#dana lodge

[warningsine]

[mikelogan]

THE GOOD WIFE 3x07 Executive Order 13224

[djkerr]

TGW 03x13 Bitcoin for Dummies

Kalinda has Alicia's back, always.

[tv-moments]

Tulsa King

Season 1, “Adobe Walls”

Director: Lodge Kerrigan

DoP: Glenn Brown

[sayruq]

The UK government has revoked the student visa of a Palestinian student who lost relatives in Gaza after she spoke at a demonstration at the University of Manchester. Dana Abuqamar, a law student who heads the Friends of Palestine Society at the University of Manchester, said the UK government revoked her visa on “national security” grounds, after claiming she was a risk to public safety. “The claim they are making is baseless and violates my rights as a resident here in the UK. My legal team has lodged a human rights appeal against this decision to revoke my student visa in my last and final year as a law student,” Abuqamar said, speaking to Al Jazeera English, confirming that her visa had been revoked. Last year, Abuqamar revealed that she had lost at least 15 relatives in Gaza after the Israeli army bombed a three-storey building in the besieged enclave. “During this genocide, the UK Home Office decided to revoke my student visa following public statements supporting the Palestinian right to exercise under international law to resist oppression and break through the siege that was illegally placed on Gaza for over 16 years,” said Abuqamar. “Freedom of expression is a fundamental human right, but it seems to not apply to ethnic minorities, particularly Muslims and Palestinians like myself. We must reject the double standard in the application of human rights by public authorities and rise against this oppression.” A spokesperson for the UK Home Office said it did not respond to individual cases.

[anamelessfool]

A Naming (part 3 of 5)

Rated Teen, Papa Emeritus II’s Son and Family

Tags: Halloween Hijinks, Eldest Kid Anxiety, Suburban Dad Secondo, Disabled Secondo, Post-Retirement Life, Magic Rituals, My AU with Seocondo being Papa from 2001-2008

CW: Underage Drinking, Strong Language

Paul does the ritual. It goes exactly as expected.

Dedicated to @kissingghouls thanks for cheering me on you’re my little Hell Pumpkin🎃 I’m on AO3 with all my other fics but Tumblr gets mad at me when I post links check out #anamelessfool halloween tag for the prev chapter, #anamelessfool halloween start to start the fic.

The car full of teens crunched along the gravel path behind the old church. Headlights illuminated the rickety silhouette of a swingset, beyond which the old churchyard loomed. The kids unfolded themselves from the car and mingled in the grass.

For most of the short ride here it was a joke. Get the weird gravedigger kid to do some magic or something, see some ghosts. But as they surveyed the headstones cast about like old crooked teeth juxtaposed beside the children’s covered picnic area they fell into a reverent silence. The big junior boy attempted to lighten the mood by dragging his body down the metal slide meant for preschoolers and he wasn’t even rewarded with the dumb grins he craved. Brian was still taking furtive nips from the flask in his jacket but Paul hadn’t been interested for two hours now. This didn’t seem like the place for it.

He wondered how he’d do it, whatever he’d decide to do. He knew he needed to create a circle and surround it with the right symbols. Something would need to be inside, maybe the candle; and he’d utter the syllables while tracing the circle once more with his tibia wand. He knew enough about magic to know that most of it was about just thinking about what you wanted and letting whatever happened after that run its course, but a good show was in order. He didn’t want to look stupid on top of failing to procure a decent paranormal event.

Dana smiled again at him, but she still held her friend Tiff’s hand. “What are you going to do for us?” she asked. In the low light emitted from the nearby streetlamp her eyes were wide, glittering. She was living her favorite quote, and all Paul needed to do was to let her soul take her where she wanted to be. Some sort of dark, mysterious place where demons and magic are fun. Paul left all that when he was too young to remember, but knew enough that gothic drama had a price.

“Maybe…” Paul analyzed the scene beyond the fence, where the ancient headstones were planted. “Spirit communication?”

“Ghosts? We’re going to talk to ghosts?” Tiff could barely contain her excitement.

“Yeah,” Paul replied quickly. “Let’s use the picnic area to set up.”

Under the awning studded with dead wasp nests was a smooth platform of sidewalk concrete. The kids gathered around and Paul felt the fear settle in. He was a natural performer as long as he was lodged in some hole with only his music to be perceived by. Now five older kids stared into him, getting more restless as he scrambled through his father's journal to find an enticingly arcane image to entertain them with.

He finally discovered a page drawn with a ring of syllables that he could reasonably pronounce. He got to work, drawing on the white concrete with the dark sidewalk chalk. He placed the candle in the center of the small circle along with the obsidian chunk and a sprinkling of the dried rose petals. The two girls were captivated while the boys half watched and half play wrestled with each other. Brian swayed a little and handed him a lighter for the candle, chuckling.

“Now I uh…call in the energies,” said Paul. He was supposed to start facing east and go clockwise, but in the dark there was no indication of true direction. He remembered observing a few of these gestures and repeated them here. Just recently at the equinox he had helped Secondo circumnabulate the property line of his home, restoring the energy buried along with all the nail-filled mason jars holding up the wards. He replicated the careful gesture of drawing a pentagram in the air with the wand, but refused to include the deep sonorous chant that went with it. He knew they would laugh.

At last he returned to the circle. “I…cast my will as a net,” he mumbled. “The Void will provide. Nevertheless I will endure.“

“Now what?” Muttered Brian.

“I circumambulate the circle.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Grunted the boy from the backseat that Paul thought was named Tyler.

“Walk around,” said Paul. “Say the words.” He held out the tibia, pointing at the syllables as he stepped toe to toe past them. The other hand held the book as he read out each symbol slowly, his voice cracking. “Ab-Che-halva-ach-aleph-namu…eke…ab-Che-halva…” In his circumambulation he kept passing Dana and Tiff, trying not to meet their eyes. He wasn’t certain whether they were fascinated or bored and he didn’t want to find out. The sounds were guttural, cruel, and unknown. He was not sure of when to stop.

And then the candle went out.

The boys stopped mugging. Paul cautiously brought the tibia back into his hoodie pocket, blinking. “Should we…go out and check?”

“Check for what?” Whispered Dana. He hadn’t realized how close she came to him, her eyes wide with excitement. The boys were already out on the grass, still pretending to be half-interested but silent and watchful all the same.

“I dunno…” Paul held out his hand and Dana took it, Tiff linking arms with her. The three of them stepped cautiously back onto the grass to scan the treeline.

There was the chainlink fence, the gravestones beyond it, solid as always. The candle went out, but nothing happened. Paul felt stupid, wondering with a growing sickness in his gut that all he did tonight was look like the weirdo gravedigger kid they thought he was.

“So does your dad talks like that to all the dead grandmas he works on or…” Tyler was already done with all this, and Dave laughed in response.

“I told you there’s no spirits there,” muttered Paul. “And he’s not the one that works on them ,okay?”

“Yeah. This is all a fucking joke. Honestly.”

Paul heard Dana’s voice and it warmed him, just for a small moment. “Listen, come on, it’s just all in good fun, ok?”

Paul felt something small bounce off his shoulder and fall into the grass. “Ouch, fuck!” snapped a kid nearby, clapping a hand over his own head. “What the hell is that?”

Paul ducked down to retrieve the items that fell by his feet. It was an ordinary quarter and two pennies. He heard someone else stir, disturbed by more items falling on their head. “Coins.”

“Coins? Oh! Yeah!” said Dana, holding one up. “Where are they coming from?”

Something fell behind Paul, bouncing off his back. A cigarette lighter phone charger. Nearby, a few crumpled receipts and empty paper soft drink cup dropped onto the grass, followed by more coins. “It's…stuff from the car…”

“Car’s fucking locked,” hissed Dave. He swore again and Paul heard another coin bounce off his head. He felt old crumbs collect in his hair, sprinkled by something inexplicable above them all.

Paul glanced over to the car.

Then something happened. It felt like his brain was broken; his eyes lied. He saw the air above the car, the negative space empty there for a moment, and then watched an object pop into existence. Something big, dark and heavy that then was dropped down on top of the car so forcefully the hood crumpled into a crush of metal.

It was a small headstone from the churchyard.

“Everybody under the awning,” Paul commanded hoarsely, running backwards while still staring fixedly at the car in front of them. Coins continued to drop seemingly from nowhere, the soft sound of them hitting the grass all around them.

Paul couldn't process what he just saw. The rock was not there, and then yet it was there. And absolutely totaled the car right before their eyes.

The night taunted them with its normalcy. There was nothing out of place. No stirring leaf, no swing disturbed. The single streetlight buzzed and threw stark highlights across the asphalt by the ruined car.

A small stone fell from the awning, skidding to Paul’s feet. But there was nothing there except those empty husks of paper wasps and cobwebs.

“The car, man!” Dave whined. He bit his lip and wrung his hands. “My fucking car…”

“Would you shut up about the car?!” the junior boy rasped. His hands were over his head. “How did that stone—”

Gravel dumped across his head and skittered to the floor. The boy yelled, hopping backwards into Dave, who nearly punched him in terror. The sliding hiss of gravel falling behind them made their heads whip around to see when more would drop.

“Just like that,” said Paul, pointing. He stared fixedly at a spot where another stone had dropped. He squinted, trying to steel his nerves. Name it, his father’s voice uttered. Name what?

Just as before, a new stream of gravel was there in the air as matter-of-factly as how they were not there moments before. The space became filled without even a blink of an eye. And more stones fell.

“I’m getting out of here,” shouted Tyler. He made a few steps towards the edge of the awning and another heavy grave marker dropped, barely missing his head and cracking the concrete. He scrambled back to the group just in time for Paul to read the date 1812 carved upon it.

“It doesn’t want us to leave!” shrieked Tiff. “What did you even do?!”

Another fall of small stones from the parking lot; this time a steady, almost luxurious stream of tiny pebbles appearing, falling, and pooling into an aggressive pile right before their eyes. The sliding, angry hiss rustled terror up Paul's spine as he bit the inside of his cheek and drew blood. Satisfied, the gravel stream ceased as if someone turned off an arcane spigot. Another rock dropped onto the Junior boy's head, and he screamed, prompting yet another small rock to be pelted at Tiff and Dana.

In the silence between the bursts of stones across their heads, one of the girls started sobbing. Paul stared down at the circle in front of him, tears blurring his own eyes. “Oh, fuck! Fuuuck!” shouted Dave and Paul whipped his head up to the sound of tires on the gravel. Another spurt of rocks fell to the ground, these much larger and thrown fast enough to bounce off the concrete.

Beside the wrecked car loomed a black hearse. The headlights dimmed as the door opened, a form gingerly rising to its feet and affixing a crutch. Tall, wide shoulders slung back. The face was obscured, but the Eye shone. The eye, a brilliant beam in the dark.

“Fuck, run!” Brian yelled, but his drinking got the best of him and he stumbled across a picnic table. The other kids were frozen on the spot, the spurts of rocks scattering around them forgotten as a storybook nightmare materialized in front of their eyes.

“No,” Paul said softly. “Don’t run.”

The hearse, the Eye, the shambling gait on the large proud form was an image out any slasher movie. But Paul knew this visage more than anyone. And more than anyone, he felt an intensity of fear only experienced by a son who had completely, utterly, and wholly fucked up.

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[djkerr]

TGW 03x14 Another Ham Sandwich

“be sorry because it’s happening, don’t be sorry because of anything else” → The Good Wife - 3x14 “Another Ham Sandwich”

[warningsine]

[oohnotvery]

Throwing Good After Bad (Chapter 14)

Scully

When Scully first heard Jules utter the words sacrificial bath, she assumed it meant the Black Sands would try to drown her in the sea in the same way the children died. But as she watches four men lug an aluminum tub out into the center of the lodge, she realizes nervously that they meant an actual bath.

It takes a long time for the men to fill the tub with buckets of what she hopes is warm water, and as she waits in silence, she doesn’t even bother looking over at Mulder. She knows what she’ll see on his face—crushing guilt mixed with astonishing self-hatred and a whopping dose of pity for her.

But she doesn’t need pity from him. She needs action.

She can’t lie; she was a little shocked to wake up in the lodge next to him and Lydia, having made the assumption that her partner—who has a colorful history of madcap, Houdini-esque getaways— would have managed to escape his hosts’ house. But Mulder has seemed more than a little distracted during this investigation, she muses. He’s been a little less quick to make decisions and a little less enthusiastic about pursuing leads. She glances at Lydia, who has been staring morosely down at her feet for half an hour, and wonders, not for the first time, if she’s the one distracting her partner.

As the tub begins to fill up, Scully idly starts to consider how they’re going to make it out of this mess alive. Although it’s not rare for one of them to be kidnapped, tortured, or taken hostage, it’s very rare for both of them to be ensnared at the same time. It certainly presents a disadvantage.

And then there’s Joe’s confession, which, quite frankly, caught her off guard. She shudders at the fact that it was him—not Evan—watching her make out with Mulder under the moonlight.

And where the hell is Evan anyways?

When the tub is three-quarters full, Jules motions to Harlan, who produces a knife and quickly sets to work undoing the bonds around her wrists and ankles before moving on to Mulder. Although she is free to move about the space, she doesn’t forget that there’s a shotgun pointed at her head.

“You said your name was Mulder? And Dana?” Jules confirms. They both nod. “Okay. I’ll give you a rundown of what happens next. It is our tradition prior to a sacrifice for the individual being offered up to be bathed and cleansed by the person with whom they are most intimate. You two being husband and wife, it is therefore appropriate for you to bathe each other.”

Although Scully assumed something like this was coming, she can’t help the way her stomach bottoms out at Jules’ words. The idea of touching Mulder so intimately—and letting him touch her the same way—is almost as terrifying as the thought of being murdered by this death cult.

“The water should be at the perfect temperature,” Jules announces, dipping a finger in to test it. “You may stand and disrobe.”

Unbidden, Scully feels tears of outrage sting at her eyelashes. She doesn’t want a hundred strangers to see her naked; she doesn’t want Joe and Lydia to see her naked. And more than that, she doesn’t want Mulder to see her naked.

Not like this.

Not with the threat of death looming.

Not because of another forced encounter.

She balks. “Can we at least keep our underwear on? In front of all these people?” She gestures to the gawking crowd.

Jules smiles thinly. “It’s tradition, Dana. A tradition that is important for the community to witness.” She winks provocatively and her voice drops to a stage whisper. “Actually, it’s not uncommon for our married couples to engage in intercourse during this session. It will be the last time you ever get to touch your spouse again.”

She sees red. “Sex? You want us to have sex? In front of all these people? In this shitty excuse for a bathtub?” She takes a step forward and stabs her finger at Jules’ heart, ignoring the way Harlan raises the gun slightly to follow her movements. “You’re planning to kill us in order to appease some nonsense, false gods, when in reality your grandchildren likely died because they didn’t understand how to get out of a riptide, but before you do any of that, you want to get off watching us touch each other? You sick, disgusting bastards! If I ever get free of this hell you’ve put us in, I will rip out your eyeballs with my bare hands and force them down your throats, you sick sons of a bitches!”

Jules’ hand comes out and smacks her across the cheek hard, and Scully lunges, flinging out her hands to claw at the woman’s face. Mulder lurches forward and grabs her wrist, yanking her back to his side before jumping to stand between her and the shotgun. He raises a hand in surrender, sending Jules and Harlan a pleading look.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he interrupts carefully, placing a hand over the barrel of the gun. “Everyone’s just a little on edge right now.” He drops his hand to grab Scully’s wrist and stills her with a thumb pressed to her pulse point.

But she can’t catch her breath. Her chest is heaving rapidly and even as Mulder strokes her arm soothingly, she feels like she’s about to come out of her skin. He shoots her a commanding look and she knows she needs to calm down. She needs to regulate her emotions. They don’t have the upper hand here; the Black Sands do. Her partner stares at her for a long moment, his eyes begging her to relax, to stay in lock-step until there’s not a gun aimed at her head. When she feels like she can breathe again, she nods slightly.  

He turns his attention back to Jules and Harlan. “Come on, guys,” he barters calmly, his voice oozing charm and goodwill. “You said it yourself. We’re not part of the community; we’re outsiders. Let us do this one last thing on our own terms. Don’t make our last minutes with each other a living hell. Give us some privacy at least.”

Jules pinches her lips together irritably and Harlan draws close to her, dipping his head towards her ear. Scully glances at Mulder apprehensively and he squeezes her hand tightly.

After a long minute, Jules sighs in defeat. “Fine. You get your privacy.”

Scully releases a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Jules continues. “You two will be given privacy in this room under direct orders to perform the sacrificial bath. Harlan and I will stand at the doors to ensure the ceremony is performed. Everyone else will return to the meeting room.”

“Well, it’s not perfect, but it beats the alternative,” Mulder quips, and Scully has half a mind to punch him in the gut. Why can’t he take this seriously?

He shoots her a sheepish look and she looks away, suddenly very annoyed.

But an anger has been building inside her since the moment they landed this assignment. Anger at Kersh for assigning them to different partners, if only because it distressed Mulder and made him even more difficult, moody, and brooding than usual. Anger at the Black Sands Community for being one creepy, cultish nightmare. Anger at Joe and his seeming incompetence, which she now realizes was likely just a result of the fact that he and Lydia were assigned to be veritable babysitters, nothing more. Anger at Lydia for being similarly incompetent, but also anger at her for wanting Mulder.

And of course, anger at Mulder. Anger at him for being too possessive. Anger at him for not being possessive enough. Anger at him for caring more about their partner assignment than about the Black Sands mystery. Anger at him for getting distracted. Anger at him for distracting her.

Anger at him for getting hard that night on the beach.

Anger at him for kissing her so completely, so well.

Anger at him for making her want more.

Anger at him because it wasn’t real.

She stares at the bathtub, her cheeks warming with the realization that she will soon be forced to share another moment of false intimacy with the man she loves. She wonders if it will haunt her just as much as their night on the beach has.

She closes her eyes and reminds herself to breathe.

**

With the room emptied out—except for Harlan and Jules, who stand guard by the doors, shotgun locked and loaded—Scully stares down at the bathtub in trepidation. Before leaving them, Jules made it explicitly clear that they were to both disrobe to full nudity and immerse themselves in the tub together. The tub really is too small to fit two people comfortably, and Scully can already imagine all the body parts that are about to be smushed together in there.

She glances at Mulder expectantly and he catches her eye, then turns his back to her. She follows suit, listening to the rustle of clothing leaving his body. She hears his jacket, shoes, and socks come off first, and as if on autopilot, she copies his movements, first removing outerwear, then socks, then shoes. Next come his jeans and possibly his boxers, which she can tell by the rough scrape of heavy fabric against skin. She slips off her own jeans, folding them neatly beside her shoes. Goosebumps ripple up her skin as he removes his shirt and she her own.

She knows he is done by the noticeable way he goes silent, but she still has two items to remove. Her hands shake as she unclasps her bra, letting the straps fall down her arms on their own. She fingers the waistband of her panties nervously. This feels like the final frontier. If she were required to remove everything but her panties, she might survive this. Showing Mulder her naked breasts isn’t exactly desirable under these conditions, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Breasts are private, yes, but they’re not quite taboo. Women in Europe routinely show their breasts with little hesitation. It’s getting fashionable for girls to forgo wearing bras these days.

Letting him see everything below the waist, though . . . that feels dangerous. Forbidden. Unthinkable.

“Everything off,” Jules barks at Scully’s hesitation, and she nearly jumps out of her skin.

Just like ripping off a Band-Aid, she tells herself, and yanks her panties down.

“You get in first,” Mulder murmurs behind her, and she is grateful he is still turned away from her.

Slowly, she turns towards the tub and sinks down into the clear water, sighing with slight relief at its warmth. The men did a good job heating the tub. When she is settled as comfortably as she can be—knees pulled into her chest, arms linked protectively around her calves—she calls out to him.

“Your turn.”

She keeps her eyes averted as he joins her in the tub, water sloshing over the edges as he sinks down ungracefully.

“I know this is uncomfortable, Scully,” he starts, and she keeps her eyes focused on the water. “But just think of it this way. Before you know it, this will be over and our heads will be on spikes decorating the entrance to the lodge.”

She raises her head to shoot him a dark look. How is he joking at a time like this? But despite his poor attempt at humor, his eyebrows are creased in concern.

“You okay, Scully?” he asks quietly. He, too, has his legs pulled up to his chest. It’s the only way to prevent body parts from touching. He drags a long finger along the top of the water, skimming the surface.

She shrugs. That irrational anger she feels towards him starts to bubble up again. How is he so calm about this? Probably because he experiences none of the same unrequited love and desire that she does.

“You look angry,” he notices, his mind profiler-sharp. Silently, she curses him for being so damn perceptive. Misreading the source of her anger, he continues. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t get us out of this sooner—”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is. I should have seen this coming. We should never have let them separate us.”

She sighs exasperatedly, pulling her arms in tighter. There he goes again, obsessing over their separation. “Mulder—”

“It distracted us,” he continues. “We weren’t thinking clearly at any stage of this investigation. We should have radioed to Kersh ages back and told him something was up.”

She hesitates. “I can’t argue with that.” She gives him a meaningful look. “Maybe we could have gotten less involved in the community. Maybe we could have followed orders better. Maybe we could have done a better job working with Lydia and Joe.”

He scoffs. “Those fools? They were sent here to spy on us.”

She shrugs. “Maybe we shouldn’t have discounted them as much as we did. Joe was clearly keeping on tabs on us when we had no idea. I don’t know how we missed that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Spies, Scully, nothing else.”

She smiles slightly. “I was sent to spy on you at one point,” she reminds him.

His eyebrows waggle mischievously and she steels herself for a smartass comment. “Yes, but unlike you, Joe didn’t fall head-over-heels in love on day one and decide to renounce his mission.”

She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, shaking her head fondly. If only he knew, she thinks, turning her eyes back to the water.

His finger trips across the water to brush her knuckles. It’s a featherlight touch, one intended to respect her current level of discomfort.

“You’re angry,” he reminds her quietly, his voice more subdued.

She meets his eyes, which look bright green against the hue of the water. “Not at you,” she clarifies gently, even though it’s not entirely true. He doesn’t look too convinced.

She extends a toe, nudging his foot slightly. The water bobs around them. “I can’t help but feel like we’ve had blinders on this entire time. The four of us are trained federal agents. How did we end up in this position?”

He huffs a laugh and it sends a gentle wave through the water.

“It’s not funny,” she scowls. “Even if we survive this, we’ve clearly lost our jobs. Or if we don’t get kicked out of the FBI, there’s no way they’re letting us remain partnered together. Not after what they think we’ve done.”

She watches him swallow and realizes he hasn’t reached the same conclusion yet.

A vulnerable look passes over his face. “You think they’ll split us up?”

“They think we’re sleeping together, Mulder. Of course they will.”

He falls quiet for a long time, so long, in fact, that she starts to miss the sound of his voice. Their fate is starting to close in around them, and she doesn’t know how much longer she has of hearing him chatter.

“What are you thinking?” she prods.

His lips tick up in a wry smile. “Something I probably shouldn’t share.”

That piques her curiosity. “If there was ever a time for honesty, now may be it,” she teases.

He shrugs. “I can’t help but think that we’re being punished for something we didn’t even do. For something we didn’t even . . . experience.”

She cocks her head.

He shoots her a chagrined look. “They’re going to punish us for having sex. And we never even got to do it. We never even had the—the—”

“The pleasure?” she asks cynically, eyebrows raised.

He meets her gaze and laughs mirthlessly. She loosens her grip on her calves just slightly, releasing the pressure on her chest.

“Exactly,” he says. “We didn’t even experience the pleasure we’re being punished for.”

She swallows thickly and nods, glancing down at her hands. The water is starting to cool and she knows they don’t have much time.

“So,” he says quietly, breaking her silence, “what do you think happens to us next?

She bites her lip. This is the part she’s been actively avoiding in her mind. The fact of their impending death.

“You mean how do you think they’ll do it?”

He nods.

“I don’t know,” she breathes. “I hope it’s quick. Painless.”

He flashes her a concerned look and taps her hand with his pinky finger. “Don’t say that,” he chides. “We’ll escape before they can hurt us.”

She shakes her head, a slow smile building. “You and your optimism,” she murmurs.

He holds her gaze for a long moment and she gets the sense that he wants to reach out and touch her, but that he’s holding back out of respect for her privacy. She’s known him long enough to know that physical touch is how he expresses himself. If what he needs is physical comfort right now, surely she can muster up the courage to give it to him.

She scoots marginally closer, just enough so that their knees bump together, calves touching. His eyes follow the movement of her body and she rests her forehead on her knees, then reaches her hands forward to clasp his own. He rubs his thumb over her knuckles for a few moments before gently untangling their fingers. She feels the slosh of water as his arms lift and then feels the heavy, warm weight of his hands dropping across the back of her neck. His arms fall across her shoulders, holding her to him. She feels the press of his lips to the top of her head.

“Think you could take Harlan down?” she whispers.

“Not with that shotgun pointed at your head,” he murmurs. She feels his hand stroking the hair away from her neck, then feels his palm sliding across the bare skin of her back. He follows the column of her spine until he reaches the water’s edge, then trails his fingers back up to her neck.   

The movement is so soothing and so gentle, she can almost imagine that this is real. That this isn’t just the touch of a concerned friend in a difficult moment, but that of a lover.

She turns her face so her cheek is resting against her knee. He drops his forehead so it’s pressed against her temple and she feels his breath skim across her face.

“You know what’s good about this situation?” he murmurs, continuing that slow up-and-down movement across her spine.

“Mm?” she manages to ask.

“We’re not separated anymore. We’re partners again, in their eyes and in our own.”

She smiles slightly at that.

“And we always get out of tough spots when we’re together,” he tells her.

“Together,” she repeats softly, lulled by the feeling of his palm against her skin.

His lips return to her temple, and she closes her eyes momentarily as the desire to rise up and kiss him starts to build. He is being tender and loving with her, just like he was in the jungle. That wasn’t real, she immediately chides herself. But some small part of her reminds herself he was aroused. He got hard for me.

She lifts her head slowly and he rises with her. Their eyes lock and she sees something intense reflected back at her, something desirous and wanting. Does he feel it too? Does he want this too? His eyes flicker to her lips and suddenly, she’s possessed with an incredible will to live.  

I will not kiss him again under forced circumstances, she tells herself. The next time I kiss him, it will be because we are free to make our own choices.

“Mulder?” she murmurs.

“Yeah, Scully?”

She takes a deep breath. “This isn’t the last time, okay?”

He cocks his head and the hand on her back stills.

She licks her lips. “This isn’t the last time . . . we’re together. Like this.” Her eyes flit meaningfully between their naked bodies, hoping to God her intent is clear. Hoping to God she’s reading him correctly. Hoping to God he wants this, too.

That growing intensity behind his eyes seems to rise and crest and the pure want she sees reflected back at her hits her like a ton of bricks. His hand at her back rises quickly to grip her neck, possessive and gentle at the same time. His other hand skims down her arm, fingers tripping across her skin. Goosebumps rise along her spine and she shivers.

“Well,” he finally says, his eyes alight with something dark and heady, “now I have a very good reason to live.”

[xxsksxxx]

Almost Heaven

Summary:

Mulder’s attempt to find more exciting cases to investigate while stuck in the bullpen turns into another weekend trip to the forest.

Meanwhile, Scully is faced with a tempting offer that could change both her future and their lives.

This story is complete, and I’m going to post one chapter a day.

AO3 | Back to the Beginning | @today-in-fic

Chapter 7: To the Place I Belong

Alpos Lodge and Inn, Davis, WV Sunday, November 29th, 1998, 7:33 am

The sun had just started to rise, casting a warm light over the still-damp forest around their motel. The air was still cold, though, and Scully shivered, rubbing her arms over her jacket.

She opened the passenger door, getting in, while her mind was a mile away. She felt Mulder glance at her, probably still wondering about her swift departure last night. Scully knew he had been confused by her reaction to his perfectly reasonable suggestion to follow up on their case with the gunmen. Reasonable—if you had planned this trip only for a case, that is, she thought.

They slowly left the parking lot, the gravel under their tires crunching. Scully turned her face towards the side window once again. This time it wasn’t to suppress a yawn or a smile like she had done on their way into West Virginia the day before.

The trees began to blur into a green haze as the car picked up speed, and the only sound was Mulder cracking sunflower seed shells between his teeth once in a while.

The slow hum of the car’s engine was almost hypnotic, and Scully’s thoughts drifted back to Friday night’s call—and the job offer. It was a huge compliment that she was being considered for this role. And she was very aware of that. A decade ago, she would have jumped for joy. It was everything her younger self would’ve dreamed of. And even present Dana Scully couldn’t completely ignore that she felt flattered and honored.

But there was more to the offer than just a stroke to her ego, she knew. It was a chance to get back to the reason she had joined the FBI in the first place—that she had wanted to make a difference—answer a calling that she felt was true to herself and who she was as a person. She had gone against her father’s wishes to pursue this path—even to a point where she wondered if he could ever feel proud of her again.

This job could mean all of that and more. She would be able to make a difference in the way she had intended, and she knew it was a path her father would have respected. And she would also get back to their search for the truth. Their search, not Mulder’s. That’s how she had started to think of it ever since her sister had been murdered in her place. It had become as much her search for the truth as it was Mulder’s. Mulder. How was she going to bring this up to him now? After yesterday, I know even less what I want to do.

The car hit a pothole, and she gripped the door handle when they drifted slightly to the side.

“Sorry,” Mulder said quietly, glancing at her. “I didn’t think it would be that deep.”

Scully nodded and raised her wrist to check the time. She must have been deeper in thought than she realized because it was nearly 9:30 a.m. and the forest had given way to crop fields and farmhouses scattered throughout.

Mulder glanced at her again and added, “We’re not far out anymore. Another hour at the most.” He grabbed another sunflower seed from the bag perched in the center console and bit down on it.

Scully felt her stomach grumble and realized that they hadn’t stopped for breakfast yet to not lose time. “You want to get some coffee and something to eat at the next diner we pass?” she asked casually.

Mulder nodded. “Good idea. Let’s take a break there as well, we’re making good time so far.”

Scully turned her head back to look outside the window. A break. The word brought back last night’s exchange in Mulder’s room—the way, he had been confused by her suggestion to take a break together—to spend the day doing normal things, relaxing, and enjoying each other’s company. She cringed and closed her eyes against the memory. He’s just single-minded. And frustrated, she tried to rationalize. So am I. Doing meaningless tasks for Kersh, basically being put on the sidetrack, would be frustrating for anyone. And she knew that always hitting dead ends took its toll on him as much as it did on her. Probably even more. This had been his quest since he was twelve years old. Having his work sabotaged had to irritate Mulder to no end.

She chanced a glance in his direction, studying his features in the sunlight.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been looking forward to researching this Mothman—or whatever Mulder expected to find this weekend—as well. But it isn’t just about the case, Scully thought. What about everything else? His and her definition of a normal life differed, she knew. But this felt like one step forward and two steps back—from nearly kissing in his hallway, to not even wanting to spend a day doing something other than work.

This is merely existing and not living, she sighed, resigned. Living seemed increasingly out of reach with each passing day. And time was not something she was willing to waste anymore. She’d learned that the hard way. Weekends in wet forests, chasing elusive monsters, and nights staking out abandoned warehouses in search of secret government conspiracies left little room for personal relationships outside what she had with Mulder. And he, with his single-minded focus, seemed oblivious to anything beyond their work.

Her mind flashed back to Mulder and last night and how he’d stopped her from checking his head—touching him really—for they both knew her checks for head trauma were more of a caress than an actual medical treatment. And she felt the rejection deep in her chest once again.

Mulder turned his head and gave her a lopsided smile when he noticed her looking at him before turning his eyes back to the road.

Did I completely misinterpret it all? Mulder’s a tactile person, maybe those constant touches are just his way of being close to someone he cares about. Maybe calling me every night is more about having a human connection. The realization hit her like a fist to the stomach.

What about the near-kiss? her inner voice questioned. Well, that had been a highly charged emotional moment. She’d just told him that she was going to leave. He must’ve felt like he was losing her. ‘You’ve kept me honest. You’ve made me a whole person. I owe you everything, Scully. And you owe me nothing,’ had been his words. Well, apparently that meant being his other half on the X-Files, but nothing more, she thought bitterly. Maybe he’d even regretted trying to kiss her later. That would explain why he hadn’t tried again—or at least mentioned it.

But before she could contemplate the confusing implications of a kiss that might have been, her phone buzzed, pulling her from her reverie. She glanced at the screen of her cell phone and recognized the number immediately. Skinner. Her heart raced as she answered, trying to keep her voice steady. “Hello?”

Mulder’s eyes flicked towards her; curiosity piqued, but he remained silent.

“Agent Scully, I wanted to follow up on our previous conversation,” Skinner said on the other end, his voice tinny over the hum of the moving car.

Scully’s grip tightened on the phone. “Can you hold on a moment?” She turned to Mulder, forcing a casual tone. “I need to take this. Would you mind pulling over?” She hesitated, then added. “It’s… personal.”

Mulder nodded, his expression unreadable. “Sure, hold on.” He pulled the car to a stop on the side of the road and turned the ignition off.

Scully stepped out of the car, walking a few paces away to ensure Mulder wouldn’t overhear, and turned around. He was sitting motionless in the driver’s seat, looking through the window at the crops to their left. She took a deep breath before putting the phone back to her ear, her mind racing with the implications of the offer.

“Sorry, sir. I’m able to talk now,” she replied, and Skinner continued. “I haven’t heard from you yet, and I’m aware this is all pretty short notice, but an opportunity like this doesn’t present itself very often. I’d like to set things in motion as quickly as possible. If you don’t want to take the role, I’ll have to find another fit that would be in line with all of our interests.”

Scully nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes, I’m aware. And I’m very flattered that I have been presented with this chance, sir—which is why I want to give it the contemplation it deserves. I will get back to you until tonight,” she replied.

“Yes, that would be great, Scully,” Skinner responds, his voice tight and Scully knew he was under as much pressure as she was.

She heard the click of the disconnecting line and put her phone back into her coat pocket, slowly moving back toward the car.

Mulder was watching her out right now, a question all over his face. She swallowed and took a deep breath. It was time to make a decision.

[djkerr]

TGW 03x13 Bitcoin for Dummies

Kalinda’s chemistry in The Good Wife “Bitcoin for Dummies”

[spookyserenades]

hi dana, i hope you are well today <3 trouville is such a great fic! you are an immaculate writer so i only assume you have immaculate taste. do you have any ot7 fic recs?

p.s. i’m sorry if you have already been asked this 🙈

Hiya honey, I hope you're doing well too! Thank you so much for your sweet words about Trouvaille and my writing, you're so kind, and thank you for reading as well!! 💜🥰

I have MANY fics I've been dying to recommend on this blog, some of my favorites, and I hope you don't mind if I use this ask as a fic rec post!! As a warning, most of these will be 18+, so please read the warnings on the original post of each fic before interacting.

OT7:

So I haven't read many OT7 fics over the years (strangely enough) but I have three I've read recently I'd like to recommend!

Abundance - by @angelicyoongie This is also an OT7 hybrid fic that I've enjoyed, I particularly like the way the author has written the MC and the way they have divided the hybrids into certain "packs". A sweet (and spicy) read!

Lovesick - by @angelicyoongie Another one by angelicyoongie, this is a yandere fic, so if you like darker subject matter and characters, you'll LOVE this story! I'm totally hooked on this one, I think it is very well done and has a carefully (and intricately) crafted plot!

Everything Falls (Into Place) - by @blog-name-idk I read this fic literally in one sitting. The whole day passed me by and I had the best time. It's an OT7 x reader roommate au! Love the characterization of each of the boys, their relationships with each other, and I must mention the "extra" story the author has written for Seokjin is one of my favorite Seokjin fics I've read in a while (I love how this author in particular writes Seokjin)

Multi-Member:

Florescence - by @jincherie Ongoing; Taejin x reader, jincherie has been one of my favorite authors on Tumblr for years. There will be many fics of their's I'll list on this post, but jincherie has written some of my favorite hybrid!au fics! This one is especially sweet, I really love the way the author has a realistic slow development of trust between the MC and Taejin.

Namjoon:

Partners - by @btssmutgalore Nerdy, shy Namjoon x extroverted, party girl reader in this ongoing fic; I loveeee this series so much and have been following along for a long time! I really like the way this author has tackled some complicated conversations between characters, and has worked hard to not gloss over conflict or confrontation, and just the general realism of this story. So good!

To Tame A Fox - by @jamaisjoons Veryyyy kinky, tattooed and pierced dom Namjoon in this fic. I believe this is a college/slice of life oneshot! Super steamy and this author I would say has a way with their beautiful, extensive vocabulary. This is another author worth going through their entire masterlist, particularly if you like fics that read like intricate novels!

Oh, honey! - by @yoongiofmine Sugar daddy Namjoon (and a little Hoseok in there too) This is another fic series I read in one sitting! A really fresh and unique take on a sugar daddy fic, Namjoon is a sweetheart and heartbreakingly sexy in this. Author finds perfect balance between budding romance and steamier scenes that will have you melting into a puddle!

The Bodyguard - by @rmnamjoons Bodyguard Namjoon and ambassador reader; there are many words to describe this piece, but the one I can think best to sum it up is EPIC. Like, truly a masterpiece and absolutely beautiful. I adore Namjoon's characterization in this fic, he is adoring and swoonworthy. I beg you, read this fic- the author put so many gorgeous details into this piece and it is amongst my favorite fics I've ever read.

Seokjin:

Silly Kitty - by @jincherie Hybrid!Seokjin x reader! A fluffy one-shot that will totally lodge its way into your heart. I must have read this fic a dozen times over the years, the author is just truly one of my favorites. I adore her friendship with Jeongguk in this fic, as well, and the humor is spot on! jincherie's hybrid universe is amongst my favorites created.

A Lullaby on Canvas - by @jincherie Siren!Seokjin x reader, smut! Another by jincherie, I love this Seokjin. He's spellbinding and adorable, and the smut is *fans self* wow... jincherie has the unique ability to weave fantasy concepts into "slice of life" seamlessly. I cannot recommend their stories enough.

Pride and Fidget Spinners - by @kpopfanfictrash Slice of life, Seokjin and reader work in a mall, enemies to lovers! This fic would definitely make my top five in BTS fics. Shanna does really amazing work, and her writing is gorgeous and alway a blast to read. This fic has it all; its hilarious, romantic, high-energy, and the characters are vibrant and full of life. Going through Shanna's masterlist is another wonderful idea; not only are her BTS fics fantastic, but she writes amazing stories for EXO and Got7 as well that I love, too!

Platonic - by @joheunsaram College au, friends to lovers, brat tamer Seokjin, bratty reader; this series is sooo addicting! The reader and Seokjin can be a little clueless about their feelings for one another in this series (which is endearing!), and I absolutely adore their ride-or-die dynamic. Steamyyy smut and I love this version of dom!Seokjin; the whole series is written so well. An immediate favorite.

01_ The Gamer's Rules - by @orangie-drabbles Smut, part of a collab! I cannot even describe how awesome this fic is. Characterization of Seokjin is absolutely spot-on. I love the sort of subtle soulmate vibes in this story, the smut is super hot, and the plot was exciting, fresh, and completely unique and interesting. The author is very good at describing vibrant imagery. Love it!

Birthright - by @jimilter Vampire Seokjin!!!! That should honestly be all you need to read this fic. Seokjin is breathtakingly enchanting in this, and I love the lore and the effort that went into world building that author put into this fic. Romantic, sexy, gothic, and perfect.

The Light of Dead Stars - by @ahundredtimesover Arranged marriage AU! BEAUTIFULLY DONE FIC. I mean seriously, it reads like a novel! The author does a really nice job of letting relationships blossom slowly and organically in this fic, and puts a unique spin on the arranged marriage au. So many beautiful details, excellent story telling, and just pure joy to read.

Hoseok:

Transference - by @dark-muse-iris therapist!Hoseok x reader, shibari; series. THIS IS MY FAVORITE BTS FIC EVER WRITTEN. I could scream it from the rooftops; I mean I wish I knew how to bind books because I'd bind this one in velvet. I love it so much, and have read it countless times over the years. This is my absolute FAVORITE characterization of Hoseok I have ever read, and I tell every one I know who is into BTS to read it. Super well done, thoroughly researched and incredibly informative, it's just pure perfection. Absolute fave.

Heartbeat - by @joonbird gang!au, ongoing series! This is an instant classic, joonbird always writes really exciting fics with intricate and immersive plots. Hoseok is bad-boy sexy in this, and the author writes really gorgeous angst, realistic dialogue, and knows how to navigate tricky confrontational situations. The smut is super hot, and Hoseok is devastatingly charming- this series is not for the weak!

Yoongi:

Eargasm - by @lavishedinjimin phone sex operator Yoongi x reader, smut (also, read part two to this fic if you enjoy, it's also whew!) Just so. Wow... Definitely steamy! Very clever on the author's part to choose Yoongi for this fic, with his gravelly, sexy voice. A unique plot, and very enjoyable will they/won't they moments.

Three Tangerines - by @kithtaehyung brother's best friend!au. 3tan is an instant classic! Love the version of Yoongi this author has written, he's both edgy and sexy, as well as introspective and soulful simultaneously. This is an ongoing series, and the slow development of complex emotions reads both realistic and perfectly natural. Yoongi is sexy as hell, and the MC is strong and easy to relate to. If you're Yoongi biased, this series is a must-read.

Inheritance - by @jincherie hybrid!Yoongi x reader. Lots of fluff, and another lovely series by jincherie. I adore the story and all of the emotions that are featured in this series. Watching Yoongi open up over the course of this series is a delight.

Jimin:

Tentacledipity - by @jincherie alien!au, soulmate!au, ongoing series. Like I mentioned earlier, this author does an amazing job with fantasy plot lines (or in this case, sci-fi) I don't read too many maknae line fics, but this one is my absolute favorite Jimin fic. I love the MC's borderline bratty behavior, and Jimin's carefully constructed patience that MC consistently tries to break down. A treat!

Taehyung:

Mystery Gang; Unsolved - by @jincherie paranormal!au! This series is my SHIT, I love the spookiness, the friendship between the reader and Taehyung, and how flirty Tae is. The humor is also very much there, which helps break up any tension brought on by the paranormal aspects of the plot. Romantic, funny, and a bit angsty!

Bibliotheque - by @joonbird college!au, rivals to lovers. Love the slow build to romance in this oneshot. I think about this fic every time I'm in a library LOL. Taehyung is written irresistibly, and the romance scenes are intense thanks to the slow build to romance over the course of the story. Peak boyfriend vibes from Tae here!

Jeongguk:

Wanted - by @jincherie alien!au, series! This takes place in the same universe as Tentacledipity, and is my favorite Jeongguk fic. I love how the author wrote Jeongguk in this series, the perfect combination of boyish mischief and steady confidence. Again, the world building is inspirational and fun to visualize!

These are just my absolute favorites I can remember off the top of my head at the moment, but I'd love to take more time and find some more of my favorites that I've read over the years. I hope you and everyone who reads this post checks out these wonderful authors and stories and enjoy them just as much as I do! And, thank you to all of the authors I've mentioned for your hard work and beautiful writing all these years. 💘💜

[ashton-slashton]

Okay but I think we can all agree that the Fourth Doctor and Dale Cooper would be besties, right?

Like... idk, the energy of a man who is tasked with investigating the murder of a young woman and the potential links between that killing and supernatural forces, going into that investigation with the mindset of "These are real people with real lives and emotions that were touched by this girl's murder and I should not only be sensitive to that, but try to understand these people and their lives", and then inevitably getting caught up in the personal lives of these people, only to be reminded VERY quickly that there is, in fact, an investigation going on and lives at stake.....

Combined with this energy?

They'd be besties definitely. That's why Twin Peaks couldn't happen in 1975 (beyond the fact that David Lynch would have been not quite 30 years old and yet to release his first film, Eraserhead, which would come out in 1977). Dale Cooper and Four's combined autistic swag and general whimsy for the known universe would have made them unstoppable. Four and Dale together would have located the murderer, the Black Lodge, and Bob, done away with them or imprisoned them in an interdimensional vortex somewhere, and still make it back to UNIT for tea with the Brigadier and Sarah Jane AND the Log Lady within four episodes.

The problem of course is that Classic Who was NOT made with the deeper intricacies of familial trauma and sexual assault in mind, so trying to picture Tom Baker recieving the autopsy report/medical records of Laura Palmer becomes, tonally, a little like the Cancer episode of Home Improvement airing riiight before Dana Carvey's comedy sketch show.

[bijoumikhawal]

collecting quotes from my Magdalene book about menstruation since that's what I got it for, and giving my commentary

According to Dana and her followers, menstrual blood and women’s reproductive organs were the place where woman’s greatest power, her creativity, was held. By honoring her own blood a woman honors her power and herself. She should always keep in mind that she did not have to use this power to create children, but could employ it in her work or in her home. Again there is continuity with ancient times and with contemporaries considered the guardians of old traditions: indigenous women. As we have seen, Magdalene pilgrims tended to have a pan-Indian conception of Native Americans, talking about them as if they had a common set of beliefs and ritual practices. Th ey had a romantic and Rousseauian notion of American natives, held to be the guard-ians of the ancient wisdom of Mother Earth and of rituals that were similar to those we once supposedly had.

...

In her study about feminist spirituality, Eller emphasizes the importance attributed to menstruation and describes theories similar to those shared by Dana and her pilgrims. She refers to Anne Cameron’s book as a central source and describes Brooke Medicine Eagle as “the woman most instrumental in turning spiritual feminist attention to the sanctif i cation of menstruation through the moon lodge” and in modifying “the moon lodge concept” to the needs of contemporary Western women. Citing Diane Stein, one of the authors who most influenced Dana, Eller also observes that some feminist spiritualists consider war “patriarchy’s parody of women’s monthly bloodshed,” and a male menstrual ritual that now threatens the survival of the planet.

Like other menstrual activists, most of Dana’s pilgrims dismissed mainstream feminism as denying the female’s body sacrality. In the previously mentioned article Susan Roberts wrote: “Ironically, mainstream feminism, in its quest to minimize the differences between the sexes, has only added to this prejudice. [Tamara] Slayton and others in the emerging menstrual-awareness movement are offering a new type of feminism, one based unabashedly on the body...

A few months later, I had the opportunity to ask Nuria why she considered feminism to be something that should disappear. She told me that feminists wanted to have the same rights as men and tried to attain this through being like men. According to her, this had led feminists and women influenced by them to deny their femininity and this was not the right way to go.

Even though the women of Dana’s group did not share this extreme interpretation of and attitude toward feminism, many believed that feminists had missed the point in many areas, particularly relating to spirituality and that, as Estrella had said, there had not yet been a spiritual feminist revolution.

149-152, Looking for Mary Magdalene by Anna Fedele

Comments: I'll address the Pan-Indianism and appropriation in a bit, because it gets even more annoying and offensive. The theme of this bit here is women "unsexing" and masculinzing themselves being seen as bad by the pilgrims. On one hand, I get what they're getting at; throughout the book the topic of women feeling ashamed or disgusted by themselves comes up a lot, and from a perspective 20 years out from these pilgrimages, I can kind of get where "becoming like men" leads- we see it with the whole "they say the next bomb dropped on our heads will be done by a woman!" thing, an assimilation into patriarchal structures, but I also don't feel that's what Nuria was getting at. I can also understand it from a personal perspective, as i sometimes jokingly call my mom a toxic man who happens to be a woman, as she unironically calls herself an alpha and engages in some of the behavior you'd expect as a result, and expresses controlling patriarchal attitudes toward me.

I think these pilgrims are primarily concerned with women "not being feminine" and conflating women's lack of femininity with self hate. The idea of women's self hate is, for example, blamed as why a woman has painful periods or may develop uterine diseases. One of the pilgrims herself believes that to be why she struggles with those problems, and I'm glad it helps her, but it's a very cruel line of thinking to me. Many women who have endometriosis have period pain, and also have higher testosterone levels- they cannot help this, and this logic supposes those is something they must "fix" about themselves, which is even more harmful when you consider that some people consider endometriosis to be an intersex variation. The truth is, there IS very little difference between the sexes, and biological sex is malleable; I, and millions of others, are living proof of it. Discomfort with menstruation in feminism isn't happening because that's acknowledged, it's not because of masculine women, it's because even if you believe in feminism, it's not an identity, it's an ideology, and you have a constant inner war to combat patriarchal thinking.

And while these pilgrims all emphasized men connecting to their femininity, it's kind of gross that women being connected to masculinity is portrayed so badly. It's also pretty obvious in subtext that there is definitely a line at which a man is "too feminine" for some or all of these pilgrims. While the Goddess Wood group adapted the menstrual rituals for menopausal and HIV+ participation, I shudder to think how they'd react to a trans woman in their space. A balance between recognizing menstruation as not bad needs to be struck with not being a bioessentialist. My way of doing this is partly by regarding menstruation blood as equivalent to other bodily fluids, which has some basis in Judaism (both menstruation and seminal emission require one to give through a "cleansing period"). The texts the pilgrims always familiar with also do something similar, equating menstrual blood and semen.

Further, the actual issues you can ascribe to "being like men" (warmongering and adopting abusive ideas and behaviors) are absolutely not the problem of feminism, they are a failing of people with only partial commitment to feminism, or who have an additional allegiance (say, to capitalism). I do sympathize with the desire for a spiritual revolution, but again, I find the pinning of blame that one hasn't exploded onto feminism to be short sighted.

Dana’s concept of menstrual blood was also linked to what she described as an ancient tradition among indigenous women. And when I asked her why she considered Magdalene as the guardian of menstrual blood, she told me that Magdalene’s similarities with the red dakini of the Tibetan Buddhist tradition had helped her to establish this relation:

The energy of the dakini represents the ever-changing flux of energy in movement. Often dakinis are naked, displaying their sex, and they drink from a cup that is made of a half of a skull... They are usually depicted with the color of blood and this means that blood has a lot to do with these deities... The dakini shows herself when the [meditation] practitioner is ready enough to access another level of consciousness... If [the practitioner] is a woman, a daka [male deity] shows itself, if it is a man then a dakini does. The dakini normally teaches you through means that are not rational, logical or conventional. So this story is a traditional one, telling that a great wise man is about to become enlightened and he meets somebody [a dakini] who takes him, takes his head, puts his mouth to her vagina and forces him to drink her menstrual blood... and when he drinks this the enlightenment comes. (March 3, 2006)

Referring to paintings of Magdalene meditating or sitting beside a skull, Dana emphasized the similarities between the saint and the image she showed me of a dancing red dakini with a long necklace made of small skulls. “So I always found this figure of the dakini very fascinating and I find that Mary Magdalene has many things in common with the dakini: many, many things,” she said. “I mean, for me Mary Magdalene is a dakini. First of all, the skull: Mary Magdalene is often represented with a skull... the cup is also there [in Magdalene’s representations]... So the cup is a cup of blood and she holds the cup of blood that contains the blood of Christ at the moment of his death” (March 3, 2006).

Dana also found many similarities between the legends of Magdalene’s stay at the Sainte-Baume and the spiritual practices of Tibetan Buddhist nuns: Then there is also the description of Magdalene’s life... When she lives in the cave, during these 33 years, legend has it that she does not eat nor drink. And among the female Tibetan practitioners [of Buddhism]... there was an important tradition. There were female pilgrims who traveled on their own and lived in caves or in cemeteries... Many of these women retired to live in caves and followed what they called “practices of the body of light.” These practices involve not eating and drinking for years. (March 3, 2006)

This relationship to Tibetan Buddhism appeared even closer to Dana once she discovered that the spikenard oil used by the Gregorian Magdalene to anoint Jesus came from Tibet: “I mean... I am not saying that Mary Magdalene was Buddhist or anything like that. But I find that there are many energetic similarities if you consider the character, the archetype of the dakini. She initiates the man through sexuality or through [anointment], I mean, when Magdalene anoints Jesus, she is initiating him” (March 3, 2006).

From Dana’s perspective, Magdalene was a teacher of sacred sexuality—that is, of techniques equivalent to or even coinciding with tantric techniques that allowed the attainment of spiritual elevation. Like the red dakini, Magdalene passed on teachings through gestures related to sexuality associated with blood, in her case the blood contained in a cup. For Dana this blood was menstrual blood and its ingestion could have healing power. Lara Owen emphasized the importance of menstrual blood in the Tantric tradition in her book: “In the Tantric tradition men became spiritually powerful by ingesting menstrual blood. Still today in the group rituals of the left-handed Tantric path, menstrual blood is taken along with red wine as a ritual drink.”

Pages 155-156

Susanna knew about the importance of the menstrual cycle from her study of what she identified as Gnosticism. She contrasted an alternative ideology, affirming the power and sacredness of the menstrual cycle, to prevalent ideas about the danger and pollution related to menstrual blood. In Italy there is a popular saying that plants will die if touched by a menstruating women. I myself remember an occasion in the 1990s when my flatmate in Brescia asked me to water the plants for her because she was having her period. In Susanna’s account there is an inversion of the popular beliefs about menstruation in Mediterranean Catholic countries: Menstruation and menstrual blood are not impure; on the contrary, they indicate a state of particular power in women. She also believed the blood offered can heal. Mary Magdalene pilgrims often referred to the Gnostics, as well as the Cathars and the Templars, as historical authority for their beliefs.

...

Today [it is important] for a woman to recognize that during the menstrual period one is more sensitive. That same menstrual period that has been seen as the time of hysteria, you see? But hysteria is [the consequence of] the negation of this sensitivity and [the negation] of the great creativity that takes place during menstruation. The period also fosters the ability to see things from a different perspective, because everything changes on a biological level. Moreover the blood has an extraordinarily therapeutic power; it can cure many kinds of diseases. For women, the time of menstruation is also a time of great sexual arousal. Probably in ancient times menstrual blood was recognized as the blood that could consecrate, that had an initiatory power...

Celso’s theories were similar to those of Dana and Lara Owen; he also observed that it was important for men as well as for women to recognize the power of menstrual blood: “Recognizing this power of the feminine means the man freeing himself from the need to deny or imitate it.” When I asked him why he had chosen the cave of the Sainte-Baume for the offering, Celso answered: “Because it is the cave of the Magdalene. Menstrual blood gushes from the womb and the caves are representations of the womb. Magdalene is also a therapist; she is not only a teacher, she also is a woman that cures. For this reason, it is important to recover an essential instrument of the therapeutic abilities of the feminine. Moreover, [during the offering in the cave] the men [in the group] also honored this [feminine] principle” (February 16, 2006).

Pages 158-160

Comment: like I said before, there's this idea that men need to recognize the power of femininity, but not "imitate it", mirroring the denigrating of insufficiently feminine women. The "imitation" is placed on the same level as denying the unique power of femininity. It's very obvious how this can become dangerous. Some of these ideas are empowering to the group, as they have been forced into denying themselves and fitting into roles in order to survive and be taken seriously, but you can reclaim your femininity while respecting not every woman is feminine like you...

I do find the discussion of the power of blood in these two passages interesting

Puri explained to the assembly of women that the blood of all the women would be mixed together in a solution of water and alcohol inside the chalice, in this way creating a unif i ed “mother tincture.” Following principles adapted from homeopathy, this tincture was diluted by putting a single drop in a thirty-milliliter bottle of water and alcohol. This dilution excluded any health risk, augmented the power of the original tincture and transformed the information contained in each woman’s blood, making it more subtle. In Puri’s terms, the information in the mother tincture, contained in the form of energy, was very dense, as it consisted of undiluted blood. Th e dilution allowed the extraction of the key information (stored in the blood’s DNA) leaving behind the more physical, dense and therefore lower energy. Puri explained that the more diluted the blood mixture, the more powerful its energy. As in homeopathy, a higher dilution of the same ingredient had a stronger effect than a lower dilution, because the curative effect does not depend on the physical presence of the element (which often cannot even be traced back), but on the information of the element transported and transmitted by alcohol or lactose...

Pilgrims would offer their blood to Mother Earth as women in ancient times did when they ploughed the fields, letting their menstrual outflow fall into the furrow they had created. Maybe, she added, menstrual blood, which women had once offered to Mother Earth, had been replaced by the bloodshed of today’s wars. Mother Earth was seen in this context as a divine being with a complex personality. Usually described as a caring and loving being, but now threatened by brutal human exploitation, she could be nurtured with menstrual blood, whose rich components served as a fertilizer. Nevertheless, Mother Earth had a destructive side, a necessary counterbalance to her creative and nurturing part, which emerged, for instance, during natural catastrophes. Menstrual blood was considered the only kind of blood that flowed without wounding, as opposed to bloodshed in war or natural disasters.

Not all women felt comfortable with the idea that they should offer their blood in order to prevent further bloodshed. Carme, one of the younger pilgrims working as a teacher, commented to me about the offering of blood: I see it as an act of thanksgiving [un acto de gracias]. I mean... I eat fruit that comes from Her [Mother Earth] that She has plenty of and does not need. So, in the same way as I eat from Her, I offer Her something that comes out of me as a gift to Her, because there are few things we create ourselves, so it is something that comes out of me, something very intimate and very nice. I give it as an offering, as a present for Her... As for the matter about the shedding of blood onto the Earth during wars and massacres, it seems that in other cultures it was thought that you had to give a certain amount of blood to the Earth because otherwise She would ask for blood. You know, the Maya culture, human sacrifices... I never saw it in this way or thought that “Aahh, I have to give so that the Earth does not provoke an earthquake and bloodshed.” I saw it as a thanks-giving, an offering for Her. (March 11, 2005)

Talking about the offering of menstrual blood Dana invited women not to throw their used sanitary napkins in the garbage, but to dissolve the blood in water and give it to plants or use it to mark the boundaries of their houses. Women could also create a homeopathic dilution of their blood, so that they could conserve it even after their menopause.

...

While the whole group was singing, Dana was the first to offer her blood, thereby showing how to do it. Each woman in turn approached the altar, knelt before it and passed a small piece of the dried blood through the smoke of the copal, tracing Conchero symbols in the air: first a cross and then the symbol of the infinite. After purifying and blessing the blood with the copal, each woman moved toward the chalice on her knees and put the blood into the chalice, moved back to the sahumador on her knees, bounced forward to conclude the offering and give thanks, then stood up and went back to sit in the circle.

...

Following Dana’s ritual scheme, her pilgrims’ elevation took place by means of the energy of their menstrual blood; like Celso’s pilgrims, they had found an alternative way to release their sins. Curiously, they used the menstrual blood they defined as sacred as the receptacle of their sins that needed to be purified and diluted in order to be ready for the offering. They criticized the Church for labeling menstrual blood as impure, but in some way they treated the blood as something requiring purification themselves...

During the offering Dana organized for the first pilgrimage of the blood in 2002, she had made no dilution; women had used the mother tincture for the offering. This time, more precautions were taken, probably because Dana and the committed members of Goddess Wood knew that two of the women of the group had the HIV virus and had been on medication for years. I myself found out about this only after the pilgrimage, as the two women were treated like anybody else during it. Confronted with the sanitary risks linked to the handling of blood, especially fresh arterial blood extracted from women who had brought no dried menstrual blood, Dana needed to find a strategy that affirmed the sacrality of menstrual blood yet neutralized its potential to spread infection, which she was trying to eliminate from the pilgrims’ minds.

Pages 162-165

Comments: on the one hand I'm glad they found a way to not stigmatize or exclude the HIV+ women, but man does homeopathy being name dropped make my hair stand on end. It's notable to me that while the pilgrims blame feminism for capitulation to masculinity or patriarchy in some way, they themselves capitulate in how they view the blood, Magdalene, women, etc. I've posted other quotes talking about this, but many of the Goddess Wood group unironically call women chatty, less rational, etc, but try to frame it as a positive. They also both denounce the idea of Magdalene as a repentant prostitute, but rely on the details of that version of her story to create their archetype of a priestess who initated their messiah via sex and spikenard. The blood connection is more independent, but its not the only or even primary characteristic of Magdalene to this group or the others.

I am bothered by the way the text discusses other forms of blood sacrifice- elsewhere pilgrims call it a "mockery" of menstruation. I think it speaks time the fact that while all these women talk big about "Indian" practices, they aren't themselves Indigenous and have limited spiritual and communal contact with the Indigenous peoples they spiritually fetishize. You see that here with the invocation of Pre Columbian Maya customs, which included voluntary blood letting done by an individual, as well as sacrifices. I'm very prickly about that subject in particular, and I have straight up blocked people for casually bringing up the idea of Mesoamerican human sacrifice as a way of talking about how brutal it was, because that's genocide justification. This invocation by a pilgrim isn't quite so offensive, but it speaks to the relationship of appropriation and disconnect, as most of these pilgrims take from Indigenous cultures Spain colonized specifically. If these groups were in community with those Indigenous peoples, especially in terms of spirituality and being in tune with a group that resonated with the Magdalene pilgrims focus on blood, I don't think its likely this kind of comment would be made so casually.

The relationship between Jesus’s blood as a sacrifice for humanity and menstrual blood appeared to be crucial for the conceptualization and creation of rituals of menstrual offerings. Describing her findings and feelings during the period of offering her menstrual blood to the Earth, Lara Owen commented: “It was a mixture of things, it was a sacrament; it was recognizing that my blood was fertilizing the earth, that it was useful, that my blood had a use, a purpose, that it wasn’t just something to flush down the toilet, rich in minerals; it was a connection to the earth; it was also a sacrament, I was working with the idea of the blood of Jesus turning into wine and the idea that the original blood was sacrificial blood from animals, but maybe before it was menstrual blood” (May 28, 2005).

...

The decoration of the altar holes began: Each of us lit a candle and an incense stick at the top of our altar hole. I had instinctively dug a round hole, while Estrella had given hers the ovoid shape of a vagina. She put a red silk shawl and several crystals around its rim. Near the candle, she placed the tarot card of the Star, which she associated with Mary Magdalene. It showed a woman pouring water from two jugs, which according to Estrella symbolized the two ovaries. She gave me the card with the icon of Mary Magdalene holding a red egg in her hand, symbolizing women’s ovaries and the process of menstruation. Also on Estrella’s altar were her magic wand and a picture of Amma, a living Indian saint who is believed to incarnate the Divine Mother. After each of us drew a card from a set depicting Native American sacred animals, we put it on our altars. The chosen animal would wisely suggest appropriate changes and teachings during the period up to the next menstruation. Following Estrella’s example, I decorated the inside of the hole with the fruit and the other food I had brought with me (see figure 5.2 ).

...

What Estrella defined as the altar was not something that rose up from the earth, such as a table or a rock (allowing interaction with forces ideally supposedly above), but a hole in the ground, created to communicate and exchange energy and healing with Mother Earth, situated below. Incense and candles were used as in Christian churches, but the main venerated figures were Mary Magdalene and Amma, the incarnation of the Divine Mother. Blood was offered in a cup together with food—that is, the fruit of the land according to the season of the year. What Estrella offered was not red wine, symbolizing Christ’s male blood from a wound caused by men and foretelling imminent death, but real female blood flowing out spontaneously from a woman’s womb and mixed with water. It symbolized Mary Magdalene, guardian of menstrual blood, Jesus’s lover and female counterpart, and testified to the woman’s potential to give birth in the future. As God’s bliss descended from the sky down to its worshippers, who celebrated Eucharist and communed with Jesus, Mother Earth, who received the offering, sent up her healing power and later absorbed the negative energy.

Talking about the blood offering, Estrella said: “When you offer your blood to the Earth, it is as if you lower your blood inside a vessel down to the earth. I mean, you lower it to the well to draw some water from it, but at the same time you leave your water. Then you pull up the container again and the energy is so powerful because it is the energy from Mother Earth. She makes the energy rise up to the heart and there you meet Mary Magdalene” (September 18, 2005)

...

According to Françoise Héritier’s analysis of male and female in traditional societies, the female menstrual blood is considered uncontrollable: it flows out without the woman being able to prevent it from doing do. When men’s blood flows, it is mostly provoked by an inflicted wound, and the blood flow can be controlled; that is, it can be provoked and later stopped. Héritier shows how, since Aristotle, this biological fact has been culturally interpreted as a sign of the inferiority of women, who cannot master their bodies, and so used to justify women’s social oppression. As opposed to men, who can decide to make blood flow while hunting or fighting their enemies, women of fertile age are experience periodical bleeding which is outside their control.

The women of the Goddess Wood viewed this spontaneous flow of blood as a sign of women’s superiority; they could bleed without suffering, without having to be wounded. Women can decide to offer their blood for the sake of humanity, as Christ’s blood sacrifice had redeemed humanity from the original sin. This offering ideally led to the disappearance of human sacrifice in war, a period of peace characterized by the respect and honor attributed to matter and the Earth, to body and sexuality and the consequent equality of women to men. The women of the Goddess Wood did not want to get back to a matriarchal society, but to a new, nonhierarchical society based on the equality of men and women.

...

Through a feminist reading of Jesus’s message, Dana and the other members of the Goddess Wood managed to blend two apparently opposed religious traditions they carried within themselves and to harmonize the attraction they felt toward the well-known Christian figures and rituals and the deep desire to be fully accepted as independent flesh and blood women. Menstrual blood represented a symbolically and physically powerful departure point for the transformation of a male-dominated world they sought to change. By replacing the blood of Christ offered by a male priest during Eucharist with their own menstrual blood, which they offered themselves as priestesses, these women autonomously established the importance of their wombs and bodies and their right to dialogue with the divine.

177-181

Comments: I find a lot of the symbolism here very interesting, of the different silhouettes of altars and of turning one's body into a living sacrifice; the latter is an idea I was exploring myself before reading this book, talking about the offering of animal blood to the rih al ahmar, the symbiotic relationship between humans and sheydim as cousins (+ why human Jews cannot consume blood, while the rih, a kind of sheyd, is most often offered blood), and reframing the period of Purification after menstruation and ejaculation not as a matter of disgust/simple uncleanness, but instead because one is symbolically dead, they have sacrificed and ensured the sheydim are sustained.

However I am once again frustrated at the portrayal of menstruation as bleeding without suffering. It's not a universal way of looking at things, and holding there is no suffering and it's all painless is troublesome here, because again, this groups frame of reference thinks experiencing pain is then a problem you caused yourself. I do think the connection between Eucharist and menstruation here is a pretty bold and progressive move for Christianity. Elsewhere, theres commentary on the parallel of Adam/Eve and Jesus/Magdalene, and how the former couple condemns humanity and the latter saves it. Implied is also the way menses and painful birth are seen as Eve's "curse", and how the blood of Jesus and Magdalene instead becomes redemptive.

The ritual Estrella does is based on her fetish view of Indigenous Mexican women, claiming someone told her they did a similar practice, and hilariously Dana told the author that she thought it was baseless because "contemporary Indigenous women are prudish". I'll reiterate, these people fetishize their idea of Native American spirituality, but have no community with real Indigenous people. Dana there is frankly implying she doesn't like the real Indigenous women she's met much. Also somewhat relevant: Estrella fetishes Roma women in a similar way, though she seems to mostly not do it in her spirituality beyond liking Sara Kali iirc? Which is also generally common in the group, as they find female saints interesting and especially "Black Virgin" statues, which Sara kind of counts under.

They asserted that menstrual blood is sacred, like the most sacred of all blood in Christian terms, that of Jesus. As Vanessa Rousseau points out in her study about theories and practices related to blood in Western Christianity, in Christian terms the blood coming out of the body because of menstrual periods or because of wounds was identified with the Latin word cruor. Sanguis was the blood circulating through, and contained inside, the body, bringing life and force to it. The cruor, however, was considered impure, a sign of the body’s corruptibility and mortality, symbolizing life leaving the body. Christ’s blood is directly opposed to all other human blood, and goes beyond the opposition of pure and impure. It implies impurity and purity, fall and redemption. The pilgrims considered menstrual blood to have special status, being the only blood that flows spontaneously out of the human body, without wounding or harm. It made Jesus’s sacrifice and any further shedding of blood unnecessary.

Dana’s pilgrims were not the only ones to associate menstrual blood with that of Jesus. Analyzing the belief system of the Christian medieval believers, Caroline Walker Bynum observes that they might “see the blood Christ shed in the circumcision and on the cross as analogous to menstrual blood or to breast milk” because “all human exudings—menstruation, sweating, lactation, emission of semen and so on—were seen as bleedings; and all bleedings—lactation, menstruation, nosebleeds, hemorrhoid bleeding and so on—were taken to be analogous . . . Medieval writers, for example, urged men to apply leeches to their ankles when they failed to ‘menstruate.’”

Page 182

Comment: I do think it's a failing to not mention here that "menstruating men" not only related to Jesus, but was in this time period, an antisemitic stereotype used against Jewish men related to the idea that "Jews were ruled by Saturn", which was also applied to women in general. It is kind of true in a funny way that all human secretions are blood, which in turn is very specialized sea water.

In the introduction to the 1988 collection of essays Blood Magic; The Anthropology of Menstruation, Thomas Buckley and Alma Gottlieb called for a study of menstrual customs and beliefs in their cultural context. They showed how previous analyses “have great predictability, for again and again they center on the concepts of taboo (supernaturally sanctioned law) and pollution (symbolic con-tamination),” and tended to consider menstrual taboos’ as indicators of female subordination. Moreover, psychoanalytic studies like those of Bettelheim, cited above, described women as passive vessels of male theories derived from fear and envy, and these had influenced anthropologists. The authors argue that menstrual taboos tend to be ambiguous and multivalent and could evoke concepts of holy as well as forbidden. They observe that “many menstrual taboos, rather than protecting society from a universally ascribed feminine evil, explicitly protect the perceived creative spirituality of menstruating women from the influence of others in a more neutral state, as well as protecting the latter in turn from the potent, positive spiritual force ascribed to such women.”

...

As Barbara B. Harrell has argued in her article “Lactation and Menstruation in Cultural Perspective,” in preindustrial societies menstruation is uncommon, because lactation is prolonged and intensive and the menstrual cycle can therefore be considered as a “liminal state.” Celso and Dana also spoke of menstruation as a liminal state, but did not mention that in traditional societies women had significantly fewer menstrual cycles. To them its special significance did not depend upon the fact that it was an uncommon event, but upon the particular state of awareness it could provoke.

Menstruation is an ambivalent state between life and death. It implies the woman’s capacity to give life, but also her power to decide to interrupt a pregnancy and provoke menstruation. The pilgrims’ Mary Magdalene, who witnessed Jesus’s death and resurrection and was often represented with a skull at her side, was also related to death and life and to the passage between them. During one of Goddess Wood gatherings, Dana told a woman who had just lost her husband that Mary Magdalene had also lost her companion and therefore was a good role model for widows.

Pilgrims spoke of menstrual blood as the blood of life but also saw menstruation as a moment of spiritual death for women. Dana explained that during their periods, women should meditate about impermanency and receive insight about the new cycle that would begin...

The pilgrims and their leaders sometimes referred to menstrual blood as the material out of which the ovule was made or the material that would have provided nurturing food for the future baby. Celso said: “Menstrual blood is not impure at all. From a biochemical point of view it is among the richest [kinds of blood] because it contains hormones, vitamins and mineral salts. It is a rich blood... organically these tissues must have the maximum potency because they must be able to give life. [They can] host life, for this reason it is the richest of all bloods” (February 16, 2006).

The blood that had not been used to nurture the baby, and give life to a human being, should be used to nurture the Earth and to help plants and life in and on the earth to develop. At the end of the offering, Estrella covered the altar hole and what remained resembled a corpse buried in the earth. In a delayed menarche ritual for adult women described by Jone Salomonsen and analyzed in more detail in the next chapter, women explicitly refer to the ambiguous nature of menstrual blood singing: “Power of the blood, rain from the Dark Moon. Power of life and death, flow from our wombs.”

In current times, women of fertile age who are not pregnant and do not use the contraceptive pill menstruate once a month and those who are on the pill experience a monthly bleed designed to mimic what is believed to be a normal menstrual period. As Harrell argues, “the preindustrial reproductive cycle with its intensive transition period suggests another view, that continuous menstrual cycling is not a natural attribute of human females. Perhaps ‘the curse’ can be explained as an artifact of the Age of Technology, something imposed upon women by a society of plenty which needs no more children. From the preindustrial reproductive cycle, we can learn that menstruation need not be regarded as the hallmark of healthy womanhood. Our femaleness need not be inextricably bound up with recurrent menstrual flow.”

...

Pilgrims from Goddess Wood stated that women choosing to menstruate (i.e., not to have a baby and not to take the contraceptive pill) could use their life-creating potentialities to foster their own spiritual elevation and to work toward a new kind of society based on equality between men and women. To them, the menstruating woman gave birth to a new and more conscious self. Most of the pilgrims in all three groups rejected the contraceptive pill as offering them a fake menstruation and also opposed hormone therapy during menopause.

Pages 183-186

Comment: more the sacrifice/life and death imagery I had been thinking of here. There's also good criticisms going on, as I've seen people state that just because a culture would exempt women from work or had special lodging for them during menses, meant they were misogynistic, even when women of that culture disagreed. In fact, Dana advocates that women shpuld be excused from work during menstruation. I'm not surprised by some of the medical takes here.

For Roger, Magdalene, like a second Eve, could heal the menstrual wound and reverse the curse inflicted on women by Yahweh after the fall on mankind. As Warner observes: “For mankind, these curses were the struggle against nature, of which hitherto Adam had been master; mortality of the flesh; and for woman in particular, the pains of childbearing—the whole gamut from menstruation to suckling—and subjection of heart and head to the authority of the male.”

Most pilgrims from all three groups held that women who, thanks to Magdalene, had recovered their connection with the Feminine and knew about its sacrality would not experience menstruation, childbearing or suckling as painful, but instead would enjoy them. They would learn how to take care of and listen to their bodies, venerating their flesh as a divine part of the body of the Goddess.

Katherine Jansen described the Magdalene staying at the cross and witnessing Jesus’s death as the symbolic counterpart of Eve: whereas Eve had caused the Fall of mankind, Magdalene witnessed and helped Jesus to sacrif i ce himself and redeem the original sin. But even if they seemed to share this position, the three pilgrimage leaders never explicitly mentioned Magdalene’s function as a helper in redeeming Eve’s fall and the menstrual curse.

192-193

Comments: definitely getting the Gnostic influence through here. Notably, the pilgrims across the three groups examined in this book don't really refer to a masculine God at all, just their Goddess, so it's not a case of "the masculine God (identified with "Yahw*h") is the evil Demiurge and the Goddess is the good divinity. The idea that Adam and Eve parallel Magdalene and Jesus shows up again here too.

[djkerr]

TGW 03x11 What Went Wrong

8 GIFS PER EPISODE: The Good Wife 3.11 | what went wrong

[todaysdocument]

Letter from Alexander T. Augusta to Assistant Secretary of War Charles A. Dana Regarding a Street Car Incident

Record Group 94: Records of the Adjutant General's OfficeSeries: Personal Papers of Medical Officers and PhysiciansFile Unit: Augusta, A.T., 1863-66

Washington, D. C., February 8th 1864. Hon. C. A. Dana, Assistant Secretary of War. Sir, I have the honor to report that your request of this date to forward to the Department an account of the outrage committed upon me by the Conductor of Car No. 32, of the City Railway Co., last week, has been received, and the following are the facts connected therewith:- I had been summoned at attend a Court Martial as a witness in the case of Private Geo: Taylor who was charged with causing the death of a colored man last August, the said colored man having died in the hospital of which I was at the time in Charge. I started from my lodging at the corner of 14th and I Streets, on the morning of February 1st for the purpose of proceeding to the hospital in order to obtain some notes relative to the case. As my time was short, and it was raining very hard at the time, I hailed the car which was passing just as I came out of the door, and it was stopped for me; but as I was in the act of entering, the conductor informed me that I would have to ride on the front of the driver. I told him I would not, and asked him why I could not ride inside. He stated that it was against the rules for colored persons to ride inside. I attempted to enter the car, and he pulled me out and ejected me from the platform. The consequence was I had to walk the whole distance through rain and mud, and was considerably detained past the hour for my attendance at Court. On my arrival, I reported the case to the Court. [full transcription at link]