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catholic-character-tournament · 2 years ago

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Round 1 - Side B

Propaganda below ⬇️

Matt

Matt's faith in the show is really important and well explored; one of the first scenes of the show is Matt going to confession (or, well, talking to his priest since he's not really confessing at that point). Matt struggles a lot with what he's supposed to do; everyone's telling him to kill the villain and he kinda wants to, but he literally says: "I know my soul is damned if I take his life". He struggles with his faith and goes with his doubts to his priest, and it's beautiful—also when he finally gets a costume for his vigilanteing he chooses to dress as the devil, lol. (His priest tells him that nothing makes people run to Church faster than the feeling of having the devil on their heels.)

a lot of the show is about how he justifies his vigilante actions with his faith, and whether he's doing the right thing in trying to help people or just using it as an outlet for his anger. the literal first scene of the show has him in a confession booth talking to his priest (who is a really interesting character too). this is not the scene I was talking about but it's such an excellent scene with matt talking to his priest: https://youtu.be/XHZ3NbEIDdw

canonically catholic but dresses like a demon to be quirky

honestly i dont wanna type too much but i feel that matt is a great example of someone who battles with his faith because he rarely loses his faith but rather fights with why he was made the way he was and put through what he was. He believes himself to have the devil inside him but believes that God put him there

ok in the comics barring the most current run matt has Mostly been a non-practicing Catholic that very rarely actually does any catholic Activities but ends up falling back into the Mindset and very occasionally dramatically taking confession (ex. in that one issue where he takes confession, basically tells the father that he is uniquely terrible and is thinking about violently murdering someone and when the father says "you can be forgiven" hes like "AUGFH-- NO!!!!!!!!!!" and runs out) when he's gone through some shit. and i love that its so relatable

hello its me cct organizer. i have to come clean, i made this tournament because i need matt to win something. i dont think hell win the sadboy and he lost the ginger tournament and >:( hes my favoritest guy ever. Also @ who said he has religious trauma is wrong and i will fight u about it (nicely) on my main @usaigi

This guy so catholic he spends an ungodly amount of time just chilling in the church. And goes there whenever there is a moral conundrum about killing people being Bad even though it would solve a lot of problems and stop said people from killing other people. This happens every other episode. Matt is the Catholic Guilt Guy. There's actually a lot of catholic stuff in the show as a whole. Just a compilation would be like three whole episodes long.

Hes great hes catholic enough to not outrught murder people but not catholic enough to not fuck before marriage hes a bisexual disaster at all times hes besties with a priest might i add hes great hes my special little guy

his catholicism is a huge piece of his characterisation he was raised by nuns in a catholic orphanage, the first scene we ever see him (as an adult and not a flashback) is him going to confession, he is good friend with his priest and has regular debates with him, etc also in s3 he has a huge crisis of faith after he lost A Lot where he stops believing for a while and it's linked to his identity crisis where he actually wants to kill another person (a hard line he previously chose never to cross) and wants to be only daredevil and not matt murdock, when he is both and needs both to exist also when he was a kid his grandmother used to say "watch out for the murdock boys, they've got the devil in them" and it created a surprising lot of his issues

So he's both catholic in the comics and the show but he's More Catholic in the show. Like, raised in a catholic orphanage by nuns (ONE OF WHICH IS HIS *MOTHER*), second scene in the show has him in a confession box kind. Matt Murdock goes out and gets the shit beaten out of him nightly and also beats the shit out of other people and purposefully leaned into devil iconography as his theme. When his nurse friend says, he takes a lot of punishment without one complaint he says "That part's the Catholicism." It is a Core Aspect of his character (at least in the show). He makes me insane. Also the same chemicals that blinded him created the teenage mutant ninja turtles and everyone should know that.

They went to confession to a priest who they had saved as their costumed counterpart and the guy recognized them by the voice, proving that it's possible and everyone else is just dumb

he takes "i wanna fight god" to new and incredibly violent levels, while also being a sweetheart and a goofball

Actually strictly WILL NOT kill criminals. Goes wayyy out of his way to avoid it. Fights with the Punisher about it. Goes to confession booth after nightly vigilante excursions. Feels so much guilt. "How have you been holding up?" "Like a good Caltholic boy" "that bad huh" - actual conversation with his priest

So Daredevil struggles with his mission as a crime fighter because killing criminals goes against his faith. He makes it a point to not kill criminals, believing that even bad people deserve a second chance. This philosophy puts him at odds against The Punisher, who is a relentless killer. As a Catholic myself, while I love the concept of a morally conflicted superhero, I think the worldbuilding around Daredevil is lacking. If he struggles with violence and killing, why doesn't he pray to warrior saints like Saint Michael, Saint Ignatius of Loyola (a former knight), or Saint Joan of Arc? Why isn't there a community of other Catholics he can turn to for guidance, considering New York City has a sizeable population of Catholics? And why are the churches he goes to always empty? Doesn't he know that the Catholic Church supports the just war theory? I think that would have made his burden more bearable.

He goes to church and confesses to punching people and says "imma do it again can i apologize in advance" and the father dude says "no you're meant to stop now" and Matt says "no" and they do this everyday. I'm not remembering it properly but this is a canon interaction i swear

HELLO HI YES I LOVE HIM AND WILL INFOR DUMP ok so. he is a vigalantty and he got named daredevil and he is an orphan and after the age of 12 was raised in an orphanage at a Catholic church and his therapist is his priest via confession abd. also his mother is a nun he has a whole mental breakdown over god and called Job a pussy because he liked god until he got better and liked god again he said "I'm dearedrvil and not even god can stop that now" and he's so cool

matt is a freakish little babygirl who was raised by nuns and definitely has religious trauma. i hate him so much (affectionately)

he’s literally fucking insane about it i don’t know what to say here. he thinks he’s chosen by god to go on some sort of holy quest to save hell’s kitchen. joan of arc ass.

i already know hes in by default j just wanted to give him a personal shout out i love this angsty catholic dweeb

how practicing he is depends on the run, but in my favorite he is quite literally confessing to a member of the last extant order millitant who happens to be a priest at a church in hells kitchen.

i love him for having the funniest version of a trope i usually hate (person gets into confession booth and asks forgiveness not for what they've done, but for what they're about to do). usually this trope just looks silly to me bc like. the priest would just say "i can't do that" and you would have to either awkwardly explain yourself or just Leave. it's funny when matt does it because fr. lantom is probably like "what are you gonna do???" and matt's like "lol. lmao. 😊 hehehe." anyway we love this angry catholic man who dresses up like the devil to beat people up in hell's kitchen

Harrowhark

I'm pretty sure you've already got plenty of submissions for her so I'll just say she was raised in what is basically a cult (technically a nunnery but let's be real) dedicated to keeping the body of the thing that will kill God behind the rock. One of their prayers is actually "I pray the rock is never rolled away". Harrow is extremely devout as penance for her earlier heretical actions in the tomb as a child (spoiler!) so the Catholic guilt really comes through

imagine being a catholic nun and you meet god, but it turns out he’s a twitch streamer from new zealand who became god because everything got a little bit out of hand. and just before you met him you gave yourself a diy grief-fuelled lobotomy with the help of your best frenemy. imagine how insane you’d be. now multiply that insanity by nine. that’s the fictional love of my life right there.

she meets god. she’s not inspired

she’s number one practitioner of space Catholicism. The locked tomb is chock full of Christian (catholic) imagery themes metaphors etc. just look at her she’s got a bone rosary

They're Catholicism with extra bones. Everyone is a nun. They have what is basically a rosary made from knuckle bones. They technically worship the same God as everyone else, but they're waaaay more focused on The Body in the Tomb (Mary) and we get a moment where we find out that while everyone else prays the equivilent of The Lords Prayer, they're doing the equivilent of Hail Mary. And they paint their faces with skulls.

She thinks leaving dry bread in a drawer is taking care of someone. She's in love with a 10,000 year old corpse (the same one they worship). She spent ALL NIGHT digging with her bare hands to make sure a field had bones every 5 feet so she could fight her girlfriend - I mean, greatest enemy. Spoiler territory: She's been puppeting her parents corpses since she was 8 years old. Instead of grieving her dead girlfriend, she gives herself a lobotomy. She makes soup with bone in it so she can use the bone IN THEIR STOMACH to try and kill them.

The author is/was Catholic and the entire series had heavy Catholic overtones. https://www.tor.com/2020/08/19/gideon-the-ninth-young-pope-and-the-new-pope-are-building-a-queer-catholic-speculative-fiction-canon/ A good breakdown of how it's Catholic

#matt murdock #daredevil #marvel #Harrowhark Nonagesimus #The Locked Tomb #cct polls #tumblr tournament #tumblr bracket #tumblr polls

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myargalargan · 6 months ago

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Polin’s Theme in Part 2 (a musical Polinalysis pt 3)

Okay friends, it’s time to talk about chord progressions!

In my first two Polinalyses, I talked mostly about the melody line of their musical theme and what I think it means in terms of storytelling. But the character of the theme the way we hear it in part 2 is completely different from what we hear in part 1, even though there’s only two changed notes in the melody line...

As a refresher, here's the theme as it is in part 1:

And here is the way we hear it in part 2:

I’ve circled the change in red. That's it—just those two measly notes at the end of the phrase.

But if you listen to the score, the part 1 variation has a sort of...thrilling, enticing quality (check out the "Never Been Kissed" track starting at about 1m35s).

While the part 2 variation is warmer. Rounder. More poignant, somehow (check out the track "A Surprise" at about the 20s mark).

So what else is going on besides just the minor change to the melody line? It's really the underlying harmonies that are driving the change in character.

Before we get into what those harmonies are, I wanted to give a bit of a primer on chords… There are seven primary chords in any musical key, and they are named in order—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, then starting over at one again (using Roman numerals)—as you go up the scale. In a major key, the chords are as follows…

Where the I (one) chord is also called the "tonic." I talked a bit about the tonic in my first musical Polinanalysis but basically, the tonic is like the home chord. Music—particularly music from the Western world—is typically a journey that carries us away from the tonic and then leads us back. That journey away from the tonic (and the desire to return) is what creates interest and movement in the music. The journey back brings us satisfaction. If the music never resolves to the tonic, then as we listen, we are suspended in tension and drama. Like a slow burn where no one ever kisses.

If I were to play those chords again but stop on the vii chord…

…then even if you knew nothing about music theory, you might still know, instinctively, somewhere deep down in your core, how good it would feel to resolve back up to the tonic.

(Doesn’t that feel better now?)

So let’s bring this back to Polin’s theme. Let’s listen again, but this time with the underlying chords that make up the harmony (simplified for the sake of analysis).

Here’s the theme as we hear it in part 1…

I’ve labeled the chords beneath each one. Do you see any Roman numeral 1s there?? Neither do I. The theme does not start on the tonic. It doesn’t end on the tonic. Nowhere in that musical phrase do we ever even land on the tonic just for a moment. If the tonic is home, then here we are lost.

Contrast this with the theme as we hear it in part 2…

Lo! We start on the I, we end on the I… After all this time, we are finally home.

Fittingly, the times we hear the theme in full like this throughout part 2 are…

When Colin brings Penelope into Bridgerton house to announce their engagement (ep 5)

During Penelope's confession in the church that she’s loved Colin for as long as she’s known him (ep 6)

When Colin and Penelope exchange wedding vows and their first kiss as a married couple (ep 7)

After Penelope's Lady Whistledown confession, during Colin's speech about how fulfilled he is loving her (ep 8)

And of all the times we hear the theme in full in part 2, not once do we hear it again the way we heard it in part 1—meandering around but never landing on the tonic.

If their theme in part 1 is all about the uncertainty and drama of “will they/won’t they” rom-com tension, part 2 is all about reaffirming, repeatedly over the course of those four episodes, that for Colin and Penelope, they are each other's home.

Not to say that there aren’t other treatments of their theme in part 2 that create tension and uncertainty! But I’ll leave that for my next analysis… ;)

analysis part 1 | analysis part 2

#bridgerton #polin #bridgerton season 3 #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #polin's theme #long post #bridgerton analysis #meta #i spent so much time listening to their theme in part 1 for my other analyses #that every time i heard it during my first watch of part 2 i teared up #i still get so emotional listening to it #polin songs #Spotify

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tonydaddingham · 1 year ago

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i did not break my own heart last night thinking about the missing 1941 scene and have it sat in my brain all of today spinning around like a fucking microwave in order to not make you lot suffer with me. and i somehow feel i may be right about this so buckle up and lets break it down.

so yes, following on from this post, i think that there is going to be a third 1941 scene. twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. it's been literally set up like that by even bringing back 1941 into s2 in the first place. but we're missing a crucial detail because it does not - at all, really - explain how they went from evading danger from hell and having a cosy candlelit bottle of red to celebrate, to the bastard 1967 scene. we all know this, this is nothing new.

the symbolism of nightingales is probably going to cast a shadow on this. these two excellent analyses look at the meaning of nightingales in the context of R&J, and the relation that the song has to this point in time, respectively. in summary; it's a song that should be around in 1941 courtesy of vera lynn and others, and the nightingale itself carries the meaning of love being hidden and forbidden by way of it singing under the cover of darkness, before being replaced with reality and soberness - represented by the lark. the Dinner of '41 scene is set in the bookshop at night; this would parallel - that they are safe and concealed, and truths can be shared, but the writing is on the wall that stepping outside would be to shatter the illusion, so to speak. it might be that the song itself gets miracled up onto the record player, or a wireless lying about - whatever. note: i don't think they'll dance though, not given crowley in ep5, "you don't dance"... but then again, if there ISNT a kiss in s3-1941, an aborted dance seems like the next best option... the cowardly one, but i'll take it

this would also track with aziraphale having his epiphany after the church in s1-1941; specifically, in my eyes, that he doesn't necessarily just realise he loves crowley, but that crowley by way of saving his books loves him too. this is only supported by the whole of the s2-1941 scene of trusting in each other as the only way to pull off the trick, the subterfuge. this is then, again, also important in the context of what i think happens in s3-1941.

i do think aziraphale is going to bring the books up again, and what crowley did, because it needs to be addressed. the Nazis/furfur confrontation has scared him, regardless of whether he saved them both, more than he realised. its put things into startling perspective. i think he's going to bring up the books, and actually question crowley a little more as to why he did it. the repeated use of, and subsequent weird reaction crowley has to, the use of the term "friend" in s2-1941 would indicate that this is going to be a focal point in s3-1941. are they just friends? is crowley disappointed that aziraphale is still referring to him as that, after what he did? 'saving' aziraphale in the church, and then saving his books? or is aziraphale just saying 'friends' so hesitantly in both instances because he's not completely sure where crowley stands?

we as the audience know the answer to this, but they obviously do not. if one of the crucial themes of s3 is going to be resolving miscommunication, it makes sense for this scene to be the first, and last, time they communicate properly... at least, until they sort out the issues that culminated in the Final Fifteen.

so let's say they start getting into a very roundabout way of discussing what they mean to each other. there will need to be the sobering, ice-water-over-the-head realisation however, as s2-1941 demonstrated, that they cannot belong to each other, because they manifestly belong to heaven and hell respectively. crowley is still being spied on, and it firmly places aziraphale in their line of sight too. it's going to bring up the holy water discussion; why crowley asked for it - to protect himself, whether by taking out demons or taking out himself, as long as it means he - and most importantly, aziraphale - does not get hurt.

they actively confess that they want to be together, in a way that is more than they are now. aziraphale wants to, but says that they can't, because it's too dangerous. crowley suggests that no one ever has to know, they can hide it (there, in the bookshop, whilst the nightingale is singing), and even if they are found out, they can run. "hell won't just be angry; they'll destroy you..." // "no one ever has to know".

aziraphale doesn't want to have to hide it, doesn't want a halfway measure- is still thinking in black and white. crowley however thinks that something is better than nothing - thinking in the grey. but ultimately, as long as they are still shackled, they cannot do what they want, and it puts the other in danger. "surely the great thing about being a demon is that you can do whatever you want" // "you sound jealous, angel...". instead, aziraphale promises that the day that they are no longer tied to heaven or hell, they can be together; crowley scoffs, thinking that that will never happen, so they will never happen, "you're so clever! how can someone as clever as you be so stupid?!"

the reason they can't right now is because they could be caught. they would have to skulk around, be ashamed, feel guilty - and aziraphale is tired of feeling like that. because only having crowley in secret would hurt more. not being able hold his hand, or dance with him, or kiss him, unless it was in the bookshop. if hell were to find out, crowley would be killed, true, but if heaven were to find out, aziraphale could be cast out. and if crowley survived hell long enough to see aziraphale fall - he'd never forgive himself, and in a way, i don't think he'd ever forgive aziraphale either.

it's tearing them to pieces, but they have to stop whatever is happening between them in its tracks. it's acknowledged, but it's not named. this gives them plausible deniability; if they called it 'love', it would be undeniable. so, aziraphale asks for crowley to go; asks him to leave before they do something they can't come back from. crowley doesn't listen - crowds him, gets in close, and aziraphale is powerless to stop it. doesn't want to stop it. he's selfish by nature, a selfless kind of selfishness, but he wants this with all his being. and then - "this is too fast, crowley, please don't..." // "im sorry, angel. please... please, forgive me". aziraphale never gets to answer, to grant him that, because boom - the actual first kiss.

so. now that i've had to make you read that, i'm going in for the kill. let's look at everything that follows - and look at how the above might recontextualise it.

1967: the offer of the picnic, the Ritz? ie. the literal lyrics of berkeley square? aziraphale has caved in the interest of giving crowley a weapon to use if all else fails, to protect him, but that's as far as he's willing to progress. everything else is still too painful; he's on the brink of tears, promising that one day they'll be able to do what they want, to be open about how they feel, but not yet. they can't. crowley tries to push, "ill give you a lift, anywhere you want to go..." (him offering again to run away? a second chance to leg it?), and aziraphale reminding him that they can't, he can't... don't make him go too fast again, it's not fair. it also sets up perfectly that aziraphale and crowley don't speak for the next 40 or so years (as far as we're aware) until armageddon is threatened.

bandstand: mostly this is still centred around the apocalypse contextually, but i think with the above hypothetical scene in mind (the offer to hide, to run away, to be together), aziraphale is sent back to remembering their mutual confession that they've nonverbally agreed not to bring up, because it's not safe, and it's too painful. they've skirted around it, and returned instead to a tentative kind of friendship at the beginning of s1, but they're still not safe to address why seeing each other again, being so close to each other and not being able to touch is so painful. anyway - aziraphale refuses their side, but the above scene would re-view this as 'our side can't exist yet, you know this! you know why it can't!', and crowley leaves, again after pushing a bit more than aziraphale can stand.

alpha centauri: basically a facsimile of the above; same steps, same dance. but this time, crowley harks back to aziraphale's foolish (?) hope that they will be together, without having to run away, when the day comes that they don't have to answer to heaven or hell. and aziraphale smacks him right back, echoing crowley asking for aziraphale's forgiveness in kissing him, "i forgive you." crowley knows exactly what aziraphale is getting at, there - he's answering crowley's whispered plea to forgive him for pushing, for trying to force him, for acting in desperation. but he's also not answering that - he's skirting around that very thing, forgiving him like a knife would, slicing back at crowley for not only insulting aziraphale on something that is likely a genuine insecurity of his, but also putting him back in his place, for their safeties, because them being together just cannot happen. not yet.

and "please forgive me" in 1941 might seem out of character, but idk if it is; crowley knows that doing what he's about to do will hurt aziraphale, aziraphale has (hypothetically) told him as much, but he needs to do it - and seeks not benevolence or forgiveness as crowley-the-demon, but actually seems aziraphale's forgiveness, as crowley-the-person. the echo would certainly match the tone given here, in multiple ways:

the ritz: i mean, what is there to say? yes, their song is literally playing on the piano, and heralds the shift in their being out from heaven and hell, the day has finally come where they can - again, going by this entirely hypothetical scene that ive concocted - actually be together as they want to. and the nightingale literally singing outside, but as @shoemakerobstetrician beautifully pointed out, god remarks that it's covered up by traffic. so actually, if we again refer back to R&J interpretation of the nightingale, the love is still hidden, still somewhat under wraps, but can only just about be heard over the noise of the streets outside. the prohibition of them being together, of loving each other, is dwindling. and one day, it'll stop singing altogether. that day is coming, it will come, and then they can do what they please. so whilst the ritz scene may well be a mark of them starting the next chapter, it's slow to take hold, there's still hesitancy - which absolutely makes sense when we see that they are still very tentative with each other come the beginning of s2.

s2 general: aziraphale realises their freedom first; he gets excited by the dance, and being able to show his love to crowley, completely and without barriers, in the form of the ball - what he has read to be the best way to do so. he touches crowley more. he shares his bookshop with him, gifts it to crowley as being his as well as aziraphale's, this safe space that is so wholly theirs that crowley has the power to grant entry. the same with the bentley - aziraphale sees it as theirs, and crowley silently agrees, granting aziraphale the same power. crowley is comfortable in the bookshop to remove his glasses, has a place for them. the bookshop becomes tidier, more minimalist, to make crowley more comfortable in it (it is more cluttered in s1, im certain of it). it might just be the grading between s1 and s2, and lack of clutter, but the yellow is more prominent - his literal favourite colour. everything just screams that aziraphale is ready to make good on his promise from s3-1941.

crowley... for once, is the one not quite catching up. not realising the little dates here and there are literally poses them as a couple (although yes, the coffee shop one is to prep crowley for the goob jumpscare), that aziraphale has granted him the power to grant entry. aziraphale literally asking, practically begging, crowley to help him hide goob. the mf colour of the walls. the colour of the bentley. it's not until nina outright asks him if they are together that he realises how careless they've been - but wait, is it careless if they have nothing to be careful of? well, arguably crowley does, hell are still hanging around him like a bad smell... but this is what he wanted! this is what he was pushing aziraphale for! so, does he risk it? he's not sure, but he's certainly realising that aziraphale is ready, if nothing else. and by the time the ladies stage their little intervention, crowley finally realises that the confession he started in 1941 now can be fully aired, can come out into the open.

the Feral Domestic: *fingers at temples* i know i have been fairly vocal about my interpretation of this scene, and frankly - until we get this hypothetical s3-1941 scene, i stand by it - but let's say this speculation about the scene is true, and re-examine the key points in the Final Fifteen that would completely turn on their heads in terms of meaning:

literally, harking back full circle to what aziraphale promised in 1967 as what they would do when they could fully acknowledge their love, and what they did as soon as - on paper - they were free at the end of s1. this is however before he's spoken to by nina and maggie, so maybe this is what crowley was planning in terms of confessing fully to aziraphale, but after their meddling he realised that yes, they need to actually talk about it again. he doesn't understand why they're telling him what they are - because he's existed so long in gestures and gifts and not talking, literally dismissed it now as a viable option, that it doesn't even occur to him to try talking again.

which is why he does something brave, and tries to tell aziraphale instead (say it out loud, make it undeniable, put a name to it, "i love you", something that i think was crowley's actual intention before aziraphale interrupts him) when he comes back to the shop... he's so nervous, because it's vulnerable, and because the last time he did, they ended up hiding for 50-ish years.

next up:

now, im reluctant to think that aziraphale lied in the Feral Domestic, because i do think the key thing at work is his paramount need to do the Right Thing (ie. make a difference in heaven). whilst metatron obviously manipulates him, im not entirely convinced that aziraphale wholly sees through it. i don't think he knew that metatron was up to something, i think the shaking off of this naivety is going to be part of his s3 character development. but this sentence - again, especially in context of the hypothetical s3-1941 scene - must on some level frighten him. especially if you take this meta into account, aziraphale must realise at least that they were never safe, even when they were denying what they were and how they felt, it didn't make a bit of difference. now, metatron could have just been talking about the arrangement, not referring to any romantic elements of any kind, but the threat of it? no wonder he pushes for crowley to join him in heaven; he could keep crowley safe there. they could be together, and heaven - in his eyes - would be able to say a word against it.

then:

the fear sets in; crowley was too late in telling him, acknowledging that they could be together, realising what aziraphale was saying to him without words, and now heaven has come for him. plonked them right back where they were in s2-1941, but perversely mirrored; instead of hell coming for crowley with violence, heaven came for aziraphale with kindness. crowley doesn't have a magic trick he can just do on the fly, perform it perfectly when the need for it is greatest, and has to cling to the hope that aziraphale still sees them as the barrier to them, the reason they can't be together. and in true miscommunication fashion, i think aziraphale does see it, but what metatron said lingers, and in addition to being inside the institution, changing it from the inside out, in order to make a difference... he knows that whilst it's exactly the opposite of what they wanted, he needs to make them safe. better to be inside the tent pissing out, than outside the tent pissing in.

but aziraphale doesn't tell crowley what metatron said, because instead he either deliberately tries to deny the implications of it (cognitive dissonance king behaviour), or he doesn't want to panic crowley and is trying to convey to crowley that he can't speak his concerns, not when the metatron could still be watching, and instead just needs crowley to trust him, take his hand, and join him in heaven where they can be safe. doesn't tell crowley that heaven hasn't captured him in shackles again, but he's willingly held out his wrists because it's the safest thing for him, and them, to do.

so it's one thing to look at what crowley's saying, but aziraphale's reaction? before, i just found it to be out of confusion, him not really understanding what crowley was saying, but tbh i never paid much attention to it (david stole this bit of the scene - not to put down my beloved michael here, but he did). and i know others have remarked here that aziraphale is flitting his eyes to the window and looks scared and stressed, but i don't completely think that its because he's scared that metatron is watching (although, now, i will accept with the rug thing and hypothetical s3-1941 in context it is definitely playing a part), but also because he's just starting to recognise that this is a repeat of the s3-1941 scene, "this sounds familiar, we've been here before... oh, we've definitely been here before... oh shit. i still can't do this, not unless he comes with me. we still can't be together, not in the way crowley wants. the way he's trying again, now, to ask for."

but the issue is: crowley wants to run away together. again. and i totally get why, but once again, going back to 1941: it's exactly the solution that will not work. they cannot run from this. heaven, and hell, will find them. they will come for them. it wasn't an option in 1941, it wasn't an option in 2019, and it isn't an option in 2023. aziraphale begins shaking his head - crowley is confessing, but a) aziraphale doesn't run from things, it isnt in his character, and b) it's just putting them back where they started - something that they have to hide. it defeats the purpose.

and this? yeah, im sure on neither side it was meant the way im about to interpret it, more of an unspoken thing, idk... but if the bookshop is indeed their place of safety, and is where they (as far as crowley sees it) can speak and keep their love, it makes sense that crowley is telling aziraphale he needs to stay. the bookshop can be interpreted so many ways - it represents their relationship, or that crowley means him, himself - but what if we looked at it like crowley is trying now to covet it, because it's protecting them? what if he's saying, "well, if you won't run away with me, we can't be free to have our relationship as we wanted it, not unless we stay here... heaven has come for you, has come for us, and whilst they're here we can't move. so what other option is left remain in this bookshop? to never leave it, and what we have inside it, because there's no other option in which we can be together if you won't run with me."

and what if aziraphale is saying, "no, i have an option, and that's to be together in heaven! they won't be able to do anything, not when im in the position the metatron has offered me, that can be our new bookshop... nothing lasts forever - this bookshop won't last forever, it's compromised, and we can't continue to secret away what we feel inside it, it's time to move forward."

welcome to the line that breaks my heart the most in this whole goddamn scene - and tbh i think is fairly self-explanatory in the hypothetical s3-1941 context. that aziraphale is trying, once again, to tell crowley that he is offering himself, letting them be an 'us', as crowley says shortly after - that before he couldnt do it, and these arent the best of circumstances, but they can finally do it and not have to hide in the bookshop. but crowley reminds him, "hey, i was in your shoes, remember. i wanted us to be together then, and you told me you couldn't, didn't want a halfway measure - well, now i don't either. and this will be a halfway measure, because i don't think us being together in heaven is going to go the way you hope it will. i understand a whole lot better than you do." in any case, it would explain why aziraphale choses this moment to look so devastated. this is what he promised crowley, but now crowley - to his mind, in the things left Unsaid - doesn't want it... him.

and then... back to the nightingales. they're not singing at all, not even under the rumble of traffic, like they were at the Ritz. they're completely absent - day has broken, the things unspoken have now been said, and there's no denying them anymore. from crowley's point of view, there was nothing to stop them this time, but if aziraphale won't run with him, then they have to go separate ways, because there is no other way. aziraphale knows there's the possibility that the only place they could actually be safe is heaven itself, that the bookshop was never as safe as they hoped it had been, but that crowley might actually come to see that. but the fact that crowley is resigned to just... returning to 'reality', to a world that's still turning where they aren't together? despite everything they've just said? "we could've been... us." well, that hurts.

and then... the kiss. now. im still of the mind that the kiss was an Issue. i definitely think it was meant out of love and desperation, and out of possibly being a goodbye. this would echo the hypothetical s3-1941 kiss... but it was hurtful. it was abrupt, and harsh, and not at all romantic (imo). it was possessive, and almost cruel. i do think still it was a last ditch attempt, a temptation, to get aziraphale to change his mind, before crowley leaves the shop and returns to the 'real world'. but it hurts aziraphale in many different ways - but with 1941 put in there, too? crowley is just testing his resolve, trying to push him, come around to giving in. crowley asked him to forgive him the last time he kissed aziraphale, and this time - this time, aziraphale is giving him what he asked for.

#did i just do a whole ass meta based off of a completely hypothetical non-existent hc of the third part of 1941?#yes - yes i did #but the Implications would not leave my brain #make of this what you will if you even got to the end and if you did frankly congratulations #good omens

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atinylittlepain · 1 year ago

Text

I'm On Fire

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

Hungry Hearts masterlist

warnings | 18+ cursing, smut right out of the starting blocks, young joel is a goddamn menace, a little angst as well

wordcount | 8.5K

a/n | thank you all for reading this series, i really loved writing this part and i hope y'all enjoy - as always, drop me a line and tell me what you think. oh also, obviously you should listen to I'm On Fire while reading this. But, if I could offer a non-Bruce song (blasphemy, I know) for your listening-while-reading pleasure, it would be Fruits of My Labor by Lucinda Williams, it is so goddamn Cherry-coded. Okay, that's all, thank you for reading.

(gif by @santigarcia)

......................................

“Hmm.”

“Cher.” His lips against the bare wing of her shoulder blade, his fingers curling around the sheet to pull it down over her ass, his palm stopping on the curve before slipping up and along the slope of her spine, all the way to the nape of her neck.

“Hmm?” His lips right at the shell of her ear, the whole heat of him draped over her prone body. She can already feel his cock smearing pearled pleasure against her low back.

“We gotta get up.” A kiss to the side of her neck, just under her jaw. She still doesn’t move, keeping her nose buried in his pillow and breathing so deeply it’s just him in her lungs. Sweat and salt and him.

“No we don’t.” His nose skates down the center of her spine, the loss of his presence making her shiver under the weak breeze of the box fan in his window, still morning, still cool before the heat starts to creep in.

“It’s Sunday.” He coaxes her legs apart, completely limp in his hands, so he can settle between them, his palms finding her hips and hitching them up in the air ever so slightly.

“Amen.” His laugh washes over her, still wet, still tender from last night, now spread open for him.

“We gotta get to church.” A kiss to where her thigh meets the crease of her ass, one on each side before his palms spread her open even more, her whole body clenching in anticipation.

“I’m not going.” She tries to keep her voice steady when he noses through her swollen cunt, lips finding her clit in a soft suckle, but her words come out a bit breathless anyways, her face still pressed into his pillow.

“No? Not going?” He speaks with his mouth still so close that she can feel the low thrum of it in her pelvis, resisting the urge to buck her hips back to seek out more of that burn.

“Nope.” He does it again, letting his jaw go slack and putting the open heat of his mouth flat over her cunt, tongue dragging heavy and straight through her. She wonders if he can taste himself, still slipping out of her, still a bit sore, so she blindly reaches back, finding the crown of his head and tugging. A low mumble, need it gentle, need it slow, because we weren’t either of those things last night.

“We have to go, Cherry. People will talk.” His palm wide over her ass, he uses his thumb to keep her spread for him, dipping his tongue into her clenching hole, kissing it better. Always aching, always dripping, always so blisteringly ready for him. She starts to hum into his pillow.

“Don’t care.” She cries out when he slips two fingers inside her, too much, tears with how too much it is, though she still rocks back against his hand when he slowly pumps deeper.

“Tough girl doesn’t care, huh?” She’s starting to sweat, spit pooling under her tongue, open mouthed and dripping onto his pillow in a silent whine when he crooks his fingers against that spot, that spot he likes to tease and toy with so much, that spot that would’ve had her leg kicking out behind her if his other hand didn’t have a firm grip around her thigh to keep her on her knees, her hips up high and quivering.

“None of them matter.” He works her until she’s starting to twitch with it, broken little sounds in the back of her throat that turn into a dejected sigh when he pulls away, leaving his hand on the small of her back, the slick coating his fingers cooling and sticking against her skin.

“That right?” Not gone for long, she preens when she feels the thick heat of his cock slip through her aching cunt, her spine stretching out long and languid, a perfect arc that he curls over as he splits her open. It hurts, good hurt, stretching hurt, her eyes scrunching shut, so sensitive still. He shushes her groans, pressing his lips to her temple, coaxing her face to turn and seek out his in a kiss that tastes like herself, her eyes still closed tight.

“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t really pull out, just ruts his hips deeper and deeper against the curve of her ass and it’s so much, so early, all she can do is take it, slack and simmering at the same time.

“Do I matter, Cher?” One hand pressed against her belly, palm splayed out over softness, the other wrapping around her torso, palming the weight of her breast as he hoists her up against his chest, limbless and keening in his grip, her head falling back on his shoulder.

“So much.” He holds her, suspended, strung and taut in his hands as he fucks up into her, his nose dragging along the line of her jaw.

“So much?” It’s all she can do to reach her hand back and grip his ass, that tight clench of muscle as he grinds his hips against hers. His hand that had been clutching her breast drags up to rest over the front of her throat, thumb and forefinger framing her jaw to tilt her head toward him, a silent ask that she obliges, her eyes finally slipping open to look at him.

“The most.” Good morning, what a sight. His hair sticking up all which ways, sleep still heavy and dark around his eyes, his lips parted and shiny with her and the quick pink of his tongue. His fingers pinch at her jaw, opening her up for him to lick into her mouth. He mouths at her like he’s trying to swallow up the high little cries he keeps punching out of her with the way he’s keeping her so full of him, throbbing and dripping down her thighs. And it still hurts, still fucked out, raw and red and reeling, but this is all she wants lately, to have him so deep that she knows she’ll be thinking about him for the rest of the day.

“Just want one, Cher. Then we gotta– fuck– gotta get to church because we-we’re both going to hell at this rate.” That makes her laugh into his mouth, Joel cursing low when her cunt clenches around him, a brutal drag.

“You and me, baby.” She knows exactly what she’s doing by saying that, that little word that seems to make his brain fry. She saves it, rations it, only letting it slip up her throat on spare occasions so he doesn’t get too accustomed to it, so he still reacts like he does now, his eyes scrunching shut, pained pleasure, and his hips snapping against her ass a little harder. His hand slips a little lower from where it was splayed against her stomach, finding her clit in a greedy swirl. And it isn’t long before her spine is stringing so tight that the stick of her skin pulls away from his chest, a sharp gasp of his name before everything turns liquid.

Even as he continues to fuck into her, he’s gentle, so gentle guiding her down in her slump back onto her stomach, holding her hips up with his hands curled around her waist. His warmth starts to spread inside her with a quiet groan, hips close and jolting against her, his face pressed between her shoulder blades before he slackens on top of her entirely. She likes the weight of him, the whole body press down into his mattress, pushed and pulled by his breath battering against hers in their ribs. Always missing it when he presses his palms into the mattress to lift his torso up and off of her, still inside her, starting to soften and spill. He traces a finger from the side of her cheekbone along the curve of her ear, a silent ask that makes her turn her face to the side so he can dip down and find her mouth with his.

“For the record, I don’t wanna go either.” Another kiss, just a quick, smacking thing before he rolls over beside her, flopping down onto his back and dragging his hand through his muss of hair.

“I know.” She props up on her elbow, her cheek in her hand so she can look at him, reaching out because she can, letting her thumb slide gently beneath his lashes because she can, his cheek rounding under her ministrations.

“Ma would throttle me if I didn’t.” He tilts his chin up, lips to the pad of her thumb, and then teeth just to get a laugh out of her.

“I know.” Said on a long sigh as she finally turns over and sits up in bed, Joel’s palm immediately finding her spine, running the length of it, fingers curling over her shoulder at the top before slipping back down.

“And your parents, well.” He doesn’t finish the thought, well coming out long and low on an exhale. She silently thanks him for not finishing the thought, looking at him over her shoulder, small smile before she gets out of bed, his eyes trailing her bare body as she shuffles around the room, the remnants of him already starting to slick down her thighs. His hands are crossed behind his head, young muscles tensing in his arms, suddenly seemingly content to stay splayed in bed while she puts on the dress she had packed last night for church. Her parents think that she’s sleeping over at Lisa-Anne’s house. She’s been sleeping over at Lisa-Anne’s house a lot lately.

“C’mere, Cherry baby.” She ignores him, padding into his bathroom and running her fingers back through her hair a few times, good enough. Joel has turned over onto his side to watch, a low rasp of singing that she has to roll her eyes at.

Cherryyyyyy, cherry baby

Mmm, you look so fine

I’m gonna make you miiiine

“That’s not even how the lyrics go.”

“No?”

“No.” She knows that she’ll break if she actually looks at him, so she keeps her eyes pointedly focused on slipping the kitten heels her mother insisted on getting her for church onto her feet while Joel huffs at her cold shoulder.

“Come teach them to me then, Cherry baby.” She finally breaks, and of course he’s smiling, his dimple deep and endearing and annoying.

“Joel, get up. You’re the one that was so worried about being late to church.” He scoffs, slumping back down into the sheets with all the drama of a swooning maiden. She’s going to have to use a different tactic.

“I’ll do that thing you like so much later if you get dressed right now.” His whole torso shoots back up at that, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Today?”

“This afternoon, yeah, after we atone for our sins.” He’s already up and stumbling into the bathroom, his bare ass giving her quite the show.

They drive separate, of course, and they’re both still ten minutes late to church.

…

She’s on the phone when she answers the door, her eyes lighting up, big smile even as she keeps talking, tilting her chin to welcome him into the front hallway.

“Well, I don’t have twenty thousand more words for you yet, and since when are we on some insane time crunch anyways?” He can’t help smiling watching her, pacing a little back and forth, a deep pull to her brow as she fires off sharp words down the line.

“Look, I can’t tell you when it’s going to be done, you know I don’t work like that.” She holds up her finger to him, mouthing one minute. He nods, staying right where he is as she pads further into the house, still muttering into her phone. His eyes start to wander, looking into what must be the living room off to his right, awash in full light from the large windows in the front. To his left is a staircase, pictures already hanging along the hall opposite it. Mostly of her and Ellie, one sending a particular pang though his chest. It’s her holding what must have been Ellie as a toddler, all bundled up, her tiny cheek pressed against Cherry’s, rounded with smiles. They’re standing in front of a huge Christmas tree, that one they put up every year in New York, he recognizes. Cherry couldn’t be more than twenty-four, maybe twenty-five in the picture, still so young.

“What’re you doing here?” He whips around to see Ellie coming down the stairs, death glare in fine form this morning as she comes to stand in front of him with her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed.

“I’m gonna be fixing the porch.”

“That better be all you’re fixing, old man.” Absolutely no clue how to respond to that, and luckily he doesn’t need to because Cherry is coming back down the hall, no phone in hand this time.

“Hey, babe, carpool is gonna be here soon, have you had something to eat yet?” He feels like he shouldn’t get to see this, their quiet rush of a morning routine, Cherry already flitting away into what he assumes is the kitchen as Ellie groans that she isn’t hungry this early, Cherry back just as quick with a banana and a just humor me, please when she hands it to the kid. And then the phone rings again and Cherry groans, quick kiss to Ellie’s forehead which she scoffs and squirms out from under as Cherry darts back down the hall to pick up whoever is calling. Ellie meanwhile shoulders on a backpack and opens the front door, but not without turning around to shoot Joel one more look.

“I’m watching you, old man. Even when I’m not, I am.” She points a sharp finger at him, though he has no time to respond to that either, Ellie shouting a quick love you, mom down the hall which is easily answered by Cherry’s love you, babe, have fun before the kid is out the door with a hard slam. Joel already feels exhausted, and he’s only been here for all of five minutes.

He decides that it’s okay to shuffle a little further into the house, following the sound of Cherry’s voice, still rattling off rapid fire to whoever she’s talking to on the phone. He hovers just in the doorway of what he assumes must be her office, sparsely furnished, just a desk with one of those fancy new Apple desktops on it and a slew of pens and notebooks surrounding it. Still a tall stack of boxes in one corner, though there’s already a shelf built and packed with books along the wall.

“No, no, no, we tried to get her to do the cover art for the last one, and it was a complete fucking mess. I don’t– why are we even talking about this? The book is nowhere near finished yet– this is actually ridiculous. You know what the best thing you could do for me right now is? Leave me alone so maybe I can actually get some work done. Okay? Great, thanks so much, bye.” He winces at how hard she shuts her cell phone. But when she turns around to look at him, the scowl on her face melts into more of a resigned grimace.

“Sorry about that.”

“If it’s a bad time, Cher, I can come back another day.” She’s breezing right past him, always at a clipped pace it seems, and all he can think is that he should probably be following behind her and into the kitchen, so he does, albeit a little tentatively, not wanting to disrupt whatever warpath she seems to be on.

“No, it’s a perfect time, I swear, I will throw my phone in the garbage disposal if anyone else calls me.” She has a hand held up, as if she’s trying to remember something and pointing one finger into the air will help, her eyes scrunched shut. Honestly, she looks completely fritzed, taking a few steps toward the refrigerator, then seeming to change her mind and walk back over to him where he’s standing in the doorway.

“Right, the porch, sorry, let me just get my brain out of my editor’s ass and–” He cuts her off with a hand on her bicep, easy, friendly. He can do friendly.

“Cher, really, it’s okay, I have all day.” She finally seems to take a breath that makes it past her throat, that frantic tilt in her eyes already starting to smooth.

“Is Sarah’s team doing the whole bonding thing today too?” He nods, sharing a quick smile with her, and then remembering that no, not friendly to just keep his hand on her bicep and no, there is no non-awkward way to retract his hand, though he does his best.

“So the porch, what am I working with here?” She leads him out to the backdoor and he finds that he’s working with exactly what she described. The planks are all rotten, pock-marked and fraying, a complete hazard. He doesn’t even try to walk on it, it's that bad.

“Well, what do you think?” She says it with the corner of her thumbnail worrying between her teeth, leaning in the doorframe beside him.

“I think you’re gonna need a whole new porch, Cher. Just looking at it, I can tell you right now that none of this is safe to salvage.”

“That sounds expensive.” Not for you, he’d like to say. Not anything for you. But he can’t say that because then she’d never let him do it in the first place.

“Nah, it’s easy stuff. Maybe a few days, but really, not major at all.” Her eyes scan out over the porch, and he can practically see the gears turning in her head.

“How much do you think, altogether?”

“Uh, well–”

“Joel, no.”

“What no?”

“No, I know what you’re doing, and I’m not gonna let you undersell your work just because it’s me.”

“Friends and family discount, Cher.” There is no friends and family discount. His uncle asked them to build a new addition to his house last year and the Miller brothers were happy to charge him full price, just good business.

“I want you to tell me how much it would be if I was just some random person that hired you.” If it gets her to drop it, he’ll indulge it, he’ll just leave out the fact that he’s never going to accept a single dime of it.

“Well there’s the cost of materials and labor to consider. I could probably get this done over three or four days. You’d be looking at anywhere from four to maybe six thousand dollars.” She nods, working her jaw as she squints out at the porch again before finally holding her hand out to him, though it takes him a beat to realize that she’s looking for a shake.

“Alright, sounds like a deal. And I will be paying full price, just so you know. I’ll send the check to Tommy if I have to.” He’s still holding her hand in a ridiculous shake, nodding along even though he’d throttle Tommy if she really did that.

“Whatever you say, Cher. So am I good to go ahead and get to work out there?”

“Yes, yeah, absolutely, it’s all yours to have at it–” She’s cut off by the sound of her phone ringing in the other room, her whole face scrunching up at the sound.

“Sorry, I just– well, you know your way around the house, right?” She’s already shuffling down the hall toward her office.

“Yeah, I think I can manage, don’t worry about it, Cher.” Her phone is still ringing as she leans out of the doorway of her office, smiling at him, all apologetic.

“Thank you, so fucking much. If you need anything I will most likely be in here for the rest of the day.” She slams the door behind her, and he figures that’s where Ellie gets it from.

…

She almost didn’t return to the auto shop, wan and worn out from what being ten minutes late to church got her, a sharp look from her mother when she slid into the pew next to her, the least of hers worries when she got home after the service. Her parents, so hell-bent on everything being prim and perfect and in its right place, and god forbid anything ever be not that. Nothing prim and perfect about it, really.

She parks at the back of the shop, her usual spot, a quick swipe of her knuckles under both of her eyes, sniff, a bit stiff. She can’t believe that after all this time, this stuff still manages to make her cry. She wishes that it didn’t.

He’s finishing up for the day. She always comes around just when he’s punching out, hovering around the front office, usually a little giddy with it. But tonight she only feels a tired anticipation, trying to get herself ready to be okay for him, when really all she wants is to lay down and be very still for a few hours. She can’t do that though, because he’s there, covered in grease with his ball cap hanging out of the backpocket of his coveralls, all smiles when he sees her through the window of the front office looking in on the garage, laughing and getting ribbed by the other men he works with when he sends her a little wave. She waves back, trying to make a smile happen, though she sees that it looks more like a wince in the reflection of the window. But then he’s really there, coming through the front office, keeping his hands to himself when he smacks a quick kiss to her cheek on his way to the sink to wash up, his neck craned to look at her even as he does. And he’s singing again, and she doesn’t know why, but it’s making her throat curl up tight and hot with tears all over.

Cherryyyyy, cherry baby

Cherryyyy, can you come out tonight

She blinks hard to hold back the salt, trying to make another smile happen as he walks over to her, taking her bag from her shoulder into his hand. And she knows he knows that something isn’t quite right, his brows falling, a barely there question that she’s grateful he doesn’t ask, tugging on her hand to lead her up the back stairs to his apartment above the shop.

“Just gonna get a quick shower, but then I’m all yours.” A small kiss to her lips, she just nods, worried that her voice will give her away, so quick to fall apart under his gaze. While he cleans up in the bathroom, she sits down on the edge of his bed, steepling her hands along her temples, her elbows resting on her knees. It’s a small thing of an apartment, one room, a bed in one corner, and what could be called a kitchen in the other, counter and refrigerator and an ancient looking stove. A small table with two chairs tucked into another corner, and a dresser she knows came directly from his childhood bedroom in the other. The simplicity is soothing to the dull throb settling under her skull.

The shower squeaks off and she hates that she takes a deep breath as if to brace herself for his presence again. He’s quiet padding out of the bathroom, she only feels the slight dip of the mattress as he crawls up behind her, the smell of that irish spring soap he uses washing heady and heavy over her mind when he presses a kiss to the top of her shoulder.

“What’s going on, Cher?” It always shocks her, how quiet he can get, usually all brass and brash, and it certainly doesn’t help the whole not crying thing either.

“I know I said– this morning– um, I know I said that I’d– that I would–” Her fists are clenched so tight in her lap that she thinks her fingernails might break skin, trying and failing to get the words out before the flood comes. But Joel is already springing into action, coming to sit next to her on the edge of the bed, nothing but a towel around his hips, collecting both of her hands in his, unfurling them in his.

“Hey, hey, what’s– what is it? What’s wrong?” Just a few, enough for her vision to start to cloud with them, though she can still see the way he ducks his head down to catch her gaze, his brow crumpled and a deep frown pulling at his lips. She takes one of her hands from his to pinch the bridge of her nose, trying to cut off the tears before they can really start falling.

“I think I’m just tired. I’m sorry, Joel. Would it be okay if we, um, if we just–” He squeezes her hand, a relief in its quiet reassurance.

“Why don’t we just lay down, Cher, huh? It’s too hot out for anything else anyways.” She mumbles a warbly okay, but he’s already up and rummaging through his dresser, pulling on a pair of boxers before digging out a shirt for her as well, because she’s still in the stupid dress from this morning, only now realizing how badly she’d like to claw it off right now.

Finally, they settle down around each other on the mattress, only the sparsest of clothing, the sheets kicked off the end so they can stay close even with the humid warmth in the air. And after dozing for an hour or two like that, letting that thick crush of tears dissolve itself with her cheek smushed against his bare chest, she lifts her head up to meet his half-shut eyes.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Cher.”

“Do you ever think about leaving?” He drags his finger down the line of her nose, then back up and over the arc of her eyebrow, idle and easy.

“You mean– like leaving town?”

“Yeah, getting out of here.”

“Sometimes, a lot less than you do, I bet.”

“Sometimes it seems like it’s all I think about.” Joel lets out a long sigh at her words, his finger continuing a random path along her jaw, over her bottom lip, mismatched mapping.

“I know it is, Cher.”

“Do you think I could do it? Just not come back?”

“I know you could. Go and be a big time writer and all that.”

“You could too, you know.” Joel snorts, and she brings her palm down on his chest, a small don’t.

“Yeah right.”

“You could. There’s auto shops in the big cities too, Joel.”

“I don’t wanna work in an auto shop for the rest of my life, Cher.”

“What do you wanna do?”

“I’m still figuring that out.” She hums, pressing a kiss to his chest, her bare legs shifting in their tangle with his.

“Would you do it with me?” It comes out, bubbles up from her chest before she can stop it. And she only realizes how badly she wants it after she has asked it. How quickly this has turned into the only thing she wants, her mind finally catching up with everything else. How somewhere along the way, nothing serious, just for the summer, became something else entirely.

“Do what?”

“Leave and not come back, with me.”

“Cherry.” Said long and low, like don’t tease, not this, please don’t. It makes her sit up a bit more so she can fully look at him..

“I’m serious, Joel.” Yes, she thinks, she is really, really serious about this. So serious about this it feels like her heart might split at the seams if he tells her anything other than yes. Joel still looks skeptical, unsure, his head tilted and his brow furrowed up at her.

“Like, now?”

“No, at the end of the summer, two weeks from now. Just come with me when I go back to college.”

“And what, Cher? You’re gonna tuck me away in your dorm room or something?” She hates that now is the time he chooses to be such the pragmatist, frustrated heat creeping up her throat as she lets her nails scratch lightly against his chest, as if she might be able to coax something else out from behind his ribs.

“We’ll get an apartment. I’m eligible to work as a TA next year, and you’ll find work too and then– and then I only have two more years left of school and–”

“Are you really serious about this?” He has finally sat up with her, stopping her ramble into the future with his palm cupping her cheek.

“I’m so serious, Joel.”

“We’d be dirt poor.”

“Probably.”

“We’d probably kill each other after a month of living together.”

“It’s possible.”

“Goddamn it, why am I actually considering this?” That makes a laugh burst from her chest, her smile curling against his, her forehead pressed against his.

“Just say that you will, Joel, please.” He takes a kiss from her, then another, then another until there’s no space between them, mouths moving mouths and sighs being swallowed and his hands coaxing her into his lap, holding her as close as he can.

“You really want to do that– with me?” There it is, that smallness, that youngness, his eyes wide and rounded and looking at her and only her. Asking for something, anything from her. She gives him only the truth in return.

“I wouldn’t want to leave with anyone else but you.”

…

It’s impossibly hot out, humid too, and by the time one o’clock rolls around, he’s doing less actual work and more swiping away sweat before it drips into his eyes. Though he’s pleased with the progress he’s made, having already broken down the dilapidated porch, a huge pile of scrap wood all that remains of it, not much more to do now until he gets the materials needed to start building.

“Cher?” He knocks on her office door, still shut, and he reckons it’s been shut since she slammed it earlier that morning. He thinks that he can hear the faint sound of typing, a small curl of guilt in his gut that he’s interrupting, but he knocks again, a little louder, the typing coming to an abrupt stop.

“Hey, how’s it going out there?” She’s wearing glasses, thick, square frames that hang low on her nose, peering at him over the top of them. It stops his mind short for a moment, something new that he tries to quickly tuck away, but she still seems to catch his stuttered moment, her smile turning slanted as she pushes the glasses up and into her hair.

“Readers, can you believe that? I’m not even forty and I need readers. My doctor says it’s because I press my face too close to the screen while I’m writing, so chalk it up to occupational hazard I guess.” That makes him smile with a quick string of memories, her when they were kids, curled over her notebook with her nose pressed right alongside the quick scrawl of her pencil. Maybe not so new then.

“Reckon I’ll need them soon too.”

“Well, I’ll give you a pair of mine when you do, I have about a dozen of them scattered in various places around the house.” She sighs, a glance over her shoulder to her computer, screen still on, mouse still blinking, and he remembers what he actually came to bother her for.

“Just wanted to let you know that the old porch is all broken down. I’ll have one of the guys come by and pick up all the scrap in a day or two. Next step will be you deciding on what kind of wood you want the new one built with.”

“Oh wow, you moved fast, huh?” He palms the back of his neck, just a bit bashful under her wide eyes and small praise. But then he realizes that he just showed her the huge sweat stain under the arm of his t-shirt, quickly dropping his arm back down with a shrug.

“It’s nothing, Cher, that wood was so rotten most of the work was already done for me.”

“Thank you anyways, seriously, I– oh shit, is it really one already?” He realizes that she’s looking over his shoulder at a clock hanging on the wall outside her office, another long sigh deflating her shoulders.

“I can’t believe you’ve been working this whole time, Joel. Jesus, it’s so hot out– here–” She’s already on the move, and he just barely keeps up on her heels and into the kitchen. Whatever this is, this frantic and flighty energy, it’s definitely new. His protests fall on deaf ears as she bangs and barges around the kitchen, filling a glass with ice and water and–

“We don’t have much to eat, and I know you aren’t exactly interested in tofu but–”

“Cher–”

“There’s a new sandwich place that I saw opened down the street? I forget the name but I could–”

“Cher, I–”

“I always have eggs in the fridge, not exactly lunch but–”

“Cherry.” Just enough volume, enough firmness for her to stop in her tracks, still that flustered look on her face, and it confirms what he had suspected.

“Are you– are you nervous about something?” Another long sigh, the tense lift of her brow slackening as she hands him the glass of water, finally slowing down.

“Do you want the truth?” He can’t help the short bark of laughter that comes out at her question, though she seems dead serious, looking up at him from under a rather timid pout.

“I’d prefer it, yeah.”

“It’s gonna sound stupid.”

“Try me, Cher.” She rounds the kitchen counter to stand in front of him. He swears his heart jumps and jolts into his throat when she picks up one of his hands in both of hers, turning over his palm. He doesn’t dare move, not a muscle, watching the way her lashes drop down to her cheeks from the way she keeps her eyes focused on his hand.

“Well, I– oh, you have a splinter in your palm.” He is so completely uninterested in the fact that there’s a splinter in his palm right now, willing her to get back to whatever track she was just on, but she’s already tugging him by his hand through the house and up the stairs and into a bedroom, her bedroom, he thinks, and finally into her bathroom. And there’s no real thought formed in his mind as he watches her rummage in her medicine cabinet for tweezers, just that tightness in his throat and the strange kick in his chest.

“Alright, quick pinch.” Something that a mother would say, his eyes prick with it, and not because of the swift pull of the splinter coming out of his palm. And she’s so close, her chin tucked down to look at his hand, her forehead almost grazing his. And her hand that isn’t daubing disinfectant into his palm is cupped so lightly beneath his own, her thumb stroking along the side of his. A small whisper of that’s better, though he doesn’t let her flit away when she’s finished, turning his hand to lace his fingers with hers. Her eyes stay focused on their hands, but he ducks his head down to finally catch her gaze.

“Now what’s got you so nervous, Cher?” Quiet, something that she taught him how to do first, before Sarah did. How quiet he could be for her, and what a gift it was.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Joel, you.”

“What did I do?” The small curl of a smile, somewhere in the sway his forehead has pressed against hers so he can feel the ghost of that curve against his own.

“You’re here, in my house.”

“Do you want me to leave?” So light, so barely, her nose brushing along the line of his. His eyes flutter shut with the sigh she lets out.

“No, I very much do not want you to leave.” A fleeting thought, how easy this was two decades ago. How easy it was to reach out for her and now, now it takes every strung snap of his heart pulling and pulsing to close that space. But when he does, the world doesn't stop spinning, there is no orchestral swell. In fact, he can hear a car alarm going off outside. And it isn’t exactly good either, because the moment his lips brush hers, she is just as soon jerking her head away, a quiet curse in the back of her throat. Not exactly the reaction he was looking for.

“Shit, Cher, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–”

“No, no, that one is on me. I just– could you– could we–” She takes another deep breath, like she’s trying to stop herself from tripping over any more words. He’s happy to fill in the rest for her.

“Try again?”

“Yeah, please.”

This time, he thinks it through a bit more. He brings his hand that isn’t held in hers to the side of her neck, his fingers curling around her nape, something steady to smooth out her fret. Nothing like this, not in years, though he wills himself to remember. A small one to the corner of her mouth, still an out, a chance to decide that no, big mistake, because if this goes any further, he doesn’t know if he could take no without falling to pieces. But she doesn’t pull away this time, her palm coming to splay against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt, the smallest tug to come closer.

The next one is good. The next one is a shared sigh, a yes, please, this. Missed this. Missed the soft puff of her breath against his mouth before pressing his lips to hers. Missed that sound, that broken little thing in the back of her throat when he slips his tongue along her bottom lip. Missed the way her jaw hinges, opening up to him easy. Yes, he thinks, this feels easy. Like they never stopped.

Neither of them speak, silent understanding in the shuffle of their feet, knees bumping into each other as they stumble out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. He should be more careful, he should be less greedy. He should, but. But she’s here, and she’s pressing the perfect length of her body against his, and she keeps kissing him, surprising him when she pulls away only to put her lips in that one patch of his beard that has never grown right, holding her mouth there like yes, she has always been right there.

So he grows greedy with it, his hands almost unsure of where they would like to start first. Her hips, holding the frame of them, feeling that presence before his palms slip up under the hem of her t-shirt, warm skin and the notches of her spine, known and unknown at the same time. And he thinks to himself that it must be a New York thing, this no bra streak she seems to be on, but he’s happy for it, makes it easier for his palms to spread out over the planes of her shoulder blades, the fragile flutter of bone and muscle as she circles her arms around his shoulders. Her fingers slip under the neck of his t-shirt, seeking out skin the same as him, and suddenly that little worry, that little fear creeps in. He could excuse it as insecurity, that would be easiest, so he does.

“Cher, I– I’ve been working all morning and I’m pretty sure I smell and–” The words fizzle out in his throat when her nails scratch along his shoulder blades, holding him in place as she noses along the line of his neck, her lips coming to rest just beneath the hinge of his jaw. Still surprising him, she ducks her head down, pressing her face into his chest, an inhale that feels deeper from the rise and fall of it against where his palms are still splayed on her back.

“Joel, I really don’t give a fuck about that.” No, no retreat, not now, her small nod enough for him to take a little more, to keep going. She wants this too. Wants him too. And maybe, maybe she never stopped. Because she’s moving like him, desperate like him, searching like him, so maybe like him, she never stopped.

Each article of clothing is asked after. Is this okay? Yes, please, yes. Still okay? Yes, still okay, please, yes. Until she’s bare and so is he, and it’s the same, and it’s so very different. His palm settles wide over her stomach, fingers slipping down along the dark scar just over her pelvis, her breath tensing and catching there as he does.

“Ellie was a c-section.” She says it shy, her eyes focused on where her hand is curled around his bicep.

“That right?”

“Hmm, nothing ever easy with that one.” He smiles against her temple, his palm dragging up, settling at the curve of her breast, earning a laugh from her when he squeezes just a little mean. Up even further, to her shoulder, to that tattoo, that blooming branch of a cherry tree.

“When, Cher?”

“Three years ago, and this one–” She pulls his hand down the side of her body, all the way to her thigh where the bundle of chrysanthemums is inked.

“Two years ago.” He likes that it was so recent. The small, childish part of his brain does, at least. That she was still thinking about it, that she wanted to keep thinking about it. Something big and proud pressing against his ribs, just so to make him bold enough to coax her back and down onto her bed.

He keeps his palm on the chrysanthemums, only removing it once he has settled on his stomach between her legs, quickly replaced by the open heat of his mouth, dragging along each dark bloom.

“You’re bigger, Joel.” His first instinct is to turn sheepish under her gaze, nearly ready to tell her that actually, he’s doing Atkins. But then he gets a better look at her expression, the heavy droop of her eyes and the soft, small part of her lips. And she’s looking at him, all at him. He puffs up with that look, coaxing her thighs over his shoulders, only wanting it to ache a little with how wide he has her spread open.

“Can I?”

“Please.” All the nerves he remembers from two decades ago, anxious to do it right, to make it right for her. Though that’s tempered beneath the throbbing want he feels, no room to be bashful when he’s hurting so bad for it. And no room to be precious about it either, dragging the flat of his tongue through her cunt, a groan already crackling in the back of his throat when she says his name like a sigh, long and languoring. He stills remembers her fingers in his hair, and he can’t help the way his eyes flick up to her face, brow pulled down deep and wanting, trying to ask for it without having to as he sucks and laps at her clit. And when he pulls his mouth away enough to spit on her swollen sex, only to chase right after it with his tongue, pressing into her clenching entrance with his jaw dropped and heavy, she finally gives him what he wants, her fingers threading through his hair to cup the back of his head. A light tug, always in charge.

“Like that– so good like that– fuck.” That’s another thing he’s noticed, a new habit she must have picked up along the way, her words a little crasser, a little more swearing mixing with everything else. It both shocks and delights him that her bite got bigger through the years.

His hips have started to jolt into the mattress like a damn teenager, but he can’t help it, not when he’s watching the way the tendons in her neck arch and jump as he slides one finger into her cunt, quickly followed by a second when she preens more, please, more. He rests his cheek on her thigh, a kiss to the crease of her hip as he fucks her open on his fingers, that close curl he remembers her liking making her stomach clench and her back arch.

“Look at me, Cher, please.” It feels more like a need than a want, to have her eyes on him, to make this real, and he’ll beg for it if he has to, but her eyes are already cracking open, still half-shut, the downturned fan of her lashes barely lifting. But she’s looking at him, her lips parting as she watches him press his mouth over her clit, holding steady swirling heat and pressure, chasing down her pleasure for her.

“Baby– I want– I want– I–” He didn’t know he was waiting to hear that, how badly he wanted to hear that, has been wanting to hear that. And now it’s all he wants, that word, from her, over and over and over. He smooths his other palm out over her pelvis, holding her steady even when she tries to curl back into the mattress, away from the insistent press of his fingers and the heat of his mouth.

“Say that again, Cherry. I’ll give you everything you want if you just say that again for me.” Her head is tilted to the side, her ear almost on her shoulder as she looks down at him, her face crumpled somewhere between hurt and want. But it smooths out all at once, and he knows she knows, an I got you in the small smugness of her slanted smile.

“Baby, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Who is, Cher?” His words slur hot and heavy over her clit, and he can feel the muscles in her stomach jump beneath his palm.

“You–” She cuts herself off with a stuttered whine when he lets his fingers stretch and curl inside her, though she continues on a drawn exhale youyouyouyou.

“Close?” He doesn’t need to ask it, he can feel it in the way she’s clenching around his fingers, in the way her slick is smearing against the inside of her thighs, against his scruff.

“Uh-huh.”

“You want it?” Another uh-huh and a jerky nod, her fingers curling tighter in his hair and her heel slipping down his back, digging into muscle as he takes and takes and takes.

“It’s yours, Cher. Take it, it’s all yours.” She does, perfectly, with his name small and nearly soundless in her throat, her whole body curling up tight around him before going limp, slackening slow. Just a weak pull of her fingers in his hair and a mumbled come here, please, come here, to coax him up the length of her body.

His cock rests hard and aching against the crease of her thigh, and he hasn’t wanted something so badly, so entirely, in a very long time. She rests her hand on his chest, letting her nails graze down his front, particular attention paid to his stomach, something that makes him grumble, though she’s smiling as she does it, eyes crinkling up. Smiling like that, here with him like that, all he can do to duck down to make sure that it’s real with his mouth against hers.

And no, he thinks, they’re definitely not doing this in the right order. Probably should have had a healthy, adult conversation. Probably should have done a lot of things differently before ending up like this. But she moves so good for him, and he hopes he can for her too, his hand curling around the back of her knee to hitch it against his hip, opening her up as his cock drags heavy and wanting through her swollen cunt. No words when he presses his hips forward, to the very end of her, just open mouths breathing each other in, and stillness that makes his head spin in the impossible heat of her.

“Cher, I– been a little while for me and I don’t– I’m sorry– I don’t think–” Soothing, her palm brushing back his hair from his face, drawing his eyes to hers and she’s still smiling. Not mirthful or mocking, just presence, just feeling it too, her other palm smoothing circles along his shoulders.

“It’s okay, Joel, just let me feel you. That’s all I want.” He can’t help the sound that skitters up his throat at her words, something broken and small, because she just keeps looking at him, eyes wide and reassuring, still brushing her hand back through his hair, taking care as he falls apart for her. And it’s devastating when he finally moves, a full tilt unraveling as they both let out sharp breaths, her spine curling off the mattress when he thrusts forward again.

They take it slow but strong, each press of his hips driving them further up the mattress until he has to curl his forearm around the crown of her head to keep her from jolting into the headboard. And he was right, it has been a while, and it’s her, and he’s already embarrassingly gone. And it doesn’t help that she’s murmuring in his ear all the while, that it’s okay, just want you, Joel, just want this, just give it to me, I want it.

He comes with his hips bruisingly pressed against hers, with her whispered praises swirling around in his skull, and with his heart beating so hard he thinks his ribs might break with the ache of it.

“You’re perfect, Cher. Nothing like this, ever. Just you.” The words don’t make much sense to him coming out, his mouth pressed over her sternum as he speaks. He just knows he means them, softening slow inside her, half a mind to apologize for thinking with his dick, but judging by the way her ankle is still hooked around his waist, holding him close, he doesn’t think she minds.

And no, he thinks, this doesn’t solve any of their problems. So much that still needs to be said and understood and relearned. So much that needs to be sorry, so sorry. Two decades worth of sorry. But right now, she’s dragging her fingers through his scruff to pull his face to hers and she’s kissing him, and her chest is sticking to his with their sweat.

“Missed you.” He’s not sure if he heard it right, mumbled out against his chin. Such a small sentiment to span all that time.

“Missed you too, Cher.”

...................................................

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artist-issues · 5 months ago

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Was wondering what your take on this was. I have a Christian friend who's very anti-media, like he never listens to non-Christian music (even then enacting limits on the artists) and he believes all films are evil and stuff like that.

I believe his rationale is that it's all anti-Christian, making arguments like "Thanos is a representation of God in the book of Revelation and the film is therefore about killing God" or "Superman isn't a Christ-like figure; he's an antichrist figure because he points people's attention away from Jesus, the real Christ," and stuff like that.

Speaking as a Christian myself, I feel like that's a very extreme take to have when stories can always have Christian values to identify and distinguish and that even if he was right, it does no good to isolate yourself from those stories or to assume the worst faith interpretation of them.

Anyway, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the subject. I know well from some of your posts especially that there are stories with very unhelpful or anti-Christian messages baked into them, but should we not still give those stories a chance? And is there not a much more forgiving line to draw before that point? If a story isn't directly and explicitly about the direct and explicit Christ, does it have any value?

Well. I had a friend who was kind of like that, too, and over the years he’s softened up on that a lot. Sometimes people get really zealous and have these extreme convictions and it’s okay, if they’re really doing it because they genuinely read Scripture with a heart to do what God wants, not a heart to find a set of rules they can follow and find self-righteousness.

I think there’s two separate ways to answer this ask. One is:

How to Treat Your Brother in Christ Over This

which is the most important part, for you, like it was for me with my friend, personally.

In 2 Corinthians 10 Paul is talking about this with meat sacrificed to idols. Technically, you’re free to eat that, even though to non-believers it means something else. Because to you, a Christian, you’re not under the old Law, so it’s not a condemnable thing to take what non-believers are using for evil and just…eat it. For what good there is in it. Because it’s meat. So there is some good in it, and you’re technically free to enjoy that good. But this is what the Word of God says:

1 Corinthians 10:19–33 - What do I mean then? That a thing sacrificed to idols is anything, or that an idol is anything? No, but I say that the things which the Gentiles sacrifice, they sacrifice to demons and not to God. And I do not want you to become sharers in demons.

You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons. Or do we provoke the Lord to jealousy? Are we stronger than He?

All things are lawful, but not all things are profitable. All things are lawful, but not all things build up. Let no one seek his own good, but that of the other person. Eat anything that is sold in the meat market without asking questions for conscience’ sake. For the earth is the Lord’s, as well as its fullness.

If one of the unbelievers invites you and you want to go, eat anything that is set before you without asking questions for conscience’ sake. But if anyone says to you, “This is meat consecrated to idols,” do not eat it, for the sake of the one who informed you, and for conscience’ sake. I do not mean your own conscience, but the other person’s. For why is my freedom judged by another’s conscience? 30 If I partake with gratefulness, why am I slandered concerning that for which I give thanks?

Whether, then, you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.

Give no offense either to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God; just as I also please all men in all things, not seeking my own profit but the profit of the many, so that they may be saved.

Paul also says, in Romans, “But whoever has doubts is condemned if he eats, because the eating is not from faith. For whatever does not proceed from faith is sin.”

(emphasis added)

The idea is, your convictions should be in place because of faith. So if, in Scripture, your friend is finding something that makes him feel convicted that watching these movies is sinful or distracting from Christ, and he really believes that’s how Scripture should be applied—this is one of those areas where you just shrug and be gracious and say, “he’s trying to act in faith.” It would be different if Scripture clearly taught about movies or even characters. You could point to a verse and say, “dude, you’re misinterpreting Scripture,” but this is one of those areas where God left it up to our convictions. So we have to respond in grace, even if what bothers another believer doesn’t bother us, because it’s not a “hill to die on.”

You can only control you. So obey God in how to respond to him, even if you don’t agree, and put him before you. If he won’t watch a Superman movie and it bothers him, don’t talk about Superman around him. Don’t invite him to movies like that. Consider him more important than yourself. If he can’t be convinced from Scripture that he’s free to watch that stuff and enjoy that stuff, don’t try and convince him. Just put his conscience in front of your preference for movies, on your list of priorities.

Maybe he is turning a grey-area into an area for self-righteousness. Or, maybe he is trying to live out his faith, even if it’s “extreme.” But the point is, you don’t know, and you don’t get to know. Only God knows. You just get to decide how to treat him.

BUT! I bet you’re already doing all that. I bet you already knew all that. And what you asked me was “And is there not a much more forgiving line to draw before that point? If a story isn't directly and explicitly about the direct and explicit Christ, does it have any value?”

So Part 2:

What I Think/My Convictions on the Gray Area of Valuable Stories

Stories can have Christian values if there is anything “Good” represented in them. It can also have Christian values if there is anything “Evil” in them. There is no such thing as “good” or “evil” in a movie like The Joker. So that movie I would say has zero Christian values. They don’t call what is evil “evil,” and they don’t call what is good “good” in that story. So I’m just agreeing with you that not every story or every piece of media has a “nugget of something Christian” that you can pull out. Only in one sense do all stories have a grain of God in them, and that sense is, “it’s a story.” The same way you can speak blasphemies, because God created the tongue and invented language and communication—that doesn’t mean He’s in any way reflected or has anything to do with your blasphemies. But you wouldn’t say, “we should at least let the blaspheming guy keep talking, because God invented talking.” God invented stories and storytelling. That doesn’t make all stories worth a chance. If that makes sense.

Anyway.

That being said, I do think it is rare for you to be able to decide that’s worth giving a chance… until you give it a chance. ^^ Like, I watched The Joker. Now I know it’s godless. So I won’t be seeing the sequel.

The main answer to this is: yes. I believe there is value in a story that is not directly and explicitly about the direct and explicit Christ. And here’s why, are you ready, here’s the reason I’m convinced, here’s the best card to play:

JESUS TOLD STORIES THAT WERE NOT DIRECTLY OR EXPLICITLY ABOUT HIS DIRECT AND EXPLICIT SELF.

The parable of the Good Samaritan is not about Jesus. You could make an argument that it’s got some Jesus-imagery mixed into the Samaritan character because of how selflessly and thoroughly he cares for others even though Jesus specifically framed the story like it was the answer to the question “who is my neighbor?” and it’s about “what a good neighbor is.” But hey, if you’re arguing, then guess what, it’s not very direct or explicit, is it?

Because that’s how stories work.

If I weren’t advocating for treating your brother in Christ with grace, if I were in my flesh right now, I’d say, “ask your friend if every conversation he has is directly and explicitly about the direct and explicit Christ. Is every single word “Jesus?” Is every single sentence about Jesus? Would you say all your communication is focused on Jesus 100% explicitly & directly? No? Then why does a storyteller’s communication have to be?”

Because that’s what a story is. It’s a uniquely compelling medium of communication. But it’s communication, that’s it.

I mean you know my understanding of stories. Stories are meant to be signposts that point you back to truth when you’ve wandered. Stories are meant to be a way for you to escape the specific imprisonment of bad ideas and lost wanderings, and you’re specifically escaping TO HOME: which is truth. Good ideas, and truth.

Well guess what? Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Every good and perfect thing is from above, coming down from the Father of Lights. If there is anything good, anything worthy of praise, anything excellent—we’re supposed to be thinking on those things, and associating them with Christ.

It’s almost short-changing Jesus or His relevance to say, “yeah there can be truth in stories but that truth doesn’t have anything to do with Jesus so it’s not worth my time.” What are you saying? He is the embodiment of Truth. If it’s true, then it’s His. In that sense. If it’s Loving, then it’s His. The idea of self-sacrifice, love, good triumphing over evil, truth triumphing over twisted-truth, is to do with Christ, because He invented those things and He’s their source.

My pastor likes to call this “plundering the Egyptians,” or “the world is tripping and stumbling into Biblical truths all the time.” They might not believe in Jesus but their story wouldn’t have anything worthwhile in it without Him. The writer of Beauty & the Beast might not be connecting self-sacrificial love to Jesus when she characterizes Belle, but guess what, she can’t escape it. Just because she didn’t make the connection doesn’t mean it’s not connected. You can’t say that all good and true things, even coming out of the foul mouths of humans, are no longer good and true simply because of the state of the mouths they come out of. Goodness and Truth is goodness and truth, and our brokenness can’t blot it out or stain it or ruin it. If it’s in the story, and it’s good and true, it’s good and true. Regardless of who we are or whether or not we attribute it to it’s proper Source.

Also, look at all of History. Jesus is woven symbolically throughout all of it, but He doesn’t “directly and explicitly” write Himself into the story of the world until the First Century.

But He was telling stories that had pieces of Himself and the truth before that. And He’s been telling them after that.

The Global Flood? Mankind is so wicked that God utterly destroys them—but He saves a small handful of righteous with a Vessel that only has ONE DOOR that they CANNOT SHUT THEMSELVES? That’s a story about Jesus. It’s not “direct or explicit.” God wrote it, that’s called “reality.”

The lamb in the Garden? Adam and Eve have something perfect and wonderful, and they can be exactly who they are and who they were made to be, but then they ruin it with sin, so God makes a way for them to be covered and protected—but it’s with the sacrifice of a Lamb? That’s a story about Jesus. It’s not “direct or explicit.” But God wrote it into reality.

Caterpillars? Into butterflies?? God invented a creature that starts out as a low worm in the dirt, then it goes into a tomb-like, death-like sleep and emerges a new creation that is beautiful and flies? That’s a story about Jesus, I don’t care, it’s not “direct or explicit” but it’s what God wrote into reality.

If it’s true and good, then the good and the true parts are connected to Christ. And it would be cheating myself of more ways to consider where goodness and truth and beauty come from to say that His direct and explicit incarnation in human flesh 2000 years ago was the only way I’m allowed to be reminded of Him.

I would never say any of this to your friend unless they asked. Because it’s not gracious to slam your friend over something that Scripture is not directly commanding, one way or the other, about.

#A little ramblier than I would’ve liked #but that’s how I feel #asked #answered #thanks for asking #And reading if you got that far #Bible #biblical #storytelling #stories #media #media consumption #Christian media

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bhaalsdeepbat · 11 months ago

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unhinged Durge & Orin thoughts

i'm just fascinated by Orin. she's the little sister seething with jealousy bc they're fighting over scraps of love from a Father (Bhaal) who will never give either of them what they deserve.

and like. Her entire life is lived in ways that are meant to serve him bc she was raised from birth in the church. She's an artist who focuses her artistic vision on her kills and the way she presents her offerings. It's looked down upon, even though Durge also plays with their corpses, but Durge is also daddy's special little bhaalspawn, and Orin knows it. Always compared to the golden child, never measuring up, until she finally bests her older sibling by savaging their skull.

Durge literally just waltzed one day and told them that Bhaal said it was their turn to lead the church, even though Orin had also been born and raised believing that was HER purpose. The rage when some little street rat comes in and starts shaking up the Church. AND EVERYONE LOVES DURGE. They all hate Orin, but everyone WORSHIPS Durge. Durge, who is imperfect, who wasn't raised living the doctrine the way Orin was, and introduces cannibalism (which Orin does not seem to approve)

so all that suffering being raised in the church doesn't even garner her favor with Bhaal or the other Bhaalists. she's not Durge. she'll never be Durge. she can take Durge out and make it so they have no choice to follow her, and the Bhaalists will out of loyalty to Bhaal, but they still dislike her. They miss their new age worship when she takes over.

Durge just constantly frustrated with their little sister's antics. Orin is too rash, she runs her mouth, and she doesn't appreciate death for what it is, she keeps trying to make pretty little arrangements when she should be focused on perfecting the art of dealing death in droves, numbers...like razing the grove or taking out last light inn. bhaal doesn't care if you play with the corpses if you have enough deaths under your belt to make it count, it seems.

Orin choosing to use the tadpole on Durge rather than just allowing them to die was absolutely out of spite. It traps Durge's essence so they cannot be reunited with their Beloved Father. So, Orin is resentful because Durge seems to just have Bhaal's love and favorism without going through any of the agony of being raised entirely in Bhaal's temple. Then you learn from balthazar that this is literally worse than death for durge, especially while they're being used as a living cadaver.

durge had 0 idea of the resentment, too. saravok says something along the lines of durge being blinded by pride & the love of everyone to the point of never even suspecting orin would have anything else but the same blind devotion.

and then durge and orin begin butting heads, as siblings do, but also added layer of bhaalspawn being fated to slay one another and like. i interpret it as their very essence screaming at them to slaughter their sibling bc the divine essence recognizes itself in that other being. just desperate to slay and release it.

also laughing bc orin was raised a traditional Bhaalist church girlie basically. she's christian girl autumn but make it murder

#bat rambles #bg3 #orin the red #orin #durge #dark urge #the dark urge

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dandelion-wings · 2 days ago

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Me earlier this week: Okay, I'm feeling strained and overstressed on the writing front, I'm not going to write until I'm back from holiday vacation. I will let my brain lie fallow.

My brain, immediately when I woke up this morning: Remember that little four-scene bit of the Crimson Peak siblingswap AU that you came up with over a year ago and never wrote? Write it. Write it now. Write it write it write it-

(Content warning for off-screen but definitely and correctly implied child abuse.)

---

Uncle Varka- *Grand Master* Varka's face is paler than Jean has ever it before.

"I had no idea," he says in a strained, terrible voice. "I never realized- Jean, I'm so sorry. I should have realized that Fredrica was in such a state. None of this was your fault."

It's well-meant, but Jean knows it's a lie. She had- She took the actions she did under her own cognizance. She can't pretend otherwise.

"Yes it was. I chose my actions, and I bear full responsibility for them. I understand that there have to be consequences. I'm ready to accept whatever they are."

It would be hanging, if she was an adult, but she's not sure they'll be able to hang her when she's not even yet a knight. On the other hand, Mother had told her a while back that she was a woman now, so maybe... maybe it's different for Gunnhildrs.

It would only be right if they did hang her. She was the one who-

Who killed Mother.

"You earned a Vision in the process," Grand Master Varka says, a little wildly, his gaze darting about her as if he's trying to and can't quite meet her eyes. "That means you did the right thing, doesn't it, Eroch? Or at least the only thing you could do. Since I didn't realize, and you had no help...."

"The medical report *does* say that her sister could well have died," Inspector Eroch agrees.

Which is more a reassurance than a single thing Grand Master Varka has said. It doesn't change what Jean did, but she finds herself blinking back tears at the relief of it. At least she hadn't done it for no reason at all. Even if there must have been better ways to handle it, if she hadn't failed to find them.

"Since the gods consider you justified," Grand Master Varka says, which Jean knows can't be true, but finds herself wishing might be, "there's no reason to put you on trial for it. Right, Eroch?"

The Inspector hums noncommittally. "I think the Church will agree to that. Though I think it would also be best, under the circumstances, to remove her from the Gunnhildr line of inheritance. That would unacceptably darken the Gunnhildr name. Barbara may not have met Fredrica's standards, but now that we know the whole story of what was going on in that household... it's entirely possible she may grow to become a very accomplished knight."

A wave of relief washes over Jean, and for the first time since she'd drawn her sword this morning, some of the pressure on her chest eases. *That's* a consequence she certainly deserves. It's true that she has proven herself unworthy of being a Gunnhildr.

***

Master Crepus drops down onto one knee to talk to Barbara, moving slow and careful, as if he's afraid she'll run away.

Which she kind of wants to do. She doesn't want to talk to anyone right now except for Jean. And no one will let her. Not even to apologize for running away from Jean, after... after Jean had saved her, and healed her, and done everything she could to keep her safe. There had been as much of Barbara's blood on her as Mother's when she tried to pick Barbara up.

"The Grand Master and the Seneschal have agreed that I'll be your guardian," he tells her. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to live in the Gunnhildr estate right now, so you'll come and live with me and Diluc. Do you want to come with us to get your things, so we can make sure we get everything you want?"

"Is Jean coming?" she whispers. She knows what the sisters have told her. Maybe Master Crepus will give her a different answer.

His sad, sorry expression tells her otherwise. "I'm afraid not. The Ordo thinks it's best if the two of you aren't in contact for... a while."

"Until I'm an adult." Barbara feels tears well up and swallows against a sob. "It can't be earlier? Even once? I want to tell her I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"But I do." More tears stream down her face, and Barbara keeps her voice quiet with effort. She can't be loud. *Especially* when she's crying. "If I had been better, and braver, this wouldn't have happened."

"That's not true." He says it firmly, almost sternly. "The only fault here was your mother's."

"*That's* not true! If I'd been good enough- if I didn't get Father killed-"

"Is that what Fredrica was feeding you? Barbara, *you did not kill your father*. How she could tell you- no. No, Barbara. Nothing was your fault. None of it."

He sounds angry, now, and Barbara shrinks back. As soon as he sees that, he shrinks himself too, ducking lower and making his expression go blank the way Jean always did when she got Mother to turn from Barbara onto her. She still isn't going to argue. He's wrong, Mother said so-

Except if Mother is right, then Jean was wrong to defend Barbara. Maybe... maybe Master Crepus is right. Or at least, if Master Crepus insists he's right to everyone else, if Barbara agrees with him, they won't punish Jean for what happened.

(Maybe they won't figure out that it's really Barbara's fault, and they won't punish Barbara.)

"I want to come with you to the house," she whispers.

She'll get all of Jean's things, too, along with hers. Everything Jean wanted. Then, when she can finally see Jean again, she can give them to her. If she does, if she demonstrates that she's sorry enough, maybe Jean will accept her apology.

***

Diluc finds Barbara hiding in the back upstairs linen closet, folded at the very back with the sheets pulled over her, not making a single sound.

"Father is taking that boy to the Church," he promises her, kneeling in the open door. "He won't scare you again."

He hadn't *done* anything, just come up too-quiet behind Barbara and startled her. But Barbara had shrieked, and then done what she always does when she thinks she's making too much noise and run away to hide. It doesn't matter that the boy had apologized. Father had decided right away that he couldn't take care of him, too, and while Diluc would have liked a boy his own age around, he can't say that Father is wrong.

Barbara is Jean's little sister. He promised Jean, the last time he saw her, the last time he was *allowed* to see her before Inspector Eroch told Father that it didn't look good for Diluc to seem to be carrying messages, that he would take care of Barbara for her. He can't break that vow.

His reassurance only makes Barbara burst into tears. Silent tears, which is as eerie as always, each sob choked into the faintest whisper of a sound.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "It wasn't his fault."

"It wasn't yours either," Diluc lies. "Don't feel bad. He'll be fine at the Church. It's probably better, since he was already sick from the rain. They can take good care of him there."

She nods, jerkily, and scrubs at her face. "I'm sorry anyway. I'm not *trying* to be scared all the time. If I was a better Gunnhildr... or if Jean were here...."

Diluc's stomach drops, and he swallows hard against his tightening throat. He tries not to show it, but something must show on his face, because Barbara's crumples all over again.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I miss her too," Diluc admits, hoarse-voiced. He shuffles a little further into the closet. "If I could sneak her in here, or you to her, I *would*. But if I try, Father will be in trouble, and then...."

And then they'll take Barbara away, and Diluc won't even be able to keep the one promise he made to Jean. The only way he can keep that oath is to let the adults keep them apart, and keep hurting both of them.

"I know," Barbara whispers, scrunching her face into her folded knees.

"But I'll take care of you, since she can't," Diluc promises, just like he had Jean. "I swear. Until you can see each other again."

All of a sudden Barbara launches herself into him, at him, muffling her sobs into his shoulder instead of her throat. Diluc wraps his arms around her and holds her close. It's the only thing he can do for her right now. Even if he knows it's not enough.

***

Across the graveyard behind the Church, Kaeya can see a blond girl sitting alone, perched on the wall looking down at the lunch she's barely touched.

There's something familiar about her close up, the blond hair and blue eyes and the shape of her face. All he knows is that she's the only child here who hasn't teased him and tormented him about everything strange about him--everything that had gotten him kicked out of the Ragnvindr household and made him fail his mission. At this point, that's enough. Trotting over, Kaeya hops up onto the wall beside her and opens up his own lunch.

She glances sideways, then down again. "You shouldn't sit close to me."

"Why?"

"No one will like you if you do."

Kaeya shrugs. "No one does like me."

After another glance, longer and more thoughtful, she shakes her head and looks back down. "You still have a better chance if you don't. I... everyone knows I killed my mother."

He looks her up and down with respect, noting the Vision at her waist. None of the other children are ever going to accept him; that much is obvious. But if everyone knows he's *her* friend... at least they'll fear tormenting him.

Besides, there are worse things she could have done. Much worse ones.

"I too killed my mother," he assures her.

Her head comes up, and she gapes at him in more shock than seems fair. "What? *Why*?"

"She became a monster," Kaeya says, quiet so his voice doesn't shake as the words recall those terrible, desperate moments. "Why did you kill your mother?"

She stares at him, something bleak and terrible in her expression, as if she feels just as Kaeya does remembering his mother reaching for him with slashing claws, and burying his tiny dagger into her throat. Then she says, just as quiet, "She... also became a monster. She tried to kill my sister."

All of a sudden, Kaeya realizes why she looks so familiar. "Barbara? Lady Gunnhildr?"

"Yes," she whispers, her voice choked.

"I saw her, before I was here at the Church," he says, holding that out like an offering. He carefully doesn't say that he'd frightened her. "She was well." He thinks. He hadn't seen much of her before he gave her that shock and ruined everything.

"Oh thank Barbatos," the girl breathes, in a rush. There are tears glittering in her eyes, but she draws herself up, composed, and holds a hand out to Kaeya. "I'm Jean Gun- I'm Jean."

"I am Kaeya," he tells her, taking it.

Already his head is spinning with plans. He has to find out what she likes, what she wants, what he can do for her. If he can win her affection... this girl has already killed to protect someone in her life. Maybe he can turn himself into someone she would keep safe, too.

#i just couldn't get kaeya's section to QUITE parallel the rest. he doesn't really know or care about barbara #i guess since this is chronological i could maybe fix that in a 'not all are parallel' sense by adding in rosaria's addition to that trio #but i don't have a scene in mind for that so i won't right now XD #fic bits #crimson peak au

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s-rosie · 4 months ago

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RANT POST (it’s really long but I need advice and I also just needed to get this off my mind so enjoy lol).

So there’s this guy that I was talking about in my last post at my school and I need to rant about him because he’s so cute istggghggg. (For the sake of his privacy, I’m calling him B) so for some backstory, I’m new to this school this year and I he’s been at this school for at least a year and has friends and stuff. Our story starts on the first day of school he sat behind me in Spanish and my Spanish teacher said “now we don’t want B to touch Rosie’s hair” just as an example and he said “damn, she really thinks I can pull” (or sum like that idk) and I’m like ok? But then the next day I started catching feelings because he kept making eye contact and smirking at me and just looking at me in class. Then when we were about to go outside everyone was looking towards the lockers and I was looking tears the door and he was in front of me and he turned with a straight face then made eye contact with me and smiled and I almost dieddddd. After that we had Spanish again (this is the next day) and I needed to get something from my bag behind me and his desk was blocking me so he tilted his desk back and smiled at me so I could get my folder out. Then I was getting my seat to bring out to the hallway for an assembly and I was talking to my friends and he just smirked at me and his eyes followed me the whole way. And in line to walk away from the assembly me and my friends didn’t know what to do so we just waited for everyone else to go in front of us and he passes us and gave me thet iconic smirk eye contact thingy again. Again at Spanish he moved his desk back again even though there was more room to get my folder and just did the patented “B smirk 5000”. (Oh also how many aura points did I loose because I asked the teacher if I could go to the restroom before he got there and I sprinted to my locker to put on perfume, lipgloss, and take some mints and he didn’t even get to class for like 10 minutes)

Fast foward to science class I was sitting down and he sits in front of me to my right and he was talking to his friend right in front of me and i was staring at him (I’m just a girl) and he made eye contact with me and smiled and my hearttttt. And in the hallway he made a small comment to someone else like “oh I didn’t go with my parents because I went to church” and I’m catholic so when I tell you my heart exploded I mean it. Then we were writing something in groups and each group had to pick one person to represent that group so we can make one paper as a class and me and him were each a group representative. And we were reading the papers and when he was done and I was still reading he was just staring at me with a smile and just joking around with me. Then I was writing the final paper the teacher said sun like “does it naturally flow or you gonna make it flow” and j said “I’m making it flow” and everyone bursted out laughing especially B and I was like saying shut up but flirty yk (this is pretty much the first time we ever talked but the chemistry was off the charts fr) And then the other boys started taking the joke a bit too far and mind you these were his friends for at least a year and he’s kinda popular and he looked at them and said “guys stop it just let her write” while smirking at me. THIS MAN, WHO IVE PRETTY MUCH NEVER TALKED TO, JUST DEFENDED ME IN FRONT OF HIS FRIENDS THAT HES KNOWN FOR AT LEAST A YEAR. AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH And the other boys were like “sorry” and stuff even tho it was just a joke it wasn’t a big deal and I was laughing. And then I read the paper and he was looking over at me and he said “you made it flow” and we went back and fourth joking like that for a few minutes (and he was blushing a little but which was just so cute) and he looked at my paper, which was in cursive and then said “so now can you write that in English?” (Playfully, bc he can’t read cursive) and we were laughing and stuff and he said the paper I made was good. Then I wrote down the homework on a sheet of paper and he walked back towards me (which is out of his way because we were leaving and I’m farther away from the door then he is) and he said “you’re making that flow” and I was just giggling bc ahahahaha. Then today in history i was running to get to class so I was sweating and fanning myself with my folder and he was just watching me like i looked like a mess but he just kept looking over at me.

Then fast forward to Spanish i got my folder again and I had all the room i could even need to get my folder and he still moved his desk and I looked at him and smiled this time to say thank you and he started to say you’re welcome but he cut out half way thru and kinda giggled and blushed (ITS SO DAMN CUTE WHEN GUYS DO THIS) and the teacher called on him for attendance and I was still grabbing my folder and he forgot what to say so I started laughing and he just looked down at me and said “i didn’t make that flow” and I started laughing more. Then we had to do a interview thingy in our Spanish lesson and after he went i leaned over to whisper to him “you made that flow” and he started laughing again. And our Spanish teacher brought up what she said the first day In class about B touching my hair (she just used us as an example because we were right next to her) and istg she’s the captain of our ship at this point. And we kept making eye contact and smiling. Okay I think that’s it. So sorry for the rant but I really just needed to get all of that off my chest and I need to know (if you red this far which I doubt) if he likes me bc I think he does but I’m also extremely delulu. Also what should I do like I don’t want to mess this up like I did in the past (we don’t talk about that) but I just need some help.

#rant post #crush #delulu

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lizardsfromspace · 2 months ago

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The problem with Lost's final season (full spoilers btw) isn't "unanswered questions" (after all the episode set aside to answer all the stray unanswered questions is one of the worst ones), it's that the flashsideways are bad. They're a bad idea that's not executed well

They don't feel organic to the story, but feel like they're there bc it's the final season and in final seasons you revisit old characters, and because the writers can't just remove the flash structure even if there's nothing to flash to anymore.

But the problem is that...okay. The flashbacks did hint at larger lore and connections, but each one also told a complete story about the character's life before the island, and more importantly, who they really were before the Island. It's important that Locke was in a wheelchair, but it's equally important to learn that Locke was a LARPing office worker with a desperate need to feel special. The flashforwards were pieces of a larger puzzle, but also told complete stories about how each character's life fell apart after leaving the Island.

But the flashsideways are...an AU version of everyone's first season character, running through familiar beats with some unexpected connections, but no clear reason why it matters? I remember the discussion at the time, and there was relatively little discussion of the content of the flashsideways, just a lot of discussion of what cool explanation will eventually make it all matter in retrospect. People did discuss the bigger picture of the flashforwards, but they did also discuss the character arcs to a larger degree. I guess there's the ~thrill~ of dead characters returning, but uh. Lost already had a half-dozen devices to do that and did that regularly. Lost did unexpected character connections in flashbacks since day one.

Because there's just no momentum to them. Because they don't introduce a character who knows what's going on until two-thirds of the way into the season, and deny us any explanation of what's going on until the penultimate scene of the series. At least in the flashforwards we knew they escaped the Island, even if we didn't know how. Here we have nothing

But when they do reveal what it is, it's...odd for a couple reasons. The surface level are the absurdities, like Sayid's soulmate being Shannon, Aaron entering the afterlife as a baby, and Ji-Yeon entering the afterlife as a fetus surrounded by people she never met.

At a bigger level, though, the afterlife is a place where people are drawn to work through their issues and then move on, with the people they're tied to by destiny.

That's...the Island. That's what the Island is. Did the Island fail to improve anyone but Frank and Mr. Eko? Why do they get drawn to the Island to undergo character development with everyone, then get reset to do it all again after their death?

The answer is so they can have the requisite finale warm and fuzzy ending where they all move on together, all in a church with all the other people they've spent six seasons screaming and pointing guns at.

The writers talked about story arcs and character arcs they cut from season six for lack of time, but half of each episode is devoted to a plot line that only gains emotional resonance in the finale, and that gains no real energy or interest when you do know what's going on, since the way it's set up is designed to invite theories before it's designed to lend emotional weight. Bc why should I care about a character reliving season one's flashbacks, when I uh, saw season one?

Like. Everyone complained about how repetitive Kate's flashbacks were, even in season one. Kate's on the run, she does something that shows she cares, goes back on the run. Kate has by far the thinnest backstory of any of the "major" characters. And what's the first solo flashsideways? A season one style Kate On The Run episode. They ran out of material for the basic flashbacks fairly early, and spent season four doing flashforwards, and spent season five doing flashbacks to everyone's life in the timeskip, and then the final season brings them back, but uh, she meets Claire! So it's different enough now

In the afterlife Jack has a son named David, and his arc is about his afterlife son David, because after the show made Jack interesting again in the last couple seasons by giving him new arcs we really need to go back to the "Jack's daddy issues" well, and then halfway into the finale he's just never mentioned again, and anyway, the writers later said that David was just a psychic projection of Jack's younger self. Which would've been a neat storyline to allude to in any way, instead of having the end of his storyline be everyone just kind of leaving and forgetting him

#long post #television #lost spoilers

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bambi-kinos · 9 months ago

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McLennon male/female AU

So way back in June 2022, I was talking with some friends including @dovetailjoints about this Paul McCartney manip where his face was converted to a woman's:

I promptly lost my mind on account of being a huge d*ke so I started spinning up a McLennon m/f AU about it. I still think about it a lot but I also don't know if I'll ever write it or not. Looking at @erinarigby's beautiful rendering of John and Paula reminded me of it, so I am publishing these notes for the pleasure of the reading audience.

I might still return to it at some point but I am currently waist deep in my longfic and have different projects lined up after that.

John and Paula are at the fete together but Paula is being crowned the Rose Queen or whatever it was that was happening in the background. Her best friend is Dot and her closest guy friend is Ivan and she's too busy basking in the attention of winning a competition to give a single fuck about John Lennon. She already knows her worth so who gives a fuck about that guy? They do NOT have a fateful meeting at the church hall.

(The secret is that she quietly follows him on the bus and has his route memorized. Light stalking of the teenage girl kind and I bet Dot has been helping but they treat it as a big joke.)

Ivan and Len both know Paula from school before they went to gender segregated academies or whatever. Paula actually finishes her education here because her dad wants her to do it and I bet she would have been a daddy's girl through and through. Mike is still her little brother and she vacillates between doting on him and bullying him. (Older sisters can be really mean to their younger brothers, I've noticed.)

Ivan still sings her praises to John but John does not take this in the slightest bit seriously. He and the rest are convinced Paula is Ivan's secret girlfriend (it's actually platonic between them, George is the one who carries a torch for Paula) and that Ivan wants her around so that he doesn't feel lonely at Quarry Men practice.

Things finally come to a head when Paula helps Ivan carry his tea chest bass to a QM band practice. The mythical J. Paula McCartney! (She won't tell anyone what the J stands for because it's embarrassing.) Paula's face definitely catches some unwanted attention so she deliberately plays up being Ivan's girlfriend to escape it. I imagine she's pretty cold about this kind of thing and probably much more ruthless than AMAB Paul because she has to play for keeps to be taken seriously.

Then she notices John playing with banjo chords. She says something. This goes very, very poorly.

John could take direction from an AMAB Paul who showed off his skills but Paula just rocks up and makes fun of him to his face. "She doesn't even play! Ivan, muzzle your bitch and get her out of here." Doesn't help that John is immensely taken with her but he doesn't like this at all.

Years of slapslap (no kiss) ensue, Paula eventually does make her skills known to John in someway but he's able to put her down for being a girl and therefore not a threat. I have no idea how they would both develop musically but I imagine that any attempts at a collaboration between them would go immensely poorly at this stage. John would not be able to put aside the sexism and Paula would needle him mercilessly.

Eventually though they come to a sort of détente which means that their two social spheres get some measure of peace after some 2 odd years of them screaming at each other during house parties. Everyone else can tell they want to fuck each other's brains out but they both frequently declare their public loathing of each other. For some reason John makes it his business to know what the guitar girl from Allerton is doing with her time and who she is spending it with. As she gets older this might even become a more reasonable proposition as Liverpool is still a rough neighborhood and she insists on walking home by herself after dark. Eventually she and Ivan stage a public break up so that John realizes its "over" (lol) between them and stops bothering poor Ivan about it.

George is more territorial about Paula which is cute coming from a pipsqueak that John easily has 30 pounds over. Unfortunately Paula does not see George that way.

At some point Paula becomes a bit of a woman about town and starts seriously dating men. John muscles his way into this, for some god forsaken reason, and makes a nuisance of himself running off Paula's dates. More screaming matches ensue but John seems incredibly agitated about something that Paula doesn't understand.

At some point in the détente John makes it into art college. Paula makes sure to mock him to his face for being an academic failure and reminds him that he'll never graduate because he doesn't have the guts. To this end John does in fact buckle down out of pure spite. I don't know if he would actually finish but I think he'd actually develop as a painter and a sketch artist just to show her up. I don't think John Lennon of all people could bear a beautiful woman mocking him for his inadequacy.

John might go on two dates with Cynthia but I think she would be a little unsettled at how he manages to insert Paula McCartney into every single conversation, but not in a jealous way. Cynthia tracks down Paula at some public gathering and asks her if she's being bothered by John. A trio of Dot, Paula, and Cynthia forms. SLEEPOVERS etc. John settles down because Paula isn't actively dating anyone here, she has her galpals and they are extremely epic friends.

Something happens that triggers Paula and John running off on their own. I'm imagining John stealing a college teacher's keys and they drive out to get some lunch somewhere. It's an unexpectedly good gesture from John Lennon who Paula usually dismisses as a cad.

I think at some point during this conversation John would admit that he knows Paula is a good guitar player -- its just that he can't really own up to it in public. A unique moment of vulnerability from him and she responds in kind. She tells him she thinks he's the best singer she's ever heard. For the first time things are not shitty between them. John probably ruins this by honking her breasts.

Paula graduates secondary and has to decide what the fuck to do now. It is 1960, they're going to go to Hamburg eventually but not yet. John has managed to establish something with Stu and I think Paula sent George John's way because he needed support that he refused to accept from her because she's female. She's been a loner for all her life, it's not a big wrench now.

George has had a front row seat to John's Paula obsession for years now and he's both intrigued and weirded out and wants to date Paula himself.

I'm imagining some scenario where John finally goes…why not try it. What's stopping him. So he finds her at an outdoor market and he actually tries to be smooth. He catches her eye on the other side of the road and nicks a wildflower bouquet. He trips comically and almost goes down but then appears three stalls later. Paula is laughing, yes yes she thinks it's funny. He waits at the end of the strip and gives her the bouquet and they spend some quiet time together. Nothing sexual, John is just ready to try something he's never attempted before: treating a woman like a person.

Paula reciprocates and buys him something to eat probably. He really is very handsome and very intelligent. She likes him better without the quiff and says so. He succeeds in making her laugh. His hair is so red and he's still the beautiful boy she saw on the bus.

They're watching the sun set over the Mersey when she says "I was accepted to [university.] I'm leaving at the end of the week. I'm studying music."

John goes quiet but doesn't really react except to congratulate her. He knows she will do well.

He goes home and it goes poorly.

Cyn and Dot throw a big good bye party for Paula to celebrate her leaving home. Their pearl is escaping into the big wide world. Paula is deeply unhappy. Something is missing. She gets very very drunk. George shows up and tells her that John and Stu have secured a gig in Hamburg. They'll be leaving at the end of the week too. For some reason John was really, really intent on leaving all of a sudden. Paula definitely locks herself in her childhood bathroom and cries her eyes out.

John notably does not put in an appearance at the party even though Stu and his hot friend Pete Shotton definitely do along with George. Everyone knows that John and Paula have a thing so where the hell is he? Even if they don't like each other they've still been a big part of each other's lives -- John has an arrest record because he punched out the guy who spiked Paula's drink a few months ago and she screamed bloody murder in the police station until they let him go. What gives?

John still does not put in an appearance. Someone sees a creeper by the front door but he slides away before anyone can see him.

Around 4am Paula finally drags herself upstairs upset and wasted and not sure why she's unhappy. She hears the rocks clatter against her window and by the time she pokes her head out John is risking death by climbing up the drainpipe. She almost screams but helps him inside instead.

John is a MESSY PERSON and he promptly goes to pieces in her arms. What am I supposed to do without you, he sobs. Aren't you going to miss me? Aren't you going to think about me? Don't I matter to you at all?

They have another small argument but its not very serious and its clearly flirting at this point. They're both pretty bombed so they just end up stripping and holding each other.

Jim finds them the next morning. It goes poorly.

Paula decides she's going to Hamburg with John. He told her they need a fifth person and he gave her the eyes. She knows what he wants and she knows what she wants and she isn't wasting money on some stupid school. She doesn't want to be a music teacher anyway.

Jim informs her she is not going to Germany in the company of four randy boys much less with the town ne'er do well John Lennon. Paula bides her time and packs a bag and her guitar. She escapes out the window the morning that they're set to leave for Hamburg and shows up at the last second. John hugs her tightly and doesn't let go for several hours. She just blew her uni placement to be with him.

Hamburg happens. It goes poorly but also very well. John suddenly gets a lot more sensitive to their accommodations. If it was all blokes he wouldn't care but now that they're out of the cradle of Liverpool he's suddenly sharply aware of how many people are watching them, and watching Paula, and how vulnerable she actually is. Paula adjusts to the German catcalls and otherwise refuses to appear ruffled. Honestly don't know how to render this particular section except that John would get an early education on how a woman and a bandmate can be treated. This isn't Cynthia being pawed at by a German sailor, this is his bandmate Paula having to dance away from blokes trying to climb up the stage to get to her. "Alarmed" doesn't quite cover it.

For Paula its an education. She's never performed live in front of an audience before; this version of Paul never performed with the QM. Gelling with the band out of no where is a hell of a challenge but Hamburg still makes them. She surprises John by engaging in the loogie races and by being intrigued by the sex workers around town. I think that she and John still wouldn't be having sex at this point because John is still absorbing all the new experiences and it's easier to keep her on a shelf where he can admire her tits without actually trying to fuck her. In John's mind he's keeping the upper hand by not ruining Paula by having sex with her. In his mind he's protecting her from something; he doesn't feel worthy of her and if they get physical he's scared of making her "dirty."

Paula still has ways of unsettling him though. Imagining John's face if she shows him the underbust corset she bought without a shirt to go under it. He's only seen her nipples in the dark before so seeing her dressed up like one of the street girls makes him pretty feral and that's on top of the prellies.

Paula only performs dressed this way once which results in some mass chaos at whatever club they're performing at that night, kek.

Honestly Hamburg is still intensely deranged and Lennon and McCartney's fixations one each other becomes even more pronounced once they start writing songs together. I can't imagine how their music would change once they have access to Paula's vocal range. Probably something more Nightwish-esque as I think Paula being a woman would make John more tolerant or intrigued with operatic styles just because he wants to hear her belt it.

George still gets deported for being underage but I think John and Paula end up staying in Hamburg together because Paula doesn't light a condom on fire this time. She's too busy putting it on John. I like to think they spent Christmas in Germany performing and boning.

They finally make it home after New Year's. Paula is half dead and John is barely a person because he's full up on amphetamines and sex. Mimi won't let John into the house because he had the nerve to take off with a scarlet woman to Germany without asking permission which means…

Jim does not officially let John into the house so Paula sneaks him in through her window. The band recuperates through out January and John gets used to sleeping next to his lady. It's a quiet hibernation period that they think back on fondly later.

At this point Paula is somewhat disgraced for running off with John Lennon and once again John gets to see this up close and personal which is discomfiting for him since its his actions that are visiting these consequences back on Paula's head. He didn't quite understand how intense the judgment was before he saw it aimed her way. It forces him to grow up a little.

But he still takes her to Paris. Common expectation is that they're running away to get married. Neither of them want to get married yet but they're also doing the Lennon-McCartney dance with each other where they become screamingly jealous of anyone who looks at their partner.

Things progress to 1963. They meet Brian, shit happens idk. Beatlesmania kicks off. I have this idea that maybe Paula crossdresses as a man. She is beautiful but she still has a strong jaw and her breasts are small enough to bind without much effort. She is also still the tallest member of the Beatles and she easily has a full inch over John in height (which regularly leads to the best erections of John's entire life.) Being an Amazon has its advantages and this one means she can present herself as a man to secure a unified front with the other Beatles.

I am unable to render how Beatlemania would change if Paula was the single girl in the Fab Four but I can imagine how it would change their look -- 3 beautiful matching boys and the sole female. Lots of color play in my mind going on and of course there's the quiet understanding that Lennon and McCartney belong to each other.

Paula "accidentally" gets exposed as a woman when John loosens her undergarments as a prank and her breasts pop out during a performance. (I don't think anyone would see her nipples, it just be immediate cleavage and a button pops off her jacket.) I am unable to render how this would go, I can't imagine anything except a huge uproar that would send the Beatles into the stratosphere. This would become a moment that gets debated for decades, whether it was a prank from John or if John and Paula came up with it together.

Paula has incentive to do something like this: Brian won't let John and Paula get married because it would disrupt the Beatles image.

1965 - the big one, I think. Paula can be a woman in public now which results in the photoshoot that breaks the world. Referred to only as "the Beatles wedding." It's just too good to pass up.

Paula gets to model a few hundred different wedding gowns (most of these are separate from the boys just because there's so many and she looks good in everything) with various accoutrements anc accessories. There is a portion where the boys will be dressed up as grooms and they'll be getting special sessions with her each.

John is a complete and utter bastard leading up to and throughout the days of this shoot and its commonly conjectured in Beatles fandom circles for decades afterwards that he was seething with jealousy and humiliation -- he should have married her years ago so that this kind of spectacle couldn't come to pass, and he knows it, but he can't change it now and he's furious that she's dressing up as a bride when she's not even really his. And on top of it George and Ringo are getting to see her before he does and they won't tell him what she looks like.

"I hate you and I will never forgive you for as long as I live," is what George tells John when he asks how it went, what she wore, what it was like. John is hurt and confused.

"You're a lucky man John Lennon. Don't squander it," is what Ritchie tells John when he asks about it. "Make sure to brush your teeth and whatnot though."

John is nervous as hell even though its just some stupid photo shoot and they've done thousands of those already. Brian won't let him drink to calm down so John now has to face Paula in her wedding gown while completely sober.

There's a modern trend of "photos of grooms seeing their brides in their dresses for the first time" and I think all 3 of the boys would get these with Paula. It might even be enough to power several magazines, idk. Collectors items and whatnot. The McHarrison issue, the McStarr issue, the McLennon issue…

Photogs definitely capture the moments leading up to the reveal and then the seeing, the shock, the surprise, the awe. George started laughing and flung himself at her and danced her around, Ritchie did that presses-his-fist-to-his-face thing men do sometimes when they're overcome, yes, Paula is an absolute joy. She made sure to insist on having all different dresses per day because she didn't want repeats. Her boys deserve something brand new every time.

John though. Oh, John. Very nervous, trying not to be, clearly hating the camera, he doesn't turn when he's supposed to and he only reacts when she touches his shoulder and calls his name. Honestly I can see them leaning into a beauty and the beast angle with these two.

If there was any doubt before there isn't now. It's love. Everything else fades away and it's just John and Paula being themselves, except they were always in love, weren't they.

The world promptly goes completely insane upon the release of the Beatles wedding photographs. They got what they asked for and then some. Honestly John and Paula probably have one iconic photo spread of just the two of them that day and in that timeline, that portrait blots out pretty much anything else of cultural significance from 1965-1968. The world turns on but the wedding portraits from that day is what ends up being the most iconic part of Beatlemania.

after that IDK, I'm not really capable of thinking past that. I just like the idea of the wedding photoshoot and how John and Paula came from those humble beginnings. I think they'd definitely have children together but I don't know if they could manage a stable family unit or if they'd be able to save the band from the break up. But there wouldn't be any faffing around about "the Lennon and McCartney rivalry" or "they always hated each other." The wedding shoot was too real.

Notably, John and Paula did attend the premier of A Hard Day's Night with Paula in a white dress and John in a black tux. Symbolism.

I think by the time the Get Back sessions happen John and Paula have an almost three year old and Paula is heavily pregnant with their second or third child. Instead of the deadline being Ringo's acting job they're trying to get one last project in because the second baby is due in February.

I think with Paula's height (she would still be taller than John after all and this time she's wearing high heels to make the point) and her androgyny they would also get some mileage out of early boundary pushing by dressing her up in the boys clothes, so the Shea uniforms would definitely make an appearance unchanged except Paula's tits are out to here and John spends a lot of the stadium concert unbuttoning her jacket every time she buttons it back up.

Just occurred to me that Help! would be a much more straight Dr. No parody especially with Paula as the built in Bond girl. AHDN would be more similar as a documentary with surreal comedy elements but Help! would definitely be more ridiculous and Johnny gets his girl in the end haha

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

These are all my notes from last year. Thought you guys would appreciate. As I was writing this out last year, I remember being caught between two impulses: the "John and Paul would be a pregnant teenagers couple" idea (which I see many other based users have agreed with!) and then the "Beatlemania but if Paul was a woman" idea. In the end I went with the Beatlemania Paula because that's more interesting as a story especially with Paula having to exploit her androgyny for success. That being said I think Paula would absolutely be the Domme to John's sub, there's no way a Beatlemania Paula doesn't have John's balls in a cage and John liked being controlled by a strong woman. He's not allowed to finish until she tells him that he can.

I remember thinking that they would have their first child in 1965, with the idea being that Paula is pregnant during the Beatles Wedding Photoshoot, which would take place sometime in the winter so that the fashion designers could sell their wares with Paula advertising them. IMO Paula would make John wear condoms for years but once Ed Sullivan happens John makes a disturbingly sincere plea to trash them and Paula assents. Two months later she's pregnant after John's been climaxing inside her multiple times a day <3 But honestly, she's rewarding him for being so fucking brave all the time, he's unironically earned it.

I also think that a female Paula is still has full on baby rabies and by late 1964 she's desperate to get pregnant by John so they can finally start their family. There's an element of rebellion too because she'd be furious with Brian for not letting her and John get married and retaliates by having out of wedlock children.

#mclennon #my writing #talktalktalk #thank you for the art #the beatles #fanfiction

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nonbinaryeye · 12 days ago

Note

For the end of year fanfic asks - 3 and 19!

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year?

There is quite a lot, even though my writing is still all over the place sometimes there's usually few lines in every fic I'm particularly fond of.

I have weakness for outsider's pov fics so I might as well share here an excerpt from Strange Acquaintance:

“Afraid someone will stab you in the back?” the dragonborn laughs. It is a low and unpleasant sound coming deep from their throat. It only sends another shiver of fear down her spine. Her instincts are telling her that hearing this creature laugh can never be a good sight.

“Of course I am,” Gortash scoffs, but there is a smile on his face as if he too found the statement funny, “Do you think I have gotten where I am just by being an obedient follower? Nothing is more dangerous than turning back to your allies unless you wish to find yourself with a dagger in it.”

“Your back is turned to me right now,” the dragonborn spins the blade in his hand and throws it up again but this time they catch it with his left arm. In one quick movement they place it to Gortash’s back. She cannot see it too well from this angle but it seems to be right in between his shoulder blades. One quick movement and her boss would be dead. He must be pushing against it gently, not really wanting to hurt him yet but alert him of its presence. However, Gortash does not flinch. He does not look worried.

“It seems so,” he raises his eyebrows, “So please, if you wish to, stab me, go ahead.” Does he not see the morbid excitement that fills their expression over his suggestion? How can he be so blind to the danger they pose to him; to threat they pose to any living being in their proximity?

“Uh… boss? Mr. G.?” she tries to draw his attention but he is deaf to her, his undivided attention granted to his companion and nothing and nobody else. And she feels like she should really do something, it is her job to protect him. But what is there to do when she is so far, while Gortash is blind to the deadly terror having him in their grip.

19. any new fics to start next year?

Not any new to start but about twenty or so wips I'd love to finish as I usually always have to draft out each idea I have even if I know I won't be able to get to it any time soon.

Highest on my list are of course rests from events as I'm missing last day of Gortashweek and also I'm nearly finished with my Gortoween fanfic. And I need to finish my fic for bg3 big bang as soon as possible too.

Other than that I would like to finish in foreseeable future three durgetash smuts that are in somewhat finishable state. I also have one very silly soulmate au. Oh, and I've been promising to finish "Gortash survives" AU for a while now too. And I would so much love to write a bit longer fic regarding Gortash's rise to power, establishing Church of Bane and making allience with the Dark Urge.

The list could go on, I have lots of plans but, oh, only if I had more free time and discipline.

#thank you for the ask!#mEye ask #fanfic stuff

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catholic-character-tournament · 1 year ago

Text

Quarter Finals - Catholic Character Tournament

Propaganda below ⬇️

Matt

canonically catholic but dresses like a demon to be quirky

They went to confession to a priest who they had saved as their costumed counterpart and the guy recognized them by the voice, proving that it's possible and everyone else is just dumb

he takes "i wanna fight god" to new and incredibly violent levels, while also being a sweetheart and a goofball

matt is a freakish little babygirl who was raised by nuns and definitely has religious trauma. i hate him so much (affectionately)

he’s literally fucking insane about it i don’t know what to say here. he thinks he’s chosen by god to go on some sort of holy quest to save hell’s kitchen. joan of arc ass.

i already know hes in by default j just wanted to give him a personal shout out i love this angsty catholic dweeb

how practicing he is depends on the run, but in my favorite he is quite literally confessing to a member of the last extant order millitant who happens to be a priest at a church in hells kitchen.

I'm sure Harrow is lovely and I respect the space lesbians but listen to me. Listen.

Matt Murdock is the Catholic character of all time, and if you make him lose, I am blowing up this website and everyone in it.

He is Catholic. His mother is a nun. He grew up in a catholic orphanage. Half the episodes in the show include him going to confession. When he needs therapy, he talks to his priest. He dresses up as a devil partly because of the Catholicism.

One time he got godly powers on loan from Heimdall (see below), and he did a lot of good with it, and then the second it was over he just... well. Also see below!

This man's every coping mechanism is Catholicism.

Please vote for Matt in the @catholic-character-tournament because he's the best and most realistic representation of what it means to be Catholic. Someone who's been punched and bet and crushed by life but still gets up every day to try. No, he's not a nun like his competition but he's not less devoted because of that. Not everyone is called to service. In the day he works at a defense lawyer to help people. Not for the money but to help people not get screwed over by the law. And at night, he dons a mask and beats up assholes when the law fails them. Is he perfect? No, that's the point. Matt is a broken man who is just trying his best to do well and live like Jesus.

He fully embodies the Catholic doctrine of faith and good works. He has faith in what he's doing even if others challenge him. He believes in forgiveness and repenting even when going up against "the devil."

"The people you murder deserve another chance." ... "No, Frank. To try again, Frank. To try. And if you don't get that, there's something broken in you you can't fix, and you really are a nutjob." "You think God made you a one-man firing squad. But you're wrong. There is goodness in people, even in you. And you're gonna have to kill me, 'cause I'm never gonna stop coming for you, until I take you down."

Daredevil Season 2 Episode 3

He (tries) to love his enemy. He believes in Elektra and Frank and maybe Dex and their ability to change. To be good. And when he can't, Matt refuses to compromise on his morals. While not quite "turning his cheek" he never scoops to their level. Because they don't get to destroy who he is.

Daredevil Season 3 Episode 13

All he does is for the love he has to his neighbors, his community. He loves New York. Not for self-fulfilling needs or for the money or for the fame. He does it because he believes in justice. Because the law was created by humans and is inherently sinful.

"But his competition met God and was disappointed and blah blah"

Daredevil is more grounded (at least the show, maybe less the comics). So now, Matt doesn't met God. But he sure gets mad at him. All of season 3 he angry at God for all the trauma he expired.

"You see, that was me, Sister. I suffered willingly. I gave my, uh... sweat and blood and skin without complaint. Because I too believed I was God's soldier. ( chuckles ) Well, not anymore. I am what I do in the dark now. I bleed only for myself. ( scoffs )" ... "You might hate God right now, but the feeling is not mutual." "No, I don't hate him. I've just seen his true face, is all."

Season 3 episode 1

As a Catholic I don't really want to fight God in a parking lot. Well I do but not in the same way that I've understood (primarily Jewish people but probably other Abrahamic religions) want to fight God in a Denny's parking lot. I want to yell and scream and cry at God and for the feeling to not be mutual. For Him to never stop loving me. As long as I have faith, He will reach out his hand.

Homura

she is a catholic lesbian whose girlfriend became god. she has been through so much.

shes such a lesbian for amdoke

Catholic guilt literally turned her into a demon

she literally watches everyone she knows die over and over and over again just so she can save madoka, the one girl who showed kindness towards her. when madoka ends up basically becoming god in order to stop the cycle of death and violence, homura RIPS AWAY THE HUMAN PART OF HER SOUL so that she can create a world where she and Madoka and their friends can live happily, effectively becoming the devil to madoka’s god

She has so much religious symbolism when it comes to her relationship to Madoka. Madoka is God and Homura becomes Lucifer so that she can save Madoka and give her happiness. She literally rips God from heaven and rewrites reality though. The way she sees her self and shapes reality is through the lense of Catholicism.

most fucked up little catholic girl. we love that for her.

Okay homuras entire fuckin arc is stemmed from the fact she is Catholic. Look at her trying to save Madoka over and over again and suffering for it because she thinks if she suffers enough and works hard enough Madoka will stay. Normal people do not go into time loops willingly. Catholics will.

#tumblr tournament #tumblr bracket #tumblr polls #polls #cct polls #marvel #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil born again #mcu #charlie cox #r6 #homura akemi #demon homura #pmmm #puella magi madoka magica #madoka magica

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