#i think it would be interesting to explore the new augustine and the way he perceives the world now… like he was Made. he is not a man

[chryzure-archive]

i discovered two of my lowest rated books this year are getting sequels next year, which explains why the books had unsatisfactory endings, but honestly… if it’s going to be more than one book, you should 1) maybe make that a bit more obvious in the way the first one ends???? because BRO, i had NO clue, and 2) that doesn’t excuse how bad the first book was……………….. like HUH

[theloregirlv2]

Lore Analysis of The Casting of Frank Stone

꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷

Hello everyone, and welcome back to the fog. I'm excited to be dissecting this game with you all as I've been looking forward to it for so long now! From a story perspective, I find the game to be very interesting. While we aren't shown a lot of new info, the game does flesh out things already talked about in the lore.

So pull up a chair, and let's talk about The Casting of Frank Stone.

(Credit to GamersPrey for the footage)

MAJOR SPOILER WARNING.⚠️

꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬

The thing that stood out to me the most about this game was its exploration of dbd's multiverse. I expected them to touch on it a little but not to this degree. This game not only explicitly references Tera Worlds but also shows us alternate versions of characters. We are officially shown this with Sam, the man responsible for taking down Frank Stone.

We see him later on in the present after he manages to get into the manor, only to find out that this Sam is not the same one from the 1980s that Linda knew. Instead, he's from a different Tera World and is actually a part of the Imperiatti. We later see this again as Augustine has stacks of tapes of different versions of Murder Mill from different universes. Augustine in general is a very interesting character, but we'll talk about her later.

For now, I'd like to talk about Frank himself. He shows up at the beginning of the game in a sequence that I actually find really interesting. He technically ends up dying due to being shot and falling into the fire below, but he seems to be taken by Entity afterwards.

This scene is kind of weird to me as I'm not sure why the Entity would appear here now. It could be that it was sealing its deal with Augustine as she is also present in this scene, or maybe it did something to Frank's soul? I think it was just simply cleaning up evidence of what had occurred, but it could honestly be anything.

The next time we see him is towards the end of the game, as his spirit is revived. While it's never explicitly said or shown, I'm pretty sure this is due to Augustine in some way. As the color of his ghost matches that of the machine she has.

It's also possible that this is due to the fact that the mill is most definitely a source of an overlap. The teens disturbing the site could have awakened his spirit, as it is mentioned that some trace of Frank was left after his death.

His final appearance is at Augustine's manor in the present. She uses the pieced together parts ofnthe film and some type of enchantment to summon Frank in a new form.

This version of him has been clearly transformed in some way. And while yes, he has been brought back to life, it's clear that's due to some "Entity magic." Frank chases the characters around in the manner in a sort of recreation of the trials until making it outside. Whoever you kept alive to this point will show up in the ending at a campfire.

The Entity claims both Frank and the surviving characters, as a trial is soon prepared. Even though I was expecting an ending like this, it still surprised me to just see the campfire in a story like setting. Getting to fully see how the Entity takes people into its realm was so cool, and the cameo from the original survivors was a nice touch.

The last thing I wanted to actually talk about is Augustine, who is a member of the Black Vale (the cult that worships the Entity). This is our first time seeing one of them visually as they have only been talked about in the tomes. I plan on making a separate post about her character so we'll skip over that for now.

What I want to talk about is her machine. It's pretty much what drives the game forward, and I find it really strange. It mainly seems to be some type of time machine, as it brings Chris back from the past and is also able to send her back.

We also see Augustine herself come out of the machine after she is sacrificed to the Entity by Frank. We see the same older woman from the store standing over her, which implies that the old woman is, of course, Augustine herself. The fact that she doesn't die or get taken into the realm after being sacrificed is interesting, though. I guess this is because she is a Black Vale member and extremely devoted to the Entity. So it probably has more use for her in the future.

Another thing to note is that the world we see in the Casting of Frank Stone might have actually been consumed by the Entity. While we do see Chris go back in time to before everyone went into the mill in the secret ending. I think her doing this probably created another universe or Tera World in itself since she does run into herself. But the main world was very likely destroyed by the Entity since Augustine does imply that she wanted that to happen.

꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷

That was my short little analysis on The Casting of Frank Stone! I do plan to talk more about this game in the future, as I didn't get a chance to talk about everything I wanted. As you can see, there isn't really a lot of new material added to the games overall world building. But there are some things that elude to greater things to come, like the secret ending I mentioned.

That will be all from me for now! Remember to avoid any mysterious fogs, or you may just end up like our friend Frank :)

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

Fic Authors Self Rec

Rules: When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers!

I was tagged by @chthonic-cassandra thank you so much!

Unmaking the Heart of the World (Grisha Trilogy, 116k+, Darklina, Nikolina, Zoyalina, ongoing) This is my time loop fic that is basically every opinion I’ve ever had about this series combined. It also laces in more general concepts I’ve thought about and wanted to try to work into a story for awhile— chiefly the meta aspect of time loops, time travel, and reincarnation tropes and how that can be an interesting way to engage with themes of grief and denial.

I think the sheer length sets it apart from my other fic because I don’t usually get to structure and develop a narrative in the same way in fanfic.

These Truths That Shape Us (Hellsing, 3k, gen) I like this one for the horror elements. It’s part of an informal collection of “sins of the father” stories, that’s mostly about Integra reckoning with her family, her legacy, her own sense of identity and values within that context, and how that ultimately defines her relationship with Alucard. This one specifically tries to bridge the gap a bit between Dracula, and Hellsing as disparate stories.

Ever Ancient, Ever New (The Locked Tomb, 3k, Dios Apate) I’m proud of this one because the style is so different from how I usually write. On the theme of false forgiveness, the premise is that Augustine decided to forgive John at the end of HTN and that John eventually forgives Mercymorn, and his way of doing so is resurrecting her again, but deliberately flawed and without any of her memories. It’s all from Augustine’s POV who genuinely loves and hates them both, and it’s my attempt at exploring how complicated and awful that group dynamic is.

The Scorched Sea (The Grisha Trilogy, 9k, Darknikolina) This is a role reversal AU. It was a really interesting challenge trying to preserve the characters while putting them in very different circumstances with different pasts. I like the character work in this mostly where it comes to Aleksander and how he might think and who he might be if he were younger and less powerful.

I have a lot of ancillary worldbuilding for this AU that I ever want to come back to.

Éminence Grise (The Grisha Trilogy, 37k, Darknikolina, ongoing) I struggled to pick a last one but I think this one wins out because it’s longer and occupies more space in my thoughts and so I favor it lmao. This started from a one off prompt I got on tumblr that spiraled out of control. It has more silliness and social hijinks than my average fic but is mostly concerned with all the manipulation that would be inherent to a longstanding relationship between Alina and Aleksander if he had been able to just keep lying to her the entire time and the amplifier plot never happened.

Tagging: @jammerific @akilice @hannahofathousanddays @tirkdi @darkpoisonouslove if you feel like it!

[milfzatannaz]

Hello, so taking your offer about the NOLA questions, though it might be more speculation than anything (or maybe not, I've only seen the show and the 1994 movie and not the books so who knows). I'm from Brazil and I only know NOLA from movies and TV shows really, but there are some social and cultural aspects that feel somewhat similar to my country... Brazil has a large Black population, famous musical genres, traditional dishes etc created by Black people and even though most of the country is Christian (specially Catholic), non-Abrahamic, Afro-Brazilian religions are quite present here too. Now, I'm not religious at all, I have a weird and maybe even complicated relationship with religion/faith/spirituality in general, maybe for being queer and neurodivergent, but that's another convo lol... But I do think it's nice to represent other kinds of faith. I know most of the main characters were raised Catholic, but do you think they could do that on the show with Africa diaspora religions to some extent? Even if it isn't the main focus? And do you think they could do it in a respectful way that doesn't feel like dismissing, stereotyping and demonizing them like we see on fiction (specially fantasy) all the time? Obviously, I'm not making assumptions about your religion or if you even have one, and if you don't know what to answer it's okay, I just think this is an interesting topic that nobody ever talks about. Specially when it comes to American media, because it seems to be more based on Christianity and Judaism, but having a show that is so heavily set in NOLA could maybe explore other types of faith we barely get to see. I think it could be a good opportunity if they can do it right. Anywaaaaaaaay lmao, sorry I rambled so much and this got too long. 😅 Thank you. 🙃

Hi!!!!!! Thank you for your question!!! It wasn’t too long, I loved reading every line.

I think the similarities between black cultures is fascinating, even if our people are separated by entire continents.

As for the inclusion of folk religion into the show, I’m setting that at a firm “maybe…?”. In the 1994 movie and in the original book, voodoo, or voodun, is loosely included. Anne Rice took mild inspiration from that part of New Orleans culture but I think it might be a bigger part of the Mayfair witches, I don’t know.

Louis is a creole Catholic but as an upper class man he wouldn’t have participated in what we call “African folk Catholicism” , considering the time period he was introduced in. Like Brazil, New Orleans has a version of Catholicism heavily informed by the African diaspora. in the show, he attends historically majority black church. St Augustine has always been the church where free people of color and even slaves attended mass.

So Louis’s religion is probably more in line with traditional Catholicism. St Aug as I know it does not perform any rituals outside of typical mass. If season 3 is in the modern era, I’m not sure if the voodoo informed practices would be included. I do trust the showrunners to be accurate and informed, it just probably won’t be necessary to the plot. I’m not sure.

[sylwanin-was-right]

This comment is so funny for many reasons (including the suspension of disbelief u have to employ to accept that an avatar clone can reproduce non-sterile offspring w a native Na'vi without suficient information from the first film to explain that lol) but it reminds me of how rlly terrible it is, imo, that the story was set up this way: that Jake HAD to be a character that played a major role as an accomplice in genociding Neytiri's people, displacing them permanently; killing most of her friends & immediate family & relatives, & leading them into a war that ended w intense rehabilitation. Shortly after all this, & even in between the first conflicts, she falls for him & literally desires him.

Ofc Jake was just "doing his job" then eventually changed his mind & heart once he became personally invested in the Omaticaya as ppl & Neytiri as a love interest (both situations are commentary in & of themselves). And Neytiri having a "strong heart" in many ways led her to personally invest in Jake as a love interest as well as a cultural investment since her teaching Jake the ways of the Omaticaya was possibly practice for her future role as Tsahìk (if u think abt it, Neytiri got some good diplomacy skills out of learning ways to better relate to humans from Jake, etc since shes already familiar w human culture being a previous student at Grace Augustine's school, & she should have been aware that Jake is affiliated w humans in some way). But personally i think the implications of their relationship & how quickly they became close felt rlly rushed & ended in a dissastisfying way when i was old enough to understand those implications.

I dont think using sci-fi allegories for issues regarding race, colonialism, etc is inherently problematic or racist, & tbh Avatar as a franchise could still have potential to explore other themes of colonization, etc (& even explictly critique capitalsm in these sequels tho thats prolly not likely considering the profit motivations of at least cameron's contributions to the films lol. I digress). Its just after seeing these videos & taking interest in learning Na'vi as a L2, L3, etc, im reminded of how Jake's character closely reflecting a white savior & Neytiri's character set up as an almost stockholm syndrome driven "princess" of a displaced & genocided ppl is a rlly unfortunate way the sequels introduce a family dynamic.

But i think Avatar (2009) is no real piece of liberation media anyway, & tbh it was a movie that exploited palatable anti-war, technology critical, conservationist, & anti colonial sentiments primarily to showcase new movie tech that would lead the industry; it was not as memorable to most ppl depite its box office impact bc the plot was so cliche & predictable, but it had a lot of potential bc of its relevant themes, unprecedented & immersive cinematography, special effects, & worldbuilding. Since Avatar is going off more & more themes surrounding indigenity, colonialism, imperialism, & war & many efforts were made over the last decade to revitalize ppls interests in the Avatar universe, i think the series will have a lot of time & content for fans & critics to contribute to its creative vision in a way truly creates an empowering image for the audiences it should resonate w.

Hopefully the story of the next sequels will be satisfying enough to somewhat tolerate (tho not forgive) the way Jake became a protagonist & had a family w a Neytiri soooo quickly.

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

shadowbringers: off on the wrong foot

The Crystal Tower rose high into the Lakeland sky, the light of the near-eternal sun glinting off it. Yet somehow it seemed out of place to Augustine's eyes. But considering he and the others had only just recently arrived from the Source, perhaps it was the fact that he was more used to how the Tower looked against the Mor Dhona sky.

But to be quite honest...there was something else on his mind. And Augustine was pretty sure Reinhardt was of the same thought as well.

"So we're in agreement that the Crystal Exarch is a shady son-of-a-bitch?" He asked.

"Yeep." Reinhardt agreed. "And you can't see it, but Paien's violently nodding in agreement." Augustine exhaled, his eyes flicking over the massive Dossal Gate.

"Riven should have gotten us sooner." He said. "I don't like the fact that she was alone--and that she and the twins were suffering. They shouldn't have had to face those horrors alone."

"Can't be helped." Reinhardt was surveying the Gate and Tower with a critical eye, searching for any possible perches or footholds. "And with how time apparently passes in this world, the twins were dealing with what's been happening long before Riven showed. But I don't like the idea of it either." He crossed his arms.

"Just be grateful that Riven could come and get us. I wouldn't have put it past the Exarch to have blocked her way back to the Source somehow." Halone, it was strange to think of their home as such--an origin point--and other worlds that lurked just beyond it, Reinhardt thought. Stories were one thing. The reality...?

<Explaining this to Brucemont is going to be difficult.> Paien added. Reinhardt offered a feeling of agreement, glancing at Augustine.

"Where's Mathye and Sebastian?"

"Mathye is giving Riven a checkup, and Sebastian said he wanted to do his own exploring. I thought his eyes were going to explode out of his skull when he saw all the equipment that the citizens here use every day." It had taken everything in Augustine's own power not to gawp as well. He wasn't as Allagan-savvy as Riven or Sebastian, but he'd spotted some rather interesting bits of machinery at the weaponsmith. Personal exploring would come later after he and the others had gotten the general layout of their seemingly new base of operations.

"Did you notice that our rooms aren't near hers?"

"Uh-huh. I think Mathye said he was going to fix that." Reinhardt considered voicing the idea of being in the vicinity when that happened, and then decided not to. The medic's strong-arming might give interesting results. And they needed to see how the Crystal Exarch would react in a given situation.

"So any ideas on a plan just yet?" He asked.

"Aside from sticking to Riven like glue and opposing any plan that might involve us being separated? Not really." Augustine admitted. "Because I wouldn't put it past him to try and do so." Reinhardt felt Paien shift in the back of his mind.

<There is a even bigger question that needs to be addressed.> The dragon began, 'broadcasting' himself so that Augustine could hear him too.

<Why didn't he want us here in the first place?>

"Damn good question if you ask me." Reinhardt muttered.

"Not only that, why lie about the spell?" Augustine added. "Because he was lying." His truthsense-granted to him by the Echo, had been active during the entire--abit rather stilted--conversation that had happened when they had arrived in the Ocular. Silence fell over the duo for several moments.

<He was nervous. And anxious.> Paien added. <You could smell it off him.>

"Did he truly think Riven wasn't going to at least contact us?" Reinhardt wondered aloud.

"Your guess is as good as mine." Came the answer. The air around the pair began to cool as the sun started to set, and Augustine sighed.

"Come on. Let's meet up with the others."

[burningdarkfire]

2022 fic rec list

i somehow fell out of the habit of reading fic halfway through the year so recent works are scant, but here are some of the highlights that have stuck with me over the year

critical role:

storyless houses by @callingvoicemail (shadowgast) - really interesting take on a less-explored part of caleb’s character. literally when i read this for the first time in march i knew that it would be one of my fave fics of the year and i was entirely correct

amongst the things left unforgiven by @nonwal (wizard ot4) - i was late to reading this but i’m so happy i saved it. it’s all about *clenches fist* wanting to live

do you have enough love in your heart, to go and get your hands dirty? by @saltytothecore (former blumendrei + shadowgast) - truly all i want in life are the wizards interacting. astrid wears second person POV so wonderfully here

like real people do by @callingvoicemail (yasha) - i have a knack for digging too deep into sol’s side storylines, but there is something about caleb and how he fits into beau and yasha’s new domestic life that really resonated with me in this fic. sometimes it’s the small details that ride with me for a long time

(unnamed snippet) by @essektheylyss (fjord) - writing like this reminds me why fjord was my favourite member of the m9 for a long, long time. he’s such a damn interesting character and this is a perfect encapsulation of one of the reasons why!

arcane/league of legends:

sanctified by @aevallare (jayvik) - we love it when the boys meet alternate universe versions of themselves and alex has an insane knack for nailing giopara and everything that makes him tick in just a sentence or the turn of a phrase

the rom-com where you kill your father by @drtechmaturgics (jayvik) - i’m cheating because i read this in 2021 but it was published in december and i’m literally still insane about it a year+ later. it deserves a second shoutout

the witcher:

the wrong way by @lurikko (geraskier) - fics that make love and desire complicated are just absolutely my shit. excellent narrative voice here that carries an interesting premise all the way through

o, empathy by @nectarine-pit (geraskier) - a great bodyswap fic. the good shit = a trope fulfilled really, really well

the locked tomb:

whatever souls are made of, yours and mine are the same (insult) by flemeth (augustine/mercymorn) - i am completely serious when i say that this fic haunts me in the most insane of ways. if i had to pick a genuine top #1 fave for the year, this would be it

twin human highway flares by @thefaustaesthetic (campal) - getting my feelings hurt while thinking about among us is exactly what i need from my tlt fic

hypnagogia by @thefaustaesthetic (campal) - again: shit that simply makes me insane. no further comments, your honour

hannibal: (no, i don’t really remember how i ended up here either)

wolf and i by @t-pock (hannigram) - listen i am digging this fic up from 2014 to tell you to read it because it has insanely good build-up and pay-off

and just for my own reference, i also dabbled in a decent number of ofmd, jjk, and the sandman fics this year

[marnz]

also haS IT REALLY BEEN THAT LONG, wowzers, also this is me begging for a Crumb of augustine+mercymorn even though I know you said a lot of it got jossed

one direction fandom is ride or die i guess!!!!!

okay augustine + mercymorn, it was a fanfic i wrote chunks of a couple months after harrow came out and it was meant to cover 10,000 years and explore why/how the plot to kill God came about and go all the way to the end of harrow, sticking to canon and doing some world building. heavily influenced by the idea of the broken covenant in christianity and how blood is the answer, how john twists it, etc. i respect the john/mercy/augustine ship and fics in this fandom but i am mostly interested in these two best worsties scheming, and Nona did NOT help.

here's the first 500 words

edit: find the next 1k here

Later, Augustine would say he did not remember how Alfred died. He didn’t; he lived as if that moment had been erased. Now, he found Alfred’s empty corpse, staring with those cinereous grey eyes--the same ones now gazing coolly out of his own face. He ate Alfred’s soul with the same guzzling heat as a candle flame eating wax. Alfred’s soul rose in him like smoke. The dramatic irony of two who were one in the womb becoming one again was not lost on him.

What he focused on instead were the moments of before. They were dazzling in his memory, as hot and sharp and colorful as the world must have been pre-Resurrection. Before the bombs went off or the cascading blasts had hit and irradiated the world. Truthfully he did not spend much time thinking about bombs. No. He thought, instead, of the brief eternity between the initial explosion and when people had known to be afraid. When they had gazed upon death and only understood it to be a flower of fire in the sky.

He understood that moment intimately.

But when he tried to remember the moment of impact, the knife thrust into the breast, Alfred’s blood on his tongue, he saw nothing. There was less than nothing; there was a void.

When John saw him, he named Augustine the furnace he had become; he named Augustine Lyctor. This Alfred-less world he had to inhabit now held every promise of the uncanny. Nothing could be trusted, not even his own--Alfred’s?--eyes when they report that John’s face was unreadable. Augustine blinked, or perhaps time skipped, and then he saw John was weeping with his great, chthonic eyes, their dark liquid sheen reflecting Augustine back to himself. He was imprisoned terribly by the searing white ring around them.

“I’m so sorry,” John said gently. He was very gentle; Augustine had always thought so. Perhaps he could afford to be gentle because he could not die. John rested a hand on Augustine’s arm and Augustine was surprised to not register the touch. He did register the flick of his own fingers and the new, strange ache to hold a rapier.

“Undo it,” he heard himself demand. Was this Alfred, speaking from his lips? “Please. Please undo it, Lord.” They were all disciples here, but he would make himself a penitent anew. “I cannot live like this.”

John’s eyes flicked to the corkboard behind Augustine, littered with maps and reports on the numbers and movements of the insurgents who raged without purpose. 

“You must,” John said, still gentle, and the gentleness burned. “I cannot bring Alfred back. You have ingested his soul into your body.”

“I will spit it out.” His mind leapt to the theorems etched out in chalk in his study. He still had the notes Cassiopeia and Mercymorn had lent him. He would light candles and draw wards and offer up his heart’s blood, if only he could draw Alfred out of himself one painful inch at a time. 

John shook his bare head. He was humble among them, and did not wear a crown. 

“There must be a way to reverse the eightfold path--”

“Augustine. You cannot. Your soul has consumed Alfred. What made him Alfred no longer exists.”

[pxayopina-unilsiyu]

Wow! Kiri update day!

As promised, EMPIRE did a new character reveal today, and as I suspected, it was for Kiri. Really interesting stuff coming out today.

Kiri is adopted child of Jake and Neytiri. They have five children consisting of adopted and biological children. Quite a big family!

Kiri and Grace Augustine's connection is very much solidified. Pretty much as soon as photos of Kiri came out and we saw her in the trailer a lot of fans suspected she was Sigourney's new character. But now we know for sure she is Sigourney's new role, and the photo of her watching Grace's old video log really confirms there is some sort of connection between Kiri and Grace...

Kiri looks VERY similar to Sigourney Weaver. You can really see it in the new photo of her in the base with Spider. The way she smiles - it's almost identical to Sigourney's smile!

Kiri wears the same necklace that Grace wore on her human body, presumably this necklace was a gift from Na'vi that Grace knew. Perhaps Jake and Neytiri gave it to Kiri when they realized how similar she was to Grace.

Kiri has near-identical stripe patterns as Grace's avatar on her forehead. The middle star-shape they both have and the stripes surrounding it are spot-on.

Now it just leaves the question of what exactly the connection between Kiri and Grace is exactly and how it occurred. Most people assume it's the product of Eywa and I agree. But what I don't totally agree with is that Kiri is Grace's new avatar. She can't have an avatar if she's dead. Unless maybe Grace is piloting Kiri through Eywanet... not too convinced of that. Sigourney said her character is 'totally new'. If it were just Grace controlling Kiri from Eywanet then it's not really a new character, it's just Grace in a new body.

My theory is that Kiri has Grace's spiritual energy and maybe even her DNA. But Kiri does not realize she's a reincarnation of Grace. Rather, Kiri is her own person, but personality-wise she is very similar to Grace by merit of inheriting her spiritual energy. The Visual Exploration book mentions that the spirits of deceased Na'vi influence Na'vi children to take a career path that the clan is in need of so that the clan is always balanced. The way Kiri seems very interested in plants could be Grace's spirit influencing her to want to be a botanist.

So Kiri is her own person with her own personality that is greatly influenced by Grace. Perhaps as time goes on, Kiri starts to unlock Grace's memories. This new photo is of her in the base watching videos that maybe Spider found and wanted to show her because he realized how similar they looked. This could be Kiri realizing that her connection to Grace is deeper than anyone realized.

We know Kiri is adopted, so she is not Jake and Neytiri's biological kid. Could it be possible that the memories of Grace influenced the young Kiri to seek out Jake and Neytiri, knowing they would welcome her?

What do you think of Kiri?

[ravencyclebigbang]

The TRC Big Bang is proud to introduce TEAM 2

Depending on where you began the story, it was about billywixxan Artist ❦ @billywixxan​ • Billywixxan on AO3 • technobabbl on Insta How did you come up with the idea for this project?

After watching the lighthouse I was begging for a plot. Begging for some gay emotion described deeper than the harrowing and repressed stare of Robert Pattinson. I know it’s a surrealist horror but give me some lore! So I made this.

Depending on where you began the story, it was about adamnsey Writer ❦ @adamnsey​ • Cloudsweater on AO3 Why did you join this project? What are you looking forward to creating?

I joined this project because I am unhealthily obsessed with Adam and Gansey's relationship and when I saw the concept for a Lighthouse AU I knew I had to take it. The Lighthouse has such tense, tender, and frankly quite homosexual vibes that I feel fit very well with Adam and Gansey's pre-existing dynamic and I was really interested to explore what it would be like for them together in such an isolated setting (with maybe some other magic stuff going on too....). I'm working with Flint the artist to design a fic that we feel fits well with them and I'm super excited! Stay tuned!!

Depending on where you began the story, it was about ambergreyowl Beta Reader ❦ @ambergreyowl​ Why did you join this project? What are you looking forward to creating? What drove you to joining this team?

I write myself, but I've always been too shy to join a Big Bang - being a beta reader turned out to be a really good way to see how everything works & meet new people!

Please enjoy a sneak preview of Team 2’s work!

Adam didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t Gansey. He was used to these types of men. Men who stumbled off the tender wide-eyed and stupid, captivated by Augustine and thinking they were in for some camp getaway, some sea shanty, beer-filled dream. Adam had long since stopped indulging those fantasies, but there were always the few who were more insistent than the others. Gansey seemed different, though. For one, Adam didn’t like him. He didn’t like his handshake, his hands – soft and perfectly clean fingernails, smooth like he’d never lifted anything heavier than a purebred Persian cat in his life. He didn’t like his shoes: who wore boat shoes on anything other than a yacht? He didn’t like how he poured out $80 gin without a second thought. He didn’t like how Gansey made him pull out words like "indubitably" just to prove something. Normally Adam reveled in being the one to witness these mens’ descent into a cold, harsh, salty reality: loved behind the one to see their backs cave, their shoulders hunch, their lips chap. But Gansey was different. He seemed like maybe he’d been hunched before, and had just learned to straighten himself out. Like he’d felt the weight of the world, but had somehow managed to shrug it off. And this positively infuriated Adam. He hated to see himself in others, but worse was to see the person he wanted to become. But it was, after all, only four weeks. Until then, Adam would just have to take care of it. Would just have to put up with Gansey and his perfect hands. So he went about doing what he always did: pulling off his sweater and stepping into the tower, looking up. Adam smiled and made his way into the light.

[annikasafternoonread]

Hello all! It’s been a few days (okay it’s been a whole ass week) -- I’m sorry for the wait, but I had a surprisingly hard time starting this wrap up. Part of that was just being busy with life, but I also just… felt like I didn’t know what to say. Or maybe I didn’t know how to say it. These books are deeply complex, which is part of what makes them so captivating, but it also can make it hard to describe or respond to or explain. So much is left unanswered or unexplored or unknown. How can I sum up something so multi-faceted, that I know I’m only scratching the surface of understanding?

So, Harrow the Ninth. I want to preface this post by saying I did enjoy this book a lot, and I’m glad I read it. Tamsyn Muir is a very talented writer, I love the characters and the world, and the story is really cool. But although I liked the reading experience as a whole… I seem to have a lot of things I wasn’t totally happy with in the book itself. 

Tamsyn Muir’s books are fascinating, but they are also challenging. I’m sure that description doesn’t come as a surprise to anyone who has read them. It is both a strength and a weakness, part of what makes these books so intriguing and surprising, but also something that I know can turn off potential readers. I remember shortly before I started reading Harrow the Ninth, someone told me that the book itself is really hard to read, especially at the beginning. I remember that during the book, someone else told me that they had read Gideon the Ninth and started Harrow the Ninth, but wound up not finishing because the second person was too confusing. 

Neither of those was my experience. I didn’t mind the second person, or the confusing nature of the first sections. It was what I expected from this book at this point, and while it was unusual, it worked. The world they exist in is incredibly complex, the writing style is quite unique, but none of that really fazed me. For me, the ending was what felt... a lot of things. Confusing, incomplete, unresolved… and for me at least, a little unsatisfying. Again, I get that it’s kind of the point, but I just… 😒 is the best way I can describe the emotion. Like, okay I guess, but also no. 

The good news is, this book as a whole answered a lot of my questions from the previous book. Not all of them, but a good few. We know a lot more about this universe, about the history leading to this point, about who and what they’re fighting against, about what Lyctors are and how they work and what they do. And we know why Gideon didn’t die from the gas 🤯 

This book also hit a lot of the themes I was hoping for, many of which are concepts I’m quite interested in. In my opening post, I guessed that we’d be seeing a lot of focus on the ideas of: identity, duty, loyalty, morality, and truth. Granted those are kind of generic and open-ended, but I think they were all pretty on the nose. Harrow’s identity shifts with her memory, with her sense of who she is and what she is supposed to do and be. We explore duty and loyalty through her relationship with Lyctorhood and especially with the other Lyctors’ actions. Morality is a constant undercurrent, never really brought to the surface by most of the characters (well, I guess with regards to becoming a Lyctor it’s explicitly explored, but with regards to killing planets and the BoE and such it isn’t really touched much) but always there and very intentionally so. The narration doesn’t engage with it because the characters don’t question it, but it’s clear that we the reader are supposed to. And truth -- well, there sure are a lot of lies on that ship. I was even spot on that truth circles back to identity, though granted not in the way I initially expected. 

But while this book answered a lot of the questions from last book, it of course introduced many more of its own, and many of those weren’t resolved either. Some of those I expect to be answered later, like: How did Mercy and Augustine connect with the Blood of Eden? Why did they want to break open the Locked Tomb? What’s up with Original Gideon (OG) and did he (or someone else) fuck with his brain? Some of these it makes sense to leave unresolved to heighten the drama, like: What exactly is God and why and how? What exactly is the Blood of Eden and what do they want and how much should I trust or distrust them? What exactly is up with the Body? Some of these are small but still bother the heck out of me, like: What was up with Ianthe’s arm after all? How did the Commander get into that sword? Did Harrow hallucinate before she became a Lyctor, or was that a false memory too, part of the dreamscape? 

But some of them are big. Some of them matter. Some of them feel like I’m supposed to think they’re answered, but I just… don’t. Like, why did Mercy and Augustine break with God? I get the surface level reason that they’re talking about, but it doesn’t make sense to me, there has to be more to God or Lyctorship or the Resurrection or something. Or at least, I have to believe that, because honestly if there isn’t, I think that would be more unsatisfying to me. I’m also deeply curious about how all the different souls and ghosts inside of Harrow interacted -- did they fight each other, layer with each other, influence each other, braid each other’s hair? For instance, who told Harrow to keep the two-handed sword close -- was it Gideon or the Commander or Harrow or some other reason? 

And then there was the scene with Camilla and Judith and Coronabeth. Like, I get that this scene served quite a few purposes -- introducing the idea of a River Bubble, letting us (sort of) meet the Commander, getting to see some of Harrow’s letters, setting up the next book (as per the epilogue), and let’s not ignore the value of getting to say hi to some favourite characters, but at the same time it just… it feels so out of place. Like a weird crossover, except these characters actually do go here? But they’re not supposed to? They show up once, their presence is not explained, and then they disappear into the plot of the next book. A cameo within their own world.

There were of course plenty of things I liked. This world is fascinating and we got to know a lot more about it, about history and necromancy, about how this society views death and destiny, about their conflicts and challenges and triumphs and fears. We got to see a lot of new party tricks. Like in the previous book, we got plenty of unapologetic queerness and enjoyment of titty fiction. The writing style is engaging and makes me laugh at the most unexpected moments. I love a lot of the characters and seeing how they think and interact. I want to know more about this world and these people and this story. 

But if I’m being completely honest, I’m not sure I’ll read the next book. Not because it’s challenging to read, but just… I don’t know if it’ll give me the payoff I want. Especially given the amount of effort and brainpower these books do take. I want to know I’ll get something back for my investment. Not eventually, when the series ends, but in the book I’m actually reading. Maybe the incomplete ending is supposed to cliffhanger me into desperately wanting the next book. But I don’t want to jump. I just want to land. And with this book, I guess I just don’t feel like we stuck the landing here. I don’t feel like we landed. I feel like we’re still in freefall. I’m definitely not ruling out reading it, I’m sure I’ll be drawn to it and like I said I do want more from this universe. But I just don’t know. 

I feel like this is one of my more critical wrap up posts, and I feel a little bad for that because I know so many of you guys love these books. And I’m glad for you! They’re great books! Well worth loving! If someone asked me if I recommended them, I’d absolutely say yes. I enjoyed them a lot, and my lukewarm response to the conclusion doesn’t take away from all that I did love. It just means I’m wary of that happening again with the next book. 

But that’s a problem for next year! In the meantime, I’m going to have to read something else :) The contenders for our next read are An Absolutely Remarkable Thing by Hank Green, Most Likely by Sarah Watson, or Wild Magic by Tamora Pierce -- any of them are still in the game, so let your voice be heard! I hope to start reading on Saturday, so see you then!

And as always, thank you for joining me on this journey. It means the world to have you along, and you guys make it so much fun. I love doing this, and I love sharing it with you. Thank you. I hope to see you on the next journey :)

[queenlua]

You're a druid and an ex-evangelical, right? What does being a druid mean to you? How did you get from evangelicalism to where you are now? And of course feel free to ignore this if it's nosy. (sincerely, a Christian who wants to leave but who doesn't know what to do)

this is going to make me sound ignorant as hell, lol, but i'm happy to share

under a cut because this got very long, sorry, lol.

my personal progression was: "vaguely christian -> VERY christian -> christian agnostic -> agnostic/atheist -> agnostic/druid -> some sorta druid-neopagan-animist thing."  i guess i'll just go through what made me switch between each of those, and close out with some high-level thoughts that may be helpful for you?

okay, so when i was

VAGUELY CHRISTIAN,

i went to Sunday school every week because That's What You Do, and because my whole hometown was very southern Baptist, i never questioned the veracity of its teachings much... until they ran a whole weekly series on "why [x] is wrong," where [x] is some other group

e.g., we had a week on why Mormons are wrong, and i didn't bat an eye because i hadn't even known Mormons existed until that moment

then we had a week on why Muslims are wrong, and that... bothered me, because i had a friend who was Muslim, and she was just objectively a better person than me, and i was like "any universe where she goes to hell and i don't seems really fucked up"

then we had a week on why EVOLUTION was wrong, and that just absolutely threw me, because while i hadn't thought about evolution much (i think i was in fourth grade or so), it seemed common-sense? scientists thought highly of it? "adaptation over time" just seems logical?

so i went to the public library every day after school for like a week, read some Darwin and some science books, and came back to my Sunday school teacher with, like, an itemized list of objections to the whole "evolution is wrong" thing.  and he came up with some standard Answers In Genesis rebuttals, and i did more research and came back the next week with more science, and we repeated this a few times until he was like "lua, you just gotta take some things on faith"

which.  lmao.  full existential crisis time, because no matter how hard i thought, i couldn't *not* believe in the science, but i also didn't want to go to hell, so i was like "maybe if i believe SUPER HARD i will SOMEDAY be able to unbelieve the condemn-me-to-hell bits"

so i decided to become

VERY CHRISTIAN

and my frantic googling for shit like "proof of god" and "god and evolution" *eventually* broke me out of the Answers In Genesis circles of the internet, and into some decent Christian apologia, like, think First Things and various Catholic bloggers.  and there, i found some way to square my gut sense that evolution was right, with a spiritual worldview.

like, i remember finding some blogger who said:

"young earth creationists get tripped up when they try to explain stars that are millions of light-years away, and end up basically arguing that God's tricking us somehow, and—no!  my God lets you believe in the evidence of your eyes, my God does not demand that you make yourself ignorant or stupid, my God expects you to use your brain"

and i just started crying at my computer, because no one had ever said "using your brain is Good and part of God's will," i was like *finally* here's someone who won't tell me i'm going to hell for just *thinking* about things

(st. augustine does a much better riff on a similar theme, fwiw, but i only found him later)

still, it was an uneasy fit, because, the more i learned and read about world history, the more it seemed... weird... that the One And Singular Path To Salvation was... the successor to some niche desert cult... which didn't even occur at the *beginning* of written history, like, it was all predated by that whole Mithraism thing, etc... and like, sure, i could trot out all the standard theological talking points for why Actually This Makes Perfect Sense, but gut-level-wise, the aesthetics just seemed kinda dumb!  and no level of talking myself out of it made that feeling go away!

so at this point i started referring to myself as a

CHRISTIAN AGNOSTIC

i mean, not aloud.  i still lived in southernbaptistopia and i didn't want, like, my hair stylist to tell me i was a horrible person.  but in my *head* i called myself Christian agnostic and it felt right.

and i started church-hopping, which honestly was really fun, would recommend to anyone at any point.  i visited the fire-and-brimstone baptist church, the methodist church, the episcopalians, the universal unitarians, etc.

unfortunately, while this gave me *some* new perspectives, each of the places either had the same shitty theology as my old megachurch (i remember the *acute* sense of despair i felt when i was starting to jive with a methodist church... only for the dumbass youth minister to start going on about evolution), or, they just lacked any sense of the *sacred*.  like, the Church of Christ churches, with their a capella services, *definitely* had it; i felt more God there in one service than i did in a lifetime of shitty Christian rock at the megachurch.  but their beliefs were even *more* batshit, so.  big L on that one.

having failed to find a satisfactory church, i was basically

AGNOSTIC/ATHEIST

by the time i went to college, but honestly pretty unhappy about it; while it was harder than ever for me to actually *connect* with the divine, i didn't like thinking that my previous experiences of the divine were total lies.  because my shitty evangelical church, for all its faults, could not *completely* sabotage the sense of God's presence.  there were real moments in that church where i do believe i experienced something divine.  mostly mediated by one particular youth minister, who in hindsight was the only spiritual teacher in that church who didn't seem a bit rotten inside, but!  it was something!

so when i happened upon a bunch of writings on the now-defunct shii.org (that's the bit that makes me look WILDLY ignorant, lol), i was utterly captivated.

said author was a previous archdruid of the Reformed Druids of North America, an organization that was formed in the 1960s to troll the administration of Carleton College (there was a religious-service-attendance requirement; they made their own religion; their religion had whiskey and #chilltimes for its services).  however, this shii.org dude seemed to take it pretty seriously.  he was studying history of religion and blogged a lot about his studies, both academic and otherwise.  while RDNA had started out as a troll, that didn't mean they hadn't *discovered* something real in the process, he said.

this, already, was going to be innately appealing to me; i've got a soft spot for wow-we-were-doing-this-ironically-but-now-it's-kinda-real? stuff in general.

in particular, shii.org’s discussions on the separation of ritual from belief was really interesting to me: most religions/spiritualities have *both*, but like, you can do a ritual without having the Exact Right Beliefs (if there even is such a thing!), and it can still be useful to you, it can have real power.  (he had a really lovely essay, speculating on the origins of religion as just a form of art, but that essay is now lost to the sands of time, alas.)

(note that i wouldn't really recommend seeking out *recent* writing by the shii.org guy; he kinda went full tedious neoreactionary-blowhard-who-reads-a-lot-of-Spengler at some point?  sigh.)

the shii.org guy led me to checking out a bunch of books on the history of neopaganism & also books by scholars of religion in general, and the more i read, the more excited i became.  and i started doing little ritual/meditation stuff here and there.

then i was fortunate enough to attend some events with Earthspirit (this was when i lived in Boston), which cemented my hippie dalliances into something more real.  the folks there, being from Boston, were all ridiculously overeducated (a sensibility that appeals to me), but also, being the kind of folks who drive out to a mountain in the middle of nowhere for a spiritual retreat, they tolerated a full range of oddities (everyone from aging-70s-feminist-wiccans to living-on-a-farm-with-your-bros-Astaru to dude-who-started-having-weird-visions-and-is-just-trying-to-figure-out-the-deal to Nordic-spiritualist-with-two-phds-from-Scandanavian-universities-on-the-subject, etc), which gave me a lot of room to explore different types of rituals, ceremonies, "magic", etc.

(polytheism in general lends itself well to this sort of easy plurality!  i can believe other people are experiencing something real with their gods, and i can be talking to a totally different set of gods, and that’s just all very compatible, etc)

anyway, i started calling myself

AGNOSTIC/DRUID

around then, because i knew i'd found *something*, something that felt like all the realest moments i'd ever had in nature, and all the realest moments i'd ever had in that shitty megachurch, but i wasn't quite ready to put a theology to it.

but, idk, you do the thing for a while, and you start encountering some things that you may as well call gods, and you realize you're in pretty deep, and you ditch the "agnostic" bit and just throw hands and start describing yourself as

SOME SORTA DRUID-NEOPAGAN-ANIMIST THING

because that's the most precise thing you can muster.  in particular, the druid bit resonates because nature's still very much at the center of my practice; the neopagan bit resonates because i'm not especially interested in reconstructing older traditions or being faithful to any actual pre-Christian traditions, and animist resonates because what i sometimes call gods seem to be tied pretty tightly to the land itself.  it's all very experiential; all this mostly means i'm some weird chick who sometimes grabs a car and drives out someplace very lonely and hikes for a while and does some hippie shit to try and talk with the land or the god or whatever is there.  and sometimes i come back from it changed, or refocused, or what-have-you, and hopefully i'm better for it.  i'm aware this makes me look a little ridiculous, and is an unsatisfying answer, sorry!

WRT YOUR SITUATION

i don't know you or your situation, obviously, but if i wanted to give former-me some advice to save her some angst, i'd say

-> Christendom itself is far wilder and more diverse than many churches lead you to believe.  if you still want to be Christian on some level, and it's just a shitty church that's convinced you the whole project is fucked, i'd honestly explore, i dunno, your nearest Quaker meeting.  they're invoking the Holy Spirit with regularity but they're not raging douchenozzles about it.

-> if you're specifically interested in druidism, i found John Michael Greer's "A World Full of Gods" really nice.  (caveat: Greer has *also* gone full right-wing nutjob these days, sigh, so like.  would not recommend a great swath of his writing.  but that one's good)

-> deciding that a just God wouldn't give me a brain and then ask me not to use it was hugely comforting to me.  like, that was the start of the whole process, that was what made me feel ok searching for other churches and trying to find something that fit.  obviously you should take this with 800 grains of salt, because obviously i'm no longer Christian, and thus maybe i'm just some poor misguided fallen soul, but... i still kinda believe that!  maybe if you can make yourself believe that, it'll seem less scary?

idk, happy to answer more questions, sorry for the long ramble, hope it helped~

[oh-theres-a-woman]

Flowers in a Peaked Cap; Part One

A/N: Heres to attempt two at writing this author’s note… Let’s just say, I haven’t perfected the art of saving drafts. Note to self to actually find out how to make the draft before losing three solid paragraphs of rambling about the story… Sophie Points; Nil. Laptop/Internet Points; One. Welp, honestly internet and laptop have won a hell of a lot more than that. Just don’t remember how many times I’ve lost work because of not quite understanding how to post on here…. Safe to say I’m still a noob. 

Any hoot! Enough rambling about that stuff. 

After posting the first piece to this story; in the very very early hours of this morning. I couldn’t help but feel the massive urge to continue and work on the more of Tillie’s little adventure. It made me want to think about her as a person outside the relatives that we already know. What this girl’s goals are and ambitions. Unlike the rest of her family, I think she has a relatable amount of vulnerability and anxieties that are more from society’s working in the 1920s compared to her brothers; Arthur, Thomas and John that all suffer war-related mental illness and scars.   

Actively she’s a romantic escapist that wants to make her brothers and aunt proud. Making a name for herself in the means of writing and exploring the tales that are brewed from the memories of old days. 

In the progression of this story, I want to be able to explore the growth in Tillie as a young woman. The stepping out of her brothers’ shadows and coming into her own. Growing into a more confident young woman that could be from meeting new people like in this chapter and moving away from her fears. 

I do see romance in this story, something like and full of all the trend first experience one faces at one stage or another. In terms of smut, I’d think it’s lighter and would be something that is worked towards. Tillie to me doesn’t seem rather lust-driven. So, it’ll happen if it does, and if not; its simply because Tillie Shelby isn’t interested in that sort of thing. 

Important note; I’ll be working on organising the Taglist a little more throughout my next few posts. Please notify me if you’re interested in anything specifically and want tags there or if you mind just being on the general tag list and included in every story I post. Thank you!!!  

Requested By; @csigeoblue​

Parts; [ Prologue ] 

Taglist; @zodiyack​, @itsfrancisneptun​, @amys-small-world​, @fandom-fucking-shit​, @hesagod-notyet​, @hinagiku0​, @dylanlover24​, @amirahiddleston​, @a-dorky-book-keeper​, @theamuz​, @csigeoblue​, @smallheathgangsters​, @beautycinders 

Word Count; 1400

Watery Lane wasn’t the play that supported the wild fantasy’s of Tillie Shelby, but the little bookshop that was filled with many hopefuls or lads that were born a little more well off collectively grouped together. Reading the stories they wrote. This gathering was apparently one that caught the attention of the paper since the known publishers and well-off lads from another book club around England had found themselves doing a sort of travel for their source material. 

Since the profile of this club of prolific writers had taken interest in the area of Small Heath and its inhabitants. Inviting upstart writers or aspiring tellers to come and meet them. So, onward the youngest Shelby strolled until she pulled open the door of the quaint little bookshop. The signal of her arrival was the sound of her kitten heels and the ringing of the bell on the door. Doe-like blue eyes that were like the crystal-clarity of the purest of water found themselves settling on a group of well-dressed gentlemen.  Her eyes flicker between some faces she knew of Small Heath, most of them being the arseholes she went to school with and thought themselves privy to a better life. 

It wasn’t that Tillie didn’t believe they weren’t welcome to it. Mostly, it was the way they treated people in order to get there the young woman didn’t quite agree with. She was rather foolish coming to her though since her brother’s had a very vision about how the Shelby family should be seen. Their measures to getting things done with it were also less than admirable. Perhaps, it was the fact that Billy Bronson, James Fitz and Joe Gilbert made hers and Finn’s school life a living hell one way or another. But, it also made it seem extremely unfair to talk to their older brothers about what happened. Since most knew better than to fuck with the kin of the Peaky Blinders. 

Plooms of cigarette smoke clouded in the air, filling the bookstore with a spiced herbal infusion and rippled tailored sticks of tobacco. Moving her gaze from the lads she knew; to the new arrivals. The youngest of the Shelby mob offered a little smile. “Is there room for one more?” Tillie finally spoke up, pulling her book that contained the novel she had poured hours and hours over. Smiling hopefully. Arms hugging the expensive leather made book that her brothers banded together in the hopes for a lovely birthday present in the days before the war. 

Hoping that she’d fill in with various things she enjoyed to draw, but instead, Tillie hadn’t touched it until she was old enough to respect things. Asking Aunt Pol to help her keep in a safe place until then. Scraps of paper were best for sketches in any case. 

Eyes ever hopeful looked at the posher sort, some seemed wary until a certain collared lad smiled and offered a little nod then the place he’d been sitting. Away from the boys that seemed to make life a little more bothersome. “Thank you,” she whispered, settling down in the seat. Resting the book down on her lap before looking to the other lads who straightened their composure.

“We were all about to introduce ourselves since we’ve never travelled outside of London for such a meeting before. Yet, it seemed like a brilliant idea when bought up. Birmingham seemed like the best place, so raw and thrilling. Small Heath alone.” Spoke finally a lad in a handsome waist-coat, the colouring of coal, stiff collar and matching suit made her think of it being something her brother; Tom would wear. Only on the best occasions, or when he was dressing-to-impress. Unlike Thomas, this lad had handsome hazel eyes, the slightest tan to his skin like he enjoyed the frolicking on the beach. His name was Walter, but everyone called him, Walt. 

“Even the presence of criminal activity and organisations like the Peaky Blinders, it does make the area a prize for writing. Wouldn’t you agree, lads,” spoke up for eccentric Norman, who took delight in the thing that only made Tillie smile in a measure of great awkwardness. The name seemed to follow her everywhere she went, and there was a measure of awkwardness for that.  “Sorry, miss, I didn’t quite mean to be so rude, it’s just you don’t seem the sort to know much on that end, too kind and pretty, huh?” Norm covered himself for any form of rudeness that could have been interpreted. 

Only causing a polite little lowering of her head, as her hands wrapped anxiously around her book’s spine. Before relaxing at the conversation drifting off elsewhere. Sobering to the notion that the following cough from Joe Gilbert had goosebumps appearing on her arms. Causing a vast amount of discomfort in the young woman. Tillie traded glances with the nicer of the Londoner’s; Robert. Whom quickly coughed to get things back on track. 

“In any case, back to the introductions. We shouldn’t dwell too long on the story topics if we’ve lacked the proper course of introduction. Shall I start?” Robert spoke up, settled against set up for the purpose of meetings. “My name is Robert Augustine, myself and these other gentlemen,” he said, gesturing to the others in the group of London lads. 

“Are from a collective of young men that wish to write and publish arts. Never before have we had a lady join us, but surely in this modern world we’d be able to welcome the bright minds of femininity amongst us. After all, lady authors are blooming into the publishing world more and more with each generation.” His words seemed to still the anxiousness within her soul at the agreement of his other companions. Looking forward to seeing a hand extended to her, Robert allowed her to stand. The mix of coarseness and softness met between the two palms meet. 

Holding her book, Tillie looked down smiling a little at her feet. Hugging her book to her chest, like it was the most precious thing to her. That was… Because it truly was the thing that held so much value to her heart. Her right hand still gently in the hold of the Londoner, cheeks lightly warming. “I’m Tillie Shelby, and I like to write about my brothers, their stories before the war. When we were kids,” she lit up sweetly talking of her brothers. Her hand and Robert’s naturally finding it parting, before he settled in his spot by the desk. Arms folding at his chest with a little smile. 

“Would you be willing to share any of those stories?” Robert asked in a light voice. Tillie could only think of one response. 

“Would I ever,” she beamed with a presence that seemed to warm the room and the quiet little shop around them. Settling down into her seat once more, she didn’t think about when the others were introducing themselves. Instead, she found herself lost within stories. The more whimsical tales of lads that laughed and partied. Or the ones that filled with a warmth that made her think of the family that suppressed or lost who they were before the war. Among them, none had known those woes and horrors. 

They’d seen things happen on the outside. Felt the absence of a brother, father, uncle or grandfather that either died or lost what kept to their memory that their younger-selves recalled. Tillie was young then. Merely a baby in some regard. But she couldn’t ever forget the days of laughter, wherein night terrors; her heroes would just come up and curl into the undersized cot she called a bed. Soothing their fingers along with the softness of infant or child hairs–that had yet to understand dryness or damage. 

When business didn’t entirely rule the Shelby family but happened in the background. Those were her tales. The tales of rawness and loss from a different scene. Where her brothers; the men who took over the role of an absent father, became; fathers, uncles, older brothers and best friends. And… Pol became the only mother she ever knew and remembered. Her voice spoke of the volumes to family values and how terrible things broke people. Yet, she never uttered their names aloud. 

Only recording them within her mind when she read the tales that meant something to one of her brothers. Art. Tom. John.

[coreymichaelsmithson]

The Lights of Treasure Island

For the past few years, I've been living on a barrier island named Anastasia. A sandy, sleepy, slow place, just off the coast of our nation's oldest city, Anastasia Island features tall palm trees and gorgeous beaches, along with excellent sushi and a surprisingly active arts scene. Its most splendid attraction, though, is an old lighthouse, one striped with a black and white spiral and crowned by a bright red lamphouse. It towers commandingly over the dunes, casting a long beam that can be seen from nearly anywhere in town.

I've always liked lighthouses. In days of old we set these magnificent lanterns on the edge of the sea, to guide sailors through dark and treacherous waters, to show them the way home. Lighthouses represent so many things we need: safety, comfort, reliability, navigation. But in my mind, these structures hold the magic of candles, the magic of illumination itself. When we speak of enlightenment, we may be speaking specifically of rationality and discovery, but we are also conjuring images of light prevailing over darkness. And in this way the lighthouse emerges as a powerful symbol of the spirit.  

This February, for my 47th birthday, I explored the Outer Banks of North Carolina, where I saw several amazing lighthouses. Impressive as they were, I did not think they quite compared with the singular majesty of the structure that stands on Anastasia Island. After a harrowing return journey, one in which I drove with no working alternator (and sometimes without headlights or windshield wipers) through nearly 700 miles of tornadic thunderstorms, I felt the most profound relief when I finally crested the peak of the SR-312 bridge, which connects my island to the mainland, and I saw those familiar black and white stripes in the distance, signaling that I had made it home. Less than half a year later, my feelings about this special lighthouse of mine would be forever changed by a chance encounter.

Just under two months ago, I received a brief and rather unremarkable message from a stranger on Scruff, a queer dating platform that I use. One might charitably call Scruff "a social club for discerning gentlemen" ... it appeals to men who are hirsute, meaty, perpetually horny, and even a few of us freaks who defiantly straddle the line between "butch" and "nancy". Since this man's profile didn't really offer all that much information, and his one available picture wasn't particularly compelling, I promptly tucked his message away and forgot about it, and went for my customary sunset walk on the beach.

I live exactly one mile from the southern boundary of a state park, which offers a four-mile stretch of pristine dune habitat, completely undeveloped and sparsely occupied. The only man-made objects in sight are a few empty lifeguard stands, the city's sightseeing pier, a radio antennae, and our lighthouse. Dolphins gather here, their dorsal fins rising and falling between the breakers. Squadrons of pelicans fly in tight formations, gliding only a few feet above the water's surface. Terns and sea turtles nest in its sands, and I've found many shark teeth among the sea shells and ghost crab burrows. This is a special place, a holy place, and I've made a daily ritual of enjoying its cloudscapes and crepuscular glow as I explore the edge between land and sea.

After a pleasant stroll, maybe an hour or so of blissful meditation, I turned around and started heading back towards my car when I caught sight of a man who had just walked out of the water and was now drying himself off. We locked eyes.

He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Arrestingly beautiful, the kind of handsome that stops you dead in your tracks. I just kind of gulped for a second, and then walked right up to him, with an audacity that I didn't even know I possessed, turned on every damn bulb in my Christmas tree, and murmured, "Hi!", making the word shimmer like tinsel. In a short amount of time, I learned that he was a Russian artist, born in St. Petersburg but living in Moscow. I had met him during a brief pause on his long drive from Jacksonville to Key West; he had only intended on stopping in St. Augustine long enough to explore our old Spanish fort and take a swim on our nicest beach. He possessed a keen intellect, a quick wit, and a laudable command of English. As we spoke, he kept giving me flashes of the most mischievous smile, and so when I finally asked him what he was grinning about, he revealed that he was the same man who had messaged me earlier. This came as a surprise, for I hadn't recognized him at all ... I had only been drawn in now by his gorgeous movie-star looks, the undeniable sex appeal of his dripping wet body, and some weird sense of destiny.

We talked. We talked some more. We went to dinner. And then he stayed for the better part of three days.

In my bed, we enjoyed the most astonishing kind of communion. Our nights and mornings were filled with such tenderness ... soft eyes, soft caresses, fearlessly sustained gazes, the kind of kisses that tell a hundred little stories. One by one, various secrets were brought to light. We shared toe-curling carnality, thunderous climaxes, an unalloyed and unembarrassed intimacy. We shared joy.

On our second day together, I took him to the top of Anastasia Island's lighthouse. We lingered on each landing to kiss and giggle, and our embraces grew more intense. We felt a stronger and stronger pull towards one another. I knew that this was more than just a simple infatuation. By the time we reached the lantern's round balcony, and stepped out together onto the most spectacular view of St. Augustine, I knew that I was falling in love.

I don't blame you for rolling your eyes at this. You may, in your justifiable cynicism, think it ridiculous for a man to utter such a powerful phrase within such a short time. But if you've ever known me, you've come to recognize by now my considerable capacity for love. My passions and appetites may rise to the surface with little interference, and will I admit some recklessness in how I've invested my energies, but I am no fool. I am neither naïve nor desperate. And I can say in all sincerity that what we felt then was, at least for a short while, genuine love.

From the top of the lighthouse we could see everything. The old downtown, with its mixture of colonial and Spanish Renaissance buildings. The Matanzas River, named for the 1565 massacre of shipwrecked Huguenots, separating my island from the mainland. The harbor of St. Augustine, crowded with sailboats and pleasure craft, a forest of masts. And then the sea, blue and inviting, the sea that would soon separate us. We held each other tightly and looked upon the Atlantic together, casting our dreams towards the horizon, into this vista of seemingly endless possibility and hope.

On our last night together, we took a naked midnight swim in my pool, which is lit from above by a row of blue lights. A light and warm rain fell on our heads as we twined our legs underwater, and our ardor cast a web of rippling refractive patterns on the pool's concrete bottom. He looked me in the eyes, kissed me with the utmost gentleness, and formally invited me to come stay with him in Moscow. I accepted with my new magic word, "Да."

The following morning, our parting was so sweet, and so warm. We solidified our promise to be reunited. He drove down to Key West, enjoying a music playlist I assembled for him, and then he flew up to New York for a week's visit with old friends. After he returned to Moscow, we embarked on a passionate long-distance affair via telephone and social media apps.

I plunged right away into the Russian language, practicing for hours a day, rediscovering my knack for linguistics. I bought books on the cities of Moscow and St. Petersburg, books on Russian verbs, flashcards, a portable dictionary. I subscribed to online learning programs, put apps on my phone, read up on the country's history. I was all in, bringing every available bit of my enthusiasm, work ethic, and inventiveness to the challenge. Every day, I would send him sweet little videos or text messages ... sharing good news, conveying small but significant events of my daily life, showing off my rapidly accelerating grasp of Russian. I sent him notes of encouragement, pictures of me looking my cutest, small but enjoyable details of my life on Anastasia Island. I sent him a short clip of the black skimmers that sliced back and forth across the thin swash of the surf, their beaks dipping into half an inch of water. I sent him pelicans, beach crabs, waves, paintings, difficult words, idioms, cute terms of venery, sunsets, clouds, kisses, evidence of my changing body. I sent him love, every day. "каждый день," I promised him, placing my hand on my heart, "каждый день." Every day.

My love deepened by the hour. I know this is going to sound so gushy and gross, but I really pushed the lighthouse metaphor pretty hard, calling myself "твой смотритель маяка" or "your lighthouse keeper". I meant this in all sincerity, without a drop of bathos or schmaltz. Our time atop the lighthouse was sacred to me. I promised him that I would keep its light burning bright.

Over time, however, things shifted. As my interest grew, his began to dwindle. He sent less and less of himself, slowly removing from our conversation his humor, his sexuality, his warmth, his trust. It was like seeing a fully assembled jigsaw puzzle get lifted into the air, and watching all the pieces falling out ... at first only a few at a time, then more and more, until there was only a jagged perimeter where there had once been a lovely picture.

The nadir came when he lost his temper with me over my visa. I was confused about the process, as the Russian consulate and other sources were providing patchy and often conflicting information, and his own explanations changed from day to day. During our last video chat, I asked one too many questions, and he snapped. He rolled his eyes, effectively called me stupid and childish, and hung up on me three times. My many attempts at reconciliation were completely rebuffed. It was both baffling and extraordinarily painful.

Two days after our fight he was in a terrible car accident, one from which he miraculously escaped unharmed. He posted on social media an impassioned paragraph about the event, and how it drew into sharp focus all the love he had in his life, how he felt that he wasn't deserving of such love, how grateful he was for his friends. Yet instead of contacting me, inviting me into this experience, or trying to repair our frayed connection, he spent his evenings logging back into Scruff, the aforementioned dating app. He continued to ignore me, choosing instead to pursue (or perhaps refresh) other opportunities. I tried in vain to reach him, to restore our bond, but was met with only the most chilling silence.

How had I been so wrong? Had my desire devolved into mere obsession, albeit one artfully disguised as love? Had my zeal somehow suffocated him? The irony for me was that this disastrous affair unfolded during a period of rapid and positive transformation. In the space of the last seven months, I'd already changed my diet, fixed my teeth, joined a gym, paid off a chunk of my debt, reorganized my home office, purchased a standing desk, resumed my daily beach walks, started seeing both a psychiatrist and a therapist. My relationship to my body was improving, I was working at a higher level of professional responsibility, gaining new clients, writing my fourth novel, and churning out the finest paintings of my career. A recent experience with ayahuasca had given me valuable insights into my adulthood. It seemed only right that this Russian should be the cherry on my sundae, a prize I had been working so hard to deserve.

And so, after admitting my own disenchantment, I surrendered. Reeling from an overwhelming feeling of loss, I wrote him a heartfelt letter in Russian, one in which I explained the hurt his indifference was causing me. I poured a lot of benevolent energy into this letter. And then I said to him the saddest word I've learned in Russian, "Прощай", which is the type of goodbye you use when you think you are not likely to see someone again. It translates, literally, into "forgive me."

Here is the letter I wrote to him, translated into English:

***

"V_____, beautiful V____:

Okay. I give up.

Your silence gave me a very clear and very painful answer. You have been entrusted with something rare and beautiful, and you have shown that you do not want it. So now it's gone.

I'm sorry my heart bored you so much. I will no longer annoy you with my desires.

The love that I offered you ... pure and strong, given without demands or jealous limitations ... does not come often.

It pains me to realize that you do not appreciate what I have tried to give you. It is even more painful to realize that I may have aggravated the situation with my zeal. But the distance that you put between us is your choice, and I must respect that.

It seems that the epiphany you experienced in the car accident, the moment you thought of all the love in your life, did not include my love for you. Your priorities are yours, and I accept that. But you almost died yesterday, V_____. And instead of choosing to bond with a man who cares about you so much, your focus shifted to Scruff. Your indifference is so obvious now. Please do not say anything ugly or cruel in response. There is already enough sorrow on my island. I feel both grief and embarrassment, but not anger. I've always wanted the best for you, and it's still true.

I sincerely wish you a long and happy journey. I hope you enjoy many successes and find many pleasures. I hope you stay healthy. I hope the man you choose deserves your best gifts. I hope you find a better lighthouse. I must direct my light now to those who are really looking for it. So now I must tell you the saddest word that I have learned in your language.

Goodbye."

***

Please allow me now to rewind a few years, and tell a correlative story.

In the autumn of 2019, during a period of intense sadness and frustration, I fled from Anastasia Island and drove impulsively across the state to the Gulf Coast. I didn't have a clear destination, I didn't pack enough clothes or supplies, and I was so blinded with tears and unexpressed rage that I didn't know where I was, or even care much about where I might land. While getting lost somewhere in the vicinity of St. Petersburg, I glanced at a map, dragged my finger along the squiggly coastline, saw the name Treasure Island, and thought, "That's gotta be the place."

I don't know what I was expecting to find there. Something about the name sounded so exciting, so exotic. And as the evening wore on, my anticipation grew. I thought, in my desperation, that everything would be all right once I got to Treasure Island. Over the next few hours, I convinced myself that I'd finally feel good again in such a place, that my pain and confusion would certainly evaporate once I reached this safe haven. I'd check into a nice hotel room, preferably one with 300 thread-count sheets and a coffee maker, and I'd dream about pirate ships and gold doubloons, and when I opened my eyes and yawned and stretched against the sun-dappled pillows my life would basically feel like a commercial for some bougie brand of almond milk. When I arrived, however, I was deeply disappointed to see another narrow stretch of high-rise hotels, littered beaches, rank seaweed, and greyish-brown water. I found the cheapest hotel room around, one of the few remaining vacancies on the shore, and there I found neither crisp bedsheets nor good coffee. The view from my balcony, however, was utterly amazing: I could see not only a broad curving swath of the beach, but also a glow of distant resort hotels, some of them reflected in the waves. It was strangely romantic, seeing these twinkling lights ... red, gold, green, blue ... and their silent conversation with the stars, a dialogue of jewels above the warm churning waters of the Gulf. But it wasn't the salvation I had been hoping for.

When I got up the next morning, I was still facing the same problems, the same irritations, the same heavy sorrows. Treasure Island would not, could not, rescue me from myself. So I drove back home to my own island, back to my lighthouse, and was relieved to discover that it was in fact even more stirring than I had remembered. During my absence Anastasia Island had become a magical and restorative place, quite different than the one I had left only days before.

What I should have learned back then, but have only come to realize now, was this: I didn't need to travel to a distant island of treasure and twinkling stars, for my own island already had plenty of both. I didn't need to seek the incandescence of a handsome man to light my way, as my own inner flame was at last beginning to shine without the shutters of inhibition or profligacy.

I am now recalling my disappointment with Treasure Island, while concurrently considering my grief over the Russian. At first, I wanted to hate him for his carelessness, for how he squandered my gifts. But I don't hate him. Not really. There's no need to wring my hands any further over his callousness. I don't even mourn his absence anymore. My mood has shifted today, and I no longer choose to see this abortive liaison as being so devastating. For I know, deep down, that the failure here was not really mine. I am not a loser for investing myself unreservedly in someone who could not fully appreciate me, nor I am not the weaker man for feeling injured. I will not be permanently depleted for having offered all that kindness to an undeserving recipient, as my wellspring of love remains inexhaustible.

I tried to share my lighthouse with the Russian. But he did not recognize how special it really was, and he declined to follow its beacon to a rewarding harbor. And thus, our romance was destroyed, and his memory became just another broken boat littering the shallows.

I have seen so many ruins in my years: bad relationships, lousy jobs, soured opportunities. My life story reads like a ledger of dashed hopes. It seems sometimes that both the island I occupy and the more elusive island I am eternally seeking are surrounded by shipwrecks. Yet the lighthouse of my spirit still stands, sturdier and stronger than ever. The waves may batter its bricks, salt may scour its surfaces, it may occasionally groan under its own weight ... but it will not crumble, it will not fail, and even in the darkest of hours this lamp of mine will continue to shine: bright, focused, undiminished.

[hobbitsetal]

I can’t ever be saved, and what I mean is this: I love my spouse, the kids, a show or game with them, science, experiencing new things, tasting new foods, petting every dog, having a home and other things. Clearly the Bible says if you love the world or things in the world you do not love God and He does not love you. How do I reconcile? How do I hate that which I love and have been blessed with? (I’m aware of the entertainment debate among Christians here as well, and it’s worldly)

Do you imagine your love for God is what saves you? No. “We love because he first loved us.” (1 John 4:19)

“But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.” (emphasis mine.)

Let me make myself very clear: what you are saying is a form of an ancient heresy known as Gnosticism, and it was rejected categorically by the church within the first 200 years of Christianity. Indeed, one could argue the apostle John rejects Gnosticism with chapter 4 in declaring, “every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God.“

What is Gnosticism? It’s the belief that anything flesh, anything physical, is sin, and anything spiritual is good. This ignores the theology that God created us to be bodies as well as souls and that God is concerned about our bodies. This ignores that when God created the world, He declared it “good” over and over and over. And it ignores that God doesn’t plan to do away with creation, He intends to remake creation.

I’m quoting John extensively, so let’s take a look at the passage to which you’re referring, 1 John 2:15-17: “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world. And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever.“

Hermeneutics! Big fancy Greek word meaning “how to study the Bible!” Who wrote it, to whom did he write it, when did he write, what was his purpose in writing it, what did he intend his audience to learn from it, and what does it mean to us today?

John (obviously) wrote 1 John, he wrote it to multiple Christian churches (probably in Asia Minor), he most likely wrote it no later than the 90s AD, he wrote to emphasize what Christ has done for us, I’d argue he wanted his audience to learn more about the love of God from it, and it means...heck, it means a lot to us today. It’s one of my favorite books.

So we know John wrote it. What else did John write? The Gospel of John, 2 and 3 John, and the book of Revelation are all historically/traditionally credited to the Apostle John. What’s a common theme for John? The world.

Here’s the thing: when John says “the world,” he refers to unregenerate mankind. He’s not referring to the created world. St. Augustine made the same divide when he referred to “the city of man vs the city of God.”

This is the only true divide in life: those who are redeemed by Christ and those are opposed to God.

Given this, I do not believe that John is condemning us for enjoying our spouses, entertainment, and children. I'd go further: we ought to praise God for these things!

James 1 says, "Do not be deceived, my beloved brothers. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. Of his own will he brought us forth by the word of truth, that we should be a kind of firstfruits of his creatures. Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God. Therefore put away all filthiness and rampant wickedness and receive with meekness the implanted word, which is able to save your souls."

I'm quoting this passage at length for several reasons: first and foremost, to remind you that your spouse and children are good gifts. Psalms and Proverbs repeatedly speak of children as a good thing! Marriage itself, and your spouse by extension, is a picture of Christ's relationship with the church. It is not wrong to take joy in what God gives to us. Indeed, we are commanded to take joy in them!

I'm quoting it also because James goes on from "God gives us good things" to say "because God loves us and redeems us and gives us good things, be like God in these ways and put away these sins."

Galatians 5 is another example of this type of passage, and also brings me to my next argument for why you can and should enjoy science, shows and games, and time with your family.

"For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law. Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self control; against such things there is no law. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires."

Let me highlight verse 18: "if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law." Our deeds do not save us. How much love we have for God does not save us. The Spirit of the Lord and the sacrifice of Christ and the love of God the Trinity saves us. 

Does spending time with your family, exploring science, or playing a game lead you into immorality? Does it tempt you to fight or get drunk? Or does it promote love within your family, joy in God's creation, kindness toward your children, patience and self control with your family members?

God is an ever-creative God. He crafted our senses, He gave us the intellect to explore His universe, He made us in His image so that we are capable of love and relationship and joy and play and fun. Don't mistake enjoying His gifts to mean we automatically dismiss the Giver.

As a final thought, I encourage you to look up Brad Bigney's "Gospel Treason," either book or sermon series. He explores the concept of idolatry and right worship clearly and well, and I think that would be helpful to you in considering this.

I have strong opinions on the entertainment debate, too, if you're ever interested in hearing those.

[ltc-henry-blake]

What resources would you recommend for someone who wants to learn more about Catholicism/possibly joining the Catholic Church given that churches are closed right now due to quarantine?

Hi, Anon! I can recommend some resources and things that I found helpful when I was learning about the faith, and I invite my followers to share their input as well!

I don’t know your religious background at all, but the first thing I’d recommend would be a Bible if you don’t have one already. If you wanted to get a Catholic Bible, the New American Bible is the one we use at Mass. My favorite translation is the Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition. 

After the Bible, the next thing I’d recommend is that you get a Cathechism of the Catholic Church. The Cathechism contains pretty much everything you need to know about what the Church believes. If you don’t want to buy one, it’s free online here. 

I would highly recommend anything and everything that Bishop Robert Barron has ever done. He has a lot of great videos on YouTube on a variety of topics. I would especially recommend his “Catholicism” series which you can find here. Unfortunately you have to pay for it, but I think it’s well worth it. 

I’d also recommend Fr. Mike Schmitz on YouTube. He has a lot of good content especially his video on the Eucharist. 

I’ve never read it myself but I’ve had several people tell me that Rediscover Catholicism by Matthew Kelly is great book for people who want to learn the basics of the faith.

Dr. Scott Hahn also has a lot of great books that I’d recommend you look into depending on your interests. He’s written about everything from the Mass to Mary and his books are super readable. Rome Sweet Home tells the story of his conversion and might be of interest to you. 

Speaking of conversion stories, I can never get through a Catholic post without mentioning my confirmation saint Augustine. I read his Confessions during my own conversion and I really can’t overstate the impact that book had on me. While it’s not necessarily the first place I’d direct you if you’re just looking to learn the basics of Church teaching, if you’re looking into converting I’d highly recommend reading at least parts of it at some point. 

Here’s a basic explanation of the structure and meaning of the Mass. 

I would also recommend learning to pray the Rosary. Here’s a guide on how to do so. It seems a bit intimidating at first, but it’s a great way to immerse yourself in the mysteries of the faith. 

New Advent and Catholic Answers (beware, the forum discussions don’t always accurately represent Church teaching) are also great free resources for you to explore. 

It’s unfortunate that churches are closed right now, but once they open up again I’d recommend attending the Mass if you haven’t already. Until then, you could watch livestreamed Masses on YouTube to start to get a feel for it. There are plenty of livestreamed and televised Masses right now but I’ve personally been watching Mass with Word on Fire (Bishop Robert Barron’s channel) on YouTube.  

Once churches are open again I’d also highly recommend that you go to Eucharistic Adoration at some point if you feel comfortable doing so. Here are some resources on the Eucharist and Adoration. I haven’t clicked through every link on this site but it looks like there’s a lot of info on here that could be helpful. 

Well, this post ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated, but hopefully some of these resources will be helpful for you! Don’t hesitate to reach out either on or off anon if you want to talk more or if you have any questions!