#and my willingness to make something filthy and dark a natural part of the world. like he tries to force 'blood' within gold

[katyspersonal]

Also for people that didn't know me for that much of a long time; I know I semi-consistently make it sound like I was practically "trapped" with some raging bigot and couldn't escape because Abusive Relationship Moment and never elaborate, but I was not. It is a long story but if anything, I knew exactly what I've gotten myself into, and why I did. I saw what he was like and what he was saying, and I chose to jump in. I don't deserve compassion, only pity for being short-sighted and picking a responsibility I was no match for, but there was a guy who triggered a lot of stuff, and we were both victims. Of each other, and of the world.

I often call him 'basically a Morgott' and this is what he was: a person jealously and fanatically guarding a ruined, corrupt system he himself was and is oppressed by. He didn't deserve to experience a single traumatising event that guaranteed that he ended up being like that. At some point certain people came to lynch him for the shit he didn't fucking do, and it was beginning of the end. And when I insisted on being loud and proud about our bond, certain people came to lynch me for the shit I didn't do. I guess despite everything, I've found a lot of romance and value in knowing that he sort of passed his "curse" onto me, although not intentionally. Just like him after he survived witch-hunt, I, too, went to lick my wounds and seethe in the company of very questionable people. I walked back when I saw the bunch that promised me safety was just as rotten, and I sure hope he walked back from his weird bunch too. I had a chance to learn about his life updates, but I didn't.

All this is to say, not he was ever an actual villain of this fucking mess. It were always the witch-hunter people. He would hate me for speaking like this, I guess. Because he is up against "woke NPCs" and meanwhile God will forsaken me for choosing "degeneracy" or whatever... 🙄 Still, I saw enough to know that any group who separates people on worthy or unworthy is inherently bad, regardless of their ideals and goals. None of this shit would've happen if witch-hunters stopped doing their darnest to kick anyone they deem "heretic" out of society in the beyond, where members of other cults can swipe them up and ideologically groom them. People should do their hardest to preserve members of their community regardless of inconveniences of suspicions, and my enemies will always be those who refuse to do it. People like him or me are just symptoms of what you can diagnose humanity with, and the only reason I was able to recover my compassion, faith and willingness to support was because I've found true friends and he struggled with that. I could've been a good friend to him too, but I've failed. I took too many things too personally when they were obviously expressions of insecurity, distrust and past trauma... I should not speak ill of those who act cruel to "bad victims" as much as I do when I didn't practice what I preach when it mattered, though I hope I will become better.

In any case, humans can't exist without humans. Nobody is safe from becoming a hateful bigot if it is only other hateful bigots who give them community after their previous one discarded them. I was ever so close to "everyone is an NPC except for us" mindset and only persisted because genuinely good and innocent people chose to keep pulling me out of bad place over and over and I was always given second chances. I don't hate someone who never got enough help and safety, and I sure don't hate someone for failing to meet their emotional needs. I hate witch-hunters tho, they are the problem. They, and their opposition that always picks up what they've thrown away.

[sigweiner]

Saccharine Dreams P.2

Pairing: Billie Eilish/ Fem!reader

Word Count: 1746

Summary: You’re awakened from a deep sleep by your very needy {horny} girlfriend.

Warnings!: Smut, swearing and very explicit content.

a/n: Here is part 2, hope you like it! English is not my first language, sorry for the weird punctuation and sentences.

Part 1 here

The room was bathed in blue shadows when she called your name warmly, turning all that is hard around you tender. You respond with a kiss on her shoulder. A looming reluctance seems to be growing in her with the way she holds your hand over her swift beating heart. As if you could say no to any of her requests. As if you wouldn't be the water to quench her thirst or the fire to illuminate her path.

She turns around and kisses you sweetly. You are magnetically pulled by her delectable nature once more, complacent in her willingness to desire you. She flushes her naked lower body against yours and you can't resist the urge to buck your hips against hers, suddenly feeling like you need your skin to fuse with hers. She cups your face and kisses you harder, pushing you to lay on your back.

Billie straddles your legs and you take the opportunity to admire her bare lower half without reticence, your hands finding their familiar spot on her toned thighs. She makes a show of slowly lifting your shirt up past your chest, massaging your breasts while grinding down on your hips. A soft moan slips from your lips and Billie can't help but grin at you with ulterior intent.

“You're so gorgeous.” She tells you warmly as you start to squirm underneath her. “I really want to taste you… can I?” You blush at her words and your eyes flutter at the thought of her head between your thighs. It doesn’t matter how many times you have been completely vulnerable and naked with each other, her authenticity always manages to get a reaction out of you.

“Y-you don’t have to… if you’re tired or something.” You bite at your lower lip worried this might have gone too far already. You remember she has a big day tomorrow, traveling around the world, doing interviews and promoting her newly released music. She should be resting. Billie chuckles and leans in to kiss the worries out of you, taking her sweet time exploring the soft parts of your mouth with the tip of her tongue.

“I want to. Let me please…” She says quietly when you two part to catch some air. There’s a pause while you try to gather your thoughts again but Billie seems more interested in distracting you with her aventurine gaze. You feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I- yeah, okay…” You manage to finally say after she bites her lower lip. She smiles at you sweetly but there’s a devious glint in her eyes which usually means she’s planning on doing very filthy things to you. You hold your breath in anticipation.

A tension grows between you so palpable it could cut through the air. Billie takes your hands from her thighs and guides them above your head, stretching your arms until you can feel the headboard. She hovers above you, still staring into your eyes acutely before resuming a reverential osculation of your body. She starts moving down, dragging her hands down your arms, across your chest and stomach until she reaches the hem of your pajama bottoms. Her lengthy dark hair drapes over you, leaving a feather-like impression on your skin.

Billie kisses your hip bones and hooks her fingers on the edge of the silky cloth to start dragging them down your legs casually. She moves slightly out of the way so you can lift your hips to get rid of your shorts. Then you’re automatically opening your legs for her, amenable to her every wish. She smirks at your eagerness and moves between your legs, sprawling her entire body on the bed, looking like she’s about to eat her favorite food.

The brunette kisses your inner thighs nonchalantly as if time was a deity under her spell. And maybe she is in control of all of nature's forces right at that moment, when she is about to unravel your whole existence. A tiny god all in herself. Billie licks a long stripe through your slit and you swear your soul leaves your body. She moans at the taste of you and you can feel it reverberating throughout your existence.

“Fuck, you taste so good.” Her warm breath licks your skin when she speaks and you can't help but buck your hips slightly in the absence of her silky tongue. You whine impatiently.

“Billie…” You start saying but the rest of your words abandon you when your eyes meet hers. The sight of your half naked girlfriend laying on her belly and leaving chaste kisses on your aching center was a surreal vision.

“Yes, pretty girl?” She replies with faked innocence, her eyes never leaving you.

“Please… I thought you wanted to taste me.” You plead with her. Her eyes darken slightly but she manages to maintain composure.

“But I want this to last.” Billie is testing you as usual, trying to control the situation and to get things done her way, even if in the end she'll give you what you want. But then again you have no interest in winning. You are utterly pliant to her ambitions.

“Alright. I'm all yours.” You tell her lovingly. You reach out to caress her cheek and she turns her head to kiss the palm of your hand. You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as she stares at you intensely, the tenderness of the moment in high contrast with your mutual desire.

“I love you Y/N.” she declares before parting your folds with two fingers and lavishing your straining clit with attention.

“Oh fuck…” Is all you manage to initially say when your girlfriend is finally going down on you. “I- I love you too Billie.” you reciprocate her affection.

Billie smiles lazily at you, licking your aching pussy before turning to rest her cheek on your thigh while sucking on your throbbing bud with half lidded eyes. You almost reach your peak at the sight. She continues her relentless movements only stopping to slide a finger inside of you before resuming the motions with her mouth. You moan loudly not being able to contain your pleasure.

“Didn't you - want this- to last.” You tell her past the haze of your mind. “I won't be able to hold it if you keep up like that.” You try to confess in one breath.

She slows her movements slightly and lifts herself up on her elbow, resting her head on her hand. “I changed my mind… I want to make you come now.” She rasps before thrusting two fingers into your core without warning. You throw your head back, unable to make any sounds. However Billie wastes no time in covering your pussy with her mouth to lick the fire out of you.

With her fluttering gaze never leaving you she kneads at one of your breasts while pumping her deft fingers inside you, alternating between rapid strokes of her tongue and suckling your clit until your legs start trembling uncontrollably. Only then she slows down and halts your impending climax. You are a complete disheveled mess by the fourth time she edges you on and you're pretty sure you can't take it anymore but you do not beg. You will take anything she gives you gladly.

Billie finally takes pity on you and decides she wants to make you come after all. You have no choice but to let yourself be taken to oblivion by the curl of your girl's fingers and the swirl of her velvety tongue. The whole world starts shaking and you're pretty sure the bed has disappeared from underneath you. You contort your entire body when your orgasm strikes you but Billie is able to hold your lower body down with her free arm. She doesn't slow down, determined to make you come over and over again.

A second wave of white heat travels from your cervix to the back of your head and you let out a strangled scream from the intensity of it. You feel your thighs and legs getting soaked as Billie relentlessly pumps her fingers into you. The sheets now ruined by your frenzy, you instinctively try to push her away from your overstimulated core. She seems to be thinking in the opposite direction though so you try to vocalize your protest.

“Baby. I can't anymore… Please.” You're breathing heavily and are not entirely sure she's heard you until she lets go of you. You bury your face on the mattress completely exhausted, closing your legs tightly, turning on your side.

You can barely register Billie's lips ghosting the skin of your legs with tender smooches, your overstimulated senses in overdrive. She kisses a path up your body until she reaches your face, tucking some of your hair behind your ear and kissing away the tears pulled on the outer corner of your eye. You turn to look at her and there's a concerned frown between her eyebrows.

“You okay baby girl?” She asks, hovering above you. You lift your hands to cup her face and bring her in towards your lips. You can taste yourself on her tongue and you hum satisfyingly. “Was I too much?” She ponders.

“I'm okay, t’was just intense.” You finally let out looking at her adoringly. Billie lays down close to you, resting her head on your shoulder and you bring your hand up to stroke her satiny hair. “That was pretty fucking amazing to be honest.” she chuckles at your words. You start to feel your eyelids getting heavy.

“Will you come visit me again? In my dreams I mean…” Billie requests in a small voice. She feels really fragile in your arms at that very moment, holding her doesn't feel enough. You have yet to discover what will ever suffice.

“For sure, anything to spend more time with you…” You promise already slurring your words at the prospect of another unconscious rendezvous.

“Sorry I woke you up…” She whispers drowsily, draping her arm over your bare body. You shake your head slightly.

“You can wake me up like that any time, love.” You tell her half jokingly then you kiss her forehead. Billie's eyes are already closed but she has a smile on her lips and as you watch her seraphic features peacefully back in slumber you slowly start slipping away as well, hoping to find her in the dream helm once more and forever.

[burned-to-the-void]

I’m bad behavior but I do it in the best way

.

Jäger is on damage control duty. Bandit, of course, makes it more complicated than it has to be.

Bandit/Jäger, 3.1K words, E rated (nsfw), porn with feelings, mention of (implied) drug use, breathplay, and masochism.

.

For a man of science, Jäger is surprisingly superstitious.

It’s not like he believes that black cats will bring bad luck, or stepping on a crack will break someone’s backbone, nothing specific as such. But he believes in vague, ominous signs lying in plain sight. They might not stand out as significant on their own, but once you connect the dots, you’ll see the bigger picture.

Bandit has been unusually quiet this whole week, not a single prank or an inappropriate joke thrown at people’s frowning faces—a bad sign, the first hint that something is wrong. Blitz and IQ, who are far better than him at handling Bandit at his worst, are both half the world away on a mission—another bad sign. And just now, Doc has confirmed that Bandit requested to skip afternoon trainings, claiming he wasn’t feeling well although showing no visible symptoms, and slipped away from the base before he could even mention the word examination—the final sign, and the worst one, clear as the writing on the wall, sealing his fate.

All things considered, the will of universe seems absolutely determined to fuck him.

He’s never been in this exact situation before. It has been always Blitz’s job to go and fetch Bandit (they usually don’t come back until dawn, Blitz with heavy set in his shoulders, dragging his teammate by the wrist, Bandit oddly tame in his grip) when he goes into these… periods, but Jäger has the general idea of what to expect. Blitz gave him a thorough instruction on this, in case he couldn’t be around, and finally his effort is paying off. Jäger hoped it never would, but here he is, driving through the dead of the night with his phone on the passenger seat, blaring the endless string of the dial tone—it makes the weirdest traveling company ever.

“Pick up, please, just pick up,” he repeats under his breath like a mantra, as the call goes into voicemail once again; he doesn’t know if there is any kind of emergency, but he sure does feel like he’s heading into one. The adrenaline in his blood is making his mind run a million miles an hour, summoning dark images of blood and violence. Of course, Bandit is more than capable of protecting his own ass, but he’s probably not really himself right now, and also the chance that he might be the one causing the blood to spill isn’t exactly slim.

Bandit picks up about ten minutes later, which feel like at least an hour of mental torture to Jäger. His answer, on the speaker, sounds almost bored.

“Yes?”

Jäger recalls Blitz’s voice, walking him through each step. He’s on his way to the first one—pin him down on the map.

“Your location. Text. Now.”

Bandit scoffs at his attempt to sound stern. “What are you doing, impersonating Elias? You actually sound worse than him.”

“Shut up. Just, where the heck are you?”

“Las Vegas.”

“I’m serious, Dominic.” Jäger tries to give off the impression that he knows what he’s doing, which is a blatant lie, and Bandit is the last person who’d be fooled by him. Bandit sighs to the phone.

“Look, everything is fine here. Just go back to your bed and sleep, for fuck’s sake. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

He is changing his tactic, going from being unhelpful to reassuring Jäger that there isn’t any problem. Blitz has specifically warned about this.

“I’m already on my way. And you don’t sound like you’ve been sleeping, either.”

“Why does it matter if I’m sleeping or not?” Now he’s just changing subjects and stalling. Being evasive is like a second nature to Bandit; he probably can’t help himself, at this point. Still Jäger doesn’t feel any kinder toward him, when he’s developing a headache from being nervous for too long.

“Your fucking location, I said. Now.”

“Are you that eager to see me?” Jäger can tell that he’s not happy, despite the smirk in his voice, but he finally gives in. The message contains the address and his room number of a cheap-ass motel, thankfully only a few blocks away. Blitz told him to look for him in the shittiest part of the town, and apparently he just knows what Bandit will do even when he’s several continents away.

.

The door of his room isn’t locked, and when he enters, Bandit is standing by the window, lazily smoking a cigarette and stark naked except for the ink on his skin. Jäger isn’t surprised, but he needs a moment to get a grip on his composure. The very air smells like sex, and it’s nothing like seeing him without his clothes in the communal shower.

At least he remembered protection, he thinks, gingerly avoiding empty packets and used condoms strewn across the floor on his way to the man. Bandit’s reflection on the dirty window pane is expressionless. Apart from the street lamps, the only light source in the room is the tip of his cigarette, glowing cherry-red, so it takes a while for him to notice the bruise around his neck. It’s shockingly vivid purple, fading into dark red around the edge.

“Fuck. What happened? Who did it?”

“I asked him to,” says Bandit, merely shrugging. “It’s fine, it won’t show over the hood. I’m not stupid.”

His voice is nonchalant as if they’re talking about a plain hickey, instead of two distinct hand marks on his fucking windpipe. Jäger feels dizzy, like he’s the one being choked until his vision blurs.

“You asked a total stranger to strangle you?”

“Well, he was high enough to agree,” says Bandit, little irritated now, signaling Jäger should drop the topic, but he can’t. He can’t help but imagine how it must have been like, hands bigger than his own curling on Bandit’s neck, looking for the pulse point only to crush it down. Bandit might be a good fighter, his willingness to fight dirty making up for the weight difference, but in a vulnerable position like that—it would be so easy to complete the act. Hold him down until his thrashing stops for good. Jäger suppresses down a shiver.

Bandit takes a last long drag before he stubbs the cigarette out on the windowsill. Then he turns around to look at Jäger properly, for the first time since he stepped into the room.

“Do you wanna touch it?”

With his voice low like this, it’s like they’re sharing a secret, and Jäger can’t think, he doesn’t understand what brought the sudden shift in his attitude.

“Why would I—,” he starts, but it’s too late. Bandit already has both his hands in his own, and he drags them up until his fingertips are pressed lightly on the colored skin, and oh, they’re warm to the touch, maybe more so than the rest of his body. Bandit huffs softly at the residual pain, and it’s better than any filthy moans he’s ever heard—Jäger is fascinated.

And Bandit must know that expression, how can he not. He leans forward to kiss him. He tastes like cigarette and cheap beer, his lips are chapped and dry, and Jäger can’t get enough of it.

He pushes him away harder than he intends to, flinching at the feeling of bare chest under his hand. Bandit doesn’t stumble, as if he knew it was coming.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll back off.”

“Dom, I don’t think this is—”

“Then tell me,” he repeats, “you don’t want this.” 

But he does, that’s the problem, and how can he be this calm when Jäger is burning up with the simple idea of I want, want, want. He takes a step closer against his will. Bandit’s answering smile is taunting.

The kiss remains chaste, and it almost feels sweet, but Jäger isn’t fooled; Bandit is just too drained out of energy to initiate a proper makeout session. Jäger licks at the chapped ridge of his bottom lip, and Bandit hums.

“Do you want to fuck me?” he asks as they part, his breath hot and ticklish against his jaw, and Jäger has to grit his teeth to refrain from saying yes.

“Not like this,” he whispers, and he means it. Not like this, when he’s already sore and bruised, not when he’s only chasing after every possible sensory input to make his withdrawal more bearable. Bandit doesn’t look like he’s disappointed.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs again, and sways closer for some reason.

“What,” asks Jäger, warily.

“At least jerk me off, then. I need something. You don’t know how bad it gets.”

He doesn’t know, and he isn’t keen on finding out. Watching Bandit struggling to fill the hollowness in his chest with anything he can get his hands on—pain, pleasure, violence and self-destruction—and making a mess of himself in the process, is way more than enough.

“Okay,” he says softly, and kisses Bandit on the side of his throat, just above the handprint on his skin. “Okay.”

Bandit, suddenly impatient, steers him to the direction of the bed until he’s sitting on it, and climbs onto his lap without hesitation. Jäger is still fully clothed and the fabric of his jeans must feel rough against the soft flesh of his inner thighs, but it doesn’t deter him from rocking his hips closer. He’s already half-hard, but he hisses when Jäger brushes his fingers over his shaft tentatively, probably overstimulated from whatever he did before Jäger came to pick his pieces up. He falters, stills his hand in mid-action.

“Go on,” Bandit pants, rubbing himself on Jäger’s open palm.

“Are you sure?” he has to ask before tightening his grip, because he doesn’t trust Bandit not to hurt himself, quite the opposite, he might actively try to in a state like this.

“I’m sure that I’ll break your fucking fingers if you stop,” he growls, and he sounds so wrecked already, even goes as far as whining when it becomes clear that Jäger still won’t go on with the program and will leave him hanging. Jäger has to, his brain is muddled with all the noises Bandit is producing without shame, but he remembers what he was planning to do and licks his palm wet in lieu of proper lube, already tasting Bandit’s precome there. His teammate is watching him closely, pupils blown and irises at least two shades darker.

Jäger loses that particular view when the man scrunches his eyes shut and let his mouth fall open in a silent moan as he finally closes his fist around his dick. But the new one is even better.

He’d like to keep it slow and gentle, careful not to push him over his limits but Bandit won’t let him, so instead he focuses on licking over the bite marks on his shoulders and mouthing the bruises, sliding his palm soothingly over ones he can’t reach, ones on his thighs and hips. While none of them are made by him, it’s him making Bandit flinch and squirm now, his feverish skin so, so sensitive. And the thing about Jäger is that he’s always curious; he wants to know what makes Bandit’s breath hitch (his thumb pressing over the slit teasingly), what prompts him to arch his back and make low, drawn-out sounds coming from deep inside his chest (slow, steady downstrokes with a firm grip, simultaneously too much and not nearly enough).

He doesn’t last long. Jäger lets him fuck his fist with the pace he wants—harsh and single-focused—until his whole body goes rigid, and suddenly there is come dribbling sluggishly down his fingers. Bandit shudders and pants against his neck, like a man just got rescued from drowning, and curls in tighter.

Choosing to ignore his own hard-on that’s been present since no-one-knows-when, possibly even before they started kissing, Jäger lets his clean hand linger on the man’s backside for a moment until he calms down, and then pushes him away gently to enter the bathroom. He cleans Bandit’s body thoroughly with a wet towel, not just of fresh come on his stomach but of every trace of sex. He is lying limp on the bed, eyes weary but still tracking his every movement. Even in a state like this he’ll probably agree to a quick blowjob, but no matter how willing he is, it still feels like taking advantage. He doesn’t know if Bandit would have wanted any of this, if he wasn’t desperate for a distraction, for a way out.

He brings Bandit a glass of tap water, which he drinks away without protesting. The tendons of his neck shift under the bruise as he tilts his head back. It’s a mesmerizing view, and Jäger hates himself a little for thinking so. He wishes he can make it disappear with sheer force of his will.

.

Bandit is quiet on their ride back to the base, but it’s a different kind of silence from before, when he was full of restless energy, overcharged with tension. Now it’s all fucked out of his system, and he must be crashing down, hard.

He is looking out the window, occasionally shivering with either the real cold or the one inside him, and when Jäger briefly takes hold of his hand and locks their fingers together, meaning to be reassuring, Bandit clenches his hand hard enough to leave crescent marks on the back of his hand before he lets go. Jäger doesn’t mind it. They’ll fade away, in a matter of minutes, and so will Bandit’s bruises, given enough time. The one he’s not so sure about lies deeper, around the gaping hole in his heart. He knows drug isn’t the main source of his problem, but a coping method, albeit an extremely unhealthy one. Just like sex is to him. Jäger should probably forget what happened tonight; it doesn’t have to mean anything.

“Please tell me you don’t do this with Blitz every time he picks you up,” groans Jäger, at the sudden thought that popped up in his mind, unbidden. Bandit snorts in the passenger seat.

“I’ll leave it to your imagination.”

He groans again, overdramatic, and the atmosphere between them is decidedly lighter, until he blurts out what’s been on his mind for quite a while as he stops his car in the parking lot.

“You shouldn’t just let a random guy choke you during sex, it’s dangerous,” he says, trying to make it sound like a passing comment, like it’s no big deal, aiming for the tone he’d use for saying something like you shouldn’t eat that much sugar. He’s not succeeding at all, it seems, considering the way Bandit’s expression hardens immediately. Jäger blames his big fat mouth for this, he knew that Bandit wouldn’t take it well.

“Oh, and you’ll do it for me if I ask?” Bandit sneers, and just like that, Jäger is left speechless. He imagined Bandit bristling at his words, that it’s none of his business, calling him a condescending shit, but certainly not this. What is this, a dare? A request? Or is he just mocking him? Jäger can’t read people well unless there’s some kind of a guideline to follow, and this is an unprecedented territory. Not to mention that this is Bandit, of all people. Bandit twists the corner of his mouth, its edge sharp enough to cut.

“I thought so.”

With that, he gets out of the car, letting the cold night air slip in. Jäger can’t move to follow, not when his mind is buzzing with questions. Does Dominic really want it from him? If he does, can he? He stares down at his own hands on his lap, balls them into fists, and tries to recall how the bruise looked like beneath his fingertips.

He assumed Bandit would have gone inside already, so he startles when he opens the door on the driver’s side.

“Stop thinking so much. I can smell your brain burning,” Bandit mutters, and looks at him expectantly, so he steps out of the car almost automatically. Bandit studies his face, and something he finds there makes his features soften.

“Hey, I wasn’t trying to force you into anything you’re not comfortable with, okay? Just forget about it.”

“But you want it?” he asks, because he has to be sure.

“I said, forget about it. I don’t want Elias or Monika chewing my ass for breaking your pretty head.”

“Elias will chew your ass anyway when he finds out you actually pulled this shit off when he’s not around,” he points out, with a faint smile. Watching Bandit trying to dodge around Blitz’s righteous fury never fails to entertain him, because at some point Bandit eventually surrenders and takes whatever is being thrown at him with a defeated posture, in his own way of saying he’s sorry.

Bandit looks relieved, which he quickly covers with a grimace in response to his words. He sticks his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leads the way to the base. Jäger walks after him silently, too caught up in his head to start a conversation. He glances up at his teammate’s neck with no little amount of guilt, and yes, he was right, the bruise isn’t peeking out.

“Dom, can you do me a favor?”

The suddenness of the question surprises even himself, but Bandit simply looks at him over his shoulder, not bothering to stop.

“I’ll consider it, but only because you’ve done one for me tonight. What do you want?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Jäger isn’t sure if it’s okay to ask this now, when they’re not in the heat of something and Bandit is more or less sober, or if it’s kind of anticlimactic after the things they’ve done already. He isn’t sure why he is asking, in the first place.

“Sure, if you want to,” Bandit replies easily, and stops in his track to peer at Jäger’s face, curious. His eyes are sharp and searching.

“I—,” he wants to, he does, it is the only thing he can be sure of. “Yes.”

Bandit, for once, keeps his mouth shut, at least for the purpose of talking, and pulls him in by the waist. He still tastes like stale cigarette, and his beard is scratchy, and Jäger wants to do this until it becomes impossible to forget what it feels like. He holds onto Bandit’s arms for balance as he leans in closer, and his fingers finally stop itching with the phantom sensation of curling around something warm and alive.

.

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[yourgodmoments]

Can We Follow Jesus?

“I am the Light of the World; he who follows Me will not walk in darkness, but will have the Light of life.” Jn. 8:12 NASB

“If anyone wishes to follow Me [as My disciple], he must deny himself [set aside selfish interests], and take up his cross daily [expressing a willingness to endure whatever may come] and follow Me [believing in Me, conforming to My example in living and, if need be, suffering or perhaps dying because of faith in Me].” Lk. 9:23 AMP

If we follow Jesus then, we must be walking in the light, i.e. not in the ways of this world; and that’s a tall order:

…present your bodies [dedicating all of yourselves, set apart] as a living sacrifice, holy and well-pleasing to God, which is your rational (logical, intelligent) act of worship. And do not be conformed to this world [any longer with its superficial values and customs], but be transformed and progressively changed [as you mature spiritually] by the renewing of your mind [focusing on godly values and ethical attitudes], so that you may prove [for yourselves] what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect [in His plan and purpose for you]. Rm. 12:1, 2. AMP

The keyword in the above scripture, is ‘holy.’ If we are to follow Jesus, we must do our best to walk as He walked. Christ walked ‘sinless,’ and He was the only person to have ever done so.

In the Hebrew, ‘holy’ means to be ‘set apart,’ dedicated to sacred purposes,’ morally pure,’ and ‘sinless.’ Other than Jesus, (and His Father), do you know anyone else who is like that? Neither do I. Yet, what does God ask of us?

For God has not called us for impurity, but in holiness. 1 Thess. 4:7 ESV

…He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and without blame before Him in love… E[h. 1:4 NKJV

What’s the problem? Our sin nature. We focus on overcoming it, but we can’t do it on our own strength.

Sometimes, we look at some of our sins as being just little trangressions that don’t count. And yet, God Himself cannot brook the presence of any sin; and He demands that in order to come into HIs presence, we must be sinless. Is that possible? Can we conform to the image of God and His Son?

…both Jews and Greeks (Gentiles) are all under sin; as it is written, “There is none righteous, not even one..” Rm. 3:9, 10. NASB

Yet, what is the defining demand that is laid upon us?

Pursue peace with everyone, and holiness - without it no one will see the Lord. Heb. 12:14 CSB

Okay. God never asks anything of us, that is not possible to achieve. To be holy is to be steeped in continual righteousness. How does that work out for us from our own efforts?

But we are all like an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are like filthy rags… Is. 64:6 NKJV

So, we cannot do it on our own. We need Jesus:

He made Christ who knew no sin to [judicially] be sin on our behalf, so that in Him we would become the righteousness of God [that is, we would be made acceptable to Him and placed in a right relationship which Him by His gracious lovingkindness]. 2 Cor. 5;21 AMP

It is the only way that we can come to the Father:

“I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.” Jn. 14:6 NKJV

Again, we can’t do it by ourselves. Why? because salvation isn’t achieved by works, but by the grace of God through Christ. (Eph. 2:8, 9.; Gal. 2:16; Titus 3:5)

Why do we need Jesus? Because our sin persists. Praise God for His intervention:

…for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, being justified freely by His grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God set forth as a propitiation by His blood, through faith, to demonstrate His righteousness, because in His forbearance God had passed over the sins that were previously committed… Rm. 3:23 - 25. NKJV

However, we are not without responsibility:

For if we deliberately go on sinning after receiving the knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains a sacrifice for sins, but a terrifying expectation of judgment and the fury of a fire about to consume the adversaries. Heb. 10:26, 27. CSB

We must do our best not to willfully sin, we must adopt new attitudes - those which promote living a life that pleases God. Part of that includes having faith in Him and His Son:

And he believed in the LORD, and He accounted it to him for righteousness. Gn. 15:6 NKJV

When we do sin, (and that will be more often that we like), we must approach our Savior immediately with confession and sincere repentance. That way, we can remain in a justified, sanctified state, where God can use us for His higher purposes:

So if anyone purifies himself from anything dishonorable, he will be a special instrument, set apart, useful to the Master, prepared for every good work. 2 Tim. 2:21 CSB

This way, we can remain in adherence to the will of God.

In addition, we must be on the alert for the devil’s attacks. The more we seek God and His will, the greater Satan will come against us - trying to get us to believe that we aren’t good Christians, and that we are not really saved.

The way to get around that is to examine everything that you do, and ask yourself, “Does what I am doing conform to God’s will?”

It is common to be discouraged because we tend to cling to our ‘favorite’ sins. Just because we have accepted Christ, does not mean that Satan is giving up on us. He wants as many of God’s children as he can get, to join him in the lake of fire.

We must find our strength to resist him by focusing on what God has done:

For He has rescued us and drawn us to Himself from the dominion of darkness and has transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son… Col. 1:13 AMP

Yet our sinful nature still resides within us - creating an ongoing war between the spirit and the flesh:

“If you do well [believing Me and doing what is acceptable and pleasing to Me], will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well [but ignore My instruction], sin crouches at your door; its desire is for you [to overpower you], but you must master it.” Gn. 4:7 AMP

In our pre-saved life, we developed a propensity, a predisposition to sin. We chose and still choose to sin. It’s not something that we can’t help; it is a willful act. We can also willfully choose not to, because God has given us an ‘out.’ We just have to be aware and look for it:

No temptation [regardless of its source] has overtaken or enticed you that is not common to human experience [nor is any temptation unusual or beyond human resistance]; but God is faithful [to His word - He is compassionate and trustworthy], and He will not let you be tempted beyond your ability [to resist], but along with the temptation He [has in the past and is now and] will [always] provide the way out as well, so that you will be able to endure it [without yielding, and will overcome temptation with joy]. 1 Cor. 10:13 AMP

Realize that in spite of our salvation, our sin nature is not going away:

“…the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth onward.” Gn. 8:21 CSB

But we can call upon the Holy Spirit, who now lives in us, to expose those rebellious urges so that we can do our best, (with Jesus), to overcome our insatiable flesh. The other thing we can do is to avoid the encounters where we are vulnerable.

Satan is the great deceiver. He wants you to be ‘cocky,’ filled with a phantom confidence that you can coexist with your favorite sin, that you have it ‘handled.’ Never.

For whatever reason, this struggle against temptation is a battle God has seen fit that we all wage. Yet, as we’ve seen, it is a series of skirmishes that have the potential for victory. We can call upon the entire Godhead to deliver us before the damage is done.

“Because he set his love on Me, therefore I will save him; I will set him [securely] on high, because he knows My name [he confidently trusts and relies on Me, knowing I will never abandon him, no never].” Ps. 91:14 AMP

Because He Himself [in HIs humanity] has suffered in being tempted, He is able to help and provide immediate assistance to those who are being tempted and exposed to suffering. Heb. 2:18 AMP

But I say, walk habitually in the [Holy] Spirit [seek Him and be responsive to His guidance], and then you will certainly not carry out the desire of the sinful nature [which responds impulsively without regard for God and His precepts]. Gal. 5:16 AMP

We are in battle with the world. To prevail, we need to arm ourselves with a continual immersion in the word of God and exercise prayer to be able to resist the prince of the power of the air and his realm.

Before you engage in any questionable activity, ask yourself 4 questions (from The Pursuit of Holiness by Jerry Bridges):

1. Is it helpful - physically, spiritually and mentally?

2. Does it bring me under its power?

3. Does it hurt others?

4. Does it glorify God?

You would surely be able to qualify if something is potentially sinful by engaging in this inquiry.

Sin is not going to give up; and you will fall from time to time. Yet, we can work on putting on behaviors that are contrary to the nature of our favorite sins. Learn to say ‘no.’ Stay away from environments, habits and people who entice you. Cleanse your thoughts.

You are what you think:

For as he thinks within himself, so is he. Pr. 23:7 NASB

…if anything is excellent and if anything is admirable, focus your thoughts on these things: all that is true, all that is holy, all that is just, all that is pure, all that is lovely, and all that is worthy of praise. Phil. 4:8 CSB

And then, act those thoughts out. Go on the offensive. Make no exceptions. You can walk a holy walk of obedience to your God. Let others know that you are a Christian. It puts you on the spot for God, and that’s a good thing.

You were chosen for this. Yes, you can follow Jesus…

…God from the beginning chose you for salvation through sanctification by the Spirit and belief in the truth… 2 Thess. 2:13 NKJV

Since we have these promises, beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from every defilement of body and spirit, bringing holiness to completion in the fear of God. 2 Cor. 7:1 ESV

Goodnight and God bless

[mrmichaelchadler]

Figuring It Out: The Films of Laura Dern

Jennifer Fox (Laura Dern) speaks in voiceover in a half-dazed, half-searching tone, as if slowly bringing herself out of a dream. “The story you are about to see is true … as far as I know.” A documentary filmmaker, she’s used to finding ways to look beyond the surface of what people present about themselves; she’ll have to turn that ability on herself. She remembers herself being and looking older than she was, speaking about a man she calls a lover—despite the fact that he was an adult and she was only 13—with a defensive, forced attempt at nonchalance (raised arms, dismissive pitch) that turns pleading, then incensed when she’s called a “victim,” her voice breaking into a raised whisper, her expression into a furious grimace. “This was important to me, and I’m trying to figure out why … Let me just figure this out for myself.”

“The Tale,” debuting on HBO on May 26, is documentary filmmaker Jennifer Fox’s narrative retelling of her experience, and an emotionally searing look at how people process their abuse. The casting of Dern, one of the most adventurous actresses working today, feels apropos, given the performer’s willingness to walk a constant emotional high-wire act and her recent hot streak that includes, but is not limited to, “Enlightened,” “Wild,” “Big Little Lies,” the “Twin Peaks” revival, and “Star Wars: The Last Jedi.” It’s also an instructive text when looking at Dern’s body of work, a career filled with stories of women who have either experienced or witnessed unbearable trauma and who are trying to find the meaning behind it all.

The daughter of two of New Hollywood’s greatest character actors (Bruce Dern and Diane Ladd), Laura Dern began her career in uncredited roles alongside her mother (“White Lightning,” “Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore”) before emancipating herself at 13 when her mother objected to one of her early credited roles in the teenage punk girl drama “Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains.” Dern’s role as one of the members of the Stains is relatively small (it’s largely Diane Lane’s show), but she makes an impression as being kind and empathetic, expressing genuine sympathy when a band member of another touring group overdoses. Dern’s teenage roles draw on her natural warmth and luminous presence; her performance as the blind Diana in “Mask” in particular sees her displaying an unusual level of openness with Eric Stoltz’s Rocky (born with a rare skull deformity), a willingness to accept him for who he is and stray outside her comfort zone for someone who accepts her.

Straying outside one’s comfort zone is central to Joyce Chopra’s “Smooth Talk” (pictured above), which gave Dern her breakout role as Connie Wyatt, a teenage girl hitting her rebellious years and having a hard time of it with her demanding mother. The first half of the film is a remarkable study of a teenager’s tentative first steps toward sexual exploration, with Dern veering back and forth between being marvelously unaffected (tossed-off delivery and leaning posture around her parents) and exaggerated flirtation, like that of someone who’s both fascinated bt sex and stuck in a childish, mocking view of it. She adopts confidence only to shrink away, puts her full body into a kiss before breaking off, admitting that she’s not used to “feeling … this excited.” 

It’s in the second half, when a greaser (Treat Williams) appears outside when she’s home alone that “Smooth Talk” dives headfirst into that discomfort. Dern’s bashful body language gives way to a menacing, dancelike semi-seduction with Williams, shifting from apparent fun and games to something that’s outright predatory, with her demeanor collapsing collapse into hyperventilative terror. She’s in that uncertain place in between childhood and adulthood, when everyone is trying to define themselves, but there are plenty of men who have their own ideas of who she is and what they want from her. “Smooth Talk” would be an ideal (if grueling) double feature with “The Tale,” a young person’s immediate experience with sexual desire, confusion and abuse paired with an adult’s retrospective understanding of that trauma.

Dern received raves for her work, getting her first of two straight Independent Spirit Award nominations (back when they tried to be more than Oscar predictors); her next would come with a part that would bring her to greatest and most important collaborator. Few directors have brought as much out of Dern as David Lynch, but then, few performers have brought as much out of his characters as Dern, beginning with her role as Sandy in “Blue Velvet.” The archetypical girl next door, Sandy has a kind of unearthly wholesomeness that’s best showcased in her monologue about her dream about “robins of love.” The key to Lynch’s work is his belief that the truly good can coexist with the truly wicked. Dern represents the former, delivering the monologue with a whispered awe and reaching hand gestures that border on evangelical before bringing herself down and finding a way to clarify it to her rapt listener/love interest. Sandy and Jeffrey (Kyle MacLachlan) see some terrible things (including a painful moment of trauma that prompts a distorted look of sorrow that’s distinctly Dern), but she remains unwavering in her belief that her dream of light can conquer darkness and make sense of this strange world (would that Isabella Rossellini’s Dorothy were so lucky). 

Dern teamed with Lynch again for 1990’s “Wild at Heart” (pictured above), playing the far more confidently sensual Lula while retaining the same good-heartedness she brought to “Blue Velvet.” It’s a heightened, deliberately iconic role, with Dern leaping into exaggerated dancing, purring with sexual abandon and leaning just so to express her arousal or satisfaction when talking to or about Nicolas Cage’s Elvis-obsessed Sailor. But Lula is also someone who has experienced great pain—the death of her father, her molestation at the hands of his friend, the murderous rage of her mother (played, in a stroke of casting genius, by her real-life mother, Ladd)—and has come out the other end demonstrating a full-bodied, defiant belief in the all-conquering power of love. The film’s “Wizard of Oz” framing device sometimes comes across as a bit forced, but it’s also another example of how Dern’s characters often tell themselves stories to make sense of their lives and guide them from darkness to light. 

Dern’s early adult roles often deal with characters exploring their sexuality at a time or place where that might put them in jeopardy; that’s certainly the case with Martha Coolidge’s “Rambling Rose,” in which her “borderline nymphomaniac” Rose comes to live with the Hillyer family (father Robert Duvall, mother Ladd and teenage son Lukas Haas) after unspecified trouble with men. Dern brings a blithe, bouncy exuberance and confidence to the role, waltzing down the street knowing that her walk can turn heads and her smile win hearts. But Dern also embodies Rose’s goodness, her sexual escapades being the actions of someone who has an intense and open need to be loved, and to be treated with the kindness that she shows the world but that the world hasn’t been good enough to show her. A scene between her and Duvall after she’s caught in bed with a man sees her not going so far as begging, but rather earnestly presenting herself with all cards on the table, an eyes-wide-open, forward-leaning acknowledgement that “I’m only a human girl person, and I ain’t always perfect.” 

“Rambling Rose” earned Dern her first Oscar nomination and preceded two high-profile supporting roles in 1993. As criminologist Sally Gerber in Clint Eastwood’s beautiful “A Perfect World,” she illustrates the impossible situation that Butch (Kevin Costner) was put in as a troubled child with an abusive father, giving a full picture of his trauma and bringing us to empathize with how he became a criminal. As Ellie Sattler in Steven Spielberg’s “Jurassic Park,” Dern plays the warmer counterpart and partner to Sam Neill’s testier Alan Grant, exuding, intelligence, physical capability and a deeper concern for how easily the park can spiral out of control and the consequences that come with it (she also has the ability as an actress to practically unhinge her jaw in terror when things do go wrong). In a key character moment, she pleads empathetically for John Hammond (Richard Attenborough) to recognize how the people they love may get hurt. Both roles cast her as figures of empathy, finding ways to make sense of the reasons why people cause each other pain while trying to prevent it from happening again.

If “A Perfect World” sees Dern asking us to sympathize with a troubled person, Alexander Payne’s “Citizen Ruth” (pictured above) shows how far that should be extended. Make no mistake: Dern’s pregnant, inhalant-addicted Ruth Stoops is a first-class fuck-up. Dern dives headfirst into making her as gross and unlikable as possible, smearing her mouth with inhalant residue, manipulating the same people who are manipulating her (both sides of the abortion debate attempt to co-opt her case for their agenda), and shouting some truly filthy insults (“suck the shit outta my ass, you fucker!”) with gritted teeth and gusto. Yet the actress still finds something sympathetic in her, her downcast eyes and fidgeting fingers communicating her knowledge that she’s fucked up yet again and is about to be on the receiving end of some real hardship. Ruth may sputter with uncertainty when trying to voice the whys behind her right to choose, but Payne and Dern take her choice, and the pain behind what led her to it, seriously (besides, she said it loud and clear the first time).

Dern’s career slowed down in the late 1990s and early 2000s, something she attributed (more than plausibly) to her guest appearance on “Ellen” as a radiant, openly gay woman that causes Ellen DeGeneres’ character to come out herself. She got her first serious critical attention in years in John Curran’s “We Don’t Live Here Anymore” in 2004. The film, about a two couples (Dern and Mark Ruffalo, Naomi Watts and Peter Krause) whose lives are upended when Ruffalo and Watts begin an affair, is too drifting and one-note to draw much blood, but it comes to life whenever Dern’s enraged, emotionally rangy Terry takes focus. Dern adopts a hunched-over posture for her arguments with Ruffalo, her clenched chin jutting out slightly, to show a woman who’s well aware of how she’s being deceived and whose total dismissal to the role of child caretaker (something she does not take to naturally) looks like it’s almost literally weighing her down. Terry’s agonies in “We Don’t Live Here Anymore” are resolutely ordinary, compared with some of the other characters Dern has played, but they’re no less important to her.

Dern reteamed with David Lynch for the truly deranged “Inland Empire,” in which she plays the actress Nikki Grace, getting the comeback of a lifetime with the role of Susan Blue before her role starts bleeding over into her identity (or something … even more than usual with Lynch, describing what actually happens seems futile and beside-the-point). It’s a tour-de-force performance, alternatively put-upon, ferocious, frightened, and whatever one can call this terrifying face. She’s simultaneously the film’s emotional anchor and its constantly metamorphosing nucleus. “Inland Empire” is, at least partially, about the emotional wringer that performers can put themselves through for a role, and how easy it is to mix up one’s own emotions with their character’s. A monologue in which Nikki’s character (?) describes her trauma and her self-defense in a jaded tone that occasionally sparks into violence is later seen in a theater, the actress observing herself. She’s played a character who has lived through real terror, but we see that the actress herself is living in terror, both at home (her husband is deeply controlling and ambiguously threatening) and at work. Does the actress simply play the part, or is she drawn to roles that bring her to relive (and potentially make peace with) her nightmares?

“Inland Empire,” like most of Lynch’s works, does not put its or its characters’ purpose into words so bluntly; Dern’s next major role is a little more easily (and narrowly) defined, but not uninteresting. The 2008 TV movie “Recount” (pictured above) relives the national trauma of Bush v. Gore, the second-most nightmarish presidential election in recent memory. Largely focused on the tactics employed the official campaign teams of Vice President Al Gore (Kevin Spacey, Denis Leary, Ed Begley Jr.) and Governor George W. Bush (Tom Wilkinson, Bob Balaban), the film also takes time with Florida Secretary of State Katherine Harris (Dern) and her poorly disguised efforts to throw the election to Bush. Dern walks a fine line between humanity and cartoon with Harris, whom she portrays as a zealous, wide-eyed ideologue with exaggerated hair and makeup. But she finds the heart of Harris in her true-believer story about Queen Esther sacrificing herself for “the lovely Jewish people,” evangelizing as if her staking her career on Bush winning the election is for the good of the people. Her self-martyring tone is farcical, but it’s also indicative of how political partisans view their work as de facto for the good of the people and a tool to bring a country together after a moment of bitter division, rather than the actions of further division. 

Many of Dern’s more recent film roles have been smaller, supporting parts, but a few have still been notable. In Paul Thomas Anderson’s “The Master,” she has that same true-believer tone as a rich woman who has taken to the new religion of Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman). Her student’s passion for something that’s given her life meaning is palpable; so is her shocked pain at being rebuked for questioning how, exactly, it can switch teachings so cavalierly, her body practically crumpling at Dodd’s shout. She’s more unflagging in her optimism as Reese Witherspoon’s mother in “Wild” (her second Oscar-nominated performance). Dern comes across in only a handful of small scenes as a vivacious presence who nonetheless knows perfectly well that she’s lived through hell, smiling through memories of pain because it brought her the most important person in her life. She’s the witness to someone else’s pain in Kelly Reichardt’s masterful “Certain Women,” a lawyer to a man (Jared Harris) who got screwed over when accepting a piddling settlement after a workplace injury but who can no longer be helped because of it. One senses her lived-in frustration as he refuses to listen her (then listens to a male colleague who tells him the same thing), but her genuine empathy for a man who she’s effectively powerless to help is also clear. And as Admiral Holdo in “Star Wars: The Last Jedi,” she commands the screen with a steadfast, unwavering certainty that she’s doing the right thing—any assumption of her incompetence be damned—finally proving herself to be among the bravest and most self-sacrificing heroes in the series.

Still, most of Dern’s best recent work has been on television. The brilliant, unjustly canceled “Enlightened” sees Dern’s personality as embedded into the work as Mike White’s (indeed, the two are credited as co-creators). Amy Jellicoe is another of Dern’s troubled heroines trying to find meaning in their lives, following her nervous breakdown first with a genuine attempt to regain the respect of her colleagues, then by becoming a corporate whistleblower in a move that’s half genuine, half out of bitterness. Amy’s a mess, lashing out at people she (rightly or wrongly) believes have wronged her at one moment, then preaching with a sincere but totally oblivious sense of illumination in the next. What holds Dern’s performance together as Amy whips back and forth between manic highs and deadening lows is an ardent, indefatigable expression that it’s possible for her to do something important with her life and potentially make the world a better place, no matter how crazy that world thinks she is. 

Dern returned to HBO in “Big Little Lies,” with her Renata Klein initially set up as an ostensible villain; Dern tears into the overbearing, bullying aspect of Renata, whether she’s stabbing the air with her hands like a maniac or giving a silent but icy glare, shouting her threats at the top of her lungs or whispering them with quiet menace. But there’s still a beating heart in her, a genuine desire to protect her daughter from pain (whether it’s violence at school or the more everyday hurt of someone skipping her birthday party), and the heartbreak in Dern’s voice when she voices her feeling of utter powerlessness (a control freak’s worst nightmare for minor issues, let alone real pain) is unmistakable. Much of the strength in “Big Little Lies” is its belief that flawed women can ultimately come together, forgive each other and help each other along; Dern’s performance is key to that.

And still, “Big Little Lies” had only the second-best Dern performance on television last year. There’s a nostalgic, near-breathless thrill in Dern’s first appearance as Special Agent Dale Cooper’s long-unseen secretary Diane on “Twin Peaks” (or “Twin Peaks: The Return”), an unmistakable callback to their close connection in “Blue Velvet.” Still, one couldn’t have predicted Dern’s delightfully cynical performance, all long drags on cigarettes and venom-spitting “fuck yous,” a far cry from the mostly upbeat Sandy. But even putting aside the eventual revelation about Diane’s nature, it makes sense after decades of disillusionment following a rape by the man she most trusted. That pain comes through in her reunion with Bad Cooper, her voice breaking, her breath quickening; it’s even clearer in her late-series breakdown, her shield of cynicism giving way to trauma flooding back. Even Diane’s return to normalcy is a pyrrhic and only temporary victory, with a sex scene with MacLachlan’s Good Cooper playing less like a triumph and more like a final, deeply sad shared moment between the two (which Dern somehow conveys largely with her back), one of the show’s many acknowledgements that trauma cannot be erased. 

“The Tale,” then, is instead a look at how one lives with that trauma. Fox’s gradual shift to acknowledging something terrible happened is not an easy journey, nor is it a simple one. The film deals heavily with the tortured self-rationalizations and denials employed by both survivors and abusers, ones both sincerely believed and desperately clung to. The final scene is confrontational without being fully cathartic, Dern’s belated but volcanic outrage a moment of her taking her past back (a real triumph) without any illusion that she has expelled that very pain. If there’s something Dern’s best work shows, it’s there forever; one can only try to make sense of it.

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