. It’s a lot easier to be an advocate for living in a 50+ year ago past if you don’t have to live side by side with people who aren’t restricting themselves that way.

Morality and ethics, spiritually or legally, are much more complex than simple absolutes. Admittedly, “thou shalt not kill” has a nice simplicity, a punchy “ad man sound bite” quality, but the better translation is “murder” not “kill”. And even there are we to make no distinction between a premeditated murder, and that conducted in a fit of passion or rage? And what of those who leave someone in a situation which reasonably could be expected to lead to their death? Try as we might to reduce the world and all of its potential behavior into a few simplistic rules, true justice and compassion demand that we look at more.

As a man, it is impossible for me to fully imagine what it would be like to be a woman facing the choice of an abortion. The best I can do is come up with the “rational” side of the argument pro and con, if it were my choice to make for me. But that ignores the emotional and even chemical changes that such an event would have on me. It humbles me to attempt to put myself in that place. At the same time, I can fully appreciate the fact that it is a decision I would have to live with and I wouldn’t want someone else dictating it to me based on such flawed logic and morality as the “pro-lifers”. I know women who support abortion rights and choice, who personally could never choose to have an abortion. And I know Pro Choice women who have had an abortion, who believe it was the right decision at the time, and are still bothered by the fact that they had to make that choice. This is the essence of understanding freedom and personal liberty. It is, in fact, the core issue of what real freedom of belief is all about; making our own choices and living with the outcomes – THAT is real responsibility.

Anti-choice forces have tried to make this about responsibility, about “when life begins” and a host of other quasi-moral and quasi-scientific issues. But the real issue is and has always been about who controls your own life and your own body. It has always been a huge contradiction that the same people who fear government “over reach” and intrusion into the personal lives of people support such personal and intrusive action when it comes to personal ethical beliefs. The only truly uniting principle of their agenda is to dictate their set of personal beliefs on everyone. They often try to portray this as what is happening to them. But look at the facts. No one is forcing them to have an abortion if they don’t want one. They are only being prevented from dictating the choices of others.

Then there is the return of the “Domino Theory”. As a quick refresher; staunch anti-communists of the Cold War era believed we needed to be militarily involved in stopping the spread of Communism, notably in Viet Nam, because if we didn’t stop it in that country, then there would be another and another until it was this country. As unrealistic and idiotic as this idea was its reincarnation in the abortion debate is even … well, crazier. According to this logic, the ability to choose an abortion is the first domino in a chain that leads to “mercy killings” of people with birth defects, mental disabilities and … well, fill in the blank for whatever will get you riled up. That would certainly be awful, but I’m truly at a loss to see how the connection works, they are two very different situations. And just for the record, throughout all of history, those who seek to impose their religious views on others don’t seem to shrink back from killing those who don’t share their beliefs, and that has got to be at least as horrible and much more likely.

Do we need any more evidence that the anti-abortion, anti-choice forces are more about control than morality? Ask how much money have they donated to anti-abortion candidates compared to how much they have donated to providing health care and adoption to women with unwanted pregnancies. If, indeed, you are more interested in preventing abortions and providing for the consequences of unwanted pregnancies, where is the financial support for women to carry a baby to term and put it up for adoption? Can anyone provide data that shows that at least as much money is donated by anti-abortion supporters to this, than to candidates who simply want to make it illegal?

As a final note, you may not be aware of this salient fact. Many years ago when abortion was illegal, pregnant women needing to find doctors who would safely terminate a pregnancy were often helped by ministers and others of faith. They knew the dangers of unsafe abortions and they knew of the heartbreaking challenges of the women. Some trying to provide for another child when they couldn’t completely provide for the ones they had, some fearing violence merely for being pregnant, etc. These were men and women of faith who actually were aware of the pain in all aspects of the choices these people faced and who were there to provide comfort and help where they could.

If this is still a religious and ethical issue to you, then please try to answer honestly for yourself: if Jesus were here today, do you see him as someone providing comfort to a woman in such a situation, or one leading the crowd to throw stones? And if, in fact, this is some sort of sin that God will punish, well He will have His shot at all of us eventually, He doesn’t need a political hack interfering with our free will.

[meanwhileinthebroomcloset]

Mhm...  This post was meant to be much shorter, honestly. Not to mention it got super personal, which was not my intention. It actually made me a bit teary-eyed and I’m usually an emotional constipated dumbass. 

Am I ready for the potential backlash this is going to cause? Eh, probably not. Am I going to engage in the discourse this can cause? Ah, you wished. I have more to waste my energy on. I didn’t write this post to argument with anyone, anyway. 

Gonna risk it, still.

-----------------------------------------

Isn’t it kind of ironic that it was witchcraft that made me fully return to Catholicism?

I mean, I kind of never left, hence the ‘’fully’’ in that sentence. But now I really know who I am. Although I don’t think Catholicism is the most accurate label (Christo-pagan, perhaps?) it’s the one I grew up with, and the one that comes more naturally to me.

Studying the beginning of it all, the commentaries of Pagans and Jewish writers at the time are just so fascinating and honestly beautiful.

Then everybody started chasing and killing each order, and it sure wasn’t fascinating anymore.... ‘’Stop being murderous revenge-driven assholes’’ I angrily mutter into my book, while frying my brains for High Middle Ages exams.

And then it split into Catholicism and Arianism (not that Arianism! The no-holy-trinity-on-my-watch one), and that was a totally different can of worms. Then Rome got pissy and the Orthodox Church officially became a thing that existed.

Man, why is religion so messy?

Faith is such a strange thing. So much power, so much potential for good and evil and everything in between. I started losing mine some years ago. 

Contrary to some horror stories you may hear, especially from people who are now no longer Christian, I was raised in a pretty open environment.

‘’Don’t be mean, have faith, give second chances... Here are the commandments. They’re perfectly acceptable, see?’’

‘’Yes, there are different religions, but you should always respect them and the people that believe in them. Remember, Jesus was Jewish. Here’s some historical context... ‘’

‘’What the hell kid, nobody here is going to hell. Also, you’re five, there are no children in hell. No, the cops also won’t... Lord give me patience... Are you sorry? Did you apologize? Are you going to try to not repeat it? Great! Then it’s all fine and dandy!’’

‘‘Man, we are definitely all going to hell... At least since we’re all gonna be there, we could form a basketball team. The devil can be the referee. He will be an awful one, but hey, we’re in hell’‘

‘’I know the bible says the earth was created in seven days, but when that story was written, people didn’t know dinosaurs were a thing. Science is cool, and we are not in the middle ages. ‘’

‘’Blind faith is dangerous, kid.’’

‘’Thinking thoughts and acting upon them are two very different things.’’

‘’Yes, the second mom in that Solomon story was willing to see another kid die for the sake of an argument... sometimes people are that bad.’’

‘’God is perfect. People aren’t. That’s the world we live in and it’s okay.’’

‘’There are people who do terrible things in name of religion or say they’re doing it because the bible says so. Don’t believe them. There’s no excuse for murder and abuse.’’

‘’Yeah, Portugal is very enthusiastic when it comes to Catholicism... ’’

Pretty good summary of religion in my childhood.

Still, I found my faith waning. I didn’t really know why and I’m still a bit iffy talking about that.

‘’What did witchcraft do, then?’’

 Well for once, it reinforced my ideas on how faith worked, and how strangely powerful it can be. Being skeptical is healthy but completely closing yourself off because something isn’t completely clear is too radical and you're just doing the equivalent of closing your eyes to the less brighter lights.

My god, I can hear the hardcore atheists coming...

Can I remind you there are more things in life that will not provide the proof you want, but that won’t mean they aren’t there? Relationships. Relationships are too complicated to have straight answers, a lot of the times. People hide their feelings, they fake them, express them and react to them differently. There are so many things we don’t understand or know about yet, like space and organisms that live on this Earth.

Sometimes what you need is a different approach to see they exist! It’s one of the things I learned with witchcraft.

There was also the religion itself. As I worked on my magic, I started seeing magic around me again. Not just with gods I had never considered and the one I was leaving behind, but with the faith I had always known.

The affection when someone says ‘��Our Lady’’ when talking about the Virgin Mary, my family calling upon Saint Barbara when thunder comes, children screeching excitedly because the Compasso has arrived to give us the news that Jesus has come to life again in Easter, the marble cemeteries, the comforting prayers, the masses I couldn’t ear because the local church’s echo is terrible, those boring long-ass weddings (oh my god, how many blessings do two people need?!), the loving dedication I see in every saint carved, my church's priest’s good humor... I never owned a rosary, but I always like the ones my aunts and grandparents keep.

I found Christian and Catholic witches on this site and I finally got to my conclusion. It’s really there. I just needed a different approach to it!

These things made me believe again, but also in new things.

‘‘But you can’t do that! You can’t combine magic and christianity’‘ 

Oh, watch me. And also watch the centuries of cunning women and witches in European history and those still alive today. The women that make ‘’mezinhas’’ and other types of favors in Portugal sure as hell are doing witchcraft, but you can bet your ass they don’t think they’re any less Catholic than anyone else. They don’t care about your opinions and I will hopefully do the same.

Relationships with deities are personal, and my relationship with God, Jesus and all of them is no different in that regard. I am a witch, I am human, I am catholic. I’m a follower, not a fucking mindless sheep.

You know what? I always compared God to Aslan. The lion wasn’t always there for Narnia, he wanted his people to solve their problems on their own. Get their independence, as a good parent does. They both don’t come up all mighty, that’s a posture reserved for evil and people who need a good slap in the face. They come to your level. God may come through one of the less eldritch abomination looking angels, though...

‘‘Well, if you have god, you shouldn’t need anything more. He's everthing. Why are you also a witch?’‘

Excuse me, do I look like a goddamned saint to you?! What part of human did you not understand?

And before you bitterly start quoting the Old Testament, let me remind you that it’s Old for a reason. Christ came to this earth to give us new rules since he technically saved us and things became different. That’s why Jewish people follow the Old Testament, for them, the messiah hasn’t arrived yet. Not to mention that to them that testament is not Old, it’s just the Torah.

You can keep quoting the bible to me all you want. But in my short twenty years of life, I was thankfully able to learn a few things. One of them is that the world isn’t black and white. Yes, I know this sounds obvious but there are some really dumb people out there. Also, this is the hellscape that we call tumblr.

Anyway, as I have mentioned several times before, I’m a never-ending knowledge seeker I found the world beneath my feet is not pure myth and I want to explore it. Look at me go.

I keep a critical mind with everything. Faith and religion are not an exception. I’m not overly skeptic about faith itself, but I am of its writings, interpretations, translations and etc... I study history, it’s a skill you naturally develop.

And there’s quite a few plot-holes, characterization differences and much more. It was written by humans that couldn’t do a cohesive collaboration even if their lives depended on it. Godphones sometimes don’t get a good reception. There’s a ton of cultural context to unpack. I hear people saying all the time that taking the bible’s words literally is one of the most stupid things you can do.

And when I say people, I mean priests, clergy, theology students, etc... I didn’t hear this from my drug dealer in the street corner..

...... I don’t have a drug dealer.....

Anyway...

There are many problems with the catholic church. There are many problems with a ton of catholic and christians out there. I will never deny that. Shit needs to get fixed and maybe even chucked into the trash.

But I still believe in God, I still believe in the saints but I also still believe there are more gods and spirits out there. And those things are separate.

I have no interest in converting you. I’m just yelling into the void.

If you are one of those that no longer is a christian, or catholic because some dipshits banged self-hate onto your head, I’m really sorry. I hope you heal well and get the help you need in your new faith or lack of it. Banging the ten commandments back onto their heads repetiedly and tell them to actually read the damn book is optional, though.

In the end, if you are (or are trying) to be good, you deserve respect and freedom to worship whoever or whatever you want. You don’t need to be perfect, you can just strive to be the best you can be in your situation.

--------------------------------------------

And now back to our schedueled programing.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt. 11

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[Tag with all chapters up here.]

[Also on Ao3]

A/N: On one hand I'm sorry for the delay of this chapter, but on the other hand I got to post an Easter-centric chapter on Good Friday and I'm not that sorry. So, uh, happy Easter? Art is by Dara and @senoraluna!

***

“Why is the dog here?”

“Because Miguel wanted to help and he follows Miguel everywhere.”

“We’re in a church!”

“This is an attic.”

“Of a church!”

“Look, it’s not like we let the dog do his business in the chapel,” Ernesto pointed out. Padre Juan made a face that he supposed meant he was conceding the point, and made sure to stay several steps away from the dog, who was sniffing enthusiastically the floor, only to sneeze out clouds of dust. That place was going to need a serious clean-up, Ernesto thought, gaze pausing on the table on the far end. He could see some empty basins, and bottles. “Not fond on dogs?”

“Not especially,” the gringo said a bit pointedly, walking up to the table. “They’re boisterous, unhygienic, and they carry--” he trailed off, stilling. “Good God, a Brownie!”

“A what?”

“An Eastman Kodak Brownie!”

“Can you go back to speaking Spanish?”

Padre Juan turned, and Ernesto was so startled by his expression - he was grinning like a child, he really was - that at first he didn’t notice the aluminium box he was holding. “This camera,” the gringo said, holding it up. It caused Miguel, who was still struggling to contain Dante, to light up.

“Oh! Yes, that’s Padre Edmundo’s camera! Everyone was curious about it because it doesn’t have a tripod like his old one.”

“It’s far better than I was expecting. This will make everything much easier,” Padre Juan said. He looked down at it, wiping the dust off it with his sleeve. “I had a camera much like this, Father bought it as a gift when I turned--” he trailed off suddenly, and his gaze turned oddly blank. It was such a stark contrast to his unexpected giddiness it made something in Ernesto’s stomach clench. Beside him, Miguel looked confused.

“So, uh. These are commonplace in the States?” Ernesto asked, not really caring to know but wanting to say something to snap him out of it. Luckily, it worked: the question seemed to shake Padre Juan out of whatever thoughts crossed his mind. He nodded, the smile back on his face.

“Yes, quite. These were a huge commercial success - it’s the No. 2 Brownie, see? An improvement on the original I used to have, that one was made of cardboard with artificial leather. Still, it served me well - astonishing in its simplicity. It uses a simple meniscus lens, the shutter is integrated-- see? And the viewfinder! My old one did not--”

“I think we get the picture,” Ernesto, who knew precisely nothing about cameras aside from the fact you’re supposed to pose in front of them, cut him off. It seemed a better thing to say than ‘it’s all Greek to me and I really don’t care’.

“What do you need to get it to work?” Miguel asked.

The gingo looked around. “Film-- number 120, I believe. Kodak produces specific film for each specific camera. Hopefully there will be some of that around here, too. Not much point in having a camera you have no film for. I am amazed to see one of these here.”

“We don’t live on the moon, you know,” Ernesto grumbled, but he was still too taken aback by the absolute glee on the gringo’s face to be too annoyed. He hadn’t seen him that excited over anything before. And really, a weirdly excited Father John was easier to deal with than the sanctimonious ass he generally was. So, no complaints.

For now.

***

“Run this by me again - we’re supposed to pose and look holy for the gringo.”

“Sister Sofía! Padre Ju-- John has a name and you’ll be using it! Have you learned nothi--”

“... Did you almost call him Juan, Madre?”

“A-absolutely not! I have enough respect--”

“He keeps calling you Mother Gretchen.”

The remark caused Madre Gregoria’s wrinkled face to twist for a moment in the darkest scowl Imelda had ever seen on her - and that was saying… a lot. “Well, he’s a priest and--”

“An insufferable ass,” Padre Ernesto supplied, causing the old bruja to nod.

“Yes, accurate.”

Héctor smiled a little. Behind la Madre Superiora, several nuns covered their mouths to hide a smirk, or coughed. “Really now, Madre?”

A shrug. “Well, he is the parish priest. Who am to argue his judgment?”

Padre Ernesto laughed. “Your trust moves me. To answer So-- Sister Sofía’s question, yes. He thinks some photographs would help convince… whoever there is to convince that we’re really deserving of some support. Which we need. Like, a lot. No objections there, right?”

No, of course, none at all; Imelda wasn’t surprised. Their situation was not yet desperate - donations had helped them buy some more food - but it was serious, and they needed funds to ensure a steady supply of food until… well, until harvest, at least. Or until that war was over.

“So, he’s going to take pictures during Mass?”

“Among other things, yes. So, let’s all act like good Catholics and--”

“We are good Catholics,” Imelda said, maybe a bit more pointedly than she should have, and entirely ignored the glare from the Mother Superior. Padre Ernesto, however, didn’t seem fazed. Considering that their first proper introduction had happened while they both turned up at a guy’s place to beat the crap out of him, Imelda would have been surprised if he were.

“Yes, of course, but you know how the gringo is. Let’s keep him happy.”

“He’s impossible to make happy,” Gustavo muttered sourly from his corner. It was the only contribution he’d given to the meeting up to that point, and Imelda barely held back from rolling her eyes. She noticed that Héctor’s own eyes twitched upwards for a moment before turning to her, sharing with her an exasperated look. Look who’s talking.

“This is still worth a try,” Padre Ernesto was saying, his voice calm but devoid of the usual warmth. “Let’s pose for nice pictures, so that he can argue for us and get us the money.”

“You mean charity,” Héctor said, causing Padre Ernesto to raise an eyebrow.

“Was that such an important distinction to make?”

“Makes us sound better.”

“... Point taken. We need charity, so let’s all behave and watch--”

“I’m not gonna watch my mouth,” Chicharrón loudly informed them all, despite having never been spoken to once. The old gravedigger seemed entirely unaffected by the looks he got from all nuns present, herself, and Héctor. He shrugged, leaning back on his seat, peg leg stretched before him. Imelda sort of liked him, but right there and then she’d have happily strangled him with a rosary. “Words aren’t going to show on photos, no?”

“... Fair enough,” Padre Ernesto replied. It was the voice of a man who’d decided to pick his battles, and that the one at hand was not worth fighting. “Not to worry though, I don’t think he will want to photograph you specifica--"

“Padre Ernesto should be in the photos,” la Madre Superiora spoke up suddenly. As everyone fell quiet and turned slowly to look at her, she had the good grace to look embarrassed and shrugged. “Well, he’s… appealing.”

“He is,” the Delgado window - who was mainly there due to the fact telling her anything was the quickest way to make sure the entire village would know it by dusk - nodded in agreement.

As all nuns suddenly looked down as though very interested in their shoes, some of them coughing again, Imelda shot a quick glance to her left. Sofía was staring at the Mother Superior like she’d never seen her before, while Padre Ernesto looked unfazed. If anything, he seemed flattered: the smile that followed was much more of a grin.

“Well, as the parish priest, I suppose that cannot be helped,” he said. “He will want to take pictures of the children at Mass, so make sure all those in your care look at their best.”

“Well, not too much at their best,” Héctor muttered. “Last thing we need is for some Bishop in the States to decide we don’t look like we’re in enough trouble to get the money.”

“Charity,” Padre Ernesto corrected him, elbowing his side with a grin. “Makes us sound better, I think you said.”

Héctor laughed, and it was… nice to hear. All their meetings had been about such serious matters lately, Imelda had found she missed his laugh. “Right. Charity.”

“Also, he will take pictures of the Palm Sunday procession tomorrow, so you better be the best Jesus you can be,” Padre Ernesto added, and Héctor smiled.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Good. Get ready to do the same for el Vía Crucis, too.”

Héctor’s smile faded in a confused look. “... What? Who decided I’m going to--”

Padre Ernesto waved his hand, putting an arm over his shoulders. “I did, just now. I’m sure you’ll do great. Can someone ask Prospero to get to work with the cross?”

“I already did, Padre,” Gustavo said magnanimously, and grinned in Héctor’s direction. “I told him to make it as heavy as the one our Lord had to carry,” he added, gaining himself a blank look from Héctor. It took all of Imelda’s self-control not to grab her crucifix and hurl it to his face.

“Oh, how generous,” Héctor said drily. Gustavo shrugged.

“For realism.”

“Of course.”

“What a wonderful idea,” Padre Ernesto said, smiling at Gustavo as he let go of Héctor’s shoulders. “Great thinking. You should be given a part, too.”

That caused Gustavo’s own smirk to waver. “A-ah, that would be kind of you, but--”

“Oh, I insist! You earned it, after all. You’ll be Simon of Cyrene, helping out Lord carry the heavy cross,” he added, and Héctor had to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh; Imelda could see that even from a distance. She almost smirked herself… until Padre Ernesto spoke again. “And Ime-- Sister Gisela, you’ll be Verónica.”

Santa Verónica, the woman who wiped Jesus’ face clean on his way to crucifixion. The thought made her falter a little - it seemed something too… too intimate to be doing. As she opened her mouth to protest, she didn’t notice Héctor’s foot suddenly landing on Padre Ernesto’s, causing him smile to become forced. “I’m… touched, but maybe someone else-- la Madre Superiora--”

“Ay, la Madre Superiora should be Holy Mary, I’d say,” he cut her off, and tilted his head towards Madre Gregoria, whose cheeks were quickly reddening.

“Oh-- that would be-- a honor, but--”

“No buts, you’d be amazing,” Padre Ernesto replied with a wave of his hand and a wide, charming smile. Imelda could distinctly see Sofía rolling her eyes. “The other Sisters can be the women of Jerusalem. Would that be all good with you?”

As the sisters in questions nodded - several of them glancing in Imelda’s direction with knowing smirks and making her wish to kill Padre Ernesto, all of them and herself in quick succession - Padre Ernesto smiled.

“All settled, then,” he exclaimed. “Just act at your best starting tomorrow, and Padre Ju-- John will immortalize it. Any questions?” “Juanita doesn’t like cameras,” Chicharrón declared.

It took Padre Ernesto a clear effort not to roll his eyes. “We won’t involve your rooster more than strictly necessary - just make it crow three times before el Vía Crucis starts, for drama. Anything else? No? Wonderful. Now go and spread the word. And most of all, smile for the camera.”

***

“Are you ready or not?”

“Yes, yes. Just… give me a minute.”

“It’s an old donkey, Héctor. Are you seriously afraid to climb on a donkey?”

“It’s not that, it’s… Ceci did a great job on this tunic, but it doesn’t help and the wig keeps getti-”

“Por Dios, just get on this damn burro!”

“Hey! Careful how you speak to Jesus!” Héctor grumbled, finally sitting on the saddle. He wasn’t a good rider, be it on a donkey or a horse, and it sure wouldn’t kill Gustavo to be a bit more patient. As a response, Gustavo scoffed.

“You’re just playing a part, cabrón.”

“Do you kiss you mamá with that mouth?” Héctor snapped back, only to of course regret it the second it left his mouth, as Gustavo’s frame stiffened. He remembered suddenly of all the times, when they’d been kids, when Gustavo had repeated over and over that he was not an orphan like them, that his mamá was alive and would be back for him soon, any day now, any day now.

Mierda.

“I-- lo siento. I didn’t mean--”

“Just get going,” Gustavo snapped, and suddenly smacked the rear of the donkey, which bolted forward. All right, it didn’t quite bolt, but it set out at a quicker pace than Héctor would have liked, heading towards the main road where, he knew, all of Santa Cecilia was waiting with palm branches… and, in Padre Juan’s case, with a camera.

Make us look good, Padre Ernesto had said, but it was easier said than done, clinging as he was to a trotting donkey. Maybe if he pulled just a little on the bridles, he could make it slow down before he made the entrance and--

“Woof! Woof!”

“Wha-- Dante?” Under Héctor’s stunned gaze, Miguel’s dog appeared - seemingly out of thin air - in front of the donkey, who abruptly slowed down, clearly taken aback by the dog walking ahead of it, head turned back to Héctor rather than towards the path ahead. With a sigh of relief, Héctor smiled.

“Gracias,” he called out. He straightened himself on the saddle, made sure the long wig was still in place, and headed down the main road and into the town.

***

The whole arrangement was… picturesque, John had to admit.

People stood on both sides of the road, waving blessed palm branches, dressed up in their best clothes - which were… quite colorful, but he could allow that. After all, Jesus’ arrival to Jerusalem was a day of celebration; he would talk to Father Ernest about having people wear something slightly more subdued during the Via Crucis procession on Good Friday, later.

For now, he would take pictures.

“Pretty impressive, isn’t it?” Father Ernest said, his voice smug as it could be. Normally, John would have reminded that pride is the root of all other deadly sins-- but right now, he was too focused on capturing what was happening before his eyes. Father Edmund had left behind a good amount of film, but it wasn’t infinite, so he had to make each shot count.

The parishioners with the palm branches - the people of Jerusalem celebrating Jesus’ arrival in their holy city, less than a week before turning on him, choosing the life of a criminal over his and sending him to his death. Click.

Brother Hector - a slightly unconvincing Jesus, though no for lack of trying - waving at the crowd as his donkey kept going, over the palm branches thrown in its path, towards the main square and then the church. Click.

“Maybe he should have cried.”

“... What?” Father Ernest blinked. “Why?”

“In the Gospel according to Luke-- never mind. The other three didn’t mention it, anyway.”

John moved along the road, taking more pictures - a child on his father’s shoulders holding up a branch, a little girl throwing hers right before the donkey, a woman crossing herself, the twin boys who had organised everything smiling so widely, Mich-- Miguel with them; there was chatter and cheering and laughed, none of which the camera could capture.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

By the time they reached the parish, John was smiling, holding tightly onto the camera. He took another shot as Brother Hector dismounted, the church in the background; a couple more as Father Ernesto joined him, smiled, patted his shoulder. Another one as they smiled at the children from the orphanage, crouching to take something - flowers? - from a few of the little girls. They both looked so at ease, making the children laugh, and John took more pictures.

Click. Click.

Father Ernest laughed at something a boy had said, and he turned towards him, the smile still on his face. He looked positively delighted, and John’s finger froze on the shutter, heart leaping in his throat. To his relief - and a pang of something that wasn’t relief at all - Father Ernest’s eyes moved to his left, where Miguel was holding up a basket full of donations. He hadn’t been smiling at him, after all. His heart sank from his throat down to his stomach. What he felt now was not quite lust, but something similar and yet different, and even more terrifying.

Focus, focus, focus. A few more pictures, just a few more. Do your duty.

He took several more pictures, trying to keep himself from turning the camera towards Father Ernest - but of course, when he developed them in the attic, he found he appeared in most of the shots. He told himself that was normal - he was the parish priest, he was there, that couldn’t be helped. He could almost convince himself of that, really. Just almost.

That day’s photos developed, John forced himself to tear his gaze away. He excused himself from dinner and went to his room, to deal with his affliction in the only way he knew.

***

“All right, we’re good to go.”

“We look nothing like women of Jerusalem,” Imelda muttered, adjusting her headdress. Of course they couldn’t change in different clothing - as nuns, they had to keep wearing their robes - which made including them in the Via Crucis procession especially stupid.

“Well, neither will anyone else,” Sofía reasoned, and handed her a piece of linen with a smile. “Here you go, Verónica. Make sure to wipe our Lord’s face nicely.”

Imelda took the linen with a scoff and a suggestion as to where to put it that was unbecoming of a novice, or any kind of lady in the first place. Sofía just grinned.

“With Lent almost over with, I’m really hoping to have Antonia see to that.”

“You’re the worst nun I have ever met.”

“And I want to keep the title, which is why I’ve been trying to get you out of here since day one.”

Wait, what? “You have some nerve, trying to imply I’d somehow be worse--”

“Assuming you’d be better? That’s pride.”

“That is common sense!” Imelda snapped, only to get an angelic smile and a pat on the hand.

“Temper, novice. A good nun holds her temper,” she said, all sweetness and light. Madre Gregoria’s voice was the only thing that kept Imelda from using the linen cloth to strangle her.

“Let’s get going, everyone-- you chattered enough! Silence is virtue!”

“Yes, Holy Mary,” Sofía muttered with a roll of her eyes, and Imelda felt like strangling her a little less. Maybe she’d settle for a smack, later, away from witnesses. Right now, she would just focus on the procession and getting that nonsense over with.

She really hoped the gringo would get them some funding from his church in the United States as he said he would, because it was the only reason why she put up with any of it.

***

“Ow!”

“Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry at all.”

“What kind of Jesus can’t endure a bit flagellation?”

“The kind that’s just pretending to be Jesus, Cheech. And that’s unnecessary, anyway. No one’s gonna see a thing until I step out.”

“Was trying to get you into the character,” Chicharrón muttered, but there was a smirk on his face when he left the sacristy, leaving him standing there with the cross - it was really heavy, dammit - across his shoulder. Of course he was smirking, Héctor thought, adjusting the crown of thorns - not real thorns, thank God, which was what he’d have gotten if Gustavo had a say in it. Why had he let himself be talked into it?

“You’re looking good,” Padre Ernesto muttered, and grinned, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “Jesus Christ, heading off to steal hearts.”

“That’s… not exactly what this procession is about,” Héctor pointed out, only to be ignored.

“Now, when you come across Verónica, make sure to look as tired and suffering as you can. And put those eyelashes to work. Don’t make my perfect casting go to waste.”

“Hijo de puta.”

“What?”

“... Praise the Lord,” Héctor muttered. Padre Ernesto laughed.

“That’s just what I thought you’d said.”

***

This is so stupid.

The thought kept circling in Imelda’s head as her hands clenched on the linen cloth she was supposed to use to dry Héctor’s face. Jesus’ face, really - that was how she should think of it. For as long as the procession went, Héctor was meant to be symbolically represent the son of God, so it wasn’t his face she’d be wiping, not really. In a way, it made sense.

… Except that it didn’t, who was she kidding? She got stuck into that stupid role because Padre Ernesto didn’t know any better - she refused to consider he had known about the implications because he was the parish priest, por Dios, for all his eccentricities he wouldn’t do a such thing - and now she would have to wipe Héctor’s face.

Which wasn’t supposed to be a big deal at all, but it was and she rather resented that.

This is ridiculous. It will take a moment. I’ll do it, and it will be over with.

The cheering went up, and Imelda looked down the road to see that Héctor was staggering forward, rather good at feigning exhaustion despite the fact he wasn’t carrying the cross: that was currently being dragged by Gustavo, as the angriest  Simon of Cyrene Imelda had ever witnessed. Despite everything, it made her smirk a little.

Serves him right.

Of course, all too soon he had done his part and he quite literally dropped the wooden cross right back on Héctor. He staggered - Imelda suspected it wasn’t an act at all now - and kept walking, dragging the cross… until, of course, he paused before her.

He looked… awful, really: his exhaustion hadn’t been an act. Panting, all sweaty and wig askew, with hair stuck to his face and neck, he sure looked the part of the suffering man condemned to death. Nothing especially pleasant to look at, and yet…

… And yet.

Héctor looked back at her, and he seemed to freeze for a moment. There was nothing unusual about her appearance, she was sure, but his eyes were wide and fixed, jaw slack like he was looking at something incredible. He looked mesmerized-- something in her stomach twisted-- oh God, she had to do something.

Imelda leaned forward and went to wipe his face - gently, carefully. To her relief, his eyes closed a moment. One more moment of that gaze, and… she didn’t know what she’d do or say, and she she was glad she didn’t have to find out. When he opened his eyes to look at her again, he looked oddly lost - then he recoiled when Imelda sharply tilted her head - go ahead.

He staggered away, wavering a little more than he had before. She watched him go on for a time, dragging the cross. Some distance ahead were the other sisters, as the women of Jerusalem, but Imelda refused to look their way, keeping her gaze fixed on the cross. Any moment now he would have the second fall, then… then… wasn’t he supposed to fall about now, before reaching her sisters?

“Fall, Héctor,” she heard Miguel muttering, perfectly audible somewhere the left. “You must fall!”

Something that looked suspiciously like Chicharrón’s peg leg shot shead from somewhere in the crowd, hitting Héctor behind a knee and causing him to finally fall for the second time. Only a couple more stations, and then he would get to the point where Jesus would stripped of his clothes aaand no, no, she had to turn her thoughts to something else entirely just about now.

Imelda looked down at the linen cloth in her hands, face aflame and all to aware of several pairs of eyes fixed on her.

***

“Everything hurts.”

“I think you did great.”

“Everything hurts everywhere. I was not supposed to fall off the cross. ”

“But you absolutely nailed it the second time. Heh, nailed, get i--”

“Suffering is the meaning of the Good Friday, Brother Héctor. Certainly your pain is nothing compared to what our Lord went through.”

Padre Juan’s voice seemed to lower the temperature in the chapel by several degrees, causing Héctor to still, hand halfway to his aching back, and Ernesto to roll his eyes. Whatever magic finding that camera had worked on the gringo, it clearly had ran its course: he was even more standoffish than usual, lately, and ate his meals in his room rather than joining them.

He spoke little with anyone, and with him even less; he was stiff even in the way he stood, and when he sat he hardly even touched the backrest. It made Ernesto wonder what exactly had crawled up the guy’s ass and died, but he decided to try being civil.

“Taken good pictures?” he asked.

A sharp nod. “Quite,” was the curt reply. No more details, no giddy talk about the photos he’d taken and how good the camera was. “No, I’d like to use this chapel for its purpose and pray.”

Héctor and Ernesto glanced at each other with one clear, shared thought - the hell is wrong with him now? - and it was Héctor to try again.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us--”

“You’re welcome to join me in prayer, if you can be bothered,” Padre Juan snapped, kneeling. He did so slowly and stiffly, and maybe Ernesto should have wondered, but he did not: he was just too annoyed. Padre Culo Blanco could be an ass all he wanted: Ernesto was done worrying for him. He had no idea when or why he’d even started worrying in the first place.

“Maybe later,” he muttered, and turned to talk out of the chapel, gesturing for Héctor to follow him so that they could talk more about the very obvious look he and Imelda had exchanged during the procession.

Neither of them noticed the way Father John’s features twisted in a pained grimace as he braced his elbows, leaned his forehead on his joined hands, and prayed in silence.

***

“You know, you were close enough to kiss.”

“I am not hearing this.”

“I’m sure you thought of it.”

“I did not!”

“You were turning red, Imelda.”

Oh, damn her. She couldn’t deny that, could she? “... I wasn’t thinking of kissing him,” she finally muttered. After all, it was not a lie. She’d been thinking of him nearly naked.

Far from discouraged, Sofía raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what were you imagining?”

“None of your business. Are we done now? We have priorities here,” Imelda snapped, putting some more rolls of clean bandages and disinfectant - she could even get her hand on some morphine, in case someone needed to dull the pain - in what had been a fruit crate long ago.

“Yes, yes, the medical supplies. Viva la Revolución. We can still talk while we do this.”

Imelda groaned. “And do we absolutely have to?”

Sofía grinned. “Yes,” she replied. “Yes, we do.”

***

“This is awfully unnecessary.”

“First time seeing la quema de Judas?”

“The-- the hanging and burning of some puppet is-- unbecoming of such a solemn occasion!”

“I’m pretty sure they do that somewhere in Europe, too. Feliz Sabado de Gloria.”

“That doesn’t make it appropriate!”

“Look, we’re burning Judas. We’ve got more than a few reasons to be sort of pissed at Judas.”

“That thing doesn’t even look like him.”

“... What, you knew him personally now?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Padre Juan grumbled, crossing his arms and glaring at the scene before him. The effigy of Judas was hanging high, on a rope stretched between two houses at the opposite sides of the plaza. Truth be told, it looked an awful lot like Victoriano Huerta; it was clear to everyone as it was clear to the gringo, but of course none of them said as much aloud.

Plus, at least they hadn’t made him white as someone had suggested only half-jokingly at one point. Ernesto felt the gringo had no reason to complain there. “Not taking any pictures?” he asked, lightly elbowing him as he kept watching the crowd all around the effigy parting to allow Miguel to walk up to it, head held high and all solemn-eyed, holding a burning torch.

Padre Juan scoffed, stepping aside. “I’m supposed to try making the lot of you look virtuous.”

“Burning evil is virtuous. I think. The Church did that a lot.”

“Dark and ignorant times,” was the sour reply. “Evil is to be vanquished from our lives each day, every day. There is no need nor point to make a… a spectacle out of it.”

Ernesto rolled his eyes and turned to retort, but words died in his mouth when he noticed one of Padre Juan’s hands had slipped under his sleeve where, he knew, this fingers were now running over a thin raised scar. His mouth was pulled in a tight line, skin even paler than usual; Ernesto paid no mind to that. Only minutes later, he’d wish he had.

I tried to raise my arm to shield myself of the rightful punishment. They did the right thing.

“... Well, you know. It’s a bit of a distraction for what’s going on,” he muttered in the end.

“Comfort should be sought in prayer, not with these-- fetishes,” he pointed out stiffly, but he let the matter drop. Not that Ernesto would have heard him either way, because the next moment two very familiar voices reached him.

“Hola, Padre!”

“Like our Judas?”

Ernesto glanced down at Imelda’s brothers, and grinned. “Love it,” he said. It was true: he liked the idea of watching the face of the bastard who’d had him drafted in that damn army go up in flames. He liked it a lot. “Padre Juan here was just saying how impressed he is,” he added. The gringo stiffened, but the boys paid him no mind.

“Thank you for letting us put fireworks in the effigy!”

“Ah, you’re wel--” Ernesto trailed off, brain finally catching up. By his side, Padre Juan looked extremely alarmed. “Wait-- I didn’t give you permission to stuff fireworks in it!”

The boys gave him two wide, identical grins.

“But you didn’t tell us not to.”

“Ah. Mierda.”

“Father Ernest! Langua--”

The rest of the tirade never happened, because Miguel had set fire to the effigy of Judas and that was it. A loud crackling noise, followed my whistles and smoke, caused the crowd in the plaza to back away from the effigy - but none of them seemed scared, or even particularly surprised, which Ernesto supposed could be put down to the fact most of them knew what to expect from the twins.

Flames enveloped the effigy, and more bangs rang out, greeted with cheers and laughter. Judas, aflame, rocked on one side and then the other before yet another bang caused it to jolt; the rope holding it up gave in, and the remains fell on the ground, jolting with each subsequent crackle to roaring laughter - including Ernesto’s own.

“That was great!” Miguel exclaimed, seemingly having popped by him out of nowhere after setting Judas on fire and dropping the torch. “Wait, where is Dante? Aw, I think he got scared…”

“There was-- nothing great about it!” Padre Juan snapped. People around them were already rolling their eyes and muttering to one another, bright smiles fading. “That was an awfully irresponsible and-- and blasphemous--”

All right, enough. He wasn’t going to let him sour the mood for everyone, so Ernesto forced himself to smile. “Hah! Come on, it was funny. Lighten up,” he laughed, and slapped a hand on his back.

John screamed.

It was unexpected, and loud enough to make everyone fall into a stunned silence. Ernesto stepped back, struggling to understand what the hell had just happened, just as the gringo took a staggering step forward and then sank on his knees, trying and failing to hold back something that sounded much like a sob. His skin, already even paler than usual, was now chalk white; he wheezed like all air had been used up for his cry.

“Pad-- Father John?”

“What is it?”

“Is he all right?”

“Come on, it was just a pat!”

“Is he pretending?”

“He’s got to be, it was nothing!”

“What is it with gringos…”

“Ju-- John?” Ernesto called out, still taken aback, and crouched. Father John Johnson was hunched over as though in immense pain - eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched and face reddened. It was alarming as it was, but seeing tears escaping the corner of his eyes made it worse. “What is it? That wasn’t me, I didn’t-- can you stand up, or…?”

“Make way,” someone spoke, and suddenly Sofía was there, crouching next to him. “What did you do?” she hissed.

Ernesto blinked. “Nothing! You saw it, it was just a--”

“I'm not talking to you,” she cut him off, giving Padre Juan an exasperated look before glancing back, at the crowd around them. Miguel and the twins looked completely lost, and a few men were moving closer, Héctor first of all.

“What happened? Is he ill?” he asked, eyes shifting to Ernesto like he thought he had an explanation. And he didn’t… but someone else did, or so it sounded like.

“It's nothing serious,” Sofía replied. “Call doctor Sanchez to the parish, we’ll take it from here.”

“N-no, I don’t need--” Padre Juan mumbled, but no one bothered to listen. Sofía glanced at Ernesto, who nodded and grabbed the gringo’s arm, passing over his shoulders before he stood. The idea was to help him walk, but he was so limp he pretty much had to carry him.

Only once they got to the parish, with no one else around and Padre Juan seemingly semi-conscious, did he speak again. “So, what is the deal with him? You sound like you know what the hell is going on and I’d really appreciate being filled in, because--”

Sofía sighed. “I think this idiota whipped himself raw.”

“What??”

“Explains the shriek when you gave him a pat. Don’t ask why, I have no clue whatsoever,” she added, entirely unaware that Ernesto did, in fact, have a clue. More than just a clue, really.

I need penance, he’d said. Prayer is not enough, he’d said.

“Crazy gringo,” he muttered under his breath as he carried him inside, hoping he hadn’t fucked himself up too badly.

***

“Not a bad place to be, huh? God, I was never in Veracruz before and I already love it.”

“Mph.”

“Oh, come on. It’s much better than marching under the sun all day. Getting stationed to Veracruz is the best thing that happened to any of us since this damn war started.”

“It’s the best thing that happened to me since your wife, Sergio!”

“Shut up, cabrón! At least I have a wife!”

“And who knows who else has her now!”

There was laughter, a couple of glasses thrown on a background of drunken singing. It made Santiago scoff, and he finished his own glass, sitting on the stone steps a little outside the cantina where half of his battalion spent much of their time, drinking and boasting and doing little else. He stared down towards the harbor and the sea, a thoughtful frown on his face.

Discipline had never been all that great, with so many of his comrades having been picked up from the streets or out of prisons; however, it was quickly getting out of hand now that they were there - supposedly to defend Veracruz in case the Constitutional Army decided to attack.

What a joke. Most of the men here couldn’t fight their way out of a wet paper bag.

Not that anyone really expected to fight, with Carranza’s forces far enough not to be an imminent threat; by all accounts, they had little to nothing to worry about, and yet… and yet.

“A peso for your thoughts,” Nando spoke somewhere behind him, and then he was sitting on the steps by him, a shot glass in each hand. He handed one to him. “As long as it’s not something on how we should be down south looking for de la Cruz, in which case I don’t want to hear it.”

Santiago let out another scoff, but he did accept the glass. “I’m thinking a bunch of children in a wooden cart could overpower us if they show up right now with all men drunk.”

“Oh, come now. They’re away from their families and celebrating Easter, and no one is coming.”

“We’re getting too comfortable.”

“And you’re too uptight. Come on, drink-- ah, look, midnight! Feliz Domingo de Pascua.”

They toasted, drank, and Santiago made an effort enjoy the uneventful Easter in Veracruz as much as he could, trying not to think of of how wrong it was, not having Beto there to enjoy the relative peace with him.

And trying to ignore the gut feeling that it wouldn’t last.

 ***

[Back to Part 10]

[On to Part 12]

***

A bit of extra art by Dara:

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 412

Only one more week until Droughtlander, y’all! To start with the positive, I fucking love the Murgsali parts of this episode. Seriously, I know I sound like a broken record but saving Murtagh was literally the best choice this show has made. I would watch the shit out of a spin-off of just that trio’s adventures. Germain can come too.

I still can’t muster a single fuck, flying- or otherwise, to give about Roger. So basically this episode was pretty much like every other episode. I loved some shit, hated some shit, and overall came away with the lingering question of why I still spend so much time on a show that’s barely recognizable as the one I used to fucking love.

At least Dry January is still going strong. Quite proud of myself about that, tbh...

Roger: *runs the gauntlet* Marie Kondo: Does this spark joy? Me: Absofuckinglutely.

Guys I fucking love the Murtagh and Fergus relationship. I love it so fucking much. I cannot wait to see where that goes next season, especially since they’re all headed to live on the Ridge now.

And since this episode isn’t focused on LJG being in love with Jamie, I’m so here for him in this episode. I swear this show gives me whiplash with its characters. Like it’s not a “people are complicated” sort of thing. It’s a “crappy trope that needs to go away” or a “they just did something out of character, wtf” sort of thing.

I get Jamie not wanting Bree to murder Bonnet. I totally understand him not wanting her to have to live with taking a life. But I’m not fully on board with the whole “you need to forgive” stuff. Both here and in the book. Holding hate in your heart will eat away at you and prevent you from moving forward, sure. But you can put things behind you without forgiving the people who wronged you. What Bonnet did to Bree was fucking awful. He’s completely unrepentant. If Bree wants to forgive him, fine. It happened to her, so it’s her call and no one else’s how she should proceed. For me personally, I don’t think he’s worthy of forgiveness. I wouldn’t forgive him if it were me. I’ve thankfully never been in that exact situation, but I’ve been through my own shit and honestly, I’ve chosen not to forgive some people, because that’s asking me to not only endure what they did but also do the emotional work of forgiving them when they’re not sorry. That’s asking a bit too much, imo. Just put them aside and move on, it comes with its own sort of acceptance and peace. Each to their own, I guess.

“This man cannot be good. He was sold by his own people.” I mean, where’s the lie, haha. Yeah he was sold for the wrong reasons, and it’s never ok to SELL SOMEONE INTO SLAVERY (FFS!), but yes, Roger’s a twatwaffle.

“You have learned nothing.” The Mohawk elder speaks the truth, tbh.

Kaheroton telling Roger that he should not smile upon Johiehon had me like yaaas. Sure, Roger’s starved for human kindness or whatever, but like he’s also a chronic inappropriate interact-er with women/crush haver. Like he literally becomes a minster because people think he’s having an affair with one of the Ridge widows. He gets himself hanged because he kisses his great-great-etc.-grandmother. He’s creepily into Claire. I am so here for him being called out for being a fuckboi, haha.

This show is two for two in failing to make me care about rando fallen priests.

Marsali seeing right through Fergus’ attempt at blaming Germain and seeing exactly what he’s up and being like fuck yes, let’s do this thing is my fucking favorite.

I LOVE MARSALI A LOT OK. I AM FUCKING RIDE OR DIE FOR THAT WOMAN.

Y’all have I mentioned how much I fucking love Fersali? Because I fucking love Fersali. They remind me of what Claire and Jamie used to be. *pours one out for the couple that was*

Question though, are we assuming that Fergus knows all about Wentworth because they told him about it after he was raped for Jamie’s story in season two? Getting rull tired of being expected to fill in a bunch of shit that should be shown...

But man, I am so fucking pumped for them to move to the Ridge. I hope it means we get much more of them next season.

I know I’m biased because I have a lot of Opinions about organized religion but basically all this stuff with the priest has me just rolling my eyes. Like cool for him that he like believes in stuff, but also like, do what makes you happy, bruh? You only have one life? *exercises what little self-restraint I have to not go off on a ramble that ties this whole plot line into how being raised Catholic really fucked me up*.

I literalol’ed every time they show Roger trying to fucking Shawshank his way out of the fucking Idiot Hut. Like bro. This thing is made of leaves and branches. Just fucking snap the string or whatever is holding the branches in place and shift them enough to make a hole to squeeze out of.

The Idiot Hut is aptly named.

So in this episode, handfasting means they’re married again. I cannot even with how frustrating it is that this show can’t make up its mind about what it means.

This whole speech of Roger’s about how he’s an idiot is like yeah, no shit, Sherlock. You’re a fucking douchecanoe.

By the end of it, it comes off like he’s the guy from You. Like yeah, you didn’t deserve to be sold into slavery, but buddy. You’re not the victim in your relationship with Bree here. You might not be a serial killer, but your inner Joe Goldberg is showing...

“Like an idiot, I pursued her through time and space, determined to prove to myself and the universe that I did love this woman, just like all those great love stories written by all those great idiots.” Red flag number one, you wanted to prove to yourself and the universe that you loved Bree, but not prove it to Bree? The one person you’d think you’d want to make things right with?

"I pursued her and chased her and finally tracked her down and convinced her to marry me.” Holy fucking stalker, Batman. This comes off as the opposite of romantic. Get yourself a restraining order, Bree!

“We said angry words to each other.” That’s a funny way to say “I was a complete fuckwad to her,” Rog.

“I intended to go home, but then I changed my mind and went back, like an idiot.” Sorry not sorry, but if I were ever with a guy who thought choosing to be with me made him an idiot, I’d fucking run for the hills.

The writers clearly think this is supposed to be like endearing us to Roger and his love of Brianna but really it’s just making him seem like a fucking toxic stalker who’s convinced he’s a Nice Guy™. Roger just keeps channeling his inner Frank. He wants his personal ideal of a relationship with Brianna, with no thought to what she herself wants. He’s fucking repulsive, just like Frank was (even pre-stones). So naturally the show wants us to root for him. *wishes it were February so I could have a drink*

Uh, buddy? Do you know Johiehon wants to leave with the priest? Or are you just being you and assuming/not caring what the woman feels/wants for herself?

Fun fact, we’re still with these idiots in their Idiot Hut and I still can’t muster a single fuck to give about either of them.

Don’t @ me that I’m a dummy because I’m missing the deep and meaningful and yada yada whatever bullshit that they’re doing with these scenes. I know what they’re trying to do. It’s not working for me. At all. Sorry not fucking sorry.

#TeamBadFan5Eva

If we forget about the blackmail and rape threat and creepy being in love with her dad, I’m 10000% more invested in Bree and LJG’s fake engagement than I am in Bree and Roger. But jfc, that’s a lot to be asked to forget.

I’m still not really here for the Bree side of the prison stuff, but the Fergus and squad rescuing Murtagh part is excellent.

I really wish they would have put a definitive end to Bonnet in this episode. Ed Speelers does a great job with him, but he’s honestly not an interesting enough character to merit sticking around as long as he does in the books. Like if we have even more condensed seasons five and six, why the fuck can’t we just be done with him now?

FUCK YEAH FERGUS AND HIS REGULATOR SQUAD!

I hated Bree visiting Bonnet in the book and I really hate it here too. Like yes, if this is what Bree wants and she thinks it will help her, then great. She gets to decide what she wants to do. But this whole comforting your rapist thing just reeks of a fucking woman doing fucktons of emotional labor for the sake of the person who caused her so much fucking trauma. Literally the only part of this scene that remotely works for me is when she gets angry and tells him that he will be forgotten. Like, he’s a sociopath and he gives no shits about you or what he did to you. Why are you trying to make him feel better? I know it’s supposed to be for her, but that’s not how it plays to me...

Le sigh.

I fucking love the scene with Lord John and Fergus. Fucking love it.

(I’m guessing we’re supposed to assume that Fergus and Lord John met in Jamaica at the party in a bit we didn’t see? I think it might have been mentioned at some point, but I can’t remember specifics...)

Murtagh and Lord John fighting over who’s going to take Bree and then agreeing on what’s best for her? Here. For. It.

Y’all, I just want a whole show about this exact squad. Jamie and Claire are so meh now that it’s tough to be invested in them anymore. Roger’s still the fucking worst. But this squad. This squad is my fucking JAM.

But for real, why did we not get a scene where Bree meets Fergus and Marsali. Because this prison break is literally the first time we’ve seen them together and we don’t even know if they’ve met before. You’re killing me show.

Since Murgsali is moving to the Ridge, we’d better get a bunch of Bree and Jem with Marsali and Germain and Fergus next year.

This whole monologue of Roger’s as he’s deciding what to do is supposed to be like showing that he cares for people more than himself (despite his whole creepy spiel in the Idiot Hut) or some shit but like he’s just again ignoring what someone told him to do because that’s his MO. He’s like constantly playing the martyr card when no one even wants him around. Fuck off, Roger.

This priest and his girlfriend honestly don’t merit the amount of screen time they got. Like cool that Roger puts him out of his misery or whatever, but also this is the second to last episode so why the fuck are we spending it on two randos we don’t care about? Because it’s Outlander. So of course this is how we’re spending it.

Johiehon throwing herself into the fire is supposed to be like romantic and shit or reminiscent of Claire offering to die with Jamie at Culloden or whatever, but it really doesn’t work for me. Because honestly, she deserves better. The priest could have chosen to be with her but he picked his faith instead. So why should she die for a man who made her his second choice.

Also like, Kaheroton crying also comes off as creepy because like, dude she just wasn’t into you. Him being upset that Johiehon died doesn’t play like him being sad that a woman from his village killed herself, it comes across like the guy who was “friendzoned” (don’t get me started on that concept...) being sad the woman he was fixated on is gone so he doesn’t have a chance (he never had a chance) with her anymore.

But hey, remember how awesome Murgsali is? Murgsali is the fucking best.

MURGSALI 5EVA!!!

[fastwalker]

2, 8, 8, 12? And in regards to your previous answer, I would be interested to hear if you a) think consensual, heterosexual intercourse is even possible in a patriarchy and b) if your take on homosexual erotica is the same one as the one you’ve described? (Only if you want to of course :) ) greetings!

aaah I think my first reaction to any of these ask games, thank u :’)

2. How do you feel about racial dating preferences? Are they racist, or okay?

this is a hairy one. to my knowledge people chose partners who look familiar, so they’ll look for people who sorta look like the community they grew up with, so people who didn’t grow up in a mixed community will have a rather narrow dating pool, their own “race” or ethnicity usually (also explains while I’ve always ended up with or only had crushes on other slavs so far :I ). oh and ofc this doesn’t only apply to looks but also to culture, religion (or lack thereof), traditions etc. bc you’re more likely to relate and have stuff in common with each other if you have similiar experiences.© goes out to some other radfem I can’t remember the url of where I read about this sorta race discourse for the first time ^^” at least the culture part bc I’m a superficial pos (ofc I’ve read abt attraction before and not only on tumblr!)I think that’s ok bc trying to force people into dating someone is really fucking creepy no matter if you reasoning is “progressiveness” or whatever. also most countrys don’t experience much migration and don’t have a very mixed population so it doesn’t have that much of an impact on peoples’ dating options anyway, unless you live in the us or central europe I guess. but even in countrys with huge mixed population people tend to form microcommunitys, based on their similiarities and not mingling much.

like imagine what an attempt at widening someone’s dating pool must look like: you’d have to expose them to as many different people as possible in their childhood, which is good when it’s done to combat racism and xenophobia, but if you do that with the specific goal to widen future generations’ dating options…. that’s fucked up man

I mean, stuff like better interwoven communitys, discouraging  the formation of microcommunitys (as an immigrant, I hated that my parents were doing this!) and media representation WILL result in people being more likely to date different races/ethnicites imo, but the reasons are key here, and manipulating someone into dating people they’re not attracted to for whatever reasons, whether they be actually racist or just due to lack of exposure and therefore no natural attraction developing, should never be someones’s goal ever. that shit is dangerous and unfair mainly for the marginalized target group!

so tldr: I don’t think that “race” preference is inherently racist due to what I know how attraction forms BUT I think people who are not attracted to other races, ethnicities etc. often justify that with racist bullshit.

8. How do you feel about the fat acceptance movement (the body positivity movement)? Why do you think it’s mostly women in that movement?

generally ok, I think people should not be bullied for how they look and I think doctors should be more attentive to their fat patients and not brush all of their symtpoms off as “well you’re just too fat”. I personally know people who suffered a great deal because of that negligence. for example a friend of my mom’s had an uterus infection (I think it was?) and it made her belly swell, her doctor thought she had just gotten fat so the infection got unnoticed for a long time before she got extremely ill and she had to have a hysterectomy to survive.

and I think it’s mostly women bc we’re socialised to show or rather perform (not necessarily feel…) in more empathetic ways. also we try really really hard to heal the world through individualistic self help stuff, because we tend to internalize problems. also obviously we face more harassment for our looks than men do, so we have more interest in making it stop.

some fat positive individuals are a tad weird and claim that you can still be mobile and healthy even if you’re morbidly obese which is wrong, but you get weird positivity nuts who are taking it too far in every movement I guess. I still think even very obese people shouldn’t be bullied, even if you claim you’re just “concerned for their health” bc that’s a blatan lie. Also bullying has enver helped anyone get better.

12. How do you feel about religions? Can a radical feminist be religious? Do you think all religions are equally bad (for women)?

my knowledge is mostly limited to abrahamic religions and yeah i think they’re bad. their very foundation is based on the reversal of creation and the worship of the father, both a punishing almighty ghost in the sky and an allmighty tyrant at home. and they invented all sort of rules to cement womens’ role as subhuman, worthles servant to men.

I don’t think abrahamic religious women can be feminists, at least not if they properly practice their religion, misogyny, homophobia, xenophobia and all. if they just pick and choose the “good” stuff and are interpreting bible verses in different ways than literally every other person practicing the same religion, I don’t think that has anything to do with said religion anymore and they’re just making up their own one at this point

I get it that religious communitys can be a massive support system, especially when they’re on of these more pick&chose kinda communitys, and I would never judge a woman for seeking support and belonging among welcoming, generally nice people who don’t really have much to do with conservative christians. but it’s still sorta sketchy that she and her friends would follow a belief system that is misogynist at its core :/

also churches sometimes help feminists, I think a church or at least a pastor (uuugh it’s been a while since I read that article, sorry) is helping sisters ev, a german foundation campaigning for the nordic model and helping women in prostitution. he seems to be helping out of the goodness of his heart and not because he is judging these women negatively. but I’m generally sceptic towards patriarchal religions and their followers bc of their misogynist foundations.

I don’t know enough abt other religions to have a propper opinion on them, I’m generally neither a religious nor spiritual person (was raised catholic tho) so not really interested in that stuff, but I think rituals like this witchy stuff and singing together etc. can be a nice bonding experience. I enjoyed it whenever I tried to engage in it with other radfems. the togetherness is just… well nice. people just like doing rituals and doing stuff together. .

so yeah I don’t think religion or spritiuality is necessarily bad, the rituals and sense of support, community and belonging is obviously good. It only becomes bad when it clashes with human rights, medicine and science, which christianity, islam and judaism do.

and I don’t think liberal religious people (the pick and choose ones) are “true” believers bc they don’t fully adhere to their religion anyway. but I think they are massive enablers for more orthodox believers, also even liberal followers are usually extremely protective of their religion (and therefore the more conservative parts/people) even if they don’t really practice it anyway which often leads to conflict with people who are critical of their institution

aaaah sorry this is already massive I’ll adress your other questions in a seperate post! sorry I tend to ramble and overexplain bc I don’t want to be misunderstood esp when the themes are “controversial” :x

[gayasinstupidpodcast]

What’s up gamers!!! Our fourth episode plowed through the chaos of thanksgiving holidays and is Here w/ some Facts and Opinions about creating shit and being LGBT and how being LGBT influences creating shit. HEADS UP we recorded this while I had a cold so my voice is probably a little off, but ik Isaac put SO much work into the editing so it would be ready on time and we have recorded statements from some amazing artists (transcriptions under the cut below!) & this is honestly one of my favorite episodes we’ve done so far, so give her a listen if you’re gay or enjoy fun things!

BIG thank you once again to everyone who participated in this month’s episode!! Your contributions are so valued and so beautiful!!

You can find us on the Itunes Podcast App/Webpage at Gay As In Stupid Podcast! You can also find our episodes uploaded to Youtube and Soundcloud!

You can also follow us on twitter at gayasinstupid!

Further Reading on LGBT Artists

Montage of a Queering Deferred: Memory, Ownership, and Archival Silencing in the Rhetorical Biography of Langston Hughes

The Political Provocations of Keith Haring 

Pop art politics: Activism of Keith Haring 

E M Forster’s Gay Fiction

Alok Vaid-Menon Tells Us What It’s Like To Be Femme In Public

Shea Diamond Speaks Her Truth

Aaron’s 2018 November Recs!

Alok Alok Vaid-Menon is one of my favorite poet/activist/performance artists out there! Their writing and stage presence is gorgeous and witty in a way that’s SO clever and still feels like you’re in a room trading jokes you don’t need to explain with your closest trans friends. The way they balance their art creates a real, deeply touching experience that feels very essential to our world.

Miles (2016) Miles is set in 1999 and is a coming of age story about a gay teenager trying to get a volleyball scholarship for college in Chicago. It’s not revolutionary and it’s not over the top dramatic, but it’s funny and honest and it makes me feel nice. Definitely the movie to watch when you’ve just been through something emotionally taxing and need a light crying session and some mediocre pastries.

Isaac’s 2018 November Recs!

The Adventure Zone I know half of you already kin the Mcelroys while the other half either don’t know or don’t care, but the Adventure Zone is one of my most favorite things in the world. It’s a DND podcast (yes, all episodes are transcribed, and they have a graphic novel for the first arc of Balance with a second one on the way!) by three brothers plus their dad, and not only does it have the most amazing story and is ungodly funny, but TONS of gays (Griffin went ape with those Lesbian NPCS)! And just because they can! Same with trans characters. It’s a story where they just exist, and that’s really important to me because in a lot of media LGBT have to almost prove why they deserve to take up space. And it’s not just something that goes on in their first campaign, Amnesty also has those sweet sweet gay! I could talk about this podcast for hours, so if you needed that final push to give it a listen, THIS IS IT!

Stardew Valley You get to farm and be gay. And if THAT hasn’t sold you on this charming video game, then maybe the super cute graphics, beautiful soundtrack and a handful of interesting characters will! TBH I spend so much time playing this game it’s concerning. It’s just such a fun way to relax, and I just really REALLY like video games were I can chose to be gay. Like. God Tier. YOU CAN HAVE CROPS AND CHICKENS AND BE GAY C’MON YALL!!

The Amazing Quotes And Artists Featured!

Meg | instagram | esty

“My identity as a bisexual woman influences my art in many ways. As a woman, i create art about the issues that effect me, such as abortion and gender equality, in order to resonate with the people that matter most to me. As a bisexual individual, my subjects often appear from a gaze that falls outside of the stereotypical eye. My figure drawings and portraits all come from a place of admiration, and don’t fall into the stereotype of the male gaze or womanly care- they are the space inbetween, equally sexualized and normalized. I feel lucky to be a bi gal in the art world because it is a place that is my own to create in. There are so many queer artists that i look up to such as Mapplethorpe and Warhol, and many female artists i can cite as influence (Jenny Holzer, Kiki Smith, and Louise Bourgeois to name a few). My identity gives me a whole new world of content to draw from and allows my work to resonate with a wider audience, and I really think that any artists goal is to reach and touch as many people as possible.“  

Cameron | twitter | instagram 

“I don’t think that it influences the form really, but it definitely influences the subject matter! (Much as I hate to admit it, my identity influences the majority of choices I make in life.) I write a lot of poems about lgbtq related things and religion, as well as other stuff too. I was raised catholic, so realizing that I was “different” at more than one point in my teen years was scary AF. Being a member of the lgbtq+ community and also trying to still feel like I belong, or wanting to, in a religious community is hard, the two things are usually at a crossroads in my life so writing about them makes it easier for me to get through. My hope is that someday someone reads what I wrote and finds some peace in their own life/experience.” 

Vince | art instagram

“Well, being transgender I feel like I’m constantly aware of the lack of representation of my community, and I feel like it might be because of that I tend to experiment with showing all sorts of different type of people in my work. Because there’s so much diversity in the world, why not showcase that?”

Fox | art instagram  

“Oof…I’m gay so my characters always be gay. Gotta Fill the void in media w my own bullshit so I don’t have to rely on straight showrunners who will inevitably discard the character since they themselves seem to have no personal attachment and treat lgbt characters as disposable extras. Bc if I don’t at least attempt to create representation in the field I’m going into then I can’t rlly complain about the lack of it right? If I don’t try and change it I can’t complain about the lack of change so being an lgbt artist is lowkey Big Pressure to be revolutionary in your work but sometime…..I just wanna draw funkey animeal and that’s aight too”

Jen | twitter | instagram

“As a female bisexual poet, I worry often that my poetry and art will be too niche to be appreciated. I’ve spent years editing my poetry down to its barest bones in hopes that someone will relate to it. Changing pronouns back and forth because I worry that if I do talk about a woman, the poem will be stripped of its context and suddenly be about my queerness when in reality it never was. When I write about love and people I have dated and have crushed on, I want the poem to exist outside of the gender of who I love. I fear my authorial death will result in a complete misinterpretation of what I mean. When I write, it truly does not matter to me if I am writing about a woman or a man. If I feel what I write and I can make someone else feel it too does it matter that I also love women? I write what matters to me overall, regardless of gender, I try to make my poetry as true as possible. Sometimes, when I catch myself over editing I try to take myself back to the moment, to the person, what I loved about him or her. “

Lain | art instagram

“My LGBT Identity has significantly impacted almost all of my art, especially my work over the last two years. Ever since I have allowed myself to accept that I am trans and began my transition (6 months on T!), the impact that my Roman Catholic upbringing has had on my bisexual trans identity has bled into my artwork. Because of the way I was raised, accepting and allowing myself to be authentic has been an upward struggle. And what better way to process and document struggle than art?  

Much of my recent work has had a focus on the trans body, particularly the “sanctity” of self-actualization and the god-like power that comes with accepting and creating yourself in the unique and exceptional way that LGBT people must in order to live authentically. Two of my pieces on this topic were actually recently exhibited at UWM in the Trans-lucent exhibition, and will remain there until December 15th (I think). I got sick and tired of never seeing trans representation, so now I am creating that space that I crave in my own work.”

Kobe | instagram | soundcloud

“My art from is very influenced by my LGBT identity. It is very influenced by my LGBT black Identity. I think that whenever an artist makes their art (in my case writing music, singing, dancing) they should incorporate as much of themselves as possible. I think my LGBT identity definitely adds a sense of representation as well. I want people like me to listen to my music to know they aren’t alone. So it influences my work a lot. “

Nat | art instagram

“I think the fact that I am part of the LGBT+ community influences my art directly. Even though I don’t draw as often as I wish, I believe both my drawings and college projects (I am a 3d art/animation student), and my creativity in general is inspired by my personal experiences as a gay woman and common things experienced by the community. I try as often as I can to bring representation of some kind in the things I do, mainly personal projects. I also feel that it influences me on my motivation to keep creating; whenever I listen to, see drawings, watch movies or see whatever form of artistic expression from LGBT+ artists it gives me the energy to keep going, to keep creating.”

[thecinephale]

Faith in a Queerer Power: ‘The Miseducation of Cameron Post’ and ‘Novitiate’

*vague spoilers*

I was raised in the Church of American Suburbia. I had a very secure upper middle class adolescence in a community known for its good schools. Families competed to have the best names on their cars and clothes and who you were mattered less than who people thought you were. It was the late 2000s and it was okay to be gay. As long as you didn’t talk about it.

When I think about the reasons I’ve hated and hate myself, when I wonder how it took until I was 23 to even be aware of my transness, and still when I question if I really am who I feel I am, I think of my safe town. I was raised Jewish, but as a Reform Jew my day to day was not dictated by religion. My bible was the suburbs.

*** Most people know the term, gaslighting, comes from the play, Gaslight and its subsequent film adaptations. It’s a taut thriller about a man who covers up a murder by convincing his wife she is mentally ill. His main tactic is hiding their things and insisting she’s stolen them. She loses her grasp on reality, or, more accurately, she loses her grasp on her own reality.

Under an administration that lies more often than not, the term has gained a resurgence, used and misused often. But it’s important to remember that gaslighting isn’t just lying to someone. Like in the play, it’s a concerted effort to destabilize someone’s grasp on truth.

For too many of us, gaslighting is a tenant of queer experience. Whether shamed by a religious institution or simply brainwashed by society, most of us have doubted our feelings, or, at the very least, our identities.

*** Desiree Akhavan’s new film The Miseducation of Cameron Post portrays the most extreme example of this queer gaslighting: conversion therapy. Chloë Grace Moretz plays Cameron who is sent to God’s Promise after she’s caught having sex with her best friend during the Homecoming Dance. 

The beginning of the movie fulfills the fantasy of any teen who has ever listened to Haylely Kiyoko’s “Sleepover” a dozen times in a row… or whatever the early 90s version of that was. They make eyes at each other during their pastor’s moralizing, they furiously makeout during Donna Deitch’s Desert Hearts, and they deadeye their way through photos with their boyfriends.

The Homecoming sex scene is long and passionate. It captures the overwhelming all-consuming lust of adolescence. Cameron and her best friend press their faces together as if it’s possible to combine molecules.

And then she goes to God’s Promise.

Here they clinically call her feelings SSA (same sex attraction). They give Cameron a letter from her friend accusing her of taking advantage. They tell her that not only is she not a homosexual, but nobody is a homosexual. They insist that normalcy is possible for her, and who wouldn’t want to be normal?

The strength of the film is that these efforts work. Cameron is headstrong and stubborn and yet she begins to doubt. The other strength of the film is that Cameron is portrayed as a real teen and her captors as normal adults. These qualities make the film more than a remake of But I’m a Cheerleader with Akhavan’s unique brand of humor. They make the film about us all. Any gay person assumed to be straight, any non-binary person told there are only two genders, any queer person informed that it’s okay to be queer, just not that kind of queer, just not in that way. 

I spent my life being told I was a boy. And on my worst days I still believe them.

*** Religion is a common enemy in stories about queerness, both fiction and non-fiction. But last year’s Novitiate, written and directed by Maggie Betts, suggests that the two concepts can actually be quite similar.

The film is about Kathleen, a young woman who decides to become a nun despite growing up in an atheistic household. Kathleen wants to feel loved and with no interest in boys she turns to God. She is driven by faith… and an especially attractive nun at her Catholic school.

Her mom is furious and here the parallels between Kathleen’s faith and a queer teen experience are most obvious. “Well I don’t get it! It doesn’t even make sense in love with God!” her mom yells with tears in her eyes. And she might as well be saying, “It doesn’t even make sense in love with another girl!” When Kathleen is just a child her mom calls religion silly before telling Kathleen she can make up her own mind when she’s older. This too is akin to a common queer experience. A parent may suggest it’s okay to be gay and in the same breath call gay people gross or weird or outcasts.

Once Kathleen is at the convent, her mother comes to visit and it’s clear she’s really trying to understand. But her remarks about the décor and the tears in her eyes communicate plenty. Watching this scene, I thought of my own parents, so much better than most, but still stinging me with their transparent emotions, their misguided comments. The gaslighting may be less conscious, but the effects remain the same.

When Kathleen has a dirty dream about a new novice, it’s revealed that her faith may in part be a mask for her queerness. But the film allows the religious narrative to continue through Melissa Leo’s frightening Reverend Mother. While a villain to the girls, her humanity is revealed in private as she grapples with Vatican II, new rules passed by Pope John XXIII that downgraded the status of nuns. When revealing these changes to the other nuns, tears in her eyes, she says, “The church gave me my work, my community, even my identity.” And now the men in the church are telling her that her beliefs are false, that who she has been for 40 years was a lie.

Unfortunately, Reverend Mother does not make the connection between her identity as a nun and Kathleen’s identity as queer. When Kathleen confesses her now physical relationship with the other novice, she is deeply shamed. Kathleen insists, “I don’t think it was a sin because it didn’t feel like a sin.” But Reverend Mother does not care about Kathleen’s point of view. She demands that she crawl on all fours and ask her sisters for penance. 

I understood this scene deeply. Since coming out, I’ve been told that the burden I’m placing on others is great. Even among some who accept me and view me as a woman, I am told how difficult this was on them or how difficult this must be on others. I’m told that I should be grateful when people don’t abandon me. I’m told to grovel for simply being who I am.

*** The miracle of these two films is that they provide a solution to this loss of faith. They suggest a new religion, one that can certainly exist alongside more conventional churches, but a religion all the same. They suggest a religion of queerness. 

If religion is a collection of beliefs, the experience of faith, and the forming of community, these films show that all three are possible, nay essential, for living as queer. The belief that being gay, being trans, or being whatever label feels good is real. The faith in oneself that we know our feelings and our thoughts better than anyone else. A community of others who can help us know that we are not alone. This is the Church of Queer. 

The final shot of Cameron Post shows Cameron with her two best friends driving away to a new life. The final shot of Novitiate shows Kathleen looking up at a priest but really looking inside herself. Like any congregant our faith may waiver. But if we trust ourselves and trust our communities we can unlearn a false reality and find salvation together.

<3

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Thrown Away

Case: 0092302

Name: Kieran Woodward Subject: Items recovered from the refuse of 98 Lancaster Road, Walthamstow Date: February 23rd, 2009 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

I work as a bin man for Waltham Forest Council. It’s not a bad job, really, as long as you can handle the smell and the early mornings, not to mention that when winter really gets going it can be pretty unpleasant. I’ve had to chip ice off more than a few bins in my time, just to get them open. Still, the pay’s pretty decent; at least it is once you throw in the overtime and the bonuses, and once you’ve done the rounds you’re usually off for the day, so you’re working fewer hours than your average office monkey; it’s just that those hours tend to be a lot less pleasant than anything you’re likely to find staring at some accounting spreadsheet. But I didn’t come here to talk about the benefits and problems of working in waste collection. At least, I guess I came to talk about one very specific problem that I encountered last year, when doing the rubbish collection for 93 Lancaster Road.

Now, you encounter weird things in this job all the time. People have an odd mental block – this idea that as soon as they put something in the bin it’s gone. It’s officially been made rubbish and no-one will ever see it again. The fact that someone had to take it from your bin to the landfill or the recycling centre doesn’t really enter their heads, and nobody ever seems to realise that up to a dozen people might be seeing what you throw away before it finally disappears forever. But no, as far as the rest of the world thinks about it, once it’s been thrown away, it’s gone, far beyond all human understanding. This leaves those of us who work in waste collection seeing kind of a strange side to humanity, but an honest one at that. If you’re a bit of a boozer, there’s every chance that your bin men know how much you drink better than you do because we empty all the bottles. And yes, we do remember, and we also get quite judgemental at times, although not about the things you might think – you can throw away a mountain of grotesque porn and, as long as you’ve tied it into neat bundles, we’re fine with it, but if you throw away cat litter without properly bagging that, you’d better believe that you’ve earned the hatred of every bin man that ever slung a sack. Still, I’m getting off topic.

Point is, the bag of dolls heads didn’t bother me. I mean, it was freaky, don’t get me wrong – hundreds of small plastic heads, staring out of the refuse sack at me, but aside from a slight rip on the side of the black bag, they were thrown away very neatly, and were easy enough to toss into the truck. The bag was full of them, mind. It was placed next to the green recycling bin and at first I thought that it was just a single doll with its head positioned near the tear, but when I tossed the bag into the truck the rip split, spilling forth a whole bunch of the things. At a guess I’d say there were over a hundred in there. They were made of hard, rigid plastic with that infant doll face that you seem to find on every toy like that. Several of them had different hair moulded or painted on, so it was clear that they weren’t simply from a hundred or so of the same doll. Someone had spent time acquiring a whole variety of different dolls, which they then beheaded and stuffed into the sack. They were very battered, but not with age – it looked as though someone had taken the brand new heads and dragged them over rough concrete, though I couldn’t say whether they’d have been attached to the rest of the doll at the time. It was creepy, sure, but the sun was shining and there were four of us working the truck that day, so it was easy enough to laugh it off. It was the old crew – me, David Atayah, Matthew Wilkinson, and Alan Parfitt, who drives - drove - the truck.

What it did do, though, was mark out 93 Lancaster Road in our minds as “the Doll House”, since we spent the rest of the day making off-colour jokes about the sort of people who must live there. I said before that your bin man knows a lot about you. Now that’s probably not actually true for most people – we service hundreds of homes each day and who can keep track of that many people? Who wants to? You do have houses, though, that you learn to keep an eye on; the sort of places that throw out strange or sometimes even dangerous things. Like I said, we probably know if you’re an alcoholic, but it’s not because we watch you obsessively or care about your health. It’s because smashed bottles and broken glass are dangerous and you learn to keep an eye out around houses where you’re likely to find them. I read once that waste collection is the second most dangerous profession in England. Not sure I believe it - they said the first was farming - but you do see your fair share of injuries, so you learn to keep your eyes peeled and mark out in your mind which houses you want to stay wary of.

Now after that the Doll House became one of those houses for our crew. Not so much for any known danger, but when someone throws out a bin full of weird stuff like that, you never know what else they might decide to toss. Also, Alan, well, he had kind of a twisted sense of humour, and he loved the doll heads. When we told him he insisted on stopping the truck and getting out to have a look, so after that he always made a point to ask us to keep an eye on 93. And we did. The next couple of weeks, when we pulled up to 93, I took an extra second or two just to check for anything strange in the bins, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Alan especially was disappointed by this but it was hardly something to dwell on, so we put is out of our minds and pressed on with the day’s work. This continued for what must have been a few months and the whole doll heads incident hadn’t come up, except for a few interesting conversations at the recycling plant where, to be honest, I don’t think anyone believed us, or if they did they’d immediately try to top it with their own story of bizarre finds.

It was the start of spring when we got the next strange bag from 93 Lancaster Road. Again, it was an unmarked black refuse bag placed next to the recycling bin. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was another one. The shape of it was too regular to be full of the normal assortment of rubbish. As I picked it up, I realised it was far too light as well. It seemed to weigh almost nothing, but was bulging with what sounded like a whole load of paper inside. I gave the others a look and told them I thought we had another odd bag. David and Matt started discussing whether we should open it, as this one didn’t seem to have a rip like the last one, and we were still talking it over when Alan came back to see what was taking us so long. He knew where we were and you could see it in his eyes that he’d been hoping this was the reason for the delay. One look at his face and I knew that if we didn’t open it, he would. 

I looked up towards the house, checking for anyone watching, but 93 was right near the start of our route, so it was still very early in the morning and all the lights were off. There was no sign of movement so, very carefully, I opened the bag. Inside was paper, as I expected. It seemed to be a single strip of thick white writing paper, maybe an inch wide. The paper was long, so long that it seemed like the whole bag was filled solely with this one piece of it, wrapped and curled and crumpled to fit inside. There was writing on it in another language, I think Latin. Matt, who was raised Catholic and never shut up about it, said he recognised it and claimed that it was the Lord’s Prayer, the Our Father, written over and over again. He seemed pretty rattled about it, especially at the fact that at certain points the edges of the paper seemed to be slightly singed, as though it had been passed over a candle or a lighter. He even seemed hesitant about throwing it in with the rest of the garbage, but we didn’t have anything else we could actually do with it, so into the truck it went. Alan was smiling the rest of the shift, and there was a delight there that, quite frankly, had started to unsettle me a bit. As far as I was concerned this was a bit of a let- down after the dolls’ heads, but the way the others had reacted put me on edge. 

The third bag was the one that really changed things. It was a fortnight after the one with the prayer paper in it. As we approached 93, I noticed there was another bag sitting next to the bin. The others clearly noticed as well, as everyone went very quiet. The first two had been the only times there had been rubbish bags at the house that weren’t in the actual bin itself, so there was little doubt in my mind that this was going to be more creepy trash. Alan turned the engine off as we pulled level with the house, and got out. Whatever was in this one, he was going to see it. The bag bulged, just like the others, but had a bumpy sort of look to its surface. We all stared at it for several seconds, before I realised that the others were waiting for me to pick it up – I’d picked up the others, and apparently this was how it was done now. It almost felt like a ritual.

I walked over and lifted it off the ground. It was heavier than the last one, and as it moved it made a sound, like shifting sand or gravel, or maybe more of a rattle. I started to carry it towards my colleagues to open it, when I accidentally caught the bottom of it on the low brick wall at the end of the small front garden. Already filled almost to bursting, the bag tore open easily.

From the newly ripped hole, poured teeth. Hundreds, thousands of teeth; they came streaming down it a waterfall of white, cream and yellow, bouncing as they hit the pavement, and gradually forming a pile of astounding size. When the bag was finally empty, we just stood there in silence, staring at the mountain of teeth that now lay on ground before us. They looked like human teeth to me, but I wasn’t exactly an expert and I sure as hell didn’t want to check closer. Finally, David broke the silence by vomiting loudly into a nearby drain and I backed away from the grisly mound. Even Alan looked shaken by this – I suppose some things are disconcerting however grim your interests. We phoned the police. 

That’s something else that people always forget about garbage men – we’re perfectly capable of calling the police if we see obviously illegal stuff being thrown away. Usually we don’t bother if it’s just something small, but this... for this we phoned the police. They came in surprisingly good time and I reckon they were even more freaked out than we were. One of them took our statements, while the other went up to the house itself to check on the occupants, and see if they knew anything about the teeth. As the officer knocked on the door, we all strained to get a better look at what greeted her. There was no way after all this we were going to pass up a chance to actually get a look at the residents of 93 Lancaster Road. Eventually the door opened, and an old woman stood there, blinking in the early morning sunlight and clearly slightly alarmed to see the police. Needless to say, the old lady and her husband had no idea about any of the weird bags that had been appearing in their rubbish and seemed properly upset when they were given the details. The police spent a good ten minutes doing their best to collect up all the teeth, and we were sent on our way. I have no idea what, if anything, the investigation turned up. Certainly I was never contacted by them again, and if any of the rest were, they didn’t mention it.

And for a while, that was it. We kept an eye out whenever we were heading down Lancaster Road, but didn’t encounter any further ominous garbage bags. I thought maybe the involvement of the police had scared off whoever was leaving them. Maybe the police had caught the culprit and just hadn’t told us.

I did start to notice, though, that Alan wasn’t doing well. He was often late to his shift, and when he finally got there he’d be exhausted and grumpy, snapping at everyone and rudely brushing of anyone asking about his health or how he was doing. He seemed even worse whenever we approached the end of Lancaster Road, sometimes speeding up the truck slightly so that we had to run to keep up. Eventually, after I tripped over the curb while hurrying and twisted my ankle, I confronted him, told him that whatever was going on with him, he could talk about it or get over it, but that he clearly needed to deal with something. He got very quiet, and said he’d been watching number 93 some nights. Said he wanted to see whoever was dropping this stuff off. That he had to know.

I don’t know what I expected. Trouble at home, maybe, or depression, but this took me by surprise. I told him it was a really bad idea, that if the police were still investigating they were more than likely to pick him up as the culprit, and even if they didn’t the old couple at 93 could just as easily get him arrested for harassment or stalking. Alan nodded along and agreed with me as I spoke, but I could see he wasn’t listening. He just said again that he needed to know, told me he’d be careful, as though that was meant to reassure me. It didn’t, but I could see I wasn’t going to talk him out of it and we ended in an uncomfortable silence.

What I didn’t say, is that I’d almost done the same thing myself once or twice. There was something about this, beyond anything else I’d encountered, that... I don’t know. It drew me in almost as much as it disgusted me. Almost, but not enough to do anything, and if I needed any further convincing that leaving it alone was the right decision, I only needed to look at Alan. As time went on, the bags under his eyes deepened, and I’d watch him down half a dozen energy drinks over the course of a morning, just to get through his shift. I could have said something to our manager, but even then Alan was still my friend and I didn’t want to be the one to get him in any sort of trouble. Eventually, though, it came to a head anyway. Alan fell asleep at the wheel of the truck and drove it into a parked car. No-one was hurt and the truck was going too slowly to do any real damage but, at that point, it was enough to get him fired. We were sad to see him go, but to be honest, by the end of it he’d become quite unpleasant to be around and no-one shed any real tears over it. We got a new member on our crew, a kid named Guy Wardman, and life continued in relative peace. For a while, anyway. 

Then, on the 8th of August last year, at nine minutes past two in the morning, I was woken up by a text message from Alan. It said “FOUND HIM”. I texted him back immediately – What had he found? Was it whoever was leaving the bags? Had he brought another one? No response. I texted Alan again to ask if he was ok. I sent that text a lot of times, but never heard back. I tried phoning him but nobody answered. As the minutes stretched to hours, the worry that had been growing in my gut settled into a grim certainty, and I knew that Alan was gone. I also knew that I had to go to 93 Lancaster Road and see for myself. I got my coat and headed out into the night. 

I walked slowly, with a kind of reluctance, so the sky was starting to get light by the time I arrived. I knew what I’d find when I got there, and I was right. There was no sign of Alan, or of whoever he might have seen. There was, however, a new rubbish bag sitting there in its usual place. It was full, and this time the top of it had been tied off with a dark green ribbon, arranged in a bow like an old-fashioned Christmas present. It bulged in much the same way as the last one.

I picked up the bag, which turned out to be quite light, and I took off the bow. Opening it, I saw shifting white and, for a second, I was sure it was more teeth. Looking closer, though, I saw the truth: packing peanuts. Polystyrene packing peanuts. Enough to fill the bag to capacity. I almost felt relieved until I realised there was something else in there, something making it heavier than a bag of polystyrene should be. I closed my eyes and reached in, expecting to find something horrible inside. My hand closed instead around cold metal, and I drew out a fist-sized lump of... I think it must have been copper or bronze, and had been roughly carved into the shape of a heart, but like a real heart, not like a Valentine's one. It was cold to the touch, like it had just come out of a freezer, and it almost stuck to my skin. Engraved on the side was the name “Alan Parfitt”, the letters carved in with machine-like precision. That was the last sign of Alan I ever found. As far as I’m aware he’s never been seen since.

I gave the lump of metal to a friend of mine who works the medical waste run and owes me a favour. I asked him to throw it in with a shipment, as the medical incinerators burn hotter than any I have access to, and I figured that was my best shot at getting rid of it properly. I still work the Lancaster Road route, but since then there haven’t been any more weird bags turning up at 93. Mostly I’ve just tried to forget about it.

Archivist Notes: 

It’s nice to have a statement where most of the particulars are easily verifiable. It comes with shorter supporting statements from David Atayah and Matthew Wilkinson confirming the contents of the first three bags, as well as the details of Alan Parfitt’s behaviour prior to his termination from the employment of local government. In an uncharacteristic example of actually dealing with modern technology, my predecessor had the good sense to make a copy of the final text conversation between Alan Parfitt and Mr. Woodward.

I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week, but it was unenlightening. Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe, but at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon, which is always a welcome relief. 

Sasha had more luck following up with the old police reports. Alan Parfitt was reported as a missing person by his brother Michael on the 20th of August 2008*, and his location remains unknown. The bag of teeth is also corroborated by the police reports of Police Constables Suresh and Altman, though they can provide no further details, as they never made an arrest or even located any suspects. The medical report on the teeth themselves does give one puzzling detail: the teeth were confirmed to be human, but more than that, as far as the examiner was able to determine... they were all in different stages of decay and didn’t match any available dental records, but all two thousand seven hundred and eighty of them were the exact same tooth.

*corrected from 2009 to 2008, confirmed by Jon Sims (writer) as misspoken on the podcast

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 5 Thrown Away)

[ajoblotofjunk]

Z Nation re-watch: 4x08 The One With the Nun Zombies

The title of this episode makes explicit the theme of this season - "Crisis of Faith." I love it.

It's Kaya and baby JZ! And Zona has arrived, shooting at them.

HI NANA!

Moment of Kaya appreciation.

Sarge gets in an "OH, Canada" joke but I sincerely hope she's kidding about the 'cannabis country' thing because there is a GIANT SIGN that says "WELCOME TO CANADA" right in front of her. Or maybe she just never learned to read in the apocalypse. Reading isn't exactly a priority when zombies are trying to eat you.

10k: "Seems too good to be true." Doc: "I know what you mean kid. I remember when Newmerica was called California. It's just so hard to believe in anything anymore." This theme comes up a lot this season - especially from Doc, which is interesting because he's basically been their north star in terms of 'we can do this' - and it's explored a lot in this episode in particular. This is just the beginning.

It's a natural extension of seasons of show/years of in-show time to dealing with the apocalypse and one of the things I think Z Nation in particular is VERY good at: what happens when the apocalypse is just your regular life? You've fought and scraped and done terrible things and had terrible things done to you and now you're just living, what next? How do you hold onto your belief - your faith - that something better is going to come? (And if you don't think that's applicable to 2017/2018 US politics, well. Maybe consider it again.)

Murphy plans to keep on surviving but some day he has to ask himself why.

Warren will be especially interesting in season 5 with no mission at all - no saving Murphy, no being driven by Black Rainbow.

lmao the music using the Canadian anthem briefly as the Mountie zombies attack.

Sarge gets a little wild and inappropriate with the the crop and the Mountie zombie.

The scene fighting the nuns is funny mostly because I know several people who are ex-Catholic school raised and they would feel much the same way.

Warren saves Murphy and looks beautiful doing it. As a side note, though, this exchange between them is interesting. She's saved his life a lot of times, but it seems to mean a lot more here. I suspect it's because of the tension between them. It's actually a shame we didn't get one episode between last ep and this one with them just being awkward and mad at each other, because I think the payoff of this episode where he finally believes her would mean even more (though it's a pretty big deal anyway). I would've cut out the Mt Weather episode for that, but I'm not a showrunner, so. Hee.

Doc: "I'm going to hell even more than I was before." Murphy: "We're already in hell, Doc, it can only go up from here."

10k: "My dad said Lazarus was the original zombie." Murphy: "Don't count if you don't crave brains."

Warren to Murphy: "You were in Zona. You were awake. What did they do to me?" Murphy has no idea and I think he feels guilty about not knowing.

Just leaving this here. I'm going to do a lot of cap dropping for this next section because visually it's a LOT.

Could've called this ep "Warren's Wedding," ijs.

Murphy: *tries for 10 seconds* Murphy: This isn't working! lol u quitter.

Look at her little face when she tells him "come here" and holds out her hands.

Lordt.

I love this show and its sometimes hilariously bad CGI.

BUT on a more serious note - is this what it's always like for Murphy to get into people's minds? We've never seen it before, it's always seemed he more feels/hears them instead of any sort of visualization. I'm just curious. (I did appreciate that it was 10k who brought up this idea in the first place, and in an appropriately bitter voice.)

Doc: "What'd you see?" Murphy: "Nothing. I didn't see anything. I felt it. What she's feeling. It's excruciating." So maybe the visual was entirely for us as viewers. Hm.

He is horrified at what he felt, realizes that Warren has been feeling that the whole time that words alone couldn't do justice to how awful it is. Warren is the GOAT, and Murphy knows it:

<3

Warren's so thankful someone finally understands what she's been going through, he's validated her beliefs by feeling it, too.

Murphy: "What I felt...what you've been feeling. You been feeling that this whole time?" Warren: "Yeah." Murphy: "Whatever it is, are we going towards it, or away from it?" Warren: "I don't know." The crux of her problem.

I like the framing of this.

Sarge calls the zombies "a storm of skinnies" and "chicken and dumplings" and nothing makes sense.

Murphy, clean your sword before you sheathe it!

Sarge: "We get to interrogate him, right? I always wanted to interrogate somebody." She is way out in left field this episode, a bloodthirsty soldier spoiling for a fight. Her personality never really solidifies this season, IMO, and I hope she gets more grounded in herself next season.

But it does give Warren someone to react to to remember how to be herself. Warren is very sweet with Louis, and introduces herself as Lt. Warren of the National Guard again, something she is still holding onto.

Louis is a great one-off character and it's a damn shame what they do to him at the end of the episode.

Sharing a moment.

Warren: "Not many people still got religion in all this." Louis: *laughs* "I don't. I mean, old white man in the sky? But. If this relic can really cure people? People are gonna need healing, once all this is over." Gosh I want to have a long conversation about healing post-apocalypse, and how you know when it's time to focus on healing vs. surviving.

Warren: "You think this will be over? I call that faith." Louis: "That's just basic survival. You gotta believe this will end, right? If you don't, hug a zombie."

Warren needed someone to give her faith. She was running low.

Good lighting in this crypt.

Warren: "How do you know you're doing something good or you're just...delusional?" Louis: "I don't."

Oof, Murphy talking with Louis about his daughter is rough.

Murphy: "She wasn't a saint. She was a little girl." Louis: "Sacrificing yourself for someone you love, it doesn't get more holy than that does it?"

Mom and Dad looking at their little Lucy.

Warren heads back to the US again and the others follow. We're back on the trail of Black Rainbow. We’ll not speak of what happens to Louis.

[hockey-jews]

For anyone who wants to learn more about Judaism! Also, kind of a post about how to deal with some Things and Stuff. This is a long post so I’ll put it under a read more for those interested:

This is really for an anonymous message I got that described struggles with things that I think many of us struggle with or have in the past: not being “Jewish enough” in the eyes of other Jews due to your heritage being on the “wrong” side (read; on your father’s side), yet still experiencing antisemitism from goyim. Not learning very much, if anything, about Judaism as a child but wanting to learn more as an adult. Not being comfortable with some traditions or laws of Judaism because you are a) a feminist b) LGBT c) an atheist. Living in a place with few to no Jewish spaces. Not feeling welcome in the Jewish community due to any or all of these things. 

Book recs!

If you’re the kind of person who enjoys reading (or can at least tolerate it) I highly recommend these books! They’re all books that I have either read/started reading/or plan on reading. (Please keep in mind that none of these are Jewish texts such as the Torah or the Talmud and that I do understand the importance of such religious texts but am not recommending them because I feel those are obvious sources of information)

A Bride for One Night if you aren’t familiar with the Talmud, it’s a collection of writings and explanations of Jewish laws and traditions and it’s old as balls. The author of this book, Ruth Calderon, takes a bunch of Talmudic stories and makes them into these wonderful beautiful stories that are easier to read than the original ones from the 3rd and 6th centuries. Even if you don’t know anything about the Talmud this book is so fascinating and fun to read. 

The G-d Who Hates Lies is literally perfect for you if you have issues with how women are viewed and treated in the most traditional sense of Judaism. It’s a really great criticism by people who are extremely qualified to make those criticisms (both are rabbi’s and I think they both have doctorates in theology, specifically Modern Orthodox Judaism, which makes for a really cool viewpoint). I can’t find anything about the third author of this book, who is a woman, but it’s comforting to know that a woman had a part in this as well. Obviously these people love Judaism, they just want to see it adapt to modernity. Just in general it’s a really thoughtful book that challenges dogma. 

Jewish Literacy was recommended by an anon (thank you!) The rest of the title is “The Most Important Things to Know about The Jewish Religion, Its People and Its History” so like. Ya get what ya see here folks. HOWEVER I did see a review that mentions there is some Islamophobia and hostility towards Jews who are antizionist. It does genuinely look informative and I haven’t read it myself so I can’t attune to whether or not that review is accurate, but maybe be cautious if you read this in knowing that the author may not be objective. 

Book of Mercy made me openly weep and feel something tender and weird in my heart and like. Okay so it’s not informative so much as it’s a book of poetry by Leonard Cohen (he was Jewish if you didn’t know!) He calls his poems “modern psalms” and honestly this would be a good read even if you aren’t religious at all because his writing is just so gorgeous. But it does have references to Judaism and his identity as a Jew 

Understanding Judaism is really a “building blocks” kind of book to me, if that makes sense? It’s really informative but also really basic and is fantastic for people who know very little about Judaism or just want a well presented understanding of the core aspects of the Jewish religion. Even if you aren’t a Jew who’s looking to learn or someone who is considering conversion it’s still a good book if you’re interested in world religions regardless of your faith or lack thereof. (man I’m starting to sound pretentious lmao I just mean like, if you’re an atheist or Catholic or whatever, it’s pretty interesting and also this guy is kinda dorky-funny so it makes for an easier read than some other books about religion)

Shmooze I think this is meant to be more for a group to read an discuss, and like, also maybe meant for a younger audience (I’m talking about teenagers so not really that young, but if you’ve been reading dull infodumps by 90 y/o Jewish rabbis with doctorate degrees this is gonna be a change of pace lmao) I should mention that I’ve only read like two pages of this book because I saw it at Barnes and Noble and just kinda briefly checked it out so I don’t know a ton about it but it stuck in my head and the reviews look positive so 

Obvious I don’t think you have to read all of those because I haven’t even read all of those so maybe just check one of them out if it seems like it could be helpful to you. 

Judaism here on tumblr dot com:

Okay so like. This is really my personal diced onion so take it however you will but keep in mind that this really only reflects things I’ve come across and how I feel. 

Obviously there are a lot of really great blogs about Judaism but I don’t have any specific ones to recommend I’m sorry :O I really really hate ~Discourse~ and like, in-depth arguments about the Holocaust because I get so wrapped up in it and let’s be honest, tumblr is all about the discourse and ignorance. That being said, I like to follow other people who are Jewish and blog about whatever because that usually leads to safer discussions and also is a great way to find really helpful thoughts and discussions by other Jews about topics like being LGBT, being a woman, being an atheist, etc. These are just nice to read and also if you aren’t familiar with certain Yiddish or Hebrew terms that are commonly used it’s a good way to see how and when they’re used in certain contexts. 

I’m going to tag anything like this that I post here as “good info” just so me and anyone who wants can find this stuff easier. No they won’t necessarily have anything to do with hockey. 

Also please be very careful when you’re reading a post that is presenting certain things as facts, always double check what someone is saying because misinformation is spread so quickly, and it’s almost always unintentional. The things that I find genuinely helpful/safe/fun involve opinions, common feelings and experiences, little personal stories and jokes, cool stuff like that. 

I’m Jewish on my father’s side :0

Me too boo. Unfortunately that’s an unending discussion, and one that is often held by matrilineal Jews and doesn’t actually include patrilineal Jews, nor does it consider our thoughts/feelings/experiences. Without sounding like an idiot, it is absolutely buckwild to me that there are people who have been raised Jewish, have never known anything other than Jewish tradition, have been subject to antisemitism, but still aren’t considered Jewish. 

And then this is where I see matrilineal Jews who hold this viewpoint bring up Reform Judaism, which is one of the three main branches of Judaism and does recognize patrilineall Jews as Jews. I’ve seen some discrepancy as to whether or not patrilineal Jews had to have been raised Jewish in order to be considered Jewish. This is all well and good for Jews like me whose family practices Reform Judaism, but for patrilineal Jews who wish to practice in an Orthodox or Conservative synagogue, it gets tricky. 

Basically, yes this is a huge topic that inspires a lot of disagreement, and that sucks, but here’s what it comes down to. No one else is allowed to make you feel inferior because of your heritage. So many people, even modern Orthodox Jews, recognize that certain aspects of Judaism need to adapt to today’s society. I don’t want to offend anyone here, but I really do feel that most matrilineal Jews who don’t consider us Jewish are extremely hypocritical (for a lot of reasons but mostly like...y’all really follow every aspect of Jewish Law? Like do you really? All of it? Girl do u? Or are you maybe just being elitist). Learning about your heritage, talking about shared experiences, combating antisemitism, these are all things that are fair game for you (especially for the anon who said they were atheist) and going to Shabbat services, praying, participating in holy days. That’s all yours if you want it, bubbeleh. 

Can I be an atheist Jew?

Sure you can! I, personally, am not an atheist so I wasn’t comfortable finding specific resources about this because I don’t really know much about it? It’s fine with me if you’re atheist that’s none of my business, I just don’t want to direct you to a bad source. But yes, many Jews are atheist, many are secular, I’m sure there are many here on tumblr. It’s absolutely okay, Judaism is an ethnoreligion, and while you may experience Judaism different than the rest of us, you’re still a Jew and still belong. 

Here’s an excerpt from a short lil synopsis of Judaism:

These three connotations of Judaism as a monotheistic system, as a literary tradition, and as a historical culture are sometimes viewed separately. For example, there are Jews who see themselves as culturally Jewish, but who are also non-religious or atheist, often identifying more strongly with Jewish “peoplehood” than with traditional understandings of God and Torah. Even so, all Jews would recognize that these three points of reference have shaped and guided Jewish experience through the ages.

Jewish “peoplehood” that they talk about is like. Culture, customs, food, art, history, etc. 

One last little note on this, you’ll hear a lot that Judaism focuses more on actions than on beliefs. This is an excellent article that is pretty short and worth reading that I want to include because I think that even if you don’t believe in G-d or even if you are seriously questioning, the focus on just. Doing good. Actively doing good things and trying to be a good person (I know that’s objective but bear with me) is a such a huge part of Judaism that you can try to incorporate into your life without having to subscribe to any sort of dogma or beliefs that you don’t hold. “Judaism is certainly a faith-based tradition. Belief in G-d is central to our religion. It just isn’t a prerequisite. If you are Jewish, you are so regardless of belief.” 

But I’m a feminist....

As you should be. This is probably another personal statement you gon’ wanna take with a grain of salt, but I think Judaism, especially in the last 50 years or so, has made huge strides in this. Especially Reform Judaism, but that kind of goes without saying. 

Example, my synagogue was founded as a Conservative synagogue. Our website still says we are. I’m not actually sure tbqh, like I said, my family are Reform Jews, and so are most other families in our congregation I think but this is literally the only synagoge for like hundreds of miles so. Anyways our rabbi is female (Rabbi Shaina!) and she does great work, we all love her. She’s really adament on teaching kids that gender shouldn’t keep you from anything, that Judaism is for all Jews, that it should enhance our lives. She wears a tallis, lays her tefillin, and reads from the Torah. 

My point here is that while this isn’t like, the end of misogyny in Judaism as we know it, it’s still a big deal in most religions to have a woman as their religious leader, essentially a position of religious power. For men to accept a woman as a religious leader is not something that is super common in most religions. And we’re like, a tiny congregation over a hundred miles away from anyone else, technically a Conservative synagogue, that’s super loving and accepting of a feminist running our shit... female rabbis are super common and I think it speaks a lot to how we’re progressing as a religion. Reform Judaism is going to be your best bet when it comes to tolerance but knowing that all three of the main branches are progressing, at least with this, is really comforting to me. 

However, that’s an extremely one sided view and doesn’t really show the issue as a whole. This super short article (? not sure) is a bit pessimistic in my mind but presents the other side of things and gives a good explanation of the traditional sources of misogyny in Judaism, so this could further your understanding as well. 

By no means are we perfect but we’re workin on it. Look into Jewish Feminism though, if you have the time. That article is just a lil intro to the topic. 

I’m Q*eer/LGBT and I’m not sure y’all are gonna be cool with that...

Well this one’s a doozy. 

I’ll kick this right off by presenting an article that is objective and does not reflect the author’s opinion, just lays out the issues at hand. It also has some links to other good pieces, including one cool story about a transgender man, Rafi Daugherty, embracing his role as a father and details his experience with pregnancy and giving birth. I should mention that I am cisgender so I’m interpreting this article through a different point of view, but it really does make a point of celebrating Rafi and his daughter and sharing their story. It does include a little cultural background context, but this is a positive story that I think deserves to be shared :) 

Then there’s this statement from the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism that confirms its absolute acceptance and support of LGBT Jews. 

On the other side of things, there are still homophobic and intolerant Jews. Conversion camps were not just a Christian thing, there were Jewish conversion camps as well, which is horrific. Idk what to say because I think homophobia and transphobia in Judaism is really similar to what you would find in Christian settings. 

I’m bisexual and I feel completely welcomed by other Jews who know this about me, and I certainly don’t feel any less Jewish because of it. 

I live in a place where Jewish spaces are rare.

I really hate to disappoint with this one but I don’t have any specific sources or anything like that. Alls I got to say is that’s why the internet is so great? I really don’t feel like that’s helpful at all, but I think for the most part, the Jewish side of tumblr is pretty accepting and welcoming. Obviously that’s not always gonna be true though idkdjaskfl;dj

I spose with this one I wanna encourage anyone who has any good resources for involvement or something like that to reply to this post or drop by my inbox and let me know! Or maybe just your thoughts on some Jewish spaces you’ve encountered? 

I hope this was helpful

In conclusion, don’t let anyone make you feel less Jewish. Your sexual identity, gender identity, and even your belief in G-d doesn’t take away from your Jewishness. I’d like to say that since I started delving into Judaism a little more I’ve found a lot of peace. And yeah that sounds cliche and also vague but it’s really a breath of fresh air to learn about my family and know more about this community. Also if you’re comfortable with or willing to try prayer, even if you’re atheist, it can be a good way to decompress sometimes, a really therapeutic kind of way to voice your thoughts and feelings and reflect on them. 

There’s so much information and culture to delve into but it’s so so worth it to learn and I’m really happy for you that you’re interested in getting more in touch with your Jewish roots. 

If any of these links don’t work and you’d like to see them let me know!

[pamphletstoinspire]

Why Growing Up with Relativism Has Millennials Searching for New Rules for Life

Written by: Isaac Withers

How growing up with ‘you do you’ without ‘practical wisdom’ has left young people searching for rules for life:

‘They try to accuse people like me who believe in empiricism and the enlightenment of somehow what they call moral relativism, as if its some appalling sin, where what it actually means is thought’. This was a statement that Stephen Fry made in the 2009 Intelligence Squared debate entitled ‘The Catholic Church is a Force for Good in the World’ and it captures well the cultural conversation around relativism and truth. Is relativism a damaging and destabilising thing, or is it in fact just free thought?

Well, before we get in to it, a definition for the term would be helpful. The Oxford English Dictionary defines relativism as ‘the doctrine that knowledge, morality, etc, are relative rather than absolute’. Put simply it’s the belief that your morals are not universal truths but are in fact more personal opinions ‘relative to’ or ‘related to’ your upbringing or class. At first that may seem like a totally inoffensive idea but it is a debate that has continued passionately over the decades between liberal and conservative thinkers. Paul Ryan, four years before he became Speaker of the House said, “If you ask me what the biggest problem in America is, I’m not going to tell you debt, deficits, statistics, economics—I’ll tell you it’s moral relativism.” How could this idea possibly be that important?

How Prevalent is Moral Relativism and Why?

Across the generations we can see a statistical rise in the idea that morals are relative. In their research, ‘The End of Absolutes: America’s New Moral Code’ the Barna Group found that over half (51%) of millenials were moral relativists compared to only 39% of the pre Boomer generation of Elders. It is then perhaps not surprising that in Barna’s more recent study of Gen Z (those after millennials) found that only 34% thought that lying was morally wrong. Jonathan Morrow, one of the researchers stated, ‘When only 34 percent of Gen Z can agree that “lying is morally wrong” – that’s a big problem. Not only is our culture deeply confused about moral and spiritual truth, gender and sexuality, but we are getting to the point where no one will listen to someone else’s point of view unless the completely agree with them.’

Young people will also be aware that society has held too collective moral norms that were wrong not too long ago, with Jim Crow segregation laws only ending in 1968 and with marital rape only being made illegal in 1993 (both in the US). Clearly, we have collectively been morally wrong before as a society, which would suggest that morals are relative to the time period.

The Greek Response and the Moral Animals

An interesting counter to the idea that diversity encourages moral relativism however comes from Dr Norman Doidge (author of ‘The Brain that Shapes Itself’). Doidge writes ‘When the ancient Greeks sailed to India and elsewhere, they too discovered that rules, morals and customs differed from place to place, and saw that the explanation for what was right and wong was often rooted in some ancestral authority. The Greek response was not despair, but a new invention: philosophy. For the ancients, the discovery that different people have different ideas about how, practically, to live, did not paralyze them; it deepened their understanding of humanity and led to some of the most satisfying conversations human beings have ever had, about how life might be lived.’

Doidge’s comparison of the ancient response of philosophy, to the modern response of relativism, is really fascinating; that cultural differences in the ancient world did not get rid of long held truths but encouraged comparison and philosophical conversation. That certainly sounds like more fun to me. Doidge continues that, ‘Aristotle argued that though specific rules, laws and customs differed from place to place, what does not differ is that in all places human beings, by their nature, have a proclivity to make rules, laws and customs. To put this in modern terms, it seems that all human beings are, by some kind of biological endowment, so ineradicably concerned with morality that we create a structure of laws and rules wherever we are. The idea that human life can be free of moral concerns is a fantasy.’ Doidge goes on to describe humans as ‘moral animals’.

How has Moral Relativism Affected Young People? All the above quotes from Norman Doidge are actually from his introduction to Canadian clinical psychologist Dr Jordan B. Peterson’s ‘12 Rules for Life: an Antidote to Chaos’. This book rose to be a number one Sunday Times and International Bestseller, and Peterson has been called ‘one of the most important thinkers to emerge on the world stage for many years’ (Spectator). His lectures have been watched on YouTube sixty-four million times to date. His rules for life are ‘traditional wisdom’, presented through the collective stories and religions of many cultures, calling people to unifying human truths and to live responsibly in order to find meaning. Why would this become a sensation – especially among the young audiences he attracts?

Doidge, in his introduction, presents his theory about Petersons’ millennial audience. ‘They are, I believe, the first generation to have been so thoroughly taught two seemingly contradictory ideas about morality, simultaneously… The first idea or teaching is that morality is relative … the additional claim that one group’s morality is nothing but its attempt to exercise power over another group. So, the decent thing to do – once it becomes apparent how arbitrary your, and your society’s, “moral values” are – is to show tolerance for people who think differently, and who come from different (diverse) backgrounds. That emphasis on tolerance is so paramount that for many people one of the worst character flaws a person can have is to be “judgemental.” And, since we don’t know right from wrong, or what is good, just about the most inappropriate thing an adult can do is give a young person advice about how to live. And so a generation has been raised untutored in what was once called, aptly, “practical wisdom,” which guided previous generations. Millennials, often told they have received the finest education available anywhere, have actually suffered a form of serious intellectual and moral neglect.’

When I read that, I totally understood why a book that was just ‘rules for life’ had become a phenomenon – because to progress your life in the right direction, you have to believe there is a right and a wrong direction – a relativistic society would never offer that to young people. But it goes deeper than that too. Peterson believes that without these foundations it is impossible to find meaning in life.

‘In the absence of such a system of value, people simply cannot act. In fact, they can’t even perceive, because both action and perception require a goal, and a valid goal is, by necessity, something valued. … We are not happy, technically speaking, unless we see ourselves progressing – and the very idea of progression implies value. … We must have something to set against the suffering that is intrinsic to Being. We must have the meaning inherent in a profound system of value or the horror of existence rapidly becomes paramount. Then, nihilism beckons, with its hopelessness and despair. … So: no value, no meaning.’

But this is not merely intellectuals making statements about young people; this is what Peterson says young people tell him all the time.

‘They say one of two things … a quarter of them say ‘when I listen to you talk it’s as if you’re telling me things that I already know’. It’s like yeah well that’s exactly right because that’s what archetypal stories are … the other thing that people say and this is more like three quarters of them is ‘I was in a very dark place, I was addicted, I was drinking too much, I had a fragmented relationship with my fiance and I wasn’t getting married, things weren’t going very well with my family, my relationship with my father was damaged, I didn’t have any aim, I was wasting my time – some variant of that. I’ve been watching your lectures, I’ve decided to establish a purpose, I’m trying to tell the truth and things are way better. … People stop me on the street all the time and tell me exactly that story, which is just wonderful! … It’s like the lights are going on.’

New Rules: Guilt vs Shame

And yet, Peterson is not the only sign of a secular reawakening to objective morality. We are seeing this come through on the political scene too in America. In ‘How the American left is rediscovering morality’, you have former Presidential candidate Bernie Sanders saying ‘It’s hard to imagine why anyone would be involved in politics if one didn’t have a moral sense of right and wrong, of justice and injustice’ and newly elected New York Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez saying ‘Everyone’s going crazy about socialism and democratic socialism. For me, that’s not my seat. My seat is a moral seat.’ Whatever you think of their policies, those are interesting things to say.

In some ways, we are seeing a new emerging culture of moralism, but perhaps in not as healthy a way; David Brooks, in his piece ‘The Shame Culture’ for The New York Times, claims that, ‘College campuses are today awash in moral judgment. … Those accused of incorrect thought face ruinous consequences. When a moral crusade spreads across campus, many students feel compelled to post in support of it on Facebook within minutes. If they do not post, they will be noticed and condemned. Some sort of moral system is coming into place. Some new criteria now exist, which people use to define correct and incorrect action. The big question is: What is the nature of this new moral system?’

Andy Crouch writes compellingly that we are moving from a culture of guilt to a culture of shame. Crouch draws this from anthropologist Ruth Benedict who wrote about her discovery of shame culture in Japan in her 1946 book, ‘The Chrysanthemum and the Sword’. This book, ‘popularized the idea that Japan was a “shame culture,” in which morality was governed by “external sanctions for good behavior.” In other words, you know you are good or bad by what your community says about you. By contrast, in a guilt culture such as the West, you know you are good or bad because of an “internalized conviction of sin”—by how you feel about your behavior and choices.’

Crouch thinks that Benedict’s statements about Japanese culture are ‘sweeping’ but that the insight ‘that some cultures place a higher priority on preserving honor and avoiding shame—has remained.’ Crouch points to the online mob that manifests on social media as proof of this, as well as how university campus controversies egnite so fast. He also claims though, that whereas the opposite to shame in Japanese culture was honour, we are not evolving into an honour-shame culture but ‘are starting to look something like a postmodern fame–shame culture. Like honor, fame is a public estimation of worth, a powerful currency of status. But fame is bestowed by a broad audience, with only the loosest of bonds to those they acclaim.’

Of this theory, Brooks remarks,‘The guilt culture could be harsh, but at least you could hate the sin and still love the sinner. The modern shame culture allegedly values inclusion and tolerance, but it can be strangely unmerciful to those who disagree and to those who don’t fit in.’

How do we help young people in this?

It’s a messy issue, but perhaps the most helpful things the Church can do for young people is offer them a space for the existential conversations, and to offer them that strong guidance on right and wrong whilst engaging their search for meaning.

Bishop Robert Barron sums up the classical morality versus modern morality debate humorously. ‘The modern approach is boring. I say it because it locks the subject so much into himself, there’s no thrilling adventure of discovering formal truth or discovering finality and purpose. All that matters is my little world of my desires, my identity, my sense of myself. I think classical morality … is a much more thrilling, much more adventurous project.’ The Church might first have to convince younger generations that truth exists, or even potentially exists, but when it does that, it also needs to provide a space to explore the different truths in that philosophical tradition. Something like the Alpha course springs to mind here, just the space to thrash the basic ideas out and not be told you are wrong, just to have the conversation of meaning that people are starving for.

Essentially the Church needs to hold to its guns on morality, though it could do with some explanation on the term sin. Again to a generation scared of judgement, sin sounds awful, but its Hebrew origin comes from the archery term for when an archer missed the mark, meaning in a moral sense that sin is a misdirection of our truest desire. An important emphasis too would be that the Church has these morals to protect people from harm. When Jordan Peterson was asked why people are responding positively to his message, he replied, ‘well I’m actually on their side.’ Young people need to be able trust that the Church is on their side, not moralising for no reason, that in the words of Saint John Bosco: ‘Enjoy yourself as much as you like-if only you keep from sin.’

Ultimately, a society without a belief in sin has no need of a saviour, and even Jesus in his famous ‘do not judge’ teaching says ‘why do you observe the splinter in your brother’s eye and never notice the great log in your own?’ (Matthew 7:3) There He’s calling for a deep knowledge of our own flaws first to enable our interior transformation, but He is not refuting that there are things in life that are damaging, as His core teaching was ‘repent and believe in the good news’: that balance of the two.

Peter Kreeft, professor of philosophy at Boston College and The King’s College, says it well in his book ‘A Refutation of Moral Relativism’:

‘What do you think Jesus meant when he said “judge not”? Do you think he meant “don’t judge deed, don’t believe the Commandments, don’t morally discriminate a just war from an unjust war or a hero from a bully?” He couldn’t have meant that. He meant “don’t judge the motives and hearts, which only God can see.” I can judge your deeds, because I see them. I can’t judge what your motives are, because I can’t see that.’

In all this we have to remember though that it is not just about rules and morals, that that is not the primary reason for Christianity. As Pope Benedict XVI put it so perfectly, ‘Being Christian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the encounter with an event, a person, which gives life a new horizon and a decisive direction.’

[guttersvillemayor]

Unexpected In So Many Ways

[It was unexpected, he was unexpected. He was invited on the trip by mutual friends who talked about how funny, smart and even sexy he was. Although that last one was mentioned in a wistful tone by the recently-singled gay man in the group who would have happily rebounded with the gorgeous man who now stood before me asking if I wanted to go see the Beaver Falls and Colorado River. The group we’d tagged along with were the one who had made the reservations well in advance but he was the only one interested in taking the full hike along Havasu Creek. I wouldn’t say I was a very outdoorsy person or a fan of hiking in general, but since I couldn’t imagine myself ever coming back here again, I easily agreed. The trip started off with the whole group together hanging out at the Navajo and Havasu Falls getting to know one another with those in the group they were less familiar with, and that’s how I became friends with Pedro Guerrero.

By the time we made camp between Havasu Falls and Mooney Falls, he and I had found that despite the age difference, we had a lot in common. Big families, although mine came from siblings and his was more from extended family. Religious upbringing, both Catholic although we didn’t practice like our parents did. Slightly similar taste in humor, books, entertainment and some music. But there were also the differences between us that let us learn more about the other person. However, we didn’t get too personal in backstories and such, like what brought us both to travel across the country. Yet still it felt like I had always known him and that he knew me in a way that no one else ever had. It was probably the main reason I found myself that next morning curled up in his arms after us staying up late talking. We ate breakfast with the group before setting off on our own towards the Beaver Falls. Along the way we kept talking about what would be considered little inconsequential things, but somehow they felt like a window into who each of us really was. It didn’t feel like small talk so that by the time we got to the falls, I had no doubt he and I would probably stay up late again and share a tent and sleeping bag.

I took several pictures of the beautiful landscape around us and sneaked a few of Pedro when he wasn’t looking. There was something about him that was so down to Earth and yet at the same time was just indescribable. At one point, he turned around and almost caught me snapping a photo of him. His smile wide and bright as if it was the most natural thing in the world for this person he just met to be taking his picture while he gazed up at the waterfall in front of him. “You better send me a copy of that one cause I’m sure it’s beautiful.” With a quick nod of my head, I turned my camera away to take other shots of the falls and the slowly descending sun. Pedro offered to set up our camping accommodations if I’d be willing to make our dinner. Something I was more than happy to agree to do. I wasn’t sure what real campers or hikers would eat on their trips, but I’d lucked out in that the more experienced members of the group offered to get the necessary food supplies for everyone if we chipped in to pay them back. It was a good thing they offered cause I’d never known before about freeze-dried meals at least not in the camping sense.

Of course, as someone from Louisiana and New Orleans, especially, I knew about MREs thanks to Hurricane Katrina. But these freeze-dried meals were different. I’d watched the night before as the others had put together the food so I had a pretty good idea of what to do, and besides I did have some idea of how to cook in general and follow instructions. So while Pedro set up the tent, I started to boil the water for the food before going through the meals he’d picked out for us this morning from the group’s supplies. With a raised eyebrow, I called out to him and held up the package I just came across.] Seriously? I can almost promise you that this is not at all authentic. [He had to step a little closer to get a better look at what I was holding up, but he ended up laughing as soon as he noticed I was holding a meal labeled ‘Louisiana Red Beans & Rice.’ “I was just trying to make you feel at home while out on the road. Thought you would enjoy it and even grabbed some dried sausage to add to it.” With another laugh, he walked back to finish setting things up while I shook my head in reply.] While I do miss some good food from home, I have rarely found any dish that has the name Louisiana in it to actually taste like something I’d find in New Orleans. [He laughed again and we returned to companionable silence while we finished our tasks.

Once he was done, Pedro sat down next to me and dug into the packet of red beans I’d cooked. Hearing his hum of happiness at a good meal, I shook my head once more.] I promise you, that doesn’t taste like real Louisiana red beans and rice. [Turning his head towards me, his rich chocolate brown eyes catching mine and pinning me in place as he spoke. “Well then I guess you’ll have to show me sometime what those taste like.” Mutely, I nod my head and take a quick bite of the food while I try to recover from my reaction to him. “But for now, these taste pretty good. Thanks for making them.”] This was nothing. Thanks for putting up that. [I motion back to the tent which probably would have taken me a lifetime to put together no matter how easy he said it would be if I did it. We continued to talk about what foods we enjoyed while finishing our dinner and once we were done, it didn’t take long to clean everything up.

By this point, the sun had fully set and the moon was bright enough for us to see around our camping area. I watched in fascination as Pedro pulled out his sleeping bag as mine was already set up in the tent. My eyebrow shooting up in confusion as to what he was planning. Seeing my facial expression, he just chuckled and continued on spreading it out on the ground and grabbing a pillow before holding out his hand. “Senorita.” My own chuckle bubbling up at his gallant ways as I place my hand in his.] Senor. [And with that he helped me lay down on the covered ground before joining next to me. “Now this is better than any book, TV show or movie I’ve ever seen, don’t you agree?” I simply hum in agreement because what could anyone say when staring up at a beautiful night’s sky with what looked like thousands of stars shining down on us.

This wasn’t the first time I’d seen a starry night out on the road away from the big cities, but I’d never really stopped and laid down to enjoy them. It felt like this was something Pedro did regularly. As if he went through life at his own pace. I definitely went through life at a pace of my own, but it still felt rushed and confused and like I had no idea where I was going or how I would get there. I was so absorbed in the stars and my introspection that I almost jumped at the feel of Pedro’s fingers interlacing with mine. His hands were rough and yet smooth at the same time. The contradiction of his touch feeling very much like a Pedro thing. And what started off as a few soft and slow trailing brushes of his free hand over my arm escalates as he shifts on the sleeping bag to face me instead of the stars. The intimate touch of the backs of his fingers against the length of my jaw is enough to steal my breath away, but it’s the look in his eyes that has me frozen in place almost as if I’m going through an outer body experience watching his lips descend to my own slowly and cautiously. But the moment our lips touch, it kickstarts me into reacting. My hand shoots up to grip the back of his neck and while I’ve experienced a few kisses in my lifetime, it’s as if my body has a mind of its own and knows exactly what to do in this situation.

Who knows how long we lay there making out, not pressing any further until at one point, I feel his free hand start to slide down towards my chest. And while my body is on fire wanting to feel more of his touch, those same flames seem to lick the more rational part of my brain that has me breaking apart our kiss and resting my hand on top of his. I’m thankful for the dim light of the campfire which hopefully isn’t making it obvious about my growing blush as I rush through what I feel compelled to say at this moment.] I don’t want you to think that I’m not enjoying this, that I don’t welcome all of this. But I think it is only fair that you know that this isn’t something I do… ever. [My gaze shifting away from his as the mortification of my admission slowly grows now that the adrenaline of our make-out session has begun to subside. “What do you mean ever? Like you never make out under the stars or with people you’ve just met?” His tone gives away his incredulous thoughts despite the humor he tries to tack on at the end. I shift my body so that I can sit up because as much as I really don’t want to talk about this, I can’t deny that this is something that has to be talked about.] I mean I’ve never made out with anybody… ever.

[The silence stretches out for long enough to have my anxiety spike and I pull my hands into my lap to nervously pick at nails. “You said you’re 30, right? Are you saying that not one guy in all those years has realized how amazing you are before now even enough to simply make out with you?” It was as if his words speared me right in the heart, putting words to the insecurity I’d felt for so very long at reaching adulthood with barely any form of intimacy that I’d seen others partake in, to feel like such an outcast and oddball. To feel as if I was never good enough for anyone. If his hands hadn’t gently grasped my face, I no doubt would have fled from the sleeping bag to put distance between us. From his piercing words and gaze. But seeming to notice how vulnerable he’d made me, he quickly pulled me in for another kiss. This one soft and gentle and lingering, as if he was trying to soothe whatever hurt he might have caused with the clear action and message that I wasn’t unkissable like I’d believed myself to be.

“I hope I made that well worth the wait, senorita.” HIs words are soft and whispered against my lips to where all I can do is nod my head and feel his grin at my eager response. He pulls me back in for another series of kisses that are sweet and yet somehow still imbued with a passion that strokes the flames inside of me and I have to pull away once again.] Not that I enjoy continually pointing out how inexperienced I am, but I bring it up because while I enjoy kissing you… a lot. I’m not ready to… I don’t want you to think… [I can’t seem to find the right words to let him know that while I’m attracted to him and feel things for him I’d never truly felt for anyone else, I wasn’t ready to push too far, too fast into uncharted territory with someone I’d just met. Thankfully he seemed to understand as he raised a finger to silence my rambles. “No worries, hermosa. We have time to go as fast or as slow as you want.” Unable to say anything back, I show my appreciation by initiating a kiss of my own.

And for the next few hours we made out and slowly explored each other’s comfort zones until the campfire died down enough that we knew it was time to climb into our tent and find some rest. His arms wrapping around my body and pressing me to him while we slept. It was all new and exhilarating and I didn’t know how to process it all before falling asleep comfortably in his arms. The next few days were much of the same, with hiking and conversation throughout the day, snapping photos and getting to know each other better as people. And then at night, we laid out under the stars talking about slightly more intimate topics and getting to know each other’s bodies.

There was something different about that last night as we were planning the next day to trek back to the helipad to return to our vehicle and civilization. I didn’t know when I’d see him again, if I’d ever see him again. But in those few days, I’d felt closer to Pedro than I’d felt to any other person in the world. It seemed so clear to me that I couldn’t go back without fully giving myself over to that connection. So when it came time to pick a spot in the main campground for him to set up our tent, I made sure it was far enough away from most people that there would be some privacy. He probably figured I’d thought of this for our make-out sessions that had gotten more hot and heavy with each night. However, after dinner when he went to go grab his sleeping bag to lay down under the stars, I made sure to douse the campfire we’d set.

The moon was more than full enough to illuminate the area in case we needed to see something. His gaze looking up at me questioningly as he finished laying out the bag and I walked over to him and interlaced our fingers.] I want to thank you for this trip. I didn’t expect to find someone like you on the road or ever, really. But the past few days have been beyond what I could have ever hoped for in my life and I hope that you won’t mind doing me a favor tonight. [His eyebrow lifting in the sexy way I’d noticed it did whenever he was curious about something but didn’t have the words to ask what I meant. Letting one hand slowly work its way to the hem of Pedro’s pants, I lightly tease the top of them and bite my lip to gain my courage to ask my favor. The intake of his breath at my actions gave me the small boost of courage that I needed.] If you’re willing, of course, I’d really like to see what I’ve been missing out on… all of it, I mean. [A nervous chuckle escaping me as I wasn’t sure how else to ask someone to sleep with me, to look past my inexperience and virgin status that had felt like an invisible scarlet letter for so long. But it seemed I’d found the right person and Pedro dipped his head to press a soft kiss to my lips and whisper. “I’d be honored.”

He insisted that we not jump right to the end and we started that night as we had every other night by slowly making out and slowly building up to other things. Giving myself to Pedro was not something I had expected by any means. I’d pretty much resigned myself to live a solitary life indulging any notions of motherly instincts on my nieces and nephews. But as Pedro slowly made love to me under the stars, I felt that maybe my life wouldn’t be what I had assumed, what lot I’d consigned my life to be. That maybe there was more yet for me beyond what I saw. That night would forever live in my memory as well as Pedro’s touch would be forever burned and branded on my skin. It seemed like it was never going to end until eventually we fell asleep and the sun slowly rose the next morning.

We stayed quiet most of that day as we packed our things and headed past the first falls to the village. Each of us reaching out for the other from time to time for little touches and kisses. It wasn’t until we were back on the hilltop and approaching our vehicles that either one of us said something. “I don’t know if you’d be interested or not, but I’d like to see you again.” I couldn’t help but chuckle softly at how unsure he sounded, as if somehow I would ever refuse Pedro.] I’d like that. Maybe we should exchange information? [My teasing words highlighting how we’d gone days and shared intimacies never before crossed and yet hadn’t exchanged phone numbers. As we swapped phones, I input all my information from my full name to phone number even down to the addresses for my parents’ house and the Alabama beach house, before handing his phone back to him with a gentle kiss saying goodbye for now.

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

So it shouldn’t have surprised me when the same man who I unexpectedly gave my virginity to, the man who unexpectedly got me pregnant and who I’d given my heart to unexpectedly would follow along those same lines and show up unexpectedly in the same small town I was currently staying. Apparently while I was trying to subconsciously hide from my family and the pregnancy that was turning my life upside down, I had never considered that the man who had helped do the turning would ever find his way to Fairhope or Point Clear, Alabama. Yet there he stood with a huge smile on his face as if he was expected… didn’t he know he would always be unexpected to me. “Talk about crazy. I was just about to call you since I realized I didn’t know exactly where your place was here in Fairhope.” My reply comes out immediately, more from my unflattering habit of correcting or answering things I shouldn’t than anything else.] Point Clear… My family’s vacation house that I live at is actually in Point Clear, but they butt up right next to each other and overlap in some ways. This is, of course, Fairhope and not Point Clear…

[I would have kept going if not for his laugh at my rambling and more importantly for the soft, lingering kiss he presses to my lips. My body is frozen in place for a second before instinct kicks in and I kiss him back. He is chuckling softly when he finally breaks our kiss. “God, I never get tired of hearing you ramble on, woman.” I’m blinking as my brain catches up with everything that is going on. How does one process the father of their unborn showing up unexpectedly and just kissing them out of the blue. Thankfully, or not really when I think about it, I’m saved from talking as I hear Dahlia’s voice chime in. “And who might this be, Ems?” It’s then I remember I am not alone as I was out with Dahlia and Reba for some lunch after my doctor’s appointment. They were only in for the day, claiming to have brought me some much needed supplies from New Orleans. How they had pulled this excursion off without Wendy or complaint from my brothers was a mystery to me, but I appreciated having them earlier as the whooshing sound of my baby’s heartbeat reverberated through the ultrasound room. Now I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do as I introduced them to the baby daddy. No doubt a blush has creeped up my neck and I’m not sure if the nauseous feeling in my stomach is from morning sickness or simple anxiety.]

Guys, this is Pedro whom I met while out on the road. Pedro, this is my sister-in-law Dahlia and my brother Jackson’s hopefully soon-to-be fiancée Reba. I’m sure I’ve mentioned them a few times in my stories. [He chuckles softly and it only adds to the conflicting feelings in my stomach as I would usually melt at the sound. “Yes, she’s mentioned you a few times.” “All good I hope,” asks Dahlia with a teasing voice while they all shake each other’s hands. “Oh yeah, all the bad stuff was focused more on her brothers.” This causes both Reba and Dahlia to laugh. “Of that there can be no doubt,” Reba chuckled. “Were you all just going to lunch?” I don’t know what to make of the hopeful look on Pedro’s face, but I can tell the gears are turning in Dahlia’s head from her expression. “Sadly, we just finished eating an early lunch so that Reba and I could head back home before rush hour traffic.”

“Oh.” His short answer says so much and if I wasn’t afraid I’d lose my lunch before, I’m close to blowing chunks now from the flipping of my stomach. “But obviously, we’re just here visiting Emma Jean so you two can stay and catch up.” Reba pins me with a serious look while she starts to wrap her arms around my body and whispers into my ear. “Talk to him about things and give us a call after, okay?” With a quick nod, I hug Dahlia next as she places a soft kiss to my cheek and relays a whispered message of her own. “He is yummy, but don’t let this opportunity to talk to him go to waste.” I keep nodding my head as both of them bid farewell to me and Pedro. My eyes stay glued on them as they climb into Dahlia’s vehicle and start to drive off, waving goodbye. “So… that’s the infamous Dahlia?”

Taking in a deep calming breath, I nod and shift myself to once again take in all of Pedro.] Yep, the very one. Although Reba can have her moments too. [Trying not to catch his notice, my gaze runs over Pedro’s visage and taking note of any little changes since the last time I saw him before the new year. “It’s clear that they both love you very much just from those few moments.” A hum of agreement sounds forth as I fight with myself to not blurt out what I’m thinking.] What exactly are you doing here, Pedro? [Great job, Emma Jean. Smooth, real smooth. He chuckles showing how unoffended he is by my outburst. “I never tire of how refreshing you are. I’m here because I missed you, if I’m being honest. You said you didn’t know when you’d be back out on the road so I figured I was more than capable to come see you.” He glances around as his head bobs. “This isn’t a bad place even if it is in Alabama.”] I try not to hold that against them either, but I like the view from our beach house.

[As I’m speaking, he closed the distance between us, slipping his fingers between mine much like that first night alone together and presses a soft kiss to my lips the moment I’m done speaking. “If it’s not too presumptuous and you don’t mind showing me, I’d love to see this view.” From the twinkle in his eye and the intonation of his voice, I know what he’s trying to say without spelling it out for any person passing by us on a random sidewalk in Fairhope. I wasn’t sure what to do. There was so much to tell him and yet I still didn’t know if I should tell him. But there was no doubt that if I didn’t agree to him coming back with me to the house, he would know that something was up. In another world where I wasn’t pregnant with his child, I would have happily taken him off the second he randomly showed up. Dahlia and Reba here or not.

So as hard as it was to do, considering I’d just heard my child’s heartbeat and got a print-out picture of them, I did my best to act as if I wasn’t pregnant until I could figure out what I was going to say, if anything, to Pedro.] I think that can be arranged. [A teasing grin slowly spreads across my face as I motion towards his jeep, which he usually had hooked up to the back of his camper that was no doubt left at a park or somewhere similar. I make sure he takes us to that first so that at the very least he can park it at my place before leading Pedro towards what had been my sanctuary through all the upheaval in my life, including him and his child.]