#free church resources

[adrond]

This is one of the free Bible verse coloring pages I create. You can download this one and hundreds more at my blog. https://coloringpagesbymradron.blogspot.com/2016/06/micah-68-printable-coloring-page.html

[the-lady-maddy]

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[jadenvargen]

free online james baldwin stories, essays, videos, and other resources

**edit

James baldwin online archive with his articles and photo archives.

---NOVELS---

Giovanni's room"When David meets the sensual Giovanni in a bohemian bar, he is swept into a passionate love affair. But his girlfriend's return to Paris destroys everything. Unable to admit to the truth, David pretends the liaison never happened - while Giovanni's life descends into tragedy. This book introduces love's fascinating possibilities and extremities."

Go Tell It On The Mountain"(...)Baldwin's first major work, a semi-autobiographical novel that has established itself as an American classic. With lyrical precision, psychological directness, resonating symbolic power, and a rage that is at once unrelenting and compassionate, Baldwin chronicles a fourteen-year-old boy's discovery of the terms of his identity as the stepson of the minister of a storefront Pentecostal church in Harlem one Saturday in March of 1935. Baldwin's rendering of his protagonist's spiritual, sexual, and moral struggle of self-invention opened new possibilities in the American language and in the way Americans understand themselves."

+bonus: film adaptation on youtube. (if you’re a giancarlo esposito fan, you’ll be delighted to see him in an early preacher role)

Another Country and Going to Meet the Man Another country: "James Baldwin's masterly story of desire, hatred and violence opens with the unforgettable character of Rufus Scott, a scavenging Harlem jazz musician adrift in New York. Self-destructive, bad and brilliant, he draws us into a Bohemian underworld pulsing with heat, music and sex, where desperate and dangerous characters betray, love and test each other to the limit." Going to meet the Man: " collection of eight short stories by American writer James Baldwin. The book, dedicated "for Beauford Delaney", covers many topics related to anti-Black racism in American society, as well as African-American–Jewish relations, childhood, the creative process, criminal justice, drug addiction, family relationships, jazz, lynching, sexuality, and white supremacy."

Just Above My Head"Here, in a monumental saga of love and rage, Baldwin goes back to Harlem, to the church of his groundbreaking novel Go Tell It on the Mountain, to the homosexual passion of Giovanni's Room, and to the political fire that enflames his nonfiction work. Here, too, the story of gospel singer Arthur Hall and his family becomes both a journey into another country of the soul and senses--and a living contemporary history of black struggle in this land."

If Beale Street Could Talk"Told through the eyes of Tish, a nineteen-year-old girl, in love with Fonny, a young sculptor who is the father of her child, Baldwin's story mixes the sweet and the sad. Tish and Fonny have pledged to get married, but Fonny is falsely accused of a terrible crime and imprisoned. Their families set out to clear his name, and as they face an uncertain future, the young lovers experience a kaleidoscope of emotions-affection, despair, and hope. In a love story that evokes the blues, where passion and sadness are inevitably intertwined, Baldwin has created two characters so alive and profoundly realized that they are unforgettably ingrained in the American psyche."

also has a film adaptation by moonlight's barry jenkins

Tell Me How Long the Train's been gone At the height of his theatrical career, the actor Leo Proudhammer is nearly felled by a heart attack. As he hovers between life and death, Baldwin shows the choices that have made him enviably famous and terrifyingly vulnerable. For between Leo's childhood on the streets of Harlem and his arrival into the intoxicating world of the theater lies a wilderness of desire and loss, shame and rage. An adored older brother vanishes into prison. There are love affairs with a white woman and a younger black man, each of whom will make irresistible claims on Leo's loyalty. 

---ESSAYS---

Baldwin essay collection. Including most famously: notes of a native son, nobody knows my name, the fire next time, no name in the street, the devil finds work- baldwin on film

--DOCUMENTARIES--

Take this hammer, a tour of san Francisco.

Meeting the man

--DEBATES:--

Debate with Malcolm x, 1963 ( on integration, the nation of islam, and other topics. )

Debate with William Buckley, 1965. ( historic debate in america. )

Heavily moderated debate with Malcolm x, Charles Eric Lincoln, and Samuel Schyle 1961. (Primarily Malcolm X's debate on behalf of the nation of islam, with Baldwin giving occassional inputs.)

----

apart from themes obvious in the book's descriptions, a general heads up for themes of incest and sexual assault throughout his works.

[techartspodcast]

🎙️ Exciting News! 🚀 Our brand-new podcast is set to drop this Thursday! 🎧 Get ready for an awesome ride filled with insights, laughter, and special guests. Plus, we're feeling generous! 🎁 Tune in for a chance to snag some FREE goodies. 🌟 Don't miss out on the fun – mark your calendars! techartspodcast.com 🗓️ #PodcastAlert #Freebies #ComingSoon #StayTuned #MxU #EarthworksAudio

[copperbadge]

This is not to sniff at packaged food in any way, because cheap, uniform, nutritious, premade food is important and necessary. And despite what your local tiktok orthorexic may tell you, packaged food is still capable of providing solid nutrition.

That said, I've been making my own bread for about twenty years, and for the last ten or so it has often been easier to make bread than buy it, solely because I don't need to leave the house to do so, and I live alone so a decent loaf can last me a good ten days. Being able to make ones own bread in this modern era is a product of privilege -- the resources to buy the ingredients (especially high quality flour, not cheap), the time and space to bake, the stamina to knead or equipment to make kneading easier -- my breads improved a lot when I got a good stand mixer, and those aren't cheap. But also, to make a decent edible boule you can get by with flour, water, yeast, salt, and time. Throw in a little oil and you can make pizza crust; add in kneading and a bit of sugar and you have bagels.

It did somewhat change how I eat, because homemade bread is often a little difficult to make a sandwich with, but I was never a huge fan of sandos anyway. These days I often don't even make loaves -- I make rolls or bagels, or flatbreads.

But all of this is to say that because I'm now accustomed to eating my own bread, which is necessarily small-batch and produced without stabilizers that make commercial bread so soft and uniform, I am starting to struggle when I do buy bread because the flavor and texture often feel off. It's not that it's objectively bad food, but it's very different from what I'm used to, which is unpleasant. I've been aware of the issue for a while but previously even if the bread wasn't as good to me as my own, it was edible and convenient, so it was fine. Making your own hot dog buns is a pain in the ass.

I just bought a loaf of Italian bread, reasonably fresh, a brand I used to eat regularly, because I wasn't feeling up to baking anything. I've been making toast with it mostly. But yesterday morning -- admittedly while dealing with some nausea -- I bit into a sandwich I'd made with it (cashew butter and strawberry jam) and thought, "this feels like eating upholstery fabric."

I haven't been able to eat any more of it since. The soft, dense texture, the specific preservative flavor, the mouthfeel. I tried to eat some toast just now and had to spit it out because it felt like buttered brocade and I started to gag. I'm kind of mad about it, honestly.

The bread won't go to waste -- if I can't eat the rest of the bag I'll dry it out and crush it for breadcrumbs for fried chicken or a panade -- but it's both sad and funny that I have functionally baked myself into a corner where packaged bread is no longer even an option.

It feels like I'm becoming one of the middle-aged eccentrics I used to know when I was a kid -- older people or couples in my church, sometimes parents of my school friends, who were just kind of oddballs, hippie leftovers, what I still think of as Berkeley Weirdos (affectionate) even though Berkeley has long since gentrified. The lady who didn't have a functional oven or stove because she ate raw vegan or the family that converted their old station wagon to biofuel but kept the rear-facing back seats with no seatbelts and would give us death-defying rides to the community pool in them. I'm already growing my own basil because I eat an unlikely amount of pesto for one person. My signature potluck dishes are kiwi dip or egg-free meringues.

I don't mind, exactly. I loved the Berkeley Weirdos and the community they built for us kids. But it's definitely not a place I imagined ending up.

[inaconstantstateofchange]

Halsin and Silvanus

In the course of my recent research on Bane for a lore request fill, I found myself coming across a lot of very interesting information, previously unknown to me, about the other gods of the Forgotten Realms — in particular Silvanus. There was enough there that it inspired me to direct some extra research hours into this writeup, exploring all the reasons why Halsin is a quintessential Silvanite.

If you would like any more information on anything included here, please feel free to drop a comment or an ask, as there is truly so much that I just don’t have the space to include. (I usually end up with about 12-13 pages of source quotes before I begin one of these meta posts.)

My usual note that, as ever, these writeups will align with current 5e lore, and draw from 3.5e for additional supporting information. On rarer occasions – and always noted – I will reference 1e and 2e, but with the caveats that there is much more in those editions that is tonally dissonant with the modern conception of the Forgotten Realms, and thus generally less applicable.

Silvanus is easily one of the most misunderstood gods of the Faerûnian pantheon. This is even pointed out directly within his section of the 3.5e Faiths & Pantheons (an incredible resource if you are looking for more detailed information on the gods of the Forgotten Realms!): 

Nevertheless, most outsiders view the church of Chauntea, as patrons of agriculture, as being favorably inclined toward the expansion of civilization, while the church of Silvanus is the implacable foe of those who would settle new lands. Neither impression is correct, yet the church of the Oak Father is often perceived as little different from those faiths that venerate the Deities of Fury.¹ [emphasis added]

Silvanus is most often perceived as strictly and impassively neutral, and intrinsically opposed to civilization in all its forms. While the former is something close to true – he is a very neutral-aligned deity, albeit not necessarily in a way that matches the popular conception of the term – the latter is certainly not. Humanity (if you’ll forgive the use of the term to designate in broad strokes the non-animal denizens of the Material Plane) is another facet of nature, one given equal consideration to the rest – plant, animal, and other – by Silvanus.²

While as a whole followers of Silvanus have a preference for the wilds and the deep forests, this is by no means a concrete rule. In fact, Silvanite clergy – those known as druids – are not uncommonly found in enclaves in larger cities of the Sword Coast and beyond, including Waterdeep.² Typically these druids will “create gardenlike walled areas of wild forest within the city limits.”¹ Wherever they may find themselves, Silvanite druids work to maintain the Balance of nature around them, through education and direct action both. 

Silvanus’s dogma has much to tell us about his philosophy, and that of his followers. I’ll be splitting notable excerpts and their relation to Halsin into sections below. 

Hold your distance and take in the total situation, rather than latching on to the popular idea of what is best.¹ 

Halsin was, from the first moment I met him in-game, so notable for his calm self-possession, and the clear forethought he gave to his actions and those of others. He does not feel bound by the expectations or approval of others – as noted in the dialogue he shares with the player if they compliment his choice of successor – but instead makes his own path following the direction of Silvanus’s wisdom and will. 

Resort to violence and open confrontation only when pressured by time or hostile action.¹

This is showcased numerous times throughout the game, but perhaps best evidenced by an in-game note, from an unlikely source: the Priestess Gut. The note that you can find from her, regarding Halsin’s capture, notes the following: 

Said he thinks there's somethin' rotten inside us. Inside me. Reckons he can help get rid of the rot. I told him we don't need any help from nobody. Never did. And especially not now the Absolute's taken a shine to us.³

Despite the immediacy of his capture at their hands, and the preceding attack already lodged against himself and Nettie⁴, Halsin’s primary impulse is to attempt diplomacy, and render aid. This only changes when his length of captivity has made it clear that there will be no changing the minds of the cultists, and they must be dissuaded by stronger means.

Banish disease wherever you find it¹

The way Halsin is first introduced to the player is as a healer – and not just any healer, but a masterful one, known throughout the region, who has the best chance of being able to assist with any manner of strange ailment. It is clear in all ways, as well as in the scenario referenced in the preceding section, that this is an aspect of Silvanus that Halsin strives to embody at all times. 

Seek out, serve, and befriend the dryads and learn their names.¹

Particularly if we understand the reference to dryads here to extend to all fey spirits of nature, this gives new depth to Halsin’s friendship and devotion to the nature spirit Thaniel. Halsin, as a druid generally, and as an Archdruid in particular, would have a solemn and divinely-ordained responsibility to redress the upheaval of the Balance within the Shadowcursed lands. For that reason alone, it is no surprise that it was his primary motivation and consideration for nigh on a century. 

However, even above and beyond that, Halsin had an additional motivator. Even before he became a druid, potentially before he was exposed to the teachings of Silvanus in anything but the most vague and general of terms, he was living them out by befriending the local nature spirit, learning his name, and seeking to understand, serve, and protect him. 

Make others see the balance and work against those that would disturb it. Watch, anticipate, and quietly manipulate.¹

The primary source text I am using to draw this connection was written neither by nor about Halsin, yet I believe it still clearly reflects on him, for reasons that will become clear. This text is from a logbook recording activities of the Emerald Grove during the year 1371, 121 years prior to the start of the game’s storyline, and some years before the defining events in the soon-to-be Shadowcursed Lands. 

6 Uktar: Sent two druids, some of the newer recruits, up north. Village there has had two years of failed crops and are unlikely to survive the next winter. 9 Uktar: A group from Baldur's Gate arrived. They've set up camp on the edge of the forest. Two bears and a fox came by. Their territory has been burned out. Half the fox's cubs died. Paying this new group a visit tomorrow. 10 Uktar: Visit did not go well. After telling me where to shove it, they said they'd cut down half the forest and burn out any wildlife that dared to stick around. Claimed they were going to 'farm the land and make a new city of their own.' Time to get creative. 12 Uktar: Mudslide did the trick. Buried half their farming equipment and made the rest useless. They won't be back any time soon. Got reports of a Red Wizard in the village south of here. Sending three rangers to investigate. If they catch even a whiff of a red cloak, I'm contacting the House of Silvanus.⁵

Given the timeline, while this is unlikely to have been written by Halsin himself, it seems like a strong possibility that it was written by his master, the previous Archdruid of the Emerald Grove, who perished in the fight against Ketheric Thorm. This is supported by the clear evidence that the author was an individual in a position to give direction and command to those around them, and to make the call for how to deal with various situations. Given too what we know of the druidic leadership structure, Halsin would have been the previous Archdruid’s Second, as Kagha was his.⁶ 

This man, then, would have greatly influenced Halsin as a druid of Silvanus and as a leader both. We can presume that this watchful duty and deliberation was one that Halsin himself took over, charged with doing his part to maintain the Balance of the region around the grove.  This last point especially becomes even more significant in light of the following information, which comes not from Silvanus’s dogma, but rather from a description of his followers and traditions of worship: 

Members of the clergy work to redirect development and control populations through covert sponsorship of brigands, breeding and selective placing of predators, and other means. It is essential that such work be as secretive as possible, so that most folk view the servants of Silvanus as essentially benign lovers of trees. Wildlife breeding, nursing sick animals, and replanting trees and wild shrubs are all work that should be done as publicly as possible to support this perception – and as necessary work to redress the slipping Balance, of course.¹ [emphasis added]

It is clear from all preceding evidence, and this excerpt in particular, that the druids as a whole put far more thought and strategy into every aspect of their appearance and the perception of them than they would ever want outsiders to become aware of. Halsin himself corroborates this in-game, noting that, while druids might not like politicking, that certainly does not mean they haven’t the skill for it when called upon. 

For the sake of… well. (I have been advised by my legal counsel not to use “brevity” here.) Regardless! For the sake of my sanity and your time, I will refrain from going into further detail on specific instances that show this to be true of Halsin. I will merely encourage you, the reader, to consider the value this brings to his character and druids as a whole, and hope to encourage new appreciation for their refreshing complexity. 

In closing, I leave you with one final quote: 

Superior patience, natural knowledge, and anticipation are the hallmarks of a worthy servant of Silvanus.¹

¹ Faiths and Pantheons. 2002. p. 63.

² Dragon Magazine #412. June 2012. pp. 22-3.

³ Rancid Note. In-Game Text. 

⁴ Halsin’s Journal, Vol I. In-Game Text. 

⁵ Logbook XII: 1371. In-Game Text. 

⁶ Grove Annals. In-Game Text.

[notmyneighbor]

instinct | doppel francis mosses x detective female reader

tnmn au

rating | explicit

part 1/?

words | 3.3k

cw | none for this chapter

summary | When you get assigned a new partner to work the latest serial killer case, you’re less than thrilled to find out it’s a doppelganger.

But with a lack of evidence, no clear suspects, and a rising body count, you have no choice but to trust the replicant posing as Francis Mosses…

ao3 link

fanart credit | kri_stasss on X

taglist | @maskedpacific @dreamndestiny

When you get assigned a new partner to work the latest serial killer case, you’re less than thrilled to find out it’s a doppelganger.

His track record is good; you can’t argue with the results he’s achieved thus far. The replicant has proven to be an invaluable resource time and again. He’s easily the most efficient doppel tracker the force has had on their side to date. Even with this evidence and history, you just don’t think it’s smart working so intimately with such a dangerous former foe. Maybe a free pass on extermination is enough of a motivating factor for turning traitor on his own kind, but if the doppel can betray that easily, it makes you wonder how long this alleged truce with humans is really going to last.

You hate to admit you’re running out of options. There are no solid leads on this case you’re working. The bodies are piling up, the DNA proving the killer is attacking both humans and doppelgangers, and the citizens are demanding protection and vengeance. You’ve seen the mayor pressuring the chief, the blustery, red faced politician’s voice carrying through the closed office door. The violent criminal has to be caught. His re-election campaign was in danger, the satisfaction rating plummeting. Use whatever resources are necessary. Yes, even that bloody doppel.

Which brings you to your current situation, where a voice behind your shoulder politely inquires what your name is, and you swivel around from your desk to see your new partner: the doppelganger himself. At first, you’re skeptical about his current appearance. A milkman? Really? This is what they’ve given you to work with? This is what’s going to assure your victory? But then you start thinking about it a little longer. This Francis Mosses, as he’s apparently going by, has access to a lot of residences. By his very nature, the false delivery man might draw out someone who would otherwise not let their guard down. The man he’s imitating looks exhausted, those slightly puffy, bruised sockets speaking volumes, but his smile is a thousand watts, warm and friendly and inviting, his voice soothing and calm. He looks trustworthy and reliable. He’s certainly easy on the eyes. Nothing a housewife is going to mind looking at, if you’re being honest. Hell, you must be overdue for a date, if you’re starting to think a replicant is attractive. Regardless, you’re forced to admit that maybe, just maybe, this is actually kind of a genius ploy after all.

You’ve narrowed down the radius of the killer’s attack locations to a specific neighborhood. Outside the city. Middle class families. Picket fences. Tidy yards. The kind of place kids sell lemonade on the sidewalk and the mothers bake cookies for the church fair fundraiser. The community is clearly shaken. You don’t see young children playing outside as you patrol the area, surveying the suburban residences, amazed at how quiet it is this late in the morning. Not even any idle chatter of neighboring women while bringing the dry laundry in from the clothesline. You can feel the tension when you park the car neatly along the curb a block away from the imposter milkman’s delivery truck. It’s as if the entire neighborhood is holding its breath, waiting.

You see the doppel you’re partnered with in the rearview mirror, approaching at a casual pace. He slides into the passenger seat smoothly, handing over a piece of paper with several addresses written on it.

“Confirmed? You’re certain?”

“All doppel occupied. But I’ve got something to tell you that you’re not going to like.”

You sigh, letting the hand clutching the paper drop heavily into your lap. “Go ahead.”

“I don’t think it’s a replicant behind this.”

You glance over at Francis’ clone. “What makes you say that?”

“Because they’re all fingering the same man. Who’s human.”

“Bullshit,” you curse dismissively.

“Why bullshit? What makes you so certain it’s a mimic doing this?”

“Because of the condition of the bodies, for one thing. Consistent with how doppels attack.”

“Or a very good imitation. A copycat of a copycat. You don’t find it strange that there are never any bite wounds on the victims?”

“Maybe the doppel wasn’t hungry.”

“We’re always hungry,” the doppelganger replies softly.

You shudder. “Yeah, well, I’ve worked my fair share of homicide cases, and I can tell you this isn’t perpetrated by a human.” You glance down at the list. “I guess we can start going door to door. Call for backup, make some arrests.”

“None of these residents are guilty. They’ve worked too hard to assimilate into the community.”

You blink in disbelief. “Is that what you think they really want? Just to be neighbors and coexist peacefully? No way. There’s only one thing they want. Everyone in this community is at risk as long as these doppels live here.”

“Do you think you know more about a doppelganger’s motives than I do?” The reprimand is gently issued, further fueling your ire.

You glare at the milkman’s copy. “Look. I know you’ve worked some cases and have helped out a lot. And I know the chief seems to trust you. I, quite frankly, don’t.”

“Then this partnership isn’t going to work out. Trust is essential.”

“Exactly.”

“What harm can it do to investigate the individual that the doppels are suspicious of?”

“Because it means potentially wasting time. Letting the true murderer claim another victim.”

“That doesn’t match the pattern, though. There’s a delay in between the killings. No one is going to fall prey for five more nights.” The replicant tugs the black brimmed cap off his head and scrubs a hand through his hair. “I think we should do a stakeout.”

Your mouth gapes in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“What about this list? You really expect me to just let these doppels go free?”

“If I’m wrong, you could always still round up the mimics. But I’m not wrong.”

“Cockiness killed the doppel,” you mutter, leaning forward slightly to start the engine.

“It’s been known to take out a few humans as well, I’d wager.” The replicant rubs his thumb over the coating of dust on the dashboard. The vehicle was long overdue for a proper cleaning.

God, he is so infuriating. “Alright. Meet me at the station around ten.”

“Nine would be better. Then we can grab a bite to eat.”

You glance at the doppel warily. “What is it you want?”

“Oh, any drive thru will do. Though I’m partial to hamburgers.” He grins, winking and then tugs on the door handle, exiting the vehicle as neatly as he’d entered.

You shake your head, easing back onto the road. You swear he’s still smiling when you check your rearview mirror.

***

You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised to see your partner wearing different clothes the next time you see him.

The milkman disguise is hardly appropriate for an evening surveillance mission. Naturally he’s shed the white uniform for a dark colored suit, and it looks…well, a lot better, to be honest. The moodier colors suit him. He greets you with that little bemused smirk of his that you’re beginning to realize is one he adopts often in your presence, and you purposefully avoid returning the gesture, entering the sedan silently.

Francis’ doppel settles beside you. “I can drive, you know.”

“Absolutely not.” You shift gears and the car peels out of the police station parking lot with a squeal of protest from the tires.

The replicant raises an eyebrow, reaching for the seatbelt and you roll your eyes. “What?” The innocent expression only irritates you further.

You detour long enough to order food for both of you, surprised when French fries and soda are part of the clone’s request.

“I didn’t think doppels ate much beyond meat.”

“We can ingest other things too. Little nutritional value, but tasty.” He sneaks a fried wedge of potato from the paper bag sitting on his lap.

“Hey. Keep your grubby paws out of the bag. We have a long night ahead of us.”

You pass the person of interest’s house and find the overgrown lot across the street at the corner a perfect place to back the car into, effectively concealing it from view.

You crack your window and look a question over at the doppel, who nods and you repeat the process for his side. The suspect’s front porch light is on and there’s a single car parked in the driveway. You’ve already run his name through the database. Unpaid parking meter, a speeding ticket, and that was it. Bachelor. Middle aged. Professor. Brief interviews with the next door neighbors revealed he was a quiet, polite man that kept mostly to himself and remained primarily indoors. Nothing particularly incriminating that you could see so far. You’re not ready to meet the man himself just yet. If this really is the one, though you still have strong doubts that this is the man who’s been eluding the authorities so successfully, it wouldn’t do to alert the possible suspect of your suspicions, lest that spook him and provoke an unfortunate reaction.

You’re aware of the heavy gaze of the doppel seated beside you and you sigh. “Yeah, go ahead. Might as well while it’s still hot.”

Needing no further instruction, the contents of the bag are quickly unpacked. You’ve opted for chicken nuggets and fries and a milkshake. He hands you your share of the meal and then samples another pair of French fries with a contented sigh.

You eat in silence after that, nibbling contemplatively, listening to the crickets chirping outside. A dog begins barking but is quickly silenced. No signs of movement in your field of vision.

“He’s not going to make a move tonight. I told you, he’s following the pattern.”

“The pattern can change.”

“Possible, but not likely.”

“He’s not our guy.”

“He is.”

You tear the paper wrapper off of a straw and shove the plastic tube through the lid of your cup, taking a large swallow. “He’s not.”

Another pause. “This case means a lot to you.”

“Of course. We’re trying to save lives.”

“But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

You glance over at the doppelganger. “What do you mean?”

“It seems like you feel you have to crack this case. You have to be the one to solve it.”

You brush some granules of salt clinging to your fingertips off on a napkin, then crumple it into a ball and thrust it back into the empty bag. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Is it because of your gender?”

Your eyes snap back to the mimic’s face. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, as far as I’m concerned. But I understand your species seems to favor male leadership. Certain roles are seen as more suitable to what is perceived as the weaker sex.”

“I’m not weak.”

“I didn’t say you are. But that’s what it is, isn’t it?” He persists, leaning toward you slightly. “You feel the need to prove yourself. To earn respect. To be in control. That’s why you wouldn’t let me drive. I’m right, aren’t I?”

You scoff and stare hard through the windshield, refusing to concede that the replicant has hit the nail squarely on the head. “Not even close.”

The doppel hums, the contents of his cup rattling as he reaches the bottom, the straw colliding with the pile of ice chips left behind.

“You’re done already?”

Francis’ clone grins, tossing the balled up foil wrapper of his sandwich and the French fry carton back in the bag. “Yes. It was delicious.”

“As good as chomping on a human?” You don’t really expect him to respond, but he does.

“No. Not nearly. Surely you can appreciate fresher, higher quality meat is…preferable.”

“When’s the last time you had it?”

“Are you really asking me the last time I consumed human flesh?”

You set your milkshake back down in the cupholder, finding you’re rapidly losing your appetite. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“It’s been awhile,” he says vaguely, his dark eyes glittering.

Suddenly you’re very eager to change the subject. “So how did you end up getting this gig, anyway? I doubt you just waltzed into the station and asked for the job.”

“No. I happened to rescue one of your kind. From your kind, might I add,” he replies, shifting in his seat to find a more comfortable position. “Then one thing led to another. An agreement was reached. Probation period. Proven. Trusted. And now, this,” he says, spreading his fingers.

“Why did you save the human?”

He shrugs, tugging at the knot of his tie and loosening it slightly. “I don’t know, to be perfectly honest. It’s hot in here.”

“I can put the windows down more, but the mosquitoes are likely going to sneak in…”

“I’ll just take my jacket off.” He depresses the button to release the seat belt, then begins shrugging out of one sleeve of his blazer, struggling a bit within the confines of the car’s interior, nearly whacking into you with an elbow more than once. He eventually completes the task and tosses the garment on the back seat and you mirror his movements, relieved you’d had the foresight to wear a short sleeve blouse. You watch the doppel roll his shirt sleeves up and the gesture is so disarmingly natural looking, so human, that it catches you off guard. You’d never have guessed, if you didn’t already know, that he was a replicant.

“What’s wrong?” He finishes securing the last sleeve.

“Nothing. I just…” Well, it’s going to sound absurd no matter how you phrase it, so you suppose you’ll just come out and say it. “You’re convincing. As a human. The best I’ve ever seen. There are so often tells. Unnatural speech or odd mannerisms. Aberrations in appearance. But you’ve got it nailed.”

“Is that a compliment, then?”

“It’s terrifying,” you admit. “You really could take over, if there were others as adept as you.”

His lip twitches, an eyebrow slightly quirking. “Imagine if I was the enemy.”

“Oh, that part’s easy.” You reach for the straw wrapper still sitting in the cupholder and unfold it, winding it around one index finger as you gaze at the target’s house. The nearest streetlamp’s bulb begins to flicker.

“If I was, I could attack right now. Have myself a nice little dessert.”

“So what’s stopping you?” You look the challenge at the doppelganger.

“I’m not the enemy.”

You shake your head, returning to your study of the residence across the street. “Who leaves the porch light on when they’re home?”

”Maybe that’s precisely why he’s doing it. If he makes that the norm, there’s no increase in suspicion when he does leave the house. Nothing to draw extra attention to himself.”

”How do the doppels even know for certain he’s the one? If you’re implying he doesn’t make mistakes…”

”Everyone makes mistakes, sooner or later. But to answer your other question, they all positively identified the same man. I was shown the same face, over and over. Word spreads quickly among our kind. Rather necessary for survival. They’re extremely wary, especially the original witness.”

”And they didn’t think to share that information with the police? We have no other statements. No evidence. Nothing to build this case, except this new information that’s from a dubiously reliable source.”

”Do you honestly expect that they would? Listen to yourself. Given how ready you are to have them arrested, how little faith you have in their words, we both know how that situation would resolve. No. They couldn’t possibly risk it.”

”Yet they all readily spilled their guts to you.”

”I’m one of them. And it didn’t happen on the first day, as you well know. It’s taken time to establish a relationship. Earn trust.” He fiddles with the leather band of his wristwatch. “Too hot,” he mutters, pulling the strap free of the buckle and dropping the watch onto the dashboard.

”Just sit still. Stop fidgeting. You’re supposed to be paying attention.”

”It’s a little difficult to see much from this vantage point.”

”Well, we can’t go closer without being obvious. I tried to tell you this was going to be a waste of time.”

”Heads up. Front door’s opening.”

Your eyes flick back towards the house. There is indeed a man emerging, carrying a trash bag to the curb and adding it to the contents of the barrel. He looks about slim to average build. Not overly strong or muscular looking, but you know that other factors can influence the ability to inflict the kind of horrific damage the serial killer you’re tracking has achieved. Psychosis. Illegal substances. Anything was possible. You watch as the man pauses after securing the lid, his head swiveling from side to side.

”Shit. He’s made us.” You shrink down further in your seat.

”No, I don’t think so,” the doppelganger murmurs. “He’s just checking. Habitual. Cautious. See, there he goes.”

The figure returns indoors, and the interior lights go dark seconds later.

”Going to bed.”

”Maybe.” You chew your bottom lip. “I want to know what’s in that rubbish bag.”

”Might be disappointingly ordinary.”

”What happened to you being convinced this guy is guilty?”

”Oh, I’m still certain. I just don’t think he’s going to provide evidence that easily.”

”Maybe we should start talking to people at the highschool. See if anyone’s got any dirt on him.”

”Thought you didn’t believe he’s the one?”

”I don’t. But it doesn’t hurt to be thorough. I want to talk to that supposed replicant witness, too.”

”You really hate the doppels, don’t you? If those had been human testimonies, I wonder how much differently you’d have reacted. For someone who’s worried about wasting time…”

”It’s not about whether I like doppels or not. I’ve already told you, I just want to solve this case and save lives. And I shouldn’t have to keep explaining myself to you.” You straighten, using the steering wheel to push yourself upright, then glance at your companion. His hair looks damp, falling in dark tendrils across his forehead. You feel perspiration beading on your own brow. You should have put the windows further down, insects be damned. You shouldn’t have been so skeptical earlier, dismissing potentially valuable information. The replicant is right, and you hate to admit it. You are prejudiced. You do hate the doppels. You’d always had good reason to, in the past. But now? Was he not proof that there are exceptions to every rule? The mere idea that there are doppels that just want to live peacefully beside humans should have given you more pause. Can it really be true?

”The doppels are terrified of this man,” Francis’ mimic says softly, interrupting your reverie. “And that fact, alone, should be reason enough to want to work cooperatively. We’re accustomed to threats on our lives from humans, but this is different. Just brutal slaughtering, so easily done, over and over, indiscriminately…”

”It’s how we feel, all the time. Being copied. Not knowing for certain who’s human. Surrounded by lies and deception.”

”But that’s how we survive. How we exist,” the replicant protests.

”It’s how you choose to exist,” you correct. “You don’t have to kill and eat us. I mean, that’s what you’ve proven, allegedly…” Your head tips back into the cradle of the headrest. “God, I can’t believe I’m getting into a debate with you.” Your hand absently strokes the delicate gold chain at your throat. “I should have turned those doppels in already. I don’t even know what I’m doing right now.”

”Suspending disbelief. Extending trust. I know it’s difficult. It goes against your instincts. Mine. But we have to do this. We have to work together.”

You breathe deeply, exhaling a long, shuddering sigh before nodding in silent agreement.

It was going to be a long night.

[dancingtotuyo]

High Infidelity Part IV

Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature Explicit

Summary: Joel goes on a date.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: pining, jealousy, masturbation (male and female), voyeurism, self loathing, emotional affair, boundaries crossed

Notes: Things are getting a little spicy hehe. As usual, shout out to my beta readers @janaispunk and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (special shout out to Ang for the ✨spicy✨ idea 😜) and @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

Words: 4818

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

When Joel asks you to watch Sarah on Friday night, you don’t hesitate to say yes. Then, two minutes later you call him back and ask why. You’re surprised when he tells you he has a date. You should tease him, nag for details, but it’s none of your business. You find yourself wanting to know everything and nothing.

Joel is a grown-ass man. A single man at that, but it nags at you. Who is she? Where did he meet her? The two of you spend most of your free time together. In the six years you’ve known Joel, you can’t remember him ever mentioning a woman. 

His sole focus has always been Sarah. You suppose Tommy is on that list too, and Nathaniel. The two of you have matching worry lines thanks to your husband, and you guess by default you’re on the list too. If there’s one thing Joel Miller is committed to, it’s family.

Joel comes down in dark-wash jeans and a simple button-down. You didn’t know he owns jeans that nice, hugging his thighs, leather belt cinched at his waist. Your eyes rake over him perhaps a moment longer than needed. He hadn’t looked that nice at your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding. 

You raise an eyebrow letting out a low whistle as he enters the kitchen. “Lucky lady.” You take a bite from your apple slice. You point the paring knife at his jeans. “Those new?”

Joel knits his eyebrows together. “No. Why?”

“I’ve never seen them before.”

“You keep tabs on my closet?”

“We’ve basically lived together for 3 years. You wear the same two pairs of work jeans and five ratty T-shirts in rotation. I wouldn’t be surprised if your shirts have the days of the week labeled on the inside.”

“Church clothes.”

You scowl. “We don’t go to church.”

“Speak for yourself, Darlin.” He chuckles, checking his watch, the one you gave him for Father’s Day. You shoot him a suspicious look. “The kids out back?”

“Yup.” You say, taking another bite of apple. 

Joel’s fingertips brush across your shoulders as he passes by, the warmth of his cologne fills your nostrils as he rushes out. A pit settles deep in your stomach. You’re not sure where it stems from, but you don’t like it. You feel uneasy. 

The back door shuts just as a tap on the front door echoes through the house. You sigh, not really wanting to answer it. The pit grows and you still don’t understand where it’s coming from. Sarah and Nathaniel’s muted laughter filters through as you open the door. 

She’s pretty you think. Not someone you consider to be a show-stopper, but exactly what you would picture Joel going for. There’s something almost familiar about her. She looks taken aback when you open the door. You plaster your well-practiced Southern hospitality smile on your face. 

“I’m Joel’s sister-in-law. Just here to watch the kids.” You hold out your hand. Relief floods her features.  

“Tracy.” She takes your hand.

“Nice to meet you.” You can’t shake the nagging air of familiarity about her. It itches your brain, hanging on the tip of your tongue. Have you seen her at parent pick-up before? “Joel should be back soon. He’s just saying goodnight.”

Tracy nods, clutch held tight in both hands. Maybe it makes you an asshole, but you don’t invite her in, forcing her to stand at the threshold of an open door. She wears a solid dress. Her makeup is tasteful and leagues ahead of anything you’d ever be able to pull off, especially with a rowdy toddler. 

For a second you miss it. The freedom that is. You wouldn’t give up Nathaniel for the world. Hell, you wouldn’t give up Tommy for the world even with the shit you’re going through, but the ability to go out at a moment’s notice and let the alcohol loosen your inhibitions, you miss that. Tracy couldn’t be much older than you. Maybe a year or two. Did you go to high school together? Is that why she looks familiar? 

There’d been a couple Tracys in your small high school, but none that look like her. 

“You have a son, right?” Tracy says. You nod. She smiles as if proud of herself for remembering the fact. “Joel mentioned that you two do a lot together- with his brother being in prison.”

“Yeah, we do.” Your shoulders stiffen and your smile tightens. So this wasn’t their first date. They knew each other well enough for Joel to divulge your business like it was front-page news. Though, you suppose it had made the paper. 

“Well, I got them both riled up for ya,” Joel says, walking through the house. He plays with the cuffs of his shirt before looking up. He seems startled to find the door wide open and Tracy on the other side. “Oh- Hi.”

“Hi,” Tracy laughs.

He looks between the two of you like he’s seen a ghost. You cross your arms, a faint smirk playing across your lips. “Just remember payback’s a bitch.”

“Yeah... I don’t doubt it.” Joel almost mutters it under his breath. He joins Tracy on the other side of the threshold, pressing a distracted kiss to her cheek. “You ready to go?”

You catch the weirdness of Joel’s demeanor, familiar with all of his tendencies by now. You raise an eyebrow in question, but Joel won’t look you in the eye. His arm wraps around Tracy’s waist, pushing her toward his pickup. 

“Make yourself at home.” Joel throws his hand up in a wave despite his back being turned to you. 

“Always do!” You call back. 

You watch them until the truck is out of the driveway, confusion written across your face as you process the odd interaction. Why was Joel acting so weird- like you weren’t supposed to meet the mysterious lady he’d obviously been out with more than once, and why hadn’t he told you yet? And why did she look so damn familiar?

The moment the door clicks behind you, it hits. You freeze. The familiarity in her face is one you see every time you look in the mirror. She’s not your twin by any means, but Tracy could be your cousin, your sister even. Something you can’t place settles in your gut.

The kids are finally asleep. The TV drones on, but you don’t hear a sound of it. The whole interaction plays on repeat in your mind. You chew on your thumbnail. You can’t stop thinking about them, where they are, and what they might be doing. 

You glance down at your watch. 10:30. You don’t typically go to bed this early, and you’re not tired, but you can’t get it off your mind. Sleep is your only option for relief. 

Checking on the kids, you slip into Joel’s room. You’ve stayed in here more times than you can count as Joel always insists you stay in his bed. It’s automatic how you pull one of his shirts from the drawer. Not one of his five shitty work shirts but one of the well-worn ones he wears on the weekend after he showers. They’re soft. They smell like him, sawdust and old spice, not the cologne you caught on him this evening. You slip under the cool sheets, stretching out your bare legs and burying your face in his pillow. You’re surrounded by him here. 

You thought it would turn off the thoughts, silence your mind, but it doesn’t. If anything they ramp up. You know there’s no way Joel’s had her here. He wouldn’t bring a strange woman into his home, Sarah’s home, that quickly. No, it’s all him in here… and you. 

It’s just after eleven. You’re not asleep. Joel’s not home and your mind is running through the memories as it often does when you lay alone. You’ve spent more nights alone than with someone since you got married. You should be used to it, but you’re not. There should be someone next to you right now. 

Tossing and turning, an idea sparks in your mind. There’s one surefire way to get yourself to sleep. The mere thought sets desire through your veins. Goosebumps prickle your flesh. Your nipples perk up under Joel’s soft shirt. It’s been a while since you’ve touched yourself. 

Kicking the blankets off of you, you let your fingers skim over your bare thighs, moving them upward until your shirt is tucked under your breasts. Joel’s shirt. It has you pausing. This crosses so many lines. You can’t do this here, in your brother-in-law’s bed, in Joel’s bed where it smells like him. Where it feels like him. 

Your cunt clenches and a soft groan escaped from your lips. You’ve barely touched yourself, not enough for that response. Your heart rate refuses to calm down, the flame of desire already spreading from deep in your stomach. You shouldn’t do this, not here, but your fingers trace up and over your sternum again, slipping under Joel’s shirt. You brush your thumb over the hardened buds. You’ll change the sheets tomorrow. He’ll never know. 

A soft moan tumbles over your lips. Your body moves of its own volition, pressing into your touch. Your hands move down and across your skin. You run them over your favorite places to be touched, everywhere except where you want to be touched the most. You avoid it, waiting until your panties start to cling to you, excess moisture soaking into them. A finger runs over the seam of your lower lips. Another moan falls from your mouth, hips bucking up. 

You push down your panties, flinging them off once they hit your ankles. Your fingers slip between your folds. You’re slick, spreading it up and down, over and around your clit as need builds in your body. Another moan threatens to fall from your mouth, each one growing in volume. You bite down on the collar of Joel’s shirt. Another whiff of him overtakes you. Your cunt clenches as you finally slip a finger in and then a second. 

The house is dark when Joel gets back. He feels like a dick. He’d been distracted the whole time. He saw it the moment he spotted the two of you together- the resemblance. He felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner, and even more when he couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole night. There’s nothing wrong with Tracy. She’s perfectly nice, but the bubble has popped. She’s not you. He won’t be seeing her again.

It doesn’t help that he knew he’d come home to a dark house. He knows you’re asleep in his bed right now in one of his shirts, and Lord help him, it kept him distracted all night. 

He’s quiet as he walks up the stairs so as to not wake you or the kids. He stares at his bedroom door, taunting him. You’re in there and he knows what you feel like sound asleep in his arms. You haven’t talked that night. In fact, you’ve acted like it never happened and he’s followed suit. He wonders if he could slip behind you now. If you would let him hold you. 

He lets out a long sigh, fighting with himself. He needs to slip in, grab a pair of sweats, but he’s not sure if he’ll be able to pull himself out. He can sleep in his boxers, maybe find some sweats in the laundry. His hand drops from the door. 

He’s going to walk away. He’s not going to cross that line again. That’s his brother’s wife. The woman Tommy told him to take care of. He has to stop this. He can’t- and then he hears it. Soft and quiet at first. A soft gasp that hitches, like it got caught on something. 

He freezes. It’s probably nothing, a dream, his imagination. Then he hears it again, this time pitched lower, like it comes from a deeper place. He can’t discount that one. As much as his brain screams at him to go, run, his feet stay anchored to the floor. He’s desperate to hear it again, and he’s rewarded with another moan. 

They’re intentional. You’re doing that to yourself in his bed. He bites his lip, hand falling to the door frame to stabilize him. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be envisioning you spread out on his bed, toes curling against his sheets. The blood rushes straight to his cock and Joel knows he’s about to cross a line he can’t come back from. 

Another moan comes out of the room. He flips open the button of his jeans, hand slipping beneath the waistband stroking his already hard cock. Maybe it makes him a creep, but he’s never been more grateful for the thin walls in the house. 

Your noises of pleasure grow. Joel bites back his own, nails digging into the door frame. Precum leaks from the tip of his dick. He catches the way your moans grow more desperate as you take yourself closer. He works himself to the edge with you, wanting to hold off until you’re there. 

You’re so close to falling over the edge. Your fingers glide over your clit with ease, soaked with your slick. You’ve been pushing the images away the whole time, trying not to go there, but the closer you pull yourself to bliss, the harder it is to keep them at bay. Your eyes drift shut as you lean into the feeling, willing yourself over the edge. They flash in your mind, pictures of him over you, calloused hands running over your bare body, his deep baritone in your ear as he pulls you apart. The tension between your thighs breaks free. You don’t realize how loud you cry out, ears ringing with pleasure as his name effortlessly rolls off your lips. 

You lay there, still, chest heaving. Not Tommy’s name. Joel’s. 

Before you have time to comprehend what just happened, it breaks through the silence. A soft, bitten back moan on the other side of the door in a tone you can only recognize as his and the faint whispers of your name. Your eyes widen. Had he…? 

Your brain races with the possibilities as you lay bare, tshirt pushed above your breasts. He could walk in. You hadn’t locked the door. You could open the door to him, take his hand, invite him into his own bed. 

You cringe. When did you become this person? The one who lusts after another man while married? As much as you’re ashamed, you fight against the temptation. You want to give in. You want to be touched and desired again. You’d seen it in Joel’s eyes that night at the beach. He would give you what you needed. Before you can make a decision, you hear the steps creak. He’s walked away. 

You let out a deep breath, not sure if you’re disappointed or relieved. You roll over, burying your  head in Joel pillow, wrapping yourself in his comforter, cunt still slick and dripping. 

Lucky for Joel, he’s able to find clean sweats in the dryer and then starts the washer with his jeans and boxers, washing away all evidence of his sins. 

He settles on the couch with just the decorative pillow and throw blanket. It’s hot anyway so the blanket is quickly kicked to his feet. He can’t put it out of his mind. Any of it. You. 

He tries not to think about the sounds you made in his bed, the things you did. He tries not to think about you asleep in his arms, but with all things, the more you try not to think about them, the more you do. 

Joel has accepted that he’s not a good man. His intentions with you are no longer pure, but self seeking. Yes, he cares for you and your well being, but he wants you. He needs you near him. He needs you to realize he’s been here through it all. That Tommy has done nothing to be worthy of you. Joel has spent more of your marriage being your husband than Tommy has. 

He clenches his fists. Anger surges through him. Joel doesn’t care if it makes him a bad person. If he had a way to go and turn back time, he would. He’d find a way to meet you before Tommy did. He would make you his. He would save you from the heartache of being Tommy’s wife. You would be his Mrs. Miller. 

Joel wishes he’d kissed you at the beach. He wanted to. God knows how badly he’d wanted to. It took every last ounce of self control not to. His stores are depleted. Between that and tonight, Joel has no more restraint to offer this situation. If you ever give him the chance again, he won’t hold back. He doesn’t care that you’re married to his brother. You deserve better. You deserve the world. Joel believes he can give it to you. 

You both sleep better than you have in weeks. 

“I never understood back to school nights,” Joel grumbles, stuffing a store bought chocolate chip cookie in his mouth and washing it down with cheap faculty room coffee. “Want some?”

“You know I don’t drink caffeine after two.” 

Joel shrugs, taking another sip. “It’s not that good anyway.” 

You roll your eyes. “What about back to school nights makes you grumpy? It’s a chance for Sarah to see where she’ll spend most of her time for the next nine months.”

“Then where is she?” Joel raises an eyebrow. “Out on the playground because it only takes 5 seconds to see the classroom and she’d rather play with her friends.”

“You’re a grump.”

“Yeah, a grump who’d rather be watching the game.” 

You roll your eyes, swatting his shoulder. “Have you at least talked to her teacher yet?”

He grimaces. “Haven’t worked up the courage yet.”

It isn’t that Joel doesn’t want to know the person responsible for educating his child. It’s the fact that Sarah has a knack for ending up with the young, single teachers as her educators, ones who seem very interested in her father as more than a parent. He’d been granted reprieve last year, but you’d caught the visible shudder in his frame the moment he’d laid eyes on Sarah’s teacher for the year, young and not a ring on her left hand in sight. 

“Stop judging a book by its cover. You’re a grown up.”

“Fine.” He sets down his coffee with determination. “Let’s go.” His hand finds your waist as he propels you both toward the teacher. 

“What are you doing?” Your eyebrows knit together. You have a sneaking suspicion you know what he’s playing at. 

“We’re going to meet Sarah’s teacher.” He shrugs, but a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Mrs. Miller.”

Your stomach does little flips. You’ve been mistaken for his Mrs. Miller more times than you can count at this point. You’ve attended Sarah’s parent teacher conferences when Joel got held up at a job sight, letting the teachers assume whatever they wanted. You are Mrs. Miller after all. But you’ve never done anything like this, not alongside him.  

He introduces himself and you to Miss Holly as he tugs you in closer to his right side. Your left arm instinctively wraps around his middle and you see the moment she watches the glint of your engagement and wedding ring under the fluorescent lights. 

It’s hardly the first time you’ve been mistaken for Joel Miller’s wife, but it is the first time he’s played into the assumption on purpose, with confidence. It’s the first time you let your mind forget it’s not true, even for just a few seconds, playing a part that doesn’t feel like playing at all. Joel lets his southern charm show now, protected by the guise of you as his bride. Before you know it, it feels too natural. Joel’s hand falls a bit, grasping your hip, tugging you closer like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You think maybe it is.  

Joel leads the conversation. You’re too caught up in the feel of his hand on your hip and the breathing of his chest under your palm. The night you almost kissed, the night you crawled into his bed and he held you through some of the best sleep you’ve gotten in years flashes in your mind. You think back to just last week, his name on your lips, that strangled, soft moan, and your own name you swear you heard. 

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Miller,” Sarah’s teacher says, pulling you from your thoughts. 

Joel offers his own goodbyes and you echo them, still fighting the haze inside your own mind. You wonder if there’s a world where this is your life, one where you and Joel aren’t playing make believe. One where you crawl in bed beside him every night instead of your empty bed. It’s an awful thought. Your husband gets released from prison in a few weeks. These thoughts will be gone by then. They have to be.

It was one night of indiscretion, two at the most, and you never actually did anything. You didn’t know Joel was on the other side of that door. Tommy doesn’t need to know. By his own admission, he’s actually crossed those boundaries. He’s broken your wedding vows. You glance at Joel’s profile as he leads you out of the classroom, a proud smirk on his face. The bastard enjoyed that way too much. 

When you make it to the hall, his fingers lace through yours. Is he forgetting too? Giving himself a moment to linger in the unspoken what ifs that seem to crowd around you these days. 

He drops your hand once you’re outside in view of the playground. He waves Sarah over, but you stay a couple steps behind, deep in thought until someone calls your name. Your head snaps in their direction. Julia and Micky Hall stand before you. Your eyes widen in recognition. Micky was one of Tommy’s Army buddies. They’d moved to Dallas after the group came back from their deployment. 

“Hi,” the words fall from your mouth in shock. “I didn’t know y’all were back in Austin.” Your feet carry you toward the couple. 

“Just moved back last month,” Julia says as you move to hug her and then Micky. “We’ve been meaning to call.”

���Don’t worry about it. It’s just good to see you both.” The smile across your face is genuine as you talk to your friends. You’d grown apart since their move. Other than Joel, Julia had been your closest friend during Tommy’s deployment. “How have you been? The boys?”

“Starting first grade,” Julia grins, pointing to her twin boys on the playground.

Your eyes catch them, running around. “They’ve grown so much.”

“How’s Nathaniel?” Julia asks.

“Good, growing like a weed as I’m sure you’re familiar with.”

“Too familiar,” Julia laughs. 

“Nathaniel isn’t going into Kindergarten, is he?” Micky asks.

“Next year. I came for Sarah’s back to school night. Joel’s daughter.” You point to where Sarah is just rushing over to her father. You feel the ghost of Joel’s touch when you utter his name. “We’ve been helping each other out a lot with everything.”

The couple nods, an awkward silence forming between you as if they don’t want to address the elephant in the room. The heat has let up a little bit as the sun begins to dip behind the trees. 

“I’ve written to Tommy a couple of times,” Micky says, hands tucked into his front pockets. “Haven’t heard back much.”

You force a nod, feeling the tension grow in your limbs. “I haven’t been able to get much from him.” 

You catch the way both their eyes widen. They were there the night you and Tommy met. They’d seen the way you fell, both of you. How inseparable your bond is, or was. 

“Shit,” Micky says, running a hand over his face. “How are you holding up?”

“Not sure I am most days. Joel’s been a big help to us.” It feels like you’re concealing the whole truth. Joel’s been the crutch keeping you going most days. Julia’s brow furrows with concern.

Micky nods. “I’d like to go see him if that’s okay.”

“Of course. Maybe you can get through to him.”

“And we should get the kids together,” Julia adds. “Catch up ourselves.”

“That would be nice,” you smile at her as you catch Joel and Sarah waiting by the truck, laughing about something. “I should go, but you should call. Number’s still the same.”

“I’ll use it.” Julia smiles as you wave at both of them before crossing the parking lot with a weird feeling in your gut.  

Seeing Julia and Micky was nice. It brought back a lot of good memories. The four of you. It’s another reminder of how lonely the last years have been. How much you’ve depended on Joel. How much he’s been there. 

As you join Joel and Sarah at the truck, Sarah catches you up on all her friend’s summer vacations and updates, mouth moving a million miles a minute. She doesn’t stop as you climb in or for the click of your seat belt. You stay quiet, watching Austin wiz by out the passenger side window. 

When Joel pulls into your driveway, you let out a sigh staring at the door. He leans over the center console, keeping his voice low.  “You okay, Darlin? You’ve been quiet since we left.”

“Just tired. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” You fling the door of the pick up open. 

“Darlin?”

You bristle, smoothing out your skirt as you turn to face him. His brows knit together. “I’m fine, Joel.”

“You’re coming over tomorrow, right Aunt Bonnie?”

“Of course, Sarah Bear.” You blow her a kiss, shutting the door before Joel can protest. He makes sure you’re inside before pulling out of the driveway. 

Nathaniel is already asleep thanks to an afternoon at the playground and the magic your sitter works. You pay her extra tonight. You’ve never been more thankful to come home to a sleeping child, too distracted by the run in with your friends and Joel’s hot hands on you, the way he held you as if to tell the world to back off, you’re his. 

You pull the bottle of Tequila out of the cabinet. You’re tempted to pull straight from the bottle but you pour a finger or so into a glass instead. Your mother raised you better than that. She also raised you better than to pine after your brother in law. 

You throw back the whole glass. The cheap liquor burns your throat. You ran out of the good stuff last week with Joel and hadn’t made it to the liquor store yet. Joel had drunk you under the table, your tolerance not what it used to be. Not that you had ever been able to keep up with him. You fill the glass with another finger and toss it back. You can’t think about Joel. Can’t think about the way your wedding bands burn against your skin as if they are punishing you for tonight, for last week, for Father’s Day and for everything else. 

You pour more tequila into the cup, but you add ice and margarita mixer this time, knowing the first two shots will catch up to you soon enough. You fall onto the couch with a sigh. Three weeks. Just three weeks and Tommy will be back. You won’t see Joel everyday. Your husband will take care of you, satisfy you. That’s all this is. The deprivation of the last two and a half years. You can make it three more weeks. 

You try to reason it away. It makes sense. You and Joel have been so close in all this. He’s been your partner, not your husband, but partner. He’s an attractive man, thoughts were bound to pop up, lines were bound to get blurry, but all will correct itself when Tommy’s home. Yes, it all makes perfect sense. 

You take a sip of the margarita. Condensation trickles down your hand and ice rattles in the glass. Even as the numbness of the tequila shots begins to take over your body, the reassurances feel weak. 

Even if you can’t admit it, something has shifted. You and Joel are playing with fire. 

Three more weeks you push. Tommy will be home. You’ll have Your Tommy back. 

But you can’t erase the last two and a half years. Tonight, with the ghost of his hands on your body, you remember all the ways Joel has been there for you over these past years, filling in the gaping caverns Tommy left.   

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love

@justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal @mellymbee @sarahhxx03 @lizzie-cakes @sixhours

@duckybird101 @anoverwhelmingdin @nervoushottee @caitlynsixxx @kaykay0315 @stevie75

@millercontracting @cals-laundry @jessthebaker @noisynightmarepoetry @vickie5446 @mewantpeepaw @tulips2715 @leggtostandon

@la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @lotusbxtch @ravenn-darkholme

[femsolid]

The nuns I mentioned? I talked to one of them, a young woman, she lived in a church together with other women, in what they call "modesty" (we had our little debate about that), they don't shave, wear make-up or anything, just their natural selves, and every day they eat together and do whatever it is nuns do. It's a female only community. She told me that she was going on a trip with the other nuns this summer, to a house on the coast, for some spiritual nonsense I didn't care about, but, I thought, in some way they are closer to radical feminism than a lot of so-called radfems out there. Of course it's all nullified by the fact that they worship the male sex and obey the orders of male representatives, real or fictional, but still. They live among women, they frequent only women, they don't date men and many of them don't trust men romantically. And, to be fair, they idolize a female figure called Mary. And so why can they do that, live among women and separate from men, when so many supposed radical feminists say it's impossible and only leads to gloom and doom, a lonely witch living in the woods with her cats and no orgasms. To me it shows that the problem is not that men are essential to women, it's that feminists lack conviction. These nuns have conviction, faith and a crazy amount of ambition, completely deluded yes, but because they believe so firmly, they can practice what they preach. And I know it's not the case of all nuns, but this group was truly determined and excited about their lives. Many radical feminists lack ambition and don't actually believe liberation will feel good and is worth the change. They also don't believe women are worth the effort. There's also this: the nuns I spoke to were moved by optimism, the hope of greatness, happiness, a wonderful reward. And they enjoyed the process that'll get them there. Most radical feminists don't see this in separatism, they don't envision the joy of liberation, they see only fear and loneliness. And they just don't believe it's doable. They just don't. There's no way out of the patriarchy to them, no way out of the male prism. And finally, a not so negligible point, they don't think women can get along. The best motivator is the prospect of joy and self-fulfilment. That's our job as separatists: to put forward the advantages of separatism. Because goddess knows men put a lot of effort into presenting heterosexual relationships as a blissful prospect. Well the truth is, I love being a separatist. I love caring about myself so much, I've loved discovering who I really am and being able to finally be myself and not trying to please anyone, I love respecting myself, I love all the free time I have for myself, I love learning about and meeting other women, I love being safe. My life has improved so much when I stopped caring about men. I feel incredibly lucky to have become a feminist separatist in my 20s. I'm looking at an entire life of being myself, prioritizing women and girls, being independent, resourceful, it's my money, my place, my hobbies, my time, my energy and it's all for myself, my sister, my niece, my female friends and the women I meet (and my dog, okay she counts too.) Literally the only sad thing about being a separatist is that there's not enough women who are doing the same. What a world it would be. Women loving themselves. So, I guess my point is, separatism needs to be promoted not as fleeing from men, but as building our own freedom, the freedom to be ourselves. Because that's exciting and beautiful to experience. There's joy in the reward and joy in the process.

[57sfinest]

theoretical entroponetics: the post

okay. LONG post incoming. i have summarized all available information on the pale, separated into confirmed objective truth & in-canon speculation that may or may not be true, and then appended my own very detailed theory on the pale! this post is meant as a resource; please feel free to add things of your own in replies/reblogs (please tag me if you do!) or point out any errors i may have made. you’re welcome to use any of my personal theory in your own work but please credit me if you do!! (and tag me in that/send it to me, i really want to see what you do with it!)

Here’s what we *know* about the pale, according to in-game and concept art: 

It erases data, at least the kind stored on radiocomputer filament and magnetic tapes.

It has no dimensions of its own- pale latitude compressors serve to force dimensions on raw pale and allow navigation. 

The pale is referred to in the context of entropy

It arrived with mankind, but not immediately- there are 8000 years of written history, but the pale was first recorded 6000 years ago, implying that pale either didn’t start forming immediately or that it was so insignificant/distant that it went unnoticed for 2000 years. 

There exists a group of people who are actively trying to expedite entroponetic collapse; the ideology is called entropolism

To this point, pale isn’t immediately visible. Pale has molecular structure, but manifests as a waveform, and only becomes visible at a certain distance from the origin, once wave frequency is sufficiently high. 

During pale exposure, people experience “sense objects”: visual or auditory hallucinations and/or vivid physical recollections of memories. These hallucinations may originate from their own consciousness or someone else’s. c

People require physical and mental examinations before interisolary travel and are allotted a certain number of days per year as their pale exposure threshold. 

Overexposure results in a pale “addiction”- these individuals crave pale exposure, and it’s unclear if this addiction can ever be broken. It’s also unclear whether there is a point at which pale exposure becomes lethal, but given that it dissolves matter, we can be fairly certain that a given length of continuous exposure will kill. 

Radio signals, cold plasma torches and anodic sound are all used to manage the pale to permit travel through it. Plasma torches destabilize the molecular structure of the pale to create gaps, anodic sound widens and maintains these gaps, and radio signals rationalize the pale into recognizable dimensions.

Radio signals are, in return, susceptible to corruption by the pale, resulting in entroponetic crosstalk, where signals from the past or the future are transmitted to the present. CCP is one such phenomenon and is directly related to the formation of new pale through magpie interpretation.

There is a dedicated Union for people who work in and with the pale (the Pale Workers Union). They have two slogans; “The light purifies; The sound absolves; The pale no more” and “Son et Fureur” (sound and fury)

Here’s what we may choose to believe about the pale, based on the thoughts and beliefs of in-game characters:

In conversation with Soona, the pale is described as a “curdling milk” phenomenon: “repulsive, but natural”

In this same conversation you can theorize that the churches were meant to contain the pale origins; out of the seven churches, six were destroyed during the suzerain or the revolution

The phasmid and whatever other lifeforms it’s communicated with believe that entroponetic collapse is comparable to an oxygen holocaust (i.e. the great oxygenation event), implying mass extinction due to a toxic overabundance of sapient thought

Harry refers to it once by saying “The wolf is at the door. It’s going to eat the sun.” so take that as you will

It’s likely that Tiago’s “Mother” is some manifestation from the pale, if you choose to believe that the 2mm hole is in fact a pale origin point (the concept art does confirm it’s a pale origin, but the game offers other explanations, so I won’t say it’s the only answer)

Inframaterialists believe that revolutionary action (NOT thought) may create a counter-force that will prevent the spread of pale; it’s unclear if any reversal is possible.

The world will be fully consumed by the pale in 27 years (I put it here because you may or may not believe that shivers and harry are reliably sourcing this information)

And now my personal speculation about the pale:

A quick and easy point: it’s confirmed that the pale has a measurable EMF “exhalation” frequency that varies with proximity. Strong enough EMF pulses can actually tamper with magnetic storage- radiocomputer filaments! Electronics! Fortress Accident data loss! This gives us a tangible explanation for why pale can delete data :)

This may also explain its ability to cause radio interference- radio frequencies are just a subset of EMF frequencies, so it’s possible that pale exhalation on *just the right frequency* is what’s responsible for the entroponetic crosstalk we get on radios sometimes

The pale canonically has an atomic structure, but it also has wave properties, so it’s possible that the pale has wave-particle duality on its subatomic level, like photons do

Based on this, entroponetics is likely a very similar field to quantum mechanics, which might be an interesting source of ideas for anyone (like me) who wants to explore pale-related possibilities

The pale could be a manifestation of raw patterns. That’s why math “forces dimensions” on it- it rationalizes or “tames” the patterns, which allows it to be manipulated to a certain degree.

There are several references to the pale that refer to mathematical concepts and patterns, saying that the world dissolves into “a tangle of azimuths and cosines” as it blends into the interisolary pale- more on this later

Steban comments that the pale is commonly theorized to be nostalgia or “historical inertia”, but it’s largely agreed that it’s “the past” in a broad sense. Thinking about the idiom that history repeats itself, it could be that history/the past is part of the pattern that comprises the pale, and that it’s also the type of pattern most readily perceived by people (people don’t viscerally *perceive* math, for example, but we experience memories)

To first define entropy: Chemically speaking, “the measure of a system’s thermal energy per unit temperature that is unavailable for doing useful work. (per encyclopedia britannica).” Physically speaking, it’s a measure of randomness or disorder in a system. Less work/less order = more entropy; it’s a physicochemical “winding down” of a given system

It’s commonly thought that pale is the entropic force, but what if it’s the opposite? (Keep in mind the chemical definition: less ability to do work = more entropy) Consider: the pale as less entropic, a cleanup force, recycling the potential lost by death and destruction in the universe. This in part explains why a dead person’s memory is present in the pale- their potential has been recycled into the pale in the form of their memories (their life’s *pattern*)

Enthalpy is a related concept to entropy and is defined as the total energy contained within a system. Holding the system enthalpy constant- saying the universe will always have the same amount of total energy, no matter what, according to thermodynamics- results in an entropic tug-of-war between the pale and the world. The pale wins through sheer inertia (again, inertia is mentioned specifically in game)

Overall: think of the world as “cooling”, losing heat and energy through war and death and complacency. Think of the pale as steam and heat, melting down old materials to start it all over again. (Kim says, *through entroponetic interference*: “it’s been a long, cold winter.”)

Consider: the pale as a sinusoidal function, eternally repeating. The pale recycling the universe to start a new cycle, “spending” itself, resulting in pale not being present in the beginning. Then, as the new things begin to settle- with the advent of the human mind, specifically- the pale reforming, slowly reclaiming potential, eventually ending the cycle to start again.

In comes CCP and magpies. Consider: CCP as a backwards transmission from the next “cycle” (after all, pale has no sense of time). Magpies as *pattern-sensitive* people who are able to decode CCP into something useful called novelty. They reach into the potential of the next cycle to build the potential in their current one- this paradox could be what creates more pale, because (and this is where it gets weird, I apologize) doing this retroactively increases the total amount of energy/work/potential in the current cycle to have been reclaimed by the pale for the next one.

Think of the pale as the compost bin for every single thought in the universe. The pale is the exact right size to compost every little atom and thought in the universe, and can hold nothing extra. But magpies reach into the future, the next cycle, and bring in extra. This paradox forces the pale to grow to accommodate the additional material, which also increases the starting potential of the next cycle. This process allows each cycle to accumulate minor changes from the previous one, which can snowball over many cycles.

Furthermore, to the inframaterialists’ point: revolutionary action would be such a radical shift in inertia that it would increase the potential in the world, forcing the pale to pause/shrink to “balance the equation” in terms of pale-vs-world thermodynamics. So maybe they’re right after all :)

And some diagramming, to explain the utter bullshit I’ve just dropped:

[the-lady-maddy]

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[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Welcome to my Masterlist 💌

hi, i'm murphy. my requests are always open - feel free to send any ideas or thoughts you have - i'll always read them all.

note - all of my fics are reader insert. no use of y/n. i don't write for real people, only characters <3

Last Updated - August 24th

❁ - over 1k notes

✯ - a series

Characters I Write For.

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist. 3k Celebration Masterlist. Valentines Masterlist. 5k Celebration Masterlist.

Moodboard Masterlist. My Ao3.

 ⊹ 　 ✫ 　　 · 　　 ✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵  　.　 ✦ * 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　　　

Top Gun: Maverick

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

The Orange. ❁

You and Jake share an orange. He's in love with you.

For Eternity. (Part 2 of The Orange.)

You and Jake share an orange. He's never loved you more.

North Star. ❁

It's New Year's Eve. Jake is tired of waiting.

I Know Places.

Jake always joked that he'd kill for you. One fateful day, he does just that.

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin & Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Why Choose?

A drunken game of spin the bottle gets a little heated. Why choose, when you can have both?

Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia

Dr Cupid.

Mickey Garcia passes out in hospitals. Luckily, this time there's a pretty nurse there to catch him.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Marvel

Bucky Barnes

Lessons in Love. ❁

Bucky didn't believe in love at first sight. Then he met you.

Honey Girl. ✯❁

The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

Trick or Treat.

You love Halloween. Bucky loves you.

Rest Had Seemed The Sweetest Thing.

Bucky's slowly learning that love isn't a finite resource. aka, Bucky's first Christmas.

Stucky

Letters to the Moon.

Steve is gone. The love you and Bucky have for him isn't.

Wishbone.

You meet Bucky and Steve while on the run. The three of you quickly learn that nothing is more violent than love.

Frank Castle

There's Always Tomorrow.

Frank knows you better than you know yourself. It's a blessing and a curse.

Multi Talented. ❁

Frank shows you exactly what you deserve.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Criminal Minds

Luke Alvez

Wherever You Are. That's Where Home Is.

Luke might be a mind reader. Only with you, though.

Vice. ❁

Everyone on the team has their vices. It just so happens that yours is sat across the table looking at you.

Spencer Reid

Web of Lies. ✯

Spencer Reid has always been good at keeping secrets. You just never thought he'd keep one from you.

Cowboy!Spencer ✯

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Narcos

Javier Peña

Self Control. ❁

Javi keeps refusing himself what he wants. One night puts everything into perspective.

Yes, Mr President.

There's an endless amount of things you shouldn't do as the President of the United States. Defiling the Oval Office is definitely one of them.

Western Nights. ✯

You don't expect to bump into your dad's best friend Javier in a church basement on the outskirts of town. You also didn't expect to fall in love with him. Life seems to be full of surprises - and Javier was the biggest surprise of all.

Jealousy, Jealousy. ❁

Javier Peña doesn't share.

Two Murphy's and a Peña.

Javier knows Steve's sister is off limits. He's never been one to follow the rules.

After Hours.

You and Javier are stuck in the office in the middle of a heatwave. You're hot in more ways than one.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Triple Frontier

Time. ❁

You get shot in Colombia. Frankie, Benny, Santiago and Will each have their own ways of helping you heal.

Tethered. ❁

The lines of friendship blur when you’re this close. Also known as - each of the times you’ve kissed Benny, Frankie, Santiago and Will.

Tranquility.

You're not good at keeping secrets from the boys. Turns out, Will isn't either.

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to the four boys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the guys told you they loved you.

Will Miller

Champagne Fuelled Confessions.

You come home drunk, and have something burning you need to tell Will.

Best Friend's Brother.

You've known Benny for years. You've had a crush on his brother Will for years, too.

Frankie Morales

Find You.

A bad date brings Frankie Morales to your door at the perfect time.

Rain Soaked Romantic.

Frankie will run across town in the rain if it means finally telling you how he feels.

Santiago Garcia

This Is The Way It Always Goes.

Santiago always comes crawling back. You convince yourself this is the last time - but you both know that's not true.

Precious Girl.

A chance meeting with your Dad's best friend at 2am.

Benny Miller

Adrenaline.

Ben needs a way to work off his post match energy. You.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Last of Us

Joel Miller

Pretty When You Cry. ❁

Joel realises his morals are fucked. You realise you like it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Succession

Stewy Hosseini

Clandestine. ✯

You and Stewy know it's wrong. So why, pray tell, does it feel so right?

Fully Clothed.

Being Stewy's assistant has its perks.

Consequence.

Stewy's actions have unexpected consequences.

Needy.

You've been waiting all day for Stewy to get home. He loves it.

Play Pretend.

The classic fake dating trope, with a twist.

The Place Where It All Began.

You reunite with Stewy at your high school reunion. Turns out, he's been waiting for you, all this time.

Risky.

The thrill of being caught makes it all the more exciting.

Kendall Roy

Me and You.

You quit as Kendall's assistant. He's been waiting for this day.

Illicit Affair.

You're Matssons wife. You're also in love with Kendall Roy.

Forced Proximity.

The classic only one bed trope, this time with your emotionally unavailable boss.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bear

Carmen Berzatto

The Roommate Collection. ✯❁

A collection of fics based on being roommates with Carmen.

Vienna.✯

Everything is the same. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. Nothing is the same.

Carmen. ❁

Carmen. Your Carmen.

Denial. ❁

Carmy can’t keep pretending.

Mechanic!Carmen.

Inspired by that picture of JAW in a crop top.

Perfectionist. ❁

Your boyfriend being a professional chef has its perks. Especially when it comes to gingerbread houses.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

9-1-1

Evan Buckley

Lightning Strike. ❁

The two of you deal with the aftermath of Bucks trauma.

Fire Hazard. ❁

The story of your firehouse nickname - and Buck unable to handle you in a sundress.

Evan Buckley & Eddie Diaz

The Look of Love. ❁

You, Buck and Eddie are absolutely, undeniably, head over heels in love with each other. It seems like everyone can see it except for the three of you.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Sons of Anarchy

Jax Teller

Heatwave. ❁

You cut Jax's hair. He can't keep his hands to himself.

Sundress Season. ❁

It’s sundress season. Jax can’t keep his hands to himself (again).

Filip 'Chibs' Telford

Teach Me How to Ride. ❁

Chibs is teaching you how to ride (in more ways than one).

Handled.

You and Chibs have been walking the line for a little too long.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Challengers

Two Can Play That Game.

You’re cheating on Patrick. You’re not proud of it, but it just… happened. Patrick’s cheating on you, too. He never meant for it to happen, but it just… did. Imagine the surprise from both of you when you find out that Art Donaldson is caught up right in the middle.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Miscellaneous

Steve Harrington

Cherry. ✯❁

The lines of friendship get a little blurry, one unassuming Friday night in December.

Someone Borrowed, Someone Blue.

An engagement party, your childhood best friend, one too many glasses of champagne. What could go wrong?

[daisydisciple]

for the record. baptism for the dead isn't "nonconsensual" in any way? like doctrinally it's an offering that the dead person is free to accept or reject.

and:

if you don't believe in an afterlife then why do you care at all

if you do believe in an afterlife but don't believe in baptism according to the lds tradition/priesthood authority in the lds church/that the baptism is going to do anything then why do you care

if you do believe that the baptism is real and valid but that it's wrong to offer it/it's somehow forced upon that person and a violation of their agency I don't believe you. I don't think that's a position that anyone holds for real

more likely people are uncomfortable with a possible disrespect of the living by dishonoring their dead or something along those lines

but:

you are supposed to submit the names of your own ancestors. We are doing this for OUR dead

hence the whole genealogy thing. you know. FAMILY search

what I believe to be the main criticism in this regard is not current events

in conclusion:

USE the church's genealogical resources for whatever you want! you are not participating in anything shady

if you are freaked out by the concept of baptism for the dead because "it sounds like a weird cult thing" or something, maybe get over it and open your mind a little bit?

you can compare it to like. praying on behalf of a dead person. honoring your ancestors. a normal and common thing across many cultures

[benedettabeby]

SO THINGS ABOUT MICHAEL'S LIVE I WANT TO TALK ABOUT,FREE TO COMMENT AND DISCUSS WITH MEE

1. Michael agreeing Tali and Ziva speak hebrew when they don't want Tony to know what they're talking about!!

2. Michael saying Tali is a resourceful,adventrous and knowing many movie references,girl!!!

3. Brian dietzen joining the live!!

4. Mention that we'll see Cote soon and Brian knows what it's about?(Ncis mention??)

5. Michael hinting about another side project with Cote??

6. TIVA WEDDING??? Someone asked about it and Michael saw it but didn't really answer with a Yes/no BUT he asked if the person was a clairvoyant!? That's a "yes" to me!! And then WEDDING church bells were ringing where Michael is and he said "it must be a sign"...???&+#7€7_7&) WE WILL HAVE A WEDDING I FEEL IT. OR TONY PROPOSING

7. Michael talking about toc episode,how Tony avoids answering why he was there because he wanted to Hide his feelings!!!

[sophieinwonderland]

The trusted medical articles about DID are confidential and aren’t on google, only doctors have access to them. You shouldn’t trust in the info you’re actually believing such as tulpas and some DID symptoms.

"You can't trust anything you see on Google because all the real information is super top secret and confidential."

How do sysmeds keep coming up with these increasingly absurd takes?

So yes, some trustworthy peer reviewed works are locked tightly behind paywalls. And this makes finding a lot of information a pain sometimes. But there are workarounds to this. I downloaded a PDF copy of Transgender Mental Health, the book published by the American Psychiatric Association that references how you can be plural without trauma or a disorder, from a dropbox link.

Other paywalled papers can be access through Sci-Hub, although various governments are trying to get that shutdown.

But a lot of trustworthy peer reviewed information from professionals is also available on the internet for free, such as Varieties of Tulpa Experiences, which was peer reviewed and published in a book by Oxford University Press. (Which yes, is a very reputable source.)

And its author is a psychiatry professor at McGill University. The idea that this isn't a valid source because you can find it on Google is stupid.

Moreover, if this was true that all the information on DID and plurality was confidential and only available to doctors, it would create a situation in science akin to the Christian Church pre-reformation, where knowledge of the Bible was essentially restricted to priests, and lay people could only learn through the priests.

Thank the gods that a lot of science doesn't work that way, and even if some is locked behind paywalls, there is a lot that is free and open to the public!

I've been researching and learning more about plurality for three years, and Google Scholar has been an incredible resource on this journey, as has Sci-Hub for when I have ran across an article I just couldn't otherwise access.

There is plenty of trustworthy research out here on the internet that you can access for free if you know how!