pippilotta-the-philologist

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

This fic by @granny-griffin hit me over the head with a bucketful of Thoughts, so . . .

The Arcadian Wild, Corner // 2 Corinthians 12:9 // Romans 3:21-31, ESV // Rich Mullins, Boy Like Me/Man Like You // 1 Corinthians 11:1, ESV // Galatians 2:20, ESV // Rich Mullins, Sometimes By Step // Matthew 5:16, KJV // The Oh Hellos, Glowing // 1 Corinthians 13:12, ESV

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

@novelmonger

Whole Shards Bucky!!!

Characters who choose death but are forced to live, my beloveds.

Characters who have to come to terms with a second chance at life they never asked for, my darlings.

Characters who move forward on the trembling legs of a newborn fawn through the overwhelming, blinding crush of an existence they fully forsook but which was thrust back upon their unwilling beings, my obsessions.

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

Thoughts on the Narrative Themes in Captain America: The Winter Soldier

From a storytelling point of view, there are three main themes in this movie (note: you can generally pick out what a movie's theme is within the first five to ten minutes. Good movies keep hammering that theme all the way through). 

The first is that truth and trust go hand in hand. If the truth is hidden and smothered, you can trust no one; but if you know the truth, speak the truth, and trust the truth, the truth will set you free. 

(I don't think I need to provide examples here. Nearly every character in this movie displays some manifestation of this theme in one way or another.)  (All the same, I will provide examples.) 

Nick Fury lives almost entirely without regard to speaking truthfully-- he values the truth, but as we know, he trusts nobody, which puts quite a damper on his perception of the truth.  This is one of the biggest reasons why the helicarriers were able to become a thing. In Fury's eyes, being able to see and target anything and anyone who may pose a threat-- seeing the truth-- is a good thing; but he lacks an ability to hear what is true and believe it without seeing evidence for it. 

Initially, the same goes for Natasha. Her entire life is a string of masquerades-- even when she allows herself to be half-genuine for a moment (i.e., while getting information from Loki in The Avengers), she's still a puppeteer moving her own strings. The only times we've seen her be truly genuine, I believe, are a) after rescuing Clint in The Avengers, and b) her "I don't know everything, Rogers, I only act like it" moment in Winter Soldier. The latter isn't entirely a genuine moment, but you can see the frustration and panic through her facade.  She throws all that away.  She has red in her ledger. She knows that. And after years of hiding it, she broadcasts it to the world-- because if SHIELD/HYDRA's ugly secrets are going to come out, hers have to come out first, and that's a price she's willing to pay. (That whole scene is a reflection of that-- from the moment she removes her disguise, she only steps closer and closer to the truth, until she reaches it.)  (Side note: was I the only one who was equally delighted to see Nat and disappointed that it wasn't really an old lady giving Pierce a whupping?)

Steve has nothing to hide-- and so, in the end, he has nothing to lose. He quite literally spends the whole movie in pursuit of the truth-- whether finding it out or speaking it to another. 

Bucky.  Bucky has been force-fed lie upon lie during his time with HYDRA. He's hopelessly tangled in a web of deceit by the time we meet him-- but  even that isn't enough to keep the truth of "I knew him" from getting through.  In the end, it's the truth that sets him free-- free from HYDRA, if not yet free from what they've made of him.  It's the truth that leads him to save Steve's life. 

The second theme is that nothing is beyond corruption-- yet nothing is beyond redemption, either. SHIELD is an example of something that was good, became corrupted, and had to be destroyed before it could be fixed; whereas Bucky is an example of something that was good, became corrupted, and (because of the undeniability of the truth-- a tie-in to the other theme) was able to be redeemed.  In a way, I suppose you could say that SHIELD and Bucky are reverse parallels of each other in this movie. The Winter Soldier was discovered to be Bucky Barnes and ended up being saved; SHIELD was discovered to be HYDRA and ended up being destroyed. 

The third theme is that nobody is too ordinary or inconsequential to make a difference-- the only thing keeping us from doing so is our willingness to do what's right (or lack thereof). 

This is literally established in the first few shots of the movie-- with Sam and Cap running laps around DC. It's made very clear right away that Sam Wilson is just an ordinary guy-- but that never deters him from doing what needs to be done. He immediately notices that Cap is Dealing With Things, and he reaches out. Again and again, he's on Cap and Nat's side when it seems like nobody else is, and the seemingly small help that he's able to bring to the table proves invaluable. 

(This point is again demonstrated later, when the Winter Soldier attacks Sam's car on the highway. Even in the background, we see people not just fleeing from the scene, but helping other people out of the wreckage and trying to shield others. Again, nobody is too ordinary to make a difference.)

We get it again when Cap announces to SHIELD headquarters what HYDRA's up to. 

I'm going to talk about the guy who refused to launch the helicarriers for a moment.  This is just an ordinary SHIELD agent who came to work this morning because it's his job. It pays the bills. He's under no obligation to do anything other than what he's told to do.  And yet when Rumlow tells him to launch the ships, he refuses to.  You can see it in his face-- he knows he's about to be killed. He knows that once he's gone, Rumlow will simply turn to the next agent and tell them to send the ships up.  And he still says no.  What it took to separate the wheat from the chaff and wake up the courage in what was left of SHIELD wasn't an army with guns a-blazing, nor a supersoldier captain-- but a guy with a desk job saying "no."  And once he did-- he didn't end up getting killed. As it turned out, there were allies all around him-- they just needed a push in the right direction.

HYDRA may have still been there, surviving within SHIELD-- but it was possible to defeat it. How was it defeated? By means of ordinary people standing up against it, just as they did three-quarters of a century before. Just because a problem is still around after supposedly being extinguished doesn't give anyone an excuse to sigh, sit down and resign themselves to it. 

(This is a FANTASTIC way of calling back to the first CA movie.) 

(Also, there's a whole thread of people putting in their two cents about this scene and this character here. I love so many of the takes on that thread (language warning, if you do read it).)  

One of the things which makes this movie such a good one is the way these themes intertwine, weaving in and out of each other like a braid. They aren't necessarily related-- but in this story, they're inseparable. One leads to the other, which leads to the other, which leads back around to the first. They never contradict each other or themselves (which is a common mistake in ambitious, potential-having movies that flop half-way through). 

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

A few things get sorted out, and maybe there's a little hope left to go around.

“Buck,” he breathed, “you're so strong.” Bucky stared back at him. “That's your takeaway from this?” “Yeah. Not that I ever thought otherwise.” Warm affection bubbled up inside Steve's chest, rising like smoke that made his eyes sting. He had to stop talking and press his fingers against his eyes to keep from breaking down then and there. “I wouldn't blame you,” Bucky murmured, gently squeezing his hand. “Given you plenty to worry about before.” Sniffling a little, Steve wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. With a watery smile, he said, “You're my brother. Of course I'm going to worry about you.” “Hey, I'm the older one. That's my job, not yours.” “Try and stop me.”

TW: discussion of self-harm/suicide

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

I haven't even watched Thunderbolts, but this is very sweet. :>

The One With the Omelets

“What are you doing?”

Yelena, bleary-eyed in her sweatpants and oversized hoodie, stared between Bob and the sizzling pan in front of him uncomprehendingly.

“Uh…makin’ omelets.”

Yelena looked at the still-dark sky out the window and raised an eyebrow.

Bob winced. “P-practicing. Making omelets,” he amended awkwardly. As if it made much more sense.

He braced himself, his gaze drifting to what belatedly occurred to him was an incredible amount of groceries—three dozen eggs, a gallon of milk, mushrooms, red, yellow, and green peppers, spinach, ham, bacon bits, and three different kind of cheese.

“Can I have one?” she asked.

Bob blinked in surprise. “Uh…sure. What kind do you want? I have, um…” He chuckled. “Options.”

Yelena gestured at the stove. “Whatever it is you are already making is fine.”

“Okay.”

She wandered over and perched on one of the barstools. She didn’t look good, he realized—where he’d initially assumed she’d just woken up, she had the weary, pinched expression of someone who had been tossing and turning for hours. Some mascara she hadn’t quite managed to wash off was giving her slight raccoon eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Bob asked cautiously, examining the edges of his omelet.

“No,” Yelena said.

She didn’t explain further. A beat too late, he realized that he should’ve asked a follow-up question. He opened his mouth, but before he could come up with anything to say, she asked, “Did you DoorDash all of this?”

The question would have made him nervous, if not for the little smile pulling at her lips. Well, that smile made him nervous in its own way. But that was a thought for a different time—a time when he could make himself understand that it was okay for someone like Bob Reynolds to think a girl’s smile was pretty. “Y-yeah.” A jolt of panic lanced through him. “Do you think it was okay to—?”

Yelena waved off his concerns. “Valentina budgets like we’re eating our weight in caviar for dinner every night. It’s fine.” She rested her chin on her arms, watching him as he started adding fillings—ham, cheddar, and bits of bacon he’d fried earlier. “When did you learn how to do this?”

“Oh, uh, long time ago,” he said quickly. He remembered his mom standing over his shoulder in the kitchen, morning after morning—one bacon and sharp cheddar omelet, two pieces of buttered toast, one cup of black coffee. A lot of things could depend on whether or not Bob Reynolds botched an omelet. He’d never actually eaten one himself. He’d always imagined they tasted like a split lip.

“Bob?” Yelena’s voice came. She sounded worried.

Bob gave his head a tiny shake, trying to shake the memory from his eyes.

Yelena leaned further across the island, peering closer at him. “Bob,” she repeated.

He jolted, eyes snapping to hers. “Huh?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, trying to sound breezy. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He was clearly bad at breezy. Yelena looked at him incredulously, gesturing to the stove.“You’re up making omelets at four in the morning.”

“Well, you’re up watching me make omelets at four in the morning,” he pointed out. “Which is, y’know, kinda…” He winced. “No, no, making the omelets is definitely worse.” He slid the one he’d just made onto a plate, folding it over itself, and set it in front of her.

She ignored it. “Bob. Why are you making omelets?”

He fidgeted with his sweatshirt sleeves. “I dunno, I just thought, um…”

That was a lie. He did know. Last week, he’d watched Walker try and fail to make an omelet for breakfast for three days straight. With each attempt, he’d seemed to grow more and more upset—it was more than frustration, it was something deeper. It took a couple of days for Bob to realize why it might matter so much to him. That maybe someone used to make omelets for him. Someone he had something to prove to. Someone he missed.

On the fourth day, Walker had caught Bob staring at him as he scraped what had once again turned into scrambled eggs onto a plate. “What, Bobby?”

Bob had flinched a little at the acidity in his voice, but he willed himself to plunge forward anyway. “It’s just, uh, if you—“

Despite Walker’s vehement protests that he hadn’t been trying to make an omelet, he’d lurked a step or two behind Bob and had watched intently as he’d made him one.

“Dude,” Walker had said after his first mouthful, eyes wide, “that’s a friggin’ good omelet.”

He’d immediately seemed embarrassed by admitting it and had awkwardly walked away, but it hadn’t mattered to Bob—a warmth had flooded his chest, a warmth that he wasn’t used to. He’d felt like he might start floating—but he then had remembered that that was a distinct possibility, and quickly distracted himself with something else.

That’s what he was doing tonight, in a way. He’d been staring at the glass of water on his bedside table again, thinking of the day he’d once again just spent listening in on the comms. It was nice to listen in, nice to feel included, but “nice” didn’t make up for the growing sense of uselessness that was gnawing at him. Especially not today.

You could move that, the voice said as he’d stared at the glass of water. You’ve done it before. You could make it float, blow it up, disintegrate it into dust. Anything you wanted. They would see you then. They would know that you could help.

I do help, he’d thought desperately.

You could’ve stopped him from getting hurt.

The glass had wobbled.

He’d shot out of bed, skittered across the room, looking anywhere, anywhere but at the glass—and then he’d thought of the omelet.

“Because I’m good at it,” he finally confessed.

Yelena didn’t look surprised. “Mmm.” She nodded. “I get that.”

Bob suddenly realized that he hadn’t given her a fork. He quickly grabbed one out of the silverware drawer and handed it to her, but while she took it, she didn’t use it—only twirled it between her fingers absently, staring into the middle distance. He was once again struck with the feeling that something wasn’t quite right with her. “Yelena?”

She sighed. “There are things I’m not very good at, Bob.” She caught his eye. “Unbelievable, I know.” She cracked a small smile—and of course, he couldn’t help but smile back, what else could he do?—but there was a heaviness to it that concerned him.

She bit her lip. He wasn’t sure if she was going to continue, and he wasn’t quite brave enough to ask her to. He had just picked up an egg to crack it into a bowl when she said, “I know why yesterday went bad.”

He froze.

“I’m an assassin, Bob, that’s all I know.” She stared down at her plate. “I’m not used to…having other people with me. Thinking about where they are, what they are doing, if they’re okay.”

Bob slowly put the egg back in the carton, wincing. He’d been trying not to think about it. Bucky was downstairs with two gunshot wounds in his side. They had both turned out to be flesh wounds and he was a super soldier, but that hadn’t made it any easier to listen to over comms. Bob hadn’t realized Yelena was taking it so hard.

“I was supposed to be watching his back, and I forgot he was there,” she said heavily. “There are no excuses for that.”

“You-you got him out, though,” Bob pointed out, trying to be reassuring. “And the doctor says he’s going to be fine…”

“This time.” Yelena started cutting into her omelet a little too vigorously. “We got lucky. I don’t like lucky—especially when I only just realized that I would be pretty sad if he died.” She said this last part in that particular jokey way of hers that meant she wasn’t being jokey at all. “I don’t know how my sister did it.”

“Did what?”

“You know…turned off the assassin. I made fun of her for it, being on the covers of those magazines, looking ridiculous. But…she was really, really good at it, you know? And now, here I am, standing where she stood. And I’m looking ridiculous. I’m on a cereal box. I saw costumes of me at the Spirit Halloween. Would you believe it? Cute little girls are going to go door to door asking for candy dressed up as the professional killer who lets her friends get shot.”

She sounded casual—so, so casual—but Bob knew her better by now. There was that note in her voice, a slight bit of strain that told him she was trying too hard to sound flippant, that made his stomach twist into a worried knot. He bit his lip, hard, panic welling up in him. He didn’t know what to do. He could feel a gulf between them in the space taken up by the kitchen island—not an unfamiliar one, but usually it was Yelena bridging that awkward gap of vulnerability. He knew he should be the one to do it now—heck, he wanted to be the one to do it—but the words got stuck in his throat.

The silence stretched on horribly. The knot in Bob’s stomach got tighter. He heard Yelena’s fork scrape across her plate. She sniffled.

Bob’s eyes widened. “Are you okay?” he managed to ask, though he still was too nervous to look at anything but the egg carton.

She sniffled again. “It’s a really good omelet,” she said thickly.

He finally mustered the courage to look at her, and though she tried to turn her face so that he couldn’t see, he could tell that she was fighting back tears.

Well, that did it. Bob felt all his fear and nervousness evaporate, replaced by something fiercely protective. “Yelena.”

She met his eyes, startled. “Yes?”

Some part of him knew that he was going to be appalled at his own boldness later, but right now, he was too concerned about Yelena to care. “Do you want a hug?”

She stared at him for a long moment and, to Bob’s immense surprise, slowly nodded. She slid off the barstool and padded around the island, and before he could think, had wrapped her arms around his middle and buried her face in his sweatshirt.

Bob held her like she was made of glass at first, worried he might break her—don’t make things worse, a voice in his head said—but then she had begun to cry in earnest, and he found himself pulling her tighter, as if he could shield her from her own insecurities and anxieties as easily as he could bullets.

“I’m messing this all up,” she sobbed after a minute or so, voice muffled.

“I dunno about that,” Bob said, resting his cheek against the top of her head. “You look like you’re doing a pretty good job from up here,” he said into her hair.

“Bob, I suck at this,” she choked out.

“But you showing up and sucking is still saving a lot of people, y’know? A lot of people who would have died if you hadn’t tried to save them at all.”

Yelena didn’t reply, but her sobs quieted a little.

“Except you don’t suck,” Bob amended quickly, panicking. “You-you don’t suck at all, you’re really cool and talented and beau—a-and you look really cool on a cereal box.”

She laughed softly and pressed in closer to him, and with it, Bob felt his feelings of uselessness dim into insignificance. Maybe this was enough for now—to hold her, make her laugh. That was enough saving the world for the moment.

“You’re pretty great too,” Yelena said.

“I don’t know about that,” Bob muttered—but if his superpowers had included light radiation, he would’ve been a firefly.

A sound made Bob jump, and he jerked his head up to see Bucky standing on the other side of the island, surveying them both—and judging by how much of Yelena’s omelet he’d eaten, he’d been standing there for a significant amount of time. Bucky raised his eyebrows at him, then looked between him and the girl in his arms.

“Um,” was all Bob could manage.

Bob loosened his grip on Yelena, but to his surprise, she did not do the same to him—she only turned her head to glare at Bucky. “Why are you up?” she demanded. Though she was trying to sound irritated, her voice was still wobbly. “You’re supposed to be on bed rest for the next few days. And you’re definitely not supposed to be stealing people’s omelets.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky said. Bob wasn’t sure whether or not he was lying—it was really hard to tell with him—but he did seem remarkably recovered from the last time he’d seen him, at any rate. “I’ve had worse.” Bucky narrowed his eyes at Yelena. “You better not be blaming yourself, kid. Because that would be stupid.”

“Right,” Yelena agreed. She hiccuped. “Stupid.”

“Really stupid,” Bucky said significantly.

“You know what else is really stupid?” Yelena said. “Bleeding out on this nice kitchen floor Ava just mopped. You should know that, Mr. Super Soldier.”

Bucky harrumphed. “Fine. But you—“ he pointed his fork at Yelena “—stop panicking. You’re fine, I’m fine. You—“ he turned the fork on Bob. Bob flinched, but Bucky pointed the fork at his plate. “Good job. This is really good.” And with that, he left, but not before muttering under his breath something that sounded suspiciously to Bob like “carry on.”

“Sometimes I really do feel like we’re living with a kooky 110-year-old man,” Yelena remarked, looking up at him.

“Yeah,” Bob said, chuckling. “I’ll, uh…” He spotted an errant tear on Yelena’s cheek, and without thinking, brushed it away with his thumb. He froze, hand cupping her face. “…make you another one,” he managed to finish, but his head was miles away from his words. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning—I want to kiss her.

The thought terrified him more than he could comprehend. A welling up of shame came next—was he crazy? Who do you think you are, Bob? He tried to push it away, told himself it was only an impulse of the moment—but it wasn’t, and he knew it. And that terrified him more.

Yelena didn’t pull back. She only watched him, patiently waiting to see what he would do.

He ducked his head, pulled away. “I just, uh, let me see—“ He started fiddling with the egg carton.

Yelena tugged at his sleeve. “Hey.”

Bob turned to her, and saw her looking at him with that steady, calming gaze that always seemed to anchor him. He let out a breath, shoulders relaxing.

She smiled at him, then indicated the pan on the stove with a tilt of her head. “Teach me?”

He smiled back. “Y-yeah.” That, he could do.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

The heartbeat of BNHA is selfish love versus selfless love; love that takes versus love that gives.

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

EXACTLY. It's important to let your kids have their first tastes of freedom (in practically any aspect) *while* they're under your roof and under your authority! Otherwise, they'll be absolutely lost when they're 18 and they're having to navigate all these things that are suddenly Allowed for the first time. A parent's job is to train up their children in the way that they should go-- not to shelter their children from everything and hurtle them in the general direction of where they hope they'll end up once they're "old enough."

(This is one reason why I disagree with the "my kids are arrows in my quiver" mindset. The releasing-them-into-the-world process isn't supposed to be a sudden one, it's supposed to be a gradual one-- think raising a tree as opposed to shooting an arrow. You prune and you train and you water it, and by the time you take away the guideposts, it should be strong enough to stand on its' own-- because you've been encouraging it to branch out *and* put down roots this whole time. (If you're raising your kids right, you're teaching them to be grounded in God's word *and* ready to take what the world is going to throw at them.))

(AND AND AND-- that's actually exactly what Glen Keane (the lead animator on the Beast, and the one who animated the transformation scene) had in mind when he was coming up with the concept for that scene!! That's why he had the Beast's cloak wrap around him in the way that it did-- he was trying to evoke the image of a caterpillar in a chrysalis, of the Old Thing dying and the New Thing coming! He actually wrote 2 Corinthians 5:17 ("Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come") on the paper he animated that scene on-- and that's *still* in the Disney archives somewhere.

Anyways-- just saying, you were *spot-on* with that one.)

One thing dad taught me about media discernment since I was a kid is that for stuff like violence, for example, you must consider its Purpose, and if it Gratuitous he considers that a good rule of thumb that it's bad and better avoided. (And yes dad did teach us with these exact words 'you are allowed to watch anything BUT you must have Discernment about what you watch').

Except for literal kids' cartoons, he always watched every movie with us, and explained to us what was happening, what the author was trying to say, what the ideology behind was and so on. This certainly helped me a lot along the line, it made me have a baseline of media comprehension. And I rarely if ever struggled with the same issue my fellow Christians raised in Christian homes had (such as finding that most media is too sinful or worldly for them, usually because growing up their parents forbade them from everything, whereas my parents allowed me almost everything, but with appropriate guidance).

But even with Disney movies, my dad would sometimes sit with us and explain. Instead of banning me from watching Pocahontas, for example, because of its overt pantheistic beliefs, he explained to me look, this and this stuff they're saying is called pantheism etc. Other movies he would even tell us look how this and this and this is actually a Christian theme. Like in Beauty and the Beast I distinctly remember dad framing the moment the beast dies and is transformed in his human form etc not as 'magic' or even 'the curse breaking' like in the movie, but in Christian terms such as 'resurrection' or perhaps even being 'born again'. And looking back now, I actually think that's brilliant. I definitely want to do the same when raising my own kids. I sometimes see takes on Christian tumblr about 'is it ok to watch such and such and such media' and some people are like yes obviously and here is a 3 page essay on the Christian themes on [secular movie here]. And I guess I took for granted that this take, yes a good and nuanced one, is actually how I've been raised. And this is very unlike how all my peers have been raised. I really respect dad's approach here.

Anyway I grew up with a lot of WW2 movies. It was something dad liked to watch a lot and I liked it too. I liked action movies and history so that was a combo of the 2. Obviously when there were violent scenes dad would physically cover our eyes, especially when my brother and I were under 12 (or for example when I was 12+ but my brother was like 8-9 dad would only cover his eyes). Well in dad's framework of media discernment, as I said above, violence in and of itself isn't the bad thing, it's the intensity and purpose thereof. So war movies obviously contain some violence, because that's what war is. But he always cites the Final Destination movies as gratuitous violence, and the reason he forever quit watching horror movies.

But the most interesting part about this is, it wasn't even mainly about violence, it was about Purpose and Message. What I really really appreciate about how dad raised us is how he taught us from an early age to identify the message and worldview being presented in movies, and to this day this is the main way I evaluate stuff I watch or read. The most problematic part of Final Destination, to him, was that the main message was a deeply fatalistic one, wherein a cold universe just seeks to torture people for no reason. The violence was not only Gratuitous (serving no higher purpose than shock value) but it enforced the core worldview presented in the movie, that anybody can die gruesome deaths at the mere whims of fate. Whereas, he told us, we believe in a God that's sovereign over the world, we don't believe that we are mere victims to the cruel whims of fate.

So the basic rule of thumb was gratuitousness (all sex scenes are gratuitous, for example, on top of being sinful - he either skipped the channel or otherwise covered our eyes; but as I said above violence, if judged as gratuitous, was also content we were barred from watching). But the rule that supersedes all rules is Worldview. What is the main message of the movie? What is the worldview that is being presented here? As you've seen above, we were not banned from watching stuff with worldviews opposite of ours, but if the message was deemed harmful then in that case we were not allowed. But otherwise, it was all a Teachable Moment.

I also learned at a young age that we shouldn't boycott a media just cause the author has a sinful lifestyle (they all do, ultimately, so by that standard we would not watch anything ever). I remember that the first time I learned what homosexuality is was when I was casually listening to the song Last Christmas (I gave you my heart) and dad, walking in was like hmm did you know the guy from Wham! was gay? And I was like what's that, gay? And he explained and basically taught me the 'separating art from artist' lesson. But more importantly than that he was like ok what do the lyrics of this song say? 'Last Christmas I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away' - and he explained, basically, the concept of 'God shaped hole', how any human person that we 'give our heart to' will ultimately disappoint or betray us, but if we 'give our heart' to Jesus (ie give our life to Him etc) He's the only One who will not disappoint.

Possibly none of what I wrote is exactly how dad phrased it back then, but those are the core ideas. And honestly, this is way better than just telling your child no you're not allowed to watch/ read/ listen to anything ever, cause I say so. We were given a lot of freedom, but in a controlled and safe environment. Dad was always there to explain stuff to us and walk us through movies and songs and stuff like that. This is what helped us actually build Discernment.

I only mention my dad cause he was the main one who actually sat down with us watching movies and stuff. Mom was often with us too, but some movies we watched multiple times and she got bored and left. Either that or she did the 'active explaining' stuff less often than dad did. With movies at least. When it came to books, mom was the main one who provided the nuanced interpretations.

As for the internet, as kids we were only allowed for a limited timeframe and on very specific game sites that my parents found to be kid friendly. I remember early youtube and how my brother and I would watch it together at the family computer. Anyway usually dad typed in what we wanted to watch (such as LEGO or Transformers or Mario or whatever stuff we were into at the time). When we were younger he was watching with us, but later on he largely left us alone. He strongly emphasised the need for kids to have privacy (and basically trusted we would tell him and mom if we saw anything inappropriate - and we did! I remember a video whose thumbnail was barney the dinosaur and the actual video was a short animation of Bart Simpson shooting Barney with a rifle and, as a kid, I was pretty spooked by that! Another that I found by watching normal Transformers animations was one in which Bumblebee transformed into robot form before Sam got to get out of the car, thereby killing him; I came crying to mom when I saw that. I think I was alone though. My brother would've been freaked out, too. (I remember him being creeped out by the music video of Bring me to life by Evanescence.)

One time (but we were older children/ tweens at this point) we were watching stickman animations and we ended up on one that was very gory (in a stickman cartoon way) and mom walked in and was like hey! Why are you watching that? You're only supposed to watch Nice cartoons! Well by that age my brother was no longer scared by it, but more like morbidly curious?? Anyway the early internet was as such that videos with normal looking thumbnails included disturbing content (and such a thing happened even with dad around, so it was kinda inevitable). But our parents definitely gave specific guidelines on internet usage and so on. I learned the hard way not to click random links either (I was browsing art on deviantart - I was a tween or early teen by this point - and usually links led to speedpaint videos or animations or music or at any rate stuff that was directly related to the art I saw but this link jumpscared me so much cause it was like a demon/ monster figure talking/ whispering in a low voice. Well I avoided clicking links from then on to be sure. Idk what my point is here. I guess that some aspects of Discernment and Media Awareness/ Comprehension are learned from direct experience as opposed to taught by parents.

The older we got the more our parents let us watch/ read/ listen to whatever we wanted. And if we saw something bad we just told them. If we saw something Good, we told them that too. Sometimes I'd listen to music on the speakers and they'd hear too (it wasn't a secret I was just embarrassed cause dad would be like haha is that Japanese anime music or whatever comment that made my tween/ early teen self feel awkward and judged even if that wasn't the intent). I wrote my first novels (starting age 12) on word on the family computer and printed it out for my parents to read. One time my brother and I asked dad to film us making a LEGO movie (we had prepared the set and props and characters beforehand and just made him film us with his phone, which had a very good camera. I think the video is still on our family computer!

My point here is. If you actually give your children freedom, and teach them discernment early on, they will thrive! And they won't be as secretive as they would if you just banned them from everything! Until our teen years, we actively involved our parents in our hobbies, because we had nothing to hide (and tbh we didn't have anything to hide as teens either, but felt 'judged' by the 'old people' that are our parents haha). And if we messed up something on the computer or if we saw something inappropriate we'd immediately teel our parents cause we knew we can be honest with them. And it really mattered that our parents, especially dad, treated us with trust from an early age, instead of just restricting us then treating us with suspicion.

And that is the thing I appreciate the most about how our parents raised us. I owe so much of my current media comprehension skills to dad. I'm very grateful.

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

Happy Father's Day to every good dad i have ever written, either in fanfic or original fiction, I love you all and you deserve the best, and by best I mean all the character development I've put you throu--why do you look mad. Put that weapon down. Put it DOWN HEY DONT COME AT ME IT WAS FOR THE GOOD OF THE PLOT AAAHHHH--

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

@griseldabanks This seems applicable. XD

Happy Father's Day to every good dad i have ever written, either in fanfic or original fiction, I love you all and you deserve the best, and by best I mean all the character development I've put you throu--why do you look mad. Put that weapon down. Put it DOWN HEY DONT COME AT ME IT WAS FOR THE GOOD OF THE PLOT AAAHHHH--

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

Oh my goodness--- thanks for the tag!!! :D

(Ah, I relate to #4 so much-- same childhood experiences here. Good life lessons learnt ahead of time, y'know?)

Uhm . . . let me see . . .

I'm tough. Granted, I'm not very strong compared to people who hit the gym and train their muscles-- but I can work hard and (for my size) carry a lot without injury; it just takes me longer than it'd take a bodybuilder. I also tend to not feel pain very much, which is helpful when it comes to brushing off scrapes and bruises and pinched fingers. (This has an obvious downside, though, as I tend to not notice when I'm *actually* hurt.)

I'm not a very emotional person. I can deal with a lot of heavy stuff without breaking down about it, and I'm able to approach layered issues logically. (This has a downside, too, because this *can* make me seem insensitive, and I do get somewhat confused and uncomfortable around other people's emotions, especially in real life. I really hated this about myself in my childhood years, and felt like I was somehow "broken," like I didn't have the right software installed. It's the way God made me, though, and I've learned to see it as a strength, rather than a weakness.)

I look a lot like my mother and my paternal grandma. I used to hate this, too, because everyone who knows me and meets my mother (or knows my mother and meets me) has always said, "you look exactly like your mum!" (I had a very rocky relationship with my mother through my teen years, so this wasn't something I *wanted* to hear. Besides-- what teenager wants to be told she looks just like her mum?) It also seemed like a weird disservice to my grandma, because she had long since passed away. Nobody knew what she looked like, so everyone who looked at me just saw a carbon copy of my mother. I'm proud of it now, though. I carry a strong resemblance to both sides of my family, and in an ironic sort of way, I look very much like two people whom I'm programmed *very* different from. (Don't tell me God doesn't have a sense of humour.)

I have a freakish memory. Passages, quotes, citations, minute marks, page numbers, release dates, mental pictures, mental *videos,* complex patterns-- it's all up in the files, waiting to be accessed. (It's the accessing that's the difficult part, sometimes.) This comes in very handy, and is very rarely a bad thing.

I'm fairly good with kids. Chalk this one up to being an oldest sibling, if you want-- you won't be wrong. XD

Tagging @granny-griffin, @masterfuldoodler, @scaremoonturkey, @sunlitsorrows, @i-am-a-stupid-robot, @bittergems, @craftybookwyrm, and @on-noon, if you want to do this! (I don't have any more people to tag. XD)

5 things you like about yourself tag game

Firstly, when you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool) <3

Thought this would be fun! Play with me?

Tagged by @dairogo

I have pretty hair. It's a nice, dark brown with a reddish tint to it in the right light, it's down to my waist, and it's got a pretty wave that comes out effortlessly if I let it air-dry. It would probably look better if I spent more time and money on it, but one of the things I like the most about it is how easy and agreeable it is for the most part. I've figured out how to keep it pretty healthy (though split ends are a never-ending issue), and found a conditioner it really likes. I never do anything with it except a simple ponytail when doing chores, but it thrives this way.

I have a certain...stubbornness? Sticktoitiveness? I might not be the best at figuring out the most effective or efficient or skillful way of getting something done, but I'm good at sticking to a project until it's complete. In terms of writing, this means that if I've gotten past a certain point of actually writing a story, I'll definitely finish it at some point, even if it takes years and isn't maybe the best thing you've ever read ^^' It also extends to other things, like...I'm not the best gamer ever, but I'll keep trying and trying until I eventually beat it. *glances sidelong at the 100+ hours I've put into Star Renegades without ever getting to the end*

A pastor once told me he thought my spiritual gift is patience. I struggle with other fruit of the Spirit plenty, but I do find it relatively easy to be patient most of the time. Part of this is probably due to me just not having a high energy level, so I'm perfectly happy to sit and wait. But yeah, I do think God has given me more patience than some, making it easier for me to sit and listen to someone, to put up with small annoyances, and maybe even lends itself to forgiveness?

I'm good at window-shopping and avoiding impulse buys. A lot of that probably comes from not having a ton of money growing up, not to mention being homeschooled for most of my childhood (and not even being part of a co-op, just me and my family on our own), and thus not having many peers with stupid trends to follow. So I grew up with the understanding that, however much I might want something that looked cool or fun, it was probably too expensive, so don't expect to ever get it. Even now that I'm making my own money and get to decide how to spend it, when I see something that looks desirable, I always check myself with the thought, "But would I actually ever do anything with it?" So yeah, that sword at the ren faire looks really cool, but I would never actually do anything with it, so maybe I'll keep my money and buy some books instead.

This is a big one for me, because the Novie of a couple decades ago would be flabbergasted at me saying it: I like that I cry easily. I'm very empathetic - if you're crying, I'm probably crying. I cry when I'm sad, when I'm happy, when I'm angry, when I'm scared. I cry for movies, I cry for beautiful music, I cry when my friends (even distant acquaintances!) are struggling. I've even cried because the full moon was really pretty! XD During the depths of my teenage angst, this was something I hated about myself, something I tried to stifle, but my emotions are simply too big and can't be contained. And I think I can finally, finally accept that this is simply the way God made me. It can be inconvenient sometimes, but I think tears are a pathway to empathy and connection. There's something instinctive in us when we see someone crying, to want to try to draw near and help them. And that's a good thing.

Tagging @rainintheevening, @sailforvalinor, @valiantarcher, @pippilotta-the-philologist, @authortobenamedlater

@elanorpevensie, @thetreasurechest, @nerdy-catfish, @mislamicpearl, and @bunnyscar if you want to do this!

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

Aw, thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed it. Yeah, I get that! (JHdkjhksjagf; that means so much to me--)

Thanks for checking it out, and thanks again for the ask! :)

💖 Which of your fics is your pride and joy?

Lead Me Home, which is currently a W.I.P. It's a friend's abandoned collaboration project, which is probably why it's my pride and joy-- it's someone else's brainchild that I've been given the honour of adopting. It's a Wingfeather Saga fic set centuries in the future after the series ends, so I suppose it only counts as a fic in the vaguest sense-- it takes place in a setting that someone else created, but is otherwise entirely an original story.

Since LMH only counts on technicalities, I'll say that my other pride and joy is . . . well, technically another fic that isn't published yet, so I'll go with third place: Dust to Dust. This one's another Wingfeather Saga fanfic, written for a friend. I think this is the fic that was the most impacted by the music I listened to while I wrote it-- it seemed that the music wrote it more than I did. It's a somewhat gloomy fic, but I like it in spite of itself. It fits well (I feel) into the section of the story that I was filling in, and the imagery and mood hopefully convey that.

Speaking of imagery, it's the one of my fics that I can "sense" the most as I read it back, just as when I wrote it-- I can "feel" the temperatures at different points of the story, I can "smell" the scents, I can "see" the scenery as clearly as if I was really there. (As someone who regularly pictures things in stories like 3-D models and sets, trust me-- this is a *way* higher level of imaginary sense than usual.) So that's one thing that I do really love about it, but that's just me.

Sorry; I'm rambling. XD Thank you so much for the ask!!

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

AND THE CALLING OUT IS THE HARDEST THING TO DO, BUT!!! Even when it feels like it's pointless, like there's no one there to hear, and even if they did, they wouldn't care-- there's always Someone who *does* hear every word, and *has* cared since before you took your first breath. (That doesn't come into your fic, of course, but you can see it reflected there more times than you can count.)

And even when you're lying at your lowest point, with no strength to do anything but raise your voice to a whisper (and even that is taking all you have)--

It feels like it's futile. It feels like you're prolonging the inevitable. It feels like there could never be any hope in the world again, not for you.

But after midnight, it's tomorrow, even though it still looks like today-- and the sun is coming.

Take Me In Chapter 59: Out of the Depths

Bucky goes back to Rikers. Will anything truly be different, or just more of the same?

“What do you need to hear right now?” Bucky shrugged. A tear dropped onto the table, and he just stared at it. “Then what's he telling you?” It took almost a full minute before Bucky responded. Steve couldn't tell if he was just choked up with emotion, or if it still hurt his throat to talk. Eventually, he said in a hoarse voice, “Says I'm a burden. Just...keep causing more trouble for you.” Oh, how Steve wished Brad was a real person, so he could punch him in the face.

TW: prison life, description of child abuse

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

listen its about the last unicorn being fundamentally no different from the harpy and feeling more compassion for her than she does the trapped animals or the humans trapped by circumstance. it's about haggard grabbing the unicorn only once she has become human enough for him to drag her down and realise her eyes are empty. it's about schmendrick and the magic that lives in him more than he wields it, it's about "never run from anything immortal, it attracts their attention" while walking slowly from an unspeakable horror devouring an old woman, it's about "how dare you come to me now, when I am this?". it's about the unicorns staying in the water until they can't anymore, until the castle crumbles and the one unicorn who is different from the others now - she lowers her horn and she digs her hooves in and she stands her ground for a dear, dead boy. it's about the trade of immortality between schmendrick and the unicorn, it's about stories needing to be told, it's about lir loving the unicorn enough to know that she cannot stay with him, and to let her would be to do her a disservice.

it's about "your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. i would tear myself to pieces to call you once by your name." it's about regret.

(it's also about little 5 year old me renting the movie from the library whenever i could and watching it on loop for hours. it's about just how much this story has shaped me and my understanding of storytelling.)

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

Firstly, Murphy is a delight.

Secondly, I've been WAITING to meet this Dr. Robbins character since I saw the vague description of him you gave in an ask game some months ago (and guessed what his name was a reference to). He did not disappoint.

Thirdly, STARSET. :D

Take Me In Chapter 59: Out of the Depths

Bucky goes back to Rikers. Will anything truly be different, or just more of the same?

“What do you need to hear right now?” Bucky shrugged. A tear dropped onto the table, and he just stared at it. “Then what's he telling you?” It took almost a full minute before Bucky responded. Steve couldn't tell if he was just choked up with emotion, or if it still hurt his throat to talk. Eventually, he said in a hoarse voice, “Says I'm a burden. Just...keep causing more trouble for you.” Oh, how Steve wished Brad was a real person, so he could punch him in the face.

TW: prison life, description of child abuse

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

For the fic writer asks:

🎭What genre of writing comes easiest to you?

🙌What's a line or paragraph of yours that you're proud of?

💻What do you write your stories on? Laptop, phone, paper, etc.

🤔What are some words or phrases you find yourself overusing?

🦗Do you write in sequence or jump around?

⏳If you could go back in time and tell your younger writer self something, what would it be?

What genre of writing comes easiest to you?

I honestly don't know. I don't tend to pay that much attention to what genre I'm writing in; I usually just set out to write a story.

I suppose the ones I could rule out are romance, mystery, and contemporary. I'm not sappy enough for the one, confident enough for the other, or normal enough for the last. XD

What's a line or paragraph of yours that you're proud of?

There are three that immediately come to mind, so here you are:

"Ah, how can I describe it? Such dancing is like tangible laughter, and it is near impossible to pin it down and put it into words. It seems to last a lifetime while one is moving and stamping and caught up in the music—and yet once the last fiddle drops bow, it is over in an instant, and you cannot recall it suitably to memory. I think it is one of those things we mortals are not allowed to remember all the way—much like infancy, perhaps: a moment too passive and yet vigorous to be rightly held in the mind.  I am speaking nonsense, of course. But what are poets if not speakers of thoughts they cannot yet understand?"

"If the reader has ears, let him listen; and if not, I hope he knows how to read."

'He could think of nothing else to say, so he asked what he had usually resorted to upon meeting others his age. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”  She shook her head, tucking her hands into her apron pocket and fidgeting with her dust rag. “It’s just me. Mama says Papa’s enough for five boys, though.” Her eyes twinkled.  “Strong as an ox, or an incorrigible rascal?” “Both.”'

What do you write your stories on? Laptop, phone, paper, etc.

Fanfiction is almost always on the laptop, and original stories are almost always on paper.

What are some words or phrases you find yourself overusing?

"Glanced," "X's head popped up," "half-[verb or adjective]," "murmured," "nodded," "chuckled," "presumably," and "suppose."

Do you write in sequence or jump around?

Always in sequence! I'll go through and outline things sometimes before fleshing it out, but I always have to go from beginning to end and do things evenly. XD

If you could go back in time and tell your younger writer self something, what would it be?

You will, at least nine times out of ten, have to settle for less-than-perfect. You'll have to cut this, that, or the other thing out in the interest of coherency. You'll have to move on from a scene that still feels a little rough. You'll have to call it "good enough" at some point.

And it's not going to be fun all the time. There are going to be times when you *don't* want to finish this chapter, or you *don't* want to figure out the details of that time skip, or you *don't* want to fill out that page of dialogue. If you're going to make ravioli from scratch, you're going to have to clean the kitchen afterwards. Same goes for writing.

It's finding joy in the work that makes it enjoyable.

Thank you so much for the ask!! :D

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

WIP's are cats; pass it on.

approaching the wip carefully from the side like a skittish animal. speaking in a low, gentle voice so it doesn’t run away

[pippilotta-the-philologist]

The only thing that makes you not-a-writer is the fact that you haven't written. Once you write-- bam. You're a writer. You can write. DO SO. I BELIEVE IN YOU. GO FORTH AND CREATE.

“why isn’t there any fic about (x)?” there can be a fic that is precisely about what you want to read. just start writing that fic for yourself.

“but I’m not a writer” every writer has had their first time writing. most writers start with writing something they want to read. your work doesn’t have to be perfect, because having 1 fic that is precisely about what you want to read, even if it’s not perfect, is still better than having 0 fics about what you want to read.