#indecent theology

[punchyfeeley]

I’m rereading indecent theology because I’m tired and in pain so here are my fav quotes from the day

“…must have given so many kisses and cuddles to that beloved when he returned that it makes me sigh with envy just to think about it” love 12/10 I am also sighing with envy

Circle jerk of theological interpretation. We love to see it.

If no one causes a scandal at my funeral I swear to God I will resurrect myself all on my own.

These ones are just good and true

#indecent theology #Marcella althaus-Reid #my fucking feeding tube is broken again #it’s the 4th time this year #so here have my I’m grumpy reading

[theotopia]

Ever since I have read the new poem by Freydis Moon (https://freydismoon.carrd.co/ | twitter: https://twitter.com/freydis_moon) in their monthly newsletter, I can't stop thinking about it.

the love pouring out of the text - this specific kind of love - that encompasses the entire body, soul and mind - all of one's senses - is so intimate, actively against restraining societal norms, utterly unembarassed by the feeling of love and what it is doing with the loving one.

(and also how it describes one's relationship to the bible as a romantic, erotic, holistic feeling of connecting, of loving, of transforming, as wandering through and into time)

#religious poetry #religious poem #bible #theology #indecent theology #freydismoon #freydis moon #exodus 20:3 #exodus20:3

[bethetiesthatbind]

Brooke Matejka is a guest speaker on the Faith and Capital podcast, discussing Marcella Althaus-Reid’s flavor of queer theology that accounts for this theology’s intersectionality with feminist and liberation theology, as well as a critique of these fields about what is sacrificed by ignoring “the indecent”. This focus is on Mary Mother of Christ.

#Brooke Matejka #MAR #Marcella Althaus-Reid #Indecent Theology #queer theology #feminist theology #liberation theology #theology #Mary #Mary mother of God #Faith and Capital #podcast #theology podcast

[rivage-seulm]

“Indecent” Women Doing Liberation Theology Without Underwear: Saints Tina Turner & Chuck Berry What is the connection between liberation theology and its feminist theologians refusing to wear underwear while writing their articles and books? That’s right: no underwear. And what is the connection of their resulting theology with the poor lemon vendors in Buenos Aires who, also without underwear,…

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#Chuck Berry #Eros and Clivilization #Eva Peron #From Feminist Theology to Indecent Theology #Herbert Marcuse #Indecent Theology #Jesus #Liberation theology #Marcella Althaus-Reid #Rock &039;n&039; Roll #Tina Turner #Virgin Mary

[givemearmstopraywith]

yo! I’ve seen some of your posts around, so I figured I’d come to the source. I’ve been hesitant to engage with liberation theology as my journey moving away from of the evangelical faith I was raised in still feels recent, amorphous and short (I’m still in undergrad). I’m wondering how you’d present liberation theology to someone who’s wary but willing to engage with theology after a couple years of attempted cold turkey, but really interested in gaining consciousness of white supremacy in the way they might generalize the Christianity they reject

liberation theology is at its core not white theology. it's inceptors are all latino. its also catholic. i find it as antithical to evangelical christianity as you can get without actually going outside of christianity. evangelicalism is inherently capitalistic and protestant. liberation theology deeply marxist. it is the lived, rather than theoretical, preference for the poor and marginalized.

but liberation theology is hard. it's hard to live and it's hard to practice. it requires an exteriority that feels dangerous and vulnerable. it is vulnerable. liberation theology means liberation for everyone: not only those we like and can empathize with, but also those we do not like. our oppressors, our tormentors, our abusers. it is recognizing how everyone is in their own secret bondage and knowing that where human justice falls short, God's justice is eternal, infernal, and beautiful. it's generous. the world is not.

liberation theology also asserts the divine goodness of God, because a God who loves us is also a God who will liberate us. this is the whole thread that runs through the story of christianity when it is stripped of institutionalized bigotry and dogma. God's story is a love story. he is trying to break the chains we make for ourselves. the chains we are forced to wear by others.

my general primer for intro to liberation theology is gustavo guiterrez, leonardo boff (both latino liberation theologians, the father of the field), and james cone (black theology). also marcella althaus-reid and carter heyward (queer and indecent theology), naim ateek (palestinian liberation theology), and m shawn copeland (womanist, or black feminist, liberation theology). this isnt comprehensive, but they are the liberation theologians i've read and loved, as a person who felt disconnected from my faith after interactions with the evangelical church, when i was trying to find my way back to God just after i finished undergrad.

i will also add, you mentioned you're still in undergrad. you have God's whole messy eternity ahead of you to find him. he wants you: if you want him, he's waiting. you'll find him. you've got this.

#replies #sorry if this is not a great response but i wanted to send it before i went to bed

[flowerandblood]

Glass Cuts Deepest (10)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, panic attack, mention of rape, fluff, angst, indecent student-teacher relationship ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He had never felt as calm and happy as he did that morning when he returned to his room. He couldn't get rid of the smile of pride and satisfaction at the thought that he had touched her, that he had brought her to orgasm with his very words, kisses and the touch of his hand.

He could still hear her surprised sobs of pleasure as fulfilment shook her body, as she sought refuge in his arms.

She was so polite and obedient, keeping her hands where he told her to, even though he knew it was difficult for her, she didn't touch him, allowing him to focus entirely on her and her pleasure.

He had never touched a woman of his own volition before her.

He wondered how it had come so easily, practically effortlessly, and realised that he had not associated this type of touch with Alys.

When she came to him then it wasn't him touching her, she was the one touching him, she was the one in control.

However, Wright then gave herself completely to him, allowing him to touch her as he wished, still clothed without making him feel threatened.

He realised that this could have been the solution to his problem, that maybe when he was the one in control of what was happening, his body wouldn't react with panic and bring up those awful memories.

When they went to the church to see how the installed stained glass windows looked like he felt a kind of pride, seeing how the golden background around the Mother of God with the child shimmered in the sunlight, giving a truly heavenly impression.

He couldn't look away from the face he had painted, simultaneously embarrassed and delighted by the sight, realising something, interjecting a word from the bishop who had just praised his student's project.

"In Christian iconography and theology, the Virgin Mary is supposed to be the personification of the New Eve, transformed from a woman who was tempted into a woman who contributed to human salvation. Her son, Christ, was instead to be the new Adam, which is why often in crucifixion paintings we see a skull under his feet on the ground that is meant to symbolise Adam's tomb, on which his cross grows like a tree." He said calmly, pretending that he just wanted to add some interesting information on the subject, but when he glanced at Wright he saw her lower her gaze quickly, trying to hide the smile of embarrassment and the redness of her cheeks.

He knew he was talking about her.

She was his Eve.

She was his salvation.

He had fallen in love with her.

"Indeed, the professor is right, Our Lady and Christ are the announcement of a new paradise, but also of the good news that the exile and wandering of mankind is over, that the gates of heaven have been opened to them again." Said the bishop in a light tone, acknowledging his point, snapping him out of his reverie with his next question.

"Who painted the face of that wondrous Mother of God that shines so luminously before us?"

He looked at him in surprise, feeling his heart pounding fast, and grunted quietly, not wanting to show his sudden nervousness.

"Me." He said indifferently and dryly, standing with his hands folded in front of him, and then he saw the priest's gaze quickly shift to his female student. He felt a tightening in his throat, knowing that he already knew.

Fuck.

Was Cregan guessing too, or was he just pretending not to see it?

How could he have been so stupid to let this happen?

He swallowed loudly, glancing at Wright and felt a cool sweat on the back of his neck noticing how she had gone pale, not a trace of her joy and contentment from a second ago.

She didn't look at him.

Not when they left, not when they drove back to the hotel, not when Cregan suggested they celebrate her success with dinner. He was willing to do it, he was proud of her, but she just said thank you, smiling sadly, and said she was tired and would go to her room now.

She was heartbroken and it was his fault.

As soon as he had showered and changed he was immediately outside her balcony door, knocking on her window, devastated at the thought that she might not want to see him anymore, that he had screwed things up so badly.

He was relieved when he heard movement on the other side, and then the door opened. He saw the look on her face, sadness, tiredness and resignation, and felt a tightness in his throat. He closed the door behind him, looking at her, all tense.

"What's going on?" He asked immediately, feeling like his heart was about to jump out of his chest, his breathing uneven and accelerated.

He felt even worse when he saw that she looked away and pressed her lips together, clearly feeling uncomfortable that she wanted to tell him something that might hurt him.

"He knows. He knows it was my face you gave to your Virgin Mary." She muttered in despair and took a step back as he moved towards her. She didn't move away when he grabbed the nape of her neck and pressed his forehead against hers, shushing her silently as he traced the skin of her warm cheek with the fingers of his other hand.

"− shhh −" He whispered, hearing her accelerated breathing, seeing her look on the verge of crying, feeling painfully remorseful that he had put them at risk himself.

He didn't know then what would happen, didn't know he could ever have her.

"− it won't work − someone will catch us − we won't hide −" She whispered in a breaking voice, tear after tear running down her cheek.

He felt a sting in his heart at the thought that she was terrified, that she had realised what a threat this was if someone caught them. He pressed his lips together, knowing that he was the one who had the least to lose, that he was finished anyway, that he wanted to leave anyway, but she was going to study there for three more years.

He didn't want anyone to think that she owed her place and victory in the competition to the fact that she was warming his bed.

Helpless, he hushed her once more, drawing her to him, embracing her with his arms and cuddling her into his chest. She clung to him immediately, placing her hands on his t-shirt just as he had shown her the day before, hugging her cheek to his torso, breathing raggedly through her cry.

"Just tell me if you want to try." He whispered, stroking her hair and back in a calm, slow motion. He felt her freeze, her breathing sped up, she herself no longer knew what she wanted and the thought was breaking his heart.

"I'm scared." She whispered in a trembling voice. He grasped her cheeks gently in his hand and lifted her face to look at him.

"I'm scared too, but that's not what I asked you." He said calmly, looking at her tenderly.

He was scared too.

He had been scared all his life.

But he wanted to try.

He could see that she didn't know what to say, that she was heartbroken and terrified, that she needed comfort and reassurance that he wouldn't leave her, that he wouldn't expose her to mockery and gossip, that he would protect and care for her, that he wouldn't treat her like a pretty toy that he would abandon as soon as he got bored.

He felt that he had to explain to her how he felt about her, that he had to somehow put into words why it was all so important to him, why she was precious to him, why he needed her so much.

"I don't know if you believe in God, but I do. Despite what has happened to me, I believe in him and that he is merciful. I also believe that he put you in my path, that he made me choose you because you are his gift, that he knows neither of us wants to do anything bad. I have never had the opportunity to care or look after anyone before in my life, but I want to do so for you. My sketches, your face that I painted, was an expression of my desperation and suffering, but this is the last time I let anyone see what I feel for you. This is the last time I put you in danger." He whispered in a trembling voice, tucking an unruly strand of her hair behind her ear in a tender, soft gesture, literally letting out his thoughts, his feelings.

Despite what had happened to him, he was a person of faith, attending church and praying.

His faith was instilled in him by his mother, taking him to church with her every Sunday. Aegon and Helaena did not want to go there, but he did. At first, it was because he had her all to himself then, that it was their time, that he was then her only child to whom she gave her attention.

But then he began to find some kind of relief in this, in the thought that his suffering was not worthless, that it had some meaning, that he may not have had a good father on earth, but he had one in heaven.

Seeing his suffering and loneliness, he sent him, like to Adam in Eden, his Eve, so that he would no longer be lonely, and with her he sent him that wonderful feeling that had to come from him, because it was too beautiful, too warm, too good.

He saw her draw in the air loudly at his words, her gaze warm and tender, filled with pain and affection at the same time, from which he felt tears under his eyelids.

"Please, protect me." She mumbled at last, and he sighed loudly in relief and smiled tenderly, stroking her cheeks.

"I'll. I promise." He whispered, feeling heat filling his heart at the thought that she trusted him, that she believed he was capable of it, that his feelings for her were sincere.

They leaned towards each other tentatively and then their lips came together in a hot, wet kiss that made his head spin, her scent and taste filling all his senses making him feel throbbing in his sweatpants again.

After what had happened the day before, he felt more confident.

He thought he wanted to do it.

"− do you want to finish what we started yesterday? −" He asked quietly and she nodded, smiling so sweetly, so innocently, that he felt like devouring her.

They kissed again, deeper and more passionately, and then he took her hand in his, leading her slowly towards her bed, sitting down on it, looking up at her from below.

She stood before him, beautiful and warm, just his, and he had all night to explore her body.

He bit his lower lip feeling the painfully pleasurable pulsing of his manhood again, pleased with how automatically his body responded to her closeness.

"Can I stroke your cheek?" She asked uncertainly and he swallowed loudly, looking at her surprised.

You are such a pretty boy, Aemond.

He wasn't sure if he wanted it or not, but he thought it was just a touch on the cheek, no big deal, he knew how warm and soft her hands were and he decided he wanted to feel her.

So he nodded and swallowed loudly, closing his eyes, pressing his lips together because as soon as he felt her touch, he saw her, pulling off her nightshirt, a shapely, ripe body that might as well have belonged to his mother.

He saw her large breasts, her wide hips, her womb.

Why are you so tense?

"Are you okay?" He heard another soft, warm voice and nodded, figuring he could stand it, that she wasn't doing anything wrong after all, that she was just touching his fucking cheek.

But instead of her hand, he felt her hand, her hand stroking him as she rode him, as her body fell against his manhood with a loud, sickening click, and she panted in delight.

Look, see?

You wouldn't be so hard if you didn't want it.

It's okay, sweetheart.

He felt tears under his eyelids, pressed his lips together and shook his head, grabbing her wrist.

"− no − I − I'm not − I'm sorry −" He mumbled out brokenly and felt her pull away from him immediately, but he was no longer there, with her, he was in his hotel room there, during their family trip to the seaside, he was alone in his bed when she came to him and refused to leave his mind, his heart, his body.

It wasn't better at all.

Nothing was better.

Nothing had changed.

He couldn't not think about it.

He burst out sobbing, heartbroken by this discovery, by the realisation that he could only touch but not be touched, that the physical tenderness of the girl he adored was unwanted to him, made him uncomfortable, made him want to run away. He couldn't cope with that thought, that terrifying realisation that this would probably never change.

That forever again the touch of her hand on his bare cheek, his arms or his torso would remind him of her.

That he would never let her touch or massage him down there because it would remind him of her.

That he might not even be able to look at her beautiful, gorgeous naked body because it would remind him of her.

He wanted to die.

"− I'm begging you, don't apologise − I'm the one who's sorry − so much has happened, I shouldn't have asked for this − forgive me, I didn't mean to hurt you −" Her terrified, distraught voice roused him from his lethargy. He chuckled despairingly under his breath, revealing his face to her, shaking his head.

"− hurt me? − you can't even touch me − fuck! −" He growled in despair through his tears, running his hand over his face, feeling his whole stomach clench, his body quivering, knowing it was a panic attack again and that she had just witnessed it, that after what she had seen she would understand what she was dealing with, how fucked up he was.

She couldn't even touch his fucking cheek because he was starting to shake and cry.

How were they going to have a normal relationship?

How could he make her persist in something like this, feeling perpetually rejected and unwanted?

He thought it was all her fault, that stupid whore, he felt anger and hatred, words began to fly out of his mouth on their own, the things he had never told anyone about gushed out of him like the poison that had bubbled up inside him all these years.

"− that whore − then when she came to me − she touched me, she fucking touched me everywhere − my cheeks, my shoulders, my chest, my stomach, my −" He couldn't finish, gasping for air, his voice breaking through the fact that he was crying and couldn't breathe, looking at her, seeing her terrified, hot gaze full of concern and understanding, she was listening to him, she was beside him, kneeling on the ground beside him like Mary Magdalene beside Christ, not daring to touch him.

He drew in a loud breath and raised his hand, as if he wanted to explain something to her, to point out the source of the whole problem.

"− she touched me everywhere − e v e r y w h e r e − as if she wanted to contaminate my body − to make sure that no one would ever touch me after her again −" He muttered in a breaking, angry, embittered voice, running his hands through his hair, only now understanding what she had done to him, how much she had deconstructed him as a person.

For years he had told himself that he simply hated women and didn't need them, that he was capable of satisfying all his needs himself, but now he realised that this wasn't true, that he was protecting himself this way from disappointment, that subconsciously he knew he wouldn't be able to bear the touch of anyone else.

He saw her cover her mouth, crying as he did, her eyebrows arched in anguish, in disbelief, the pain in her eyes from which his own heart squeezed.

"− she destroyed me as a man − as a boy − you were right − it doesn't make sense − you don't deserve this, you will only face rejection from me −" He muttered, burying his face in his hands again, heartbroken at the thought that he hadn't been able to give her what she needed, that he would never change, that he would never be normal again, that what had happened to him couldn't be fixed.

He felt worse and worse, he felt the contents of his breakfast in his throat, his heart was pounding so hard he felt like he was about to die, he was shivering all over, cold sweat running down his back.

"− you said you would never touch a woman before me, and yet you've been sleeping in the same bed with me for the past two nights − you've been holding my hand and kissing me − you demand too much of yourself and you think I demand the same, but that's not true − I just want you to be there for me −" She said in a quick, breaking, soft voice from which he felt warmth in his chest, he drew in air loudly, clinging to her words, wanting to believe her, wanting to hope.

And then he felt a contraction in his stomach.

He knew what it meant.

His body had always reacted the same way since that evening.

"− I − I − I think I'm about to throw up −" He mumbled and heard her pick herself up quickly, running somewhere, taking a moment to hand him the vase.

He just managed to turn away from her, not wanting him to look at it, and threw up, trembling all over, breathing loudly, embarrassed, humiliated, weak and distraught, feeling that he had just shown her his worst side, the one he was most ashamed of.

He thought that after something like this she would never want him again.

That she would only be with him out of compassion.

"− I'll stay with you − I'll take my duvet, we'll go to your room and I'll lie down on the armchair next to you − I'll be with you, okay? −" She whispered in a trembling voice, and he felt a tightening in his heart at the thought that his guess had come true, that she felt sorry for him, that she would now feel responsible for him like a mother for her child rather than a woman for her man.

Still, he needed her like he had never needed anyone else in his life, so he nodded.

He rinsed his mouth and the vase in her bathroom, not even looking at his reflection in the mirror out of shame, unable to believe that he had got a panic attack because she had touched his cheek.

He left her room without a word.

He only checked that they had both closed the door behind them and lay down on his bed, feeling completely lifeless, weak and resigned.

Empty.

He saw her sprawled in an armchair near his bed covering herself with a duvet and thought it was pathetic that he, as a man, was supposed to sleep here and she was supposed to lie there in discomfort and watch him as if he were six years old.

He stood up abruptly, frustrated by this thought, walking over to her.

"− you'll be uncomfortable there − lie on the bed, I'll sleep in the armchair −" He said indifferently, but she furrowed her brow and shook her head, covering herself more tightly.

"− no −" She said in a tone that he knew wouldn't convince her, and he no longer had the strength to argue with her.

"− come to bed −" He whispered resignedly, going back and laying down on the bedding. He heard her objection caused by fear that she would make him uncomfortable again, but he interrupted her in mid-sentence by saying that he wanted her close to him.

After a moment, she stood up uncertainly, circling his bed, and he felt the mattress bend under the weight of her body, which lay somewhere far away from him.

He swallowed loudly, feeling shame and sadness, thinking about how he would never be a man again in her eyes, how pathetic he was. He felt tears under his eyelids again and cried like a small child, clenching his lips, not letting any sound leave his throat. He swallowed loudly, drawing in air deeply.

"− will you stroke my head? −" He asked in a breaking voice, remembering that when he was a little boy and was afraid of darkness, his mother would come to him and stroke his head until he fell asleep.

"− I don't want to hurt you again −" She whispered uncertainly, and he felt a tightening in his heart at the thought that she clearly resented herself for wanting to touch him, as if touching his cheek would be some perverted crime.

He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing loudly, feeling his body tremble, having the feeling that he was cold.

"− please −"

He heard her shift, moving closer but so that her body wasn't touching his, and after a moment he felt her tiny fingers comb through his hair in a soft, calm motion. He felt a pleasant shudder, some kind of reassurance at that familiar, longed-for touch that combined his pleasant memory with her scent and touch.

He heard her want to say something, sensitive to any movement of his, but he didn't let her.

"− don't stop −"

So she continued stroking him, with an unhurried, tender movement of her hand trailing over his head, playing with his short hair making him finally start to calm down, his heart no longer pounding so fast, his breathing no longer so loud.

"− I will watch over you all night − no one will come in here − no one will touch you − you are safe − try to sleep −" She whispered tenderly with a certainty that surprised him, he felt a sudden tightness in his throat, one solitary tear ran down his cheek at her words.

No one will come in here.

No one will touch you.

You are safe.

He hadn't even realised how much he needed to hear it.

He sighed quietly, feeling some kind of relief, as if her reassurance had made his whole body relax.

He believed her.

No one would come in here.

No one would touch him.

He was safe with her.

He closed his eyes, concentrating only on the tender, gentle, feel-good touch of her fingers, on the smell of her body and her shampoo, on the fact that he could feel her breath on his neck.

She was beside him.

He slept restlessly and shuddered every time he woke up feeling her touch, terrified, but as soon as he turned his face towards her and saw her lying next to him immediately felt indescribably relieved.

In the morning, turning around and noticing that she really was awake, that at his slightest movement she opened her eyes and her hand began to stroke him again, he felt a tightening in his heart.

"− sleep −" He whispered quietly, but she only smiled softly and shook her head as if she was happy to be with him. He felt hot in his heart, felt the need to touch her.

"− embrace me − I want to feel you close −" He murmured, moving closer to her, and she put her arm around him, lifting herself a little higher, pressing her cheek to the top of his head, brushing his hair. He murmured contentedly, snuggling his face into the hollow of her neck, his nostrils filled with her wonderful, longed-for scent.

He slept a stony sleep for the next few hours.

A knock on the door woke them and they both shuddered, terrified.

"Aemond, we have to go to breakfast. I knocked on Wright's room, but I think she's still asleep too. Did you guys forget to set your alarm clocks or something?" He asked amused and they looked at each other with big eyes not knowing what to do, he could see that she was afraid to move from her place.

"− you go on your own, I'm almost ready −" He said loud enough for him to hear and Cregan just sighed heavily and said he would wait for them at the restaurant.

He ran a hand over his face as he heard his footsteps moving slowly away, and then he glanced at her. They looked at each other for a long moment without speaking, tenderness, warmth and concern in her gaze.

He touched her cheek and ran his thumb over it, and she closed her eyes, cuddling her face into his hand, stroking it with her fingers.

"− come here −" He hummed tenderly, drawing her to him, sinking into her mouth in an innocent, warm, wet kiss that had nothing of sexual desire in it, only pure longing for the closeness of beloved person.

He brushed the tip of his nose against hers and kissed her again, just as tenderly, purring contentedly when her free hand ran through his hair. She pulled away from him, pressing her forehead against his, trailing her fingers along the back of his head.

"Can I do that?" She asked softly, and he snorted at her question.

"You've been doing that all night at my request." He said softly, and she furrowed her brow, stroking him tenderly.

"I prefer to be sure. I don't want my touch to stop being…pleasurable to you." She mumbled, and he ran his thumb over her lips, not wanting her to say more, understanding what she meant.

"Your touch, your presence is the thing I crave most. I fear nothing so much than that you will no longer desire me after what you have seen." He said with a frown, and she shook her head hurriedly, kissing him quickly and lightly, looking at him again as if she wanted to show him with this gesture that he was completely wrong.

"I've never wanted anyone in my life like I want you."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x oc #aemond x fem!reader #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell fanfic #dark aemond smut #dark aemond #dark aemond targaryen #modern aemond angst #dark modern aemond #modern aemond smut #modern aemond #aemond kinslayer #prince aemond #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fluff #aemond fandom #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #ewan mitchell smut #ewan mitchell fluff #hotd fluff #aemond targaryen fluff

[obrother1976]

can u make like. ur top 10 books. freak books. anything. kisses your brain

sure!! these r not gonna be ranked bc god knows i could never choose between them & also im gonna be annoying and ramble a bit about every one

death in venice by thomas mann (classic. but its so rich w metaphors and symbolism. if you do read it, i'd recommend reading "the uses of myth in death in venice" by isadore traschen afterwards, bc it does a great job explaining all the freudian allegories and mythological symbolism and u'll literally be tearing ur hair out afterwards over how brilliant thomas mann was)

the carnivorous lamb by agustín gómez-arcos (idc that i've already talked about this a gajillion times on here. its literally the best book i've ever read. i'll forever be obsessed and i wish there was literally anything that could ever hit as hard as this did. if u read it, anon (if u havent already) dont go through the carnivorous lamb tag on here bc u need to experience this without any big prior knowledge. trust me)

erotism: death and sensuality by george bataille (ik im just listing the classics atp. but how could i ever leave that one out. this ones a lot and depending on how into bataille & philosophy in general u are it could be too much. but if u havent already read this one anon, just read the introduction. trust me ure gonna loose it from that alone)

gemini by michel tournier (this one... took me ages to get through it on my first read bc of the way its written, but it was so worth it. not even gonna say much about this one - its basically like if twins by bari wood was good lmao)

incest: from a "journal of love": the unexpurgated diary of anais nin, 1932-1934 (or every anais nin diary ever in general, but this one especially. there was just no one that got it quite like she did)

indecent theology: theological perversions in sex, gender and politics by marcella althaus-reid (sorry for literally recommending theory. im pretty sure u were asking for fiction lol, but this (& althaus-reid in general) is everything to me. if u've any interest whatsoever in theology u should check this one out)

the sluts by dennis cooper (slightly controversial opinion i think? not that the book itself is controversial, just that dennis cooper is very hit and miss at times. this book tho, definite hit. its so intense and convoluted and i loved every second of it. read this before death and sensuality and u're guaranteed to think of nothing else for at least a month)

querelle of brest by jean genet ("those knock-out body fluids: blood, sperm, tears!". kind of a classic since theres also the fassbinder movie but i prefer the book tbh. its been a while since i've read it but it'll forever be in my favourites)

crash by j.g. ballard (yeah ik we've all seen crash but i need more ppl to read the book. hold on actually i need to insert one of my favourite bits from it here:

Reaching through the fractured windshields and passenger windows around me, I marked my semen on the oily instrument panels and binnacles, touching these wound areas at their most deformed points.)

ada, or ardor: a family chronicle by vladimir nabokov (one of the most beautiful books i've ever read. probably not the most helpful recommendation bc im pretty sure its a classic but i cant not mention it.)

also some bonus recommendations of books that didnt make the list bc they're either not freak books or bc i havent read them yet:

christopher and his kind by christopher isherwood (not a freak book. not even remotely. but will forever have a special place in my heart.)

the sparrow by maria doria russell (read this one anon!!! this would be on the list, but im not fully finished w it yet so i cant officially put it in my top 10 yet)

exquisite corpse by poppy z. brite (havent read that one yet but its on my list!!)

autobiography of red by anne carson (not a freak book. beautifully written, a work of art really)

as meat loves salt by maria mccann (havent read that one yet. hoping its as good as everyone says)

skagboys by irvine welsh (one thing about me is that i'll always find a way to mention the trainspotting books)

#u guys r feeding my ego big time w these media asks. #i love doing lists ngl. just waiting patiently until the 'top 10 favourite academic papers?' ask drops lmao #also mwah <3 @ u anon. kissing u for that ask #oh also anon: if u havent already read carnivorous lamb and decide to check it out - u neeeed to listen to velvet voices by townes van zand #while reading it. theres no bigger reason behind that. its just that i listened to it on loop while reading #and that was literally a spiritual experience #ask

[eesirachs]

Do you have any reading recommends about eating God/intimacy/eroticism of eating, that kind of stuff? Thank you in advance!

of course:

corpus (nancy), the wedding feast of the lamb (falque), somatic desire (ed. horton), indecent theology (reid), devouring god (irwin), the animal that therefore i am (derrida), routledge handbook of senses in the ane (ed. neumann), are we not men: unstable masculinity in the hebrew bible (graybill), carnal hermeneutics (ed. kearney), any catholic sacramental theologian (especially schillebeeckx)

#ask

[puuvillaa]

Tag People You'd Like to Know Better

Thanks for the tag @squintclover

Three ships: wolfstar, wolfbucks, snupin

First ship: I can’t remember the very first one, but the first one I ever considered an OTP was snarry

Last song: probably Read Your Diary by Måneskin

Last movie: I think it's still Matthias & Maxime

Currently reading: indecent theology by Marcella Althaus-Reid, a couple of long fics

Last thing I wrote: a fic for the Marauders omegaverse fest

Currently writing: r/s big bang, Remus decides to die

#tag game #personal

[warabola]

🍩🍫 For All

Ange this is the strangest blog you could've used, and somehow you found a prior ask game. I'm in awe.

Different Ask Game!

🍩: What's a crime your OC is most likely to commit? What's a crime they're most likely to get arrested for?

- The Intemperate Director: Every type of crime. You know this. Thus why they hire the likes of not only the Stalwart Scholar, but also a devilish lawyer team to carefully navigate loopholes and technicalities in the system, even if they're not doing quite as much mischief nowadays.

Their favourite crime was pretending to be kidnapped by their own gang in order to ransom their own railway. Their own interpretation of morality and law plagues their legal consultants daily.

Technically, they have a license from the powers-that-be to murder, both impermanently, partially, and permanently. But a certain murder in Nemesis is probably the most likely thing they'd get booked for.

- The Silvered Assistant was fairly close to the Last Constable and Implacable Detective pre-Evolution, so she has a relatively clean record. Her most famous crimes under the alter-ego of the Skyward Thief were: 1. reverse-stealing a painting from the Empress to place it in the Indelible Poet's house for some card game, 2. breaking into the Constables' offices to solve their abandoned cases for them.

Considering her use of glasswork for capers and escapes, the most likely thing she'd get caught for would be accomplice to tax evasion. She is terrible at bureaucratic crime.

- The Indefatigable Doctor, uh...

Has a history with the Constables.

Otherwise probably public indecency, or arrest by the Masters for pursuing forbidden topics.

- The Heedless Novice is unlikely to ever be arrested. If anything, it'd be a machination by Mr Pages to get Mr Cards out of the way.

That said, blackmail.

🍫: Where does your OC go to think?

The Intemperate Director avoids thinking sdfsdf. has their spire in the Bazaar if they need to work on something. Specifically by the window that looks out onto a blue sigil of grief and loss. But usually, if they need to clear their head and get away from the hounding of others, they're more likely to assume another identity-- be it in the Khanate, Evenlode, at zee, anywhere.

The Silvered Assistant works in Parabola. She's the type to require a more physical task while she works through problems, so constructing memory palaces, mazes, or other works does just that. She is always much more herself in Parabola. Occasionally, she even visits her husband, as a good check for her own moral compass. If he supports an idea, she changes it.

The Indefatigable Doctor goes on a hunt, or works in their back-alley clinic. The sacrament of monster hunters clears their head. If not, there's a well.

The Heedless Novice spends time in one of her rooms. If it's a chronic transformation-pain day, she's at the embassy trying to either smother it in blankets and not moving, or using Hell's plumbing to get water as hot as her artisan tub can hold. She uses this time to plot the ruination of others Mr Pages and scheme. If it's not a pain day, she goes to her spire in the Bazaar, where she keeps her library. She has an extensive collection of different editions of religious documents, studies of superstitions, theology and history papers from the University and surface, as well as a hand mirror meant for insight into the Waswood. And if really necessary, she has a gramaphone for music, one of her favourite developments with the curator transformation.

#thanks for the ask <3 #it's long again rip #asks #the director #the silvered assistant #the indefatigable doctor #the heedless novice

[ts215-queertheology]

Dr. Marcella Althaus-Reid

was born in 1952 in Rosario, Argentina, to Alberto and Ada Althaus. She studied liberation theology and earned a Bachelor of Theology degree at the renowned Instituto Superior Evangelico de Estudios Teologicos (ISEDET) seminary in Buenos Aires, studying with scholars such as Jose Miguez Bonino and J. Severino Croatta.

Althaus-Reid trained for ministry in the Methodist Church of Argentina and developed expertise in the method of "conscientization," pioneered by the Brasilian educator Paolo Freire. She implemented this work in social and community projects supported by the church in poor communities of Buenos Aires. She was invited to undertake similar projects in Dundee and Perth (Scotland) years later. Throughout her career, her theological work retained a strong grounding in the "preferential option for the poor."

She continued studies in Liberation Theology, Feminist Theology and Queer Theology and completed a Ph.D. at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland in 1994. Following an appointment to a lectureship, she became Professor of Contextual Theology at New College, University of Edinburgh. She was the first woman professor of theology in the history of  New College.  

Her first book, Indecent Theology (2000), received widespread recognition in the theological field and earned her self-described reputation as an "indecent, Latina, bisexual theologian." Her next book, Queer God (2004), was a bold and provocative challenge to the sexual oppression inherent in most Christian theologies and established her as a fresh, cutting-edge thinker. She wrote and edited articles in numerous theological journals and was invited to lecture throughout Europe, Latin America and the U.S. Althaus-Reid and Lisa Isherwood,were the editors for a ground-breaking series of books,  "Queering Theology" published by T&T Clark.   

Althaus-Reid found a spiritual home in the Metropolitan Community Churches (MCC) and became an advocate for MCC as a respite from alienating and exclusive liturgies and the hope for an alternative queer Christian community.

She died in Edinburgh on February 20, 2009, following a long illness, and is survived by her husband Gordon Reid.

(Information for this profile taken from a faculty bio on the University of Edinburgh web site and tributes to her written by Dr. Robert Goss and Dr. Jay Johnson: http://www.clgs.org/blog/commentary/queer-god-really-remembering-marcella-althaus-reid) 

Biography Date: September, 2009

Citation

“Dr. Marcella Althaus-Reid | Profile”, LGBTQ Religious Archives Network, accessed March 25, 2023, https://lgbtqreligiousarchives.org/profiles/marcella-althaus-reid.

[maaruin]

Since I just reblogged something about That Hideous Strength, I would like to share what might me by greatest disagreement with C.S. Lewis’ theology.

Quoting Chapter 14, Part VI (so SPOILERS ahead)

Jane had gone into the garden to think. She accepted what the Director had said, yet it seemed to her nonsensical. His comparison between Mark's love and God's (since apparently there was a God) struck her nascent spirituality as indecent and irreverent. "Religion" ought to mean a realm in which her haunting female fear of being treated as a thing, an object of barter and desire and possession, would be set permanently at rest, and what she called her "true self" would soar upwards and expand in some freer and purer world. For still she thought that "Religion" was a kind of exhalation or a cloud of incense, something steaming up from specially gifted souls towards a receptive heaven. Then, quite sharply, it occurred to her that the Director never talked about Religion, nor did the Dimbles nor Camilla. They talked about God. They had no picture in their minds of some mist steaming upward: rather of strong, skilful hands thrust down to make and mend, perhaps even to destroy. Supposing one were a thing after all--a thing designed and invented by Someone Else and valued for qualities quite different from what one had decided to regard as one's true self? Supposing all those people who, from the bachelor uncles down to Mark and Mother Dimble, had infuriatingly found her sweet and fresh when she wanted them to find her also interesting and important, had all along been simply right and perceived the sort of thing she was? Supposing Maleldil on this subject agreed with them and not with her? For one moment she had a ridiculous and scorching vision of a world in which God Himself would never understand, never take her with full seriousness. Then, at one particular corner of the gooseberry patch, the change came.

What awaited her there was serious to the degree of sorrow and beyond. There was no form nor sound. The mould under the bushes, the moss on the path, and the little brick border, were not visibly changed. But they were changed. A boundary had been crossed. She had come into a world, or into a Person, or into the presence of a Person. Something expectant, patient, inexorable, met her with no veil or protection between. In the closeness of that contact she perceived at once that the Director's words had been entirely misleading. This demand which now pressed upon her was not, even by analogy, like any other demand. It was the origin of all right demands and contained them. In its light you could understand them: but from them you could know nothing of it. There was nothing, and never had been anything, like this. And now there was nothing except this. Yet also, everything had been like this: only by being like this had anything existed. In this height and depth and breadth the little idea of herself which she had hitherto called me dropped down and vanished, unfluttering, into bottomless distance, like a bird in space without air. The name me was the name of a being whose existence she had never suspected, a being that did not yet fully exist but which was demanded. It was a person (not the person she had thought) yet also a thing--a made thing, made to please Another and in Him to please all others--a thing being made at this very moment, without its choice, in a shape it had never dreamed of. And the making went on amidst a kind of splendour or sorrow or both, whereof she could not tell whether it was in the moulding hands or in the kneaded lump.

Words take too long. To be aware of all this and to know that it had already gone made one single experience. It was revealed only in its departure. The largest thing that had ever happened to her had, apparently, found room for itself in a moment of time too short to be called time at all. Her hand closed on nothing but a memory, and as it closed, without an instant's pause, the voices of those who have not joy rose howling and chattering from every corner of her being.

"Take care. Draw back. Keep your head. Don't commit yourself," they said. And then more subtly, from another quarter, "You have had a religious experience. This is very interesting. Not everyone does. How much better you will now understand the Seventeenth Century poets!" Or from a third direction, more sweetly, "Go on. Try to get it again. It will please the Director."

But her defences had been captured and these counter-attacks were unsuccessful.

I marked the important part, because this is the part where I target my disagreement:

Theologions have long come to the conclusion that God doesn’t need anything. He is, in His eternal existence, in a state of complete happiness. He creates not because he wants anything from his creatures, but out of pure benevolence. God creates for the benefit of the thing he creates.

It is the creatures who want and need and desire God. Those angels that the bible tells about who surround God’s throne and serve him... they do this not because it makes God happy but because it makes them happy. And it is the same when we worship God.

If we want to use romantic love as an analogy, then the feeling of being overcome by God is more like falling in love. The other person sometimes doesn’t have to do anything, just exist. It feels involuntary to the person falling in love, but it isn’t something that the object of this love actively does.

And since this passage argues based on gender stereotypes (which C.S. Lewis has the habit of essentializing), consider this: In these stereotypes it is normally the man pursuing the woman because he desires her. But God is in his nature the object of desire, because as the source of all goodness he is objectively desireable. That means God is taking the stereotypically feminine role.

(IIRC C.S. Lewis does get closer to the understanding I described here in The Four Loves, in which he says that our love for God is the love of wanting, but God’s love for us is the love of giving.)

#theology #c.s. lewis #that hideous strength #romantic love #religious experience #mysticism #gender #gender essentialism #gender stereotypes #christianity #god #this mistake is all over lewis' writings #pretty clearly shaped by his own experience of coming to christianity kinda against his will #but coming to believe something even though you don't want to #that is not the truth actively pursuing you #that is the truth just being the truth #unchangeable and unignoreable

[digitaldion]

My latest article has just been published. Be warned, it is somewhat indecent, and deliberately so! You can read it here: https://www.counterpointknowledge.org/the-indecency-of-the-world-cup-in-qatar-making-a-f-ing-difference/ The article is entitled: ‘The Indecency of the World Cup in Qatar – Making a F-ing difference?’ #decency #indecency #worldcup #qatar #football #soccer (at Faculty of Theology, Stellenbosch University) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cl5nUA3tcbl/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#decency #indecency #worldcup #qatar #football #soccer

[bethetiesthatbind]

Essay by Brooke Matejka, focusing on Marcella Althaus-Reid’s take on Mary in queer liberationist theology, and what is at stake to celebrate the parts of the Mother of Christ that aren’t true to the experience of women but merely a simulation of womanhood.

“Jesus shows himself to be such precisely in the measure that he is present via those who are the absent, anonymous people of history — those who are not the controllers of history, namely, the mighty, the socially acceptable, 'the wise and the learned.'" — Gustavo Gutiérrez, The God of Life

#Brooke Matejka #MAR #Marcella Althaus-Reid #Indecent Theology #Queer Theology #Mary #Mary Mother of God #Liberation Theology #Feminist Theology #Theology #The Bias Magazine #An Indecent Advent #gustavo gutierrez #The God of Life

[punchyfeeley]

Monday and Friday tag game :)

Tagged by @saintgarbanzo ! It isnt monday or friday but here's the thing...time isn't real...

relationship status I'm pretty sure I'm aro bc any time someone wants to date me I feel physically ill but living vicariously through fictional characters' romantic lives and also a mostly hypothetical slut these days as i'm chronically ill and am not risking covid thanks

favorite food my formula? (I have a feeding tube) it lets me not die which is pretty rad. I drink like 6 cups of tea a day tho if I can pick a drink instead- Irish Breakfast with a bit of cream and sugar or iced tea.

favorite color green :)

song stuck in your head Moments Silence (Common Tongue) by Hozier v underrated. I'm a sucker for songs about religion and sex. I'm learning it on guitar so I've been listening to it over and over

last thing you googled "Rabbi Yohanan time period"

time time is made up and I don't wanna think about it

dream trip a cabin in the woods just like alone with my dog and some good reading. Fortunately, this is an achievable goal.

last book you read does a play count? "Titus Andronicus" if yes. The Queer God by Marcella Althaus-Reid if no.

last book you enjoyed Both The Queer God and Indecent Theology by Marcella Althaus-Reid. I'm a slut for Queer Theology.

last book you hated reading I'm not really a Titus Andronicus fan, but if we're talking hate then The Invisible Weevil by Mary Karooro Okurut. It's about the HIV Crisis in Uganda but it's just disgustingly and horrifically classist and victim-blaming and I wrote a 7 page paper about why it sucks

favorite thing to cook/bake biscuits! Sometimes I think I'm not that southern but then I remember I used to work at a biscuit place making biscuits and sausage gravy and shit all day. Also, I call mosquitos "skeeters" and called summer "iced tea season" the other day. so.

favorite craft to do I don't really craft? But I will fix anything. Give me a little hands-on helpful task and I'm happy as a clam. I would rather be invited over to hang a shelf than to watch a movie.

most niche dislikes the sensation of earbuds or headphones (they make the insides of my ears sweaty): when people call all nonpenetrative sex (especially PiV) foreplay.

opinion on circuses A bunch of my friends are circus people! I used to do acro. good group cuddle piles. 12/10.

Do you have a sense of direction and if not what’s the worst way you’ve gotten lost? no! My mom and I once got lost in rural Georgia and there was this very muscular attractive man wood chopping wood outside in the rain??? who gave us directions and I was sure we were going to be murdered.

last song you listened to Symphony For Strings by Dvorak. I don't have a story I just love it.

last show you watched The Musketeers. It's really bad but everyone is hot. Sexy sword fighting. I really love terrible shows that know they're terrible. You also have to try not to think about how they're all just old-timey cops.

currently watching nothing. I can't focus on watching things anymore for whatever reason. I can read for 18 hours a day but cannot focus on watching something for longer than 5 minutes.

currently reading The fall semester is starting so I'm currently reading Global Migration: Patterns, Processes, and Politics for my Migration and Displacement Class. I'm trying to only take one depressing class per semester now and this was my pick. It's genuinely very interesting but also owchie my heart

current obsessions Queer Talmud. Jewish Bondage. Homoerotic Chavruta relationships.

Tagging @aliziafinola @bendingsignpost @northeasternwind @cosmicmechanism @feltelures @punktuation

[givemearmstopraywith]

not to be insane but do you have any readings about religious bdsm or things w those vibes? ily <3

hi yes i do! i just finished writing a thesis about this actually

Jeffrey J. Kripal, Roads of Excess, Palaces of Wisdom: Eroticism and Reflexivity in the Study of Mysticism. (University of Chicago Press, Chicago: 2001) + Jeffrey Kripal, Kali’s Child: The Mystical and Erotic in the Life and Teachings of Ramakrishna, (University of Chicago Press, Chicago: 1996) + kali's child is not about christianity but it is a fantastic work on eroticism and religion from the hindu perspective (however kripal is white and was trained as a priest, so bear that in mind)

Carter Heyward. Touching Our Strength: The Erotic as Power and the Love of God. (Harper & Row, 2009)

Jeremy Carrette, "Intense Exchange: Sadomasochism, Theology and the Politics of Late Capitalism." Theology and Sexuality, vol. 11, no. 1 (April 2005), pp. 11-30 

Joseph Rogers, "Do Not Despise the Discipline of the Almighty: God as Leather Daddy and Reading Job through Althaus-Reid." Religions, vol. 8, no. 10.

Robert E. Shore-Goss, "Queer incarnational bedfellows" in Contemporary Theological Approaches to Sexuality (Routledge, New York: 2017) + all of robert shore-goss's work in general (he was the acting chaplain at avatar, the largest gay leather club in los angeles, for a number of years, and previously trained to be a priest- i adore him and his work)

Susannah Cornwall, "The future of sexuality debates in the Church: shared challenges and opportunities for theological ‘traditionalists’ and ‘revisionists’," Modern Believing vol. 62, no. 1 (January 2021) + cornwall has written extensively about intersex people in theology, i highly recommend her scholarship

Marcella Althaus-Reid, Indecent Theology: Theological Perversions in Sex, Gender and Politics. (Routledge, New York: 2000 + this might be my favourite book on this list and i recommend it to everyone, althaus-reid is an extraordinary thinker and her work in general is worth looking into

Margot Weiss, Techniques of Pleasure: BDSM and the Circuits of Sexuality. Duke University Press (London, 2011) is a book i recommend to anyone who is interested in or exploring bdsm, its a great starter book though not explicitly religious

Georges Bataille, Erotism: Death and Sensuality. Translated by Mary Dalwood. (City Lights Books, San Francisco: 1986) + bataille in general is a great philosopher, i also recommend Guilty trans. Bruce Boone

When Did We See You Naked? Jesus as a Victim of Sexual Abuse, ed. Jayme R. Reaves, David Tombs, and Rocío Figùeroa (SCM Press, London: 2021) + david tombs is a forerunner in reading the crucifixion as sexual abuse, approaching it from the methodological viewpoint of human rights abuses in latin america. this isn't about bdsm, but it is about sexuality in theology and it provides an incredibly necessary counterpoint to any discussion of power dynamics.

i'm missing a few titles but i'll look through my library and add them when i can.

edit: bolded my favourites, also heyward is the only book that to my knowledge is not available on zlib or annas-archive.

#replies