#stop bringing your religious trauma into the conversation

[somemo-kid]

Why is the Noa/Mae ship bothering people?

"He's an ape and she's a human." - Okay, and? Are real apes and humans going at it?

"It's weird." - Again, no REAL animal or human is involved. Also this is tumblr. If you have been here long enough or a while, I know you have seen weirder.

"It's clogging up the kotpota tag." - It's actually not. Even if it is you can literally scroll and ignore. You don't have to engage with it. Also there is this wonderful thing called blocking tags.

You are the problem. You are clogging up the tags with your constant judgment, purity culture rhetoric and Anti bullshit. Ignore it. It's that easy.

And go fuck yourselves.

[toournextadventure]

our little secret iii

Summary: All four of you lost the bet, and now it's time to pay up. Thankfully, Maxine and Bobby-Lynn know just how to make sure Lorraine has to pay up too.

Word Count: 8.9k Warnings: swearing, smut 18+, religious talk (typical of southern states), religious trauma, period-typical homophobia Pairing: Lorraine Day x Fem!Reader (Masterlist)

“This ain’t sittin’ right with me,” you whispered to Beau as you tried, once again, to get comfortable in the back of RJ’s van.

Despite your best attempts, you, Beau, and Huck were currently sitting with Lorraine’s crew on the way to a location. It had been agreed by everyone - except you, obviously - that you had all lost the bet, so you should all have to own up. Although you still found it profoundly unfair that Lorraine somehow got out unscathed from the entire thing that she had agreed to.

And now you were stuck in the back of a hot, sweaty van with a bunch of hot, sweaty people that were one camera away from having relations for pay.

“We all lost, we all pay up,” Beau whispered back even as he smiled at Maxine. You rolled your eyes; he was such a suck up.

“Lorraine ain’t gotta pay up,” you grumbled, but settled back in your spot anyway.

Admittedly, you were being rather rude. You had barely said hello to any of them, and you hadn’t talked to them since the trip had started. It wasn’t their fault though, it was entirely on you. You just… didn’t know what to say to them. This wasn’t your world, and it was completely overwhelming. You didn’t care what any of them did for a living, but you hadn’t expected to be a part of it.

And if Jackson didn’t quit staring at you, you were going to lose your mind.

“You look awful familiar,” Jackson said with the slightest tilt of his head. He never stopped rubbing Bobby-Lynn’s thighs.

“Ever been a few hours south of Houston?” You asked, shifting in your spot to bring your knees up to your chest.

“Don’t believe I have,” he said with a shrug.

“Must just be a resemblance, then,” you answered.

“Leave her be,” Bobby-Lynn said as she playfully smacked Jackson’s chest. “Can’t you see you’re making her uncomfortable?”

“Do we make you uncomfortable, sweetheart?” Jackson asked.

Oh. Oh, yeah, that was very uncomfortable.

“You were in ‘Nam, right?” Beau asked, thankfully pulling the attention away from you. You supposed he was good for something.

“Yes sir,” Jackson said with a smile, pulling his dog tags out from under his shirt. “Two tours.”

“North or South?” Beau continued. Okay, maybe you didn’t want to hear so much about this anymore.

“South.”

“Y/N’s brother was in South Vietnam,” Huck chimed in. “Maybe that’s where you recognise her.”

Oh, you wanted them both to shut up. You wanted them both to hush right that instant. You looked up and instantly met Lorraine’s eyes from across the van. She was still sitting beside RJ, going over the script and whatever else she usually did. But there was the smallest tug at the corner of her mouth when she looked at you.

I hate you, you mouthed, to which her smile grew before she went back to the script.

“What’s your brother’s name, sweetheart?” Jackson asked, pulling you back into the conversation that you desperately wished would end.

Although you liked the adorable little frown Lorraine sent Jackson’s way at the use of the little nickname. Maybe you were okay with talking with Jackson. If it could get Lorraine’s feathers ruffled, then it was worth it. It was about time the tables were turned.

“Roy,” you said. “Roy Y/L/N.”

“No shit,” Jackson said. “I served with that son of a bitch.”

“Seriously?” You pulled your knees up to your chest and leaned forward. “Which tour?”

“My first,” he said with a smile.

You smiled back. “So you knew him before he…” your voice trailed off into nothing as your eyes slowly lowered to the floor of the van and your smile fell.

Before he went crazy. But you couldn’t say that out loud, could you? Your daddy had done his best to make sure you all knew not to mention Roy’s “affliction.” A test from God, he had called it. He used it as nothing more than a piss poor excuse to remind everyone that that’s what happens when you fall from faith. What would he say about you?

You just kept your mouth shut and rested your chin on your knees.

“He caught the combat trauma,” Huck said in a far softer tone than Beau ever could have managed.

“Now that’s a shame,” Jackson said with a shake of his head.

“Heard it happens more than you think,” Maxine called out from the front seat. It was probably the first thing you had heard from her since… Well, it was the first thing you had heard. “They all come home different.”

Oh, you weren’t so sure you liked this.

“You can’t come back different,” Bobby-Lynn said with a humourless chuckle. “Besides, it ain’t even real, is it?”

“They said it is,” Maxine continued, finally turning around to face everyone. “Put it in their little book last year, called it PTSD or somethin’ like that.”

You didn’t like this topic at all. The hair on the back of your neck stood up and your grip around your knees tightened. They didn’t get to talk about this like it was nothing of impact to you. Hadn’t they just heard Huck say Roy had this… this combat trauma? And they were going to act like nothing was wrong?

Everyone around you continued to talk about this new PTSD thing that was starting to make its rounds. It felt like someone was watching you. Without lifting your head, you looked up and were instantly met with Lorraine staring at you with that look that she had never grown out of. A look that she gave you every time you would be forced to talk about Beau as if he were the love of your life. A look of pity. 

And you hated pity.

“Hey,” Jackson said, a little softer than everyone else’s ongoing conversation. He nudged your foot with his to get you to look over. “If you want me to talk to him, man to man, just let me know.”

His smile was more genuine than you had seen from a stranger in a long time. But there was no comfort in it because his offer was empty. You had no doubt he was being genuine, but how were you going to invite him over and have him talk to Roy without Daddy figuring out? The times were changing, but Jackson was a… certain type of man that you knew Daddy would never happily allow in his home. You and Roy were already scourges upon his land - though he still didn’t know your secret - so how could you possibly invite Jackson over with a clear conscience?

“Thank you,” you said instead, your smile far more convincing than your own thoughts.

The rest of the trip was, by all accounts, uneventful. That blasphemous talk of trauma and war had changed when Lorraine decided it was time to talk about the script. And even as she and RJ went over everything with their stars, and you were faced with the reality that you were truly, painfully alone, you still felt some sort of peace.

You would almost go so far as to say you felt comfortable.

Until you got to the shooting location.

“Are you serious?” You whisper-yelled at Lorraine when you both got out of the van. “You should have told me.”

“Would you have come?” She shot back, quickly shooting a fake smile to Beau and Huck when they passed. “Besides, we’re usin’ the building beside it.”

“You’re full of shit,” you mumbled as you looked up at the steeple of the small chapel.

By all accounts, it was a splendid little church. With a single steeple at the front of the roof and an elevated cross in the back, it almost reminded you of the one at home. Double doors that doubtlessly opened into a small worship room that held eight pews at most before ascending into the podium. A setup not unlike your own church back home, except this one didn’t house the guilt you couldn’t shed.

Beside the church was the parsonage, looking just as you knew them to look. Small, a little run down, painted a white that felt forced upon the environment. The paint was chipped and the window shutters were slightly askew, but it seemed to fit the rather bleak landscape behind it. Not ugly, but not exactly pretty either.

“Whatcha think?” Wayne asked. You jumped, but quickly regained composure. “Ain’t she pretty?”

“It looks cozy,” you said with a shrug. “You’re filmin’ in the parsonage, right? Not the church?”

Wayne laughed. A big hearty laugh that reminded you of all the sweet older men out at the rodeos. The ones that told you you were being ridiculous, but they were going to do their best not to openly tell you. It was a joyous laugh that was both humiliating and comforting simultaneously.

“I nearly forgot Church Mouse said you were a preacher,” he said once his laughter had subsided enough for him to talk.

“Church Mouse?” You asked.

“We’re usin’ the parsonage,” he continued, practically ignoring your question. “We’re not intendin’ to disrespect you.”

He clapped you on the shoulder and cocked his hip. You could see why Lorraine liked him. Overconfident, cocky as hell, but his smile always seemed genuine. Somehow, some way, he had seemed to be in a good mood the entire trip and even now. Optimism at its finest. You wished you could match it.

“Although I do have a favour to ask you,” Wayne said, his voice carrying a lilt that had your stomach churning.

“Yes?” You asked even though you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know.

“Think you can pray over this little set of ours?” He asked. “Help us break this bad streak we got goin’ on?”

“Oh,” you said with a huff, followed by a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I can do that then.”

Wayne smiled with his teeth and tipped his hat. “Thank ya kindly.”

You kept your eyes trained on the doors of the chapel while Wayne walked away, presumably to help set up whatever it was he was needing to set up. You could pray over the set. It was a little blasphemous to use prayer for something so… risque, but you weren’t a prude. After all, Daddy had always said everyone could use a little prayer.

The handle on the door was a beautiful polished silver; spare no expense for a house of God, of course. Hypocrites, the lot of them. But it was nice to open the doors without even the slightest resistance. Nothing was more terrifying than a run down church with creaky doors. It was like walking into a horror movie.

Your boots echoed off the empty wooden walls of the chapel as you walked down the center aisle, taking in everything about the building. It was a rather beautiful church, you wouldn’t try to deny it. A single, small stained glass window hung above the podium. It would cast a beautiful coloured light where the preacher would be standing on Sunday mornings.

There were three steps up to the podium before you stood behind the lectern and looked out onto the ghostly congregation. Not a single soul was inside the building, but from your spot above the room, you could feel the eyes on you. Momma, Roy, Jimmy. Granma and Granpa were in the back, followed by friends, family, everyone in the congregation that knew you excruciatingly well.

Then there was Daddy, sitting in the aisle of the front pew, watching you with that judgmental look. The one that he gave when he was condemning someone to hell for their sins. And he was looking at you, like he could see through your physical form, all the way to the filthy soul you hid underneath it all.

“You can’t wash away sin,” Daddy said.

You couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t-”

“-There you are.”

The entire congregation disappeared as soon as you saw Lorraine standing in the doorway. Light from the setting sun illuminated her outline, almost a perfect copy of the angel painted above the doorway. And she was. She was an angel, one that you would worship even as you were cast into the pits of hell.

“Thought we lost you,” Lorraine said as she walked down the aisle with far more confidence than she had at home.

Your breath caught in your throat when she finally stepped out of the light in a startling white dress. It looked far too close to a wedding dress. It didn’t make sense, but you couldn’t quit staring. She looked so beautiful. Her smile was illuminating; it left your palms sweaty and your chest hurt-

-you gasped and pulled your hand away from the wooden lectern. The smallest splinter was stuck in your right index finger. It was easy enough to pull out, leaving behind a scarlet drop of blood that grew until dripping down your finger.

“Are you alright?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but when you looked back up Lorraine was in normal clothes. The very same ones she had worn on the trip over. The one she had never changed out of. Right. Maybe you really were crazy.

“I’m fine,” you said with a simple nod. “Just-” you sighed “-doin’ what Wayne asked.”

“Didn’t think he was a praying man,” she said with a frown. “Want some company?”

“Yeah,” you said with a soft smile. “Yeah, I do.”

As you walked down to the bottom of the three steps to meet Lorraine, the blood from your finger smeared across the finely polished wood. You left a stain on that church, same as your own. A stain that, as your Daddy constantly preached, you could never wash away.

—---

“You’re lookin’ a little green, sweetheart,” Huck whispered as he walked up to where you were standing in the back of the room.

“I’m not green,” you whispered back even as you continued to watch the scene unfold before you. “I just- I didn’t know the body could do that.”

“You’re such a preacher’s kid,” he said with a teasing lilt. Thankfully that was all he said before he crossed his arms over his chest and looked forward.

It wasn’t your first time seeing people having sex. You weren’t a complete fool, you had seen it before. Kind of. Okay, maybe it was the most tame sex in the world, but you had seen it! And you weren’t some sort of virgin either, so you weren’t totally in the dark. But you certainly hadn’t seen this before and it was… fascinating.

And a little concerning. Your head tilted. How did it even fit? Did Bobby-Lynn even genuinely find it enjoyable? Well, okay, after that noise you could believe that maybe she did. But all that other stuff, there was no way. No way at all- wait, that actually looked interesting. You wondered if Lorraine would like that.

"You're starin'," Huck whispered.

"I can't help it," you shot back. "It's like when you pass a car wreck. You can't look away."

"I think they would die if they heard you compare watchin' smut to a car wreck," he laughed. It was a little loud, you hoped the boom mic wouldn't pick it up.

"Where's your little boy toy?" You asked, hoping to take the awkward attention away from yourself. Even though you still couldn't look away from the scene. God, you hoped it was over soon.

"Your boyfriend," he said pointedly, "is downstairs talkin' with Maxine."

Oh Maxine. You had only known her for a few days, but you were starting to think she enjoyed stirring up trouble. Within moments of getting set up in the parsonage, she had made friendly with Huck and Beau. A little too friendly. You would have laughed about the whole situation if you hadn’t been attempting to act jealous to keep up the facade.

“Reckon I should go act the part of the jealous girlfriend, huh?” You asked.

“Yeah you should,” he whispered. “Though I doubt anyone will believe it with the way you’re watching your dear Rainey over there.”

You hated him for even bringing it up. So what if you had stopped watching Bobby-Lynn and instead watched Lorraine? The way she gently blew a few strands of hair out of her face while she held the boom mic as steady as you had ever seen. She wasn’t muscular by any means, but you could still see the tone in her shoulders. Or the… the little crinkle between her brows when she focused…

Okay, Huck was right, you needed to leave.

“Told you,” he said as you backed out of the room with a hellish heat in your cheeks.

As soon as the door closed behind you and the pornographic sounds muted, you could finally breathe again. Your mind was clear and you could walk down the stairs without a thought in your head. Well… maybe you had one or two thoughts, but it was okay. You could repent later at the chapel.

Maxine’s laughter was… almost adorable, if she wasn’t trying so hard to seduce Beau. Her nails lazily scratched up and down his bicep, and her face was embarrassingly close to his ear. If you had loved him the way you were supposed to, you would’ve been furious. Should have been furious.

You pictured Lorraine in Beau’s position. Sitting there with Maxine all over her, laughing at the unfunny jokes, leaning a little too close. It made your stomach turn. Your skin was hot and clammy and something pounded inside your head, screaming to be let out. There would have been no shame in your body for grabbing her and dragging her away.

Okay, there you go. Now you had the right feelings.

Your mind had already forgotten Lorraine wasn’t there when you sat in Beau’s lap. Like a good girlfriend should do, you wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close, inhaling his scent. Sawdust. Something you supposed other women liked, which made him a downright tease.

“How’s your first smut viewin’ goin’?” Maxine asked, which instinctively had your nose scrunch before you regained composure. “That good, huh?”

“It ain’t bad,” you said. “Don’t think I really understand the appeal, though.”

“What part is… unappealing to you?” She asked, her voice far softer than necessary. 

The way she leaned in closer, trailing her eyes over every inch of you… and maybe you could see the appeal. It was something about her hand that had moved from Beau’s arm to yours. Soft. Almost too soft, but you didn’t want it to stop. And she held eye contact like it was an art-

-oh, Maxine was dangerous.

“Oh,” Maxine said with a small smile, “so that’s what it is.”

What was that supposed to mean? You opened your mouth to ask, but the stairs started creaking from the heavy footsteps. The skin underneath Maxine’s fingers felt terribly cold when she pulled back. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t pull back before Lorraine appeared, her brows furrowed and eyes glued to her coworker.

Maxine just smiled.

“Am I interrupting somethin’?” Lorraine asked. Anyone that didn’t know her well would have missed the slight elevation in her tone. A dangerous tone.

“Just learnin’ a bit about each other,” Maxine said. Her hand rested on your arm again and you felt a heat in your cheeks. “Since we’re stuck here together and all.”

Like the dutiful girlfriend, you hid your head in Beau’s neck and tried to ignore his slight shake of silent laughter.

That tension didn’t end even as the sun set and stars came out to play. Everyone relaxed and had their fun and it reminded you of nights with just the four of you. Laughing, teasing, seeing Huck and Beau get closer than when they were at your house. Not too close, but it was still enough. Hell, it was almost enough to ease the usual anger from Lorraine being with R.J.

Until a few days later when it was time for everyone to start paying up on their lost bets.

The days had already started off miserably. Since you were “officially” Beau’s girlfriend, you were set to share a bed with him. But when Huck snuck in and you all tried to fit three people on a twin size mattress? Well, that was just borderline impossible. Clearly it wasn’t fully impossible, seeing as how you all made it work, but that didn’t mean you actually slept at all through the night.

Tack onto that Lorraine and R.J. coming down at the same time each morning, and you realised that you were horribly, terribly alone? You would have killed someone to get even just a single blanket and a big empty spot on the floor. Let you lie like a dog while everyone else became stars.

The first to suffer was, of course, you. Now, you would admit, you had offered to pay up first. In your convoluted train of thought, the sooner you watched Lorraine’s scene, the sooner you could forget it. At least that was what you believed would happen. You hoped that’s what would happen.

But in the moment, as you watched Lorraine getting ready, you knew it wouldn’t be quite that simple. You had to watch her move, see the look on her face, listen to her moans. She certainly never sounded like that when you were with her. Was this something that she genuinely enjoyed? Were you nothing more than a pleasant distraction when she was practically forced to go back home?

“I can’t do this,” you whispered to yourself. 

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as everyone watched you back out of the room, practically tripping over your own feet in your haste. Each step felt like the ground was rushing up to meet you, even as you stayed perfectly upright. You wished you would just trip down the stairs, maybe then it would ease the spiraling of your thoughts.

Downstairs wasn’t much better when you were still aware of exactly what was going on upstairs. Did you mean anything to her? Really, truly? Surely you did, Lorraine was hardheaded, she wouldn’t entertain your presence if she didn’t want you there. On the other hand, she kept RJ around for nothing, so maybe you were on the same level.

You picked up one of the books you had found the other day; some book called The Dead Sea Scriptures. It wasn’t all that fantastic, your daddy actually had a copy in his office at the church. But at least it was a distraction. Just like you. Okay, that certainly wasn’t helpful. Maybe you needed a stiff drink too.

The Hollywood grade acting you did was enough to convince everyone you were just peachy. No one batted an eye when RJ, Wayne, and Jackson left the parsonage after finishing Lorraine’s scene. To get some more groceries, they had said. You didn’t care, it really didn’t matter one way or another where they went.

“So,” Maxine said as she sat down beside you on the couch. Well, she practically sat on you. “You’ve got some explainin’ to do.”

“I’m not explainin’ the book of Job,” you said without looking up from your book. “Jackson already believes there’s a dragon in it and I can’t have that argument again.”

“Not about that, silly,” she said; her hand was hot on your knee. “About you bein’ a third wheel.”

Oh you were not getting into that kind of conversation with Maxine. The past few days had been wonderful, and truthfully you had enjoyed it. They were all a bit… extravagant, but they were kind. As odd as it sounded to you, they felt more like family than most of your own family. You could see why Lorraine spent so much time with them even when she didn’t have to.

But you enjoying their company did not mean you wanted to get into the whole relationship conversation with Maxine.

“Your boys are some of those queers, huh?” She asked. “That’s why they’re up there filmin’ some fake scene while you’re down here.” Her hand squeezed right above your knee. “Readin’ some nerdy little book.”

“It was a bet,” you said. “We’ve always paid up, ever since we were little.” She smirked. “And my book ain’t nerdy.”

“It bother you that you gotta share your man?” She asked, as if you hadn’t even said anything in the first place.

“I-”

“-did you really start without me?” Bobby-Lynn asked when she appeared in the downstairs living room.

You did your best to conceal your displeasure when Bobby-Lynn practically ran over to sit on the other side of you. Her legs were bare, her denim shorts barely covering any part of her. She swung them over your own legs quickly, leaving you officially trapped underneath the both of them. You would’ve been lying if you said it didn’t make your stomach flip.

“How far did ya get?” Bobby-Lynn asked. She was practically bouncing in excitement.

“We just started,” Maxine answered with a smile that would have made you squirm if you weren’t so focused on trying to figure out what was going on.

“Don’t y’all have scenes to shoot?” You asked in a desperate attempt to get them to leave you alone before they really got started.

“Don’t you have someone you should be thinkin’ about?” Maxine asked.

You opened your mouth instinctively, ready to argue, especially when Bobby-Lynn continued to lean closer. They both had some nerve to believe they could catch you off guard with their interrogation that was only just beginning. They had known you for, what, all of a few days? And still they thought they could get something like this out of you? They were pornstars, not detectives.

“Of course I’m thinkin’ about her-”

-maybe they were detectives.

You threw your head back against the couch, a groan leaving your lips. On either side of you, both women practically cheered, giving each other a high-five. It was disgusting, were you nothing more than a pawn in whatever game they were playing? Your daddy was right; couldn’t trust sinners.

You actively ignored the fact that you were one of them.

“Why the long face, sweetheart?” Bobby-Lynn asked.

“It’s not like we couldn’t tell,” Maxine said.

What was that supposed to mean? How did they even notice? As far as you could remember, you hadn’t even spent hardly any time in the same room as Lorraine. How could they get some sort of scandal out of that? Let alone the fact you thought you had said maybe three words to her after she had helped you pray over set on that first day. No, none of that made sense.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” you said as you finally pulled yourself back upright, ignoring that Maxine’s and Bobby-Lynn’s faces were so close to yours they could kiss your cheeks if they wanted.

“You think every girl is fine with their boyfriend hookin’ up with another guy?” Bobby-Lynn asked.

You knew that would be the issue. You knew it, and you had told all three of them that it was shady at best. There was no logical reason for it, even if it was from some stupid bet. It may have been the 80s, but not everyone was as easy going as the four of you were. Not everyone was as understanding, and though that wasn’t the current issue, it still played its part.

“Not to mention all the lookin’ you’ve been doin’,” Bobby-Lynn chimed in. “You certainly ain’t lookin’ at Beau that way.”

“I-” you closed your mouth just as quickly as you had opened it. What were you going to say to argue? What could you say?

“Honey, we ain’t judgin’,” Maxine said. Her hand felt warm on your neck. She was far too close for comfort. “But this whole thing is pretty sad.”

“It ain’t that sad,” you pitifully attempted to argue.

“Darlin’, it’s downright painful,” Bobby-Lynn said. Her going back and forth with Maxine was giving you whiplash. “Ain’t never seen anyone pine like that.”

“It’s a bit pathetic,” Maxine said.

“Hey,” you said, your eyebrows instantly furrowing. “Hold your horses, that’s unnecessary.”

“Don’t be gettin’ so defensive,” Bobby-Lynn said with a smile that was to die for. “We’re here to help.”

“By throwin’ my self-esteem out the window?” You asked.

“Oh no,” Maxine said with a slowly growing smile, “it’s much better than that.”

This time, when your stomach twisted into knots again, you didn’t feel quite so dreadful about the upcoming plans.

—---

After Bobby-Lynn and Maxine had told you about their sneaky little plan, the parsonage had felt a little less like a prison. When all the guys got back and everyone finished upstairs, you almost felt at peace. There was still the lingering tension when both Lorraine and RJ were in the room, but you could work with it. And for once, you didn’t feel quite so bad when you met Lorraine’s eyes.

“How many scenes we got left?” Wayne asked when everyone settled downstairs for supper.

In a very selfless move, you had offered to cook. It certainly wasn’t because you didn’t want to have to look at anyone while Bobby-Lynn and Maxine got to work on their plan. That would have been selfish, and you were nothing if not a good, selfless, Christian girl.

“Only two or three, we can finish them tomorrow,” RJ said from his spot beside Lorraine on the couch.

“Me and Maxine have an addition to make,” Bobby-Lynn said.

“An addition?” Wayne asked. “What kind?”

“Well,” Maxine said, drawing out the word for longer than necessary, “we were thinkin’ our little Preacher would look awful pretty on her knees.”

“Excuse me?” Lorraine asked.

Suddenly, the food you were cooking required the utmost attention. It would be quite the shame if you burned something. After all, everyone back there was working rather hard on their scenes, they deserved a good meal, didn’t they? And if it gave you an excuse to not see the look on Lorraine’s face then, well, that’s just an added bonus.

“Fitting, ain’t it?” Bobby-Lynn asked.

“And we’d take good care of her,” Maxine drawled. Oh, they were really testing the waters.

It seemed to be working.

“She’s not part of this,” Lorraine said.

“Wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” RJ said. “Might draw more attention to the film.”

“It’s smut, RJ,” she continued, “it draws enough attention on its own.”

“Well hold on now, let’s talk this out,” Wayne said.

Everyone started talking - except, you noticed, for Maxine - and you almost wanted to laugh. If you had known this was all it would take to get Lorraine on edge, you would’ve said something like this ages ago. It sounded like she didn’t even care that RJ was in the room. It was… a nice feeling.

“Did you plan this?” Beau asked, suddenly appearing beside you.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” you said softly with a shrug. “Everyone here has a mind of their own.”

“Well keep it up,” he said as he rested his hand on the small of your back, “because I think it’s workin’.”

“The answer’s no,” Lorraine said.

“Well why don’t we ask her?” Bobby-Lynn said.

Silence fell over the room quickly; it was suffocating. If you could have, you would have slunk away to the room you shared with the boys. Even before turning around you could feel everyone’s eyes on you. Maybe, if you were really lucky, you could get away without actually answering the question.

That possibility was struck down the moment you turned your head to look out into the room.

Lorraine was looking at you expectantly, most likely believing she knew what you were going to say. In any other situation, she would have been right. You wanted no one but her, and everyone was more than aware of it. Well, everyone but Wayne, RJ, and potentially Jackson. Though judging by the way Jackson was looking at you, he knew too.

“Might be fun,” you said with a shrug and turned back around. “I can always repent next door.”

“Are you serious?” Lorraine asked.

At that you turned back around and leaned your hip against the counter. Was she really going to question you? After what she did for a living? Not once had you ever judged her for it, you had even helped her make light of it when she felt guilt creeping in. She had the nerve to question you?

“Like a heart attack, honey,” you said with far more confidence than you felt.

The look Lorraine gave you was deadly.

“Seems we got our answer,” Maxine said.

Lorraine missed the look she gave Bobby-Lynn.

—---

You hadn’t been asleep for long when the door of your room creaked open. Part of you wished it would have stayed closed; it was the first night you weren’t sleeping on the floor while Huck and Beau took the bed. Maxine was becoming a godsend; she’s the one who had convinced the boys to sleep in the van outside.

“Are you asleep?” Lorraine asked quietly after the door had clicked shut.

“Yes,” you said even as you sat up and looked at her.

She was in the nightgown you remembered getting her for her birthday. Her other one had been so old, there was no way it had even been comfy anymore. Not to mention she had made sure to let you know at every opportunity how badly she needed a new one. Clearly RJ hadn’t listened, so you had gotten it yourself. It was mighty cute, if you did say so yourself.

Lorraine tip-toed her way to the bed, whispering a quick “scoot over” before crawling underneath the covers with you. Even though the temperature outside was mild, her feet were freezing. Which she made sure to make you aware of when she stuck them against your legs, her smile taking over when you yelped and shivered.

“Were you serious about doin’ a scene with Bobby-Lynn and Max?” She asked as she reached out to force her folded hands between yours. She was freezing all over.

“Depends,” you said even as you started trying to warm up her hands. “Were you bein’ serious about tellin’ me no?”

“Of course I was,” she said indignantly.

“Then so was I,” you said.

Lorraine groaned. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack,” you said just as quickly.

Even though you weren’t serious at all. That was never the actual plan. The plan was simply to get Lorraine jealous enough to come into the room and, what would you know, that’s exactly what she had done. Even if absolutely nothing else happened, you would be happy. At least you got to spend a night with her without having to keep it a total secret.

“Why would you want to do this?” She asked. “It’s not like you don’t know how it works.”

“Maybe I want to learn a few things,” you said with as much of a shrug as you could do lying on your side.

“What could you possibly learn from smut?” Lorraine asked. “It’s all fake.”

“Were all those noises you made fake?” You asked. “Cause you never do that with me.”

The look on her face was almost offensive. Her eyes lit up like she was in on some little secret. Was she really going to laugh at you? She never laughed at you, not even when she rightfully should. Her hand now cupping your jaw was not enough to distract from the fact she was laughing.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” She asked. “You think I don’t like havin’ sex with you?”

“Not that you don’t like it,” you said quickly. “Just that,” you sighed, “you don’t like it as much.”

Her thumb brushed against your bottom lip. “You make me feel things none of those guys could even dream of.”

“Well you have to say that now,” you said as you leaned further into her hand. “Otherwise I wouldn’t let you put your cold feet on me.”

Her smile slipped to something a little different, a bit more seductive. You didn’t put up any resistance as she used her elbow to push your shoulder until you were laying on the bed. With the same ease as you had seen numerous times, she followed, her legs on either side of you and her weight resting comfortable on top of you. A position you very much loved, even without the arousal that came with it.

“Is there any way I can convince you not to film tomorrow?” Lorraine asked, lowering her tone in such a way that had you squirming underneath her. “What can I do?”

God you were pathetic, she hadn’t even touched you yet.

It was supposed to be a simple question, but you took it to heart. Of course she could convince you, you weren’t planning on filming anyway, but what could you get out of this arrangement? There had to be something you truly wanted, especially now that you had some sort of leverage.

Ah. That was it.

“Somethin’ we haven’t done before,” you said. “Somethin’ you like.”

Her smile slowly grew as she thought of what she wanted. The weight on top of you shifted until her hands pressed your shoulders further into the mattress. You felt her breath on your lips before you felt her kiss, quick and soft and eager. It was enough to get your heart racing even when she pulled away. She was off you in a moment, practically running out of the room.

You sat up on your elbows and watched the open door. What was she doing? Surely she wasn’t going to just leave, right? No, she wouldn’t do that. Right? That had been one of her more mischievous smiles, and she was absolutely one for payback. But you also knew Lorraine was nothing if not eternally aroused, so surely she wouldn’t just leave.

At least she better not, because if she teased you like that only to go and get back in bed with RJ, you were going to lose your mind. You weren’t usually one to make a scene, but you could always make an exception. The wrath of God, and all that good preacher nonsense.

You’re in a house of sin.

Yes you were, and you were going to partake in it for the night. Repentance was only 50 feet and a few hours away. If Lorraine could remove her cross necklace during scenes, surely you could remove the guilt from your chest for a few hours. God may have been in the walls, watching your every move, but He could look away for the time. You were far past the point of caring.

By the time Lorraine came back into the room, you were already jittery. Her hands were behind her back as she closed the door quietly, the click almost inaudible. that mischievous smile was back, but you noticed the way she tapped her foot against the floor, still in the same spot.

“You promise you wanna try somethin’ new?” She asked, her voice uncertain, carrying over the thick air.

“I’m sure,” you said, “just get over here.”

Her steps were slow, methodical on the straight path to the bed. The whole way her hands stayed behind her back. You wondered what she had, but you couldn’t think too hard. Hell, the sway of her hips could have made you forget your own name.

That familiar weight settled on you again as Lorraine straddled you, placing whatever was in her hands off to the side, just out of your sight. When  you tried to twist and look at it, she pressed down against your shoulders again, her lips instantly finding yours.

Her nightgown rested high on her thighs, and you were never one to keep your hands to yourself. She sighed when you slid your hands under her nightgown, resting on her hips. Her breath tickled on your cheek. You couldn’t hold back your quiet chuckle, which Lorraine returned, smiling into the kiss.

“Don’t tickle,” she mumbled against your lips.

“What,” you said just as softly, “that ain't romantic?”

She laughed again, eliciting the same sound out of you as your hands continued up. Your knuckles brushed against the underside of her breasts, transforming her laugh into something a little more breathy but no less joyful. A sound that, you decided, was much better than anything you had heard during her scene.

“Take it off, Raine,” you said.

“What's the magic word?” She said before sitting up straight.

“Please,” you said breathlessly.

She barely waited for the word to leave your mouth before she pulled the nightgown over her head. Every time you saw her undress was like the first time. Your heart raced as she uncovered every inch of skin, from her thighs to her hips to her breasts. Not a single space had been neglected by you in your times together, and you weren't going to start that night.

You sat up, keeping a hand on Lorraine's back to keep her in your lap. She didn't hesitate to grab your face and pull you into a kiss. It immediately shot a wave of arousal down your spine, pooling in your lower abdomen. And for once, that usual spark of guilt was absent.

“Yours too,” she barely managed to say between kisses.

You couldn't speak, simply nodded as you fumbled around like a teenager. Or course the hem of your shirt would hide from you on the one night you not only had Lorraine, but a bed. She laughed again and pulled away. You tried to chase her - you would always try to chase her - but she pulled back again and placed a finger to your lips.

“Let me help,” she said.

Her fingers were so light against your skin that it tickled. She found the hem of your shirt quickly but took her sweet time pulling it up. Those delectable nails of hers scratched against your skin the entire time. Over your sides, the sides of your breasts, the underside of your arms as you held them up for her to finish pulling the shirt off.

“Is this Beau’s?” She asked.

“It’s comfy,” you said meekly.

She tossed the shirt to the side. “You should wear one of mine sometime.”

“I thought you liked me better shirtless,” you teased.

“Maxine has a word for people like you,” Lorraine said when she pulled you back in for a kiss. “She'd call you a minx.”

“I like it,” you said, kissing her back and running your knuckles over her nipples. Her shiver was delightful. “Sounds downright sinful.”

“Stop talking,” she said.

And oh god you did. How could you even consider doing anything else when you were enveloped by her? Her scent, her taste, the feel of her skin, warm against yours. If kissing her was the final nail in your coffin, you would accept death gracefully and with no regrets.

She nipped your lip when you lightly pinched her nipples. Never hard enough to hurt, no, but just enough to draw the most perfect little yelp from her lips. In return, her hands fell to your ribs, pushing against you until you were laying on the bed again.

You shifted, pulling your knee up until you pressed against her. She let out a breathy sigh, but otherwise kept kissing you. There was just something mesmerizing about the way she tasted. An ambrosia not for the gods, but for you alone. A sustenance for your very mind, body, and soul.

“Take these off,” Lorraine said, pulling lightly against the pants that you had also stolen from Beau.

In your defense, he was your fake boyfriend.

“Will you take yours off?” You asked even though you had already started trying to take your pants off.

She nodded hastily. “I want to feel you for a moment.”

You would've happily let her feel you for as long as she wished. All she had to do was give you the smile she was giving you in that moment. The one she had before the accident, the one she saved exclusively for the times she was alone with you. If she looked at you like that for the rest of eternity, you would be in heaven.

Her skin was hot against yours as she laid completely on top of you. On instinct, you wrapped your arms around her shoulders and back as she tucked her head into your neck. Her breath tickled your collar bone, but you couldn't have been happier.

How could such peace be a sin? Such pure love, something that would not only be applauded but praised if you had but been born a man? What difference could there truly be, aside from the shape of your body. The guilt sparked in your chest once again, but this time, you quickly stomped it out.

You would not be shamed for loving Lorraine. Not that night.

The position you were both in was comfortable and, quite frankly, innocent. But that didn't ease the inferno that was still raging inside you. If you had the ability to have Lorraine to yourself more than once in a blue moon, you would have been satisfied. But the “lust of the flesh,” as daddy called it, was as present and angry as always.

Thankfully, Lorraine seemed to feel the same when you felt her hips move and you felt her arousal on your thigh.

“Wanna try somethin’ new?” She asked, placing a seemingly innocuous kiss behind your ear.

“With you?” You asked. You placed your finger under her chin and lifted her face until you could see her eyes. “Always.”

She smiled and kissed you quickly before sitting up. You tried to sit up with her, but she used her bad hand to push you back down with ease. Not that it stopped you from trying to look around her to see the thing she had brought into the room. Her smile turned nervous, but no less excited as she finally turned back around.

“Is that-”

“-Maxine and Bobby-Lynn used one like it a few times,” Lorraine started to explain while she started pulling straps around your hips and thighs. “I asked ‘em to get me one not too long ago.”

“Jesus, Raine,” you said as she pulled the straps tighter.

“It works the same as-”

“-I can guess how it works,” you interrupted.

Her hands slowed to a stop as she finished securing the… phallic toy in place. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Lorraine,” you said as softly as you could, finally sitting up - as best you could without feeling too awkward - and placing your hand on the scarred side of her jaw. “I’m more than okay with it.” She leaned further into your hand. “If you asked me to wear only my boots and spurs, I would do it.”

“Oh yeah?” She asked, her teasing smile coming back in full force.

“Don’t push your luck, Day,” you said before leaning forward to kiss her again.

She moaned softly into the kiss. “If I did it right, you should feel it too,” she said as she lifted herself onto her knees, hovering over you. “So let me know.”

You nodded and pulled her into a kiss. As curious as you were to watch, you wanted to feel her lips against yours. You knew the moment she lowered herself onto the toy; her gasp was to die for. Shorty, breathy, almost inaudible if you hadn’t been kissing her already. The sound alone was enough to leave you soaking and needy.

But then you felt the toy press against you, and you knew you were a goner. Lorraine stayed still in your lap, catching her breath, and you would have been more than happy to keep her there. If she moved, you swore you would cum on the spot. It wasn’t a feeling that was so much better than everything else, but simply the knowledge that you were both feeling something together.

“I guess it works,” Lorraine teased even though she could barely keep herself in control.

“It does,” you said through clenched teeth as you tried to stay strong when she started moving again.

She didn’t have to move for long before you pulled her into a kiss, holding her tight against you. You did your best to move your hips with her. It was awkward and clumsy, and you both laughed a little when, more than once, you moved wrong and the toy slipped out. But you were okay with that, because it meant you got to hear her little gasp again.

As wrong as it felt, you had to picture Jackson to get a good rhythm going, or at least to get started. Specifically, you thought of the way his hips had moved with each thrust. You knew you got it right when Lorraine moaned, her head falling to your shoulder. If you hadn’t been so focused on not cumming or losing your rhythm, you would’ve moaned just the same.

“Baby,” she mumbled against your neck. Her nails dug into your shoulders; you would have to cover the marks up in the morning.

You knew what she wanted; she only ever truly called you “baby” when she was almost ready to cum. And you were more than happy to oblige. You kept one arm wrapped tight around her waist, holding her in place while your free hand slid down her stomach. Past the almost unnoticeable scatter of scars and through that small patch of hair.

Her hips jolted against your hand when you brushed against her clit. It was sloppy work; you would need to get used to the unusual angle later. But clearly it didn’t matter, because while her moans stayed quiet, they got higher in pitch until she bit down on your shoulder.

You used that as your sign to follow her, not even needing three more thrusts before you tipped over the edge along with her. You held her tight, hyper aware of every inch of her skin against yours. Of the slick sweat that coated both your bodies. Of the sting of her teeth and nails, but you would rather die than have her stop. Of your breaths intermingling between you until you were of one breath, one heartbeat, one soul.

Heaven existed, and it was right in that moment with Lorraine.

“You’re bleedin’,” she said softly. You didn’t have to look to know what she meant.

“It’s alright,” you said, pressing a light kiss to the side of her head. “You can nurse me back to health later.”

Lorraine giggled. A light sound that reminded you of when you were all kids and you would do anything to get that sound out of her. It was a reminder of simpler times, back when you were too young to understand that everyone believed what you felt for each other was wrong. A sin. Back when love was just that; love.

You let yourself fall back onto the bed, pulling Lorraine with you. She made a small noise when the toy moved inside her, but quickly settled back onto your chest. Her nails felt good scratching lightly against your skin, more comforting than ticklish. A nervous habit of hers.

“Did you learn all that from Jackson?” She asked.

“Don’t remind me,” you said; she chuckled. “I ain’t proud to say I had to picture him there for a minute.”

“Well, you gave him a run for his money,” she said.

“Think so?” You asked; you felt her nod against your chest. “Cause you still didn’t make the same noises.”

“Because these were real,” she said. Her voice grew quiet. “Everything with you is real.”

You wished she wouldn’t say things like that. That she could just let you both lie there, comfortable in the silence. Everyone was aware of the situation, but just once you wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening. That you actually did get to love her without feeling shame or guilt.

You just pulled her closer.

“I love you,” you said.

“I love you,” she repeated.

It wasn’t enough, but for the moment, you were going to pretend it was. For the moment, you could pretend this was your daily life. Being in the same bed as Lorraine, showing her just how much you loved her, how much she truly meant to you. Holding her tight until you were of the same body and spirit, because no matter what the world thought, you were.

It wasn’t enough. But it would do.

“Are you really goin’ to film a scene tomorrow?” Lorraine asked.

“Absolutely not,” you said. “Bobby-Lynn and Maxine just wanted to getcha all riled up.”

Lorraine lifted her head from your chest and lowered her brows.

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” you said with a smile.

“Sometimes I hate all of y’all,” she mumbled, quickly ducking her head back underneath your jaw. You still managed to catch the smile on her lips.

“I love you too, darlin’,” you said, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head.

Now this. This was enough.

[johnwickb1tsch]

🌻Small Town Girl🌻 ~ Part 1

Tex Johnson thought he was just passing through…until he set his eyes on you. 

A little Tex x Reader fic for my beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff. I love you bool!!! I hope you like this. It’s a mix of you and me and shit i made up and The Gift and conversations we’ve had and that silly rodeo fic we talked about and probably some sookie stackhouse and justified and longmire and other cowboy media that lives rent free in my brain at all times 😆 this is like 7000 words i apologize in advance…🙃 ILYSM!!!

Warnings: mentions of past spousal abuse, mentions of animal abuse, religious trauma...you know, the usual social problems of depressed rural america... I can say that because I live here. divider by strangergraphics-archive

To be fair, you saw the trouble coming from a mile away.

Or at least…a hundred yards, because that’s where he parked his ‘69 Chevelle outside the diner in the middle of your shift. You watched him swagger up in denim, boots, and a bitchin’ fringe leather jacket out the corner of your eye, because you were taking someone’s order. And you cursed the gods when he sprawled himself in a seat in your section, long legs extended out partly in the aisle. He was going to trip someone–or maybe he was just hoping you’d ask him sweetly to move those fancy-tooled shit-kickers to their proper position.

Your capacity for sweetly went up in smoke about an hour ago.

“Hi, can I get you started with something to drink?”

He looks up at you, all dark eyes and smoldering charm–yes, you’re sure he knows it, too–offering up a half smile that makes your heart stop even though you tried to brace yourself. And wow, goddamn if he doesn’t have the balls to look you up and down before answering, “Think I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet.” His smile widens as you narrow your eyes down at him. 

“You want a milkshake?”

You swear there is a sparkle in his eye as you ask it. 

“Why yes, I believe I do. What flavor you got?”

You blink, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck. He sees it too, the cheeky bastard, that devil-may-care curl of lips widening more. 

“We have chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and banana.” 

“Hmm. That’s a hard choice, darlin’.” 

“You need some time to think about it?” 

He chuckles at your sass. “Nah. How ‘bout vanilla. With a cherry on top?” 

“Hard to find ‘round here, but I’ll see what I can do,” you deadpan, doodling with concentration on your order pad. 

This tickles his funny bone something fierce, those lovely eyes shining. Good Lord, it’s just not fair, the types of temptation the Devil is allowed to set in front of you mere mortals. 

However, you’re not falling for it. You’re not. You learned the hard way to be wary of tall, dark, and handsome men with a bit of the devil in them. Because before you were y/n y/ln, your name was Mrs. Donnie Barksdale, and you’ve got the scars to prove it.

“Comin’ right up, mister.” 

“Tex.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s my name. Tex.”

He is a charming bastard. You’re not falling for it. You just gotta keep telling yourself that. 

“Obviously an alias.” With the tip of your tennis shoe you nudge his big booted foot out of the aisle. “You’re gonna hurt someone with them things.” 

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”   

You were not playing footsie with this gorgeous stranger. You were just moving a tripping hazard. 

You’re not falling for it.

You’re not so convinced either, as you go to make his drink. 

***

A little later, when you bring out his burger and fries, he asks, “Why don’t you set with me a while?” 

You roll your eyes, withdrawing a roll of silverware from your apron. “I can’t sit down and jaw with you, I’ll get fired.” 

He gives you a pouty face, and it should be illegal for a grown-ass-man to look so cute. “When’s your break?”

“Not for hours,” you lie.

“I’ll wait for you, darlin’.” 

You snort in answer to that, even while a storm of butterflies goes crazy in your belly. 

“Surely you have somethin’ better to do.”

He shrugs. “I just finished a job. Takin’ time for a little vacation on my way home.” 

“Oh yeah? What do you do?”

“Erm…I’m in situational…solutions…management.”

“Wow. That’s not vague at all. You in the mob or somethin’?” you tease.

He lifts a brow, but doesnt answer immediately. It gives you an uneasy feeling, before he flashes that good ol’ boy smile again.

“Wouldn’t that be some shit?”

Sometimes you get feelings about things, and there is something about this man that makes you uneasy. You think your first instincts were right about him. He needs to be kept at arm’s length. Or maybe the proverbial ten foot pole would be more ideal. The sooner he moves on down the highway, the better. 

He lingers long after his burger and shake are gone, people watching, looking out the window…and looking at you. You can feel his gaze on you, like he is a wolf waiting patiently in the treeline for his opportune moment. You have to walk past him after taking a family their order of food, and he asks you, “So what do you do for fun in a little town like this?” 

“We’re all Baptists ‘round here, mister, no fun allowed.”

He scoffs, eyes still shining, but you can tell, his patience is finally wearing a little thin. Well, good. Hopefully he’ll get the hint and go. You’re sure a man who looks like him, tall and strapping and handsome as a movie star, is used to women throwing themselves at him. Maybe he thought you’d be a quick score because you’d be grateful for the attention. Boy howdy, did he read you wrong.  

“Did I see a sign for a rodeo a street back?” 

“Yeah, the fair and rodeo’s here this weekend.”

“Not your idea of fun?” 

“Yes and no. I don’t like seein’ the animals get mistreated.” Not all of them were, of course. But the boys could be a little rough when they were roping the young steers, and you knew you’d have a bone to pick with the owner of the local petting zoo later. 

“Huh. No, that’s not fun. Someone should do something about it.” That sparkle has returned to those polished onyx orbs, and you are equal parts intrigued and wary. 

“Easier said than done, believe me.” 

“We should team up tonight. Give ‘em hell.” 

You raise an eyebrow to that. Is he asking you out? Your heart does a little flip, before leaping in a swan dive to splat on the pavement. Don’t be stupid. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Aww, come on, honey, give me a chance. I’m not a bad man.”  

He’s charming as a snake with an apple to sell, and you’re pretty sure he’s lying. 

“That’s exactly what bad men say.”

“What would a sweet thing like you know about that?”

You sigh, suddenly feeling about fifty years older than you are. “I know enough.” You don’t really mean to, but in a tick you can’t quite break you brush your hair behind your ear, touching the scar on your temple from the last time Donnie beat the hell out of you. The flesh is still raised, if not faded, the span of a few years softening the evidence, if only on the outside. 

You move your hand as soon as you realize what you’re doing, but not before this sharp-eyed man before you notices. His affable expression darkens, and you decide you would not like to meet him in a dark alley on a moonless night. “Give me a name, darlin’.” 

For a moment you are taken aback. You don’t know this man, and he doesn’t know you. The offer to play white knight for you is both titillating, and tiresome, if you’re being honest. You’ve heard it before from men who wanted to impress you. None of them panned out. No one wants to take on Donnie Barksdale. 

“I don’t need a man to protect me. I’ve got a shotgun for that. You want any dessert?” 

Like flipping a switch, he grins up at you, and though he is being friendly, there is still a hint of fang in it, like a wolf on the scent of something to hunt.

“I believe you, honey. I better skip the pie. Gotta watch my girlish figure.” He pats his slim waist, and you can’t stop yourself from looking. Inwardly, you sigh. With your lip between your teeth you add up his final bill on your notepad. “Feel free to add your phone number on there,” he teases, to which you just shake your head sadly. 

“There are plenty of pretty girls in this town who will be more than happy to entertain you, Mr. Tex,” you assure him.

Again, he shoots you that pout, and jesus god it should be illegal in twenty states, it gives you such a high. 

“But none of them are you, darlin’.” 

You roll your eyes, even if you kinda feel like you’re floating on a cloud right now. Goddammit. 

“You can nurse your broken heart over at TJ’s by the creek, it’s where everyone goes around here.” 

“Including you?” 

“No.” 

“Hmm, Miss Hard To Get. You’re really gonna make me comb through the whole crowd to find you at the fair tonight?” 

“Who said I’m going to the fair tonight?” 

“My gut.” 

You hand him his check with a smile that does not hide your annoyance. “You can pay at the register.” 

You hide in the back, finally taking your break, and deep in your idiotic heart you are sad to see him go. You hear the engine of the vintage sportscar rev from all the way in the kitchen, and you come out just in time to see the back end of him rolling down the road. 

Good riddance. You think it, but a part of you doesn’t really agree. Ah well. You’ve always had a weak spot for strays, but that one would have taken the cake. He was A Bad Idea™ and you were much better off without him. 

When you go to check the table you see he’s left you a cash tip that will cover your feed bills for a whole month, and your knees go a little weak. 

***

When your shift ends you get in your old car and head home, out of town, down the highway and through the woods, to the old farmhouse your grandparents left to you. Maybe you won’t be on the cover of Country Living any time soon, but the battered old clapboard house is home, and has been home to members of your family since the mid 1800s. 

Now, it is also home to the assortment of rescued animals you have picked up along the way. If your grandmother, god rest her soul, knew you kept a five-foot tegu lizard in an enclosure in her parlor she would probably expire all over again. But then again…if anyone had ever forgiven you for your stranger quirks, it was your Mawmaw. 

Your parents, not so much, which was ironic, considering. There was a reason the family farm went to you and not your mother. She never really got the hang of the whole adulting thing, falling in “love” with dirtbag after dirtbag after your parents divorce, ping ponging between bouts of addiction and religious righteousness. How you came to dread the words, “I am saved!” 

You find it funny, that the people who bang their bible the hardest are usually the ones who have the biggest sins to answer for. 

But when it came to bad decisions, maybe your apple didn’t fall far from the tree, considering your ex, but in your defense you grew up with Donnie Barksdale. His family’s land adjoined yours, and they had been in this holler just as long as your own ancestors had. They were well regarded around your tiny rural community, and half the folks in your town could hardly believe the rumors of the horrible things that man used to do to you. The other half thought you must have been asking for it–what can you count on in these parts, if not good ol’ fashioned Christian misogyny?

Once upon a time, Donnie Barksdale had been your best friend. You ran wild through the woods in your youth, building forts and catching critters. You fished in his pond and played in the hayloft of your grandparents’ barn. Then you got a little older, and your shirt filled out and the hormones kicked in, and maybe it was to no one’s surprise when you became lovers. Highschool sweethearts to a married couple, right after graduation. You could have gone to college on a scholarship, but Donnie wanted you home. 

It was easier to control you that way, you came to find out.

He didn’t beat on you at first. It took a while, for the disappointments of real life to set in. He never got drafted to play pro ball, and he was too proud to take up an honest trade. The pressures of living in a depressed rural area, with no good jobs and few good prospects, took their toll. Reagan-era policies made it easy for corporations to run all the little brick-and-mortar businesses into the ground, and trickle-down economics left your little community behind. Alcohol, meth, and Walmart filled in the voids.

With nothing better to do, Donnie started having affairs, and drinking too much, and when he finally got home he took his frustrations out on you.  

You try not to think about it now, but you do, every day. You’re not sure what hurt more: the actual physical beatings, or the betrayal by the boy who you’d loved madly since you were just eight years old. 

But there is something to be said, for the healing to be found with your hands in the dirt. You were such a broken thing, when you took over your grandmother’s overgrown garden years ago. Now, your little farmstead is a pollinator’s paradise filled with flowers and food. There’s something about sitting in the quiet with the butterflies flitting around that makes you feel like you’ve done something right in the world. You feed the birds, and you care for your animals, and you take life day by day.   

It’s a simple life, but a good one. You’ve run a long road, but you’re finally starting to feel like you’re going to be ok. 

And, you intend to keep it that way. That means not going for rides in fast cars with handsome strangers, no matter how lonely you are, or if it seems like he would be good to you, even if just for a night. 

You did good today, sticking to your guns. 

You need another man in your life like you need a hole in the head. “Boys are so rude,” you expound to your chickens, and your hens seem to cluck in agreement, their feathers so silky soft against your ankles as they wait for a treat. The last rooster who hurt your girls for his own gratification lost his head and ended up in your cookpot. If only it was so easy to dispose of belligerent human males.

You get your scoop, doling out some extra scratch grains to lure the chickens into their pen to lock them up early. 

You’ve got somewhere to be.  

As it turns out, Tex  was absolutely right about your intention to go to the rodeo, though you’re pretty sure he was blowing smoke about trying to find you. It’s a small town, but everyone will be there. You’ll be a needle in a haystack, and you take some comfort in that as you put on a black sunflower print sundress and your battered boots. 

You feed the cat, the dogs, your ancient conure parrot, and lock up the house. You have to go see a man about a horse–and you’re kind of dreading it.

***

You are not the only adult in the petting zoo area, which is some small relief. It takes a little while for Dale to even notice you are there, sneaking his skin and bones mini horse molasses treats from your purse in an attempt to help the poor thing put on some weight. It’s starving and its hooves need a trim and you could strangle Dale Manes with your two bare hands. 

You pass his place on the way home, and you regularly throw hay and treats over the fence in an attempt to feed his animals–something he clearly doesn’t seem to think it’s necessary to do much. 

He’s a cousin of Donnie’s, which has never kept him from ogling you. With some extra cash in your purse thanks to your handsome stranger, you’re hoping that maybe you can sweet talk Dale into relinquishing ownership.

Maybe it’s a lost cause, but maybe you can’t help but think about how many times people had looked at you in a bedraggled state, knew you needed help, and kept on walking with a “Bless her heart,” muttered under their breath. 

This little horse gobbles his treats down and bumps his head against you for scritches, leaning on you like a dog.

“Y/n, I see you spoiling my horse.”

You grit your teeth, before facing the music. “Hi Dale.”

“You know, I got you on my game cam trespassing on my property.” You can’t tell by his tone if he’s mad or not. It feels like you’re walking into a trap. Donnie used to play this verbal kind of game with you. It must be genetic.

“Trespassing’s a strong word,” you say, pouring extra sugar into your drawl.

“I don’t know what else to call it. Illegal feeding of animals?”

You give him a sheepish smile, when all you really want to do is kick him in the balls.

“Oh come on, Dale. You know this horse is skinny. It’s ok, I know how things go. I had some extra so I spread it around.”

It is not ok and you have literally lived on ramen cups some months so your animals could eat well and get the medicine they need. 

“Well ain’t you a peach?”

“Dale?”

He leers at you, sidling closer, and your skin crawls.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Sell me this horse.”

He gives you a look. “You’d ask a man to sell his livelihood?” 

You happen to know he gets by on government draw and dealing pain pills just fine.

“I like Ziggy. He’s my buddy. Let him come live with me.” The little horse in question is trying to nuzzle into your purse for more molasses treats. 

Dale takes a step closer, and it takes every iota of your self control not to step back. 

“You really are a piece of work.”

“Excuse me?”

“You conniving little bitch. I know it was you that called Animal Welfare on me last month.”

The sweetness drains from you like a flushing toilet. “Fat lot of good it did, I guess.” 

“You little bitch. You know how lucky you are? If you were my wife I would have killed you and buried you somewhere no one would find you.”

“Wow. I guess that’s why your wife ran off to Florida.”

“Cunt.” He raises his hand to you, right here in front of children and mothers and God and the whole damn town.

“What’s goin’ on here?” A strong arm loops around your waist, pulling you back out of striking range. “We horse tradin’, or are we pickin’ fights we can’t win?”

With wide eyes you look up to see the man from the diner, somehow even more handsome than before because he’s cleaned up and changed his shirt, the good looking bastard.

“Were you raisin’ your hand to this lady?” he asks. His tone is jovial, but there is an edge beneath the surface that does not escape your notice. You learned the hard way, how to dissect the subtle cadences of a man’s words.

“Believe me when I tell you she deserves it.”

“Huh.” Out of the blue Tex’s fist connects with Dale’s jaw, knocking him out cold. Ziggy startles at the body hitting the ground, darting on his little legs to the other side of the enclosure. All the families stare, shocked that someone would dare, though no one rushed in to see if Dale was still breathing. 

“Well, that’s our cue to go.”

“What?”

You are in shock, and it does not even occur to you to fight him when Tex takes your hand and pulls you through the crowd. You do not stop until you are on the other side of the fairgrounds, amidst the games and the dubiously safe rides. 

“Oh. My. God,” you wheeze, when finally you pause by the Whirl-A-Gig. “Do you know what you just did?” 

“You’re welcome,” he answers with that shit-eating grin, and you almost want to sock him yourself. 

“You should have let him hit me!”

“What?” Eyes wide, Tex is incredulous before you.

“God, I didn’t plan it that way but it would have been perfect! He woulda gone to jail, and the county would have to seize his animals.” At least the local Human Society would feed the poor things. 

Tex blinks, looking down at you like you’ve grown a second nose. “Did you miss the part where he was going to knock your head off?” 

“I’m used to it,” you muse absently, annoyed to the soles of your boots that you missed this opportunity. “If I were you I’d git while the gettin’s good. The whole Barksdale clan is going to come after you now.” 

His grin is like a baring of fangs. “Sounds like fun.” 

“Huh. You ain’t gonna think so when ten of ‘em roll up on you in your fancy sportscar.” 

“Meh. I can handle a pickup truck full of cousin fuckers. Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

A chortle escapes you before you can stop it. You cross your arms defensively, trying not to smile.

“The Barksdales are some tough customers, mister.” You had to be, to survive back in the day, but somewhere along the line it just got…out of hand. 

“Sounds like you know ‘em pretty well.” 

“I was married to one of them for the worst six years of my life. Believe me, you don’t want none of what they got.”  

Tex takes this opportunity to step into you, and now that the excitement is over you are reminded that you have six feet of pure cowboy standing in front of you. The pretty tooled embroidery on his shirt emphasizes how wide his chest is. You can smell the heady spiced scent of his cologne, and it hits you like a drug. Goddammit. 

“Sounds like you’re worried about me, darlin’.” His voice is like warm molasses. 

“Psshh. You better worry about yourself,” you grouse with extra venom, annoyed. “I don’t think you have the sense God gave a chicken.” 

He chuckles at that, and you try to back away. Try is the operative word, because he has your hands in his again. “Oh come on, darlin’, don’t leave me yet. Is this the thanks your knight in shining armor gets?” 

His hands engulf yours, long strong fingers wrapped around your palms, and you feel more than a little weak inside.  

“Knight in shining armor my fanny. Your little stunt is going to get us both hurt.” 

“My stunt? Were you or were you not trying to buy that horse when you knew damn well he wasn’t going to sell it to you?” 

You sigh. “Well…I had a little windfall burnin’ a hole in my pocket, and I had to try.” 

He pulls you a little closer–amazingly, you let him. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind when I left that for you.” 

“Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?” 

“Well…” Goddammit, if he does not take the opportunity to sidle even closer, so that your fronts are nearly pressed together, and you think you just might faint. “I was hoping you might treat yourself to somethin’ nice. Like a pretty new dress.” He looks you up and down, making a low sound in his throat of appreciation. “But I see you already had that handled. Mmm, you look good.” 

You sigh, a long suffering sound of exasperation. Is there something wrong with this man? Because he can’t seem to stop running his mouth. And maybe you’re losing your mind, but…you’re kind of starting to like it.

“I think you might have a screw loose, mister.” 

He grins wide for you, in that moment looking every bit the outlaw, with his shining dark eyes and hair brushing his collar. 

“That may be true…” He leans down towards you, and you think you just might die. “But I’m pretty sweet.” You’re afraid he’s going to try to kiss you, and you’re even more afraid you’re going to let him. But he just bumps your forehead with his before paying you that devil-may-care grin, and you swear your heart stops in your chest. 

This man is such a mistake, but you feel your defenses dissolving like sugar in hot tea. 

“Want to split a funnel cake?” 

As it turns out, it’s the nail in your coffin. 

“Yeah.” 

He grins like a man who just won the lottery, tucking you into his side under the shelter of his well-muscled arm like you’ve always belonged there, and goddammit if it doesn’t feel good to feel protected. Too good, maybe. It’s something you cannot allow yourself to get used to.

“I knew you’d come around, darlin’.”

It’s been a while since you made a big mistake. Like…less than an hour, at least, so you guess you were due up. As bad decisions go… You look this tall cowboy up and down, his denim-clad legs about a mile long swaggering beside you. 

“How did you find me?” it occurs to you to ask.

“I remembered what you said about liking animals, and figured the petting zoo would be a good place to start.”

You pause in your step, almost tripping as you look up at him. Maybe it shouldn’t be this surprising, that a man actually listened to something you said. But god. It twists and squeezes something inside you. It’s painful and wonderful and you really should run before this gets out of hand. But he is looking down at you with those smoldering dark eyes, and a part of you already knows that it’s too late. 

***

“So, my babygirl likes animals,” muses Tex beside you, taking a bite of funnel cake with a grin. “Let me guess. You’ve got a whole house full of strays.” 

You sigh, tearing off a piece, a good crispy bit with plenty of powdered sugar. “And a barn.” You have chickens and ducks and rabbits and goats that came to you post-Easter after people realized the fuzzy little things turned into full grown animals that needed housing and room. You have a conure that outlived its previous owner, and a bulldog whose tongue doesn’t quite fit in her mouth, and the world’s only sweet chihuahua who loves to snuggle and needs medication that seems to get more and more expensive every time you have to buy it. The reptiles came to you from a family whose child changed their mind, and the cat just kinda showed up at your door one day, the way they do…

Most men who hear the extent of your menagerie swiftly run in the other direction. They think you’re a hoarder, or if they stick around they want to be the sole focus of all your attention–and it’s just not going to happen. They leave after a month or so, or you run them off. 

You have no reason to think this won’t end the same way. 

“That’s alright, darlin’. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with havin’ a soft heart for critters.”

They all say that at first. 

Ah well. It’s not like you’re looking to get married again, anyhow. You just…get a little lonely, sometimes, when it’s just you and the dogs and darkness outside. 

“Hmm. That’s not the review I usually get. So what about you? You know I have to ask if you’re really from Texas.”

He grins. “Guilty. But I live in L.A. now.” 

“Oh yeah? Are you an actor?”

“I was a stuntman for a little while.”

“Anything I’ve seen?” 

He laughs, an open guffaw of mirth that makes his eyes shine and your heart fill to bursting. “Well, you look like a diehard fan of Death Charger II.”

“Oh yeah, I used to watch that with my Grandma,” you tease. 

He snorts and pulls off another piece of pastry. “It was fun for a while, but I could tell I was just going to end up with a broken body and an empty bank account.”

“So…what do you do now?” 

He looks up at you through those long dark lashes, and you swear to god your heart does a pirouette in your chest. 

“I can’t really talk about it,” he tells you, which you guess is actually a more honest answer than feeding you some bullshit lie. “Pays well, though.” 

“Okay…that’s not creepy at all.” 

 He pays you that open grin and offers you the last little crunchy morsel from his fingertips. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, darlin’. You’re in good hands.” 

After a long pause you take the bite, your lips just barely brushing the tips of his fingers. But it ignites a fire in his eyes that has you squirming in your seat, your thighs unbearably moist. Thank god you’re wearing a black dress. 

“Let’s walk around,” he proposes, and you agree, even if you’re afraid your legs might not work anymore. 

***

Hand in hand, you wander the fairgrounds, people watching, talking, and playing a few games. Tex is fun, and he is sweet, never once letting go of your hand, except during the clown toss which he swears is rigged (and you agree). He makes a crack about his balls being too big to fit in its mouth, and you break down in a giggling fit as the two of you walk away. It feels a little bit like magic, wandering around amidst the bright lights and the warm night and for the first time in a long time, you realize you’re not afraid of running into one of Donnie’s clansmen with an axe to grind or family honor to hold up or some other testosterone-driven bullshit that terrorizes your waking hours and your nightmares. 

“Haunted house?” 

“No way.”

“Swings?” 

“Don’t trust them.”

“Roller coaster?” 

“I like my spine aligned right where it is, thank you.” 

“How ‘bout the ferris wheel?” Tex proposes with a lift of brows, and even though you know exactly what he’s up to, you finally agree. Tucked into the tiny bucket together in a space that is not meant for adults but god is it lovely to sit with your side molded to his, Tex sneaks his arm around you with a come-hither curl of lips. 

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn him with a venom you absolutely do not feel at this point. You make a show of leaning away, even though there’s absolutely nowhere for you to go in the little compartment.  

“Oh, I’m thinkin’ about it,” he assures you with a devilish glint in his eye, pulling you closer, and off you go in a big vertical circle. It is fun, to see all the lights and the people below, and the rodeo round pen on the other side of the grounds. 

Then the ride stops with a grinding halt that doesn’t feel quite right. The two of you are at the very apex of the wheel, on top of the world. You look around, a little nervous. Oh god, please don’t let you get stuck here. 

“It’s alright, darlin’” he soothes you, with a wolfish grin that is not comforting at all. 

You can see the roping event with a bird’s eye view. You flinch as a cowboy throws a loop around a steer’s neck, jerking it around. At least the second cowboy misses the ankles. You stick your tongue out at them, knowing no one can see. 

“Aww, that little grass puppy’s fine,” Tex tries to assure you. “They’re pretty tough.”  

Once upon a time your family made part of their living running cattle. You know they’re tough, but that doesn’t mean it’s fair to treat them that way just for fun. “There are ways to train them without the rope, you know. They’re very food motivated.” 

“But what’s a cowboy without his rope, honey?”

“A farmer.” 

He chuckles at that. “It just lacks a certain prestige, don’t it?”

“Fuck you very much. My family’s been farming since before this place was even a state.”

He chuckles at your fiery response, clearly enjoying getting your goat. “Erm–no offense.” 

“Pssh. It’s not about prestige. It’s men and their testosterone poisoning, always havin’ to show off at everyone else’s expense.” You’re sure he won’t like it, but you say it anyway. You wait for him to get surly, like all men do when you say what you’re really thinking, and it occurs to you that maybe you should have waited until you’re not trapped in a tin can of an amusement ride with him before insulting him. 

“Hmm. Well…there might be somethin’ to that.” 

He could have knocked you over with a feather…if you weren’t already mashed into an enclosed seat with him. 

“Yeah, there might be,” you say more softly, quickly looking away when he tries to meet your eyes. 

“Hey now.” He strokes your arm with his fingertips lightly, drawing little circles and driving you crazy. “We’re silly creatures, ain’t we? I get it.” 

The fact that this man, who is 6 feet plus of pure masculine energy, would say such a thing to you–well frankly it blows you the fuck away. 

“Showin’ off is fine,” you sigh, still unable to meet his eyes. “It’s just…why does someone always have to get hurt for the sake of it? Usually…someone innocent.”

“You’re right,” he agrees gently. “It shouldn’t be that way.”

Now you do get up the courage to look at him, though it feels like you’re drowning when you do. You really thought you had this man’s number. He dresses like a cowboy and drives a vintage muscle car, walks with James Dean swagger and he even punched a man out for you not but over an hour ago. But here he is, talking to you…like women matter. Like you matter. 

“We’ve been up here a really long time,” you muse, blinking the tears out of your eyes while you peer over the side. 

“Ah well. I’m sure they’ll get us down eventually.” He does not seem worried at all. “I like the view.” He’s looking at you while he says it, curling a little lock of hair from the nape of your neck around his finger, and an embarrassing shudder gallops down your spine. “Hmm, someone’s sensitive,” he says with a little smile. 

You shoot him a glare out the corner of your eye. You don’t think you’ve convinced him by half. 

“It’s just cold up here.”

It is the tail end of summer, and still 80 degrees out with the sun down.  

“Sure it is, sweetheart.” 

You sigh, and you don’t know how it’s possible, considering your position, but somehow he seems to sidle closer. 

“Tex?” 

“Yeah, beautiful?” 

You don’t really know what you intended to say–you look at his mouth, those full, well-drawn lips, and you forget how to breathe for a few crucial seconds. You are lightheaded, the world spinning as he closes the distance, and gently presses his mouth to yours. 

Someone moans, and only belatedly do you realize it’s you. 

You feel him smile against your mouth, before going in for the kill, his long fingers sliding up into your hair to hold you to him. If you’d felt trapped you would have fought him, no matter how stupid and no matter how high up you were sitting in this rattletrap of a ride held together with rusty bolts and bubblegum. But you feel…free, like for a few blessed moments, you’ve found a part of yourself you left somewhere. A part of yourself you needed, even though you didn’t realize it at the time of losing it. 

You let this man devour you, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance you feel all the way in your clit. Pressing your thighs together does not help at all, and he smiles again like he knows exactly what your problem is. When his paw of a hand settles just above your knee, squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh, his thumb finding its way just past the hem of your dress, you smack your hand over his. “Hold up, cowboy,” you pant, knowing you sound ridiculous but unable to put any real steel in your tone. 

His eyes glitter like the night sky as he pulls back to look at you, breathing heavy through his nose. “You sweet little thing. I could just eat you up.” He nibbles your lower lip again, and you think you might expire. He doesn’t force the issue, his hand staying right where you’re holding it. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, a steady timpani roll that does not help with your lightheadedness. The carriage sways slightly in the summer breeze, and you’re not sure that you’re not floating in mid air with nothing to catch you. Your grip on his hand tightens, desperately seeking something to ground you. You’re not sure if this is a panic attack, or vertigo, or unadulterated lust. 

“Don’t get too full of yourself…but I think I might faint.” 

The hunger in his expression turns into concern. “You alright, darlin’?”

“Just…hold on to me, ok?”

“Alright, alright. You gotta breathe for me though. Deep breath.” You do as you’re told. “Then out.” You do this, and you close your eyes, and you start to feel better just as the wheel finally starts to turn again.

As excruciatingly fun as it was to be squashed together with this delicious specimen of a man, you are so grateful when it’s time to get out and put your feet on terra firma once more. Tex steadies you with an arm around your waist, and you just happen to be looking up at the right time to catch the ferris wheel operator’s conspiratorial wink at your ad hoc date. 

“Sonofabitch. Did you bribe him to stick us up there?” 

Tex chuckles, flinching as you poke him in the ribs. “Hey, you ain’t even met my Mamma yet!”

“Did you?” you demand, unrelenting in your attack. He wiggles like he is ticklish, and you feel like you have stumbled upon crucial intelligence of the enemy. 

“I might have slipped him somethin’...”    

“You imp! I thought we were stuck!” 

He is laughing as you tickle him and poke him, until maybe your fingernail goes a little too far in between his ribs and he grabs you up with a growl that you feel in your loins, putting a stop to your antics with your arms pressed to your sides and your body pressed to his. “You ok? I didn’t know you were scared of heights.” 

You’re not really. Scared of feeling things, is another matter. 

“I’m ok.” 

“Good.” He dips his head to kiss you again, and you let him for about 2.5 seconds before turning your head. 

“Tex…” 

“Yeah, honey?”

“I think…I think I better go home.” 

His expression falls like you kicked his puppy. “Oh. Did I…do somethin’? I’m sorry, darlin’.” 

He did somethin’. He’s done everything right, and suddenly you are scared shitless of where this could lead. 

“No, I’ve had fun,” you tell him honestly. “But I have to work tomorrow, and I’m tired. I should go home.” 

“Oh.” He sticks out that pouting lip, and it really should be illegal for a grown man to look so adorable. “Can I…come see you for lunch then?” 

“I guess…I can’t stop you.” 

“Would you want to though?” 

Therein lay the million dollar question. 

“Maybe not?” 

He smiles, and it feels like a special gift, just for you. “Alright. Tomorrow then. Let me walk you to your car at least.”

Considering what you got up to earlier that evening, it wasn’t a bad idea. “Ok.” 

You exchange one last lingering kiss before he tucks you down into your driver's seat and makes ao show of buckling you in. You know it's a ploy to feel you up a little but it makes you giggle anyway. “Tex…I can buckle my own damn seat belt.” 

“I know, darlin’.” He leans on the roof of your car, looking down at you like you’re something precious, preventing you from closing your door. You need to go because if you stay in his company any longer you are going to melt into a pile of goo. 

“Tex…” 

He sighs. “Alright, fine. Tomorrow. You better be ready to take your break with me.” He makes sure your legs are out of the way before shutting your door and tapping on the roof. Why do men do that, like a car is a horse? Giddyup. You think it would be horrifyingly hilarious, if your late-model car decided to play it’s occasional game of let’s not start until you try five times. But no, the old soldier dutifully responds to the turn of your key, and carries you away through the grass parking lot, onto the highway, and away from the man you’re afraid you would like to curl up in bed with and not leave for a month. 

That man is pure trouble…and you are pretty sure you want more of him. 

[sweet-chimera]

TW: Call out post, drama

// Damn we were going to keep it quiet and respectful until this point. because like always. Spork, aka Shiloh can't take accountability and Never does anything wrong despite the fact that this is the what? 6th group of people enmass to cut contact with them? Spork we were being quiet about it for YOUR sake. Cause you're a bad person and we wanted to be done with you. But fine. We'll do it your way. We blocked you because you're a toxic person who threatens to harm yourself when we don't comply to you. Not because of a fake wedding rp event. Content and stories under the cut. Long post trigger warning

And because he named dropped us, potentially to potentially insight violence on us. We'll return the favor. We were willing to just soft block and call it a day but then you do this? We knew you were a karen but come on spork. This is low even for you. For those of you that don't know, Spork aka:

patchiesdoodles, decipheringmadness, cxpescxwlsandcrxmes, ifyouwouldloveme, thegreeksknewthescore, fxllen-cne, thxpatriarch, unforgivendivine, AND the-blackened-dove.

Likes to block evade, exhibit controlling tendencies towards their rp partners, leverage marginalization's to groups that he doesn't belong to to white knight and get his way, tone police, sexually harass people mainly on voice call, guilt trip, bully those that speak out against him, use his partners to harass people who block him, vague posts, gives ultimatums, and threaten self harm when he doesn't get his way.

Lets get this out of the way, My experience with spork

I met spork in the muntain june 2023. And it was one of the most grating experience of my life. At every chance they got they spoke over people, talked openly about their sexual trauma when no one has consented to hearing it. And tone policed me, a cambodian/afro indigenous person from baltimore, for using language that was "Offensive to black people." Only to then lay off after yelling at me for a few minutes. When he found out I was black. (Screen shot of me talking to the mod of the muntain afterwards)

I was off put, and upset. That someone who is this complexion

is tone policing me, AN AFRO INDIGENOUS PERSON WHEN I MAKE NO ATTEMPTS TO HIDE IT. IM BLACK.

But seeing as we're a vastly neuro divergent community. I forgave and forgot because it wasn't worth the fight. it didn't stop them from constantly bringing up sexual or traumatic topics. But at the very least. They were upset at me for using AAVE and saying the N word. A SLUR I CAN USE.

But then later down the line. I talked to the muntain mod about introducing my partners to the rp community and to help the transition go smoothly.

I EVEN WENT INTO VOICE CALL AND BEGGED THEM, SPORK SPECIFICALLY. TO BE ON THEIR BEST BEHAVIOUR.

My girlfriend joined on the 30th and my boyfriend joined on the first.

During the first call on the 30th. Spork dominated the conversation and flirted with my girlfriend infront of me upon finding out we were polyamourus. But for the most part was respectful.

On the voice call on the second. They were racist and immflamatory to my boyfriend. Tao. A native mexican man. Spork claims to be indigenous themself but I have no proof of this. But as we all know, Abrahamic religions have decimated the indigenous populations and caused Alot of harm.

On voice call. Spork brings up their LITERAL JESUS CHRIST muse. And talks about their religious trauma. Tao, also talks about his in the form of a joke. "Oh Jesus sure liked to wash feet huh?" A TRUE FACT. NOT THAT BAD. WE ALL HAVE MADE FUN OF IT.

Here comes white knight Spork, yelling at my partner to not make fun of jewish traditions. Its insensitive and blastephemous. Only to then dominate the conversation to talk about their trans jesus muse who openly talks about being abused by god

(Recap of the voice call i had with the mod)

So spork, a white passing person AT BEST, told my darker complexion NATIVE MEXICAN BOYFRIEND. That he shouldn't make jokes about judaism? When spork is a white satanist? And all abrahamic religions not just Catholicism has caused damage to our populations? You didn't even let him say more then that one joke, you didn't even give him 10 seconds to say is name before dominating the conversation again

Sweetie. 1.) Anyone can criticize and make fun of the bible, the torah, or the Quran. 2.) SAYING JESUS WASHED FEET. WHICH IS TRUE. IS NOT AS INFLAMMATORY. As making a gay trans jesus blog AS A ROLEPLAY CHARACTER. To talk about how god abused him.

And these are just my personal experiences with spork.

WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENED WHEN THEIR FRIEND POLITELY ASKED TO STOP SHIPPING BUT STILL BE FRIENDS?

HMMM. THATS WEIRD. THATS A PRETTY POLITE WAY TO GO ABOUT HAVING A CONVERSATION. BECAUSE CONSENT TAKES TWO PARTIES. WHAT WAS YOUR RESPONSE TO ONE PARTY NOT CONSENTING SO YOU DONT GET YOUR WAY?

OH YEAH.

YOU VAGUE POST ON THE DASH, GUILT TRIP PEOPLE FOR STILL ASSOCIATED WITH VOID (gin-n-chthonic) and get upset when you saw them on your dash because you keep block evading them to see if they were talking about you. YOURE MENTAL HEALTH WAS MESSED UP BECAUSE YOUR FRIEND HAD A POLITE CONVERSATION WITH YOU? ABOUT NOT REAL CHARACTERS? AND YOUR RESPONSE WAS A PUBLIC CALL OUT POST. And then you go around to people like slurk.

Who've you've been codependently abusing for a long time. And try to guilt trip them into blocking void.

Because thats a sound response. AS WELL AS BITCH AND MOAN ABOUT IT IN CALL FOR DAYS. THIS ISN'T EVEN INCLUDING THE FACT THAT YOU HAVE A HABIT OF GETTING YOUR FRIENDS AND PARTNERS TO ATTACK AND OSTRICIZE PEOPLE FOR YOU. Remember when jessica was sick with covid. But you wanted an answer so bad. That you sent your boyfriend after her? CAUSE WE DO.

And how you admitted in voice call that you would type from Boogies account to send people things, speak for him. OR ADMITTED THAT ROLEPLAYING IS A SPIRITUAL THING FOR YOU. How these characters are extension of yourself and if they feel pain or rejected you do? So every time someones muse doesn't want to interact with them. YOU A REAL HUMAN BEING FEEL THE PAIN?

cause we do.

SO LETS RECAP. TLDR;

you give ultimatums

guilt trip

block evade

were openly racist to a mexican indigenous man

hit on my girlfriend infront of me

can't read a room socially

send mobs after people

talk about traumatic shit without peoples consent

overly sexual even when we say we're uncomfortable

fly off the handle and go on public tirades when we try to talk to you, then get surprised when no one wants to talk to you and just quietly exits your life

use your loved ones accounts to talk to people who go nc with you

only white knight and virtue signal when its convenient to you

want to control everyones character and insert your muse into everything but when they don't comply you guilt trip, bitch, give ultimatums, or post publicly about not being loved

you weaponize your marginalization as a trans man but are clearly white passing and command alot of social power from your social media presence

sexually harass people around you

and you tone police the people of color around you when we speak up

WE DIDN'T BLOCK YOU OVER A FAKE RP EVENT. WITH FAKE PEOPLE THAT YOU INSIST ARE REAL. WE REFUSE TO BE AROUND YOU BECAUSE YOU REFUSE TO GET HELP FOR YOUR MENTAL HEALTH. WE BEGGED YOU TO. AND YOU GUILT TRIP PEOPLE WITH THREATS OF OSTRICHCIZATION AND SELF HARM.

YOU'RE A BAD PERSON SPORK.

[obsessionnostalgia]

Claire Novak fic recs: yeah, I was trying to reblog something every time I found a new one but its too disorganized so now it lives here. You have a Claire Novak rec? i want to read it.

Where the Heart Is by goldenraeofsun

Features a time-traveling Claire hanging out with Sam and Dean circa season 7. There's angst. There's Claire hooking up with a diner waitress. There's Claire having self-worth issues. There's Claire making fun of Dean to his face. All the good stuff.

Like a Duck, He Fits the Bill by golbygloom

Claire Novak and her budding attachment to the guy who isn't her dad but wears his face. The angst of having to get out of your own way to make connections with others.

Let Me Come Home by prosopopeya

Deancas-centric but Claire Novak is a POV character, struggling in foster care and the uncertainty of whether her uncle (Cas) will get his shit together in order to take her in. The Claire and Dean parallels are strong.

Rec from kerryweaverlesbian:

no such thing as a unique experience by @astralpenguin

A 15 year old Claire meets the (now older) little girl who was possessed by Lilith for a long time. Neither of them realise this element of connection for quite some time. Tons of empathy and understanding. These two feel so much like complex teenage girls, and also the dramatic irony is incredibly fun. One of the best fics I've read all year

Rec from carhengeapocalypse:

Another rhinestoneangels (@pinknatural ) fic fatherisms

Claire is a baby when Jimmy agreed to be Castiel's vessel and Dean steps in to help take care of her. The timeline jumps around and the story is told in snippets and it's very good

as if death itself was undone by microcomets

Claire confronts a human Castiel in a grocery store.

Claire heaves a deep, bone-weary sigh. “Here I am, consoling an ex-angel using my dead father as a meat-puppet on his self-esteem issues. I should write a book or something.”

everlasting by entropic_saudade

Claire wants to have a permanent mark of her and Kaia’s love. In order to do the stabbing safely, she helps Dean bring Cas back from the Empty so he can heal her.

gifts given & words unspoken by rhinestoneangels

Short: Dean and Claire make cookies after Castiel brings her back to the bunker, injured. Some implications at this point, Claire is more family to Dean than Mary. Set in season 12.

coming out by dicklessthewonderclown

Short, Dean POV conversation on a drive with Claire where she comes out as wanting to date Kaia and also admits (by accident) that Dean is a kind of sort of maybe father figure to her.

A Christmas Miracle (for someone else) by bitterred

Set post-canon, mirroring all the "Cas is dead and Dean is depressed" fics, Claire Novak finds a cat during the holiday season.

i'm sorry i'm the one you love (no one will ever love me like you again) by monsterfatigue

Kind of weird that Claire decided she was in love with Kaia even though they had barely known each other. After Kaia comes back from the Bad Place, nothing is simple. Claire isn't sure why she thought it would be.

This Is A Love That Lasts Forever by HeddersTheOwl

Another fic where Claire being friendly with the angel that wears her dad's face is complicated.

"You look too much like him. It's not fair. You're not him." 

meteor site (our hearts collision) by sobsicles

Claire has religious trauma laced with homophobia. Kaia doesn't want to be anyone's nightmare.

the way a dad should by fleeceframe

Dean and Claire are driving back to Jody's when Claire needs to stop because her period has started. (Side note: i was SURE that part of the reasoning for carrying tampons/pads in the impala was going to be partially related to the fact that they're sometimes good for wound care, in that the products are designed not to grow bacteria.)

i don’t know nothing (and that’s fine) by halfwheeze

Claire Novak meets Magda Peterson, the psychic girl from 12.4 American Nightmare, and likes her so much it makes Claire look stupid. Look at that, they have matching religious trauma: "When Castiel-" she pauses, remembering that his name isn't carved into the internal dialogue of every girl with religious trauma from here to Texas, "the Winchesters' angel, I don't know if he was with them when they got you- when he came to Earth, he needed a vessel. A human strong enough to hold an angel, with strong enough faith to allow them in and allow them to stay." That's what the Winchester Gospels said about them anyway. Castiel just said that they needed to believe. They were special. Believers. Bullshit. "When Castiel came to Earth, he took my father. And then, when my father told him he couldn't stay anymore, Castiel approached me. Being a vessel, it's passed down in the family line. The blood. The body. All they need is the body. And I was a kid. He might as well have been God. So I said yes. And my father took him back. If you think about it, it's my fault that my dad is dead."

Bartenders Love Me by clusterjam

Claire Novak doing her Dean-coded thing: hustling in a bar, flirting with the bartender, and oh yeah: angst about whether her dad would approve of her.

Subject: Dean Winchester Is Dead by angelszn

There aren't enough fics about Claire finding out Dean (or Cas) are dead. Dean Winchester is dead. Dean Winchester is dead, and Claire got the news in an email of all things. As if the gravity can be contained in the tiny black letters on the screen. It didn’t even seem possible. 

patricide of the lowest order by angelszn

This one's dark (Major Character Death tagged) -- Castiel killed Claire's father, after all, and what is Supernatural but a series of revenge plots?

two steps on the water by orpheuscas

Claire in the aftermath of being cured of werewolfism. Heavy dose of "Dean is basically Claire's dad now" included.

she'll say she got the map from me by 13zepptraxx

Hey you know that episode where Dean goes back in time and hangs out with his mom? He tells her, "No matter what you hear, or what you see. Promise me you won’t get out of bed." but then an angel wipes her memory? What if Claire went back in time after Dean died because she was sick with grief and basically did the same thing?

[nonegenderleftpain]

this is maybe very hopeful, but i still find it in me to send an ask, hoping for the best... i hope to not waste too much of your time with this

as someone who is possibly thinking of converting to Judaism, what is the first step?

i know, i should look for a rabbi, for a group, for just... something. to connect me to the culture, but i grew up in an incredibly sheltered household, in a small town, christian, and i still dont have solid income to look out for them far and wide... honestly, I'm kind of afraid that if i dont end up going through with the conversion, I'll just feel guilty for wasting people's time for my own personal gain (as opposed to...... their gain? yeah. its impossible to tell wether that one makes sense)

im pretty sure i have met exactly one Jewish person IRL and that's not a stretch.

so, basically, when im asking for the first step here, what i really mean is, how do i know where the stairs are?

and i dont have a super philosophical reason as to why i even think of converting in the first place. i guess i just need a place where my first crime won't be my humanity.

So I've sat on this all day trying to figure out how to be elegant. I'm in a fair bit of pain today, so elegance is kind of beyond me - I'll settle for helpful.

Anon, I grew up in a really similar situation to you. I grew up in one of the few Catholic towns in my very protestant area. It was a tiny farm town, only on the map for gambling, and I lived in an incredibly sheltered home. I couldn't be on the internet unsupervised, and my parents turned it off at 10pm, until the day I left home. I never had time to form a community, was not allowed to ask questions, and struggled with constant feelings of fear and crushing oppression by a church I no longer believed in.

When I was in highschool, I discovered LaVeyan Satanism, got my hands on the satanic bible, and converted, largely hiding it for years. I didn't meet a Jew until I left for college, and was so anti-Gd that we never really spoke (Not due to antisemitism - any engagement with religion triggered religious trauma history, so I couldn't be around ANYONE openly practicing any religion. It was a very stressful time, and I carry a lot of guilt for not engaging with her more.)

I didn't have any big philosophical reasons for seeking Judaism, either, at first. I had had a very spiritual experience in the Cherokee Nation with a family friend who invited us, and I was actually considering moving there and taking part in their religious practices as much as they would allow me to, as a white person. My family friend was a religious leader there and was willing to accept me and bring me in, but it never panned out. I have been seeking that same spiritual connection for years, but I didn't really know it until I found it again.

I first started learning about Judaism when I just. Kept running into Jews in my life. Online, in community spaces, through my advocacy work. And I asked myself "what is so important about this?" and picked up the book To Life! by Rabbi Harold Kushner. Immediately, I was enthralled, and I have not stopped being amazed and overjoyed with what I've found.

For me, the first step to really learning more was reaching out to my local Reform congregation. I'm not sure if you're thinking of converting Reform or not, but I'd suggest starting there, because I've found it's been very easy to find my footing as a queer person with a fraught religious background. The Union for Reform Judaism - the largest North American movement of Reform Jews - offers Intro to Judaism classes once a semester (many congregations require these courses for conversion). The classes lay out the very basics of Jewish values, history, and practices. They're usually taught by local rabbis - my course this semester on Jewish history has two classes with each of the four Reform rabbis in my city. This is a great way to get to know the rabbis, see how they teach, and see who you click with. It will also allow you to interact with other folks that are new to Judaism - Jews that want to learn more about their heritage and practices, prospective converts, friends and family members of practicing Jews, and sometimes just people interested in theology!

Once you find a rabbi that you click with, you'll want to reach out to them and set up a meeting (I meet personally with my rabbi on Zoom, because transportation is difficult for me as a disabled person). During that meeting, you can tell the rabbi your story, your level of interest, and answer some of their questions, as well. My Rabbi asked me why I chose Judaism as opposed to something else, and really dug into my resolve, because I came to him expressing my desire to convert. This is pretty normal - antisemitism is on the rise in the US and around the world, so they want to make sure you understand what you're taking on by seeking Judaism.

Here's the thing about Judaism - it is not something you can do alone. Judaism is a tribe and a people, not just a religion. I do not say this to dissuade you. If anything, I want to encourage you. No one is going to be upset with you if you come, participate with sincerity and earnestness, and then decide that it's not for you. You will not be wasting anyone's time by asking questions and learning things.

I also grew up Christian. We were taught that asking questions is a sign of a lack of faith. That we must follow and believe and never question Gd. I am here to tell you that that is the complete opposite of what Judaism not just expects, but requires. Israel means "to struggle with Gd." It is our job as Jews to struggle with the Torah and what it asks of us. To question it and interpret it and find out how to do good in the world. To disagree. This is not a religion of blind faith, and it is not a people that will silence your questions.

So I suppose the concise answer to your question is more of a checklist:

Research your local synagogues. See if you can attend one of their services online. See if you like the rabbi, like the way they talk and the things they say and the way they interpret the texts. See if you like the cantor, and if the way they chant helps you with your connection to the service or detracts from it. Take notes of any questions or concerns you have, so you can bring it to the rabbi.

Contact your local rabbi. If there is more than one congregation where you live, choose which seems most approachable for you to start with. On their congregation's website, there should be an email form that will take you to them, or to whomever runs their site, who will be able to put you in contact.

Set up a meeting with your rabbi. If you can go in person, that's great, but if you get anxious easily, Zoom can be really helpful. I recently even got my rabbi to join Discord. Bring them your questions. Tell them why you're there. Answer their questions honestly, and don't be afraid to tell them you're nervous. I promise you're not the first prospective convert they've spoken to.

Try to get into an Intro to Judaism class. You can ask questions about all different sects of Judaism, even if you're taking classes with the URJ, and a good rabbi will be able to give you cursory answers and resources to find more information. If Reform doesn't work for you, I'm sure that the other sects of Judaism have their own classes you can take. As a convert, I have not had to pay for my classes, and I think that's a national thing

Attend services. Don't be afraid to not know what's going on. Don't be concerned that you don't know Hebrew. Don't worry about them thinking you don't belong there. I still haven't formalized my conversion (I haven't been able to schedule my beit din), but my congregation considers me a member, and recently formalized my membership in our organization. They consider me a Jew, as much as I consider myself one. I am part of their family, even though I'm very new and know almost nothing.

And most importantly:

6. Keep reading. There are lifetimes of Jewish literature, information, and text out there. Jews keep extensive and detailed records of everything. When a Jew has an opinion, they write a book. And every Jew has opinions. I'm happy to give book recommendations, but this post has gone on far too long.

I know it's not a simple answer - there really isn't one. Conversion looks different for everyone, and takes different amounts of time for everyone. So does practice. I don't keep kosher but I give blessings over what I eat, even if it doesn't follow kashrut, because the blessing and gratitude is what is holy for me (and because I have dietary issues). I haven't hung mezuzot because I can't afford them, but I wear kippot because the visual reminder of the cultural and historical throughline of our people matters to me. I don't know Yiddish or much Hebrew, but I learn and ask questions and am enjoying immersing myself in a culture and ritual that I didn't know I needed.

I hope this is at all helpful. If you need or want personal help with any of these steps, please, please send me a DM and I will help you. I know it can be nervewracking to talk about religion, especially as an ex-Christian. I promise that my inbox is a safe space to discuss it. You're among friends, and I know your struggle.

Stay well, and may Hashem bless your journey, wherever it leads.

[topazadine]

Genuinely it makes me so angry when people are like "I don't have sex and don't care about sex and therefore other people who do are wrong and bad and icky, I'm better than those sex-crazed maniacs"

I am celibate. I have not had consensual sexual contact for over a decade. I'm not asexual, I'm just not in a place right now where I feel comfortable getting into a sexual relationship. I need therapy for my trauma, and my religious beliefs also influence my decision not to have casual sex. And honestly? I don't really miss it or crave it.

But that is MY CHOICE. That is MY LIFE. My decisions have absolutely no bearing on what other people do with their bodies. Other people don't follow my religion and are under no prerogative to follow my values.

It would be insanely narcissistic of me to insist that other people should feel guilty for having sex, or that I am somehow better than other people because of my choices. I'm not better or less "freaky" because of my decisions.

This is what deeply frustrates me about other people who don't have or want sex. There's nothing wrong with being abstinent or not experiencing sexual attraction, but there's also nothing wrong with being sexually active or experiencing sexual attraction. I'm sick of the smug superiority, the attitude that you are more "evolved" or more "moral" because of your own personal choices.

A lot of the time, it feels like sexually repressed Cope; you feel guilty about having any level of sexual desire or feel bad about not having it, so you twist yourself into knots claiming that your experience is somehow better.

This happens with many things: choosing to have children or not (this one especially tbh), choosing to be vegetarian or not, choosing to be monogamous or not. And it's shitty every time.

None of those decisions have moral weight to them. You're making them have moral weight because you're insecure about your choice and can't handle other people making different choices. You have low self-esteem so you bolster yourself by attacking other people and insisting that you're better, even though your decision has no bearing on anyone else's.

Your life decisions are your own. If you make decisions that are right for you and don't hurt anyone else, then it doesn't fucking matter what other people are doing.

Also, it's weird as shit to making not having sex your entire identity. Like, stop bringing it up constantly. Stop barging into conversations about sex to smugly remind everyone that you don't have it. "Ohh it's sooo weird that you want to talk about sex uwu I am a little innocent cinnamon roll who would neeeeever do that hehehehehee"

No one cares! It's weird! No one asked you! When I see conversations about sex, unless I have something to share that is RELEVANT, I shut the fuck up because my opinion does not matter. It's like if I, a vegetarian, walked into a barbecue joint and loudly reminded everyone that I don't eat meat. No one cares, it's irrelevant, and it just makes me look like an idiot. So stop doing that.

[big-gay-bird]

I have kinda a stream on consciousness a lot the I/P stuff I need to get off my chest. I expect it piss off everyone, so I am putting it under a cut.

I just need to say something outloud and my loving gf has listened to me enough.

Some of this rooted in formal education, some is just my understanding. I am not gonna to dig up sources.

Palestine has been home to many different cultural groups for centuries. That includes a lot of different religious practices and unique histories too

Palestine was occupied, as much of the Middle East was at the time, by colonial forces like England between the world wars.

Historically displaced Jews facing antisemitic violence have at times chosen to go Palestine as they felt it was the best option in the face of a lot of shitty ones. (These are Jews whose homes were either burned down or occupied by others.)

After the Shoah, Europe and the US looked at the hundreds of thousands of newly freed Jewish people and said “instead of doing the slow painful work of getting you your original homes and communities back and stable, we’re just gonna send you somewhere else and give you some stuff to figure it and do the work yourself.”

The US actually weighed bringing them all to Alaska at the time but Palestine was chosen.

Out of a desire to, I believe, not have to deal with it, the US and Europe gave the brand new Israel all it needed to do whatever the hell it wanted to do. They didn’t want to actually help displaced people, but they had to do something so we wouldn’t show up in their own countries and require their help.

This began a multiple generations long genocide driven in part by a deep fear that Jewish peoples were no longer safe anywhere in the world so a iron oppressive grip on “Israel” was necessary. Were the early Zionists wrong to be afraid? No. Were they wrong to commit acts of genocide against Palestinian out of that fear? Of course, there were other ways to make a safe place for Jews, and the US and Europe absolutely knew that but they didn’t care enough to reign anyone in (at literally any point.)

I want to state at this point, I despise the way the Israeli government and the IDF especially has taken advantage of Jewish inter generational trauma and fear.

Now are the refugees of the Shoah and their descendants the only Jewish refugees in Israel currently? No! Not by a long shot! There are Jewish refugees from all over the world living in Israel to escape antisemitic violence. Yes this includes groups such as Ethiopian Jews who are not in any way shape or form white! They came to Israel specifically for a reason. To say Israeli citizens are all white is wild af as Israel, to my knowledge, is how to some of the most racially diverse communities of Jews?

Does being a refugee entitle you to genocide of indigenous people? No! Of course not! Refugees and how to support them in ways that keep them safe while not fucking over indigenous populations is an important international conversation that the west is objectively not ready to participate in and it sucks! A lot!!!

I keep hearing “I support all indigenous Palestinians, if you’re Jewish and Palestinian you’re ok!” But a lot of Jewish people in that area are not going to ID as Palestinian! A lot will ID as Mirachi or Sephardi, two identities I will bet that most gentile USAians don’t know much about!

So now getting into this conflict.

What is happening to Palestine currently is genocide plan and simple. The immensity of War crimes committed by the IDF and is isreali government is something I will do everything in my power to see prosecuted. It should not be happening full stop. It is also transparently an apartheid, which is also unacceptable. There absolutely racism being used to target and dehumanize Palestinians. It ALL has to stop and I have organized around this idea in the past.

Westerns who do not know people in the P/I area or do not have people in community that do know people there, are getting their news filtered to them. I understand that, and I understand there is A LOT of propaganda at work.

However I am literally begging leftists to believe average Isreali person who may have a lot of the same beliefs you do in all this. “Unconfirmed” in a war zone does not mean untrue. (Though I also believe the governments repeating it as fact is causing more harm all around too so like there is a little middle ground here.) I am not asking leftist to believe Netanyahu or the IDF, I am asking them to believe people who are literally there living through this who are not all white women.

I am also begging people to understand that not all Jews have a planes to hop on to leave. The reason why you are hearing from those American Jews who did is because they are American and they are more easy to access by news reporters in the US.

It is an absolute shit show over there and everyone has a bias! That is part of existing! It’s ok to have questions and note where accounts disagree, but to assume Jews are always the ones lying because you think they’re all white western colonializers or something actually is antisemitism!

Also I don’t think gentiles understand that Netanyahu and IDF are counting on your antisemitism. They are counting on you making the US unsafe for Jews. They look all this shit that’s being said and say “see, the leftists want you and your loved ones dead. They’ll assume you’re lying. The only safe place that cares about you is here.” So you want to be a real anti-Zionist? You help us fight that propaganda by being both a Palestinian AND a Jewish ally. I promise it is so possible to be both.

[noknowshame]

hello! do you have any favorite writings/quotes on The Narrative/legacy/storytelling?

the thought process that went through my head when i saw this ask was like the cognitive equivalent of "The Hall of the Mountain King"

The Narrative/fate, legacy, and storytelling are all related yet unique themes, and I'll cover a little bit of all three. Mutuals and regulars on this blog will probably know EXACTLY where this is going we're hitting all the classics

obviously I am obligated to start with Black Sails, and these bangers about legacy:

this entire show is obviously one long quote about storytelling, so I'll move on.

Moby-Dick is of course our next stop. It's a novel that is inherently about telling your own story: what you say, what you don't say, how much you say. It's a beautiful attempt at meaning-making from trauma, and it is also chock-full of implications that it was all per-ordained from the beginning!

I won't share any more quotes from this. Go and read it.

Another book I'd recommend that deals with surprisingly similar themes is The Secret History

it's not only a reflection on very dark event's in the main characters' youth from an adult perspective, but a warning against what happens when you treat your own life like a fictional story.

One more book: The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien, about the Vietnam War. I had to read this in high school and its honestly one of the best books I've ever read.

It's from the perspective of an unreliable narrator, and the way events are called into question is done beautifully. I'd highly recommend finding a pdf of the chapter "Sweetheart of Song Tra Bong" to read.

Let's move on to another medium: theater! This is the part where you yell BINGO! because yes I am bringing up Jesus Christ Superstar. It's hard to pin down to a single quote, but obviously a story about this particular character is going to concern itself with inevitability and legacy. My favorite part is when Judas betrays Jesus and a choir of angels sings "well done" – he played his part as planned! Definitely watch and/or listen to it. It's ruined my ability to fake a normal conversation with someone who's actually religious.

And of course, I would be remiss not to bring up Robert Icke's Oresteia. I swear once I get my own copy I will painstakingly

there is SO much more I could bring up because this is literally all I think about. I guarantee I will wake up in the middle of the night with a quote I forgot to include. However for my own sanity, for now, I will end it here.

fin.

[house-of-slayterr]

A Ghost on the Horizon:

Tag: @oceansrose2002 @myers-meadow-selfship @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better

Selena’s POV:

It’s had been three weeks since I’d come to Texas. There long weeks. I felt like a total outsider. Everything about me looked out of place. But I guess I always had. My blank white hair, sticking out like a fresh sheet of snow. My eyes bringing terror to so many who dare to meet them. I was off decent height for a woman.

But no matter how I looked at it, I didn’t belong here. But where was there to go? The sisters were gone now, went to meet our maker. I hope they didn’t suffer too much because of me. This family had an odd and discordant sense of justice. Blinky it seemed most off all.

Manon had explained to me they were normally so happy and bubbly. But had my presence changed that? I hadn’t seen them smile once since I’ve been here. In fact, they were all together avoiding me. Perhaps I really was cursed. But I felt awful for depriving them of the Blinky they were used to. Maybe it’s best to confront my demons, like the sisters always told me. I took a deep breath, knocking on Blinky’s door.

“Come in.” I heard in a low voice.

I waited by the door, not sure if I was free to fully enter the room. I didn’t want to push my luck. Blinky was rushing around the room, seemingly looking for something. Suddenly they craned their neck back to look at me.

“Oh, it’s you.” They said flatly.

I frowned. They sounded so disappointed, maybe this was a bad idea after all. I heard them sigh dramatically and they stopped what they were doing to look at me.

“Did you come here for something or?”

I fidgeted, rocking back and forth on my feet and not daring to meet their gaze. It’s seemed to intense, like they were staring straight through to my soul. Perhaps they really could see it, and that’s why they held an air of distaste for me. Perhaps they had judged me accordingly while everyone else was fooled.

“Selena-“ they tried again. “Oh my, are you actually scared of me?” They laughed.

It only served to make me feel worse. Like they were laughing at me, not with me. I wasn’t in on the joke. I crossed my arms over myself, trying to make myself impossibly smaller within their space. Maybe I could go back to being invisible, that was nice right now. They hopped over their bed, sitting on the edge and facing me.

“Selena you have nothing to be afraid of.” They said cautiously.

They looked entirely confused, their brows scrunching up as they met my gaze.

“We’ll you don’t really like me so…”

They looked at me like I just grew a second head.

“Don’t like you- where did you get that idea from?” They sounded offended.

“You’ve been avoiding me, you practically run out of the room every time I enter. You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, and right now you sound downright cold.” I said, suddenly finding my voice.

I felt even worse now than before, cause I could read their face, their body language. They just stared Blankly ahead, almost as if, right through me.

“I wasn’t aware you felt that way, believe me it was not intentional. Selena I’m not, I’m not avoiding you.” They said finally.

“Then what do you call this?”

“Having a conversation? Am I- am I not giving you attention right now?”

“It doesn’t feel very nice. What were you doing before I came in here?”

“Studying.”

“Studying what?”

“You.”

“What?” I said, widely confused.

“I’ve been studying you Selena. I cannot help you with your religious trauma if I don’t know how far they have their hooks in you. So I’ve been reading, their journals, their vitriol, learning everything they they taught you. So I can free you. So that you don’t have to suffer the way you are anymore. I was giving you space, not interfering. I wasn’t aware you would take that as a sign of my hatred towards you. It’s not you I hate.”

“We’ll that makes me feel better” I said a little sarcastically.

I did feel a little better, but now I understood what the problem was. Sure, I’d been keeping my distance as well, filling my time with Baby and Manon. And maybe it wasn’t just because I thought they hated me. Maybe some part of me was still stuck on my teachings. And that part of me wasn’t something I wanted to mindlessly accept anymore.

“You can come fully into the room Selena, I don’t bite. Not hard at least.” They joked.

This seemed more akin to the version of them Manon described. Always joking, and playing, never serious. I slowly entered into the room, not sure of what to do until the oat the bed beside them. When I sat down, they were still facing the wrong way on the bed. But instead of moving to meet me at the edge, the simply flipped over, hanging their head over the edge of the bed and looking up to me. They looked funny upside down and I had to stifle a laugh. I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate. I wasn’t really sure of anything that was deemed appropriate in social interactions.

I wasn’t graced with the presence of other people very often. And when I was, I was almost never permitted to speak. Blinky continued to stare up at me, and I finally understood the irony of their name. It was uncanny how long they could go without blinking. My blue eye would surly get aggravated if I kept it open that long. It was more sometime to input and light. Sometimes going so far as to cause me headaches on really bright days.

“Hey Selena?”

“Yes?” I asked curious.

“Everyone around here has a nickname, I was wonder perhaps, if you wouldn’t take offence, I’d we could call you Ghost? I love ghosts, and you look like a pretty spectre.” They said, a little more inflection in their tone.

Like they were slowly warming up to me.

“You think I’m a pretty ghost?” I asked.

They nodded.

“Prettiest one I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks. I think- I think I like that.”

“Excellent.” They said simply, rolling over on their stomach and reaching for something in their night stand.

There previous rampage around the room forgotten, or maybe put on pause. I watched them pull something out of the drawer, but I did recognise the lighter. They brought it to their mouth and lit it. Taking a long inhale, before exhaling a cloud of smoke. They silently offered it to me but I declined. I wasn’t sure why this was funny, but they laughed.

“Manon didn’t like it at first either. It’s not for everyone, she prefers smoking regular cigarettes with Otis now. I think wine might be much more her poison.”

“Isn’t it wrong?” I asked.

They stiffened slightly, before shrugging it off and taking another hit.

“I suppose that’s to be expected. You were never allowed to have any fun where you ghost?”

I shook my head no. Of course I had my hobbies, but they weren’t ones I often shared. When you spend so much time alone, you have to find a way to entertain yourself somehow.

“What do you like about it?” I asked carefully.

“It lets me be… me I guess.”

“But how could you be anyone besides yourself?”

“Tell you a secret Ghost,” they started.

I kept my eyes down, but spurred them to continue.

“Nobody knows who I am. I don’t even know who I am. But what I do know, is I don’t like me sober. I’m boring and contemplative and spiteful. When I don’t smoke, I’m the old me. The me nobody liked. But now I’m Blinky, people like Blinky. I like Blinky, they’re an easier human to be.”

I frowned. They said it with so little care, but the dark an unsettling undertones were still there. It was unnerving.

“And who were you before, I mean- what was your name.”

They sprung up on the bed, finally sitting up to attempt to match my height. But even seated, their height deficiency didn’t go unnoticed. They were just so small, it was hard not to let that shape how you viewed them.

“Ok, but you have to promise not to laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?”

“Because my name was god awful.” They laughed.

The weed seemingly starting to hit them.

“I won’t laugh.” I said sincerely.

“Francesca-Hildegard” they said.

I couldn’t help the small contortion of my brow. That certainly was a name.

“See, even you know it was awful!”

“I guess it’s… charming?” I tried.

But I couldn’t bring myself to lie about it.

“Yeah, Baby nixed my name right away, I don’t think she could pronounce it “ they laughed.

“It’s fine by the way, if this isn’t your thing. You’ll find something that mellows you out, Doe Eyes did. Eventually this place won’t seem so… daunting.”

“Blinky?”

They hummed in response, not turning their head away from their sudden interest in the window. There was nothing to see out of it, it was pitch black outside already. Late into the evening when most everyone was going to bed.

“Do the others know?” I asked.

“Know what?” They seemed to finally clue into what I was insinuating, “they know what they want to know Ghost. See what they want to see. Who am I to tarnish their view of me. If they think I’m happy, let them think that.”

“So you’re lying to them.”

“No… not lying. I’m, exaggerating. Embellishing a little. Eventually it will become the truth right?”

They shrugged it off so casually. They laughed suddenly.

“You almost sound like you care Ghost, and to think you were scared of me.”

They flopped back down on the bed.

“Perhaps you should have some tea, Manon keeps the camomile in the back of the cupboard by the coffee pot. Relax a little, enjoy your evening.”

But I didn’t feel like leaving just yet. Now that I’d made it this far, it felt cowardly to leave now. Maybe this was some sort of test. I leaned back on the bed, facing the opposite direction as them, head to toe. It couldn’t be that bad right, I mean they were offering me something. It would be rude to decline. I held out my hand, and they smiled, handing me the little paper of wrapped herbs. I turned it in my hand a few times, watching the smoke rise off of it.

“Smoke it if you want, or don’t. I don’t think any less of you for it. I want to help you Selena, not erase you. Your religion isn’t the problem, you were simply taught it wrong.”

“And how would you know that?” I asked.

I didn’t mean to sound defensive. But this life was all I ever knew.

“That’s the joy of being Human, we get to make mistakes. My father was a priest, I know your book like the back of my hand. In two languages none the less.”

“And do you believe it?”

“Believe that there’s some man who created all life, and likes to sit on his high horse, and watch and his disposed chosen people all die under his watch? I don’t think I do. But if that’s you claim to sanity, then own it. Make it something that isn’t ugly, believe in your god. But never, let your faith lead you blindly. People will exploit that, they’ll exploit you. They already have.”

I nodded, listening intently to their words. They seemed fairly smart for someone their age. Someone younger than me, it almost felt shameful that I didn’t know nearly as much. I wasn’t privy to such information, allowed to make my own opinions. I’d never been responsible for my own sense of self before. It was vast and it was scary, and there were so many questions. But I didn’t want to annoy anyone.

“You said you read their journals?”

They nodded as I slowly let the object burn in my hand. They didn’t seem upset or anything that I was wasting it. It was like holding it gave me something to do, something to think about. It was my choice, and mine alone if I would smoke it or not. And I didn’t think I wanted to, I passed it back to them, expecting them to make some sort of off handed comment. But they just took it back with a smile, and brought it back to their lips.

“You really think I can change?”

“You already have. Even in the span of this conversion. Does your head still hurt?”

How did they know? Before I could answer, they hopped up and turned off the lights. I was feeling a little better with those horrid things off.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“This room is free for you to use anytime, I hope you know that.”

“But it’s yours.”

“According to Otis, you’re supposed to be mine too. But I don’t see things that way. What’s mine is yours, it’s my responsibility to keep you safe. Make sure you don’t want to run.”

“But you’re just a kid.” This dynamic was confusing.

To have someone younger than you, claim to be responsible for your life.

“I didn’t have to be your responsibility Blinky, I that’s what this” I gestured to our current position “was all about. I’m not gonna run. I don’t think that’s what I want right now.”

“See, I told Otis you were smart. You just needed a chance to use your own brain.”

Maybe I should have taken offence to their words, but they seemed to be the the best way they knew how to be nice.

“If you’re the one thing standing between Manon and I, and whatever comes after. What does that make you?”

“A friend Ghost, that makes me your friend. Don’t think of it as an ultimatum. Think of it as an open invitation. I would never choose to send either of you to your deaths. That’s not my call, no matter how the others make it seem. If some part of them didn’t want you here, I’m afraid not even I could do anything to stop that.”

I knew that was supposed to comfort me, but it didn’t. The dynamics in this house were entirely foreign to what I was used to. Of course, I had been made it help around the house. But it was never demanding like it had been with The Sisters. They didn’t look the threat of gods fury over me, just an entirely different threat instead. But Blinky was right, it was my choice if I met god at the end of the day. But maybe they were right to question him too.

Blinky was something I could prove. A tangible thing you could observe from the outside, with each of your senses. And they seemed entirely content not knowing what was next. Just living in the moment. Perhaps I should give living a shot, I mean actually living. But not for anyone, or anything else, just for myself. Blinky snuffed out the rest of their joint on an ashtray they seemingly made themself. It was a small, old fashioned black and white clown, made of ceramic, and the ashes collected in its mouth.

Blinky stood up to leave, but stopped at the door.

“Ghost, if you wanna pray in this house, don’t let Otis stop you. You can do it in here. Just close the door, yeah?”

All I could do was give them a small nod. And with that, I was left alone in the chaos that was Blinky’s room.

Blinky’s POV:

I hadn’t expected Selena to stop by my room today. For the most part she’d been hanging around Manon or RJ. I didn’t necessarily want to be around RJ, but if he was being nice to her, then so be it. Who am I to tell her who to hang out with.

Selena was a wild card, unlike Manon. Of course, no one expected Doe Eyes, but you could comfortably expect her reactions. She was poised, intelligent, caring, with a strong sense of self. She wouldn’t crack easily, she was a resilient breed. But Ghost, Ghost was an enigma. She hardly seemed human. Not in the way that she’s akin to something seen as worse than human, but in a way that she didn’t seem to have a strong identity. All she knew was what she was told.

People like that were dangerous. They were unpredictable, always teetering on the edge of finding themselves. Always looking for someone to be, and they’ll latch onto the first authority they come across, because they feel they can’t function without someone else’s guidance. But that simply wasn’t true. Selena was fully capable of having autonomy, she’d demonstrated it with her choice in family members. And as mush as I hated the choice, I respected her for making it.

But to think someone could look at me, and see fear, was incomprehensible. Disgust, annoyance, anger… I was all used to. They’d become synonymous with the name Francesca. But Blinky… we’ll, I was flamboyant, cheerful and probably a bit not all there. But scary? I suppose the man I killed for Manon thought so. Not that I gave him much time to think.

Note to self, try new, more humanitarian approach to Ghost. The last thing I wanted was to manipulate her choices, the way those nuns did to her. She could get better with time, and we’ll placed attention. It want fair of me to see them when I looked at her. She was a victim in their crusade, not some sort of sick disposable warrior of god. It left a bitter taste in my mouth, just thinking about it.

But tonight, I was done with thinking. Shutting my brain off for the day and just going with the flow for the evening. My legs carried me to Baby’s room. Her door was cracked open, so I didn’t need to knock.

“Oh hey Blink!” She giggled, presumably smelling the weed I just smoked, “having fun I see?”

I rolled my eyes.

“I could be having more fun.”

“And what do you have in mind little Blink?”

“Wanna help me dye all of RJ’s T-shirts pink?”

She laughed wildly!

“I thought you’d never ask!”

An: This should be obvious, but I feel like I should say it anyways. You are a fun person without substances! Don’t let that voice in your brain, or anyone else fool you! You’re a gem, own it!

[cottageshadowwitch]

There has to be some "interesting" conversations going on there for sure! I feel like I am learning a lot about witchcraft this time around than the other two times that I was really around online. Like just now, from your blog, realizing that I've been using a spelling for magic that is not appropriate. From now on I'll use the proper spelling and hope that I haven't made a complete fool out of myself for it, aha. I have so many questions involving witchcraft and paganism in general and some people thinking that I should get into shamanism but I'm really not sure about what's all involved and whether or not it is something that I want or should be involved in. I'm still working through religious trauma involving the Jehovah's Witnesses and I keep having some people tell me that I am abandoning one abusive thing for another, which is annoying because I stopped being involved with them back in high school and that was a while ago. It was only recently that I discovered that I actually have trauma from that and it's preventing me from really embracing my own path because there's still a part of me that's scared. I feel like this is why I feel so drawn to nature. And thanks! I'd love to have someone else to talk to about witchcraft! A few that I follow talk about indigo children and I had to find out what that was, and a couple of them also bring up L*lith a lot and so I'm just really unsure of a lot right now.

That spelling has been very popular and a lot of people have used it because it seemed a really cool way to name what we're doing – so myself included. The important thing is what one does after learning about its roots, so don't beat yourself up about it.

As far as I've gathered I'd be very cautious about shamanism, a lot if not all is closed if one doesn't belong to that culture. As of now I haven't invested enough time into researching this topic, but yeah, I'd be careful.

Same with people believing in indigo children, starseed, and the like. Spirituality can be a wonderful thing (that I obviously enjoy and need in my life) but so many practices are so dangerous and harmful for a variety of reasons. And we can't trust in media – back when I was working for a spiritual publishing house (with the abusive boss) we went to a few book fairs and the latest hype were certain native american practices.

I'm really happy you were able to escape that influence and I can't even begin to imagine the number it must have taken on you. I lost my best friend to them and she made me read some material but to actually have to live and be treated that way... really glad you're on your way to healing.

[riverdamien]

Inheriting the Jesus Story!

INHERITING JESUS THE STORY!

(Sloughing Towards Galilee!)

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

Luke 24:36-45: "Have you anything here to ear?!

This question may seem strange coming from Jesus in his post-resurrection experience in  Jerusalem, but he knew that the mundane practice of eating would bring calmness to his disciples. His efforts proved he was not a ghost. more so, than the showing of the wounds on his hands and feet; it was this food event that serves as a moment of awareness. Their eyes were opened like on the Emmaus Road by Jesus breaking bread and serving them.

The meal stories defined Jesus and his ministry. The meal stories signify breaking social barriers as in the case of the sinful woman in Chapter 7 who crushed an exclusive party--and disrupted oppressive economic structures to clarify his mission to the oppressed.

In the feeding stories New Testament scholar Luke Timothy Johnson notes the act of breaking bread is a method for changing imperial economic structures and extending resources to the poor by disrupting Pax Romana which serves the interests of a select few. By asking the disciples to provide him food in our gospel today to Jesus, he is challenging them to disrupt the social structures of their day, and now us, of our day.

All we have to do is look at our streets and the lack of hospital/health care, we are called to disrupt the system to have equality of care and love for everyone. I have stopped voting and learning like Dorothy Day, we have a "corrupt system."

Our systems need to be disrupted and the bread of life brought to those without. The one in particular I am musing on is our religious institutions.

I have suffered deep religious trauma and am still recovering. I was in a denomination that calls homosexuality, "intrinsically evil", and placed me in conversion therapy. I was lucky, I ran so fast to the Los Angeles streets that frankly I saved not only my life but my soul.

There on the streets, I was asked "Have you been given any bread?" Through therapy, people who could care less about who I was or my religion, many prostitutes and drug addicts,  my life came back together, and coming to a faith outside the institutional Church as best described by Fr. Henri Nouwen I found God once again:

"The word faith is often understood as accepting something you can’t understand. People often say: “Such and such can’t be explained, you simply have to believe it.” However, when Jesus talks about faith, he means first of all to trust unreservedly that you are loved, so that you can abandon every false way of obtaining love. That’s why Jesus tells Nicodemus that, through faith in the descending love of God, we will be set free from anxiety and violence and will find eternal life. It’s a question here of trusting in God’s love. The Greek word for faith is pistis, which means, literally, “trust.” Whenever Jesus says to people he has healed: “Your faith has saved you,” he is saying that they have found a new life because they have surrendered in complete trust to the love of God revealed in him." Henri Nouwen

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

It is that faith, in 30 years I have learned to respect the beliefs of everyone, to love them without judgment, there is nothing else but love and care,  and to walk with them where they are.

I see religious trauma in the young adults I work with, being told they are"sinners" over sexuality or over drinking, etc. Several years ago a person brought tracks to give out to people and gave some out behind my back, one young man, overwhelmed by his oppression by his church became suicidal. I  stay outside of organized churches as far as I can get because I see their closed eyes to the hurt many have, as well as me.

I am always undergoing a deconstruction, a rethinking of my belief system, and in a continual deconstruction, I have inherited the Jesus story of the One who brings bread of life to the poor and disenfranchised.

In finding the "bread" my hope and prayer is that others find the bread in knowing me, and that as my time comes to an end others will pick up the Bread. And my prayer is that others will simply go and hang on the streets,  listen, and feed people,"the bread".

Deo Gratias! Thanks be to God!

=====================================

Fr. River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min., D.S.T.

Post Office Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

www.temenos.org

paypal.com

415-305-2124

Fr. River Sims, D.Min., D.S.T.

Director

Donate to GLSEN at www.GLlSEN.com

Prayer of St. Brendan!

"Help me to journey beyond the familiar

and into the unknown.

Give me the faith to leave old ways and break fresh ground with You. Christ of the mysteries I trust in You to be stronger than each storm within me.

I will trust in the darkness and know that my times, even now, are in Your hands.

Tune my spirit to the music of heaven,

and somehow, make my obedience count for You"

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

(Temenos and Fr. River seek to remain accessible to everyone. We do not endorse particular causes, political parties, or candidates, or take part in public controversies, whether religious, political or social--Our pastoral ministry is to everyone!

================================

Thank you to You All who have so far given $955.00 to Glesen--Thank you! Thank you!

\

[toournextadventure]

I was born in to a Hispanic Christian family but when we moved to the states there was a period of time where we almost never went to church so I never grew up in the environment where being gay was a sin or whatever which helped me figure out who I was without much problem and honestly I don’t think I knew how bad other people had it because of that

But it’s now in the previous years that my family started to go church a lot which surprise surprise say being gay is wrong which I don’t care what they say but I’m afraid my siblings will start picking up those belives and it just terrifies me to think that because of that I might lose them because they’ll think my “life style” is wrong

I hate it so much and it’s such a constant fear of mines that I don’t really know what to do

See, and that's 100% a valid fear! And it completely depends on which religion (in my case, which sect of Christianity) you're raised in that determines, like, the KIND of trauma/fear/grief, you know? (I'm putting my thoughts and opinions below a cut, I'm not trying to bring up anyone else's religious trauma without warning for them)

Personally, I was raised in two different sects of Christianity; Baptist and Pentecostal. The Baptist side was more strict in their beliefs, and the Pentecostal side was very aggressive and almost violent in their beliefs. Like, my church experience starting from the time I can remember was "prayer warriors" and turning Christianity into an actively offensive religion instead of a "this is what I believe." Like, we were the kids that were taught to go up to people and prostlytise as many people as possible. It was the church where you went to church camp in the summer and came back utterly physically and emotionally drained.

So from the moment I realised gay/trans/queer was a thing, I was sitting in church every Sunday listening to my pastor actively condemn me to hell and say they would strike me down with the sword of the spirit. They put hands on you and "pray the gay away" DURING SERVICE, and they don't stop until you practically say you've been "saved from the devil's grasps." And then you basically have to keep coming each week to be prayed over to ensure you don't fall from the graces of god again.

I had the same fear with my little brothers. They were raised in the same church, though thankfully not for near as long. And I cried when I came out to my brothers, but thankfully they were chill. And now, nearly 10 years later, they roast me for it with the same vigor as they roast each other during game night.

Part of what helped my brothers, I believe, was just bringing the topic up every now and then to gauge their reactions. Now, my brothers and I CAN have these deep conversations, so idk if you could do the same with your siblings, but just... keep injecting the beliefs and thoughts that there's nothing wrong with it, it's just a normal part of life. It at least helps them keep an open mind, and it should hopefully keep them grounded enough that you are no different than anyone else 🫶

[thngsoftheconsciousmnd]

Therapy

I just hit a point where I felt insane. No one around me could understand this mess of emotions I was in. Of course they couldn't. I didn't even know what I was going through at the moment honestly. I couldn't understand why I was feeling certain things and I was even ashamed that I felt a specific way. The biggest one, being jealous of my SO's friendships.... What a terrible thing. I can't even admit it to him honestly. I'm glad I started therapy because I want to be in an environment where I'm not judged and can just say it how I feel. Even the nasty dark secrets. I try to open up to the friends around me but honestly... They just have their own things going on. My closest friends aren't really the type to open up about actual emotional stuff. One of them has been smoking a lot of weed recently and all she wants to do is meme at me. I tried to talk about real stuff but she just continued with the memes. I'm nervous to talk to my mom because I just don't want her to worry too much about me. She gives great advice, but I don't really like her religious spin on things when I'm trying to deal with my emotions. Idk, "give up your emotions to God" just doesn't work with me. I've spent so much time just running away from my emotions and dissociating. Literally just burrying and trying to forget my trauma in certain situations. Renan was dropping me off at the station and he went down a side street that a taxi took and it just dug up old memories of being SA'd. Absolutely vile. There are a lot of things I want to try and continue working on in my time on online therapy.

Building relationships and actually caring what people say. A lot of the time I just bring the conversation back to me.

Identifying my emotions and letting them go. It's okay to feel jealous/insecure, but I want to be able to identify what triggered this and be able to go about dealing with it in my own way.

Working my way towards having a secure attachment type.

Dealing with my passed trauma with SA. I don't really think about it that much. But there's a lot of times where I will drink a lot out at a bar and its all good and happy, but the next day I wake up feeling absolutely vile that I was close to men.

Stop drinking

[automatismoateo]

Venting about recent anti-atheist trends via /r/atheism

Venting about recent anti-atheist trends

I’m not sure if I’m the only one who’s noticed this, but I’ve seen a sharp uptick in atheism hate on not only Reddit but also the internet as a whole recently. Their comments are almost all the same, which boils down to something along the lines of ‘I hate confrontational atheists.’ The reality is that the average atheist will deal with magnitudes more bigotry and discrimination just for being an atheist than the average religious person ever will just for being religious, and quite frankly they just don’t understand the rage which comes with leaving religion- and the trauma it often brings. Many of us have been ostracized from our families, many of us have been unwillingly told countless times that we’re going to ‘hell’ (often said as a threat), many of us face near constant attempts at conversion from our loved ones (talk about confrontation), and many of us face near constant comments about how atheists lack morality. And that’s not even getting into the torture, imprisonment, and threat of death many atheists over seas live with every single day. Do confrontational atheists kinda suck? Yeah, but oftentimes they are like this simply due to the trauma theists have inflicted on them. It seems completely unfair to me to attack the person for what people of your belief system have turned them into. You want atheists to stop being confrontational? That, by and large, begins with the theist. How are we supposed to stay silent as religion invades more and more of our private lives? As more and more religious laws are passed? Pointing any of this out labels you as ‘one of those atheists,’ and leads to further discrimination. I know many of you have made similar posts to this, so I apologize for the rehash, but damn man it’s weighing on me.

Submitted July 13, 2023 at 05:03PM by pc133370 (From Reddit https://ift.tt/iBUnY6X)

[samwisethewitch]

An Open Letter to Christian Witches

On this blog, I often champion the idea that witchcraft is a practice, not a religion, and that a witch can practice any religion, provided that religion does not explicitly forbid witchcraft. I still very much believe this, and the point of this post is not to tell Christians that they can’t be witches. However, as a non-Christian witch who has been deeply traumatized by Christianity, I do wish Christian witches would be a bit more mindful of how they show up in witchy spaces.

Recently, I’ve noticed a pattern of self-identifying Christian witches dominating the conversation and centering their own beliefs in spaces dedicated to witchcraft. Now, I wholeheartedly believe that this is unintentional, and most of these Christian witches seem like lovely people. But it’s still deeply frustrating and upsetting to be promised a safe space and support from other witches, only to be preached at.

Or be told that I’m doing witchcraft wrong because my ethics are not the same as someone else’s.

Or be told that I don’t understand Christianity, despite having spent the first two decades of my life fully immersed in it.

Or have my trauma invalidated because, “Not all Christians are like that!”

Or spend the majority of our time together reassuring and comforting a Christian witch who is uncomfortable with the inclusion of pagan and/or occult elements in a ritual.

These are all genuine experiences I have had with Christian witches in 2021. And in every single one of these situations, the Christian witch had a very negative reaction to any kind of constructive criticism or request that they be more mindful of the diverse beliefs and experiences in the space. Any suggestion that their actions may be causing discomfort for others was met with defensiveness, if not straight-up denial. The result is a situation where Christian witches are at the center of every discussion and demand (knowingly or not) coddling or hand-holding from teachers and facilitators, while those of us who are not Christian are left deeply uncomfortable but unable to express that discomfort without upsetting someone or being accused of creating conflict.

And I get it. I really do. Because for most of the people in the above scenarios, this was the first time they encountered a situation where their religion wasn’t the norm. But what I need Christian witches to recognize and be mindful of is that this discomfort of being surrounded by people who do not share your beliefs is something those of us who are not Christian experience every day.

In the Western world, and particularly in the United States, Christianity is a religious hegemony. (A hegemony is a group with total political, social, economic, and/or military dominance in a given area.) Everything in Western society was designed for Christians, to serve a Christian worldview, and to reinforce Christian hegemony. Everything from our government to our business practices to our media reinforces Christian values. For Christians, this creates the sense of comfort and security that comes from being part of the in-group. For non-Christians, it meas being constantly bombarded with someone else’s religion. For former Christians with church-related trauma, it means reliving that trauma constantly.

Here’s a look at an average day in my life as a formerly-Christian pagan with religious trauma. Please note that this is not an exaggeration — this is a description of what I experienced on the day I wrote this post.

I get up and, because I live with Christian family members, I walk past exactly five images of Jesus and/or the Virgin Mary on my way from my bedroom to the front door. On my commute to work, I drive past at least a dozen churches, including the one I used to attend, where my religious trauma occurred. I stop at a red light, and the car in front of me has a bumper sticker with an image of a cross and the message, “If this offends you now, just wait until you see it on judgement day!” I happen to know that these bumper stickers are for sale not at a local church, but at a privately owned, nominally secular business. When I get to work, the woman who greets me at the front gate is wearing a crucifix necklace.

I work in diversity education. When I get to the office, my boss asks me to join the local Interfaith council because I am the only person in our department who isn’t Christian. My current big project at work is trying to get a transgender speaker to visit our organization and help us lead a workshop to work towards amending a history of transphobia in our organization. My boss tells me today the she isn’t sure the speaker I arranged will be approved, because our administration might not think it is in line with our organization’s values. When she says this, I know she means evangelical Christian values. She doesn’t have to spell it out — there’s a chaplain down the hall from our office.

After my lunch break, my coworkers are talking about a church event one of them attended over the weekend. I do not contribute to this conversation. It has been several months since I attended an in-person religious event with people who shared my faith. As I’m leaving the office at the end of the day, I pass a Bible study group that has set up in our recreation area. On my drive home, I pass the funeral home where my grandfather’s memorial service was held earlier this year. The programs for that service had the Lord’s Prayer printed on them. My grandfather was an atheist.

This is my level of exposure to a religion I not only don’t believe in, but have been actively hurt by, on a daily basis. This is my normal. I’ve learned to live with it, tune it out, and self-soothe, because there is no other option.

When I’m finally able to be around other witches, many of them are coming from similar experiences. I am finally in a space where I can be vulnerable, where I can talk about what I really believe, and where I can receive support from like-minded people. But if there is even one Christian witch in the group, it’s highly likely that this space too will be dominated by Christian hegemony.

It’s a noted fact that a person exists within a hegemony, they have very little ability to tolerate challenges to this hegemony due to a lack of exposure. This is the origin of the term white fragility, which sociologist Robin DiAngelo uses to describe the discomfort and defensiveness white people feel when confronted with “racial discomfort” such as being asked to consider racism as a system they are complicit in and benefit from rather than as the actions of lone extremists. White fragility is something I have personally experienced as a white woman involved in antiracist work, and it’s something I have taken years to work through and am still actively working on. Since DiAngelo popularized this term, similar terms have been used to point to similar phenomena in other hegemonic groups, as in the cases of male fragility/fragile masculinity, cishet fragility, and yes, Christian fragility.

I’m not trying to argue that all hegemony is the same, and I am definitely not trying to say that my personal religious trauma is anywhere near the level of pain caused by the mistreatment of Black and brown people by white supremacist society. My point here is simply that being part of the dominant group breeds a very low tolerance for exposure to other groups.

Christian witches are members of a hegemonic group entering a space historically occupied by marginalized people, which creates an imbalance of power. (And yes, you can benefit from hegemony even if you are marginalized in other areas. Identity is multi-faceted. Queer Christians, disabled Christians, Christians of color, and yes, Christian witches still benefit from Christian hegemony.) The only way things are going to get better is if Christians are willing to do the work themselves of building tolerance for religious discomfort. The rest of us can host as many interfaith and secular events as we want, but if Christians aren’t able to tolerate the inclusion of other belief systems, we’ll never truly be on equal footing. Until Christians stop centering the Christian experience, it will continue to dominate interfaith spaces, including witchy spaces.

TLDR: I’m asking Christian witches to be mindful of the privilege they bring into interfaith spaces. I’m asking you to be willing to feel uncomfortable, and to recognize that your discomfort does not invalidate the work your facilitators have put into creating the space and/or program. If you truly can’t stand the discomfort, I’m asking you to politely excuse yourself instead of demanding emotional labor from other witches.