#on one hand i think i’d like to go to a sacramental church to see how it is

[t4tstarvingdog]

us discussing christian religions like this

truly <3 and i’m having a great time

[isabellehemlock]

Kat's Catholic Commentary - Part (I've lost track)

My focus for this episode will be on Lestat's speech in his parting letter to Louis.

The purpose behind the letter may vary depending on when it was written (before or after Lestat knew of Louis’ plan of betrayal).  However, my focus is on the language used - specifically “the veil” - and why my Catholic senses were tingling.

But first - the disclaimer:

This is purely a fan meta/theory.  Even when I talk about character motivations with some certainty, remember it's just my take, not a fact-based declaration.  This helps keep things brief rather than saying "in my opinion" before every other sentence.

All points and takes are valid - this is just one of them.  I'm exploring one potential aspect of Lestat and Louis' relationship, not the whole picture or even trying to suggest it as the main foundation.

Also, there are frank references to the Catholic Church, its history, practices, sacraments, and some Bible verses.  If at any point you need to take a step back for self-care, please do.  Your well-being comes first.

Before diving in, I’ll share why I see a potential for a secondary meaning behind it because I’d like to add some weight to my personal fan theory that Lestat is conscious of how faith is still an integral part of Louis’ identity and how he might use it (however the purpose of this, I’ll leave to the reader).

Several moments in the first season, and some from the books (spoilers ahead if you’d like to avoid events after IWTV), reference Lestat and Louis’ relationship and his faith (and especially with a context of Catholicism):

The entire monologue at the end of episode one as Lestat declares his feelings for Louis in front of the altar.

Lestat’s monologue of Saint Louis (both as an off hand reference in ep 1 and the expanded version of Ep 2 that ends with: “You’re challenge every sunset St. Louis, and I’d have it no other way.”)

After Louis asks about Antoinette in Ep 3, when Lestat is describing the need for various forms of pleasure for “anything that wards off the dungs of the everlasting road we walk” - pauses to point out Louis’ form of pleasure as “Pleasures of the Good Book by the fire for you.”

And then in Ep 6, when Lestat arrives to gift Louis something from his favorite bookshop: “‘The Book of Hours.’  Extremely rare, 15th century.” - the Book of Hours, is also known as the Liturgy of Hours, or Divine Office, used by both clergy, religious and laity alike for daily devotions on a rotating cycle for uniform prayer.

And from the books:

In IWTV, Louis’ reference to following Lestat as a kind of personal Jesus: 

I allowed myself to forget how totally I had fallen in love with Lestat’s iridescent eyes, that I’d sold my soul for a manycolored and luminescent thing, thinking that a highly reflective surface conveyed the power to walk on water. 

“What would Christ need have done to make me follow him like Matthew or Peter? Dress well, to begin with. And have a luxurious head of pampered yellow hair. 

Later, in Prince Lestat, when they are reunited, Louis says (from Lestat's POV): 

He leaned close to me, and he put his hand on my arm. “ ‘Wither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people’; and because I have no other god and never will, you shall be my god.”*

* This quote Louis is saying is from the Book of Ruth: She answered, "Do not be against me, as if I would abandon you and go away; for wherever you will go, I will go, and where you will stay, I also will stay with you. Your people are my people, and your God is my God.” - Ruth 1:16 CPDV

I’ve also shared metas and commentary on Tumblr and Twitter about Louis and Lestat's relationship to faith and the little nods I’ve picked up here and there (more on that below).  But this isn’t intended as a comprehensive summary, just a soft recap to add context for anyone wondering, “how did she read that in this scene?”

Now, onto the main point!  For anyone needing a refresher, here’s the letter in full:

In the event that you are reading this, something dreadful has occurred.  Which is not my own death, but rather, the fact that we both now exist in two different worlds.  Do not waste your life seeking revenge on the person or persons who did this.  Do not give them the satisfaction of the hunt.  Let treachery eat away at them from within.  And you, you go carry on with your living.  Know only this, mon cher: you are the only being I trust, and whom I love, above and beyond myself.  All my love belongs to you.  You are its keeper.  A veil will now forever separate our union.  But it is a thin veil, and I’m always on the other side, face pressed up against your longing.

Setting aside the beautiful writing, the language used, and the sentiments declared (it fed my Words of Affirmation love language meter well), my second thought upon hearing “A veil will now forever separate our union.  But it is a thin veil, and I’m always on the other side, face pressed up against your longing.” was what my Catholic senses were tingling.

In a previous meta I discussed how I viewed the scene of Louis’ turning as a nod to the Sacrament of the Eucharist (though I can also see the other fan theory of the Sacrament of Matrimony).  This furthers my idea of Louis viewing Lestat as a kind of personal Jesus.  Given the examples above, I believe there might have been some intention behind Lestat’s words to reach Louis on a vulnerable level through his faith.

But why would former Catholic altar boy Louis catch that meaning, and what would it mean to him?

In the Catholic Church, the Eucharist is veiled in order to symbolize the mystery and sacredness of the Sacrament.  The veil represents the separation between the divine and the mortal, indicating that the true essence of the Eucharist (Christ's Body and Blood) is hidden under the appearance of bread and wine (and it’s a practice that dates back to early Christianity, where the veil also served to protect the Eucharist from desecration and to enhance the reverence of the faithful during Mass).

As Catholics, we believe that Jesus, at the Last Supper, instituted the Eucharist, when He said, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19).  He also said, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you” (Luke 22:20).  They were declarations to emphasize the sacrificial nature of the Eucharist but also to serve as a message of hope - that there would be an intimate connection between Jesus and His followers, despite His physical absence after His death and resurrection - “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age” (Matthew 28:20).  

Though death might separate the physical presence, the Eucharist provides a continuous, though veiled, connection with Christ.  This then allows the veil to symbolize hope and assurance that, while there may be a separation, it is thin, with the promise of a deeper, spiritual communion that transcends physical boundaries.

So, if Louis potentially viewed the Dark Gift as a kind of Eucharist that nourishes the soul, given to him through Lestat, then their spiritual interconnection and the nourishment it provided could continue.  His devotion to Lestat would not need to end.

I believe Lestat “I went to a monastery to become a priest” de Lioncourt, knew exactly what he was doing when he used those words to describe how interlinked they would remain.  

This furthered Louis’ (perhaps even subconscious) view of Lestat and Jesus - and himself as potentially Judas (meta here, and here), though I personally enjoy the view of Louis identifying with Mother Mary the most (visual reference and poem, art and another art piece here).

Whether intentional or not, or perhaps a completely different point that I read too much into (which can definitely be the case lol), it spoke to me on a deep level when I heard it.  I’d like to believe it did for Louis as well. 

[constance-mcentee]

Christmas 2023

Well, it finally happened. I cried during Communion.

Today is Monday, 25 December 2023. It’s Christmas, and today was the first time in a long time I went to church. There are various reasons for this.

First and foremost is COVID. The official state of emergency might be over but the pandemic is not. Improperly conducted worship gatherings can quickly become super-spreader events.

But also, being transgender in the US has gotten more difficult in the wake of the Trump regime, even here in the San Francisco Bay Area. People and places which used to be somewhat accepting of us have become questionable. There are those who don’t want us to be seen in public at all, and especially in places of worship where children might see us. 

I really wanted to attend Christmas worship, though. So, I chose Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. Not only is a place I feel safe at, I feel welcomed there. Their Interfaith AIDS Memorial Chapel houses a part of the AIDS Quilt. And while I’m very much a Give Us Our Flowers While We’re Still Here kind of queer, the fact that a permanent part of the sanctuary is set aside for us really helps me feel like Grace Cathedral could be a home of sorts for me.

When it came time for Communion, I did hobble forward. But as there is still a pandemic going on and Episcopal tradition is that all sip from the same cup, I chose to cross my arms over my chest for a blessing instead of the sacramental elements. Well, I crossed my right arm over my chest as my cane was in my left hand. I also remained standing as I didn’t think I’d be able to get up if I’d knelt. And while I can’t remember the exact words the Eucharistic minister said when blessing me, I remember the basic message:

“May GOD bless you and take joy in you as He did on the day you were born.”

Yeah: that’s when I started crying and tearfully replied, “Amen.”

It takes between one-and-a-half to two hours to get from my home to Grace Cathedral by public transit. And yet, I think I’m going to make this place my church home.

Amen, and blessed be.

[requiemforaheroine]

Story time!

I’d like to preface this by saying that I think Word and Sacrament missionary work to any unchurched people in any corner of the globe is incredibly important.

That being said, I’ll get into it.

My grandfather went straight to seminary from high-school, and from there he went directly into missions, which is what he did for his entire career as a pastor until he was brought back to the States to serve his last few years at a rural church in Minnesota.

In his time as a missionary he never did short-term, the shortest he was ever anywhere was I believe two years. In his decades of work, he had the opportunity to work with many short-term “missionaries” (I put this in quotes because I really do think that so many people use the term far too loosely), there were genuinely well-meaning people who came to work for a week or two, sometimes they might be a summer intern type, but the biggest problem facing these short-term missionaries is that they would spend all that money flying from wherever they were in the U.S. or other first-world country, spend even more on lodgings and food for themselves (I’ve been to some of the places my grandpa lived back then, the food was not going to always be up to our Western standards), then they would spend what short time they had essentially getting oriented to the work. As soon as they got sorted and figured out what they were doing, they left.

It takes missionaries a long time to overcome initial culture shock, learn the languages properly, and really get to know the communities around them. It can actually often hinder their work to have twelve high-school-aged kids and their chaperones who think they know what everyone else needs, come for a week and just build a house and leave. There are other far better ways to support long-term missions in other countries.

We have an opportunity, though, in our own backyards, here we know the culture, we know the language, and we are part of the community. The problem is that once we start to minister to our own neighbors, suddenly we actually have to take responsibility for any mistakes we could make in our missions, or we might face the backlash if our efforts aren’t well received. Going to another country to hand out canned food and ask someone if they know Jesus is easy, no one knows us there, and if they don’t like us, we just leave.

Talking to our friends and work or school, or trying to minister to our wayward cousins actually opens us up to the possibility of losing friends or being shunned from the community.

Tl:dr: it’s far easier to think we’re someone’s fairy godmother giving a short respite and leaving before seeing if we even helped at all, than to have the hard conversations with people we know.

“Given that my deeds must be exceptional in nature, I’ll find a way to practice charity in the furthest corner of the Amazon, to avoid the ordinariness of having to visit my elderly mother, whom I’ve carefully abandoned in a retirement home outside of Paris […]

The good fight is not about escaping the peace of your house, but rather about defending it. There are those who will go face the dragon because they’re unable to have a conversation with their mother-in-law. Others will carry out colossal tasks because they don’t know how to play with a child, or because they refuse to face the difficulties of a relationship with their teenage son […] A great adventure can perfectly be an excuse to run away from the conjugal home, that is, to run away from a more intimate adventure, where pots and pans can hurt more than swords because they hit us where it hurts the most: our love.»

— Fabrice Hadjadj: Mine is the glory [A mí toda la gloria; transl. mine]

[nerdygaymormon]

Hope its okay if i just talk here

Honestly the most confirming part of what ive seen from other queer church members is the reminder that humans, even ones called of God, are flawed. That the church is not currently in line with the practices of the ancient church or even all of Jesus’s teachings! I know I don’t have a safe ward to attend in person right now, but I’d like to think that maybe,,, maybe when I get to heaven all the people who told queer people that God hates them will all be standing in a little line of shame as our Heavenly Parents point and say “now go apologize.”

I’m still struggling so much my (lack of) gender and all that,,, but I think I’m finally starting to regain hope that maybe it’s fine if they hate me and kick me out. As long as I follow God’s commandment to loveand serve His children unconditionally, I can’t go wrong, right?

I went to the temple recently and it was the most nerve wracking day I’ve had in years. I removed all of my flag pins and left them at home and my hands shook so badly when I gave the desk guy my recommend to scan because I felt like they’d somehow sense my queerness or that I’d be struck by lightning or something. I love the temple so much, two of my fondest memories revolve around tending to the flowers outside singing I Love to See the Temple for an activity when I was ten and going to an open house and seeing the Celestial Room and it broke my heart that even when I was being baptized for my ancestors I couldn’t stop shaking because flawed people had drilled it into me that God hates me because of the way He made me.

I hope that God will rebuke His apostles and set things right soon. I think right now He’s trying to teach us that we must find our own way through personal revelation, and not blindly follow the uninspired, narrow-minded words spoken from the pulpit… but I miss being able to feel the Spirit without feeling like a traitor and wondering if I ever know what the Spirit feels like.

I go to church and I sit in the pew and my mind wanders during the sacrament and I take it even though I don’t feel worthy because I’m terrified of what will be brought to light if anyone notices. I turn my jacket out to cover my pride pins even though most of my ward is too old to recognize them. I try so hard not to cry when someone calls me Sister and comments on my dress or asks me if I’ve tried dating yet. I sit in primary and sing and teach the children and I don’t hide my pins because I want them to grow up seeing queer people in the church, but I still don’t talk about it because even if it’s a calling I want out of asap, I’m scared that people will say I’m corrupting the kids and rip me away because they think my existence is vile.

I want to go to church and sit alone in a pew and wear a suit and my young women’s medallion and I want to hear my real name and I want it to be normal. I hope we get to that point soon.

I was recently reminded that although we’ve made progress in this church, there is a long ways to go. We’re often asked to censor ourselves and hide ourselves so as to keep others comfortable. Homophobes and transphobes are welcomed and their comfort maintained. Same is true of racists, they don’t face discipline for their attitude or things they say. It’s backwards from how it should be.

I won’t say those types of attitudes don’t bother me, but I have taken the position that Jesus knows me and given me a special invitation. These other people can’t take that away.

Sounds like you, too, understand you’re known and loved by God.

I love you teach Primary.

I’m sorry the temple was difficult, it is a gendered space. I used to wonder if the angels who are said to guard the temple would find a way to force me out because I’m gay. That has never happened. God knows I’m gay and is fine with that and loves me. I think there is no reason I shouldn’t be allowed or welcomed at the temple. I choose not to go because of the heteronormativity included in the rituals which reminds me I don’t truly fit in this church.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, queer people are the bravest people I know. Even if we sometimes have to hide our Pride pins or not ask others to use our pronouns, we still choose to go into those unsafe spaces because we want to be there.

We’re like the woman at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry who insisted He bless her daughter even though Jesus at first declined because she wasn’t a Jew. She made the argument that even dogs get to eat the scraps, and Jesus declared her faith to be great and gave the blessing. We know we’re worthy of all God offers and yet sometimes have to beg for scraps at church

[exmormondragon]

So I went to church yesterday

And it was certainly interesting.

I walk in wearing casual clothes, and ask if I’m here on time. Apparently I found the wrong schedule, and I got there just as the ward for my area was finishing up. But the next ward is halfway through their first hour, and so I slide into class to listen.

Everyone had masks, thankfully, and there was sanitizer out. I notice things that seem strange to my small-town experience, like most of the men are wearing sweatervests instead of white shirts and ties. The teacher for the class I was in had a voice that I would hesitantly say was the classic ‘gay’ voice a lot of guys use, which actually kind of shocked me to hear it in church.

One thing I shouldn’t have been surprised by was that no one asked me many identifying questions. I was prepared (for whatever reason) to be pretty vague about why I left or just say ‘Faith issues’ and maybe inspire a discussion. I’m feel like I’m okay at coming off as non-argumentative, so I figured maybe I’d get an interesting conversation or two.

But when I said “I haven’t been for about two years”, of course no one asked “Why?” I simply got a few “Welcome back!”s and a couple “Welcome Home!”

Because of course they aren’t going to ask about why I left. And they all assume that I was there searching for the Faith I lost, or for that good feeling that they assume everyone misses when they leave the church. No questions, because they didn’t think they needed to know anything about me.

So I sat down for sacrament meeting, and waited a little while. I was prepared to take notes, listen, and compare to the Recovering Agency book, see what things I could recognize and what things I could question.

That was when a sweet old lady stopped next to me and asked “Are you alone?”

When I answered that, yes, I was, she sat down next to me and hung out with me for the rest of the meeting, conveniently giving me a LOT of my material for this.

Just… wow. The pressure from this sweet old lady was strong, made all the worse because she was genuine. And very handsy too, constantly reaching out to touch my arm or hand to beckon me to be a part of the sustaining of callings. Something I wouldn’t have noticed before, but looking back I realize how much flagrant disregard there is for personal space by members of the church, especially older members.

She asked me some questions, talked about how wonderful the community of the church was (“Though of course, you have to come to church and learn people’s names to be a part of the community!”) and expressed how glad she was that I was coming back to church.

No questions about “Are you going to come back again? Are you planning on staying?” Just affirmations that I was. Throughout the meeting, she would comment on how she was going to see me next week, asked me to write down my name so she could remember it next week, gave me her number just in case I needed to call her.

When the sustaining of callings happened, and I didn’t raise my hand (I didn’t know anyone there, after all, how could I promise to support them and thank them for their service with any authenticity?) she reached out to tug my hand up (as politely as that can be done without asking) and say “Go ahead, you can raise your hand to sustain them too!”

When we sang the hymns (an uncommon one, and obedience-themed hymn, and two praise-god hymns) she commented on how nicely I sang, that it reminded her of her late husband, and how she would like to hear it next week too.

The theme this week was “God’s love.”, and so both the talks talked only about that. I’m going to have to put that all in a separate post because HOOBOY there’s a lot. So many vague quotes, stories, expressions of feelings.

Funniest thing was, I thought I was going to have to write my notes down in some sort of vague code so if my new friend looked over my shoulder she wouldn’t see a whole bunch of criticism. But frankly, all I had to do was write down a ton of direct quotes, and I got what I needed. It’s insane to me that people talk like that over the pulpit, so that I’m able to write down “God’s love is unconditional, but his blessings are not.” and no one around me thinks that’s strange.

I mean, heck, I didn’t think it was strange most of my life. Only now, after so many new things to think about, do I look back and realize how messed up so many of the things we talked about were.

After the talks and singing and prayer, she makes one more point of saying “I’ll see you next week!” And the best I could manage in reply was a “Maybe…” just to stay non-committal.

Mmm. It was an experience. And it wasn’t all bad. But it certainly was an eye-opener, and a reminder of what I escaped.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Chapter 16

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

She stands on the rain-soaked sidewalk, staring up at the silhouette of the steeple against the grey sky. Church has always been a place to come home to, and yet she’s dreading walking through these doors.

Ethan slips his hand into hers, all long fingers and soft palm, and she looks at him.

“Ready?” he asks softly, and she nods once.

They push through the imposing wooden doors and enter the anteroom, turning to the right to find Father O’Dowell’s office. Ethan raps thrice on the door frame and a gruff voice commands them to enter.

“Dana, Ethan, please sit down,” he directs as they enter the room, and they take the seats across from his desk. “You’re ready to begin your Pre-Cana, then?” he asks over his bifocals, and they nod in unison.

Ethan reaches across the armrest to take the hand in her lap and she holds it limply, her stomach twisting as though it’s attempting to turn itself inside out. She probably should have eaten breakfast.

“As you both know,” Father O’Dowell begins, “marriage between two baptized Catholics such as yourselves is a sacrament. Much as Jesus turned water into wine in Cana, your marriage will be a miracle, becoming something greater and more powerful than you are alone. Your marriage will be a symbol which reveals the Lord Jesus and through which his divine life and love are communicated.”

He pauses to consider them, and she works hard to keep her expression neutral, if not leaning ever so slightly towards pleased. She can’t let the panic in her belly find its way to her face in front of this priest.

“Have you discussed your sacramental marriage commitment to each other, under all circumstances? You are each entering into this union with the intention to die married to one another, forsaking all others?” he says, giving her a pointed look.

Is she imagining it, or is he directing all of this towards her and not Ethan? She swallows and then nods softly.

“Alright,” he continues, opening a folder and sifting through several sheets of paper, “let’s talk, then, about how to prepare for a successful marriage, so that you might spend eternity as man and wife.”

Eternity.

———

“You okay?,” Ethan asks, sitting down beside her on the couch and resting his hand on the back of her neck with a brief squeeze.

She nods. “That was just...a lot,” she replies with tired eyes.

Two hours spent talking to Father O’Dowell about how they’d raise their children, how they’d keep Christ present in their marriage daily, what holiday traditions they wanted to create for their family, how they will approach conflict resolution. As a private person, these conversations feel invasive and embarrassing, but even more than that she is shell shocked by how many times he used the word eternity. Of course she knows that what she is signing on for is the rest of her life with Ethan, but the hammering home of the eternity bit along with the fact that divorce is out of the question was a bit jarring.

“You want me to stay?” Ethan asks with a concerned look. “I can cancel, it’s no big deal.”

“No,” she replies with a wave of her hand, “you should go, I think I’d actually benefit from some time alone.”

“Right, before we spend ETERNITY together,” he replies with a smirk, and she knows it’s supposed to make her laugh, but it only makes her want to run. “Okay. I’m gonna get going then, and I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I think maybe around 7, but it’ll depend on traffic. You don’t need to wait for me for dinner or anything.”

She sighs deeply. “Okay, have fun. Be safe.” She forces a weak smile.

He kisses her twice, whispers I love you into her ear, and leaves with a suitcase in hand for his college buddy’s bachelor party in Philly.

She flops to the side so that she’s laying on the couch, and spends a long while staring blankly at the ceiling.

Eternity.

That’s a very long time. The unequivocal unacceptability of divorce makes it feel longer. Realistically, of course catholic people get divorced, it happens. But how could she put her mother through that? And why is she moving forward with marrying a man if she’s considering the possibility of divorce before they’re even married?

Sitting up, she runs her hands over the skirt of her baby blue dress, the church-appropriate outfit she wore even on a day that is unseasonably cool and dreary. Always dressing for the occasion, doing what is expected of her. Always making the right choice.

She stands, grabbing her purse and keys, and leaves the apartment. She needs to be somewhere else, anywhere else. She needs to escape for a bit.

She’s been driving aimlessly for some time with the radio off when she finds herself parked in front of 2630 Hegal Place. She exits the car and walks around the block, letting the gentle rain soak her shoulders and seep into her heels. Three times. Four times. On the fifth trip, she approaches the front doors of the building.

She pauses with her hand on the door handle, too afraid to ask herself what she’s doing here. She just wants to stop thinking for a little bit. About Ethan, about marriage, about eternity. She just wants to exist for a little bit as Dana, just herself, without any of that baggage. She pulls the door open.

Mulder greets her with a dazed expression, wearing grey sweatpants and no shirt. He stares at her for a long moment, taking in the beads of water trailing off the ends of her soaked hair and her chattering jaw. He looks a little afraid, like a grenade with the pin pulled just appeared on his doorstep. All she has to do is let go and the explosion is inevitable, along with the destruction.

She opens her mouth to speak, but she can’t find words. She searches his face, looking for some reason to stay or to leave. Looking for an answer. His eyes darken a little and at that moment she lets go. She feels the tick tick tick of the timer; it’s already too late to stop. She moves one step beyond his threshold and drops her purse on the floor unceremoniously before threading her wet arms around the back of his neck, their mouths coming together like sea and shore. His lips are warm and pliant, hints of coffee and salt slick on his tongue as he slides it against her teeth. She sighs deeply, a silent moan, a giving over of control and higher reasoning, melting into the sturdy man before her as rays of sun into an oak tree.

She feels his hands warming her back, sliding down to her hips. Hips before hands, she thinks, and her pelvis bucks towards him. His hands slide down over her ass until they find the backs of her thighs, hoisting her up and onto him, carrying her like a wounded soldier into his bedroom. Her weight is dead against him, seeking only to be taken, to be had. She has nothing for him but she wants to give. Oh but she wants to give.

He sets her there on the bed, damp as a dish towel and quivering with the cold and the adrenaline. His hot lips transfer his heat to her neck, chest, face, arms. He breathes his life onto her skin, igniting her square by square until she feels like a checkerboard of warmth and chill. She’s pushed her legs wide open, welcomed the solid weight of his body to rest against her heat, and he is sending her dress higher up her thighs with eager but gentle hands.

They have not spoken a word.

As he kisses her, his fingers play tentatively at the hem of her panties, seeking permission or watching for objection. Finding none, he allows one index finger to slip behind the gusset that covers her soaked vulva, the flat of his fingernail brushing along her lips and sending shockwaves down her legs. He lets out a long, staggered breath and repeats the movement quickly a few times, groaning as her breath catches and she bucks into him. She has never wanted anyone more in her entire life. Has never needed anyone as much as she needs him now.

And then his head is between her legs, and he’s pulling her panties to the side as the rigid tip of his tongue flicks at her experimentally. She gasps audibly, a half-cry escaping her throat that catches as his finger delves inside of her, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her head lolls back, mouth agape and rapidly drying out as she struggles for air. His lips are sucking and nipping, his tongue prodding and stroking, while his fingers flutter against a place that she is only just now realizing exists. She feels a warm tingle in her toes, a flood of dopamine coursing through her, rendering her incapable of rational thought. She is high on sex and pleasure and Mulder and if this were a drug she could buy, she would go broke tomorrow.

Gathering, building, peaking, she is a swell on still waters, giving nothing away of the chaos that rages below. When she starts coming, she cries out “oh,” which is the first word either of them has said. Oh, and she’s exploding around him, and across his tongue. Oh, and he’s flexing his finger inside her, drawing it out. Oh, and as the tidal wave of release begins to recede, the awareness of what has just happened settles over her. Oh, oh, oh.

Oh, what has she done?

Oh, god.

Oh, no.

She recoils from him, pushing up into a sitting position on the bed as her hand comes to her mouth in horror.

“Scully?” he asks, reaching for her, and she pushes his hand off her knee.

She’s shaking her head, her eyes wild and unbelieving. She has to go. She has to get out. She slides off the bed and makes her way wordlessly to the foyer.

“Scully, what’s going on, are you okay?” He follows her, his fading erection still nudging the front of his sweatpants, his lips glistening with her wetness. She can’t look at him.

Her wet shoes are returned to her feet, her purse hanging haphazardly from her elbow. Mulder is looking at her with fear and confusion. She thinks he might try to stop her from leaving.

Swallowing hard to bring moisture to her throat, she forces out a strangled “I’m so sorry,” and then she goes, she runs. Down the stairwell because she can’t bear to wait for the elevator, out into the now pouring rain and behind the wheel of her car. She drives fast and recklessly, nothing left worth trying to protect.

Oh, what has she done?

[seanfalco]

Want | Priest!Kay x Reader {Part II}

Fandom: Season of the Witch Modern!AU Word Count: 2k Warnings: Catholicism, Religious imagery, Angst, Infidelity  (I’m also not Catholic, so hopefully I haven’t made any glaring errors.)

masterlist

He thought it would get easier as the weeks wore on, but Kay grimaced as he stepped behind the pulpit to face the congregation, his gaze instantly seeking out [y/n], her fiance’s arm resting across her shoulders, and he had to admit to himself that it was quite the opposite -- it was only getting harder to see her with him.   To keep his thoughts pure.

Their first lesson together had been… awkward to say the least, but by the second one they’d almost fallen back into the easy friendship of their teen days, which was both a relief and a worry to Kay.

If they kept getting more comfortable around each other, who knew what would happen then?

It was already going to be hard enough for him to watch her marry someone else when not so long ago that was what he’d wanted.  Growing close to her again would only make it that much harder.

When he’d broken up with her and left for seminary school like his father had wanted he thought he’d never see her again -- that even though it wasn’t what he’d wanted, that time would heal all wounds and that throwing himself into his studies would distract him enough to forget his feelings for her, and for a time it had, but it didn’t last.

He still sometimes woke in a cold sweat, their breakup haunting his dreams, the hurt look on her face as he’d turned away wrenching at his heart.  

They’d been so young and it had all happened so fast, their feelings too great, too overwhelming, too soon.

And he’d ran.

Only to find regret waiting for him, but by then it was too late and now… now he’d have to live with that regret.

He’d never have [y/n], and he’d never be a good priest.  How could he give all of himself to God if someone else still held his heart?

——

“So, how was your week?” Kay asked, hanging up his robe as [y/n] took her usual seat across from his desk, the little notebook she’d been scribbling notes in during their lessons resting in her lap.

He knew that she’d never been religious before, not outright atheist, but definitely agnostic.  However, during their lessons she was attentive and diligent -- always asking questions and taking notes.  He just wasn’t sure how much of that was from a true willingness to learn or merely out of respect for him.

“It wasn’t bad,” she answered with a small shrug.  “Nothing much happened.  This is honestly the highlight of my week,” she admitted, her eyes flicking up to his meaningfully.

Somehow Kay doubted it was because of church, but he’d be lying if he said that this wasn’t the highlight of his week as well…

“I’m glad our lessons mean that much to you,” he murmured, fighting the urge to loosen his collar.  “Uhm, before we get started,” he continued quickly, forcing his hands to still in front of him on his desk.  He’d definitely caught [y/n]’s little smirk at his words, and was trying to ignore it.  

“Why don’t you tell me a little about Matthew.  How you two met,” Kay suggested, trying to keep his voice neutral, but [y/n] looked up at him sharply, suspicion in her calculating gaze.

It was purely in his interest as their Reverend, he told himself.  He wasn’t asking for any other reason.

Frowning for a moment, [y/n] cleared her throat.  “We met through our parents,” she explained slowly, her expression not exactly what one would expect a newly engaged woman to wear as she spoke of her betrothed, and Kay’s heart constricted.

She doesn’t look happy, he observed as she told him how their parents had thought it would be a good match.

Don’t be ridiculous, Kay told himself firmly, ignoring that first thought.  That’s just wishful thinking because part of you doesn't want her to get married, to lay with anyone else, to look at them with love in her eyes, when it should be you.

Shaking loose his thoughts, Kay realized he’d missed much of what she’d said, but what he had caught hadn’t exactly sounded romantic, and he fought against losing himself once more to memories of their time together before it had all come crashing down.

Of late night phone calls that neither wanted to end, leading to Kay listening to [y/n] sleep over the phone, wishing she were next to him instead of her own bed.  Of handwritten love letters passed discreetly through lockers and left in textbooks, clandestine make out sessions during cut classes, and holding hands as he walked her home every day.  Of their awkward, if sweet, first time that had led to a second time shortly after, full of laughter and affirmations of love.

Did she love Matthew like she’d loved him?

“Kay…?”

“Hmm, I’m sorry, I lost my thoughts for a moment there,” he admitted sheepishly, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious where his thoughts had slipped to.

“That’s alright, it’s not exactly the most riveting story,” [y/n] murmured with a wry twist of her lips.  “Let’s, uhm, let’s get on with the lesson, shall we?” she asked and Kay was only too relieved to agree, not exactly keen to dwell any more on the topic of [y/n]’s fiance.

——

In order to speed things along to keep on schedule for your swiftly approaching wedding, Kay had suggested meeting twice a week for your lessons, and you’d only been all too happy to agree.

However, it was getting harder and harder to keep him off your mind, finding yourself thinking of him during every spare moment, even on the rare occasions Matthew wanted to have sex.  The night before, you’d nearly cried out the wrong name, Kay’s name practically springing to your lips, and disappointment twisted like a knife when you’d opened your eyes to find it wasn’t him hovering over you.

So it was to your great dismay that today’s lesson was about confession.

“We went over all this in principle last time, but this time we’ll do a practice run,” Kay was saying as he led you down to the sanctuary, blessedly empty save for the two of you.  Stopping in front of the confessional, your stomach in your throat, you hesitated, Kay noticing your reluctance.

“Are you nervous, [y/n]?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” you murmured, your nerves at an all time high.

“I promise it’s not as daunting as it seems,” Kay murmured, resting his hand on the small of your back, ushering you toward the door, a reassuring smile on his face.

As you took your seat atop the hard wooden bench inside you fidgeted as you waited for Kay to join you on the other side of the latticed partition.

This would be so much easier if you didn’t know the priest.

“Okay, [y/n],” Kay said as he took his seat, his voice soothing.  “Remember, the Sacrament of Confession is between you, me, and God.  I cannot disclose anything you tell me in here, to anyone,” he reminded you and you nodded, though it didn’t exactly make you feel any better.  He would still know about it.

“Alright my child, you may begin,” Kay prompted and you bit your lip, taking a steadying breath.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you began, reciting the words he’d taught you.  “I uhm, I’ve sinned, well… a lot, and uhh, recently, in fact,” you muttered, looking down at your hands.  

With the partition between you, you couldn’t really see Kay, just his outline, but you could feel his gaze on you.

“Well, I’ve… masterbated… and I use birth control regularly, which is a big no-no, I guess,” you said, giving a nervous laugh before continuing.   “I’ve had premarital sex, which… I mean, you know about that,” you added, clearing your throat, reluctant to admit more.

“Go on, you’re doing well,” Kay urged gently and you nodded, continuing.

“I… I’ve coveted, and lied, I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain and I’ve…” your voice faltered and failed.  “I’ve--” you tried again, taking another breath and swallowing, your throat suddenly very dry.

“I’ve had thoughts of an impure nature about someone other than my fiance,” you admitted.  “--About someone I should not be.  Someone I thought I’d never see again.”

Pausing, it was obvious who you meant, and your eyes flicked up to the partition where you felt Kay’s were and you wondered just what sort of expression he was wearing.

“And now that I have… seen him again, I can’t seem to get him off my mind,” you murmured.

For a long moment silence stretched and you wished you could take it all back.

“[y/n].” Kay’s voice wavered before strengthening.  “That is… highly inappropriate,” he said hesitantly, his words like a slap to the face, though you knew he was right.

“Don’t you think I know that?” you exclaimed.  “I’ve tried to stop, believe me!  But I fucking can’t and I--I don’t know if I want to,” you cried, frantically blinking back tears, your stomach churning.  “I miss you, Kay, and every moment we’re together feels like torture.  I… I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”

“[y/n]--”

Before he could say more, you pushed off the bench and threw open the door, suddenly feeling lightheaded and needing air, Kay right on your heels.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about me too,” you exclaimed, turning to him, frustration and anger lacing your words.  Kay watched you with an unreadable expression.  “I’ve seen it in your eyes, Kay.  You always had the worst poker face.  Don’t tell me there’s nothing there,”you insisted, almost pleading and he looked away, blinking rapidly.

“[y/n], don’t…” he said, unable to quite look at you.  “You know we can’t happen.”

“You didn’t answer me,” you pressed, taking a step toward him, desperation filling your voice now, your stomach twisting til you felt you were going to be sick.  

“It… it doesn’t matter,” Kay replied sadly, shaking his head.  “I’m a man of the cloth now.  I’m committed to the Church and you -- you’re engaged to be married, [y/n]!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking as he lifted his arms only to let them fall helplessly to his sides again, his hands curling into fists.

“What we had was a long time ago.  We’ve both moved on, and I won’t be the one to break up your marriage.  I don’t want to be the reason,” he insisted, though it looked like it pained him to say it.

“Yeah well, I never wanted this!” you cried, your voice clearly shaking now and you couldn’t keep the tears from your eyes any longer, feeling them fall down your cheeks.  “You were the one that pushed me away and then… then you ran away where I couldn’t follow!”

Taking a shaky breath, you scrubbed at the dampness streaking your face.  “You want my confession, Father?  I still have feelings for you, they never went away,” you admitted, breathing heavily, your chest constricting with panic.

When Kay didn’t speak, his emerald eyes pained, you continued, grasping at straws.

“Is this truly what you want?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

“It is,” he said softly, carefully not meeting your gaze.  “Even if I… harboured feelings for you, I cannot act on them, so please don’t put me in that position, [y/n].”

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes rising to yours once more, he shook his head sadly, his long curls shivering.

“Besides, you don’t want me,” he murmured.  “I can’t give you the life you deserve.”

Deafening silence filled the church and you stood there in disbelief.

If only you’d kept your mouth shut, you thought angrily -- angry at yourself, because you knew, you knew deep down you couldn’t have just kept going that way, lying to yourself, to him.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to lift your chin.

“You’re wrong.”

When you turned, Kay took a panicked step toward you, reaching out before you pulled away.

“Where are you going?  [y/n]?” he called after you, but you didn’t stop, heading for the doors.

“I’m sorry, Kay.  I can’t do this.”

Without another word you yanked open the handle and slipped out of the church before he could convince you to stay.

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

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[ieatmypizzawithaforkandknife]

MAG 019 - Confession (part 1)

Summary: Jonathan reads the first half of the statement of Father Edwin Burroughs, regarding “his claimed demonic possession.”

Our first two-parter! Not that I realized that when I listened to the episode the first time, despite it being right there in the title, because I have the observational skills of a blind muskrat...but I’m excited because I know there will be more multi-parters in the future. I like the episodic format right now, but I know that as Things Begin To Happen, I’ll appreciate the increased breadth and depth of longer stories.

89 Bullingdon Rd is the third street address featured in the series so far, the other two being 93 Lancaster Rd in episode 5 and 105 Hill Top Rd in episode 8. Unlike the first two, however, this one actually exists - kind of. According to google maps, the house numbers on Lancaster Rd in Walthamstow run from about 1 to 85, and the numbers on Hill Top Rd in Cowley run from about 1 to 75. But 89 is right in the middle of the range of house numbers on Bullingdon Rd in Cowley, and while google maps says there’s an 89A but not an 89...it’s close enough. On one hand it’s super cool that these locations are relatively real (the towns are real, the streets are real, it’s just the exact buildings that aren’t). On the other hand 89A is a little too close to 89, and I wish Jonny had picked a number completely outside the range of addresses like he did with the first two, just to avoid crazy fans descending on real people’s houses.

It is definitely worth noting the proximity of 89 Bullingdon Rd to 105 Hill Top Rd. They’re only about half a mile (or about a kilometer, since this is in the UK after all) away from each other as the crow flies. And for both of them, the location itself seems to be tied to the paranormal happenings of the episode(s) they’re featured in. In episode 8, Ivo Lensik feels that unnatural burning start when he’s alone inside 105 Hill Top Rd, which stops as soon as Father Burroughs arrives. In this episode, Father Burroughs feels that same unnatural burning start when he’s alone inside 105 Hill Top Rd, and it only stops when Ivo uproots the tree. And in this episode, Bethany claims her problems are being caused by the Bullingdon Rd house itself, though she doesn’t explain what made her think that. But it’s very concerning that she can’t seem to see the only creepy thing about the house that we’re aware of: the old Latin word written in faded blue paint on the exposed wall.

The word “mentis” is Latin alright, but Father Burroughs translates it as “mind” which...isn’t quite right. “Mentis” doesn’t strictly mean “mind”, it means “of the mind”. The endings of Latin nouns change based on how they’re used in a sentence, so if you’re talking about the word “mind” as the subject of a sentence (or as the word in general) it is “mens”. “Mentis” is specifically the possessive form of the word. I don’t know whether this was deliberate or accidental on Jonny’s part, since if you look it up the dictionary entry shows “mens, mentis”. (It’s standard practice to include both the “subject” form and the “possessive” form in the dictionary since they’re different.) It makes me wonder if this word was part of a phrase and if there were other words hidden under the wallpaper. (Also, small shout-out to anyone reading this who is also a Latin geek, and I hope I explained it well enough that the non-Latin-geeks also understand that explanation.)

On the subject of language, this isn’t the first time Latin has appeared in connection with the paranormal. Ex Altiora, the Leitner found in episode 4, was written entirely in Latin (including the title), and the Lord’s Prayer was written in Latin on that long strip of singed paper found in the second trash bag in episode 5. It’s interesting that the same constellation of details from the trash bag incident are also in this episode: Latin, Christianity, and burning.

Latin isn’t even the only dead language to make an appearance this episode. When describing his experiences performing exorcisms at the beginning of the episode, Father Burroughs recounts: “I was once cursed at in Sumerian by a young man who was illiterate.” In episode 12, the phrase muttered by the hospitalized man that seemed to summon the “lightless flame” contained the word “Asag”, which is the name of a Sumerian demon that could boil fish alive in their rivers. Father Burroughs doesn’t appear in episode 12, but if he had been at that hospital, I think he would have pegged that guy as possessed and wanted to have an exorcism performed. So is there a connection between Sumerian and possession and burning? And how do all the different dead languages that have appeared so far (Latin, Sumerian, and Sanskrit) fit together?

I am also very interested in that nurse, Anna/Annie/Anne Kasuma/Willett. (Seriously, how many names does one person need?) For my purposes, I’m going to call her “Annie” because she seems to go by that. In this episode’s statement (made in 2011), Father Burroughs gives her surname as Willett, and in Jonathan’s wrap-up at the end of episode 8 (which he recorded in late 2015 or early 2016), Jonathan gives her surname as Kasuma. As an older, fairly conservative Catholic (she was a member of the congregation at Father Burroughs’ church, fully believed in demonic possession, etc.), it is highly unlikely that she changed her name for any reason other than marriage or divorce. Ivo Lensik described her as “Malaysian”, and Kasuma is an Indonesian name, whereas Willett is found overwhelmingly in predominantly white countries (the U.S., England, Australia, and Canada are at the top of the list of countries where the name is found). So it would make the most sense to me if Kasuma were her maiden name and Willett a married name. BUT when Jonathan mentions her in the wrap-up to episode 8, he calls her “Mrs. Kasuma”. Since everything else fits with the idea that Kasuma is her maiden name and Willett her married name, I’m thinking Jonathan just messed up the honorific, since he also referred to “Miss Popham” at the end of episode 15 when “Popham” was very clearly Laura’s married name. (This overly detailed surname analysis brought to you in part by my ongoing obsession with genealogy. If anyone reading this has anything resembling a passing interest in the subject, feel free to hit me up about it. I will gush.) All of that nitty-gritty was not without purpose: I think she’s important somehow. I could be reading too much into things, but why would Jonny give her a name change if it weren’t somehow important? Even I realized the nurse from episode 8 and the nurse from episode 19 were the same person on my first listen-through, when I missed or forgot 90% of the details in any given episode, so I don’t think he was trying to trip us up. And she has a direct connection to 105 Hill Top Rd: she grew up on that street, and had a lot of information on the property’s history dating back to before she was born, possibly indicating her family lived on that street even longer. But we haven’t met anyone else with either surname, so for now that’s where it stands: possibly a lead, muddled with a probable mistake.

I was so glad when Father Burroughs made the differentiation in this episode between perception and will: “Bethany told me that her will was still her own, but she could no longer trust her senses, and had found herself doing much that she did not understand.” She tried to eat a small slab of slate, and she apparently couldn’t perceive the word “Mentis” that was literally written on a wall. This might be the first time that the author of the statement calls attention to the recurring theme I’ve been calling “altered reality”. This “altered reality” is a heavy presence in the second part of this two-parter, but I’ll wait to talk about that in that episode’s post. Coupled with this “altered reality” is the “eating of something you really shouldn’t be eating”. In this episode, it’s Bethany trying to eat a slab of slate before being abruptly pulled back to reality by Father Burroughs, only then realizing what it was. Hinted at in this episode, and shown in more detail in the next one (minor spoiler, I guess?), is Father Burroughs eating human flesh and only realizing what it was when the police arrived. The only other time I remember these two themes working in tandem is in episode 3 when Graham Folger ate a notebook. No one stopped him or made him realize what he was doing, so we don’t know for sure that his reality was altered, but it makes the most sense to me that he, like Bethany and Father Burroughs, truly didn’t realize what he was doing. I’m not convinced that the events of this episode (and the next one) are actually related to the notebook incident in episode 3, but it’s an interesting parallel.

On a completely unrelated note, I’d like to talk a bit about Father Burroughs’ “possession” itself. First off, I get that Bethany saying “I’m so sorry...it wants your faith” was supposed to be an ominous line, but why is that the only thing she said throughout the entire attempted exorcism at the hospital? She couldn’t even say, “Hey, man, this isn’t working”? All she could do was look at him with pity and say that? I’d be OK with those being her only words if whatever was “possessing” her also affected her speech the way it did to Father Burroughs later...but she specifically established that she was free to speak and act as she wished, it was only at certain times that her perception of reality was altered. So I’m a little annoyed at her for not giving Father Burroughs (or us) any kind of useful warning or helpful information during the failed exorcism.

I was really confused by the apparent theft of the sacramental wine, too. What was the significance of that? Was it just an example of something weird Father Burroughs noticed that keyed him in to the fact that All Was Not Well, or was there something more to it? (This is only a semi-rhetorical question - if the answer to this was said outright or implied in this episode and it isn’t a post-S1 spoiler, please do fill me in. I sometimes miss stuff that’s super obvious to other people.)

I also find it interesting that he can say “God” towards the end of this episode. He stumbled over it, but by contrast he was completely unable to say “Lord” and “Jesus” at the very beginning. Not sure if this is significant, since there’s no real difference between the words “Lord” and “God” in my estimation. Jesus is specifically Christian, and while “Lord” tends to be associated with Christianity, it’s not exclusive. “God” is the most general of the three terms, yes, but in context he is very obviously referring to the Christian “God”, so his difficulty with getting certain words out isn’t based solely on their contextual meaning. Jonny could have written it without him getting out the word “God” at the end and I think most people listening would have understood that’s the word he was going for. It’s either some kind of clue, or Jonny just got sick of stuttering.

Father Burroughs’ call for protection is the point at which he knows something is Very, Very Wrong, as he feels his lips move even though he himself isn’t moving them. But, as with so many of these stories, Things Were Bad Long Before You Realized It. Bethany told him “it wants your faith” years before the Hill Top Rd incident. He himself admits that his pride led to his downfall, since he initiated an exorcism/blessing on Hill Top Rd when he wasn’t supposed to be doing them at all. But it wasn’t just his pride - it was something taking advantage of his pride. I think that, as much as any person can be, Father Burroughs was a victim of whatever possessed him. He made mistakes in his life - his sins, if you’re looking at it religiously, as he did - but he never wanted to be evil or commit crimes like cannibalism. Like the characters in so many of these stories, I don’t think he deserved what he got, and I mostly just feel bad for him.

His call for protection, he says, was answered by something that was not God, and when Jonathan reads the words that Father Burroughs’ lips were forming (“I am not for you. I am marked.”) we once again hear that creepy static or interference. And I still can’t decide if this is supposed to be some kind of clue or if it’s just to make things creepier. It feels like a clue, but I can’t figure out what exactly it’s supposed to mean. Most of the times I’ve noted it appearing (probably not a complete list - I’m working on it) it appears during a specific quoted phrase or instance of someone speaking: “Can I have a cigarette?” in episode 1. “Isn’t it funny, Amy, how you can live so near and never notice. I’ll need to return the visit someday” from not-Graham in episode 3. “Some hungers are too strong to be denied” from Angela in episode 14. Laura’s sister Elena asking her “how lost I was, in a low, grating voice” in episode 15. If the examples were limited to things like this, then I’d say that it occurs whenever some as-yet-undetermined otherworldly monster is given a human voice to speak through. But it also occurs the first time Ex Altiora is said in episode 4 and the first time The Boneturner’s Tale is said in episode 17, as well as two different moments during the recounting of the story inside TBT. So how is it connected to the Leitners? It didn’t occur when Jonathan read the title Key of Solomon in episode 4, which is implied to be a Leitner. And there’ve been a few other occurrences where something obviously supernatural is happening but that doesn’t involve speech or quoted words at all: When Laura describes the light changing from appearing like an approaching candle to sunlight (which it still wasn’t...) in episode 15, and when Jonathan reads the description of the bleeding books in episode 17 (”red dripped and pulsed from the cart”).

I don’t know what to make of the creepy static yet. But my specific concern with the most recent instance, when Father Burroughs “said” “I am not for you. I am marked” is: Who are the “I” and the “you” referring to? Is the “I” supposed to be Father Burroughs, or the thing “possessing” him? And who on earth is the “you”?

This post is part of a series where I write my thoughts about each episode and obsessively connect dots in an effort to figure out The Big Mysteries of the series. All posts in this series are tagged “is this liveblogging?” Comments and messages are welcome but I have only listened to season 1, so I ask that you not spoil me for anything beyond episode 40. In the words of Jonny Sims…thanks for listening!

[tisfan]

Witch Hunter

for @livewire28

Title: Witch Hunter Collaborator(s) @tisfan Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25152004 Square Filled Y3: Identity Porn Ship/Main Pairing Wanda/Bucky Rating Teen Major Tags/Triggers/Warnings: Witches, Church, Heresy Summary  It’s the same old story, every time. Witch appears, idiots try to kill witch. Shit happens. God, Bucky’s tired of it. Word Count 1,724

for @buckybarnesbingo

Same old story, every time.

Bucky sometimes hoped something new would happen, but no.

Same old story.

A witch comes into power and either tried to hide it (in which case, when she inevitable slips up, the village would accuse her of witchcraft and sentence her to death) or she tried to help the villagers, her friends and family. And eventually, when something went wrong (as it would-- someone would die, or someone would ask for something the witch wouldn’t, or couldn’t, do) the villagers would accuse her of witchcraft and sentence her to death. 

People were stupid, Bucky decided.

Trying to put a witch to death was a dangerous proposition most of the time. More often than not, ended with dead villagers and burning houses than a dead witch. Didn’t seem to keep them from trying.

Bucky's job was a witch hunter -- those witches who had been accused, tried, found guilty, and who managed to get away… or who had been just one step ahead of the village elders.

Those were his prey.

The lost souls who were wandering, afraid and angry. 

He needed to catch them before they decided vengeance was the path to trod. An angry witch was even more dangerous than a woman scorned.

“Hell hath fury,” Bucky muttered. 

The village elder looked up at him. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Bucky said. “Tell me the whole sequence of events, from when the village started to suspect there was witchcraft at play.”

The story was the same old story; the girl came of age, and things were naturally just better for her for a while. Unexplained streaks of good luck, fortuitous rains on dry crops, good hauls fishing, bushes loaded with berries. Lucky in love, or unexpected money.

Never too much, never really more than anyone needed.

But it was enough to stir petty jealousy. To give someone who already looked at the witch without favor ammunition. A lot of times, Bucky thought, it came to nothing except tragedy. The girl wasn’t really a witch, and she’d either scorned the wrong suitor or pissed off the wrong bitch. The whole thing ended with a farce of a trial, and a dead woman who’d never done anything except exist.

It was always a woman.

“Did she hurt anyone?”

Yes, of course she had. Sickness came to the village. A farmer’s cow had died. Eggs that wouldn’t hatch.

“Did you save any of these unhatched eggs?” Okay, well, that was new. And Bucky didn’t believe the girl was responsible for the cow, or the sickness. They usually weren’t. Tragedy happened, illnesses happened. No witch needed to be involved. But eggs that didn’t hatch. That was something new.

The elder took him to the coop. All the chickens had been removed, but the place still smelled of dusty feathers and chicken shit. 

Three nests of eggs, neatly stacked in piles. Fully large enough to hatch.

Dead chicks, that was one thing, but this was different. Bucky counted. Nine eggs in each nest.

Three. Times three. Times three again.

That was… unusual.

“Do you mind?” Bucky picked one of the eggs up. It was heavier than a chicken egg should be, and somehow still warm, even though no chicken had been sitting on it in a while. He knocked the egg sharply against the wooden ledge, cracking the shell.

What dropped out of the egg wasn’t a yolk and white.

It wasn’t a chicken, either.

Or it might have been, at one point. But now it was some monstrous, unborn thing with three heads and scales instead of feathers.

“Woah, yikes, that’s--” Bucky crushed it under the heel of his boot. “If you can spare a messenger, I’d like to send these eggs to the Witch Hunter General. Pack them each separately in a leather bag, with a wafer from the sacrament inside with it. Seal the ties with lead. And for God’s sake, don’t break them on the way.”

“You think the girl is, in fact, a witch?”

That was also new. Usually, by the time Bucky was involved, everyone was beyond sure.

“She’s something, all right,” Bucky said. “I’m going to repeat my question from earlier. Did anyone -- any human? Die?” Bucky wasn’t sure what the demon chicks meant, but he also wasn’t sure they had died. That was a question for the philosophers, what came first the demon chickens or the eggs?

“No, thank God,” and Bucky made the sign of the cross as well. Thank God. 

There were some lines too dangerous to cross.

“What will happen to her, when you find her?”

“We’ll take care of the problem,” Bucky promised.

“Thank God.” 

The village elder handed over the tithe, all the Church and the village could afford. Probably most of it was the result of the worldly goods that belonged to the girl before these fools tried to arrest her. Seemed appropriate somehow.

“Does she have any living relatives, someone I could speak with?”

“No,” the elder said. “Her parents died about eight years ago in a fire, and the twin brother--”

“What happened?”

“He was shot in the attempt to apprehend the witch. He died almost instantly, poor deluded fool.”

Oh, Christ.

“You idiots killed a witch’s twin brother?” He was half a mind to leave them to their fate. “Never mind.”

“God go with you, my son.”

“Yeah, God stay here and watch over you,” Bucky said. Idiots.

*

Wanda practically threw herself on the ground. She was exhausted, filthy. Hungry. And she was going to be hungrier, she thought, not having had time before dark to do anything like hunt or fish, or even gather berries, although there had been a bush that burst into fruit right beside her around lunch and she’d stuffed her mouth greedily, before she heard the baying of hounds.

The church’s men, she thought, and bolted off.

Now, it was dark and she was cold.

Fire. She could at least make a fire. Probably.

A fire would keep animals away. And no one, not even the Church, would hunt a witch at night. Wanda’s hands were shaking as she moved her fingers, summoning pieces of dried wood, bits of moss for tinder, gathering them out of the woods with a thought.

She gestured, stacked them neatly in the center of the small clearing. Another twist of her fingers and the ground was scraped clear around the fire. That was enough for responsible fire-tending. Even if she wanted to see the village burn, she didn’t want to set fire to the forest. The animals had done nothing to her. The children had done nothing to her.

God, the children.

She released one last burst of power, lighting the flame.

Pietro, her brother, had died, an arrow right between his eyes. 

Everything had been a madhouse; villagers that she’d known her whole life screaming her name, their faces distorted by rage and fear.

Calling for her death, calling her witch and whore of Satan.

Saying she’d brought disease, that she’d cursed the land and the crops and the cattle.

She hadn’t done any of those things. 

But she just might.

“Nice fire,” someone said. A shadow separated themselves from the darkness of the wood. “Pretty much tells anyone human in the area that there’s another human around.”

Wanda tensed, drawing strength from the earth and the trees--

“Eh, you don’t want to do that,” the man said. “Once you cross that line, you can’t come back. You hungry? I have a couple of pheasants, and you have this nice fire. We could share.”

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“My name’s Bucky, nice to meet you,” he said. “And what I want… is to cook these pheasants.”

“And after that?”

“Well, we’re probably eat them,” Bucky said, sitting down uninvited in her clearing and setting up a spit over the fire. “I might offer you some wine. You might tell me if you have any plans. And then I’ll tell you what we’re going to do instead.”

“Who are you?”

“Bucky Barnes. Witch Hunter, point of fact--” he held up one hand. “Ah, don’t do that. I’m still faster than you are, and I really, really don’t want to kill you.”

“I thought that’s what Witch Hunters did.”

“Only if we have to,” Bucky said. He spitted the birds, stuffed their cavities with a mix of herbs and grains. “Only if you kill someone first. You’re a witch. Simple fact. Another simple fact -- humans don’t much like witches. Because they can’t control them. It’s as simple as it is. They will grind you underfoot if you try. You don’t belong with them.”

Wanda didn’t quite sneer. “Let me guess,” she said. “I belong with you. You’ll protect me?”

Bucky laughed. “Lady, anything that’s an actual danger to you would make stew meat you of me. I’m here to help you. To get you home. And to make sure you don’t kill anyone.”

“Why?”

“Because once you kill someone with your powers, I can’t help you anymore,” Bucky said. “So if someone needs to die, you step back and let me do it. You can’t risk your soul by becoming a murderer.”

“But you can?”

“That’s the interesting bit,” Bucky said, and he took off his glove, showing off a silver, shiny hand. “I don’t have one anymore. I already sold it. So I suppose the only question left -- Are you going to have dinner with me, or are you going to go back there and burn that place to the ground?”

“They took everything from me,” Wanda burst.

“No, not yet,” Bucky said. “So don’t give it to them. Make the better choice, Wanda. Come with me.”

She wasn’t quite sure when she’d reached out her hand, or if she’d meant to take his, or to strangle him.

But she started to cry, and he gathered her into his arms, even the strange silver one felt warm and comforting around her back. “I know,” Bucky said. “There’s always a cost-- and you shouldn’t have to pay it. I’m sorry. Killing them won’t bring him back. It will only hurt you, and then there will be no one who remembers him.”

“You’re going to take me somewhere safe?”

“I promise,” Bucky said.

“Okay.”

“Dinner first? I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

“Dinner first.”

[kmclaude]

An AU thought, unfinished: Annemarie as a nun. Not a sexy nun, but someone found out about the whole “preggers with her brother’s baby and sent to a convent as punishment” type nun, who may or may not wind up teaching a bunch on unruly kids and has her fellow sisters breathing down her neck to make sure she doesn’t sin again. But hey, guess who’s the priest/confessor for the order? And considering nuns “have” to obey Fr. Tiefer’s authority…! Not smutty but it’s all I’ve got 🤷🏼‍♀️

oh how decadent! oops my hand slipped!!!

Émile is probably the one who gets mad when he finds out she’s pregnant and who’s kid it is because sure he’s white trash and has been bending his daughter over for years but he draws the line somewhere (and part of it is because he knows Emilein is a freak, he knows he wouldn’t want her so it’s obvious she’s the whole reason for being knocked up – and she’s been using the stupid baby in her fat gut as a shield to mouth off to him and run the joint – why not punish her? Besides, no one in that family can afford another mouth to feed…)

So he pulls Emilein aside, says, “hey, you’re good with that priest, yeah?” and Emilein shrugs, says, “maybe I am,” and braces for a nasty shot about how of course he is, he loves being on his knees, but it never comes, just, “so he knows about like…them wayward girl schools, yeah?” and Emilein plays dumb until his daddy plays his hand: send Annemarie off to a convent or wayward school or hell an asylum – she wants to use a baby to get her way, well then she can get out of the way. Forever.

Emilein, for once, is more than happy to help his daddy out.

He talks to the priest, Fr. Michaud, who has offered him chance and again ways out, one in particular though it would mean the priesthood, and reveals his sister is pregnant (not that it was terribly secret: the whole town was waiting for the day she slipped up at this point) and she is…troubled. And is there a place. The Church. Anything.

Of course Fr. Michaud hesitates because yes there is one nearby but it’s practically an asylum, run by an order on their grounds – cloistered – “And, to be frank, we all know your sister is…not exactly saving herself for anyone…but unless she’s a-a maniac it would be almost cruel–”

And Emilein puts his hand lightly on Fr. Michaud’s, smiles in a way that doesn’t meet his eyes, and says, “You know how she hasn’t named the father? You’d think someone like her’d be going up and down the street, demanding a wedding or at least support, wouldn’t you? But she ain’t. ‘Cause she can’t. Now, remember the first time we actually talked, you an’ me, an’ I told you I’d suck your cock in a heartbeat ‘cause that’s usually how things went with me an’ older men an’ not always by force?”

“Difficult to forget,” says Fr. Michaud, neglecting to mention that most fourteen year olds don’t say that.

“So we both agree I’m…funny.”

“What are you getting at, Emilein?”

“I’m sayin’, the reason she ain’t beatin’ down no po’ bastard’s door to help with her own bastard is ‘cause she doesn’t want anyone to know that the daddy’s her own brother.”

Michaud goes pale and Emilein isn’t smiling any more.

“We both know she don’t interest me much. So, Father, please: help me.”

–

Of course, being a good man, Fr. Michaud helps him, and Annemarie is sent away to have her child (and then work off the debt she’ll have accrued – after all, not like her father and brother can afford to pay.)

Her choice is very simple: go as willingly as she can pretend and nobody has to know about who the father is or fight and Emilein tells (with Fr. Michaud as a witness – Émile, of course, is more than willing to rat her out but really, every other word from his mouth is a lie.)

And life is peaceful – until Émile decides he can fully boss around his son like he did his daughter in a house he doesn’t own.

Emilein is having none of it but Emilein is terribly small and Émile has friends too, friends just as nasty as Annemarie’s boyfriends, and Émile ties him to a bed and starves him and lets all sorts of men use him for days and brags about the money he’s made from him – “shit, cher, we should’ve been whorin’ you out years ago! Guess yer cunt sister was just too jealous to share.”

He lets him go, eventually, after a week that feels like forever and Emilein runs to Fr. Michaud, banging on the church door, and when Fr. Michaud answers his request is much the same as it was before: “please, help me.”

Of course, being a good man, Fr. Michaud helps Emilein Tiefer and gets him connected to the seminary.

–

At twenty-five and with the title of ‘Father’ himself, Tiefer is assigned to a convent in Fuckoff Nowhere, Louisiana to be the priest and confessor on the grounds. Segregated from the opposite sex and the real world for so long only to be thrown headfirst into the wide world, some were realizing, was not the greatest idea: so, the younger were sent off to serve their religious siblings first, particularly their sisters.

The Mother Superior is kind when she greets him on his arrival, a stark contrast to all the rumors of the convent here: it was a convent, yes, that made its daily bread with something of a home for wayward girls – part home, part school (for the younger ones whose unfortunate choices and circumstances left them behind their peers as well as their children, for those who had or expected them), part workhouse so the former two could survive – but for years its nickname had been the asylum because, regardless of how long one worked, much like the TB asylums, the only way out was in a casket.

Which is where, Tiefer always figured, his sister was at this point. 

Until, during a tour of the small school on the grounds (as the children would be needing sacraments as well) he sees one of the nuns with the children – though she’s not a nun, not exactly, as she only wears a veil and simple dress and the bangs of her blonde hair peak out and frame her face – and she, in turn, sees him and freezes.

“Mother Superior,” he asks, voice steady as possible, once they’ve passed, once he’s calmed down, “who was that woman?”

“With the children? That’s Sister Anne, one of our success stories – quite a tough one too. She came here, pregnant, no idea who the father was and ready to dare I say fight every one of us sisters who came near. But the Lord works in mysterious ways and eventually He brought her ‘round. She should be taking her vows in a few years.”

“Ah. Do many of your girls usually wind up joinin’ the order?”

The mother superior sighs, sort of pointed in a way that hints that the topic is better put to rest. “Unfortunately, it’s not always part of God’s plan,” she says and then adds, “You sound a lot like she does – how far down South did you come?”

“Very.”

“Hm. She also.”

–

“Sister Anne. A word?”

After all the introductions and required niceties are made, Tiefer doubles back to the classroom of children, led by the novitiate.

“Of course, Father,” she says, the shock from earlier long gone from her face, a little more lined than he’d remembered it, her eyes a little less bright.

“In private?”

He lets her lead the way to a small, unused classroom and locks the door behind them.

“Well. Never thought I’d see you here, Sister.”

She scoffs, the plain novitiate from earlier twisting, like a monster under flesh, into his sister, the way he knew her, cocky attitude and all. “Why not? You put me here.”

“You know what I mean. ‘Sides, he put you here.”

“You helped.”

“Just told the truth is all. You want me to tell the truth again?”

“Can’t send me away again, sugar. Anyway, I’m a changed woman. The success story of these sisters.”

“Ain’t you special, huh?”

“Had to be. Play along or die like the rest.” She looks him over, sixteen years on his twenty-five, sizing him up. “You obviously understand, don’tcha Emi?”

“Father, now, actually.”

“Father, right, Father, now, huh? So Father – what was it? Not enough dicks to suck back home, you had to join the biggest boy’s club around? Or you just get sick of Daddy – bet he was a real sonuvabitch once he didn’t have me ‘round to take his shit out on.”

He cuts her off: “Annemarie. You like it here?”

“You like it where you are?”

He doesn’t answer, simply pulls out a cigarette and his lighter. He watches her reach out, then freeze.

“I’ll share if you tell me what the fuck you’re doin’ playin’ nunnery.”

“I told you. Play along or die. Same as you.”

“You don’t know shit about me or what I been through.”

“An’ you know ‘bout me?”

Tiefer shrugs, lights up. Refuses her one.

“I heard the girls who come here only leave one way.”

“Do I look like I left?”

“Mm.” He offers her a cigarette and a light. Her fingers brush his. He tries not to grab her wrist and crush it. “So this is better? Bein’ a mother to a slew of bastards an’ prayin’ to God who put you here?”

“I dunno, Emi–”

“Do not–”

“Father Emi, you tell me: would you like being worked like a dog to pay off your own existence your fuckin’ family sold off, gettin’ beat ‘cause no one gives a damn about you, and not knowin’ if the priest they brought in to hear confessions this ‘round would rather you suck him off than say you’re sorry. I’m fuckin’ forty-one years old: I wanted something close to freedom, even if it’s from behind a wall an’ veil. ”

Tiefer makes a sound like mock pity. “Sounds like every damn day of my childhood, Annemarie. In fact,” – he grabs her by the jaw, pulls her close, tugs the cigarette from her lips and puts it out against the back of her neck, hidden by her veil – “looks to me like you’re getting off easy, little miss success story.”

“Em–”

“That’s Father to you, now.  An’ come to think of it, I’m sure Mother Superior would love to hear what you really did.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Would they put you back in the work house? Or just turn you loose on the streets like a dog. Where you gonna go, Sister? Y’all take vows of poverty last I heard – gonna finally be a real whore and suck dick in the gutter?”

“Please…”

“Please what, pity you?”

Tiefer lets her go, takes a drag from his own cigarette, blocking the door. He grins, more a snarl than anything else. 

“Oh Annemarie… You’re right: I wouldn’t dare as long as you don’t give me a reason to. I’m your superior now…let’s start treatin’ me as such, hm?”

He unlocks the door. “An’ Sister Anne? If you thought those other priests who put your ol’ ass on your knees were bad, you’re gonna really regret all your earlier sins against me.”

[morepopcornplease]

Can you please talk about the Catholic understanding of the "single" vocation? I'm ace and not drawn to religious life so I thought that's where I was heading, but lately I've been hearing it's not a "real" vocation, just a "transition" state

Not only would I argue that the single vocation exists, I’d argue it’s sorely needed today.

Actually you know what? I would argue there’s more evidence of the single lay vocation than a marital vocation within Church tradition, especially in the early Church days.

What do I mean by that?

*cracks knuckles* PREPARE YOURSELF.

(also sorry this wasn’t responded to earlier. people who ask me side b  or faith questions should know that it takes me literal weeks to respond)

So, back in the founding days of the Church, there was ONE vocation: Priesthood. Not religious orders. Certainly not matrimony. Just: priesthood. See, the word vocation stems from the Latin “vocare” / “to call,” specifically referring to how Jesus “called” the apostles. Either men answered God’s call to the priesthood, or they did not.

Now, for marriage— in his first letter to the Corinthians, St Paul writes this:

“If you marry, however, you do not sin, nor does an unmarried woman sin if she marries; but such people will experience affliction in their earthly life, and I would like to spare you that. I tell you, brothers, the time is running out. From now on, let those having wives act as not having them…”

St Paul basically says here: “I mean, I ~guess~ getting married isn’t sinning, so it’s fine. It’s fine! It’s Fine.”

And really, Paul, what kind of half-assed encouragement to your married folk is this?!

He basically says things like: “listen up you horny kiddos, if you’re too damn horny, then go ahead! Get married! (See if I care!!) But if you’re like me *cough cough* then you WON’T!!”

Incidentally, I will absolutely be using this as the basis for my Best Woman speech at my sister’s wedding…

I think Paul goes overboard here, but in a sense he had to. In a time where followers of Christ were convincing fellow Jews that Jesus was indeed the promised Messiah, they had an important differentiation (and I don’t mean just circumcision).

Rather, the early Christians was pushing to make disciples of all nations, not through birth (again, the Messiah had already come! The sign given to Ahaz [Isaiah 7:10-16] has already been fulfilled!!) but through baptism of the spirit. We are to become a new kind of community, according to Jesus.

Going back to the Gospels: “Jesus replied, ‘Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?’ And pointing to his disciples, he said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.’” (Matt 12:48-50, Luke 8:21)

Again, we get a sense that Jesus is establishing a new type of community to be His Church, a new definition of family. The kind of bond formed not by the water of the womb, but the blood of the new covenant. I mean, there’s a reason almost all of the epistles of the New Testament begin and end with addressing the faithful as “Brothers and Sisters,” a practice the Catholic priests keep today in their homilies.

Ok, so there’s a new kind of family. That doesn’t establish a “single vocation” any more than it disassembles a “married vocation.”

Well, let’s pull up the Early Patricians, shall we?

Here’s St Jerome on the subject in 393 AD in his treatise Against Jovinianus: “but while we honor marriage we prefer virginity which is the offspring of marriage. Will silver cease to be silver, if gold is more precious than silver?”

And St Jerome again, when facing controversy: “Someone may say: ‘And do you dare disparage marriage, which is blessed by the Lord?’ It is not disparaging marriage when virginity is preferred to it. No one compares evil with good. Let married women glory too, since they come second to virgins.”

St Augustine, also countering Jovinianus: "Marriage and fornication are not two evils, whereof the second is worse: but marriage and continence are two goods, whereof the second is better.”

In fact, marriage was not considered a sacrament until 1184, at the Council of Verona. That’s less than half a Church History ago!!

Notice, too, how these saints are not saying “religious life.” They are not saying “priesthood.” There is no mention of deaconship or stewardship that would imply religious orders and the vows accompanying them. And St Augustine’s use of the word “continence” dissolves the idea that this is just a fetishization of women’s virginity, inapplicable to men.

They are talking about those who choose continence. And while that includes religious orders, it was not limited to priests, deacons, etc. In fact, the obligation of clerical celibacy wasn’t made canon until The Second Lateral Council in 1139; where marriages with religious men had previously been regarded as “illicit but still valid,” now marriages with religious men was now, canonically, completely invalid.

Logically then, they must be talking about the vocation to single, celibate life.

In the Catholic Church, we have untold numbers of early Church saints who are noted as “virgin martyrs.” Think about that. What is that actually saying? That just by virtue of not getting married, out of devotion to Christ, you deserve to be recognized as a saint? No sacrament of holy orders required?

Actually, yes. Saying NO to a husband for Christ is enough for sanctification.

And I don’t think we realize how outstanding that is when we talk about the Single Vocation.

To wrap this up, I would like to posit my own theory about how virginity and marriage actually complement one another (and to some extent, religious orders as well)

In those days (and tbh throughout history) marriage was a financial decision. Money exchanged hands. The bride was “bought.”

And only 300 years before Jesus arrived, Aristotle argued that the best kind of love was between friends. Since marriage was a love of “utility” and “pleasure,” it could not possibly reach the love of friends; it was better to be unmarried. 

(it’s also good to remember that Aristotle lived in the hellenistic culture, featuring plenty of pedophilia and ephebophilia. Aka, rape. So it’s good to remember that when he says “remain unmarried” he doesn’t really mean “stay celibate.” Several yikes.)

This is the Gentile worldview Jesus enters. And He establishes marriage as a good—and how could marriage be anything else, when He refers to Himself as a Bridegroom, and His bride the Church? “You are not your own; you were bought with a price.” 1Cor 6:19-20.

But then He says this: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13)

Jesus didn’t elevate the good of friendship up to the status of marriage.

He elevated the relationship between husband and wife to the status of friendship.

Nowadays, while there is no money exchanging hands during a ceremony (well, except for the reception and honeymoon), I’d argue a new type of currency is being exchanged, within the Christian churches themselves.

It is the currency of sanctified sex. Pleasure with the stamp of God’s Approval. The ability to have sex without feeling guilty about it, or have your priest make you feel guilty about it, or having your conscience beat yourself silly about it.

Once again, spouses fall prey to treating each other as objects to satisfy their sexual desires, as well as every other desire.

And single vocations are the answer to that.

Marriage cannot be a good if it is reduced to “sanctified sex.” It is degrading to the sacrament and to the people within that union.

Religious Orders cannot be good if celibacy is treated as the ultimate punishment—that attitude leads to pitiful sexual entitlement by the members of those same religious orders.

It’s only if you have a true, Church-defended, celebrated, joyful, viable Vocation of Singleness that the fruit of the other two’s vocations—their real fruit of the gift of the sacraments and of new life—come into view, crystal clear and glorious.

And that is why the Single Vocation is not only a real vocation—it’s sorely needed today.

[iredreamer]

So based on the diaries what are we to expect the events of the second season to be?

They’re married now, so this season ends on the the 30th of March 1834 [EDIT: before the edit I wrote 30th of April but it was the 30th of March, they took communion together on Easter]. In reality they exchanged rings, yes, but not on the same day they took the sacrament together, the rings exchange happened a month earlier (in February) and from that moment on they considered themselves married (Anne Lister completely gave herself to Ann Walker after the rings exchange, too bad we didn’t see it). 

From now on there’s a lot of stuff that can happen, I’m gonna try to break it down and point out what I think are the important events that could be included in season 2.

1. Sinking the Walker pit. (which I guess is the one Anne started sinking this season). She hasn’t called it the “Walker pit” yet, so maybe we’re gonna see when she does and she’s gonna say it’s called like that in Ann’s honor.

2. Politics. In 1835 and 1836 she had quite a lot of troubles with her tenants because during the elections a lot of people refused to vote how she wanted them to vote, preferring to do their own interests that the ones of the landlords. I think this could be one of the main plots, I think the dialogue with Sowden in ep 1 was a sort of hint of what will happen, SS: “There’ll come a time when tenants throw landlords off land. You know that, don’t you?” AL: “Well, then, Sowden… When the time comes, us landlords must make sure we give as good as we get.” Anne Lister did really have a similar conversation with Sowden in May 1835: “Sowden said that in some counties the tenants talked of turning off the landlords, instead of the landlords turning off the tenants. “Well!” said I “then we must make as good a fight as we can.” I can see season 2 exploring her relationship with her tenants and the struggles she had to face but also how she tried to manipulate the situation.

3. Public attacks. I hope we’re gonna get all the drama with the newspapers and the anonymous letters: January 10, 1835 > “Washington…pulled out of his pocket today’s Leeds Mercury containing among the marriages of Wednesday last: “Same day, at the Parish Church H-x, Captain Tom Lister of Shibden Hall to Miss Ann Walker, late of Lidgate, near the same place” I smiled and said it was very good - read it aloud to A- who also smiled and then took up the paper and read the skit to my aunt.” Anne later writes in her diary that, when alone with Ann, Ann said she did not like the joke. January 12, 1835 > “Marian came into A- and me at breakfast this morning with an anonymous letter from H-x, directed to “Captain Lister, Shibden Hall, Halifax”, containing extract form the Leeds Mercury and concluding “we beg to congratulate the parties on their happy connection”. Probably meant to annoy, but, if so, failure.” The announcement of the “marriage” also gets reprinted in February in the Halifax Guardian and the York Chronicle (basically everyone who knew Anne Lister and Ann Walker did read it, there are more extracts about this matter, the thing goes on for some time, even Mariana writes to Anne asking her if she saw what was written in the newspaper). This could be another main plot and it goes hand in hand with her political activity because it seems that these attacks were a way to intimidate her and scare her from exercising political power over her tenants.

4. The wills, the fights, the drama. The Ann(e)s start to write their wills and they also start fighting over it and over money. Anne Walker not always liked what Anne wanted and planned. One time Anne even writes that “A- snubbed me (before John) and silenced me and I hardly spoke again.” (then Ann apologized and they made up). They also fought a lot about Anne Lister not introducing Ann Walker to her (aristocratic) London circle. They visited a lot the Norcliffes, so maybe we’ll see Isabella (?) I hope.

5. The stone laying at Anne Lister’s Northgate Casino. The ceremony was attended by both Anne Lister and Ann Walker in September 1835. Ann Walker was the one to lay the foundation stone, in her speech she said “I’ve been requested by my friend, Miss Lister, to lay the 1st stone of the Casino…We hope and trust that the undertaking will prove an accommodation to the inhabitants of this town and neighbourhood.”  Then Anne Lister made her speech and thanked Ann Walker. This whole thing was really important because it was basically a public acknowledgement of the seriousness of their relationship. I feel like this should absolutely be in s2.

6. The effigy rumour. Apparently someone burnt Anne Lister and Ann Walker’s in effigy in March 1836. There are not a lot of details about this in Ann’s diary, but it was an attack (like the newspaper marriage announcement) upon the Ann(e)s active “intrusion” in politics and coal-mining. The men in the business didn’t want to deal with two women, and so they tried to damage the power they (the Ann(e)s) held over the land and the people.

Other random things that happened and I’d like to see: Anne Lister reading bits from her diary to Ann; Anne calling Ann “Adney”; Anne going to visit Mariana and Mariana tempting her, Anne rejecting her and going back home to Ann (and them having great sex that night); the Ann(e)s playing backgammon and Ann “thrashing” Anne Lister over and over again; Ann taking away the keys of Anne’s study to make her come to bed earlier; Ann Walker consoling and calming Anne Lister when things were not going well with her sister; Anne taking care of Ann Walker when she wasn’t feeling well and all the great sex they had during this time.

More dramatic things that could be included: the death of Ann Walker’s nephew (March 1836); the death of Anne’s father (3rd of April 1836); Marian leaving Shibden; Aunt Anne’s death (October 1836).

Okay, there’s probably more, I’m sure there’s more and I missed something like the Ann(e)s “honeymoon”, some other little travels, Anne organizing Ann’s days, them being just domestic like every married couple, but anyway… these I think are the main events that we could see in season 2. Don’t know what time period s2 will cover, so I guess 2 years like the first one? There are a lot of things that could work as a season finale and as main plots.

[nerdygaymormon]

what do you think about the new handbook?

In January 2016 I received a calling that gave me access to the Church’s Handbooks and I was surprised at the amount of specific things in there on which I had never considered the Church having an official position. I imagine a lot of people are having that experience this week.

I’m glad the Church made the Handbook available to everyone, it’s a move towards transparency. Before this, people were being held to standards or facing processes that only their leaders could access.

I appreciate that in some areas there’s better framework and clarity, but am sad that it often came in the form of being more restrictive or not in line with modern science.

I’m going to outline the changes and add a few comments. ’ll put my opinion about all of this at the end, so if that’s what you want to see, scroll to the bottom.

————————————————————— 

Miscellaneous

The Handbook covers a lot of information, so I’m certain in the days and weeks ahead more new things will be discovered. But for now, here’s some assorted policies.

Sacrament

We’re supposed to take the Sacrament with our right hands

The wording that young men are encouraged, but not required, to wear a white shirt and tie is gone. All males who pass the Sacrament are asked to be clean and well groomed.

For a long time, which hand to use has been considered a personal choice, and some associated special meaning by using their right hand.

In February 2019, Elder Oaks saw some youth take the Sacrament with the left hand and he gave a short lecture that went viral telling these kids they were wrong, and now it’s official policy in the Handbook.

Dress Standards

The Relief Society Presidency is to teach dress standards to the sisters so their appearance and clothing show reverence and respect at Church and at the temple.

These are adult women!!! They can’t figure this out for themselves? It mentions ostentatious jewelry and casual clothes without any examples of what this means. I’m afraid some leaders will enforce their personal opinions, such as pants are verboten.

Also this section included a comment about ostentatious jewelry. What is that? Having 2 earrings in 1 ear?

—————————————————————

Discipline

Disciplinary councils have been renamed “Membership Councils”

People no longer are disfellowshipped or excommunicated. They have “formal membership restrictions” or “withdrawal of membership”

Does away with the unequal disciplinary structure for adult men vs adult women.

Before, men who were endowed had a disciplinary council at the stake level. Everyone else had a disciplinary council held by their bishopric.

Now anyone who is endowed and likely to have their Church membership withdrawn will have a stake membership council. Everyone else has a ward membership council for serious sins & actions

At the ward level, membership councils still function the same (the bishopric holds a council with the person whose membership is at risk).

At the stake level, the council now is similar to the way it works at the ward level (the stake presidency meets, without the high council also being involved).

The individual’s bishops can sit in on the council. The individual can also choose for the Elders Quorum or Relief Society President to sit in on the council.

Same-sex marriage is no longer apostasy

Apostasy has been removed from a list of reasons to hold a membership council. Instead it is on a case-by-case basis.

The stake president can place informal membership restrictions on the person and the stake president counsels with the Area Presidency (which are Seventy) about anything more than that, such as a membership council

The language is softer but the results are the same.

I like that men & women are treated equally in this new system. It always struck me wrong that most men in the church automatically had a council of 15 men and women had 3 men.

The reversal of the 2015 Policy of Exclusion finally made it to the Handbook. 

————————————————————— 

Gay, Lesbian, Bi, Same-Sex Attracted

Families & members should be sensitive, love and respectful of people who are gay, lesbian & bi

Sexual activity with someone of the same gender is on the same level as an unmarried sex.

Membership councils are optional in these cases, based on the leader’s discretion.

As long as an LGBTQ member is “striving” to live the law of chastity, they’re allowed to hold a calling and temple recommend

“Sexual cohabitation” used to be forbidden, now it’s “cohabitation”. So I guess gay people living together is a problem regardless of whether they have sex. I do know of a few couples who live together, but have given up sex in order to be temple worthy. I guess that’s no longer an option.

The mormonandgay website was done away with and some of the items moved to a new page titled “Same-Sex Attraction.”

Most of the links on this new page don’t work. I’m sure this will get fixed

Most of the “resources” from the old page aren’t on the new page.

The last 4 video stories of members from the former site are on the new site.

Credit for finally making this page available in languages other than English.

I wonder if it will still say it’s okay to identify using the terms gay, bi or lesbian.I know President Oaks prefers the phrase “same-sex attraction” and a lot of his influence is seen in the new Handbook changes. 

The best section of the previous site was a collection of 17 members who are gay, bi and lesbian (well, 2 of them are parents of gay kids). Hearing them tell their story in their own words was powerful. Most of them have asked for their video to be removed.

The only stories remaining are 2 people in a mixed-orientation marriage and 2 parents who have a gay son. Each of those 4 members now has multiple videos (Laurie, Laurie’s husband, Laurie’s bishop, Laurie’s friend). 

The experience of most LGB people in the Church is now absent from this page, which again confirms for me that this has been a site for leaders & family, not actual members who are bisexual, lesbian or gay.

—————————————————————

Transgender

Preferred names can be noted in your membership record and Church leaders are encouraged to use them.

People can also to ask others to use their chosen pronouns

Elective surgical or medical intervention (which I believe means hormone treatment) for the purpose of transitioning, and social transitioning will result in membership restrictions.

These restrictions include not getting to exercise the priesthood, receiving or using a temple recommend, and receiving some Church callings

Even if the hormone therapy is prescribed by a medical professional to ease gender dysphoria or reduce suicidal thoughts, membership restrictions will result

Transgender people who don’t transition can have Church callings & temple recommends

Gender is defined as “biological sex at birth.”

This is recorded on Church records and determines whether someone can receive the priesthood and how they experience the temple ordinances

Transgender people & their family are welcome to attend Sunday church meetings and social events

There is now a page for transgender people, just as there has been for LGB people

This whole section of the Handbook makes me sad because it reduces these members to being a mistake and they need to choose a side. Nevermind they were born this way and have complex lives, they need to look and act like a cishet member.

I’d love if the church leaders could show scriptural backing & the words of the Savior to justify their views on trans folks other than the Family Proclamation.

Credit to the Church for switching from “transsexual” to “transgender

While trans people are welcome to attend the 2nd hour of church, no guidance was given about if they can choose either Relief Society or Elders Quorum

It’s problematic to define gender being as your biological sex at birth. If gender is eternal, why is “at birth” needed? A doctor or nurse assigns a biological sex at birth by taking a look at the newborn’s external genitals. This is only 1 of 5 markers of gender. A doctor or a nurse is not God.

5 components of biological sex

external genitalia

inner reproductive anatomy

sex hormones

chromosomes

gonad differentiation (gonad secretions cause sex-specific patterns in many other tissues & the brain)

This section of the Handbook still speaks of gender as binary–you’re either male or female and trans. Genderfluid, nonbinary, or any acknowledgement of a spectrum doesn’t exist.

To say a trans person will face consequences for social transitioning is really troubling. What does “social transitioning” mean? Do pronouns count as “social transitioning?” Long or short hair? If people must dress according to gender stereotypes, then it seems like leadership is more concerned about the feelings of the 99 and not the health & well being of the 1.

Why is it only transgender members who have a ban on these surgeries? Lots of breast enhancements, reductions and mastectomies take place every month with not a whiff of interest by church leaders, but if it’s done to affirm one’s gender identity, then it’s forbidden, even if it’s life saving.

It did make me feel queasy to read that even if medical or surgical intervention is prescribed by medical professionals to deal with gender dysphoria or suicidal thoughts, too bad, we’re still going to punish you. What kind of monsters came up with this?

————————————————————— 

Intersex, aka People Whose Sex isn’t Clear at Birth

The Handbook says the incident rate of intersex is extremely rare

Questions about membership records, priesthood ordination and temple ordinances for youth or adults who were born with sexual ambiguity should be directed to the Office of the First Presidency.

This is the first I’ve seen Intersex given their own section in the Handbook.

While policies about LGBT people are listed as “moral issues”, the section on intersex people is under “medical and health policies.” That’s a good sign, it means that the medical profession determines what is best, not a church leader.

I appreciate that church takes this out of the hands of local leadership. It’s a complex issue that untrained people shouldn’t get to have say over.

The Church assumes that surgical & medical intervention is needed for this group of people. Unfortunately it implies the default is to do so in infancy or early childhood when current best practices would be delaying, if possible, until the individual can weigh in on their body & identity. 

The idea that intersex is rare, well that depends on what they consider rare.

The rate could be as high as 2% of the population or as low as 1 in 2000.

If we think of that in terms of Church congregations, it suddenly seems not so rare.

In North America, a ward must have 300 members. If 1%-2% are intersex, that’s a couple people in each congregation.

If we go with the lowest rate of 1 in 2000, consider that in the US & Canada a stake requires a minimum of 3000 members. So 1 or 2 members per stake would be intersex.

—————————————————————

I think these changes show that the Church is willing to include queer people up to a point. We can feel & be the person we believe ourselves to be as long as we don’t actually act in a way that affirms who we are.

We are to be loved, respected and welcomed, however these homophobic and transphobic policies remain in place. Love & respect is more than smiling & being nice to someone.

The policies of the Church regarding queer people is out of line with science. As science continues to advance and confirm that gender identities and sexual orientations are real and biological and not changeable by will, the tension for the Church on these topics will continue to grow.

“The only clear line I draw these days is this: when my religion tries to come between me and my neighbor, I will choose my neighbor. Jesus never commanded me to love my religion.” -Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor

Considering Jesus admonishes us again and again to love each other and that we are all alike to God, I can only guess that Jesus wept. Again.

[sadlittletiger]

Permafrost Heart, Ch. 4

“Uncomfortable”

“Love, hatred, you have only to choose; they all sleep under the same roof; you can double your existence, caress with one hand and strike with the other.”

 - Dangerous Liaisons

Six thirty-four.

He heard her typing furiously across the room as he watched the clock.  Every few moments, a weary sigh floated up from her desk.  He rolled his eyes at her back.

Six thirty-five.

The incessant clacking of her keyboard was one of the few sounds in the office that evening. The air vent above his desk rattled. Footsteps echoed down the hall as officers changed shifts. An old car engine spluttered to life in the lot outside.  His teeth ground in his head.

Six thirty-six.

She hadn’t glanced up from her monitor for at least half an hour. She only typed, practically pounding on the damned keys, mumbling notes to herself.  What could she possibly have taken so many notes about?  On her busiest day, her job consisted of putting band-aids on Redfield’s perpetually scraped knees and performing exemplar chest compressions on a doll.

He checked his watch again, and then the clock on the back wall for confirmation.

The last of her colleagues had left ages ago.  It was Friday, after all.  Did Little Miss Church Mouse have nowhere else to be?

Rocking back in his creaky leather chair, he looked down at the same police report he’d read over eight or nine times already, his eyes unblinking, unseeing. It wasn’t of any consequence, thankfully...not that anything crossing his desk ever seemed to be.

The world felt terribly dull. Raccoon City was practically comatose. He’d abandoned the illicit bet with his sister; the chance of luring her or the stupid young medic to his bed this weekend was highly unlikely. He would have to make do with his own company for a while. Or perhaps not...Alex would surely come around before leaving again.  

Certainly.

Probably.

Hopefully.

The chime of Windows shutting down started him to attention.  Finally.  He cleared his throat, pretending to straighten a haphazard pile of reports, tossing a bottle of White-Out into a drawer and slamming it shut with a crack.  He ran a quick hand over the desk calendar - dog-earred, stained with rings of pale brown coffee - as if checking it for a nonexistent appointment, and he stood.

“Have a restful weekend, Miss Chambers,” he said briskly, collecting his coat from the hook behind his workspace.

When he turned back around, shoving his arm through a stubborn sleeve, he saw her.  Standing there. Just standing, glaring at him expectantly, her arms crossed over her flat chest.  Her throat worked as she swallowed.

He fixed the collar of his jacket, and then the cuffs, almost leisurely.  “Yes?” he asked, masking his agitation with a bored, impassive tone.

She took a quick, sharp breath, the start of a sentence, eyes narrowing into something that might have been shrewd in her mind...then she pursed her lips tightly, nothing but a pitifully strangled noise slipping out.

He pushed his chair back, tucking it into the desk, while a condescending smile spread across his face.  “Well, if you do think of whatever it is… you can tell me on Monday morning, hmm?”

“Sir, I’m uncomfortable.”

He blinked.  “Pardon?”

Her narrow shoulders squared defiantly.  “I’ve been trying to ignore it all week.  I kept thinking maybe I was… wrong.  But I’m not wrong, and I’m uncomfortable with the way you look at me, and I shouldn’t have to… feel this way, at work. I want you to stop looking at me,” she said in a nearly resolute voice.  “Like that.”

He fished in his pocket for his keys, grinning to himself.  “You want me to stop looking at you… like that,” he repeated, disbelieving.

“Yes, sir,” she said, suddenly very sure of herself. And then, a bit more quietly, “please.”

“Miss Chambers…” He shook his head, feigning disappointment. “I assure you that I have no idea what you’re talking about… but by all means, I will make a concerted effort to stop looking at you all together.” He brushed by her, pausing at the door, gesturing impatiently for her to join him.  “Now if you wouldn’t mind, I need to get home, because I don’t live in this office.  And I’m sure you’ve got something… Jesusy to do this evening, right?”

——

“I think she teared up then.  I didn’t wait around to watch the theatrics,” he drawled.  The microwave beeped twice behind him.  “I’m so tired of fucking take-out.  When are you going to call an end to this moratorium?  You know Ciarelli’s opened up again downtown.  You always liked their prime rib.”

“Uncomfortable,” Alex said for what must have been the seventeenth time, her voice a mixture of delight and curiosity as she ignored his attempts to draw her in. “And she said it just like that?”

He sighed into the phone, cradling it against his shoulder. He picked at the steaming carton of lo mein, plucking out one long, oily noodle and a shred of limp cabbage. “I don’t see what you find so fascinating about this.”

It had to be the final nail in the coffin of her absurd game. Rebecca Chambers was, perhaps, the one challenge he would never conquer...and only because she was so infuriatingly, maddeningly goddamned simple.  He had accepted this defeat, come to terms with it, digested it entirely, and he needed, more than anything, for his sister to do the same.

“Of course you don’t see it. You’re an idiot,” Alex answered. She let out a sad, wistful hum. “The poor baby’s inching closer to you, and you can’t even be bothered…”

“No.” He punctuated the word by stabbing the reheated slop with cheap wooden chopsticks. “I can’t. Because this is insane.”

“You’ve captured her attention, clearly. You’ve just got to hold onto it… and the rest of her will follow.”

“Right.” He twisted up a clump of rubbery noodles. “I’m sure she’ll be very receptive to yet another conversation come Monday morning…”

“You cannot possibly wait until Monday.  Strike while the iron is hot, while her blood is up.  Women adore being thoroughly upset once in a while.”

“Do they?” he laughed, wincing as he bit into a scalding-hot carrot.  “I’d love to hear how you think I should offend her further. Follow her to her place of worship, perhaps?  Just me and Miss Chambers?  Bonding over the sacrament?”  He snorted at his own cruel joke.

But Alex was dangerously silent on the other end of the phone.

Silent for far too long.

He dropped the lo mein on the counter, dark gelatinous sauce sloshing over the sides of the carton.  

“No.”  He clenched his jaw tight, his eyes wide.  “Absolutely not. This is too far, even for you --”

“I’m impressed, Albert,” she said quietly, as if she was mulling over every word.  “I think you might still have it in you.”

“No. No, no, no --”

“Be sure to wear something extra nice.  God will be watching.”

[dextersjournal]

Death and Consequences

Thursday, 11 June 2020

My cousins’ grandmother passed away last week.

Given the nature of our relation, one might expect Ma Audrey to not have been very close to our family. On the contrary; she lived in the same building as my cousins, who live just across the park opposite my house. So she was like a second grandmother to me growing up. She would look after my cousins while their parents were at work, so when I would go visit in my youth, we were all in her care.

When I continued to visit my cousins as we got older, she wouldn’t be as present because we no longer needed a babysitter. Still, we (my brother and I) would always make a point of greeting her as we passed the stable-door at the back of her house.

Sadly, the visits became less frequent, due to our lives just generally becoming less busy, but also due to family politics, which I shan’t go into.

Guilt and Memories

My cousin sent me a message on WhatsApp on Thursday, 4 June, to let me know Ma Audrey had passed. I can’t remember what I was busy with, but I was out of the house. I responded with my sympathies when I found the time.

I acknowledged the sadness, but I didn’t feel particularly sad. People might put it down to shock, but I’m not sure that’s what it is. I didn’t like this. Ma Audrey deserves to be mourned, I felt.

I hadn’t seen Ma Audrey very often in recent years. We would usually see each other at family events at least, but those were few and far between as of late. The last time I saw her was Christmas 2019, where she remarked that she doesn’t really see our family anymore. The last time I was in her house was to store some of the desserts in her fridge.

The problem, I think, is that I don’t have many memories of Ma Audrey, not that I can think of offhand, anyway. Not that she or my interactions with her weren’t memorable, but I actually don’t remember much of that period in my life without prompting. To think I would spend so much time there. I feel awful about it.

That’s why I ultimately decided to attend the funeral. I was hesitant at first, given that it would be a gathering of people, but I decided that I would regret it if I didn’t. (Also, thankfully, the physical distancing went pretty well.) I wanted to hear others’ reflections, hoping it would prompt some residual memories. Thankfully, it did.

The Funeral

This was the first funeral I’d attended since my great-aunt Gwen passed away in 2005. I was 10. That was my first funeral where I was cognizant of the events (my paternal grandfather passed away when I was 3). Aunty Gwen’s funeral made me hyper-aware of mortality and I was so afraid of losing my biological grandmother for at least a year after that. Thankfully, my grandmother is alive and well having lived 15 more years, despite a heart problem for which he had successful surgery in 2012.

At the time of writing, South Africa is in Level 3 Lockdown, due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Places of worship have been given governmental permission to reopen, a decision I’ve been very critical of.  But thankfully it meant we could host a funeral. Unlike a standard church service, it would be a more controlled environment as people had to stipulate beforehand whether they would be attending.

When I was told of Ma Audrey’s passing, I wasn’t sure that there would be a funeral. I wouldn’t have been surprised if there hadn’t been one, given the circumstances. If there hadn’t been a funeral, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it; given my worldview (read: atheism), I don’t think it’s necessary. Funerals are for the living, not for the dead.

But Ma Audrey was a Catholic woman. We used to go to the same church, back when I did go to church (more on that later). So it is fitting that she would be ‘sent off’ in that way.

At the door of the church, we had our temperatures taken, our hands sanitised, and we were asked via individual questions whether we had any COVID-19 symptoms. The casket was in the foyer; closed. I’d had a slight hope that it would be open so I could see her face in person one last time. (My eyes started welling up during that last sentence.)

The funeral was essentially a standard Catholic Mass, but with the priest testifying about Ma Audrey instead of the usual sermon, and a Wikipedia-esque eulogy read by my older cousin. I admittedly haven’t been to many funerals, but it felt a bit…impersonal. Almost cursory.

The Church

I’m going to go off on a slight tangent here. The funeral was the first time I stepped foot in my old church since Christmas 2008, almost 12 years ago. It was slightly smaller than I remember. Some things had changed; some things had stayed the same.

The PA speakers were the same set that I remember, but the mezzanine where the “Music Ministry” were usually stationed had been extended. No longer did they have an overhead projector; they now had a projector overhead.

The Stations of the Cross portraits detailing the Passion of Jesus were still in the same place. The Seven Sacraments were depicted high on the church walls behind the altar. My eyes traced the path form Jesus’ fingers turning into wheat stalks and then rejoining his body as my mind wandered away from the Bible readings much as it had done in my youth.

It was interesting that being in this building did not evoke any nostalgia. For people who only know me since I became a heathen, that might make sense, but I was actually very involved in the church; I was a reader and a singer in the aforementioned Music Ministry. My departure from the church actually had nothing to do with unbelief; that only came years later.

The Death                                  

Ma Audrey had suffered from cancer. She had been diagnosed with bowel/rectal cancer years ago, but then eventually went into remission. She was later diagnosed with lymphoma as well.

My mother called my uncle, Ma Audrey’s son, on the day of her passing to give her condolences.  According to him, Ma Audrey looked and seemed fine, but she requested to go to the hospice.  He said she refused to continue to take her medication and that she had told him she wanted to die.

When I first heard this, I was glad. I was glad she died on her own terms. It felt like a boss move, like in S02E12 of Grace and Frankie. “Good for Audrey,” I’d said. My younger cousin, who was with her when she died, explained to me after the funeral that it had been more a case that she was tired of suffering and tired of having to rely on others just to live. Being given better context on the circumstances of her decision made it more heart breaking, but no less dignified.

She passed with her remaining child and youngest granddaughter by her side.

Suspension of Disbelief

After the gospel reading, the priest testified about how the church was Ma Audrey’s second home. She had been a part of the soup kitchen, and the Music Ministry at some point as well. She had been part of the committee that would volunteer to clean the church on Fridays for the weekend Masses. Even when she was unable to participate, she would still go to the church on Fridays for the company.

When my family would still attend church, we would offer Ma Audrey lifts. After we’d stopped going to church, we’d still see her making her way across the field on her way to Mass. Like when passing her stable door, we’d be sure to greet her, shouting and waving from our front porch. She was persistent in trying to get us to go back to church, even after my own (Anglican) grandmother had long given up.

Being away from church for so long, I no longer knew the hymns, nor the recitations or responses. From an outsider perspective, the ceremony seems very cult-y; people dressed in robes; mass recitations; ceremonial eating (even if you don’t consider the supposed transubstantiation, which is another story); and the additional pomp and circumstance of altar servicers carrying large candles and a wooded cross on a large stick.

I wasn’t sure whether or not to participate in the recitations. I decided not to, for the most part. Only at the end of the priest’s testimony where he blessed Ma Audrey (in spirit) and her casket, did I join in saying “Amen”.

But still – sitting, standing, kneeling in that church – the jaded, cynical atheist in me was at the forefront at the beginning of the procession, internally scoffing at the same rituals in which I once partook.

But during the priest’s testimony, I thought less of the church and more of what the church meant to Ma Audrey; I felt I should reserve my cynicism out of respect for her, not the church.

During one of the hymns, I decided to interpret the lyrics to be about her instead of God.

But you are always close to me Following all my ways May I be always close to you Following all your ways, Lord

Strange thing to do for someone who doesn’t believe in an afterlife, huh? The thing is, I know one of the purposes of religion is consolation. So no, when it comes down to it, I don’t believe Ma Audrey – or anyone – is up there or out there, but sometimes it’s nice to think that she is.

There was a moment, whilst the priest was blessing the casket, that I actually wished God existed – not the god of the Bible, but a god worthy of Audrey and her worship.

The Dénoument

After the funeral, my brother and I went over to speak to our cousins. It was here my younger cousin explained to me the afore-mentioned circumstances around her grandmother’s decision to die. This conversation only took a couple of minutes until it was interrupted by a flash of lightning then, a few seconds later, a mighty crack of thunder.

We all parted ways and, almost as soon as my brother and I got into his car, so began the hardest hail storm any one of us could remember. Almost like a fanfare from God Himself, if you believe in such things.