#digital signs for churches

[annabarnes82]

Digital Menus For Restaurants

Digital menus for Restaurants have been called game-changers in the dining industry for a reason. They provide a dynamic and interactive way for restaurants to showcase their offerings. With vibrant visuals, real-time updates, and the potential to personalize menus on the fly, these digital menus are meant to uplift the dining experience for customers.

[darwinjesse63]

Digital Signs For Churches

Churches have become a new hotspot for the spiritual brings out there. That’s where you should know about how digital signs for churches work and give a new direction to how you should be making the church time attractions better. Such digital signs help visitors understand the motive of visiting over there. Ensure to seek all details about such products at first.

[starmocha]

The way I immediately read it as "handcuffs" and only thought, "wow, the devs have grown more lenient, that's so cool of them—" before I realized nothing about that sentence made sense 💀

[ectonurites]

having another one of those nights where i feel the need to deep dive research into the well-known but now-defunct punk rock club in boston that my mom's great-uncle/godfather was the doorman for in the 70's-80's

[offpagebloggers]

Find the Best Digital Church Signs Near Me

Why Digital Church Signs Are Essential

Digital church signs are revolutionizing how congregations communicate with their communities. These signs provide an innovative way to share messages, events, and inspirational content effectively. Whether it’s announcing service times, promoting events, or sharing uplifting messages, digital signs offer unmatched visibility and flexibility.

Unlike traditional static signs, digital church signs allow dynamic messaging that can be updated quickly. They capture attention day and night, making them an invaluable tool for engaging both your congregation and passersby.

If you’re searching for "digital church signs near me," you’re likely looking for a reliable provider who understands your unique needs and offers durable, high-quality solutions.

Choose Signs Plus for Digital Church Signs

When it comes to premium digital church signage, Signs Plus is a trusted leader. They specialize in providing electronic LED church marquee signs that combine quality, durability, and cutting-edge technology.

Why Signs Plus?

Customizable Solutions: Create signs that reflect your church’s identity and message.

Energy-Efficient LED Technology: Cost-effective and environmentally friendly lighting.

Exceptional Visibility: Bright and clear displays that attract attention any time of day.

Durability You Can Trust: Weather-resistant designs built to last for years.

With Signs Plus, you can bring your church’s messages to life, creating a stronger connection with your community.

Conclusion

Digital church signs are a powerful way to enhance communication and inspire your congregation. Whether you’re updating messages daily or sharing weekly schedules, Signs Plus offers the best solutions tailored to your needs. Choose high-quality, customizable signage to elevate your church's outreach today!

[leneires]

mirrored souls ryomen sukuna ✶

pair. popular athlete! sukuna x shy! reader | genre. strangers to friends , friends to lovers , hurt & comfort , angst , slowburn , tension , ooc! kuna , modern & no curses setting , stammering reader , | warning. Implied use of drugs , cigarettes , religious themes , hinted corruption , morally gray chars , size difference. | 1363k. words

۶ৎ synopsis. In which the most well known athlete with a reputation for causing chaos is seated with a girl he’s never heard of nor noticed. an unexpected bond formed in entirely different worlds. ⤿ navigation

��Mr Ryomen, you are to be paired with her for the entirety of your last semester this year. This is for your own good hence I’d advise you to be on your best behavior.” The heavy reminder leaves a sour frown on his features. With a plain nod exchanged in response to his fuming professor. Sukuna knows he’s truly fucked this time. The faint whiff of marijuanna reeks within his uniform. A strong indication of his reliance tied to the drug he’s consumed countless times prior. “The quiet one huh ? no worries then.” It was better this way. He’d prefer a girl he’d barely heard of than tolerate his overly obnoxious and loud teammate, Satoru Gojo.

The sudden grate of the chair beside him catches his attention. Sukuna swiftly settles his grip on it. Automatically tugging the seat for her. When she reluctantly takes her place, sitting down. Sukuna steals a sly glance over her. Those shuddering knees of her’s paired with her pupils downcast & fingers wavering. He instantly shifts his stance as he keeps his distance from her. Sukuna was conscious of his public image after all. ‘Delinquent’ ‘Bastard son’ ‘Junkie’ ‘Manwhore’ and so on. Nevertheless those titles were meaningless when Sukuna was one of those favored athletes. Gifted, experienced & of course proficient. The only anchor of keeping his life intact no matter the consequence, stunts he’s done.

He wouldn't be surprised if she, too. Knew of his reputation. Sukuna adverts his eyes elsewhere. Scaring the poor thing further was the least of his concerns. “Are you alright — you look unwell. Would you…like some ?” she stammers. In her jittery grasp is a bottle of water offered to him. Shades of rosy pink shaping the miniscule container held in front of him. His bloodshot eyes had stirred her concern. Sukuna, who's taken by surprise raises a brow at her. The realization then strikes him. The marijuanna he’d taken previously already took a toll on his disheveled state. Christ, he’d forgotten how visible the signs were. “It’s fine. Keep it.” Sukuna retorts.

The glimpse of the silver crucifix cocooning her throat piques his curiosity. “So you’re one of those church folks. No wonder. Ever heard of Marijuanna ?” he sets his gaze on her pendant. Legs languidly entwined as Sukuna cocks his head at her. She shooks her head at him, unsure of what to utter. Subtly snapping her knuckles to ease the mounting tension. “Yeah ? go on.” he urges. She seizes her bottle. “Yes, It’s a drug used for medication yet well…it’s also used for like— other purposes.” she mumbles.

“Smart girl.” Sukuna chuckles. Who would have thought he’d be sat with a meek church girl. Fate really had it’s fair share of surprises for him. The flickering lights of the room abruptly startles them both, dimness greeting the lecture hall. Sukuna musters an agitated grunt at the poor timing, scarred digits pulling out a piece of lighter while tenderly nudging his leather oxford’s towards her calves. “Fucki’n hell. Don’t bother calling the professor. That old man wouldn’t give a damn either way. ” With a cigarette kept in hand. He beckons her to draw closer.

The shadowy dusk illuminates his chiseled features amidst the dark. Her stomach churns at their close proximity once halting her step. This was simply a mere request of Sukuna’s yet It all felt as If the feathery distance shared among them consumed her. “Isn't this wrong ? Smoking’s a sin— “ Her throat tightens at the reminder. She vividly recalls the professor’s warning. The ominous threats and punishments ready to be given If he ever caught them indulging in illicit deeds. She withdraws her movements. Declining him with a light shake of her head, a wary look clouding her expression as she diverts her stare.

“It is wrong. Yet it’s hardly a sin at all If he’s not here to witness it. It’s just you and me here after all. Don’t you think so too ? ” Sukuna suppresses a mocking grin at her withdrawal. She did have a fair point in all honesty. That glistening pendant she latches unto, the fear in those dilated pupils. “Relax that silly head of yours. I was only hoping you’d simply light my cigarette. You assume so quick.” Despite the dim lightning blurring his vision. The lingering tension between them is present.

“Well ? go on, I’m waiting here. We do need light.“ Sukuna shoves the cigar within his lips. Motioning his head at her looming silhouette. He flings the lighter towards her.

The foreign steel like texture prickles her senses. With a clumsy, inexperienced grip. She catches it promptly while igniting the lighter to the best of her ability. “Then where do I place it ?” embarrassment fuels her temples. Never has she once spoken to him in spite of being classmates in the past semesters. Sukuna was one of those men whose name was frequently applauded by everyone, especially teachers. Meanwhile, she was the opposite. “Just come closer, yeah ?” Sukuna can’t contain the growing excitement flooding his veins any longer. “Right—sorry.”

There was something intriguing about a skittish girl. Wholly clueless to the darker side of things the world has to offer. Gruesome, vile, things that a young sheltered church girl like her would certainly run away and never come back. However, Ryomen Sukuna was rotten. Inside, out. Tainted to the core. Never to be the same young boy who’s reflection was just like her’s in his earlier days.

The flames enclosing his sight jolts him out of his thoughts. There she was. Slightly hunched over, huddled in the middle of his outstretched legs. His breath hitches followed by a red tint of hue glazing the tips of his silver pierced ears. The feathery strands of her locks grazes his bare flesh. “Your tattoos— they’re very… pretty!” she blurts out. Sukuna is at loss for words. Gulping, she clumsily drags the flame towards his cigarette. Well, Sukuna be damned.

Such bold gestures for someone he underestimated far too much. Sukuna in the blink of an eye, immediately steadies his composure. In the midst of the little light shared between them. He bores his eyes at her, peering closely for any subtle hint of the taunt expression often exhibited on her features. None, just a little portion. “Careful.“ Sukuna reminds. Cautiously so, he lays his calloused ringed digits across her hold. The contrast in their hands interlocked together amuses him.

His hand engulfs the delicate & fragile skin. “Better, isn't it ?” Sukuna settles his other one at the curve of her back. She could be stumbling out of the blue If he were to startle her by accident. Sukuna keeps a firm yet mild grip on her to prevent that from occurring.

The staggering contact of his hand slung across her takes her breath away. This was nothing but a pure brief touch, done out of kindness. Before she can counter a response, the lights without warning are back on. Accompanied with the professor barging in. Sukuna’s fleeting touch is long gone, the lighter tumbling out of her grasp. She falls back on her seat. One of Sukuna’s palms settled at the back of her chair to catch her. “Clumsy girl.” he snickers. The professor’s chiding words are subdued in her ears.

Humiliation & sheer embarrassment drowns her wholey. Cheeks flustered at the clatter of his lighter. The relentless lighthearted jabs that continuously loops in her head like a broken record worsens. Meanwhile, Sukuna hardly pays attention to the professor's presence. His gaze solely focused at her squirming state from time to time. His hasty seatmate with an overall pliant nature might as well be his most favored source of entertainment. Sukuna for the very first time is thankful of his professor’s supposed ‘punishment’ given to him.

For his own good ? Sukuna will gladly take that to heart. This is more than ‘good’ to him. What would make her tick ? he marvels at the nosey thought. Sukuna longs to break that little shell of hers. He eventually would, sooner or later. No doubt about that. There’s a rotten part of her deep down.

[vaaaaaiolet]

Leon's lifeline for the past two months has been a chance encounter he met at a bar. At an abandoned payphone in the dead of night, he can only hope his guardian angel picks up his call.

mdni (mild implied sex). gn / m, HELLA pining, romance, implied alcohol abuse bc older leon, egregious overuse of religious / angel imagery, angst w/ a happy ending!

word count: 935 // read on ao3

a/n: if you know anything about me it's that: 1) i will not stop making puns even if you held a gun to my head 2) paradise edition solos your fav 3) you can tear religious imagery out of my COLD DEAD HANDS

find more drabbles in my collection: sketches for my sweetheart the drunk!

Against every neuron in his brain screaming flight, Leon breathes way too early into the receiver, “Hi?”

The payphone is a cold metal kiss against his ear. The night rain works double time to chill him right through. He’s always had bad luck. Leon never meant for it to go this far. Never meant to let things get so out of hand with you, the angel he ran into at a bar two months ago. 

Something about you just sticks. The quarter he fed into the pay slot did too. He should’ve taken it as a sign to let it go, let the drizzle soaking through his government-issued suit order him straight home from the airport, but the heart’s a heavy burden when it’s empty and besides, it gives him something to dream about.

So Leon stays. Prays you pick up. 

The music was loud the night Leon met you. He’s tried convincing himself you’re an earworm instead. You tick all the boxes, too. He can’t get you out of his head (one). Leon had offered you a drink on a whim. You’d told him his eyes looked like pieces of sky fallen to earth, and maybe it was because you saw home in him that he saw it in you. 

It was probably his own gin and tonic steering him astray. It could’ve been the twinkle in your eye when Leon kissed your knuckles in the red flush of the stoplights streaming in through the front window. But sooner than later, you had him wrapped around your wings. It just felt right with your feet off the ground when he’d hoisted you up under your thighs.

You sang so pretty in his arms. Leon’s postmarked for hell for sure. He’d taken you apart in a quiet back corner, pressed kisses down your eiderdown-soft nape, had the gall to smile at the shiver he brought out in your shoulders. You fit him like a glove. Every sweet gasp of his name that left your lips, Leon had burned into his brain to play on loop (two). 

Leon, Leon, Leon.  

And now, two months later, Leon realizes he’s angry about it. Not because of how outdated that is – seriously, who burns CDs anymore? – but because he didn’t know he was doing it. And that he’d do it for so long. He’d come to depend on the savior of your laugh to pull him through nights he’d spend with moonshine or an emptied magazine in different, more unfortunate circumstances. The memory of your voice put his fear to sleep. It was only a matter of time before Leon was skipping church in favor of taxi cab confessionals, drunk under the passing streetlights. Reciting the silvery lyric of your name under whiskey breath (three) as good as turned him into an acolyte. 

One, two, three rings pass before the line drops. Leon slips in his last quarter and punches in again the 10 digits that haunt his dreams. 

Why should you pick up? Maybe he’d hallucinated you tucking your number into his hand before you’d kissed him goodbye. Your wings could’ve been made out of paper, a false idol of Leon’s desperate invention, a feather dropped into his jean pocket from when he plucked you out of heaven. Of course he’d be the hero of the greatest love story that never was. The longest romance novel never written.

The dial tone stretches skyward. Leon sinks his teeth into his lip, stifles a dying scream to God with an aching throat. He doubts he’d listen. 

Because even after all this time, Leon is impatient. The whole city’s asleep except him. The downpour is knifing into his back and he doesn’t want to wait for the day so he can turn sunshine into sugar; Leon wants to pull the sun into his mouth. All this praying on his knees and he can’t even put his mouth on you, can’t put into use all the practice he’s had saying your name. 

He never even offered you a dance. Some kind of gentleman he is. The president’s bitch at attention and a poor excuse of a prodigal son to boot, standing at this payphone and pretending it’s only rain sliding down his cheeks. 

So when the receiver echoes back his greeting, Leon thinks it’s a cruel test. He’s sullen, tasting bitters again.

“Hello?” it repeats softly, “Leon?”

And it’s you.

Leon gasps your name, clutching the phone to his chest and scrambling to answer back. “You didn’t- is it really you?”

You laugh like tinkling bells, lovelier than he remembers. “You sound just the same.”

“And so do you.” Leon runs an incredulous hand through his hair. “How’d you know it was me?” 

“You started off with a ‘hi’. Normal conversations start with the word ‘hi’ and we’ve never had a normal conversation. It didn’t sound right with your voice.”

You remembered how he sounded. He’d called for you and you’d heard.

“I regret that. I’d like to have one of those with you sometime,” he admits. 

“It’s been a while.”

“You don’t- you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Can I be honest?” you whisper.

Leon holds his breath.

“I forgot to put my name on my number and I thought you’d never call.”

Tomorrow, Leon decides when he asks you to meet him for dinner at the Italian place you’d once told him about, right across the old church and the bar where he’d once met an angel, he’ll tell you he was always going to come back home.

And he hopes you’ll forgive him for being late.

click for my full drabble collection, and find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 divider by @/saradikagraphics

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Moon

summary: information had finally started to come to light. things had been falling into place, for better or worse. you and Wally had had to keep keep going, no matter the cost, but at least you and he had had each other to lean on when you'd realized that not everything had been as it'd seemed.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.9

"She was such a quiet girl, you know..." Nanna said softly, holding Ginny's hand as she spoke. Her eyes were distant as she fell into the past, reliving memories of their childhood. Ginny was much older than Nanna. Nanna had been a surprise after their mother, your great-grandmother, had been told she wouldn't have been able to create—never mind carry—another baby. Nanna was the youngest of five; Albert, Violet-Anne, Arvin, Virginia-Amrose, and then surprise baby Abigail.

Your family didn't see much of Nanna and Ginny's siblings. There wasn't a specific reason for it that you knew of, just a lot of distance in between that had deterred your less familiar great-aunt and her brothers from reaching out. After the death of their parents to a house fire, the elder siblings had moved on from Split River and that had been that. They were probably dead—definitely Albert who'd had to have been well into triple digits if he was still alive.

"What changed?" You finally asked, gazing at Ginny as she slept, oxygen tube down her throat. That was the worst you'd ever seen her. Your eyes pricked and your stomach clenched, and you so badly yearned for her to wake up. To hug you, pet your hair, tell you that you were being ridiculous worrying over her.

Nanna chuckled, her thumb stroking the back of Ginny's hand, "The reason her lungs are so weak." She said, quiet, tired, "The fire."

"The fire made her more—" Blunt, dramatic, stubborn, batshit insane with a warm heart and a warmer smile. You settled for, "Loud?"

"It scared her. You come face to face with death like that, sweetpea, and it changes you. Either for good or for bad." Nanna cast you an amused smile, "I like to believe that's why you and Aiden were so mischievous. Obnoxious little munchkins, the both of you."

"What do you mean?" You asked around the lump in your throat, pictured Aiden at that farmhouse as he clutched Limon and ate stew made by the specter of a stranger.

Nanna gave you a surprised look, one that indicated you should've known what she meant. She told you anyway, "Aurora was an easy birth. Out in minutes. Pink and squalling like a banshee." She chuckled, shaking her head with a fond smile. "But you...you were impatient. Wanted to be in the world as soon as possible." She paused, patted your knee, "You came early. Such a small thing." Nanna's smile fell, "You weren't breathing. But," Her smile returned, "They saved you. You recovered quickly and I have a feeling my wily sister had something to do with it..." Nanna gave Ginny a playful look of bemusement, "You didn't have to suffer years of treatments like most unlucky infants."

Amelia's words rung in your head like the knell of a church bell: Death ushered them into the world and left a piece of himself within them. So...you'd been delivered with Death at your heels. Amelia had mentioned that that was how you could interact with the metaphysical world and those who inhabited it. Holy shit.

"And Aiden?"

Nanna sighed, "Poor little bug." She made the sign of the cross, something she only ever did when Aiden was mentioned. "I always wondered if he knew..." She shook her head as if to dispel the very thought and diverted, "He was blue as a violet. The cord had...had wrapped itself around his neck. He was dead for almost a minute before they revived him..." Nanna's eyes glistened. She gazed over her sister again, lips pinched in despair.

Death had had its arms open for Aiden since the day he was born, you mourned. You weren't surprised that Nanna thought it possible that Aiden knew, somehow, someway, that he wasn't destined for a long life. If anyone in the house would've known, it would've been her. She'd examined his palms the same as she'd done everyone else's...

"Did you know?" You had to ask, uncomfortable that you hadn't remembered until now exactly what your grandmother's connectedness was capable of. "That he wouldn't live long?"

Her face was grim as the reaper, eyes haunted, "I hoped against it. Reading the Awen isn't precise, sweetpea. And I prayed, in that instance, I was wrong."

But she hadn't been. You almost wanted to confess to her about Aiden and the farmhouse and the other ghosts. You didn't, of course, but you suddenly realized how ill-equipped you were to face everything alone. The responsibility of stopping Amelia, and retrieving Maddie's body, and freeing the ghosts. Freeing Wally. It was a vise that strangled your heart without remorse.

Nanna brought the conversation back to Ginny, faraway eyes and compassionate smile, "That fire might've weakened her body, but it strengthened her spirit." She ended wistfully, "Few realize that Death is also capable of giving gifts. It can be kind as it can be cruel."

It moved you, how much Nanna cared for Ginny. As much as they bickered, Nanna and Ginny were close. Two peas in a pod. Ginny had taken care of Nanna after their parents had died; she'd assumed the role of mother and father and sister in one fell swoop since none of their older siblings would do it.

They sounded like a selfish bunch and—as you stared at Ginny's ashen face—you thought fuck them for not being there. Fuck them for allowing the distance to matter. Fuck them for ignoring or avoiding or pretending your family didn't exist because they'd rather have let everything fall apart at a time they should've come together.

Minutes later, Nanna excused herself to fetch a cup of coffee from the hospital cafeteria, leaving with a kiss on your head and a squeeze of your shoulder. You took her place in the chair beside Ginny, held her hand in yours, and tried to tamp down the slurry of emotions that rose within you.

After a long moment of silence, you choked, "Everything's fucked up." A plea to someone who couldn't hear you. She couldn't travel, you imagined because her body and mind were too weak, but you desperately needed her right now. Or you needed to finally unload the burden of truth on someone you could trust because it had become too much. "There weren't stupid storms or squalls or whatever you and mom said there would be. But it feels worse. Like everything is out of control—"

A thick sniffle, a hiccup, "Maddie's a ghost and her body is missing. I think there's someone out there who wants to use the ghosts...use...shit, use Wally...to glue them in it," A thought you hadn't shared out loud until now because it scared you more than you wanted it to. Your voice broke when you continued, "I--I don't know what to do... I-I don't even know where to look. Or how to look. I need help, Ginny. Xavier and Simon are great and they want to help, they do, but they don't know this stuff and now I'm expected to be a walking encyclopedia and—" A self-deprecating snort, "Fuck. I barely know anything..."

The heart monitor beeped a steady rhythm. The ventilator whirred. Ginny remained a gaunt statue in repose.

You leaned over and pressed your forehead to the back of her hand, hot tears falling onto her cold skin, "Please wake up..."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon ran his thumb over the pendant, his other hand in Maddie's as she urged him to lure her mother to the school. Get her here, he heard Maddie plead, I always know when she's lying. But Simon's mind was elsewhere, his eyes flicking over the pendant's design, teeth clenched as he berated himself. He should've asked more questions when he'd—God dammit, the answers might've been right fucking there and he'd been too busy monitoring his pleases and thank yous.

He couldn't believe he hadn't recognized the pendant the night of the dance, strung around someone else's neck. One of a pair, your great-aunt had told him. Maddie had worn the necklace every day since he'd known her. A gift from her father she rarely, if ever, removed.

Without acknowledging Maddie's insistence to get Sandra in a room with her, Simon asked, "You said your dad gave this to you?"

Maddie's teeth clicked when she abruptly closed her mouth, visibly stunned that Simon would ask that now. A brief moment of contemplation and then, "Yeah. Right before he died."

"And you're sure about that?" Simon's eyes never left the pendant, but his grip on Maddie's hand tightened marginally, a gesture expressing that it was important, that he needed her to be precise.

"Yeah." One beat. Two. "I mean, not really. I got it in the mail. Mom said he sent it when he was still in Texas and that it had taken longer to get there than he did. He was back for a couple of weeks before..." Maddie trailed off. Simon could fill in the blanks. Christopher had been home for a couple of weeks before he'd killed himself while wearing your body like a meat puppet.

"In the mail?" Simon prompted as he released her hand to cup her jaw, gaze boring into hers. "And you're sure your dad was the one who sent it?"

Maddie swallowed. "Yeah. It was definitely him."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Simon, I'm sure." Prickly, fierce. "My dad sent it. I know he sent it."

Simon pulled her closer to press their brows together, soothing her, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, Mads, I just want to make sure that we have all the facts."

"Why?" Maddie asked and leaned back to examine him because he wasn't making sense.

Simon hesitated for a moment, unsure how to put into words the weird coincidence he was beginning to think wasn't a coincidence at all. "When I went to pick her up for the Homecoming dance... Maddie, her great-aunt had exactly the same pendant. Ginny said that it was one of a pair, earrings or something, but she lost the other one a while ago."

Maddie frowned and then her face went slack in shock, "You think her great-aunt might've been the one to give it to me?"

Simon shook his head, frustrated, confused, steadily more defeated as he realized he was so far out of his depth that he couldn't hold his head above water anymore, "I don't know." He slumped, rubbed his eyes, and gave Maddie a look of apology. "But we have to find out. Someone has to know."

"Si, I know my dad gave me that necklace. I can't explain it, it's just a—"

"Feeling?" Simon finished for her, weak smile curving his lips. "Yeah. I believe you, Maddie," He assured her, grasping both her hands in his as he bowed toward her to give her a soft, sweet kiss. "I'm not saying he didn't. But if it's the missing earring, maybe she gave it to him or maybe he took it. For a reason."

"What...what reason?" Maddie asked hesitantly, bits and pieces of information scattered in her mind like shattered glass.

"Ginny's in the hospital. And your dad's..." Dead, he refused to say, already guilty that he'd had to bring this up in the first place. "Your mom might know something. Like you said, you can tell when she's lying."

"Get her here." Maddie reiterated. "And we can figure out if—if my mom..."

Cutting her off, "Okay," Simon put the necklace back in the manila envelope, folded it, and shoved it in his back pocket before promising, "Okay, I'll figure something out."

Maddie sat silently for a long moment, gazing into the middle distance, so worn and small that Simon nearly choked on his heart looking at her. Sandra might not have been the best mom, but she was Maddie's and Maddie loved her. Simon couldn't imagine Sandra hurting Maddie, and yet... People turned into strangers when their souls were broken and they had enough booze in their veins to breathe fire.

He had no clue how the pieces fit together. If Sandra had the answers to all the questions Simon and Maddie had. Why Maddie was a ghost. Why Maddie's dad had gifted her a necklace with a pendant on it that belonged to your family. The two things were connected, Simon was sure, but he didn't know how.

As he stood, Maddie stopped him with a light touch to his hip, "Simon?" She rose to her feet and shuffled into his space, looped her arms around his neck and held him, "Yesterday, what you said about whether or not us figuring it out means me moving on—"

"Don't worry about that right now," Simon murmured into her hair. It was jarring, how she didn't smell like anything. Just clean air. He stammered, "I was being selfish."

Maddie tilted back a fraction and said firmly, "You're never selfish," which made Simon's heart skip a beat and break in a single moment.

"Maddie...if it was her," He started, nervous to voice his concern, his fear, though he had to understand, "Are you sure you wanna know?"

She didn't answer. Simply tucked her head into the crook of his neck and held him close.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

The inevitable was already underway. There was nothing Mr. Martin could do about it, no way to postpone it or change the outcome. He couldn't sabotage Amelia's plan, it was impossible given her influence; a worm in his brain slithering between the ridges and festering his conscience. It was a failsafe, she'd explained. She'd been betrayed in the past and Mr. Martin had understood, had allowed her to cast her spell and shape him into whatever she needed him to be.

Still, the fact that the night was finally upon them, after decades of waiting, made him wonder if he'd been mistaken to have trusted her word.

If Janet had been right... No. Janet was wrong. Wrong. She was clever, sure—the ideal candidate to complete their circle—yet callow in more ways than was suited to what Amelia had required of her character. Rhonda was a decent if rough substitute. Too new. Too neglected. Mr. Martin wasn't allowed to divulge more than necessary to her, and that seemed to be the wrong approach since now Rhonda was just as riled up as the rest of them when he needed her to focus.

Dawn's ascension had happened while he'd been in the fallout shelter, thus he hadn't succumbed to it to the same degree his students had. Nevertheless, he'd felt it. Felt that peace. That warmth. That omniscient truth that he'd never felt before because crossing over was supposed to be impossible inside the barrier. In that one moment, everything he'd done to help Amelia seemed cursed. Which included his poor luck in inspiring Rhonda's full submission.

It didn't matter now, did it? That slimy part of his mind tried to justify in a voice that wasn't his. The gears had begun to turn, the machine already in motion. No one would be hurt. Not more than they'd already been, at least, and it was far too late to regret what he and Janet had done to bring everyone together. Moving forward was the only option and after all was said and done, he'd pay his penance.

Wally and Charley and Rhonda spoke over each other, a cacophony of questions with no answers. None that he was at liberty to give. He plucked a thread from his blazer, hands shaking because of what it signified that his clothes were deteriorating instead of resetting as they'd done since 1958.

"—the light at the same time as the goosebumps. Simultaneous goosebumps." Wally ranted between Charley's retelling of what they'd experienced. Mr. Martin's collar suddenly felt too tight.

Bernie and Katelynn agreed and confirmed and Mr. Martin wanted the ground to open and swallow him whole. He had to keep them in line. Just a few more hours. A few more hours and it would be over and he'd be free... The noise of their curiosity caused his mouth to dry, heartbeat too quicken, palms to get clammy. He had to have faith, but it was dwindling with every second he listened to his sentient students describe Dawn's ascension from their points of view.

Their eyes were on him, pinning him in place as he fidgeted. He strung together the right words in the wrong context, anything to supplicate them, but they continued to press like walls closing in. And then Mina's face, sad and scared, seared behind his eyes and he couldn't manage the pressure.

"After all these years, how can you still be so clueless?" Charley demanded and Mr. Martin absorbed it like he'd absorbed Amelia's outrage when Janet had vandalized a plan that had been decades in the making.

It had been such a struggle to attain the right pieces and set them on the board. Amelia had been righteous in her anger. A glorious, beautiful blaze of fury that had left Mr. Martin wounded and weak. All because of Janet who'd argued his ear off for weeks. Who'd rearranged the board under his nose in order to steal what didn't belong to her.

"What if looking back isn't a bad thing?" Charley hounded, "What if it's actually the key to get out of here!? Why shouldn't we at least try that?"

They weren't allowed. They weren't allowed to look back. Unlike treacherous Janet, Mr. Martin had obeyed the rule. He'd crafted so many lies, so many perfect explanations that Amelia had praised, yet, now, she didn't trust him fully despite his fealty. What would it take for her to forgive him!? WHAT WOULD IT TAKE!?

"Because it's painful to constantly be thinking about it!" Hearing his own words, Mr. Martin knew he would forever remain her devoted servant. In sickness and health, not even death could do them part. "Right!?"

There were still two pawns on the board. Two vessels. One for him. One for her. Let Janet die a second time in Maddie's body. By morning, Maddie's ghost wouldn't exist anymore to need it.

Just a few more hours, he told himself, and it would be over.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally kissed you like it was the last time. Slow, deep, explorative; memorizing every shape and taste of your mouth as he held you by the hips in his lap.

The school was empty aside from the teachers involved in the awards ceremony. Ajay had snuck you in before accompanying Maddie to the teacher's lounge for a coffee and a heart-to-heart. Wally had found her in the hallway after Group and she'd been in bad shape. He was grateful that Ajay had stepped in to be there for her while she waited for Simon to arrive with her mom so that Wally could soak in your presence privately.

You'd informed Maddie that Simon had had Nicole reach out to Sandra and ask if she wanted to accept the Fall English Award on Maddie's behalf. Sandra had apparently been reluctant, yet she'd agreed in the end. Initially, they'd wanted to uncover if Sandra knew about the origins of Maddie's necklace. The same necklace your great-aunt wore to repel ghosts that might try to snatch her body.

After you'd explained, "It was me," Maddie decided they'd change direction and would question whether or not Sandra had been involved in disappearing Maddie's body sans her ghost.

Wally couldn't believe he hadn't remembered immediately when Maddie had mentioned her necklace. He'd seen it. Not the necklace itself, but the moment Christopher had asked you to take it from his body's pocket and deliver it to Maddie on his behalf.

"Amelia must've stolen it like she stole Limon," You murmured, head tilted back against the wall, staring beyond the ceiling at your mental conspiracy board. The red yarn that connected one thing to another. "She used it so Christopher couldn't steal his body back...which is why—"

"He had to use yours to stop Amelia..." Maddie finished, glum and bereaved. "So, why give it to me?"

You rolled your head to the side and stared at her a moment before, "To protect you." When Maddie gave the impression she didn't understand how it would've done any such thing, you elaborated, "He probably didn't want the same thing to happen to you that happened to him." A long, pregnant beat. "He didn't want you to be used."

"I knew it was from him," Maddie stated as she curled over her knees. "There was a note. I remember now."

You held your hands up and wiggled your fingers to connote your ability to transfer things from the metaphysical world to the living world. "I don't remember getting it to you, though. I don't remember much after seeing Aiden..." A shaky breath and then nothing.

"Wally?" You asked, likely having noticed his mind had wandered. "You okay?"

Wally's grip tightened on your hips, then smoothed down to your thighs, back up under your skirt to drag you closer by the ass. He gave you a weary smile, about as much as he could muster. Between Mr. Martin's behavior in Group and Maddie's comment—"What would you do if the one person who was supposed to protect you was the one who hurt you?"—unleashing a repressed sense of betrayal toward his mama, Wally's strength of will had rapidly declined. He didn't think he could do this anymore.

Call him selfish, but he missed the simpler times. The times before Maddie and the mystery and the cloak and dagger he and the others were forced to come to grips with. There was peace in ignorance and he wanted to find it again, just for a second, just to regroup and start fresh and—

"Hey," Your hands on his jaw, angling his face toward yours, "You still with me, big guy?"

"Sorry baby," Wally said, low and solemn, "Too many thoughts."

You nodded, "Yeah. Me too. I can't believe I never noticed Maddie's necklace. I see it every day, you'd think I would've put two and two together as soon as I met her, yanno?"

Not exactly where Wally's mind was, but that was odd.

"You said you and Maddie weren't that close before now," Wally tried to reason so you wouldn't drive yourself crazy thinking about it. "Who really pays attention to that kind of thing?"

You raised a brow, "I noticed Nicole had the same spider ring as Maddie as soon as she started wearing it."

"Okay. Fair. But that spider ring didn't ward off evil spirits, right? Maybe it's a magic necklace thing." And then he put on an all-powerful, godly voice, "All who look upon this necklace shall forget its importance lest they be cursed!"

You giggled, a sound as beautiful as a summer breeze, and beamed at him. Jesus, he could live without food and water and anything else so long as he saw that smile every day for the rest of his existence. He lifted one hand to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, dipped in to brush his lips against yours, a smile of his own forming.

"Very impressive use of the word 'lest'," You teased, "I didn't know you had it in you."

"Hey, I was practically a straight A student, thanks."

"What I'm hearing is that you bullied nerds into giving you test answers."

Wally scoffed, "I didn't bully anyone! I used my popularity to charm certain academically gifted individuals into helping me along. It was give-give, baby, I swear." He grinned, both hands back on your ass, massaging your flesh.

"You may be onto something though, Wally." You said after a moment, "I wouldn't be surprised if Amelia glamoured the necklace so that no one would recognize it." A cheeky grin, "Lest her whole plan go up in smoke before she could finish it." You raised your hands and made a poof gesture.

Wally drew you closer by the back of your head, his gaze flickering over your face as his eyes went heavy and heated, "Have I ever told you how sexy your brain is, baby?"

"Once or twice," You smirked and brushed your lips against his, "But you're welcome to remind me."

A slow, thorough kiss before Wally said, "You have a very," kiss "very," kiss as his large hand pushed your closer so you were planted flush against him, "sexy brain."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Xavier was insubordinate on a good day, but the little nuisance had been more so in recent weeks. The Sheriff didn't like it. By then, Xavier didn't need to be cagey or deflective for the Sheriff to recognize when Xavier was hiding something. In fact, Xavier had been combative, had shown up of his own volition to once again challenge Mr. South's innocence. And hadn't that been the cherry on top of a taxing day...

It was hard enough keeping the deputies busy, their instincts firing on all cylinders, much to the Sheriff's chagrin. Which, fine, was why those people were hired—except Lou. Lou was impossible. A donut-munching waste of space with muttonchops to stand in for his backbone—but the Sheriff was at a pivotal point in tracking down and locating Madison Nears' runaway body and getting the plan back on the rails. He couldn't afford any more disruptions or screw-ups.

To think, they'd had weeks of wiggle room before that daft creature Amelia had coddled had run off in what was to be Anabelle's vessel. Weeks. The ritual wasn't to be performed until the winter solstice. Empty school. Parents of teenagers not entirely sure where they were at any given time because it was the holiday break and kids would be kids. Alas, Amelia had fucked up so royally in who she'd trusted that they didn't have a choice. It had to be tonight or they'd lose everything.

The Sheriff exited the evidence room, Xavier's energy lingering in the air after their confrontation. That had been a disaster just as everything else leading up to then had been. The Sheriff—Anabelle—had long since perfected how to handle that bucking bronco of a boy. had been raised by emotional distance and respect and he'd turned out beautifully. As had Amelia. Furthermore, it'd worked. He'd pried Xavier away from his values easily, had him right where he'd needed to be. Cutoff. Conflicted. Corrupted.

Only now, he seemed to have recovered. Quickly. Quicker than the Sheriff had ever seen anyone shed a hex. If there was time to hunt Xavier down and prise the truth from him, the Sheriff would, however, time was of the essence and Amelia had made fucking sure they didn't have enough of it to spare. To be so stupid as to let Janet Hamilton frame Amelia's most precious golem!?

May Dagda protect, because the Sheriff wasn't going to lose another precious rebirth due to things that could have, should have, been avoided.

He wanted very much to release Mr. South. His purpose was better served on the board. Unfortunately, the Sheriff couldn't afford anyone discovering the second set of prints on the crowbar. Pausing at reception, the Sheriff noted the address he'd scribbled down. Another possible lead. At his hip, out of sight of those milling about the station, he typed a text to Dave's phone. The address and a blunt reminder that Amelia had better not let her former shining star slip through her fingers again or Anabelle would snatch her precious vessel right from her spirit's embrace without remorse.

After all, daughters came and went, but youth was something worth holding on to.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

"Are you finding anything?"

"Dude, this thing was old when I went here," Wally told Charley from his place at the microfilm reader.

The file room was dark, claustrophobic, filled with a lot of information yet very few answers. So far, anyway. You sat at the single tiny table, flipping through transcripts from 1960 while, at your feet, back against your leg, Ajay perused the stack of yearbook printouts from around the same era.

"Dawn found something yesterday when she looked into her past." Charley said, determined, "I mean, Janet must've done the same. So...maybe if we look into their pasts, too, we could find something that could explain all of this."

Ajay sighed, "Don't we already know?" When Charley snapped a pointed side-eye at him, Ajay flapped a hand, "I get why we're doing this. What, against all odds, made Janet and then Dawn special enough to clock out of this hellscape. But do we really think it's going to be written on paper?"

"Or microfilm." Wally inserted, peeking out from behind the machine.

"I think Charley's onto something, actually." You said as you scanned another transcript from 1960: Maria Volkov. "Maybe there was something special about their pasts that allowed them to move on easier." You glanced up, eyes finding Wally's, "I mean, you've all looked back before, right?"

"More or less," Ajay said, flipping through another yearbook. "Yet, here we still are."

"What year are you on?" Charley asked Wally as he carded through the accordion folder containing Dawn's student files.

Wally responded, "1959. I'm trying to move backwards, but I am not seeing Janet's name anywhere." He glanced between you and Charley. "She died in 1960, right?"

"Yeah," Charley confirmed though he was distracted.

"That's what we have in our files, too." You added and then sat up straight to stretch out the kinks that had settled between your vertebrae. "Apparently she fell down the stairs and broke her neck?"

Wally cringed, "Sounds shitty." He looked at Charley again, "Did you know that? Because I didn't know that."

"I'm beginning to think we've been discouraged from asking each other personal questions about our deaths for a reason," Ajay muttered so only you could hear.

You didn't know what to say apart from, "Me too, buddy."

From his perch on the picture files cabinet, Charley rummaged through more of Dawn's files, engrossed though managing to reply to Wally, "No, I didn't..." He exhaled sharply through his nose and finally looked up, "Nothing of much interest in Dawn's student file, either..." Awkwardly, tinged with a thread of guilt, he admitted, "I know we weren't super close, but I feel kinda awful that we didn't get to say goodbye to her."

You listened as Wally answered, both you and Ajay forgoing your research to hear Wally say, "I don't want it to happen that way for me." He caught your eye, let his gaze hold yours softly, "I didn't get a goodbye last time..." You stood, shuffled around Ajay and went to Wally, settling in his lap when he shifted to welcome you. "I do not wanna just disappear..."

You nestled into his body, kissed his temple before pressing your brow against it.

"Me either." Charley said quietly.

Though it was obvious he felt the same, Ajay didn't say anything. Simply allowed Wally and Charley's grief to be heard and sat with it.

Wally turned his head, his lips pressed to your neck, his hand squeezing your hip before he tucked his face into your shoulder for a minute. You felt him breathe in and out deeply, absorbing your presence, your scent a balm for his soul, and then he returned to the slide he'd just inserted under the lens of the microfilm machine. Beneath you, he tensed.

"Whoa. Whoa, wait. This is weird." You peeked up at the screen, adjusted as Wally leaned in to read the small print. At Charley's prompting, Wally read, "Split River High School has been chosen for a national pilot program to protect students and teachers from the threat of a nuclear strike."

Oh. Shit. Had you not told Wally about the fallout shelter below the school?

"A fallout shelter will be built below the east wing of the school," No. No you had not. All you'd mentioned was that Dave had been skulking around the basement and you'd followed him. "The same location where a fire destroyed the former chemistry lab on January 14th, 1958." You were a terrible girlfr—wait.

"Wait...1958?" Charley voiced so you didn't have to. "That must be Mr. Martin's fire. Does it mention him?" Charley moved closer, half-sat on the side of the desk and watching Wally scan the rest of the old article.

"I don't see..."

You pointed to the screen where you saw Mr. Martin's name, "There."

"Oh, yes," His hand snuck under your shirt, thumb stroked your skin in thanks as he began to read again, "Authorities determined the fire was accidental. Four people were killed in the fire that overtook the lab during a routine chemistry lesson. Beloved Chemistry teacher Mr. Everett Martin was one of the deceased—"

"Wait." Charley interrupted, confused, "Four people? He said he was the only casualty."

Ajay was on his feet now, positioned himself behind Wally, a hand on Wally's shoulder as he curved forward and reread what Wally had already dictated. "Four people?"

Wally's attention returned to the screen to pick up where he left off, "Uh, two other staff, secretary Melinda Fontaine and school nurse Karla-Anne Mayfair, who had tried to help contain the fire while students evacuated were killed in the blaze as well as one student, sophomore..." He stopped, causing you, Ajay, and Charley to squint at the screen.

"What? What's wrong?" Charley asked.

Wally picked his gaze from the screen and skirted it to Charley, "Janet Hamilton." A moment of tense silence, and then Wally, pinning you closer to his body to quell his anger, wanted to know, "Why did they both lie to us?"

You stared at the name Wally had pointed to. It didn't make sense. Even in your family's files, Janet was cited as dying in 1960... Only... She hadn't had a death date until Ginny had remembered something and had Nanna write it down. You slipped out of Wally's lap and went to the stack of yearbooks Ajay had been scouring through to find the right one. Bingo. 1958.

You opened it, flipped through the pages until, "My great-aunt was in that class." That was the fire that'd weakened her. You'd assumed it'd been the same fire that had killed your great-grandparents, but no. There was Ginny's young face, smiling shyly from the page beside someone named Gladys Jones.

"What does that have to do with Janet and Mr. Martin?" Ajay wondered as he, Wally, and Charley crowded around you.

You scrutinized every other student's face for clues, because stealing bodies was the work of expert connectedness. And though they became new people in new bodies, their connectedness had always and would always remain. If you were right...

"There were only two ghosts." You uttered, and you felt Wally's hand on your hip, a steadying force, as he pressed himself against your back. "If the symbols were already around the school to trap Mr. Martin and Janet—"

Somber, Wally asked the question on everyone's mind, "Then where did the other two go?"

💀___________________________

PART EIGHT - PART TEN

note: dun dun duuuun. next part should be out more quickly. this one just kept testing me. thank you so much for your patience, my loves 💖 we're down to the wire now and just two (or three, maybe, idk yet) parts away from the finale 🙌

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ABOUT THE TAGLIST: we're not about that life around here (•¯ ∀ ¯•) things got too outta hand and i'm still cleaning up the mess left behind by the demons i accidentally summoned trying to get the damn thing to work 🕳️👹......there's a dustpan over there if you feel like helping 🧹💨 or, if you just wanna stay up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS

[jesawyer]

Hello Josh, Pentiment is one of my favorite games of all time. It’s an emotional journey for me. I can relate to Andreas’s melancholy and really like the character arc for him. Thank you for creating this amazing story.

I have a question about Seal of Confession in Pentiment. Sister Amalie disclosed Brother Guy’s confession to Andreas and explained why Guy can’t be protected by Seal of Confession. But as a catholic I was taught that Seal of Confession cannot be violated under any circumstances, and the seal also applies to anyone who overhears a confession. I assumed that the rule was different in Middle Ages. Did canon law back in 16th century mention anything about eavesdropping confessions?

Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Certainly under modern canon law, Sister Amalie would be subject to church discipline equal to that of a priest who violated the seal, which could include excommunication.

Re: 16th century canon law on witnesses to confession other than the confessor: the Fourth Lateran Council (1215) did not mention witnesses, only the confessor:

Canon 21: On yearly confession to one’s own priest, yearly communion, the confessional seal All the faithful of either sex, after they have reached the age of discernment, should individually confess all their sins in a faithful manner to their own priest at least once a year, and let them take care to do what they can to perform the penance imposed on them. Let them reverently receive the sacrament of the eucharist at least at Easter unless they think, for a good reason and on the advice of their own priest, that they should abstain from receiving it for a time. Otherwise they shall be barred from entering a church during their lifetime and they shall be denied a Christian burial at death. Let this salutary decree be frequently published in churches, so that nobody may find the pretense of an excuse in the blindness of ignorance. If any persons wish, for good reasons, to confess their sins to another priest let them first ask and obtain the permission of their own priest; for otherwise the other priest will not have the power to absolve or to bind them. The priest shall be discerning and prudent, so that like a skilled doctor he may pour wine and oil over the wounds of the injured one. Let him carefully inquire about the circumstances of both the sinner and the sin, so that he may prudently discern what sort of advice he ought to give and what remedy to apply, using various means to heal the sick person. Let him take the utmost care, however, not to betray the sinner at all by word or sign or in any other way. If the priest needs wise advice, let him seek it cautiously without any mention of the person concerned. For if anyone presumes to reveal a sin disclosed to him in confession, we decree that he is not only to be deposed from his priestly office but also to be confined to a strict monastery to do perpetual penance.

The Corpus Juris Canonici may cover this, but I would make two statements here: 1) detailed canon law was not something most parish priests or certainly anchoresses would be familiar with 2) it's late and I don't want to try to search through the UCLA's digital library copy of the Corpus Juris Canonici.

That said, I do have a copy of Thomas Tentler's Sin and Confession on the Eve of the Reformation which gets into the weeds on what was going down in the Holy Roman Empire in the early 16th century. I used it as the basis for a lot of the specifics in Father Thomas' Saint John's Day confessions. I'll try to look it up this question tomorrow.

[stars-and-sugarcubes]

Pluto, the Internet, a Night in the Woods.

I was going to repost thoughts I shared from watching a Night In the Woods video essay, but I have decided to expand on it and re-write it completely.

" During one of Rosa's sleepy reminiscences about her youth, she says, 'Back then there were places that brought us all together, the church and the union.' Both the union and the church were hubs for community building and shared values. You could trust that your fellows in these places would think about the world similarly to you, and if you think about how unions suffered near extinction when manufacturing moved out and the industries that these unions had formed in died, that on top of how with each generation we become more and more agnostic, thereby losing that common gathering place in the church. it kind of explains why young people are so atomized and miserable these days. The only common place that we can gather and delude ourselves in is the internet. "

- Flundering Chipper (minutes 30:44 to 31:27)

1971, Intel released the first microprocessor, and home computers entered the market in 1977, raising in popularity and accessibility through the 80s and 90s. Today, technology is known to have developed exponentially since then.

The video essayist, Flunderingchipper, spoke about the younger generation's lack of religious faith and physical spaces to commune, and it made the cogs turn in my head. GenZ, the Sagittarius Pluto generation (1995-2008), is considered both digitally fluent and dependent due to being the first generation to fully grow up with computers and abundant internet access. GenZ also marks a significant difference between the generations after and before them.

The timeline for micro computer and personal computer usage begins at the bookend of the late Summer sign of Virgo (1959-1971) and the beginning of the Autumn signs with Libra (1971-1983), planting the seeds for the transformation of social and worldly connectedness we see today with Pluto now in Aquarius (2023-2044). Computers and further advancements like smartphones cemented themselves in the US and the world through Pluto's transits in Scorpio (1983-1995) and Sagittarius, the generation of Sag. Pluto is gaining the reputation of being extremely different from older generations and being connected online and less so in person. That is, not to mention the Capricorn (2008-2023) and Aquarius generations. On the internet, the general impression American GenZ seems to be that they are absurd, politically minded, and socially aware, gregarious, zealous, and unwilling to participate in corporate and political struggles of older generations. At least, from what I understand.

Computers came in the autumn of Pluto's treck through the zodiac. A time when previous generations harvested their gifts and their young have less material gains in turn. It started with the Libra Pluto generation, but the Scorpio Pluto generation was likely the first to notice it. Millennials.

All this to say, Pluto, the planet of ordeals, transformations, and death, showed us a time when the internet grew in influence, taking the place of community with friends and colleagues. Less people go outside to have fun. More people turn to gaming, social media, art, and sharing their interests with each other. There are fewer free spaces to commune. The Church loses its grip as people grapple with religious dogma and share in their struggles with it. People learn more about the world and connect with others from further distances. The average person can share themselves with the world and create communities and gain influence on a wider scale, changing the culture around public figures. Mall walkways are emptier, and stores shut down and become desolate. Small shops and average people are threatened by growing corporate power. But that begins to bleed into Capricorn Pluto.

As an older GenZ person reflecting on life as we move forward, I just find this morbidly fascinating. We must endure Pluto's travel through winter.

[mariacallous]

The United States Federal Trade Commission is taking action against two American data brokers accused of unlawfully trafficking in people’s sensitive location data. The data was used, the agency says, to track Americans in and around churches, military bases, and doctors’ offices, among other protected sites. It was sold not only for advertising purposes but also for political campaigns and government uses, including immigration enforcement.

Mobilewalla, a Georgia-based data broker that’s said to have digitally tracked the residents of domestic abuse shelters, is accused by the agency of purposefully tracking protesters in the wake of George Floyd’s murder in 2020. In a court filing, the FTC says Mobilewalla attempted to unmask the protesters’ racial identities by tracking their mobile devices to, for example, Hindu temples and Black churches.

The FTC also accused Gravy Analytics and its subsidiary Venntel of harvesting and exploiting consumers’ location data without consent, alleging that the company used that data to unfairly infer health decisions and religious beliefs.

According to the FTC, Gravy Analytics collected over 17 billion location signals from approximately a billion mobile devices daily. It has reportedly sold access to that data to federal law enforcement agencies such as the Department of Homeland Security, the Drug Enforcement Agency, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Gravy Analytics could not be immediately reached for comment.

A spokesperson for Mobilewalla says the company's privacy policies are constantly evolving, adding: “While we disagree with many of the FTC’s allegations and implications that Mobilewalla tracks and targets individuals based on sensitive categories, we are satisfied that the resolution will allow us to continue providing valuable insights to businesses in a manner that respects and protects consumer privacy.”

“This data can be used to identify and target consumers based on their religion,” the FTC says. The location data collected by the two companies makes it possible, the agency says, to “identify where individual consumers lived, worked, and worshipped, thus suggesting the mobile device user’s religion and routine and identifying the user’s friends and families.”

According to the two settlements, which must be finalized in court before they would go into effect, Gravy Analytics and Mobilewalla are barred from collecting sensitive location data from consumers and must delete the historical data they gathered on millions of Americans. Mobilewalla would be banned from acquiring location data and other sensitive information from online auctions known as real-time bidding exchanges, marketplaces where advertisers compete to instantaneously deliver ads to targeted consumers. This case marks the first time the FTC has moved to police the collection of data directly from an ad exchange.

In another first, the proposed Gravy Analytics settlement would introduce military installations to the list of “sensitive locations” where the FTC bans location tracking. Under the terms, the company would be prohibited from selling, disclosing, or using data drawn from these locations, which include mental health clinics, substance abuse centers, and child care service providers.

In November, a collaborative investigation by WIRED, Bayerischer Rundfunk, and Netzpolitik.org revealed that over 3 billion phone location data points, collected by a US-based data broker, exposed the movements of US military and intelligence personnel in Germany. These movements included visits to nuclear vaults and brothels. In that story, WIRED first reported on FTC chair Lina Khan’s efforts to shield US military and intelligence personnel from data brokers.

US senator Ron Wyden of Oregon, who first urged the FTC to take action against Mobilewalla in 2020, praised the announcements, calling the companies’ actions “outrageous violations of Americans’ privacy.”

“These companies enabled US government agencies to surveil Americans without a warrant and enabled foreign countries to spy on service members with just a credit card,” says Wyden, who also previously investigated Venntel with other members of Congress.

While the FTC’s orders don’t directly tackle the issue of government agencies purchasing Americans’ location data—information for which a warrant is normally required—Wyden says the cases nevertheless undermine the government’s case for allowing the purchases. The orders make clear, he says, that federal agencies are hiding behind a “flimsy claim that Americans consented to the sale of their data.”

In a statement, FTC commissioner Alvaro Bedoya notes that while surveillance conducted by private companies won't raise the same constitutional issues as surveillance by government, the difference between the two is “porous if not irrelevant” to the people being watched. "Governments have long relied on private citizens for work that would be impractical or illegal for law enforcement," he says.

Whether the orders against Gravy Analytics and Mobilewalla will be enforced remains to be seen. Major changes are coming to the agency under the future Trump administration—most expected to undermine years of work by Khan and her staff. Many of Donald Trump's allies have been vocally critical of Khan's aggressive pro-consumer approach, including Republican megadonor Elon Musk, who has taken command of an ad hoc office that will purportedly advise the White House on improving “government efficiency.”

FTC commissioner Andrew Ferguson, whose name was floated last month as a potential Khan replacement, partially concurred with the agency’s decision to bring cases against the two data brokers on Tuesday. He agreed the companies had taken insufficient steps to ensure consumer data was properly anonymized, adding that they’d failed to obtain the “meaningfully informed consent” of the consumers they targeted.

Unlike Khan, however, Ferguson argues that the companies did not run afoul of the law by “categorizing consumers based on sensitive characteristics,” such as whether they attend church or political meetings. “These are all public acts that people carry out in the sight of their fellow citizens every day,” he says.

Ferguson likewise chastised the agency for attempting to restrict the power of data brokers to target protesters specifically. “Treating attendance at a political protest as uniquely private and sensitive is an oxymoron,” he says.

In a separate action Tuesday morning, the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau announced it was taking steps to crack down on predatory data brokers that traffic in people’s financial information, calling the practice a gateway for “scamming, stalking, and spying.”

Musk, who donated more than $100 million toward Trump’s reelection, called publicly last week for the bureau to be “deleted.”

[eowyntheavenger]

By Emily Strasser | August 9, 2023

At the theater where I saw Oppenheimer on opening night, there was a handmade photo booth featuring a pink backdrop, “Barbenheimer” in black letters, and a “bomb” made of an exercise ball wrapped in hoses. I want to tell you that I flinched, but I laughed and snapped a photo. It took a beat before I became horrified—by myself and the prop. Today is the 78th anniversary of the bombing of Nagasaki, which killed up to 70,000 people and came only three days after the bombing of Hiroshima that killed as many as 140,000 people. Yet still we make jokes of these weapons of genocide.

Oppenheimer does not make a joke of nuclear weapons, but by erasing the specific victims of the bombings, it repeats a sanitized treatment of the bomb that enables a lighthearted attitude and limits the power of the film’s message. I know this sanitized version intimately, because my grandfather spent his career building nuclear weapons in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, the site of uranium enrichment for the Hiroshima bomb. My grandfather died before I was born, and though there were photographs of mushroom clouds from nuclear tests hanging on my grandmother’s walls, we never discussed Hiroshima, Nagasaki, or the fact that Oak Ridge, still an active nuclear weapons production site, is also a 35,000-acre Superfund site. At the Catholic church in town, a pious Mary stands atop an orb bearing the overlapping ovals symbolizing the atom, and until it closed a few years ago, a local restaurant displayed a sign with a mushroom cloud bursting out of a mug of beer.

Oppenheimer does not show a single image of Hiroshima or Nagasaki. Instead, it recreates the horror through Oppenheimer’s imagination, when, during a congratulatory speech to the scientists of Los Alamos after the bombing of Hiroshima, the sound of the hysterically cheering crowd goes silent, the room flashes bright, and tatters of skin peel from the face of a white woman in the audience. The scene is powerful and unsettling, and, arguably, avoids sensationalizing the atrocity by not depicting the victims outright. But it also plays into a problematic pattern of whitewashing both the history and threat of nuclear war by appropriating the trauma of the Japanese victims to incite fear about possible future violence upon white bodies. An example of this pattern is a 1948 cover of John Hersey’s Hiroshima, which featured a white couple fleeing a city beneath a glowing orange sky, even though the book itself brought the visceral human suffering to American readers through the eyes of six actual survivors of the bombing.

The Oppenheimer film also neglects the impacts of fallout from nuclear testing, including from the Trinity test depicted in the film; the harm to the health of blue-collar production workers exposed to toxic and radiological materials; and the contamination of Oak Ridge and other production sites. Instead, the impressive pyrotechnics of the Trinity test, images of missile trails descending through clouds toward a doomed planet, and Earth-consuming fireballs interspersed with digital renderings of a quantum universe of swirling stars and atoms, elevate the bomb to the realm of the sublime—terrible, yes, but also awesome.

A compartmentalized project. The origins of this treatment can be traced to the Manhattan Project, when scientists called the bomb by the euphemistic code word “gadget” and the security policy known as compartmentalization limited workers’ knowledge of the project to the minimum necessary to complete their tasks. This policy helped to dilute responsibility and quash moral debates and dissent. Throughout the film, we see Oppenheimer move from resisting compartmentalization to accepting it. When asked by another scientist about his stance on a petition against dropping the bomb on Japan, he responds that the builders of the bomb do not have “any more right or responsibility” than anyone else to determine how it will be used, despite the fact that the scientists were among the few who even knew of its existence.

Due to compartmentalization, the vast majority of the approximately half-million Manhattan Project workers, like my grandfather, could not have signed the petition because they did not know what they were building until Truman announced the bombing of Hiroshima. Afterward, press restrictions limited coverage of the humanitarian impacts, giving the false impression that the bombings had targeted major military and industrial sites—and eliding the vast civilian toll and the novel horrors of radiation. Photographs and films of the aftermath, shot by Japanese journalists and American military, were classified and suppressed in the United States and occupied Japan.

The limit of theory. Not only is it dishonest and harmful to erase the suffering of the real victims of the bomb, but doing so moves the bomb into the realm of the theoretical and abstract. One recurring theme of the film is the limit of theory. Oppenheimer was a brilliant theorist but a haphazard experimentalist. A close friend and fellow scientist questions whether he’ll be able to pull off this massive, high-stakes project of applied theory. Just before the detonation of the Trinity test bomb, General Leslie Groves, the military head of the project, asks Oppenheimer about a joking bet overheard among the scientists regarding the possibility that the explosion would ignite the atmosphere and destroy the world. Oppenheimer assures Groves that they have done the math and the possibility is “near zero.” “Near zero?” Groves asks, alarmed. “What do you want from theory alone?” responds Oppenheimer.

Can the theoretical motivate humanity to action?

One telling scene shows Oppenheimer at a lecture on the impacts of the bomb. We hear the speaker describe how dark stripes on victims’ clothing were burned onto their skin, but the camera remains on Oppenheimer’s face. He looks at the screen, gaunt and glassy-eyed, for a few moments, before turning away. Americans are still looking away. As a country, we’ve succumbed to “psychic numbing,” as Robert Jay Lifton and Greg Mitchell call it in their book Hiroshima in America, which leads to general apathy about nuclear weapons—and pink mushroom clouds and bomb props for selfies.

On this anniversary of Nagasaki, the world stands on a precipice, closer than ever to nuclear midnight. The nine nuclear-armed states collectively possess more than 12,500 warheads; the more than 9,500 nuclear weapons available for use in military stockpiles have the combined power of more than 135,000 Hiroshima-sized bombs.

If Oppenheimer motivates conversation, activism, and policy shifts in support of nuclear abolition, that’s a good thing. But by relegating the bomb to abstracted images removed from actual humanitarian consequences, the film leaves the weapon in the realm of the theoretical. And as Oppenheimer says in the film, “theory will only take you so far.” Today, it’s vital that we understand the devastating impacts that nuclear weapons have had and continue to have on real victims of their production, testing, and wartime use. Our survival may depend on it.

[a-queer-seminarian]

This church sign is constantly broken — or, as I like to imagine, broadcasting the digital version of “speaking in tongues”

[vyzoisworship]

Decided to share my story about how I joined this religion.

I grew up in a Christian household and I went to church when I was a kid. When I grew up into my early teenage years, I stopped going because of the homophobia that was randomly spreading. When I was a kid none of that was happening until pride month became official. I left because I knew it was wrong and I had friends who were in the LGBTQ+ community. (Little did I know at the time, I was in the community too)

I was in my middle teens at this point. I stopped believing in Jesus and I became an atheist.

Late teens came around, out of nowhere I was getting suddenly interested in the Greek Goddess Aphrodite. I looked into her and started getting interested in her. I guess I worshipped her for a little while without even realizing it.

A little bit after that, I lost interest again. This time though, in my early adult years, I became interested in Lilith which made me feel a little weird at the time because I grew up in the Christian faith originally. I did enjoy my time getting interested in Lilith though, I even offered her stuff a few times.

I eventually did stop and just decided that maybe atheism is the right choice for me. I did pick up on the interest of astrology and witchcraft though and never lost interest in it.

Last year in the summer, I was suddenly interested in Leviathan but I didn’t get too far because it was so hard to find anything. I did save a Spotify playlist that was dedicated to him though.

Last year in the fall, I found something on my Pinterest home feed. It was basically the zodiac signs that had been assigned to the Hellenic deities. My astrology interest was peaked and I noticed that I had the same zodiac sign as Apollon. I instantly did more research on him.

My interests with him were art, music, dancing, the fact that my birthday is in the middle of the summer season, and the love of the outdoors. I did get to know more about him as I did more research, but that was what mainly caused me to get connected with him. I also loved his story with hyacinthus even though it’s a very sad one. I liked that he would also be a member of the LGBTQ+ community.

A few months after getting into Hellenism my interest for witchcraft began, I was a believer in witchcraft around the time I got interested in astrology. But this time I was willing to practice divination so that way I could try to connect with Apollon better since he’s also the god of oracles.

Currently now, I’m still into witchcraft, astrology, and hellenism. Since I have ADHD, it’s easier for me to focus on one thing at a time. I’m just taking a little break from witchcraft but I still interact with content. I haven’t seen astrology stuff in a while. I also took a small break from my worship with Apollon, but I still do my best to think about him and make consistent digital offerings. I also still look after the altar that I made for him. (I’m still slowly coming back from my break)

Another good thing is Apollon is a god of healing so I’m glad that I clicked with him. My family gets sick easily, also because of my mental illness and mental disabilities that I have. He makes everything feel better.

Overall Lord Apollon has answered me and listened to me more than anyone religious wise. I finally found the right deity for me. It took a long time but it’s like that sometimes.

I still respect the deities that I came across throughout my journey. Now that I’m back into Hellenism, I think about Lady Aphrodite more often too. I also considered worshipping Lady Artemis at one point because her twin brother is Lord Apollon, but again I can only focus on one thing at a time but maybe in the future.

[uk3d]

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