#and there are some exceptions for religious institutions

[mrskayathefrog]

being a Bishop is a job, and the Pope is your boss (or great-great-great-etc-grandboss, anyway).

mans got fired. isn't Texas an at-will employment state as well? meaning your boss can fire you for any reason*?

*as long as that reason is not based on sex, race, gender, sexual orientation, or religion

There’s nothing funnier than American Trad Caths revealing that they’re just Presbyterians that think Baroque looks cool

[venacoeurva]

Wren was on a mission to make everyone regret shoehorning him into the prophecy stuff and he accidentally came out of it with like 3 different complexes, immortality (influencing said complexes), and his left side extremities mega fucked up (leg is damaged from corprus and eventually had to be amputated right above the knee bc those bones were literally disintegrating, left arm is cursed basically), and so much spite and religious disillusionment

Also then he dates who is essentially a demigod later so that last point is extra funny

[gallusrostromegalus]

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

---

(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)

[ellieputellas]

the bird | a.putellas x reader

You’re a model student at a religious boarding school, expected to uphold tradition, and never question the path laid out for you. But when Alexia Putellas moves to your boarding school for reasons unknown, you struggle to reconcile your religious devotion with the new, unfamiliar feelings you have for Alexia.

tags: troublestudent!Alexia, modelstudent!reader, angst, fluff, religious guilt, religious trauma, forbidden love, friends-to-lovers, slight slow burn, tension, school setting, eventual smut in preceding parts (will tag those parts) warnings / notes: will contain homophobic sentiments from other characters, religious themes that may be sensitive to some people (including questioning religious beliefs), alexia and reader are both around 19 years old

partially inspired by this request and also beyond salvage by @angelsforthenight (and my own religious experience lol)

‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤchapter one 🕊 other chapters

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤPROLOGUE.  The Bird.

“We have high expectations of you,” Sister Superior Philomena said, her voice measured and steady as she adjusted her glasses. She looked up briefly from the papers she was meticulously arranging. “And time and time again, you have not only met but surpassed those expectations.”

“Yes, sister,” you replied softly, your tone respectful and subdued. The nun offered a small, approving smile before neatly assembling a set of documents. You stood attentively, your posture impeccable—back straight, shoulders poised with quiet confidence. 

Having been a student at Instituto Santa Eulalia Mártir since you were 8 years old, you had long since absorbed the institution's unspoken code of conduct. The perfect student carried themselves with pride but never arrogance. They spoke with clarity and conviction, yet knew the value of restraint. They displayed individuality and a strong sense of self but never had an overpowering, flamboyant personality. In just over a decade, you have become the embodiment of these ideals—a model student who was silent but not shy, strong but humble to a fault. You were practically a nun-in-the-making, as your peers have joked.

“These are the profiles of the new arrivals,” Sister Philomena said, sliding a slim file across the desk with deliberate care. “Five freshmen, a few sophomores, and one senior.”

You paused, eyebrows lifting slightly. “A senior?”

She inclined her head in confirmation. “Alexia Putellas Segura,” she said, tapping the topmost profile with her pen. “We rarely admit students at such a late stage, but this is an exception. She has transferred from one of our sister academies.”

Your gaze dropped to the profile. The photograph was of a brunette girl with striking features and soft hazel eyes, her expression neutral, almost guarded. As you scanned the page, nothing immediately stood out to you. “Sister, if I may ask—why has she transferred?”

Sister Philomena sighed, her hands folding neatly over the desk. “The reason, I’m afraid, is all too familiar. A troubled soul.” Her voice softened with a trace of pity. “As she is in your year, I have decided she will share a dormitory with you. I entrust you with the responsibility of guiding her, molding her into a student who reflects the values of this institution. Can I count on you for this?”

You nodded solemnly. “Yes, Sister.”

Your gaze returned to the photograph attached to the profile. You traced your fingers over the typed name – Alexia Putellas Segura.

You looked through her profile which had not much information about the girl aside from her age, address, and other basic data. Her grades seemed good and she seemed to be active in her extracurriculars. So, why is she here? What trouble did she get into?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤACT I. The Arrow.

Alexia Putellas was more beautiful and captivating than you expected.

She stood taller than most of your peers which was made more intimidating since it was paired with some kind of silent confidence – tall, composed, self-assured. She was quiet but not shy. There was nothing hesitant about her; she was reserved but not shy. Her eyes, sharp and attentive, seemed to notice everything.  And those eyes… you just could not get over how beautiful they were. A stunningly warm hazel with golden specks.

It would be an understatement to say that you were completely captivated by the sight of her.

“Okay, girls, let’s introduce ourselves by saying our names, nicknames, and favorite things to do in your free time.” The overenthusiastic novice Sister Catherine chirped in the new student orientation where you were present together with a couple of other seniors. “Let’s start with our current students!” Sister Catherine nodded at you. You smiled, trying to make eye contact with every new student but your eyes just kept drifting  back to Alexia whose gaze felt too intense for your liking. You kept your hands clasped behind your back. “Good afternoon, new students.” You said before introducing your name. “I’m a senior. I serve as praepostor of the Dorm de Santa Rosa on the first level of this building. In my free time, I enjoy reading the Bible, embroidery, and volunteering in the library.”

Your words were met with polite nods, but as your gaze briefly flicked to Alexia, you noticed a faint smile curve her lips before she glanced down at her shoes. There was an entertained look in her eyes. You bit your lip, feeling suddenly conscious which you never felt before. 

The introductions continued, but your attention was frustratingly divided. You could barely focus, your mind circling back to Alexia. The way she carried herself, the unreadable expressions on her face, even the firm, athletic build she possessed—it was all distracting in a way you didn’t know how to name.

When it was finally her turn, her voice was calm, low, and self-assured. “I’m Alexia Putellas. Senior,” she said, her gaze locking onto yours with unnerving directness. Something about the intensity of her eyes sent a shiver through you. “I, uh… like football.”

You nodded politely, managing a small smile. Football. That explained her build, her quiet confidence… the biceps that showed whenever she crossed her arms. But as your thoughts began to drift into admiration—or something more troubling—you caught yourself. I don’t think I should be looking at her like this. But… she’s just another girl. And I’m a girl too. Is it wrong to notice her this much?

Your internal scolding fizzled the moment she smiled at you again. It wasn’t much, just a fleeting expression, but it left you warm and inexplicably flustered. Whatever it was you were feeling, it unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

The other praepostors of the dorms had come to a unanimous decision: a pajama party would be the perfect way to introduce the new girls to life at Santa Eulalia. The event was meant to be lighthearted, a blend of camaraderie and tradition, designed to ease the newcomers into their new environment while showcasing the values of the institution.

You took the task of preparation seriously. Each welcome basket was carefully assembled with thought and precision, a reflection of the standards you upheld as a praepostor. Inside each basket, you included a neatly folded school shirt embroidered with the Instituto’s emblem, a new rosary with polished beads, a selection of prayer cards featuring saints and scripture verses, and a modest set of toiletries—simple but elegant. You even tied each basket with a satin ribbon in the school colors, a final touch of warmth and care.

The other dorm heads welcomed their respective new students, handing them their baskets and chatting enthusiastically. While you might have been the nun’s favorite student, you didn’t find it easy to relate and interact with fellow students. They all felt you were too cold, too uptight and rigid, even if you didn’t intend to. This just made it difficult for you to seem warm and open to the new student Alexia. 

Usually, you could draw energy from the excitement of a group of new students but now, it was just you and Alexia. And, Alexia was more quiet than you expected. It wasn’t exactly easy to bounce your energy off of someone as guarded and calculated as you were.

You led her to the farthest room at the end of the hallway, where the two of you would be sharing the space. The room was meant to house four students, but over the past year, many had transferred to more secular academies, leaving several beds vacant. Alexia set her bag down with a deliberate air, and you handed her the welcome basket, trying to gauge her reaction.

She sat on the edge of the bed and began sifting through the contents with slow, deliberate movements. Her expression was unreadable as she picked up the prayer cards, flipping through them one by one. You noticed the faintest curve of her lips as she did so—a smile, but one you couldn’t quite decipher. Was she genuinely touched by the gesture? Or was it amusement at the pious simplicity of it all?

“Thanks,” she said at last, her voice low and restrained, yet not unkind.

You nodded, hesitating for a moment before sitting on the edge of your pristinely made bed across from hers “You’re welcome, Alexia.” You replied, carefully. Then, after a brief pause, you ventured.  “So… you like football?”

She glanced up at you then, her hazel eyes momentarily meeting yours before she returned her attention to the basket. Something about the way she looked at you unsettled you, not in a bad way, but in a way that made you feel hyper aware of yourself. Alexia hummed. “Yeah, I do. I used to play as a midfielder in my old academy.”

You nodded, unsure of how to continue the conversation, knowing fully well it was off limits to ask “trouble students” why they ended up in the Institute. Alexia smiled, noticing your hesitation and. “And you? You like football?”

You nodded quickly. “If watching the girls play during sports week counts.”

She chuckled, a warm sound that made you relax slightly. “Of course, it counts.”

Silence followed, and you felt an awkward pressure to keep the conversation going. You’d already shared everything important on the walk to the dorm—school history, the names of the sisters she would encounter, and a rundown of the cafeteria food. What else was there to say? Ask her about her favorite Bible verse? That seemed…awkward.

“So, Alexia,” you said finally, grasping for a neutral topic, “do you like to read?”

 She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I do, but probably not the same things you read.” “How do you know what I read?” You immediately worried it sounded defensive, so you glanced down, hoping it didn’t come across as rude.

She smiled, noticing your reaction. “Hmm, you mentioned you liked reading the Bible just a while ago so I assumed you mostly read that.”

“Oh,” You said softly. “Yes, I do…of course.”

Alexia’s smile lingered, but her gaze grew a touch more curious. “Are you, like, the president of our year level?”

You shook your head, grateful for the change in topic. “Oh no, there aren’t any presidents here. Just dormheads like me. We take care of dorm activities and…” You hesitated. “Yeah.. mostly that.”

Her lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. “And watch over troublemakers like me?”

You felt your cheeks warm. “Well, not exactly. We just remind everyone of the virtues we uphold in this academy.”

Her smile turned into a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry, monjita,” she said, her voice dropping into a playful tone as her lips curved into the faintest smirk. “I wouldn’t dare ruffle your feathers.” (trans. monjita – little nun)

You weren’t particularly close to other students. They always found you too uptight, too rigid, a perception that left you feeling isolated despite your good intentions. However, Ingrid was one of the few exceptions—a rare friend with whom you could talk easily. She was a year younger than you, yet she carried herself with a confidence and ease that often surpassed your own.

Having transferred from a sister school in Norway, Ingrid had quickly adapted to life at Santa Eulalia despite her initial struggles with Spanish and Catalan. Her cheerful demeanor and genuine kindness had endeared her to both students and staff, earning her the role of dorm head almost immediately after her arrival.

“Darling, have you tasted the cookies I baked with Maria?” Ingrid’s voice was as warm as the smile she wore, and she presented you with a basket of sugar cookies. “They’re actually decent, considering we had no idea what we were doing. Sister Cathy had to step in and save us.”

You winced slightly at the use of the nickname for the junior nun, knowing the more senior nuns would never approve of shortening their chosen names—it was far too casual for their liking. But you let it slide, worried that if you corrected her, you might come across as overly strict and risk alienating your one true friend.

“Ingrid, you should meet Alexia.” You said, stepping aside as you introduced the new student who was trailing behind you. Alexia politely smiled at the taller Norwegian, before offering her hand. 

Ingrid’s expression immediately brightened as she extended her hand. “Alexia! You must be the girl from our other sister school. I came from a sister school as well… but from Norway.” She beamed warmly. “You’re lucky to be sharing the same room as the best dorm head this school has to offer.”

Your cheeks warmed at Ingrid’s exaggerated praise, and you offered her a shy, almost embarrassed smile.

Alexia smiled at Ingrid before carefully looking at you. “Seems like it.”

Something about the way Alexia looked at you made you feel exposed, and you quickly tried to shake off the awkwardness her gaze stirred in you. “Uh, Ingrid,” you began, trying to redirect the conversation. “Alexia plays football, too.”

Ingrid’s eyes lit up. “Does she? That’s fantastic! What position?”

You stepped back slightly, letting the two of them ease into the conversation. Alexia answered Ingrid’s questions with quiet confidence, and though her initial replies were short, you could see her slowly starting to open up. As you observed, you began to notice nuances about Alexia that hadn’t been apparent before.

She wasn’t just reserved—she was thoughtful, deliberate in the way she spoke and carried herself. When Ingrid asked a question, Alexia listened intently before replying, her answers polite and measured. Despite her firm demeanor, there was a gentleness in the way she engaged with Ingrid, an unspoken respect that made the interaction feel natural and unforced.

Watching them talk, you realized that Alexia wasn’t difficult to connect with because she was closed off, but because she paid attention—careful, almost wary attention—to the people around her. You couldn’t help but wonder how you exactly felt about being subject to her perception. What does she think when she looks at me?

The pajama party started getting rowdy as the night passed and the nuns retired to their quarters

And by rowdy, that just meant as rowdy as a Catholic, all-girls school sleepover could be. That just meant a bunch of girls laughing, eating sweets, and giggling over magazines or board games. Somewhere amidst the muted chatter, Ingrid, Alexia and you were somehow roped into a circle with the new students.

You noticed that most of the old students sitting with you in a circle were also the ones who transferred due to being “trouble students.” You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite; you were always made to be the example for the troubled students. It made you feel out of place, unsure of what stories you could share that wouldn’t sound out of step.

Anna, a sophomore with braces and a nervous smile, shifted in her seat before speaking. “My mom was done with me after I got caught skipping class to hang out at the arcade. I just… I didn’t want to say no to my friend, you know? But I guess it didn’t matter because we’re not even friends anymore now that I’m here.” Her words slowed as she reached the end, a flicker of sadness crossing her face. But then she perked up slightly, like she was willing herself to be optimistic. “Still, I don’t mind too much. It’s kinda nice, being away and meeting new people.”

The group cooed and broke into a silent chorus of murmured affirmation. As the circle’s de facto senior—and someone the younger students clearly looked up to—you felt compelled to step in.

“Anna,” You chimed in respectfully, your tone firm yet kind.“Just remember that the people you surround yourself with can really shape who you are.” You paused to let the words settle. You weren’t the most social person but you did give good advice. “Just remember Proverbs 13:30 – ‘walk with the wise and become wise, for a companion of fools suffers harms.’”

The group collectively nodded. You continued. “The right friends will lift you up and the wrong ones will pull you down. I know it’s tough starting fresh, but you’re in the right place to find people who will bring out the best in you.” You smiled at Anna whose eyes had softened.

Anna’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the circle felt lighter. The tension had dissipated, and even Ingrid offered a small, approving smile. But as you glanced at Alexia, you caught something else entirely — a faint, knowing smirk.

It was the kind of look that made you second-guess yourself, that made your pulse quicken in a way you couldn’t quite explain. Was she amused? Impressed? Mocking you? Her expressions always left you grasping for answers, and the more you tried to ignore them, the harder it became.

Before you could unravel it, Anna turned to Alexia, her curiosity unguarded. “So, Alexia… why are you here?” The question hung in the air. Alexia’s smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of hesitation.

You jumped in before she could respond. “Anna,” you said, careful to keep your tone even, “the sisters discourage us from asking about someone’s past unless they choose to share it. Alexia’s reasons are her own.”

Anna blinked, realizing her mistake. “Oh… I’m sorry,” she murmured.

You nodded, offering her a reassuring smile. “What’s more important is how we grow and learn from the past, and not fixate on the mistakes themselves.”

The circle seemed to accept this, returning to their quiet hum of chatter. Yet, deep down, you felt a pang of regret. You wanted to know why Alexia was here, too. It was the right thing to do, you told yourself—the sisters had made that clear. Still, the question lingered in your mind, refusing to be silenced.

What had brought her here? And why did it feel like the answer mattered more to you than it should?

As the chatter and laughter continued in the background, you found yourself retreating to the corner of the common room, more concerned with tidying up the scattered plates and cups than joining the conversation. Besides, as soon as the chatter turned into crushes and past boyfriends, you knew your presence was neither wanted nor important to the group. Growing up in the institute, relationships were foreign to you, a concept you understood but never experienced. Even if you were around the age other people got boyfriends or even crushes, you never really had anything remotely close to a relationship. 

Even in the rare interactions with boys from the brother academy, no one had ever sparked that fluttering, heart-racing feeling you’d seen in movies or heard about in whispered gossip. It wasn’t for a lack of trying from the boys’ end. A lot of boys liked you; you’ve always caught the eyes of several peers from the brother academy. However, you were convinced that that was just because you were their mother’s dream daughter-in-law and they’ve hyped you up to their sons. Regardless of all the interest and attempts, no one piqued your interest. No one has even close to making you blush.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on the small of your back. The sensation sent a jolt through your body. “Not interested in girl talk, I see?”

The voice was low, smooth. You turned, and Alexia stood closer than expected. Her hazel eyes locked onto yours, her expression unreadable yet undeniably captivating. You froze for a moment, caught off guard by the nearness of her and the intensity of her gaze.

“Oh—Alexia,” you stammered, fumbling with a stack of plastic cups in your hands. “I didn’t see you there.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile. “You were pretty focused. What are you up to?”

“Just cleaning up,” you replied quickly, avoiding her eyes. “I can’t stand a mess, and I know everyone will be too tired to deal with it later.”

Alexia hummed thoughtfully. “Mind if I help?”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” You shook your head, feeling your cheeks warm under her steady gaze. “I’m sure the others would appreciate your company more. Talking about crushes has to be more interesting than… this.”

She chuckled softly, her voice like a low ripple of amusement. “Honestly, cleaning up sounds better than hearing another story about some guy from one of the brother schools. It’s all the same anyway.”

You smiled. “Well, we make sure to recycle here. Same rules in our room apply here, which I already told you about.” You nodded. “But if you need assistance, just let me know.”

“Responsible and hands-on,” Alexia observed, picking up a pile of paper plates. Her tone was casual, but her eyes lingered on you, as if she were studying you. “No lucky guy’s noticed that about you yet?”

You sighed. “I’m not interested in relationships.” Your voice was quieter than intended.

“Ah, I see.” Alexia’s smirk turned playful. “So, you’re planning to actually become a nun, Monjita?” She leaned closer, her teasing tone wrapping around the pet name. “I bet you’d look cute in those headscarves, robes, and cross necklaces.”

Suddenly, you were getting flustered, blushing, and out of words. You opened your mouth to correct her — that they were called habits, not headscarves — but nothing coherent came out. You were way too flustered. Alexia’s smirk widened, clearly pleased by your reaction. 

She chuckled. “So, you’ve really never had a crush?”

You paused then shook your head, barely meeting her eyes. “No, I don’t think so.” You peeked a look at the taller girl, seeing her put all the paper plates in the bin. “Probably wouldn’t like the feeling of having a crush, honestly.”

She arched an eyebrow, her gaze still fixed on you. “Interesting.” She continued stacking plates as if the conversation were the most natural thing in the world. “But if you’ve never had a crush, how would you even know what it feels like?”

The question lingered, heavier than you expected. You glanced at her, unsure of how to answer. “I don’t know, blushing and flustered whenever they look at you… intimidated and nervous around them? It just doesn’t seem appealing to me.” you admitted. “Maybe I just… haven’t met the right person.”

Alexia’s lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe,” she said simply. “Or maybe you’re just not looking.”

Her words settled in the air between you. You gazed again at Alexia whose expression was unreadable. Before you could muster a response, she reached for the cups in your hands, her fingers brushing yours briefly. 

“But enough about that,” she said lightly, breaking the tension. “I’m more interested in recycling than rehashing crushes.”

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and nodded. Together, the two of you worked in silence, the background noise fading as the common room gradually emptied.

When the last of the mess was cleared and the others had gone to bed, you found yourself sitting beside Alexia on the worn-out couch. The quiet felt comfortable, though charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

After a moment, Alexia turned her head to look at you. “So…” She began, her voice softer now. “You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

You frowned, trying to recall. “What question?”

Her smirk returned, subtle and teasing. “Do you want to be a nun?”

You paused, deep in contemplation. You looked around, checking if anyone was within earshot. You hummed. “I used to,” You paused, fiddling with your thumbs. “But now… I don’t know. I’ve always loved God. I love the Church. I have always devoted my life to it…”

Alexia leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. “But…” Alexia asked gently, her tone coaxing yet patient.

You didn’t know why you felt so comfortable with someone you just met but it all felt so natural with Alexia. You’ve always been so guarded with other people, especially when it comes to your faith. But something about her… you just felt at peace. You couldn’t help but open up.

“I feel like there’s something missing in my life.” You said under your breath. “I pray to God, ask Him to tell me what’s missing in my life or why I haven’t felt fulfilled despite devoting and pouring my all to the Church…” 

You trailed off, your voice faltering under the weight of your own vulnerability. When you dared to glance at her, you were met with a concerned expression that made your heart tighten.

“Alexia, I know it’s wrong to feel this way,” you said quickly as if trying to justify yourself. “I know I shouldn’t expect anything in return for my devotion, but sometimes — sometimes I just feel incomplete.”

The silence that followed was deafening, each second stretching longer than the last. You regretted speaking, regretted opening up. Maybe you had said too much. Maybe Alexia would think you were ungrateful, or worse, weak in your faith.

But then she spoke, her voice steady and kind. “Monjita,” she said softly, using the nickname again, but this time without the teasing edge. “You don’t have to defend yourself. I get it.”

Your eyes snapped to hers, and you were struck by the warmth in her gaze. In the dim light of the room, her hazel eyes seemed to glow, and the intensity of her soft expression sent a ripple of heat through you.

You bit your lip, trying to steady yourself. “You do?” you whispered, almost afraid to believe her.

She nodded, her lips curling into a faint, reassuring smile. “Sometimes… even when you give everything to something, it still doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong. It just means you’re human.”

Her words settled over you like a blanket, comforting but unfamiliar. You weren’t used to being seen like this, to someone understanding parts of you you hadn’t fully understood yourself.

The way Alexia looked at you then — steady, unblinking, as if you were the only thing that mattered in the room — made your breath hitch. Her gaze was different now, more intense, and it sent a rush of warmth through your chest.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your face was heating up. You tore your eyes away, focusing on the floor to compose yourself, but when you glanced back at her, she was still watching you with that same expression… but somehow, more intense. You swore that, for a moment, her eyes fluttered to her lips.

Your heart raced, and suddenly, you felt flustered all over again, the warmth in her gaze threatening to undo you completely. Uh oh.

As the weeks passed, you and Alexia found yourselves spending more and more time together — breakfasts, walking to class, hanging out between lectures, and even doing homework side by side. Alexia had a habit of accompanying you to the chapel during your daily rosary. She never prayed aloud, but she’d sit quietly beside you, her presence steady and unwavering.

Even if you spent so much time together, you still felt uneasy around Alexia. It wasn’t discomfort with Alexia herself, but with how she made you feel. You didn’t know what to make with the intensity of her gaze or the way she smiled at you. Mostly, you didn’t know what to make of the way she made you feel – heart racing, palms clammy, feeling overwhelmed by her presence. 

You loved being around Alexia. She was kind and attentive in ways you’d never experienced before. She noticed the little things: how you tried to be modest with your breakfast portions and would slyly slide extra pancakes onto your plate when you finished. She’d reach for the high shelves in the library without you even asking, or patiently guide you through Spanish essays, her explanations both thorough and encouraging. You truly loved being with her.

But at the same time, you began to think that perhaps some distance would help. You needed clarity—time to pray, reflect, and ask God for guidance about the novel emotions that had taken root within you.

Luckily, Ingrid came in the clutch and invited Alexia to train with the school’s football team just to see how she would like it. Of course, Alexia agreed under the condition that you would watch her during her first time.

You acquiesced. This was supposed to be our time apart, you thought. But the idea of supporting Alexia made your resolve falter. After all, she had sat through countless rosary sessions just to be near you. Watching her play for a little while wouldn’t hurt, right? What could possibly go wrong?

But you were wrong.

Seeing Alexia on the field was something else entirely. The way she moved, so fluid and confident, was mesmerizing. The ball seemed like an extension of her, every pass, every run executed with effortless grace. Your cheeks warmed, even in the brisk wind, and your heart pounded despite sitting still on the cool grass. The feelings stirring within you didn’t just linger; they intensified.

Things got worse on your walk to the showers. Alexia was still radiating the heat of the match, her hair damp and her skin glowing from exertion. She walked close — too close — and the warmth of her presence made your head spin. You tried to create space, stepping slightly farther away, but Alexia noticed.

Alexia chuckled softly before linking her arms with yours, forcing you to be closer to her. “Why are you so far, monjita? Do I smell?” She teased.

No, you smell too good, actually…

“N-nothing,” You stumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

It was becoming apparent to Alexia just how flustered you got around her. She didn’t want to scare you off but she also found it so cute how you reacted and just how clueless you seemed to be about your own emotions.

It was just so endearing to her. She already thought you were beautiful from the moment she met you but it wasn’t just your appearance. It was your quiet kindness, your humility, and the way you so easily became flustered in her presence. It was utterly charming. And, to her surprise, she was beginning to develop a huge crush on you.

Of course, given the circumstances, she wasn’t entirely sure how to navigate those feelings. So, she figured the best approach was to tease you just enough to see if you’d slip up first. Which is why, as soon as the two of you entered the shower room, she decided to remove her shirt without a second thought.

Your eyes widened at the sight of your roommate’s uncovered torso. You quickly spun around, quietly gasping. Alexia smirked. “Alexia,” You croaked out, unable to keep the nervousness from your voice.

Alexia chuckled as she smirked. “What? You act like you’ve just seen a ghost…”

You stammered, your voice coming out in an embarrassed truth. “Uh, Alexia, you shouldn’t be removing your clothes in front of people like that.”

Alexia smiled, clearly enjoying the fact that you were flustered. “Monjita, I don’t see anything in the Bible that says anything bad about sports bras.” She teased with a light tone. “Though, didn’t Jesus say something about plucking out your eyes if you feel tempted?”

You drew in a shaky breath, desperately trying to compose yourself. “I… I just think it’s better if we keep a little more modesty,” you muttered, still not daring to turn around. You and Alexia often changed in your showers after bathing so this was the first time that you were seeing her so exposed.

Alexia took a step closer, and you could feel her presence behind you, the heat radiating from her still-warm skin. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, all you have to do is say so,” she said, her voice low and playful.

“It’s not that, I just—” you started but trailed off, heart hammering in your chest. Before you could finish, Alexia laughed softly and stepped into her shower stall, leaving you standing there, unsure whether you were relieved or even more nervous.

As the sound of water began to fill the room, she called out casually, “So… how’d I do out there? Be honest.”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on her words rather than the strange, jittery feeling in your chest. “You did great,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. You cleared your throat to sound less meek.  “You had such great control of the ball. I haven’t seen anyone play that good since Ingrid and Maria.”

She hummed, pleased with your response. “Gracias, monjita. That means a lot coming from you.” She said, her voice echoing.

Your light conversation soon fell silent as Alexia cleaned herself. You awkwardly lingered by the sinks, unable to get over the overwhelming awareness of her just a few feet away. Even if you two had showered at the same time, there were usually a bunch of other girls too. Now, it was silent – just you, Alexia, the sound of rippling water and the loudness of your thoughts. No chitter-chatter to distract you from the thought of Alexia…

You jumped as Alexia’s voice cut through the sound of water. “Uh..I forgot my towel outside,” she called out. “Mind handing it to me?”

You hesitated for a moment, silently willing your pulse to slow down. “Uh, sure,” you finally replied, moving to grab the towel.

When you turned to hand it to her, you kept your gaze averted. Her fingers brushed yours as she took the towel, and you swore your heart skipped a beat.

“Thank you,” Alexia said softly, her voice carrying an almost imperceptible edge of playfulness.

You nodded stiffly, retreating to your side of the room. Your mind was a blur of confusion, and for a brief moment, you thought about praying. But the truth was, you weren’t even sure what you were praying for anymore — clarity, calmness, or for these strange feelings to go away. One thing was certain, though: Alexia quickly became the center of your thoughts, no matter how hard you tried to focus elsewhere.

Even if Alexia loved your presence and loved your companionship, the experience at the boarding school was sometimes too much for her to handle. 

When she first moved in with her grandparents, she never anticipated that her stay would eventually lead to being sent to a boarding school after an unpleasant experience. The thought of living away from her friends, her home, and access to decent football training had been unbearable at first. But then, she met you—a sweet, devout girl whose head seemed so deeply buried in the Bible that you didn’t even realize you were still in the closet.

Despite loving your presence, Alexia still felt like the school could be too much at times – the lackluster football program, the seemingly endless Bible lessons, the preachy talks, the relentless schedule, and the constant pressure to be a proper Catholic girl all the time. It was a big shift from being in a more liberal school. 

In addition to all that, she just couldn’t reconcile the growing feelings she had for you with the way the nuns always seemed to lecture against those very feelings. It got too much.

So, when the weight of it all bore down on her, Alexia would sneak out in the dead of night while you were fast asleep. Wandering aimlessly around the campus grounds, she often ended up at the prayer garden nestled in the small forest near the school.

The quiet solace of the garden, with its canopy of stars and the hum of nature, offered her a much-needed escape from the pious expectations of her daily life. It was the one place where she could breathe without feeling judged, without having to be so guarded.

After a few successful midnight escapes, Alexia had grown more confident in her routine. Perhaps a little too confident. As she carefully climbed out of the window one night, the sound of her movements stirred you from your sleep.

“Alexia?” you murmured groggily, blinking at the shadowy figure moving by the window. You rubbed the sleepiness from your eyes as you saw your roommate with a cardigan thrown over her pajamas, practically half out of the window. “W-what are you doing?”

Alexia froze for a moment before turning to face you. “Monjita… hey,” she said softly, using the nickname that had inexplicably grown on you. “I was just going to the prayer garden…to destress.”

Rubbing your eyes, you sat up, still half-asleep. “The nuns will catch you,” you muttered, voice laced with drowsy concern. A yawn escaped her mouth. “They might punish you if they catch you.”

Alexia hesitated for a moment before offering you a small smile. “Maybe,” she admitted, “but I’m going anyway. And… if you’re worried, you could come with me.”

You blinked at her in confusion. “What?”

“Come with me,” she said, her hazel eyes sparkling “You’re in better standing with the nuns. If we get caught, they’ll go easier on us if you’re there. Besides, I could use the company.”

You bit your lip, torn between your better judgment and the strange pull of Alexia’s request. Alexia hummed before proceeding to step both feet out of the window, baiting you. After a moment of internal debate, you sighed and climbed out of bed. “Fine. But we need to be back before anyone notices, okay?”

Alexia’s grin was radiant as she reached for your hand. “Of course, monjita.” she whispered. “Now, come on.”

Your heart was beating so fast as you slipped out the window and into the dark of the night. If anyone heard your heart now, they would have thought you were robbing a bank by the way it thumped and thrashed in your chest. On the other hand, Alexia moved with confidence and no worries.

“Alexia, aren’t you afraid of night creatures… owls… foxes?” You asked as you and the other girl weaved your way through trees to make it to the prayer garden.

Alexia, who was leading the way, turned her head and flashed you a smile. “All God’s creations, right?” She teased. “Don’t worry, we’re not too far away, angel.”

That was another nickname Alexia liked to call you, which always got you flustered as well. Even now that you were fearing for your safety, you still felt your cheeks warm.

It wasn’t long before you both found yourself in the prayer garden, seated on makeshift benches crafted from large slabs of rocks. You always loved the prayer garden but at night, it transformed into something almost magical. The stars scattered across the sky like shimmering jewels, and the moon bathed everything below in its soft, silver glow.

As you gazed at Alexia, you couldn’t help but feel a little breathless. Under the moonlight, she looked ethereal—her skin glowing like porcelain, her dark eyes shadowed yet undeniably captivating. You quickly turned your gaze upward, trying to ground yourself.

“I come here at night when I feel overwhelmed,” Alexia said, her voice breaking the stillness. Her tone was unusually soft, vulnerable. Despite knowing Alexia for a while, she rarely talked too much about her emotions. She was rarely so open like this, which just made this experience more special. 

“I just need to sit in silence,” she continued, her eyes fixed on the stars. “To look at the sky, the moon, hear the trees rustling. It’s… healing.”

You nodded silently, sensing there was more she wanted to say.

She sighed deeply, her words weighed down by emotion. “When I feel like the guilt is too much... like it’s drowning me, I come here. And for a moment, I can breathe again.”

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. You looked up at the sky, your shoulder brushing lightly against hers. Normally, being so close to Alexia made you nervous, but tonight, in this shared stillness, you felt oddly at peace. The heart that was previously violently thrashing in your chest was now a consistent, steady beat.

After a moment of silence – just gazing at the stars and listening to the rustle of the trees, you broke the silence. “Can you believe our Creator? He made all of this — so vast, so beautiful. The stars, the trees, the world… it’s like proof of His greatness.” You gushed, feeling yourself grow appreciative of the world around you. You figured sneaking out was just a way for you to appreciate God’s creation in a different light.

Unbeknownst to you, Alexia wasn’t sharing the same train of thought. She sat quietly beside you, her gaze distant as she absorbed your words. After a moment, she spoke, her voice soft yet tinged with sadness. “Yes… but who created all the pain?”

Her question caught you off guard, and you turned to look at her, unsure how to respond. “What do you mean?”

Alexia met your gaze, her eyes glimmering with an unspoken ache. “If there’s a creator who made all this beauty, then who made all the suffering?”

The weight of her words settled heavily between you. You hesitated, your mind racing for an answer. “Maybe… maybe it’s not Him,” you said cautiously. “Maybe it’s humans, not him."

Alexia’s eyes didn’t leave yours, her expression unreadable. “Then why doesn’t he stop it?”

You faltered, unsure how to respond. You looked down, feeling the gravity of her question but unable to offer a clear answer. “Maybe… maybe it’s because we have free will. We have to face the consequences of what we do."

Her voice dropped to almost a whisper, the next words barely audible. “But… what if the way I was born is a sin? Does that mean I’m damned from the start?” she whispered. "What can I do then?"

Your heart stuttered, her words hitting you like a sudden blow. You didn’t fully understand what she meant, but you could feel the weight of her confession. It meant something to her — something big, something raw.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. What did she mean? You searched her expression for clarity, for reassurance, but found only a vulnerability that left you speechless.

The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. It wasn’t the first time that someone came to you with religious doubts and apprehensions. Typically, you handled it well but now, all you could do was keep your eyes glued on to Alexia’s hazel eyes. 

She smiled weakly, her eyes glazed a bit, before looking up again at the stars. You paused, taking her presence in before mimicking her and looking up at the stars again. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ACT II. First All at Once, Then All Together.

After that night with Alexia at the prayer garden, you’ve grown more and more comfortable with her, spending practically every single waking moment with the girl. You became even more inseparable.

Sneaking out at night became a ritual, talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes, you’d open up about your religious upbringing. Sometimes, Alexia would share about her life outside the boarding school – telling you about all the shenanigans she got into. Other times, Alexia would be telling you about football rules and gameplay. (She practically spent an entire night explaining to you what offside was and you still were confused, unable to visualize it even after she explained using rocks and twigs.) 

These days, you laughed a lot, more than you ever had in all your years combined inside the institute. It felt so freeing being with Alexia, opening up and just getting to laugh boisterously without being scolded. 

Alexia loved seeing this side of you, growing more and more comfortable with her. She loved making you laugh, loved the way you made her laugh. But it wasn’t just the lighthearted moments she treasured—it was the quiet, vulnerable ones, too. Sometimes, she wanted to tell you everything about how she ended up at the school, but she always hesitated. A part of her wasn’t ready, unsure of how you’d react.

The downside of spending so much time with Alexia was that you were starting to fall behind on your dorm head duties. You managed the basics—leading morning prayers, fairly assigning chores, and organizing Bible study sessions every couple of weeks—but some responsibilities slipped through the cracks.

It wasn’t a big deal until you forgot to monitor the weather, failing to inform the nuns of an incoming storm. So, when a storm hit and the dorm lost power, all the batteries in the lamps and the flashlights had corroded and you were all forced to use candles. 

Alexia, as always, was quick to help. She volunteered to search the storage closets for any working battery-powered lamps. While you rummaged under your bed for spare supplies, Alexia explored the rest of the room.

“Hmm…” Alexia hummed, cutting through the silence as you searched for the lights in your room which you were sure you stored under the bed. You turned around and could barely make out her figure in the dark. 

“What is it?” You asked, still rummaging through the box under your bed. 

“Jewelry and birds?” she said, her tone curious.

Confused, you turned to find Alexia sitting on the floor, flipping through your old sketchbook. Your eyes widened in horror. “Wait – Alexia!” You yelped.

Back when you were a freshman, an alumni visited the school to share her life as a jewelry designer. After which, for a year, you were convinced that jewelry designing was your passion, making several sketches of rings, necklaces, and other pieces. After filling an entire sketchbook of drawings, you figured that it was a ridiculous dream to have and quit your jewelry-making aspirations

The obsession with drawing birds… well, there wasn’t an explanation for that. You just liked birds somehow.

You tried to snatch the sketchbook from Alexia who held it away from you, a teasing grin on her face. “Relax, angel,” she said, thumbing through the pages. “You’re really talented. Did you design all these?”

You bit your lip, cheeks warming. “Well… yeah. But it’s not that creative. It’s just… birds and jewelry.”

Alexia frowned, shaking her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is amazing.” She stopped on a page depicting a necklace of a bird inside a cage. “This one especially. It’s beautiful.”

You tried to snatch the book again, but she pulled it away, her expression softening as she flipped through more pages. Her gaze lingered on darker drawings that littered the last few pages — birds with arrows through their hearts, birds lying lifeless, and cages that seemed impossibly small. 

She finally closed the sketchbook, her expression unreadable. Without a word, she reached out and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her lap. You froze for a moment but eventually relaxed, adjusting yourself to sit more comfortably. Alexia held you like that, her warmth radiating through you. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as she spoke into your ear. “You don’t have to stay in the birdcage.”

You didn’t reply, but your arms tightened around her. Somehow, in that quiet moment, the message was clear. Yet, you said nothing.

After that night, Alexia had grown fond of hugging you. 

Well, not just hugging, but holding your hand and brushing your hair with her fingertips. You never talked about what she said even if you felt like you wanted to, but you just knew you had some sort of silent and deeper understanding of each other since then.

The lingering fluttered feeling remained with Alexia but it soon dissipated into comfort. You’d let her hold your hand under the table during lunch. You’d let her hug you from behind and rest her head on your shoulder when you washed the dishes. On your end, you just loved being close to her, often offering to brush her hair and sort it into braids or other silly hairstyles. 

The weather got colder and colder, making your nightly sneaking-out sessions impossible. Unfortunately, this meant that you were suddenly having a hard time sleeping. The walks and nights out talking provided you with a peace of mind that allowed you to sleep soundly after. Now, you felt like life was incomplete without it.

It was past midnight and you still couldn’t sleep, feeling anxious considering that you had to wake up earlier to prepare for First Friday mass. You already tried praying, counting sheep, and reciting Bible verses in your head but to no avail.

You sighed and turned again in your bed. The Catalan took notice of your restlessness and sat up slightly to glance over to your bed. The nightlight barely illuminated the room but it was obvious to her that you were still up.

“Angel,” she whispered, her voice soft but distinct in the quiet dormitory room. You turned around to see Alexia propping herself up in her bed. She smiled warmly at you. “Can’t sleep?”

You shook your head. “I’m having trouble,” you whispered back. “But, I’m sure I’ll drift off sooner or later.”

Alexia hummed and tilted her head thoughtfully, then lifted the edge of her blanket in a silent invitation. “You know,” she said lightly. “Sleeping next to someone is supposed to help. Something about oxytocin or whatever. It’s supposed to calm you down.”

You chuckled. “Suddenly, you’re a biologist?”

“Nah, just a cuddle scientist.” Alexia teased, her grin widening. “Come here. If it doesn’t work out, you can always just go back to your bed.”

You hesitated, your heart skipping for reasons you couldn’t quite place. The idea was harmless — just two friends sharing a bed — but something about the offer felt different, like stepping over an invisible line. Still, the way Alexia looked at you, patient and almost knowing, made it hard to say no.

Biting your lip, you slid out from under your covers. The cold floor sent a shiver up your feet as you tiptoed toward Alexia’s bed. She scooted back slightly to make room, her blanket still held open. You slid in carefully, the scent of her shampoo immediately enveloping you. The bed was as tiny as yours, forcing your bodies closer than you’d planned.

You laid stiffly, your back almost to the edge of the bed, careful not to be too close to her. You were too afraid that moving closer to her might just… be too intimate.  

Just as you started to relax, Alexia’s hand slid over — tentative but deliberate — resting lightly on your waist, before settling flatly on the small of your back.

You jumped slightly at the sensation, but she didn’t let go. Instead, her fingers curled gently, tugging you closer until your body was flush against hers. 

“You were about to fall off,” she murmured, her voice low but teasing. “Relax, Monjita. I won’t bite.”

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t find the words to protest. Alexia adjusted, slipping an arm under your neck and pulling you into her chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her steady heartbeat thrummed against your ear, and though it should’ve calmed you, it only made your own race faster.

Even if you and Alexia had become close, there was a newness, a different feeling to this interaction. It felt intimate and almost like crossing friendship boundaries. 

“You’re so stiff,” she said after a moment, her tone light but edged with amusement. “What’s the big deal? Haven’t you ever hugged a friend before?”

You swallowed. “Not like this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alexia hummed softly in response, her breath warm against your hair. “Well,” she said, her voice dropping just slightly, “there’s a first time for everything.”

You paused, contemplating, before softly whispering again. “Alexia,” You started cautiously. “I never really had a best friend.”

She hummed, her free hand gently brushing through your hair in slow, comforting strokes. “Yeah?” she prompted, her tone curious but tender. “What about Ingrid?”

You shook your head. “I like Ingrid, but she’s not my best friend and I can’t completely open up to her,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever opened up to anyone. I’m always so scared… scared that they’ll hate me or judge me once they really know me. You're the only one I feel like I can open up to.”

Alexia scoffed softly, almost incredulously. “I don’t see how anyone could hate you, monjita,” she said, her voice laced with quiet affection.

You swallowed, your chest tightening. “I think some of them already do,” you murmured, the words tasting bitter as you let them out. 

“I’ve always been so devoted to the Church, and sometimes… I think they see me as too pious, too preachy. I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” you added quickly, almost defensively. “But it’s made me someone they can’t trust. Like I’m just an extension of the nuns — someone they’ll never see as a real friend.”

Alexia chuckled warmly. “An extension of the nuns?”

You nodded. “Even you call me monjita.”

Alexia shook her head. “Well, yes,” she explained. “But not because I see you as an extension of the nuns. I just think you’d look so cute and adorable in those gigantic nun costumes they wear, and well, you’re as nice as a nun.”

You chuckled a bit but shook your head. “Still, people don’t see me beyond being the good girl, the praepostor… the person the nuns send them to whenever they have doubts about their faith.” You whispered. “Sometimes, I even forget who I am beyond that. Sometimes, I just let myself be who they think I am.”

Alexia’s hand didn’t falter as she hummed thoughtfully, her touch steady and grounding. “You shouldn’t do that to yourself,” she said simply, but there was something fierce in her voice, a quiet insistence that you weren’t sure how to process. “They can perceive you and they can judge you from just that but you shouldn’t let their perception define you.”

You hummed in thought, as you rested your hand on her chest, feeling her steady heartbeat. “It’s not just that,” you continued, the words spilling out now as though Alexia’s warmth had unlocked something deep inside you. “Even if they could see past that, I don’t think they’d like me once they really knew me, once they knew who I am beyond being the praepostor or the nun’s favorite.”

Her hand paused briefly, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer, more cautious. “What do you mean?”

You stared blankly at the wall, the weight of her question pressing on you. “I mean that I have my own doubts,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “That I give advice, telling people to trust God and follow His word, that all your problems will wash away when you believe and pray but deep down, I… I’m not sure I believe it myself. Sometimes, I feel so trapped… like I’m living this life for everyone else, not for me.”

“Hmm?” Alexia said as if to signal for you to continue.

You bit your lip, hesitant to share your own feelings with Alexia. “I’ve lived my whole life here in the Institute. This is all I’ve known and I know a lot of the sisters went through the same thing and learned to love it…” You trailed off.

Alexia prodded. “But?”

You felt tears form in your eyes but you tried to stop yourself from letting yourself get even more emotional. “I want to see what life is like… beyond this.” You shared softly, almost too soft for anyone to hear. “Just see what I’m missing out on.”

You continued, “I want to laugh freely. I want to watch movies that just make me laugh or make me cry — movies not necessarily made to have a moral or a lesson or be about a biblical character. I want to eat junk food and indulge in sweets without feeling like I’ve turned into a massive glutton. I don’t want to feel guilty for wanting a third pancake.”

Alexia chuckled softly at that, her mind flashing back to mornings in the dining hall when she’d see you dutifully pick at bland green beans, leaving the pancakes untouched for the younger girls.

“I want to do things other normal people our age do,” You continued. “I want to go drink recreationally and dance with people I don’t know. I wanna know what I’d look like with lots of makeup and those big lashes. I want to swim in a tiny swimsuit, even if it feels weird riding up your—”

Alexia laughed out loud at that, the sound warm and unguarded, and you couldn’t help but smile. Her amusement encouraged you, made you feel safe enough to keep going.

Taking a deep breath, you continued, “I want to fall in love,” you said, the words trembling on your lips. “Really fall in love. I want to go on a date, get flowers, share drinks. I want to kiss someone… not a polite little peck on the cheek. I mean really kiss, feel something. I want to know what it’s like to be loved and love beyond… beyond religious devotion.”

Suddenly, you fell silent, gulping as you allowed yourself to calm down again. Alexia hummed lowly as she continued to brush your hair. You stayed silent, waiting for Alexia to speak but she didn't, simply continuing to brush the pads of her fingers against you.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but steady. “You must think I’m a hypocrite,” you said, preempting her, your voice brittle with doubt.

“No, no, of course not, cariño.” She said immediately with a tender but firm voice. “I think what you’re feeling is natural.”

Another pause. You nuzzled closer to her instinctively, seeking comfort in the steady warmth of her touch. Alexia sighed softly, her breath ruffling your hair. “Having doubts, wanting these things… it doesn’t make you bad,” she murmured. “It makes you human. We all want love. And that’s okay, monjita.”

Her words settled over you, comforting but unfamiliar, as though you weren’t sure you deserved to hear them. You turned your head slightly, meeting her gaze. There was no judgment in her beautiful, hazel eyes — just patience, warmth, and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“But what if it’s more than just doubts?” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your fear. “What if… what if I can’t actually be what they expect me to be? What if I just break?”

Alexia’s free hand moved to your cheek, her thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Then maybe it’s time to stop living for their expectations,” she said, her voice firm yet impossibly gentle. “You don’t have to be what they want. You only have one life and you deserve to live for yourself, angel.”

Your eyes locked together and you started feeling the weight in your heart be replaced by something new. You felt the energy between you two shift into an unfamiliar feeling you couldn’t put a finger on. There was a warmth between you two — a growing comfort and familiarity — but there was also the feeling of something ominous unraveling. You couldn’t tell what it was; it was something you’ve never known before.

And as soon as you felt your eyes flicker to Alexia’s lips — pink and lush, parted slightly as she stuck her tongue out to wet them, how they were impossibly close — you knew.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ACT III. We Can’t Really Help Who We Are

After that night cuddling with Alexia, you lied and said you preferred sleeping in your own bed, even if truthfully you’ve never slept better than you had wrapped around in her arms.

You’ve also let her hands awkwardly hang between you, brushing against yours to signal for you to take them. Instead of locking hands like you usually did, you’d cross them across your chest and avert your gaze.

When she’d try to wrap you in a back hug from behind, you’d find some excuse to slip away. “I need to re-fold my clothes,” you’d mumble, or, “I should check with Sister Catherine about something in the dormitory,” leaving her standing there, arms left empty.

More recently, you’d taken to pretending to be asleep, tucked into bed as early as nine in the evening, just to avoid those late-night conversations with her — the ones where it felt like the world disappeared and it was just the two of you.

Ever since you realized that you might have a crush on Alexia, you have avoided spending alone time with her. You dodged all her physical affection and even moved seats in class, making an excuse that your eyesight has been faulty lately which made no sense because you simply moved horizontally as you two had already been sitting up front.

To anyone else, your sudden change in behavior would have been confusing, even hurtful. But Alexia wasn’t just anyone. She understood what you were going through, even if you hadn’t said a word. She saw through your avoidance, knew why you flinched away from her touch or made excuses to leave.

So she decided to give you space. She’d let you sort through your feelings, trusting that you’d come to terms with them when you were ready. There was no rush, no pressure — not from her. The least she could do was add to the pressure you were already feeling from everyone and yourself.

But to you, Alexia’s calm and unbothered demeanor meant something entirely different.

You convinced yourself that her behavior wasn’t born from understanding but indifference. You figured she hadn’t noticed your growing feelings at all, or worse, that she had — and didn’t feel the same.

Her casual way of brushing off your sudden distance only solidified the idea in your mind: Alexia only saw you as a friend.

Every hug, every handhold, every quiet moment together — it was nothing more than friendship to her. That realization made everything harder. It made every excuse you gave, every inch of space you put between you, feel more necessary.

Certainly, it wasn’t the truth but to you, it felt like it was and that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Every so often, some of the sisters that oversee dorm functions would gather everyone for some prayer activity, to exercise different manners of prayer. With the older sisters, they usually preferred teaching worship songs or learning prayers in different languages. The younger sisters were often more imaginative and fun. Sometimes, they’d make board games based on Biblical lessons or it would be a rosary-making session.

Today, Sister Catherine decided that a “Stretching with God” exercise would be fun. So, all the girls from your dorm building were gathered in your modest sweatpants and shirts as you attempted to follow Sister Catherine’s instructions. Some of the moves made sense like raising arms to reach towards the heavens or doing child’s pose to symbolize humility. But some of it… were questionable. 

She had everyone rolling their arms back to “emulate angel’s wings.” She had you lifting your legs back and forth in a swinging motion “to kick away all the evil that surrounds you.” After the “punching away demons” move, you looked around and noticed that everyone seemed to be enjoying it — some genuinely enjoying it and others just finding the silliness of it all amusing.

Though, you didn’t bother looking over to Alexia, who was standing beside you. You’ve been avoiding her gaze ever since she found it was so funny for her to lift her shirt up so slightly to wipe the imaginary beads of sweat from her forehead after every stretch.

To you, it seemed like an innocent gesture that your twisted brain was just corrupting but Alexia actually intended to do it ever since she’s caught you frequently glancing at her abdomen, especially after her football training.

“Okay, girls, to close off our Stretching With God session,” Sister Catherine instructed, a little bit winded from leading the session. “We’ll form a circle to have a small prayer.”

Sister Cathy turned off the radio that was playing instrumentals and soon, the dorm fell quiet except for the soft rustling of fabric and the occasional shuffle of feet as everyone gathered into a circle. 

You had carefully chosen your spot, slipping beside Ingrid and moving away from Alexia. It seemed like the safest option at the time — distant enough from Alexia to make avoiding her easier. But now, as you settled in, you realized the mistake.  

From where you stood, you had a clear line of sight to Alexia. You did move far away from her side but that landed you almost directly in front of her in the circle. You clenched your hands, trying to focus on the prayer circle instead of the way her hazel eyes lingered, even when they weren’t looking at you directly.  

The prayer exercise began. “Okay, girls, we’ll be doing the typical ACTS prayer structure.” Sister Catherine started. “Can anyone remind us of what the ACTS prayer is like?”

Instinctively, all eyes darted to you. You nodded and spoke up loud enough for everyone to hear. “A for Adoration — you give worship to God and adore him for who he is. Typically, you can say ‘Almighty God’ or just ‘God the Father’... or whatever you feel is fitting.”

“Next, C stands for asking for confession when you let God know of and apologize for all your sins and misgivings.” Suddenly, your eyes drifted to Alexia who had a small smile on her face. You stumbled with your words. “Uh, uhm…”

“Thanks,” Ingrid whispered surreptitiously to you, thinking you'd forgotten it. 

You nodded. “T for Thanksgiving wherein we thank Him for all He has done. Lastly, S for supplication.”

Sister Catherine nodded at you thankfully. “And supplication is just asking humbly for what you want,” She looked over to you again. “For what you desire in your heart.”

You nodded, trying to keep your eyes on the nun instead of letting it drift towards Alexia. Soon, the nun started instructing the group on the movements that accompanied each part of the prayer.

For the adoration part, you all raised your hands high, the weight of silence heavy as you thought of words to praise Him. "All-knowing and all-seeing God," you whispered suddenly. The phrase came unbidden. You bit your lip, feeling guilt rush over you suddenly as you reached your fingertips to the sky. 

When it was time to give thanks, everyone was instructed to place their right hand over their heart. You murmured a quiet prayer of gratitude, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. "Thank you for self-control," you said softly, though it felt like a lie. Every day you spent avoiding Alexia made you feel like a thread pulled too tight, ready to snap. 

Then came the moment for forgiveness. You were to put both hands over your heart now, one over the other as you closed your eyes and bowed your head to symbolize humility and regret for your actions. You could practically feel your heartbeat inside your hands as you struggled to even formulate a coherent thought.

You knew somehow that your feelings for Alexia were wrong but you couldn’t piece together a statement asking for forgiveness because you couldn’t reconcile with yourself what sin you committed exactly. You clutched your chest as you breathed heavily, settling with a different apology. “I’m sorry I cannot recognize my own sins.” You thought silently.

Finally, it was time to ask for your desires. 

“Everyone, keep your heads low. This is to show humility, that you are a mere human asking God for something. Not demanding or expecting already, but just asking kindly with all the humility in our heart.” The nun instructed as she lowered her own head. You followed suit.

“Next, hold your hands, let it serve as a reminder that you are not alone and that your peers have their own desires and aspirations. As we hold hands, this is our way of praying that they also attain all their aspirations.” You locked hands with Ingrid and Maria who were both beside you.

“Finally, tell God your desire.” Sister Catherine said. “You can whisper it, say it out, or keep it in your heart and heed for Him to hear.”

Heads bowed low, hands clasped tightly, the circle seemed to shrink in on itself as whispers of prayers filled the room. Girls murmured quietly, voices blending into a soft hum of hope and longing. You lowered your head like the rest, but your mind was blank.  

What did you desire most?  

Nothing came to mind at first, only the familiar wave of guilt and confusion. But then, as if pulled by a force you couldn’t resist, you lifted your head. And that’s when you saw her.  

Alexia was already staring at you. Her head was not lowered like everyone else, her hazel eyes locked on yours with an intensity that stole your breath. In the middle of all the whispered prayers, the bowed heads, and the holy reverence, it was just the two of you, caught in a moment that felt impossibly loud in its silence.  

You didn’t look away.  

And in her gaze, you saw it. 

The same thing that burned in your chest — the unspoken desire, the longing you’d tried to bury — reflected back at you. It was an understanding, a silent confession shared without words.  

Your breath hitched, and your hands trembled as you tried to remain composed. Around you, the prayer continued, a soft chorus of whispered hopes filling the air. But at that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the guilt, not the fear — just her.  

Alexia’s lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, her eyes softened, her expression shifting into something both tender and devastating.  

The prayer ended, the murmurs quieting as hands released and the circle broke apart. But you remained frozen, still locked in the echo of what had just passed between you.  

You hadn’t spoken a word, but somehow, you knew. You both desired the same thing.

You were violently shaken awake. You blinked your eyes open to see the familiar dark-haired Norwegian sitting on your bed, trying to get you to wake up. 

You blinked your eyes, drowsy and disoriented. Ingrid looked relieved to see you awake. She sighed. “Sister Superior is summoning you to her office. She says there’s a matter of your concern.” She said with a frantic but firm voice.

You sat up and instinctively looked over to Alexia’s bed which was empty. However, this time, it was undone and not fixed which was uncharacteristic of the Catalan who often did her bed as soon as she woke up.

Ingrid noticed. “Alexia’s there too.” She clarified. “You need to get dressed immediately. Sister superior does not seem happy.”

Suddenly, your heart pounded against your chest. No one in the school knows what you were feeling for Alexia and yet, that was the first thing that came into your mind. Could you have been figured out?

No, it couldn’t be. You thought. But… we have been affectionate a lot and have been holding hands prior. Could that be the reason? But girls here often hold hands.

Or… maybe it’s all those nights sneaking out? Were you caught? Did they hear you say all those things about your apprehensions and your conflicted feelings.

You gulped as your hands grew clammy. Ingrid sat back on the bed with you and clasped your hand in hers. “Hey, hey,” Her voice said in a comforting manner but there was a tone of doubt. “I’m sure it’s nothing. It might just be a dormitory concern.”

You nodded, doubting her words. “Yeah… maybe.” You whispered. “Do you know what it’s about?”

Ingrid shook her head. “No, but it seems… urgent.” She answered. “Just get dressed and I’ll take you there immediately to not anger the sister.”

You immediately threw on your clothes and joined Ingrid as you briskly walked to the office at the opposite building. You were both quiet at first, the tension heavy between the two of you until Ingrid spoke up.

“Do you have a clue what this meeting could be about?” She asked cautiously. “Did Alexia do something?”

You bit your lip and looked at your friend’s icy blue eyes, contemplating whether or not you wanted to even answer.  Ingrid lowered her voice to a whisper. “I promise to God I won’t tell if you know anything.”

You looked away briefly, assessing if anyone was within earshot. You linked arms with Ingrid to move closer to her as you walked. “I think… it might be because Alexia and I snuck out once or twice before.”

Ingrid’s eyes widened, shocked not by the act of sneaking out but that it was you who did it. She knew several girls who snuck out before but you were the last person she expected to do so. “W-what? To where? Were you the ones who took the bus?”

You blinked cluelessly. “Bus? No, no, we often went to the prayer garden at night.”

Ingrid let out a sigh of relief, realizing that you two had very different concepts of sneaking out. 

“I… I don’t think that’s a big deal honestly.” She cautiously said, not wanting you to find out some people were actually sneaking out. “I doubt the sisters would be that mad about that. Just say you two wanted to pray. They can’t get mad at that.”

You hesitated. You looked over to your friend who you’ve known all these years. There were times you’d chat about personal things, sad moments, and doubts but you never really discussed anything too personal. But Ingrid… she was the only other person here you could fully trust to open up to — well, aside from Alexia. 

“There’s something else.” You started.

“What is it?” Ingrid looked at you quizzically.

You hesitated. “I… I’m starting to get…” Your voice trailed off.

Ingrid squeezed your hand. “I won’t judge. I promise and I swear to God.”

You sighed deeply before whispering. “I think I have feeli—” 

“Ingrid! There you two are!” You both jumped at the sound of Sister Jude suddenly appearing from the end of the hallway. The plump sister waved her hands to summon you two. “Please make haste, we don’t have all day.” 

You looked at Ingrid who had a curious, wide-eye look on her face but you decided against continuing your statement. Instead, you just gently tugged at her to gesture for her to jog to the sister’s office.

Having not had enough exercise, you were a bit winded by the time you got to the office while Ingrid was breathing normally, the athlete that she was.

As soon as you opened the door, you were met by the sight of Alexia’s familiar back, turned and standing with her hands clasped behind her back to face the Sister Superior who was sitting behind her desk with a sour expression. 

When the heavy wooden door opened further, you saw an unfamiliar person.

A tall, dark-haired girl wearing a black shirt and pants was sitting on the side opposite Alexia. She turned around to look at you as you entered. She had a strained and frustrated expression but it was undeniable that she was pretty.

You looked behind to Ingrid who comfortably nodded at you, gesturing for you to go on as she waited outside the office.

As soon as the door shut behind you, the sister superior began talking again. You moved closer to stand by Alexia, who glanced up at you briefly before looking back down. You stood quietly, trying to figure out what was happening.

Alexia’s demeanor was noticeably different. The confidence and the aura that she typically exuded suddenly gone, replaced by a heavy energy. You turned your attention to the sister who seemed frustrated.

Sister Philomena’s voice broke the silence, her tone sharp. “Alexia was sent here to heal from her past and seek redemption,” she said, pointing a finger at the dark-haired girl. “You cannot just walk into our sacred institution and tempt her back into your sinful lifestyle.”

The unfamiliar girl rolled her eyes. “I don’t see the problem, sister.” She responded, voice dripping with animosity. “Is Alexia a prisoner? Hell, even prisoners have more rights. Why can’t her friends visit her?”

The nun slammed her hand flat on the table. “This is precisely the problem. You think Alexia is a prisoner when she is here to grow and learn.” Her voice rang through the office. “And you did not come here to visit her. You trespass into our premises, asking her to run away and leave. This is not a visitation.”

You flinched at the harshness of the nun’s words. Sister Philomena turned toward you. “Tell this girl how visitation works here, so she understands.”

You blinked, caught off guard, and repeated the rules as best as you could. “When friends or family want to visit, they fill out a visitation form—”

“Precisely,” Sister Philomena interrupted. “But you didn’t come here to visit. You came to seduce Alexia and drag her away from God.”

“Seduced?” you whispered, your mind reeling at the accusation. Alexia must have taken notice because she quickly shook her head. 

“I’m not some demonic temptress like you’re making me out to be,” The girl chided with a mocking laugh. “You are all acting like I’m some evil person for wanting to see Alexia after everyone took her away from me! God forbid I want to see my girlfriend after she’s disappeared for months.”

Your heart stopped beating. Girlfriend?

You glanced over at Alexia then to the girl. Even with the girl being sat down on the chair, you could tell she was perhaps as tall as Alexia. She exuded the same confident aura. Even if Alexia never opened up about crushes, you never would have thought she’d actually be in a relationship, which felt like betrayal. Why wouldn’t she tell me she had a girlfriend? And… why would she act like that with me if she had one?

Your train of thought was suddenly broken when the nun’s voice loudly echoed through the room. Sister Philomena’s voice grew louder, more forceful with every word. “Homosexuality is a sin, plain and simple,” she said, her eyes blazing with what she surely believed was righteous indignation. “It is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord, a corruption of His holy design. And you, girl, are no better than the serpent in the garden, seeking to lead Alexia down a path of damnation.”

You clutched your heart subconsciously, feeling affected and shaken by her words. You could feel your hands quiver as the scene unfolded. Sister Philomena had always been intimidating but you’ve never seen her this frustrated and intense. It was frightening. Not to mention what she was saying was starting to get to you, digging into your own guilt.

The sister stood up from her chair, still standing quite tall despite her seniority. “Her grandparents sent her here, to this sacred institution, to be healed, to be purified. They entrusted us with their beloved granddaughter, hoping that we could erase the darkness that had consumed her heart. This place is meant to protect her from the evil influences of the world, to bring her back to the fold, back to the love and grace of the Lord.”

Suddenly, Sister Philomen’s eyes darted to you. “We surround her with kind people, righteous people like her.” She pointed at you. The dark-haired girl’s glare shifted to you, making you feel even more nervous. “She is the type of company Alexia needs to heal and to repent. Her friends and peers in this institute have been working tirelessly to guide Alexia to the righteous path.”

You looked down on your shoes, unsure of what to feel with the Sister’s words. This wasn’t the first time that you had to stand in a room with the nun and another student being admonished. You quickly learned your role in all of this — the ideal student to be made an example to the wrongdoer. After this session, you were expected to confide in the students, pray with them, and tell them more gently how they can improve.

It was never easy for you, having to assume that role. But now, it felt less like a challenge and more like a heavy cross to bear on your back.

Turning her attention back to the dark-haired girl, Sister Philomena’s expression hardened, her voice dripping with venom. “Your very presence here, your words, your actions, are a poison to her soul. You are the temptation, the forbidden fruit. You are what lures her into the darkness, and she has no hope of finding salvation with you by her side. What kind of life is it that you offer her? A life of sin, of shame, of eternal separation from God. That is the future you are promising her.”

The nun put a hand on her temples, starting to feel nauseous from the anger. The younger nuns in the room urged her to sit back down, patting her back to calm her down. She took a deep breath, looking at some of the documents scattered on her desk, mindlessly organizing them to calm herself down.

Her voice softened only slightly as she looked up again at the girl. “You are not a savior. You are a predator, preying on a fragile soul, and you will not be allowed to continue poisoning Alexia’s spirit. We will not allow it. She will live a better life without you. We will make sure of it.”

The dark-haired, tattooed girl let out a smug chuckle. “What kind of life is it where you’re called a sinner for being who you are?” she spat, her voice not loud but firm. “She’s not living here. She’s suffering here. Clearly.”

Sister Philomena shook her head. “Enough.” She ordered. “If you don’t want us to call the police for trespassing and damaging personal property, you need to leave. Now.”

The girl clenched her jaw before shaking her head. As a last resort, she turned to Alexia who was still unmoving, head held down. “Alexia, please. You don’t belong here. Come with me. We can leave this place together.” She turned to the sisters. “You’re old enough to just leave this place and live your truth. Come on, you can decide for yourself.” 

Alexia stood still, her gaze fixed on the floor. She didn’t move, didn’t react. You watched in silent disbelief as the younger nuns approached the tall girl, putting hands on her shoulders. “Alexia, please.” She said as she tried to reach for Alexia’s hands. This time, the nuns firmly held her so that she couldn’t move towards Alexia. “Do you really want to stay here?”

Alexia stood, unmoving. The girl scoffed and shrugged the hands on her shoulders away. “I can go on my own.” She barked out. “Fine, if you wanna stay here and get converted into some bible thumper then live your life, Alexia.” 

She looked one last time at Alexia, then at you. “These people don’t actually love you, just remember that.”

It felt targeted somehow — the way she looked at you as she spat those words out. You knew she had no idea of what you meant to Alexia and what you felt for her but you still can’t help but feel it was a personal dig at you.

The door slammed behind the girl as she left, The weight of the revelation hit you like a ton of bricks, and you stood frozen, staring at the empty doorway. The silence hung for a moment before Sister Philomena cleared her throat. “Alexia,” She called out in a firm but not angry voice.

Finally, Alexia raised her head. That’s when you noticed that her face was tear-stained and her eyes bloodshot despite the firm, un-emoting look on her face. “Yes, sister?”

“Did you make any contact with Jennifer Hermoso prior to this?” She asked sternly.

“No, sister.” She responded firmly.

“Do you wish to continue your stay in this institute?” The sister asked quizzically. 

Alexia’s eyes flickered to you for a moment before quickly returning to the senior sister. “Y-yes, sister.”

The nun hummed, rubbing her temples. “And do you understand why you’re here? Why it is in your best interest to be her?” 

No hesitation came from Alexia. “Yes, sister.”

The nun seemed satisfied, nodding her head. “Okay, seeing this incident is not your fault,” She started. “Let it serve as a test of your faith and your strength. I will not admonish you but I will simply remind you to pray over your situation diligently.”

Alexia nodded. 

“I will have the junior sisters talk to you later but for now, you two return to your dorm room.” Sister Philomena ordered. She then pointed her pen at you. “I trust you two will have a fruitful conversation together as well. Hence, I’ll have you both excused for morning classes. Understood?”

You nodded at the nun, confirming with her that you got her silent instruction to do what you always did — force the troublemaker back into the rightful path. 

This time, though, you feel like you’ve also been led astray. Blind leading the blind.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ACT IV. Damned to the End From the Start

You and Alexia were joined by Ingrid as you made your way back to the dorm buildings. Ingrid kept glancing at you, her expression a mix of concern and silent questions, as if willing to speak up and explain what had happened. You raised a hand in a subtle gesture, signaling her to wait. The tension hung heavy between the three of you, amplified by Alexia’s silence. She walked alongside you, her arms folded, her gaze fixed ahead. Not once did she look at you or reach for your hand. The distance, both physical and emotional, was unsettling.

Once you got to your dorm, Alexia slipped inside without a word, leaving you in the hallway with Ingrid. Ingrid turned to you, her wide eyes filled with disbelief. “I can’t believe how harsh she was to Alexia,” she whispered, her voice tinged with anger and sadness.

You bit your lip, partially surprised by Ingrid’s sympathy. You had always assumed people defended the sisters’ stances without question — you certainly had in the past. But this time was different. This time, the weight of their words had hit too close to home, and Ingrid’s reaction was a small but meaningful relief.

Before you could think about your actions, you just pulled Ingrid into a hug, startling the taller girl. “Thank you for being with us, Ingrid.” You murmured, voice soft but sincere. “Really. Thank you.”

Ingrid blinked, clearly surprised by your affection. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, darling,” she said with a gentle laugh, her tone warm despite her confusion. “But I’m glad my presence meant something to you.”

When you pulled back, she rested her hands on your shoulders, her touch steady and reassuring. “If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”

You sighed and nodded, thinking about whether or not you should open up to her at that moment. You still weren’t sure what to feel. For now, you just excused yourself. “Thank you,” you said again, offering her a small smile. “But I need to check on Alexia first. She needs me.”

Ingrid nodded, her expression understanding. “Of course,” she said, stepping back to give you space. “Take care of her. And yourself.”

With a final nod, you turned and entered your dorm room, closing the door softly behind you. You could immediately see Alexia curled up on her bed, facing the wall. The sight of an upset Alexia was something new. In the past months, you’ve seen all versions of Alexia – happy after you say something that made her laugh, sad over a movie, pissed off after a bad football training session, teasing almost all the time. But this devastated, silent Alexia… it was not a thing you’ve ever thought you’d encounter.

You stepped cautiously, sitting on the edge of her bed. “Alexia…” Your voice trailed off. “Look, what Sister said… I’m sure she… Well…” You kept losing confidence in what you were saying. Even you felt lost in the situation, deeply conflicted by the situation.

“Not in the mood for a sermon,” Alexia grunted out, burying her head in her pillow.

You felt a pang in your heart. “Alexia…” You started again cautiously. “I-I’m sorry that that happened. None of it was your fault. Sister Philomena just takes student safety seriously and y’know, a trespasser…”

“You know that’s not what I’m upset about,” Alexia interrupted, her voice sharper now, though it trembled with emotion.

You swallowed hard, nodding even though she couldn’t see you. “I know,” you admitted quietly, sighing as the words you wanted to say slipped further away. After a beat of silence, you asked gently, “Do you want to leave?”

At that, Alexia shifted slightly, her hand brushing against her cheek as she wiped her eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, fragile. “I don’t want to leave, monjita.” The words came out in a croak, and she sniffled as though holding back more tears.

Your hands itched to reach for her, to wipe away her tears and pull her into your arms. But something held you back — maybe fear of overstepping, maybe the invisible walls Alexia seemed to have built around herself at that moment. So you stayed where you were, your voice gentle as you replied, “I’m glad you’re staying. I… I like having you here, Alexia.”

A pause. “Even after you learned why I’m here?” 

“Yes, of course, Alexia.” You comforted her immediately. “Nothing changed for me. Your girlfriend… whatever happened between you two is in the past. It’s none of my business.”

“Ex,” She corrected. “Ex-girlfriend.”

You nodded, weirdly comforted by the way she corrected you. Silence befell the dorm room again, disturbed only by the sound of sniffling. You wanted to say so much but there was not a single coherent thought.

“Monjita,” Alexia whispered, her voice trembling and soft, breaking the heavy silence in the room. Your heart warmed at the use of her endearment with a gentle tone. She glanced at you carefully. “Do you think I’m… wrong for who I am? Do you hate me?”

Her words hit you like a blow to the chest. The mere thought that Alexia, who carried so much strength and warmth, could believe you might judge or reject her for something as intrinsic as her identity made your throat tighten. Your eyes began to sting, tears threatening to spill. Without a second thought, you leaned over to Alexia. You got a closer look of her reddened, tear-stained face. 

You used your hand to wipe her tears and the hair that stuck to her face. “Alexia, you’re not wrong for who you are.” You whispered. “And, I could never hate you.”

Her glassy eyes met yours, uncertainty flickering within them. “Yeah?” she asked hesitantly, as though daring to hope you truly meant it. Her hazel eyes flickered as tears threatened to spill again. “Then why haven’t you been talking to me?”

You gulped, looking away for a moment before looking back at her. “Alexia,” you started. “I promise you it was all on me. I was struggling with being close to someone. You know me… I haven’t had a best friend since I was a kid. It’s been hard for me to adjust… to being close to someone.” You paused, struggling to find the words.

Alexia lifted your head up by placing a hand on your chin. “Does it have to do with me being…” She trailed off.

“No, no,” You shook your head and gave her a small, reassuring smile. You hesitated for just a moment before leaning in, pressing a tender kiss to her moist cheek. “I promise, you haven’t done anything to drive me away.” You whispered, your voice filled with conviction.

Something in her expression softened, and then she shifted, turning fully to face you. Without warning, she sat up and pulled you into her arms, wrapping them tightly around you as though she was trying to hold herself together. You returned the hug, feeling the weight of her emotions as her face pressed into your shoulder. The world outside seemed to fade as the two of you sat there, wrapped in a moment that felt achingly fragile and impossibly intimate

When Alexia pulled back, her hands slid up to cradle your face. Her thumbs lightly brushed your cheeks, and you could feel the warmth of her palms against your skin. The intensity in her eyes made your breath hitch. Her gaze flickered between your own, and then down to your lips. She brushed over your cheek again with her thumb, gentle against your own skin. As Alexia moved closer, you felt your own eyes flutter nervously.

Just as Alexia was about to move closer, the door creaked open, the sound cutting through the tension like a blade. Both of you jumped, your hearts racing as though you’d been caught doing something forbidden. 

Ingrid popped in, standing in the doorway, equally surprised to see you both wide-eyed and surprised. “Oh, sorry, was I…” She trailed off.  “Was I… interrupting something?”

You quickly shook your head, your face burning. “No, it’s fine,” you managed, your voice higher than usual.

Ingrid lingered awkwardly for a moment before clearing her throat. “Sister Catherine sent me to call Alexia over,” she said, her tone careful, as if trying not to pry.

Alexia straightened, wiping her face hurriedly with the sleeve of her sweater. “Oh… uh… of course,” she muttered, her voice still thick with emotion. She glanced back at you as she stepped toward the door, her eyes apologetic and heavy with unspoken words. 

As the door clicked shut, the silence filled the room and the only sound you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears. You stared at the space Alexia had just vacated, your thoughts spinning.

Did we almost…

The guilt hit at the thought you were not even able to finish as the horrible feeling drowned you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d done something wrong. You liked Alexia… you cared for her and not much changed for what you feel for her. But, the guilt you had already took root in your gut. It was something that you’ve lived with all your life. Even if you wanted to shake off the feeling, it felt incredibly difficult.

You laid on Alexia’s bed, staring at the ceiling as all the emotions filled you.

Alexia had to sit through multiple sessions with the sisters, which was tiring, to say the least. She hated being lectured by the older nuns the most; one can only listen to 'being gay is a sin' so many times. The more junior nuns were more tolerable but it still wasn’t any fun. They may not have condemned Alexia for being gay but they did say that she shouldn’t 'act on her homosexuality.'

It was just tiring and by the time they were done with Alexia, it was already dinner time.

She was too nervous to eat around the sisters so she hadn’t eaten all day, leaving her with a rumbling stomach. She trudged along to the cafeteria, heading to her usual table. However, this time, something seemed off.

Alexia set down her plate of potatoes and beef as she looked around. “Where’s monjita?” She asked, using your nickname which she used so often that others have already associated it with you.

“She said she wasn’t hungry,” Ingrid responded as she picked at her potatoes. “She’s skipping dinner.”

Maria chewed on her food, gesturing that she was about to say something. As soon as she swallowed her mouthful of undercooked potatoes, she added, “I think she might be praying though. She said something about it when I saw her in the hallway”

“Oh,” Alexia said before sitting down, wondering why you would skip dinner when you typically were not the type to miss meals. She absentmindedly ate her food, mind still fixated on her.

Ingrid must have noticed the vacant expression in the Catalan’s eyes. “You good?” She asked carefully.

Alexia shook out of her catatonic state. “Yeah, yeah, just tired.” She responded. “Uh… did she explain why she’s missing dinner?”

Ingrid exhaled. “No, but she kinda looked upset when I last saw her.” She said. “She didn’t even want to talk to me.”

Alexia hummed as she nodded in response. After taking a nibble out of her food, she decided that she couldn’t sit there without knowing what was going on with you. She took a big gulp of water before standing up from the table, food barely touched. “Uh, I gotta go.”

“Oh,” Her teammates looked at each other cautiously. Ingrid carefully asked, “Alexia, are you sure you’re okay?”

Alexia gave a tight-lipped smile before nodding. “Yeah, just… not hungry.”

Ingrid, who had heard Alexia’s stomach rumble a while ago, didn’t believe her one bit but figured it would be best for Alexia to go on and find you. “Oh okay,” She said. “If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

Alexia gave a thankful look before leaving the cafeteria. The hallways were quite empty save for a few students returning back to their dorms. Alexia figured the best place to find you was back in your dorm room but as soon as she opened the door to your room, it was dark and empty. 

She sighed, walking aimlessly through the dorm building and the common rooms. She grew even more weary once she got to the library and found no trace of you. 

Fuck, where could she even be?

She paused. Suddenly, a familiar freshman passed by. She knew the girl from all the times she’d knock on your dorm room, asking to talk to you for some spiritual guidance. Alexia briskly walked towards the girl. “Anna.” 

The freshman turned around. She seemed shocked. “Oh, Alexia.” She said. “You scared me.”

Alexia looked at her apologetically. Perhaps, it wasn’t such a good idea to startle the kid in the middle of a dark hallway but she needed to find you as soon as she could. “Uh, have you seen Y/N anywhere? She skipped dinner.”

Anna nodded. “I came over to your room to ask advice about something but she said she had to go pray. Maybe in the chapel?”

Alexia peered out the windows, seeing that it was raining outside. “The chapel? Across the field?” She asked as if there was any other chapel. 

The freshman nodded. “Yeah… or the prayer room?” 

Alexia shook her head. “I was just there and she’s not there.” She bit her lip. “Okay, thank you, Anna.”

Alexia grew increasingly worried as she heard the thunderstorm worsen outside the dorm windows. Her heart started beating harder against her chest when she reached your shared room to find you’ve left behind your umbrella. Oh no, she must be stranded there.

Alexia didn’t hesitate to rush to you, growing increasingly worried about your wellbeing.

Little did she know, Anna’s hunch was right and you were praying at the chapel. However, you weren’t there because you were stranded. You’ve been staying there for hours, trying to avoid everyone and trying to seek for answers.

Answers for what? You didn’t even know. You just knew you were lost and that you needed guidance.

The dim flicker of candles cast long shadows across the chapel walls as you exhaled a deep, shuddering breath, your hands clasped tightly in prayer, your head bowed low. You had been kneeling for so long that your legs had gone numb.

“God��” You prayed out, losing track of things you’ve already prayed for previously. Your voice was soft but it felt amplified by the heavy silence in the dark and empty chapel. “I need you to send me a sign. Anything. I just need you to tell me you don’t hate me for who I am.”

Then, as if on cue, a deafening crack of lightning split the air outside, shaking the stained glass windows. You flinched, your heart racing as you lifted your tear-streaked face to glance toward the altar.

You sighed. “Is that the sign?” The words slipped out, dripping with doubt and hesitation. You felt ridiculous asking for clarification for a sign that might have seemed like an obvious disapproval. 

A lot of the sisters have told you that when you pray enough, God speaks to you with clarity, and at times, it did feel that way. But now, he just seemed… so far away and so silent.

Another thunderous clap echoed through the night, louder this time, shaking you to your core.

“If that is really your sign…” Your voice trailed off, trembling. “Then cleanse all the sin away. Cleanse all wrongful desires and replace it with something more pure.”

You paused as you felt the lump in your throat return for the nth time that night and felt your vision become blurry. “I-if you think what I feel for her is a sin… if I’m beyond saving…” You whispered before wiping your tears away, and speaking more firmly. “Then… the least you can do is take it all away. Wipe her from my mind. Take all of it — every memory, every feeling.”

As you said it, you could feel your heart break at the thought of forgetting Alexia. You could feel the sob you’ve been suppressing bubble up to the surface as you fall to pieces. Your body crumpled, collapsing from a kneeling position to sitting back on your legs. You buried your face in your hands, sobbing quietly, your cries muffled by the storm outside.

You couldn’t speak up anymore, feeling like each thunderclap was God’s way of admonishing you. The still statues of the saints seemed to tower over your crumpled posture, signifying just how low you’ve fallen.

“Please, God,” You cried out one last time. “Just… be here.”

At the moment, you felt so empty and alone in the chapel. However, unbeknownst to you, you haven’t been alone in the past few minutes. You’ve grown consumed by your sobs and your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed that Alexia had been lurking at the back of the chapel, carefully walking towards you.

She hadn’t heard much but she heard enough to conclude that you were here because of her. 

She stepped closer to you, her closed umbrella dripping on to the cold marble. The wind continued to rattle the stained glass windows, making the atmosphere feel even more tense. 

As you let out another sob, Alexia finally spoke up. “Are you praying that God will heal me?” Her voice cracked as she said it.

You nearly jumped at the voice cutting through the silence of the chapel. As you turned, your eyes locked with Alexia, standing a few pews back. It was dim — her face illuminated by the faint light of the lamps and candles — but her expression was clearly pained. Her hazel eyes glistened with unshed tears, her lips parted and quivering as if wanting to stay something but unable to. 

“D-do you think I’m a sin for liking women too?” she asked, her voice faltering. She was trying to sound firm and composed, but the cracks in her tone betrayed her.

You stood up from your kneeling position, walking towards the taller girl. “Alexia,” you said. “No, no — I wasn’t…”

“I thought you—” Alexia’s voice cracked. She looked down, shaking her head, before looking back up at you. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Alexia, please.” You reached for her hands, clasping them tightly in your own. “It’s not what you think. I wasn’t praying for that.” Your words tumbled out in a rush, defensive and desperate, as though you could will her to understand.

Alexia took her hand away from you. “Then what was all of that ‘erase all memory of her’ I was hearing?” Her voice quivered, blinking rapidly as a few drops of tears trailed down her face. “I thought… I thought you liked me.”

You reached over to her again, trying to touch her face but she backed away. You bit your lip, pained by the sight of her. She looked hurt. “Alexia, you’re misunderstanding…”

“How else can I interpret that?” Her voice was suddenly sharp, tinged with anger and pain. “What else could you mean? How am I supposed to feel when you’re in here begging God to erase me from your life?”

The emotions that bubbled inside of you made it harder for you to formulate a coherent sentence to explain to her just what you were praying about. “Alexia, I really…” You paused. “I was just asking Him for a sign.”

Alexia released a dry, hollow chuckle, obviously pained. “A sign that what? You should distance yourself from me? Because I’m some filthy homosexual dragging you to hell, isn’t that right?” You winced at Alexia’s tone as it cracked through the heavy air. 

“Alexia, stop—please!”

“No, you stop!” she snapped, her voice shaking with anger and grief. “You’re praying to forget me so you can go back to being perfect little monjita, right? So you can live your pure, saintly life without people like me ruining it?” Her lips curled in a bitter smile, her eyes glassy. “Because your god says I’m disgusting, doesn’t he? That people like me don’t deserve to exist?”

“Go ahead, fuck it,” She cursed, not letting you interject with her voice sharp and pointed. “I’ll stay away from you. I won’t bother you anymore just so you can be the perfect angel everyone thought you were again. I’ll stay away so your life can finally be cleansed from—”

Without even thinking twice, you stepped forward and wrapped both arms around Alexia’s waist, burying your head in her chest as you felt the sobs bubble up again. You clutched her tightly as your body shook. 

Startled, Alexia lost her train of thought and kept her hands to her sides, unmoving. When you looked up, she locked eyes with you and saw so much pain in your face. The tears continued to rush down your face with no sign of stopping. Your eyes were filled with a devastating expression that made her heart pang. 

“Alexia, I’m praying because…” Your voice cracked as you struggled to speak through the tears. “I think I like you… and that terrifies me.”

Alexia’s breath hitched, and her arms moved almost involuntarily, wrapping around you in a hesitant but protective embrace. She held you close, her mind racing as conflicting emotions surged through her. She felt confused as to how to feel because here you were, confessing your feelings just after she heard you pray that you forget about her.

Her hazel eyes searched yours as she pulled back slightly, her hands still resting on your shoulders. You could see the confusion and pain warring within her. “You were asking him to help you forget me,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “How am I supposed to believe you now?”

You stepped back, your hands trembling as you wiped at your tear-stained face. “Alexia, I…” You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. “I was saying things out of fear — out of confusion. This… this is all I’ve ever known,” you began, your voice cracking. “The church, my faith, my beliefs… they were my whole world.”

“And it was fine.” You said before looking up to Alexia, meeting her hazel eyes once again. “Until you came along.”

Alexia looked away from the eye contact, feeling it was too much for her to handle with the fear of dissolving into tears. You bit your lip and continued. “Then now, when I look back, everything that was… it felt wrong.” 

“You… you showed me,” You said, stepping again towards Alexia to touch her hand. “You showed me that I could be happy. Truly happy. Not just because I was told to be happy or because I felt like I had to be.”

Alexia looked up to you again, locking eyes with you again. But, this time, all the frustration was replaced with something else — her eyes misty and her expression soft. “Then why are you here?” She asked. “Why do you want to get rid of what we have… if I make you happy?”

You looked down, carefully holding on to Alexia’s hesitant fingertips. “I’m still afraid… what if…” You tried to choose your words carefully. “What if my feelings for you are wrong? What if we make that mistake and… we suffer…”

You couldn’t say it more tactfully or more carefully but Alexia could finally understand your internal conflict better. She puts a careful hand under your chin, lifting your head up to look up at her as she moved closer to you.

“Why would this be wrong?” she asked, her voice low but steady, her eyes burning with emotion. “Why would loving you — purely, wholly, completely — be a sin?”

You looked up at Alexia, feeling your breath hitch. Your eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips and back to her eyes.

God, you said silently in your head. If this is a sin, strike me with lightning now.

The air between you and the Catalan grew heavier as you both breathed. The silence filled the air with only the sound of the wind howling and the rain pouring on the roof.

You took a deep breath, eyes finding their way back to Alexia’s parted and anticipating lips. 

A pause. A breath held.

Then, suddenly, you were kissing her. Your lips crashed into hers with a fervor that felt almost primal, a hunger that had been building for far too long. Your arms wrapped around her tightly, as though letting go would send her slipping through your fingers, like sand in an hourglass.

Hwr hands found their way around your waist, pulling you closer as she deepened the kiss. Her lips pressed against yours, soft and sweet, yet insistent. She parted your lips slightly, her tongue teasing yours with a delicious mix of restraint and desire. The way your body molded against hers left her yearning for more, craving every piece of you. 

She’s kissed other girls before but nothing quite like this. Sure, it had the same passion and intensity. But kissing you went beyond passion. It was transcendence. 

Kissing you felt like kissing heaven.

You shared the same unspoken sentiment but to you, Alexia tasted like freedom. Her lips against yours just managed to melt away all your worries, all your doubts. With every careful yet firm touch on your waist and hips, it felt like your chains were being detached link-by-link and you were finally able to move unconstrained. 

Suddenly, you felt free.

As you became breathless, you pulled away from the taller girl, trying to catch your breath. You looked up at her, searching her own eyes for a response.

Alexia just smiled at you, letting you catch your breath, before taking your face again — her hands gentle but insistent. She leaned in and captured your lips with hers, kissing you in a way that left your face warm and your mind hazy.

It felt right: kissing her, holding her, being hers. Even for a stolen moment. 

There were still a lot of things for you two to worry about. For one, you still resided within the confines of this institution that would condemn you. But you couldn’t think of that at the moment. All you knew was you were kissing Alexia… and that was all that mattered now.

Inside that cold, unyielding chapel, kissing Alexia felt like soaring towards the sun — a forbidden warmth that melted away all the frigid pain inside you. It was a kind of warmth you’ve never felt in your life. It was the kind of warmth you’ve always craved to feel, without even knowing it.

But even Icarus — who sought to feel that same sensation of the satisfying heat — was undone when he flew too close to the sun. Before he could even realize it, his wax had melted and his wings had unraveled.

And came his devastating descent. 

chapter 2 🕊

a/n: let me know your thoughts. comments motivate me a lot <3

[silasoctakiseron]

I understand why this is the case, to be clear, because what we see of his character is extremely limited, but I find that so much fanon characterization of Colum Asht relies on the presumption that he's a normal person. Specifically, that he's a normal person who could be rehabilitated by people treating him normally.

In context, this is generally true, because he exists primarily in relation to an obsessive religious zealot whose external socialization consists primarily of telling people about themselves with zero regard for whether that's a normal or decent thing to do in context. Because we see Colum, with very few exceptions, constantly attached to Silas throughout GTN, he looks significantly more like a regular person who's sort of being forced to drag around a purse dog who bites. I believe no one has ever deserved to step outside for a cigarette and stare at nothing more than Colum; again, I understand where the characterization comes from. I do however think it's wrong. This post is very long. Sorry or whatever.

Colum Asht is deeply, fundamentally Eighth. I've talked before (warning: another long post) about the fact that Houses have individual cultures, rather than personality traits. Colum is exactly as bound up in Eighth religious practices as Silas is, even though those religious practices are explicitly used to oppress him into an early grave rather than elevate him to a position of power.

Until the full implications of Lyctorhood come to light, at no point does Colum ever reject a wholehearted embrace of Eighth beliefs. I think a lot of people consider the argument he has with Silas in ch. 28 to be a criticism of the religious beliefs Silas embodies, and I sincerely could not disagree more. Colum is angry about the fact that Silas has grown into someone who could be deliberately duplicitous and lie to another person to take advantage of them. He might be angry about the institutional processes that made him that way. He does not believe that this means that he, personally, should have expanded rights over his body or that his cavaliership to Silas is something he could or would walk away from. He does not believe that Silas is wrong with regard to his attitudes toward the Ninth as a whole.

We know this because Colum isn't exclusively following Silas around throughout the book, and he takes actions independently that are still indicative of deeply ingrained religious bigotry. Colum is perfectly allowed to talk to other people, but individually refuses on principle to talk to Gideon one-on-one or be in a room with her outside of a specific social context. Colum is explicitly not apologetic about taking Gideon's weapons from her when she comes into the Eighth's rooms despite being aware that it places her at a disadvantage and requires her to trust people who actively distrust her.

Even when Silas is present and seems to have more power over Colum's actions, Colum isn't uncomfortable doing things like asking Gideon to leave a common space entirely so Silas doesn't have to try to consume food and look at her at the same time. He wholly expects Gideon to acquiesce to this, not happily, but at least without argument. Colum isn't at all fazed by Silas accusing an entire room of people of being faithless sinners for refusing to bow to the will of the Order.

Silas' methods aren't Colum's methods, and Colum seems normal in comparison to him because he's significantly quieter about his beliefs and doesn't always follow Silas to every rhetorical extreme. Colum tends to do the polite thing where Silas is extremely blunt. He won't be in a room with Gideon or speak to her alone, but he'll bow to her before he leaves. Colum is sitting at the Fifth's dinner party speaking to Babs in some way that sounds normal enough for Babs to keep haranguing him, while Silas is telling Ianthe her parents should have been willing to experiment more when she was born dying/dead. Either way, neither of them acknowledge Harrow's existence.

Colum doesn't disagree with the basic religious principles on which Silas generally acts. Colum is fine with that shit. If Silas hadn't tried to resort to lying and taking advantage of another person to achieve his ends in a manner offensive to Colum's sense of honor and morality, there's zero evidence that Colum would have found anything else about his conduct objectionable enough to raise as an issue.

All this to say that I think if Magnus Quinn invited Colum for a pint he would show up and be reasonably respectful and courteous the entire time while calmly saying what to literally any other person would be the most deranged religious claptrap they'd ever heard. Colum thinks it'd be more humane to simply nuke the Ninth out of existence too fast for anyone to feel it rather than conducting a systematic inquisitorial dismantlement of the church involving spiritual torture. Colum is referring to necro/cav relationships using insanely antiquated and offensive terminology that he genuinely believes is the polite and considerate way to talk about them as opposed to deliberately derogatory language more commonly employed on the Eighth. The second Colum leaves Magnus orders himself five shots and includes them on his expense report.

[wendynerdwrites]

I just. Cannot. Get over. The Archon.

When other protagonists made big leadership decisions in game, it was justified and made sense and you had to work for it and it didn't always go as you wished

DAO: The Warden is not even really making THE choice in Orzammar. Their support of Bhelen or Harrowmont is not anyone going "You pick the king", you are a supporter and ultimately a tool. The Warden is the instrument in the plans of whomever the player chooses. Ultimately, it is still the Assembly who chooses in universe. In reality, it's the player who picks the king, not the Warden. On top of that, you are there and contributing out of need that makes sense in universe. Your candidate needs someone to go down into the Deep Roads and your party are literally the only ones to do it because you're made for it. It has nothing to do with your political power or importance. You are a means to an end for whomever the PLAYER picks.

Then the Landsmeet, where, in order to get your pick, you need to a) Do a variety of favors and side missions b) make huge compromises often at a loss to a character's happiness c) literally require the backing of the second most important nobleman in the realm ALONG WITH a number of other lords to get your way, d) provide actual proof of multiple crimes committed by your opponents. And even then you still have to fight a duel.

DA2: By this point, Hawke has been Champion for years. Hawke has connections with a ton of power players in Kirkwall built over a literal decade and literally saved the city. And even then, you're only put in the position of making decisions for Kirkwall's future because almost everyone else is dead/insane/giving up/crashing out.

DAI: Orlais: yes, you do get to pick the Emperor..but let's go over how it got that point shall we? You are literally a religious icon who has ended at least one major fucking war at this point. AT A MINIMUM tou command either the entire population of circle mages OR the entire renegade Templar Order. You seemingly died and came back from the dead. You have a giant fucking impregnable fortress on the FERELDEN/Orlesian border and at least one other major holdfast in FERELDEN, along with your forces being dispersed throughout southern Thedas. While all the other major institutions in Orlais including the royal family, the Chantry, and the various martial orders like the Seekers and Templars were all too busy bitch fighting with one another while the Inquisition was the only organization steadfastly addressing the actual threats in Thedas and are seen as literally Chosen by God thanks to Inky having the Mark. You are the unanimously chosen leader of the fastest rising paramilitary organization in Thedas. And that's the MINIMUM of your influence starting WEaWH. And you still have to get the court to like you and solve mysteries.

It's just as likely that in addition to all that listed above, you ALSO just won a huge military victory at Adamant and possibly grandfathered the Wardens among your forces as well and have at least one or even two other huge castles in Orlais.

You are famous everywhere. You faced down an archdemon. You are a religious icon. So yeah, IF you secure enough goodwill with the court of Orlais AND blackmail everyone who matters, then yes, you pick the emperor.

Almost exact same scenario with the Divine, except in that case, depending on the choices you make, there's no guarantee of your chosen candidate ending up on the sunburst throne.

All of these big state decisions are built up via the storylines in the game, the setting, have tons of mitigating circumstances, and come when your character has either forged major alliances and/or built up major political clout in their own right. And even then they have to accomplish a shit load of bullshit to get to that decision.

DATV: Hey Random Guy, which one of us should be Archon? You choose since you slayed a single dragon. Sure, you're just some schmuck with no institutional power, allies among heads of state, military, or actual public clout, but go ahead and just choose who you want with no actual requirements for being able to do so. No, we're not going to ask you to gather evidence of crimes or blackmail material. No, you don't need to rise to nobility or go on a massive quest to do something only you can do. No, you don't have to make any choices that might affect you negatively. Just pick between the two of us, we're both good and your choice will come with no conflict since we will both just support whatever you pick, random asshole we just met who is actually technically responsible for our city being attacked. Fuck earning anything. Fuck sacrifices. Fuck compromise. Fuck your major decisions being earned via actual decisions you've made throughout the game and work you put in. Fuck uncertainty. Fuck playing actual politics to any extent whatsoever. Fuck anyone actually knowing who you are. You just slayed the boss, so as a prize you get to decide who the leader of the second most powerful country in Thedas will be because you're the protagonist of this game.

[mentally-ill-vaquero]

I think Javier has religious trauma.

I don't know if this counts as a fan theory, but I've been thinking about Javier, especially his relationship with the people in his life and authority.

It's quite clear that Javier resents how much power the church had over his village, and especially how much his mother still bought into their doctrine despite the murder of her brother (Javier's uncle).

Javier is, as far as I'm aware, the only openly religious person in camp; I'm not counting Swanson as 'openly religious' as we never see him actually praying in camp, and uses his Bible to hide morphine, though I still personally consider him semi-religious.

There's also an event where Sean teases Javier ('Vanity is a sin, Mr. Escuella'), and in my opinion, Sean isn't religious--or at least doesn't come across that way--and so I've always viewed this as Sean making a dig at Javier's faith, especially Javier's response ('So is judging others, my little friend').

I understand that Sean is Fenian, but he doesn't show any apparent references to being religious other than being slightly superstitious (the scene with Jack and the white rabbit comes to mind). Again, the only character in the gang shown as directly religious is Javier.

Catholicism is very much a dominant presence in Mexico today, and certainly was back in the late 1800s, so it wouldn't be much of a surprise that Javier is catholic... except it contradicts his character.

Sort of. It's complicated.

I understand that people can be religious and resent religious institutions. With Javier, though, this seems very specific.

He despises landowners and the government to the point of becoming a rebel and eventually an outlaw; he fled his home country, leaving his family behind (which greatly pains him), all for the cause.

And yet, after all the talks around the campfire where he complains about the church (getting very passionate whilst doing so), he's still religious...or is he?

I think Javier doesn't believe in the Bible willingly; I think he suffers from Catholic guilt (because of his trauma with the church), especially whilst living this lifestyle of sin, so he prays to rid himself of it; Javier, in my opinion, is absolutely TERRIFIED of Hell.

There's a scene with Javier praying, and Swanson comes stumbling in, and states, '...it's not too late to repent,' and again, there's this running theme of sin and confession relating to Javier and his faith. Javier responds (like with Sean) with a deflection: 'Oh, in that case, I'm sure there's priests who will happily take your confession.'

It even goes beyond Javier himself; Boaz is a Hebrew name meaning 'strength' or 'in him (is) strength' [thanks for pointing that out, @javierduffy] that appears in the Bible. I just thought this was worth mentioning as it goes to show religion seems to control every aspect of Javier's life, even after attempting to leave it all behind.

The thing that made me come to this conclusion, of all things, was his Saint Denis robbery outfit. Even before I started analysing the game and its characters, I always found it sort of odd that he wore...that mask.

Why a nun? Why not his bandana?

I believe that the masks worn by the gang (particularly Javier, Micah, Bill & Charles) have some deeper meaning, and I think Javier's represents the conflict within him and the lingering trauma of his faith.

A nun robbing a bank; an outlaw who fears God and Hell.

TL;DR Javier both resents his religion and what it represents, but subconsciously still fears it and thus holds God in high regard; however, he hates the fact it has this hold on him and does all in his power to defy it (by committing sin such as vanity, murder, etc.) but all this results in is Catholic guilt and tries to pray to rid himself of it, and so the cycle repeats over and over again.

Since you were interested, @scarfacemarston.

[oldandcrusty]

Religious imperialism: the RPG

This is the third installment in my series on institutional change in the Dragon Age series. If you'd like, feel free to read my Origins and DA2 posts.

When it comes to institutional change, there are a lot of angles I could tackle in Dragon Age: Inquisition. A frequent theme I see discussed is the way the inquisition absorbs the inquisitor. I already have given my two cents on that, and I don't think it fits what this series is about - the institutional change narrative the games weave.

For this post, I'm focusing on the institutional power the Inquisition rapidly garners. I might make more posts focusing on other elements - like the Red Jennies and Iron Bull's arc with the Qun. I might even do some Cullen Hating Hours, who knows!

Corypheus: the Uniter

The first Inquisition had a massive impact on religious and governmental institutions, because gave rise to the Seekers and Templars. The Divine thus became the head of a theocratic institution with an abundance of resources and a large military.

After the mage rebellion, Divine Justina wanted to revive an Inquisition in the event that the Conclave went awry. This would give her the ability to raise an army separate from existing religious and government forces, which she no longer had absolute control over.

We will never know what an Inquisition without Corypheus' presence would have yielded. Its purpose would have been to unite people, but I suspect its unifying would have looked more like subjugation through violence, coercion, and political intrigue.

In truth, it was Corypheus who united people. He, the Big Bad, made people from all races, nations, religions, and backgrounds want to support the Inquisition, as the Inquisition held the one individual who could defeat Corypheus. And, with such a simple message (help us and we'll literally save the world), it made it relatively easy for the Inquisition to gain widespread support, claim resources, and gain power.

This echoes real world examples of the use of declarations of emergency. Such decrees give governments greater powers to make swift decisions, at the risk of eroding human rights and democracy. It is meant to be used in exceptional cases, such as in wartime or during deadly outbreaks. However, it is commonly abused by governments to centralise decision making. It is an effective way to create dictatorships, for example when the Nazi party used this exact tactic in 1933 to take away democratic processes.

Post-Corypheus

Although the Inquisition starts off with a goal to curtail a very real emergency, it remains long after this problem is solved. What also remains is its sweeping powers. All those flags you raised in the Inquisition's name are land, buildings, and resources the Inquisition still owns. Furthermore, the new Divine is a member of your inner Circle, and whoever is ruling Orlais is doing so because you allow them to. You have immense power over Orlais, Fereldan, and the Chantry.

In Trespasser, Teagan points out that this is similar to what the Wardens did to Ferelden. Some fans have said that Teagan would never say this because of the fifth Blight. But he is a pragmatic person who saw the Warden and Alistair as allies and not puppets of Orlais. Of course he would be friendly with and trust them, and be wary of the Inquisition.

That being said, more so than in previous games, you can have a real impact on the injustices the world faces. For example, if you make Leliana the Divine, she will allow all races to have positions of power in Chantry and give mages freedom. Yay! Right?

These protections are top-down in implementation and ordered by a theocratic military force with highly centralised power. Regardless of who you pick to be Divine, your Inquisition would have made the Chantry stronger and more authoritarian.

There is some dialogue discussing this concept of top-down versus bottom-up - examples include Solas lambasting Sera for not formalising the Red Jennies, and Vivienne telling Blackwall that his attempts to help people are meaningless and change can only occur from the top. However, when looking at the entire narrative of the game, it frequently portrays change as having to be top-down.

The Inquisition turns Southern Thedas into a place where diversity wins (if you're Andrastian), and people can live in peace (on land owned by the Inquisition). Your inquisitor's choices, background, and beliefs do not alter this. If you disband the Inquisition, at least that weakens it, but it morphs into a more shadowy force. It is still plucking the strings of nations and the Chantry.

I personally wish that the game did not frame the Inquisition as positively as it did. There are not many opportunities to reckon with the impact of a religious imperialist force occupying land, taking resources, and choosing who gets to sit on thrones. Perhaps this is my perspective as a person in from Global South coming out, but that is why the game is actually quite disturbing to me, in an eerie cult-like way. Like is no one else seeing what's happening? Why is no one screaming with me? (Note that I have hundreds of hours on it, I do really enjoy it!)

Anyway, by the end of the game, the institutions of Southern Thedas are in an interesting position. I am excited to see what happens next! There is real potential to explore the other side of institutional change - the bottom-up, grassroots, radical incrementalist way. Surely they won't burn all that potential down in Veilguard just to factory reset the franchise! :D

Oh.

[alexanderlightweight]

Bit specific so no worries if not sparking the plot bunnies, but I loved your Addams style story where Alex jumped in the rift to make an impression on Magnus - Can I prompt another delibrate meet-cute where either Alec set up things to impressive for a 'first' meeting, or accidental meet-cute where Alec is mentally bemoaning not being a good first impression while Magnus is like 'raised eyebrow - my, my/might need to fan myself, bit hot in here, can I strip off HIS clothes' ^-^

so I sat on this prompt for a little while to think about how to go somewhere new with it and then decided to just, fuck canon and expectation and roll with whatever I landed on in my brain and just started writing and I have no idea how I ended up here. with a bunch of lore i'd never even considered based on a thought I added to a fic years ago.

also if you don't like cursing/swearing or if you can't consume it because of religious or personal views please let me know and i'll write you a different fic. while I sometimes swear in fics this has more swearing which is explained in the notes. it's a Shadowhunters being ridiculous thing and you better believe Magnus takes advantage of it wholeheartedly once he figures it out. Magnus is living his best life in this fic. he really is. like he's enjoying every single moment of this first chapter despite Alec feeling very miserable about it (there is no angst, Alec is just sulking because his first impression wasn't impressive like he'd hoped and doesn't know Magnus is completely charmed).

and I hope you don't mind one of my main nephilim oc's Mirai Lakecastle being a large part of this.

um yes, so the title is supposed to make no sense. I just thought it was punny. it's a slightly different style than i've written lately but ^_^ I hope you enjoy and like I said, if this is not your thing send me a new prompt <3

~ lumine

to swear upon a curse

Alec is preparing to head back to the Institute when the ring his comm is connected to heats up.   It’s uncommon for him to be contacted after he’s already confirmed completion of a mission but he knows Yosef sent Mirai a picture of something.  

Which somehow leads to Mirai’s furious voice cussing him out through the main comm when she couldn’t reach him privately.

The amount of mundane swears that his second-in-command knows is almost as creative as how she uses them against him.

Which could be considered insubordination except it’s Mirai and everyone in his Institute is well aware that this a warriors banter between Alec and his second.

It was also all her idea, and her mother’s, Alec didn’t stand a chance against one Lakecastle, let alone two.

Alec still isn’t sure why Mirai gets that pleased, smug smirk on her face every time he calls her a bitch when he’s going to take her instructions and just wants to complain about it.

But, it is what it is and after five years of working with Mirai, he now knows enough mundane swears in enough languages that even Hirune Lakecastle has commended him.

Not for his fighting — even though he has satisfied her expectations there as well — but for his ability to curse and be cursed out.

It did mean that at some point in his life, his parents telling him he was a disappointment turned into something he didn’t really know what to do with.  

At that point, being called a disappointment was the least offensive thing he’d been called and Mirai may be his second now but even then she’d been someone he’d looked up to. Even now that he looks down at her — something she has never forgiven him for is his height and her lack thereof — he still respects her.

And she respects him.

Which is why when he was nineteen and his parents were berating him for what ended up being the last time, Alec decided he was done.

After all, he had a friend who had his back and called him all manner of terrible things that didn’t actually mean anything and she only ever wanted the best for him.  Mirai had never had anything but respect for him and even when she was disappointed in him, she never held it against him in the end.

So Alec had calmly told his parents that he didn’t mind them being disappointed in him, because he doubted it compared to how disappointed he was in turn, with them.

Circle members, of all things.

That little tidbit Hirune had leaked to him had changed things.  For him and his Institute and Mirai. 

It means that Alec finds himself here now, trying desperately to hear exactly what Mirai’s saying in the comms before it goes dead.

The last thing he clearly heard was static.

So it’s with confusion and a reactivation of his speed rune that he heads back to the Institute, faster than he’d planned, and hoped he hasn’t missed Magnus’ Bane’s arrival.

—

Magnus has never met such an adorably bedraggled giant of a well-defined mess before.

Alexander Gideon Lightwood, HOTI and Commander... came rushing into his own Institute so fast he’d nearly slipped on his own ichor-slick boots. He’s tall, well built with solid muscle and he also looks like a half-drowned cat, if cats could survive also being doused in ichor and mud from demon ash.

His dark hair is plastered across his face, ichor, blood and unholy mud tracking his steps through the hall and Magnus is pretty sure he’s only got half of a shirt left on. Though it’s hard to tell with how much muck he has on him.

Which gives Magnus the potential to a very lovely view, one he wouldn’t mind seeing fully unclothed.

Alas, duty calls and instead he’s treated to the sight of Mirai Lakecastle — the surprisingly down-to-earth shadowhunter who greeted him upon arrival — practically attacking her commander with a towel.

Magnus had wondered why there had been a stack of them and despite not asking, she’d clearly caught his gaze and had told him, “it’s just in case.” Which was less helpful than if she’d said nothing at all, as Magnus wasn’t sure what she was preparing for.

It turned out to be her commander, clearly as she also douses him with a potion that Magnus hadn’t even noticed.

She’s muttering under her breath too quietly to actually hear and with a twitch of his pinky, Magnus heightens his hearing and then uses all his centuries of experience to not burst out laughing.

“Why did you come back like this, you bedraggled moose? Why would you come back even faster? And why are you so fucking tall I can’t even reach your hair—” and watches as she elbows her commander so quickly that if Magnus wasn’t watching closely he’d miss it, just so Alec Lightwood flinches down low enough for her to reach. “What kind of an impression are you trying to make? Raziel strike me down for failing you so badly, you think a powerful warlock so handsome you tripped over a picture wants anything to do with a puddle of ichor?”

It’s such an absurd spiel of words that Magnus nearly titters, only controlling himself by pure force of will.  The kind forged from eight centuries of being continually surprised by things, even when you think it impossible.

It’s very rare that any shadowhunter worries about their impression, unless it is to try and make it a worse one. 

And Magnus has certainly never been treated to the sight of a second-in-command furiously trying to clean a puddle with muscles in leather pretending to be a shadowhunter... simply because that shadowhunter wants something to do with Magnus.

It’s almost as delightful a realization as the glimpses he got of large hazel eyes and a full mouth, pink beneath the ichor.

—

Alec is never living this down.

He’s fully aware of it.  

He even deserves it, from his own perspective and Mirai’s own clipped admonishment as she tries to salvage things.

At this point he’s pretty certain that the picture Yosef took was of him.  It makes sense now that he’s had a moment to think about it.

Because Alec doesn’t normally have to worry about his appearance and he realizes now that perhaps that was a mistake considering just how bad the storm he fought in was.

Mirai certainly thinks so and since Mirai has done this before, Alec feels that it is probably better to trust her opinion.

“I didn’t think it was that bad.” He mutters, finally ducking fully to allow her to actually tackle the blood he still has on the back of his neck. He’s certainly come back from worse missions and been ushered straight into meetings before but he supposes he should have considered this should be treated differently.

He also owes Mirai because the cleansing potion is taking effect, easing the burn of ichor on his skin and eating away at the remains in his hair. Alec really didn’t know how bad it was until the burn started to fade.

“You look like our trainees after hell night and ichor duty, Alec. But so help me I will not let you fully fuck this up.” And Alec winces because he really does not want to fuck this up either and Mirai has been amazing about not teasing him for tripping over his own chair when she pulled Magnus Bane photos up on the projector the week before.  

This is actually only the second time she’s mentioned it at all.

Which lessens his anxiety.  Alec’s been looking forward to this meeting for days, of course Mirai is going to try to protect him, even from himself.

“Just take the shirt off, it's useless at this point. I’ll have someone bring you a vest. I doubt this is the worst he’s seen from a shadowhunter so we’ll just roll with it.  Wipe your face off one more time and then smile at him like you smiled at his picture yesterday.” Alec coughs, shushing her under his breath.  There’s no evidence that Magnus Bane has any warlock marks that enhances hearing but Alec’s not going to risk this chance by trusting Clave information. Actually, he really hopes Magnus does not have enhanced hearing, because then he would have heard about the tripping and that is infinitely worse.

And fuck Edom of all things, but this is not how he had planned for this to go at all.

—

AN:

How do my notes sometimes end up longer or almost longer than the fill? Please send help.

Also I hope to fuck this doesn’t have to be said but please do not call people bad things to desensitize them. This is literally a joke between mirai and alec (she’s not actually calling him a bunch of disgusting things, it’s just they have different views compared to mundanes)  and learned mostly from bunch of old unhinged shadowhunters who aren’t really tied to reality very well but like using mundane swears. 

Alec is also just using it to help him compartmentalize things. Because he’s the kind of person who needs a reason or an excuse to do something for himself, rather than just because its better for him. Though magnus will work on that.

I don’t use this particular fact in every verse because honestly, it only fits in a few of them because there are fics where alec is not going to call mirai a bitch. No matter how funny she thinks it is. And she’s also not going to think it’s funny in every fic like she does here. 

In this verse, Mirai was sent to NYI to help train Alec and also train to be his second (she doesn’t want to be in charge of a whole institute and deal with politics, she wants to do the basework, let me be clear Mirai could have her own damn institute she’s that talented). She’s 21 when she arrives and he’s 17 and they just click really well with their efficiency and teamwork and have never looked back once they realize their goals are pretty much aligned.  Also with Mirai, Alec isn’t as overwhelmed with having the position (normally shared by two) on just his shoulders.

Mirai grew up in an Idris colony of Elder Hunters (shadowhunters who reach retirement age without retiring for politics) and uh who don’t like being in Alicante a lot. They like cursing each other out because they think mundane swears are hilarious and so like, Alec calling her bitch and her calling him bastard and a bunch of other variations she’s learned since childhood is a dream of baby!shadowhunter mirai. Like this mirai was raised with grizzled, greying and scarred shadowhunters who lived for the fight and only retired when they became liabilities on the field rather than hunters.

It’s not a very big dream or her biggest but you better believe she’s out here living her best life. Texting her mom: i got alec-raised-by-circle-fanatics to call me mundane swears in comradery.  I am now officially, the BEST Bitch of the New York Institute. My legacy is already securing itself.

Hirune Lakecastle who is just as feral as her daughter: don’t forget to teach him mundane swears in other languages or you’ll just hinder yourself with a small pool. Dont forget that insulting sentences regarding intelligence also counts. the best hunters call each other the foulest things in every language alive and die for each other with honor while complaining about it being necessary. Like train more you weak limbed stoat.

Mirai: yup, plus Maryse’s straightlaced soldier boy calling me a bitch with confusion is too amazing to miss. The amount of double-takes we get when we plan is hilarious. Everyone has taken to giving us a wide berth and interrupt far less. I still don’t think he realizes the power we hold.

(nephilim are freaked out by mundanes swears. They dont understands them, think they’re vulgar and don’t understand how alec and mirai teasingly (in clear good humor) call each other such things. It terrifies their delicate little nephilim sensibilities and let me tell you, alec did not handle mirai telling him what a bitch was and then to call her that well. He also had some delicate sensibilities that mirai ruthlessly stamped out. Also no one thinks that mirai and alec don’t respect each other. You don’t trust someone to have your back like alec does mirai without respect and you don’t swear to fall first for someone you don’t respect like mirai did. Like alec trusts mirai enough to let down his guard to only focus on the fight or giving commands. It’s rare he needs to do that but in situations where he has to focus on ordering teams or archery or something, anything besides his own protection.  He trusts her 100% and will stop protecting himself to prioritize other things, trusting her completely. And mirai is 100% willing and excited to be in that position and her job is to ensure that every one else dies first until she and alec are last in the battlefield.  Which is a really hard position to put on someone but she thrives in it and alec trusts her to do it in the best most efficient way possible. So other shadowhunters just think they’re equally terrifying and that something is wrong with them both. But also, it only works in very specific verses. Ones more like dressed to kill, your heart is made of jewels, kind of vibe etc). The ones that aren’t crack but have a less serious vibe to the world if that makes sense. Some of the verses are too intense for this to be reality to be honest. This is a more relaxed world.)

Anyways.

Alec was like: but you’re my second? Why would i call you a bitch? I respect you, i even am starting to like you and consider you a friend??

Mirai: because 1) i’m a bad bitch — i’ll explain that later — and also because i’m going to call you so much worse but i’m being nice and letting you use baby steps. Also this is the way, Alec. this is the way to traumatize the pampered kind of nephilim we both despise.

Alec: tell me more.... Bitch?

Mirai: we’ll work on your enthusiasm later but i’ll take it. My fucknugget of a commander.

Alec: fuck... nugget?

Mirai: this is the best experience of my life. Maryse is never going to be able to live this down.

Alec: will i be able to live this down?

Mirai: you and i are going to be living this up, my deadly bastard of a superior 

Alec: ... i’m just going to leave you in charge of everything and go read over the reports. Okay. bye.

— Cut to several years later and this is what was supposed to happen but alec’s comms cut out and mirai didn’t get a chance to lie to him — 

Alec to mirai: you’re a bitch. And not the best bitch. The worst bitch. How could you lie and tell me that magnus bane canceled visiting the institute? I took your advice to stay and finish patrolling with the rest of the teams instead of coming back and missed him!!!

Mirai: because you look like a wet-cat that got hit by a lightning demon and then drowned in a puddle of ichor. Yosef sent me a picture of your scrawny meatless ass. You look fucking disgusting alec. You look like a sculpture that was hit by a rockslide. You think i’m letting my commander meet the high warlock like this? You idiotic puddle of ichor, are you trying to ruin your chances before you even begin?

Alec: i’m feeling very attacked right now

Mirai: good, now get your ass up and into decontamination and go eat and sleep and i’ll create a problem with the security system so he has to come back. After you’ve rested, because he’s even better looking in person and you deserve an actual chance at getting him to look at you twice.  Not this self-sabotage you’re going for.

Alec: do you want a monument? I will make it for you by hand because you’re amazing. I regret my words of anger. You are the BEST Bitch.

Mirai: *in about ten different languages* you bet your fucking ass i am, noodlebrain. (so also i should mention that despite her best efforts, mirai doesn’t actually always know what counts as a swear so she also just goes off of what she finds when she looks up things on the mundane web for new data. So she actually thinks this is a really offensive swear. Telling someone they’re less intelligent than a meal that isn’t even made from a living being with a brain? Wow. sucker punched).

Alec is just: how dare, wow i do not deserve this bullshit. 

Magnus when he eventually figures out whats going on: omg i can never tell them, Cat, Ragnor help me come up with the most ridiculous things mundanes have said. I have a trap to set.

Alec a week later and grinning viciously: you’re a fucking pigeon, Mirai

Mirai: what?

Alec: you know those mundane birds all over? Apparently mundanes also call them rats-with-wings and death-birds-of-disease.  I overhead Magnus talking to Catarina and being called a pigeon is one of the worst thing you can do. Mundanes hate pigeons. It’s even worse than bastard and bitch.

Mirai: pigeon... rats with wings... unholy death plague birds i love it. We should feed them from now on, death birds should be treated well. also i can work with this. Oh holy Raziel’s wings i can work with this. Promise me you will spy on magnus for more?

-

Magnus: i have never felt so accomplished in my life.

Ragnor and Catarina who haven’t stopped laughing since Magnus showed them a memory of watching Alexander and Mirai mercilessly call their trainees pigeons while training them: we need to do more, Magnus.  This will be the legacy we leave behind. The world needs this.

Also Alec no braincells Lightwood just wanting to meet magnus so badly he doesn’t even consider the fact he had to half dive into demon guts to pull out a trainee who tripped. He doesn’t even remember doing that, it was a reflex at this point.

-

It’s not the pigeons faults that they were domesticated and abandoned but i still dont like 90% of them and will 100% let nightshade chase them out of the yard. I am evil like that.

[searchingforserendipity25]

i know it's too early in the fandom for a secretly a royal au but. secretly a royal au. the reason everyone is shocked by cardinal lawrence's homily is that no one thinks cardinal lawrence is even remotely interested in the papacy.

it's not the done thing to have a royal in the papacy and hasn't been for centuries, for several excellent historical reasons; and moreover, he's made a name for himself as an administrator, a canonical expert who works in the background, cleaves to the liberal faction, remains in the shadows of more outspoken diplomats, and most importantly: does not rule.

being dean of the college of cardinals is as much of a relevant public-facing job as he's ever had, and he would really rather go without. if he had wanted power he'd have stuck it out as a duke's son and married one of his hanover cousins or some such, back when it seemed shockingly likely that he might end up sitting on the big chair himself.

instead he rather famously ran away to france to be a seminarian out of genuine spite and also a genuine spiritual calling, which would have gone over much better if he'd stuck with the anglican turn of things.

managed to get by with shocking discretion for most of his ecclesiastic career by virtue of being deeply private and going by one of his mother's dozen of names. though the fact that he's a cardinal at all and was secretary of state was quite debated when it made the news.

everyone in the conclave knows, and also everyone in the world, except perhaps for vincent benítez, who was in the middle of being more-or-less kidnapped by a cartel in veracruz when that exposé on the vatican's brand new cardinal made its way into the international papers back in '11. i

it's fine, he talked them into letting him go and also into the path of atonement; he just doesn't have the context for why dean lawrence keeps having a small internal death of the soul whenever he tells him he's voting for him. please do not vote for him.

he went and joined a religious cult where he's explicitly forbidden from inheriting anything and marrying and producing children to avoid a crown, he really does not want to be elected into any position of power. it's unethical, it's gauche, his sense of self would crumble, and also the international fallout would be 1) terrible 2) force him to speak with his family.

cardinal bellini also found out in '11. he is very supportive as a friend, and barely makes any boston tea party or redcoats jokes at all.

the fact that for the third act of the conclave an actual prince thomas seems like the best best for a liberal win inside the vatican paints a very very sad picture of the curia.

this does not work very well as a concept i recognize. but the idea of thomas lawrence trying to skive off the institutional horror of british imperialism to end up second-in-place at the vatican and narrowly avoiding the papacy is very funny to me.

man who adamantly vows not to be attracted to power tragically stuck in power-corrupts machine and keeps being shocked when colleagues and peers are revealed to be corrupt, nonetheless keeps on revealing corruption with compulsive detective work. as a form of atonement??

possibly a running thread might be the concept of service to god and the church as an imperfect means of finding meaning and erasing the self, and how giving up one one's agency/believing in one's own powerlessness/self-hatred and shame is of no practical good use to anyone or anything, and only adds to the entropy that wears on every good intention.

and most importantly. can you imagine how intolerable tedesco would be about it.

[johnnycrass]

criss crossing America by car has always shown me that everyones poor except the certain some who are not (the divide between havers and have nots seems to be growing has anyone noticed that), no body has it on them theyre all broke, every place has a drug problem, rent sucks everywhere but the REAL places u dont wanna live, people love to fuck raw and have a baby just because there isnt much else to do and it feels good allegedly, good taste is vanishing, whole lot of historical attractions here are major scams (and i honestly do not know what i was expecting?), and religious institutions should definitely have to pay taxes probably twice the amount everyone else does

[shenzi-hemlock]

hey girl(?)! I love your posting of religious content and that you are unashamed to be religious even amid such a secular society. I was wondering where you stand morally speaking on homosexuality/gender politics? I know it's a complex issue within the scope of religion but I would love to hear your thoughts on it as someone who is religious but doesn't necessarily have an easy time processing how religion should interact with societal issues in general?

Sorry for not answering this one right away, I’ve been mulling over some topics and readying myself to explain them. Ok, here we go!

Thank you! I try first and foremost to be a Christian and let everything else follow. For some people, that puts them off and they would rather not be around me. It happens and it’s fine. I can’t force them to be a Christian or to like me.

So to have that lead into the main topic here, where do Christians stand on homosexuality/gender politics?? Well it’s very clearly detailed in the Bible. Homosexuality is a sin, period. There are a lot of people that will claim that the Greek word for “homosexuality” isn’t talking about two adult men but is warning against an adult man sleeping with a young boy. This particular translation has been debunked on more than one occasion and it does mean “homosexuality” as in two males having sexual relations with each other. The Bible does not endorse pedophilia but verses talking about two men laying together or men giving themselves up to unnatural and sinful desires are very loud and clear that homosexuality is a sin which goes against God’s design. God instituted marriage (and this all sexual acts) to be within the covenant of one man and one woman. No more, no less, no different.

As for gender politics, I’ll put here what I put in my other post, we are fearfully and wonderfully made. God, the creator of the universe and its planets, the God who composed physics and taught His galaxies to dance, the God who cultivated the tallest tree and tiniest flower, He knit you in your mother’s womb. He knows everything about you. Every fear, every joy, every lie, every truth. And He loves you. God does not make mistakes.

So just based off this, I can very firmly conclude that we are not to mutilate ourselves in order to feel better in our skin. We already are in the best body we will ever have. Specifically, transgender is a mental illness and it needs to be treated as such. Depression, anxiety, bipolar, schizophrenia, all of these are treated as a mental illness. Could you imagine how worse off all these folks would be if instead of getting actual medical and psychological care, they were instead told there was nothing wrong with them and to not only continue living a delusion but actively encouraged to feed into it?

Suicide rates in the transgender community are extremely high. That is a direct consequence of encouraging that mental illness instead of directing them to the proper clinics/physicians to get the help they need.

So we’ve got both of those out of the way. Next, I should touch on what you said about being religious and how that interacts with societal issues.

I am a Christian because I believe that Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. None come to the Father except through Him. I am not a Christian because my parents expect it or because it’s just how I was raised. I have a personal relationship with Christ in which He called me by name and saved me. Jesus shapes the way I look at not only myself but every other person on this planet. He informs my every decision and directs me to follow His Word. If you agree with this, then that leads to my next point.

Jesus is our priority in life and everything else comes after Him. And when I say everything, I mean truly, absolutely, *everything*. Jesus comes before my parents, before my siblings, before my husband, before my friends, before everyone else and everything else. That is how I view societal issues. Jesus comes first. Because God is a God of love, that will inform and direct me in how I interact with the world at large. Sometimes, love is tough and wants the best for you. Sometimes people don’t like what is best for them. Sometimes, a lot of times, they want what is easy.

Putting Jesus first is hard. It’s an everyday challenge. But when I put Him first, that allows me to look at issues like homosexuality and transgenderism through the lens of Christ. It is a sin to lust after someone of the same sex just as lust is a sin for people of the opposite sex. It is a sin to try and permanently change or destroy your body and say that God was wrong. You do not live a life led by Christ and decide to mutilate yourself.

But there is always hope. Christ is King. He has won. No matter what you have done, no matter how evil you think you are, no matter how lost you feel, no matter how much you have put Him down, Christ still wants to have you home. And so do I.

[qqueenofhades]

Hello, you said you were open to historical questions. If you don't mind, I have an incredibly specific one: during the High Middle Ages, in Europe, how did businesses advertise themselves? Town criers? Signs? Free samples? Word of mouth? All of the above? If I was a pilgrim, how would I find a place to stay the night?

If we're thinking specifically about lodging, it would depend very much on who you were and why you were traveling. You would most likely have friends or extended family in the place you were going, and you were more likely to stay in a private home rather than an inn, since medieval innkeepers (unlike modern hotels) were not obliged to offer you a room if they didn't like you for whatever reason. You would also have to share it with several strangers and possibly be extorted, since there were plenty of unscrupulous innkeepers who liked to charge additional fees for every extra service (such as a boy to remove your boots or a stable for your horse). So if you could avoid it, you might want to look for other options.

As such, your best bet for overnight room and board (at least if you were a man) would be the local monastery. Not only did this have the advantage of being fairly easy to find, it would also be free, since many monastic orders viewed it as a religious imperative to take in guests, and there were specific monks who were assigned especially to care for travelers. You might offer a few alms to the monastery or attend a prayer with the monks for the evening, or some other way to demonstrate your gratitude. Since long-distance individual travel purely for pleasure (with notable exceptions such as Ibn Battuta) was considerably uncommon in the Middle Ages, you would not often have to worry about places you didn't know at all.

However, that's where the pilgrimage comes in! Much like modern package holidays, medieval pilgrims often traveled in a large group under the organization and/or supervision of a company, they were highly structured and organized, and they had plenty of guidebooks to help them know where to go, where to stay (and what to avoid), the proper rituals to do and religious sights to see, and so forth. See for example the Codex Calixtinus (also known as the Codex Compostellus), which is a twelfth-century guide to the Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage route in Spain. Sometimes called the "first travelers' guidebook," it was part of the increasingly elaborate pilgrimage network to cities such as Rome, Jerusalem, and Canterbury (which along with Santiago de Compostela were the major pilgrimage destinations). So if you were a pilgrim traveling through unfamiliar lands, you would absolutely not have to worry about finding a place to stay for the night on your own; there would be your fellow travelers, guidebooks, word of mouth, advice from your local clergy (and whenever in doubt, as noted, hit up the local monastery). The Canterbury Tales are famously a group of fictional pilgrims who are all staying together and sharing their experiences. In the later Middle Ages, you would also have detailed personal memoirs like The Itineraries of William Wey and international banking institutions such as that offered by the Templars, to make it easier to pay for travel goods and services.

If you're interested in reading more about travel in the Middle Ages, especially as related to pilgrimage (which was undertaken both for sincere religious reasons and a desire to see the world), I recommend A Travel Guide to the Middle Ages by Anthony Bale, which investigates which medieval people traveled, where they went, what their experiences were, and how they negotiated basic practical realities such as finding a place to stay overnight. I don't know if this has answered your question per se about advertising, but it has hopefully pointed out that staying somewhere overnight was usually not a matter of individually paying for a room in a third-party commercial establishment. And if you were a pilgrim, you would definitely not have to figure that out by yourself, since it would be arranged with your pilgrimage group, whoever was supervising the trip, and the guidebooks written for people exactly like you.

[edenfenixblogs]

okay this is a bit of a random question, and please feel free to ignore it for whatever reason! and please forgive any clumsy wording, i promise i'm asking just from curiosity and without any malice.

i know in jewish culture the mother is the one who sort of 'transfers jewishness' to the children, so i was wondering what would happen if a jewish trans man had a baby? would the kids be considered jewish or, because he's a father, would it be different?

lastly, i just wanted to thank you for all of your posts. i learn so much from you, and it always makes me smile when i see one of your art or tree posts!

What a great ask!!!! Thank you so much for your kind words!!!! It makes the stressful parts worth it. 😊🩵🩵

So, first off, I’m no rabbi or even a religious scholar. I’m just a Jew who likes being a Jew.

But here is my take that other Jews are free to add onto or provide sources on.

But there is no Jewish High Authority. There’s no, like, Jewish pope to sit around and let Jews know they’ve Done Jewish Wrong. Judaism is a cultural of mutual acceptance based on the totality of shared cultural wisdom and understanding.

So, a person cannot just decide “I’m Jewish now” and be Jewish. Jews as a community must accept them into our tribe after they’ve demonstrated an understanding of and commitment to our broad understanding of life. Jews also don’t have sects. We have different branches or streams of belief ranging from humanist to ultraorthadox, but we are all equally Jewish. We don’t even all believe in G-d. Our core values revolve around how we treat one another and are nuanced, which is why becoming a Jew is a process.

With that in mind, with the exception of a few very strictly outlier cases, matrilineal passage of religion is more of a guideline than a hard and fast rule.

I could be wrong as it’s been awhile since I learned this and may have some details mixed up, but I believe that the matrilineal passage of culture was partially instituted due to the frequent rape of Jewish women. As a community, we consider a child born to a Jewish woman to be as much a part of our community as any other member of our community, regardless of who fathered that child. Likewise, we take communal responsibility and cultural claim to that child. Someone cannot rape a Jewish woman and the take her child from her to be raised as non-Jewish that is an affront to us.

Other reasons I’ve heard for why Jews pass religion through mothers is due to equality. Matrilineal passage of culture is only one part of passing Judaism across generations. Jews get the religion from their mother and their tribe from their father. There used to be 12 tribes named after all of Jacob’s sons. But those were mostly scattered/lost over persecution and diaspora. Now there are only three (depending on how you break it down. It gets complicated LOL): Yisrael, Levi, and Cohen. Most Jews are tribe of Yisrael. I am tribe of Yisrael because my father is tribe of Yisrael. When you convert to Judaism you also become tribe of Yisrael. My mother is a Levite (tribe of Levi) because her father was a Levite. Historically, Levites played an important role in the Old Temple in Jerusalem as well as other culturally distinct duties ranging from everything from maintaining the temple itself, education of the Jewish community, singing in the old temple, serving as judges, and serving as guards of the temple. In diaspora and in times of strife in the biblical era, Levites also helped keep Jewish communities together and safe.

The remaining tribe is Kohanim. This group is believed to be directly descended from Aaron, Moses’s brother and therefore descended from all the priests of the temple in the biblical era.

It is possible that the Levites and Kohanim were able to maintain their tribal lineage patrilineally due to their status as leaders in early diaspora and therefore being able to maintain their roles in diasporic Jewish communities longer. I simply don’t know. But I do know that the culture is what mothers traditionally pass down and the duties and history of the tribe is passed down via the fathers. When both parents are Jewish, what matters is that each parent passes an important aspect of cultural identity on to their children.

But none of this is compulsory or set in stone.

And I will again say that my understanding of it all may be fundamentally flawed in some way, because of how unimportant it is to me personally. I mean, I think it’s cool that my mom can trace our lineage back so far. And even some DNA tests done several years ago have confirmed that my mom is descended from an actual Talmudic scholar which is fun to know. I think it’s cool that my ancestors were biblical nerds and judges and that my grandfather was a lawyer and that my skill that benefits the Jewish community during times of strife in diaspora seems to be education and outreach. I like that I personally seem to excel at issues related to judgment and education and community cohesion, because it is so in line with the history of my ancestors as determined by cultural norms as well as DNA. It also makes me sad that diaspora has taken away some of that cultural heritage from other Jewish tribes.

But it doesn’t actually have anything to do with how Jewish we are OR how important or valid we are to or within the Jewish community. These are rules/guidelines that were developed with the goal of maintaining identity and culture despite immense hardship. These are rules/guidelines meant to strengthen our community. But they were never (as far as I understand it all) meant to EXCLUDE anyone.

And here’s the thing: a slang way Jews have of referring to one another is as “members of the tribe.” Because beyond Yisrael or Levi or Kohen, we are all JEWS. We are all a member of the same tribe, and that tribe is Judaism.

Is the trans man Jewish? Have he and his partner (if he chooses to have a partner) agreed to raise their child Jewish? Then congratulations to them and their Jewish baby!!!

If one parent is a Levite or a Kohen and the other is another tribe, I’ll let them and rabbi decide how to sort that out. But even then it wouldn’t likely be viewed as a matter of contention but more as a fun Talmudic riddle to explore.

TL;DR: Patrilineal Jews are just as Jewish as any other Jew. And trans men are men. Beyond that, everything else is Talmudic nuanced debate.

[43501]

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

Nine whole mushrooms, it's like a dream come true… I'll answer HCs for Mello/Near because readers of this blog already see more than enough Near/Ophelia through all my yumeposting.

1) In my slightly canon divergent version of the story, Mello and Near came to Wammy's House a little later in life from elsewhere (specifically: Near from another institution in England, Mello from his home country following the death of his mother). Mello arrived first and was the clear forerunner for inheriting the title of L (in terms of raw academic performance, anyway) for almost a year. He was already very clever and ambitious but came from abject poverty and was determined to make good use of the world-class education he now had access to. When Near arrived at Wammy's, Mello was dethroned from his #1 position and this is one of the reasons Mello resents him.

2) The things they adore about one another are also the very same things they hate about each other, lol. Mello finds Near stable and calming, but often misinterprets his equanimity for lack of care. Near is invigorated by Mello's passion and drive, but regularly finds himself frustrated by Mello's strong and unpredictable emotions.

3) Near really likes Mello's writing and religiously reads whatever he can get a hold of. If he was ever able to read some of Mello's creative writing while at Wammy's House, he took the chance. In the canon ending, Near recovered as much as possible from what was left at Wammy's and Mello's residence. In divergent endings where L defeats Kira and Mello and Near survive, Mello goes on to become a mystery/detective novel author (and occasional poet) and Near reads everything he publishes, including lesser-known stuff like short stories to zine publications. He has a knack for finding them. He is otherwise not a person who normally reads fiction for leisure, Mello is an exception.

4) Despite their conflicts, they honestly view each other as the other half that "completes" them. This is canon already, but of course I like to think there is a romantic (and sexual) dimension to it also.

5) At Wammy's, there were times they interacted and the whole thing was perfectly amicable and pleasant despite the rivalry. The relationship took a nosedive when L left England to pursue Kira and later died. They are both privately aware that if they met in a different environment where they weren't pit against one other, they could've been good friends. Near slightly resents L and Wammy's for this (but ultimately, his feelings about his upbringing are conflicting and nuanced).

And these ones specifically for a continuity where they not only survive, but end up together:

6) Surprisingly, Near is the more emotionally open one of the two. Mello is super walled-off and squirms when he feels at all vulnerable. Near eventually gets very good at soothing Mello's frayed nerves and encouraging him to lower his guard.

7) Near is still a reclusive homebody, but he does go out with Mello sometimes. They kind of exude a power couple vibe when they're out in public like this. Insane intense aura. He dresses better (not strutting around in PJs) but still prioritizes comfort in his choices.

8) Mello is absolutely not a caretaking type of partner, so it forces Near to become more independent quickly. He had grown accustomed to having all his needs taken care of by caregivers at Wammy's, then his SPK staff, then Roger acting as his Watari for a while.

9) One of their favorite things to do together is just... sleep. Not have sex, I mean just straight up snooze.

[francesderwent]

…humanity is divided into conscious ritualists and unconscious ritualists. The curious thing is, in that example as in others, that it is the conscious ritualism which is comparatively simple, the unconscious ritual which is really heavy and complicated. The ritual which is comparatively rude and straightforward is the ritual which people call “ritualistic.” It consists of plain things like bread and wine and fire, and men falling on their faces. But the ritual which is really complex, and many coloured, and elaborate, and needlessly formal, is the ritual which people enact without knowing it. It consists not of plain things like wine and fire, but of really peculiar, and local, and exceptional, and ingenious things—things like door-mats, and door-knockers, and electric bells, and silk hats, and white ties, and shiny cards, and confetti. The truth is that the modern man scarcely ever gets back to very old and simple things except when he is performing some religious mummery. The modern man can hardly get away from ritual except by entering a ritualistic church. In the case of these old and mystical formalities we can at least say that the ritual is not mere ritual; that the symbols employed are in most cases symbols which belong to a primary human poetry. The most ferocious opponent of the Christian ceremonials must admit that if Catholicism had not instituted the bread and wine, somebody else would most probably have done so. Any one with a poetical instinct will admit that to the ordinary human instinct bread symbolizes something which cannot very easily be symbolized otherwise; that wine, to the ordinary human instinct, symbolizes something which cannot very easily be symbolized otherwise. But white ties in the evening are ritual, and nothing else but ritual. No one would pretend that white ties in the evening are primary and poetical. Nobody would maintain that the ordinary human instinct would in any age or country tend to symbolize the idea of evening by a white necktie. Rather, the ordinary human instinct would, I imagine, tend to symbolize evening by cravats with some of the colours of the sunset, not white neckties, but tawny or crimson neckties—neckties of purple or olive, or some darkened gold. Mr. J. A. Kensit, for example, is under the impression that he is not a ritualist. But the daily life of Mr. J. A. Kensit, like that of any ordinary modern man, is, as a matter of fact, one continual and compressed catalogue of mystical mummery and flummery. To take one instance out of an inevitable hundred: I imagine that Mr. Kensit takes off his hat to a lady; and what can be more solemn and absurd, considered in the abstract, than, symbolizing the existence of the other sex by taking off a portion of your clothing and waving it in the air? This, I repeat, is not a natural and primitive symbol, like fire or food. A man might just as well have to take off his waistcoat to a lady; and if a man, by the social ritual of his civilization, had to take off his waistcoat to a lady, every chivalrous and sensible man would take off his waistcoat to a lady. In short, Mr. Kensit, and those who agree with him, may think, and quite sincerely think, that men give too much incense and ceremonial to their adoration of the other world. But nobody thinks that he can give too much incense and ceremonial to the adoration of this world.

All men, then, are ritualists, but are either conscious or unconscious ritualists. The conscious ritualists are generally satisfied with a few very simple and elementary signs; the unconscious ritualists are not satisfied with anything short of the whole of human life, being almost insanely ritualistic. The first is called a ritualist because he invents and remembers one rite; the other is called an anti-ritualist because he obeys and forgets a thousand.

—G.K. Chesterton, Heretics