woman parts

“You’re not builders, you’re destroyers. I’m not going to take that anymore.” - Mother Angelica

At one point during the festivities at World Youth Day in Denver in 1993, there was a production of the Stations of the Cross that featured a woman playing the part of Jesus. Mother Angelica read an article from The Denver Post that called it “ironic… since the Catholic Church won’t ordain women as priests.”

“No, it’s not ironic,” Mother Angelica responded, “it’s blasphemous.”

She spent the next 20 minutes or so calling out the “Liberal Church in America” for its dissent from orthodoxy, destroying good things about the Church, and its failure to attract new converts to the faith.

“I’m tired of your tricks,” she said. “I’m tired of your deceits. I’m tired of you constantly making a crack, and the first thing you know there’s a hole, and all of us fall into it.

“I’m so tired of you Liberal Church in America. And everything you’ve ever done is done in silence. Nothing, nothing you’ve done, from your witchcraft, to your enneagrams, to your centering prayer, to all this Earth spirituality, to replacing holy water with sand. To destroying our churches and closing churches that are viable and ready to go.

“No, this is not an accident. We’ve swallowed this now for 30 years, and I’m tired of it. We’ve swallowed enough of your idea of God. You have really no God, you have no dogma, no doctrine, and no authority, because the only authority in the Catholic Church is our Holy Father and the magisterium, and you’ve disclaimed that.

“You don’t believe in the Eucharist, you don’t believe in the Immaculate Conception, you don’t believe in the Virgin Birth, you don’t believe in Mary’s power of intercession, you don’t believe in religious life, you don’t believe in being a spouse of Christ.

“You do believe in teaching to little children of the 3rd grade sex education. You do believe in forcing centering prayer and forcing inclusive language upon us. And now you depict Jesus as a woman. You are sick.

“But I admit you have a right to your ways. You have a right to think your own thoughts. You have a right before God and this nation to do what you do. But I resent you trying to destroy the Catholicity of the simple and the poor and the elderly by your ways. I’m not going to accept that.

“I’m a Roman Catholic. I’m a Latin rite. I believe in God as Father, creator of heaven and earth. I believe that Jesus is his Son, his only Son. I believe that the Spirit proceeds from Father and Son, that there is a Trinity. I believe that Baptism puts into my heart and soul that wondrous Trinity. It is not an initiation into a club.

“I believe that he died and he suffered and he rose. He rose. It wasn’t the rising of the resurrection of Jesus in the thoughts of men. It wasn’t something we have to remember. It was a physical resurrection. I believe in that, you don’t.

“But you spread your errors to children. And our children don’t even know the Eucharist anymore. They don’t understand that that is the Blessed Sacrament, that that is the body and blood, soul, and divinity of Jesus. Your catechisms are so watered down, they say nothing but love your neighbor. No, you’ve got to love God first. 

“I don’t like your Church. You have nothing to offer. You do nothing but destroy. […] You can’t stand Catholicity at its height, you have to spoil it, as you’ve spoiled so many things in these 30 years. […]

“We’re not going to go for all those crazy things that you’re pushing out as new, and cultural, and American. They’re not American. America was built on God. America was built to trust in God. And you’ve made it pagan. You’ve helped to make this nation pagan.

“Because you have no spirituality that attracts. Your religious orders are going down. You don’t have vocations, and you don’t even care. Your whole purpose is to destroy.

“You’re not builders, you’re destroyers. I’m not going to take that anymore. I am proud to be Roman Catholic.”


anonymous asked:

I'm sorry but can you explain me please 'demiguy' and"demigirl'?

Demiguy: a gender identity describing someone who partially, but not wholly, identifies as a man, boy or otherwise masculine. They may or may not identify as another gender in addition to feeling partially a boy or man

Demigirl: a gender identity describing someone who partially, but not wholly, identifies as a woman, girl or otherwise feminine. They may or may not identify as another gender in addition to feeling partially a girl or woman

Demi is basically part but not fully. Not entirely binary

I feel like people tend to imagine achilles as being big and hairy and muscle-bound but I just want to remind y’all that he apparently spent quite a long time disguised as a girl and nobody could fucking tell?? including Odysseus, who had to trick him into revealing himself, but was apparently not smart enough to figure out which of the beautiful women in front of him was a man in a dress???

so like please consider: petite fine-boned achilles. achilles with killer cheekbones and big dark eyes w long eyelashes. ppl meeting achilles and being all “you’re the one who’s supposed to be a scary warrior?” and then later he he picks up trojans twice his size and flings them across the battlefield and they’re like ‘oh’. achilles being significantly shorter than hector and needing to tilt his head back to yell at him. patroclus being able to sling achilles over his shoulder. patroclus giving achilles piggyback rides. achilles needing patroclus to reach stuff down for him sometimes. achilles being the little spoon. tiny pretty achilles okay

[OQ] Incomplete

He’s on the other side of the threshold when she opens her door, leaning with his elbow pressed up against the frame. He glowers at her, accusation twitching in his pale eyes, and her pulse missteps for several beats. No matter how she’s told herself that this man is nothing more than a stranger, no matter how unmoved she had been by their first (only) kiss, her body still sings when he is near.

“It’s time you tell me everything,” he says, pushing past her into the house without an invitation. “You owe me that much.”

She closes the door, closes her eyes and steels herself for whatever recriminations he’ll aim at her. She’s not undeserving; she knows she hasn’t been fair to him from the start. But it’s getting overwhelming, this continuous demand on her to atone for her errors and yet eternally barred from redemption. She’s let him go, finally accepting that he is not what she was hoping for. Can’t he do the same for her?

“What do you want to know?” Her question is embarrassingly tentative as they settle opposite one another on the sofa. She doesn’t have a caustic retort at the ready as a defense, not like she used to. Not since she ripped that twilight out of her.

His gaze is a weapon, an implement of torture as he glares at her. “Start at the beginning.”

“Of what?” Does he want her story with Robin—the one that isn’t in the book? The one he asked after when the notion of a fresh start still hung between them like a tantalizing will-o’-the-wisp.

He shakes his head, muscles in his jaw flexing. “Of all of it,” he says. “And Regina, don’t leave anything out.”

It’s strange—him threatening her. Her Robin had only done that once, when he thought she might still be on her vengeance quest against Snow. But he’d quickly rescinded his sincere but reluctant warning when she proved to be after another life (her own). He was guileless and she formidable. The roles are now reversed.

She begins with the tale of a young noblewoman in love with a stable boy. She details how a shared secret was the impetus of a lifetime of hatred, of murder. Magic and darkness. And the Curse. He knows much of this already, but is silent as she recounts every pain, ever black deed. She talks about Henry, about the Savior, about grasping at the frail thread of hope that she could change. That she doesn’t have to play the part of monster anymore. She admits to the stumbles along the way. Her mistakes.

She tells him about Robin. This too, he knows about, but his knowledge of his other self has been painted in broad strokes. She adds the finer points now, hoping he’ll understand that she hadn’t lied. Robin did have a good life, despite the adversities he faced—adversities that would have broken a lesser man. Robin hadn’t been a lesser man.

She is aware of her wet face as she recites, in a low, breathy voice, the moment of his death and the subsequent fallout. Roland’s return to the Enchanted Forest. Her grief so opaque that she lost perspective. But instead of lashing out against the happiness of others—happiness she was yet again denied—she tore herself in two. She rid of herself of the monster who was (and is) at the root of all the ills she’s suffered.

When she’s exhausted everything, when she sags at almost boneless against the sofa, Robin glances down and away, sucking the inside of his cheeks. He says nothing for a minute, two, and then finally looks at her. There’s no compassion in his gaze. No empathy. Only indictment and she wants to fold into herself; she wants to shrink, to make herself less of a target for the barbed arrow he’s preparing to fire at her.

“Do you know what I find baffling?” His tone is tempered iron.

She braces herself. She can’t begin to predict what part of her sordid tale has raised his ire. “What?”

He lets out a soft, brittle laugh. “That you thought you’d find a fresh start with me, that I’d somehow become him,” he says, “when you aren’t even the woman he fell in love with.”

Her brows pinch together in confusion. “Of course I’m the same—”

“The hell you are!” Robin’s on his feet. “You literally ripped the darkness out of you, Regina. This—” he gestures at her, “—is just a piece of the woman he loved. A pale shadow.”

She opens her mouth to argue, to explain that she’s exactly the woman her Robin believed she would become, but his doppelganger talks over her.

“He was a good man, I’ll give you that,” he says. “Maybe better than anything I could be. I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t care. Our lives were—are—very different because he got to have Marian and I didn’t. But I will tell you this—” Robin takes a step toward her, forcing her to crane her neck to look up at him, “—before then, before Marian, we were the same man. And I can say with absolute certainty that you, as you are now, couldn’t have loved him. You couldn’t have handled his dark past. You couldn’t even handle it in yourself!”

His words have flayed her open, exposed her, wounded and bleeding. She can’t breathe. She can’t speak.

He makes a derisive sound. “That’s why the kiss meant nothing. I may not be him, but you are definitely not her.”

He leaves her with that parting shot reverberating through her chest. He can’t be right. He can’t be.

But what if he is?

A Mother's Rage

HEY HEY HEY. I’m back with another story in this Series! Can I just say that I fucking love this AU?

Cause I do.

It’s so amazing I swear to GOD.

@virus-arc-tracer is my partner in crime, and she has made designs for Amazon! Damian. (They’re amazing go look at them right now)

And, as always, @fishfingersandjellybabies because without me tagging her she wouldn’t know what happens next in this series and I don’t want that.

Ever.

Anywaysn, here’s the summary!

When it comes down to Damian’s safety and sanity, Diana is not afraid to bloody up her hands with the blood of her son’s biological mother.

Diana doesn’t play around when it came to claiming vengeance.

Enjoy~~~


Diana knows today is going downhill when Bruce takes off his cowl and stares her in the eye with Clark by his side.

Today is not the day for this.

She found a new lead to Talia, and she knows that it won’t last for more than a few hours, so she’d really like to get going now .

“Yes, Bruce?” She asks quietly.

No reply from the Bat. Go figure.

Clark sighs and answers for him, “Diana, you need to calm down.”

“I am calm.” She says, confused at the statement. She is calm, in that state of calm perfect for battle, but still calm.

“No, you’re not. J’onn told us that your mind is too powerful for him to ignore nowadays, especially right before we get news that you’ve tracked down the Al Ghuls again.”

Diana feels that familiar rage curl inside her chest like a dragon. “Yes, and?”

She needs to get moving. Talia should no doubt know by now that Diana knows her location.

Diana simply can’t let this opportunity get away.

Damian should know that his abusers have faced Amazon justice.

Diana will not let her friends take that away from her son.

“I need to go.” She says, the picture of coldness. She whirls around, red cape billowing around her shoulders like a shroud of blood.

“Diana-” Bruce finally speaks, stopping her from leaving the room.

“Yes?”

“You need to stop.”

Diana turns around on her heel lightning fast and marches over to him, slamming Bruce into the wall behind him.

I need to make them pay for what they did. ” She hisses in his face, black hair like storm clouds and blue eyes the lightning.

“What did they do?” Clark asks, gently taking her by the arm and leading her away from Bruce.

“What did they do?” Diana is incredulous. How could they not know?

How could they not be aware?

“By Hera, what didn’t they do?”

Her voice is quiet, and it cracks like fine china in her sorrow. It draws her companions short as they truly look at her. Gone is the fury, gone is the righteous anger. The only thing left is a woman, tired and somber. The only thing left is a mother, heartbroken because her child has been hurt.

The only thing left is Diana, who needs to get revenge for peace of mind.

“Diana-” Bruce tries to put a hand on her shoulder

“No.” Diana twists out of the way and starts to leave, footsteps like a grim goodbye.

“No. I’m sorry. But-” Diana thinks of Damian, of his smiles, and his loving heart. She thinks of when she found him, cold and hurt and not even knowing that it was wrong. “But. They’ve hurt…They’ve hurt him for the last time.”

“Diana, who did they hurt?”

It’s a soft question, and if the room wasn’t so silent, Diana wouldn’t have heard it.

“…My son.”

Diana leaves the two of them shocked and frozen in place as the door clicks shut behind her.



Diana climbs onto her invisible jet, leaving the two males in the dust as she switches it on. The jet soars in the sky, moving at the fastest it has ever flown.

Diana will not rest until Damian’s birth mother pays for her sins.

Through her death .

With gritted teeth, she pushes her jet to the max pushing it to the deserts. She opens the hatch and jumps from the airborne plane, not bothering to land it properly.

Now isn’t the time for a proper landing.

Diana starts running, her sword drawn from its sheath. The Amazon could see the Al Ghul a few feet away, speaking to a group of minions. They would not be a problem for Diana; she has and always will be dealing with worst things.

Right now… Talia Al Ghul is her target.

With a loud battle cry, Diana jumps a couple of hundred feet in the air before, making an attempt swing at Talia. Of course, the Al Ghul’s ninjas duck for cover, but Talia backflips out of Diana’s reach.

Perfect.

Diana lands on her feet, marching towards Talia, whose sword is drawn as well. The other woman looks confused as to why Wonder Woman was attacking her.

“Talia Al Ghul…biological mother of Damian..”

“How did you..?”

“A year ago, you sent your own son to climb treacherous mountains with a broken wrist. ” Diana shouts, thrusting her blade forward, hoping viciously that Talia will dodge.

She did, and that just made Diana that much more eager to fight.

Diana doesn’t want an easy opponent.

How did you know?” Talia screams as she blocks a fatal blow.

Diana feels her lips lift in a beastly snarl. “Because he’s my son .”

The Amazon watches Talia’s green eyes widen with shock before hardening. Her eyes were like the shards of jade that Damian sometimes finds back home.

Before long, the two women exchanged blows to each other, Talia screaming curse after curse at Diana, who let them brush off her shoulders.

A curse of death or a threat of beheading wouldn’t stop Diana from reaching her goal. She will kill Talia Al Ghul and bring her head to Damian to see that he would not have to worry about his actual mother coming to bring him back.

Back to that home, back to that hellish training, back to Ra Al Ghul.

No.

Diana pushes forward using her full strength and watches as Talia’s sword shatters. The Amazon drops her own sword and uses her Lasso of Truth to tie her hands and feet together.

Talia falls to the sand below.

Diana stands above her, grabbing her bloodied sword from where it laid and her cape billowing behind her like a flag of victory.

White teeth flash as she raises her blade, the metal glinting in the desert sun, prepared to kill one part of Damian’s past.

Just as she tenses to swing down, just as Talia closes her eyes, Diana’s comm crackles to life.

“Mother?”

Damian’s young voice stops Diana from the ending blow.

The wind whistles past Diana as she lowers her sword to her side and reaches up to answer. “Yes, Damian?” She says, watching as Talia’s eyes fly open.

“Mother!” His voice is elated, and just like any other time it fills Diana with joy. “Mother, I finished the painting!”

Diana let’s out a weak chuckle. Damian has been working on that for a week. “Good! I’ll see it when I get home.”

“… Mother, when you supposed to be home by now?” Damian’s voice is small, and shakes with untold fears.

Diana checks her internal clock. Oh dear, she was late, “I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

“It’s okay.”

It really wasn’t. Diana had promised to be there thirty minutes ago just this morning.

But her hunt for the Al Ghuls has distracted her from the one person who matters most.

Damian.

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“That's… That’s acceptable.”

Diana smiles, seeing how Talia pulls frantically at the lasso, wild green eyes locked on the small black piece of technology in Diana’s ear. “I love you.”

The answer is immediate. “I love you too.”

“I’ll see you in five minutes.”

Goodbye, Mother.” Damian sounds exasperated as he hangs up and Diana laughs, long pianist fingers tapping the device once and then her hip.

“I suppose I’ll spare you for now.” Diana watches as relief floods features so similar to Damian’s. Diana stares at the other woman for a moment before she slams her foot into Talia’s chest and leans down to murmur into her ear. “But I will be back. Be prepared for when I find you and come for your head.

Diana lifts her foot and and strides away, the lasso trailing behind her and footsteps a final promise of death.


(The gods and goddesses of Olympus look down and grin with teeth that are like knives.

They like the changes the Three Fates have made in their weaving.


It’s delightful)

10

When you’re the Doe uninvited