#like an interpretive dance depiction of someone dying

[curetapwater]

Black Doom: These are our special babies that we're raising in an active war zone. Protecc them.

Me: [trips over one and immediately dies]

[tartagliadevotee]

— your eyes tell. 

pairing: yandere!thoma / fem!reader

genre: angst, smut

wordcount: 4.8k

warnings: yandere, noncon, depictions of blood,  manipulation, physical abuse, slapping face, vaginal fingering, face fucking, degradation, spitting, watersports (piss kink),  creampie, dirty talking, possessiveness, mindbreak, memory loss, dumbification, reader loses her memory

summary: after you get yourself almost killed, thoma decides the best thing to do is to take your vision away. 

a/n: so a couple of things, first of all I wrote this in a day before I left so there might be more mistakes then usual sorry! Also this isn’t canon compliant, I kinda interpreted what loosing a vision would be like, how the memory loss would happen etc. etc. hopefully you guys will enjoy it!! 

** contains spoilers for 2.0 & Inazuma story quest ** 

It was getting colder. 

Pink petals from a nearby sakura tree danced before your sight, drops of rain starting to dribble down from the heavens. You felt so very tired as you laid on the ground. Not even the strength to call out to someone for help. A drop landed on your cheek, coolness blossoming on your skin, you sighed. In the end, this wasn’t a bad way to go. Groaning, you touched the slash on your stomach, blood still oozing out of the wound and mixing with the dirt. Dying at the end of another blade was a great honor for a samurai wasn’t it? Shouldn’t you feel better? Shouldn’t you have a sense of accomplishment rising in your chest, shouldn’t you be proud? 

The warmness of your tears contrast with the coldness of the rain. Why on earth did you leave home today? The answer flashed behind your eyes without even thinking-- you felt suffocated. That’s right. You left because you wanted to take a breath of fresh air and witness the sights you missed seeing. You had waved Thoma off and just left, ignoring his green eyes going dark with disapproval. Despite his many, and strict rules, he could never actually say no to you. Sure, he would make you pay for it later on but you got used to the insults, slurs and abuse to your body. After a while you learned to welcome a bit of pain. You saw it as a challenge. A bittersweet laughter left your chapped lips-- why were you even thinking about him right now? Why not your family, friends? You haven’t seen them in ages, maybe that was why. 

Eyes fluttering closed, your eyelashes kissed your cheeks. All strength was steadily draining from your body, not even your tears felt warm anymore. The storm became harsher, the rain droplets hitting your cold skin felt like bullets. You were so cold...so very...cold… 

“Y/n?” a familiar voice called out. “Where are you?” 

The voice sounded panicked, worried. You could hear footsteps walking among wet ground, puddles sloshing, it was close. Barely you managed to open your eyes, the sky was almost completely dark now. How long have you been laying here? You part your lips, a meek, gurgled sound leaving you. You took in a deep breath, licked your lips, cleared your throat and tried again. 

“Thoma,” it was barely a whisper. “Thoma--” you said again, this time a bit louder. 

The steps stilled only a moment before speeding towards you. He actually heard you. You wouldn’t be dying. Your sight was blurry but you managed to see a figure kneeling next to you, you felt hands roaming all over your body and finally stopping at the wound. 

“Shit--” 

“Thoma?” you coughed. “Is...Is that you?” 

“Y-Yeah, it’s me.” his voice trembled. “Don’t worry I’m here.” 

He placed his hand on your forehead, heat radiating from the palm. You took in a deep breath and closed your eyes once more, the warmth felt nice. You hadn’t noticed but the rain had stopped, he placed pressure on the wound and you grit your teeth in pain. 

“Who did this to you?” 

A face popped in your head but you’re too weak to answer. You felt him picking you off of the ground and you’re surprised that his hands are trembling as he carries you away, a string of curses leaving his lips. It felt like his voice was coming from afar, your consciousness fading, darkness consuming your mind. The last thing you remember was feeling Thoma hugging you closer. 

---

When you open your eyes you’re laying on the all too familiar bed, staring up at an all too familiar white ceiling. Sun bounced off of the walls, brightening up the large room and you could faintly hear the birds chirping outside. You smacked your lips as you stared up, you were thirsty. Tilting your head to the side, you noticed a pitcher of water with a lemon in it and a glass next to it. With a groan you straighten up, pain shooting from your stomach and throughout your worn body. But still, you managed to lift yourself up and with a shaky hand you filled the glass, only a bit of it pouring over. Placing it back down you took a hold of the glass and pressed it against your lips. The fresh lemon taste mixed with water soothed your worn out throat and wetted your dried out lips, before you knew it you finished the whole thing. 

“Good morning--” 

You flinched at the sudden sound, the glass slipping from your fingers but before it hit the floor Thoma quickly leant forward and grabbed it. He made the action seem effortless as he placed it back to the bedside table. 

“Want me to pour you another one?” 

“N-No, that’s fine,” you averted your eyes as you laid back down. “Thanks.” 

“How are you feeling?” 

The bed dipped as he sat next to you. You weren’t sure what to think. He was being extremely nice and sweet. Almost resembling the Thoma you once knew. Instinctively, your hand rested on top of your wound. Despite the ache of your body it felt mostly healed now. How long have you been sleeping? Wanting to hide yourself from the world, you closed your eyes. You felt horrible. But it wasn’t because of Thoma, no. It was the realization that if you did in fact die, your family wouldn’t have even known about it. Did they ever remember you? Reminisce, questioning why you never called or visited. You let out a shaky breath, your eyes starting to water. 

“I’m fine.” you replied, your voice coming out a bit more colder than you had hoped for. “How long have I been sleeping?” 

“Two days.” he scratched the back of his head, a nervous, misleading smile plastered on his face. “I was really worried, you know. Why on earth were you dueling the nameless samurai?” 

“I wanted to help him remember,” your voice shook. “But I didn’t expect him to suddenly get so strong.” 

“To help him,” Thoma repeated. His voice suddenly dropped. “Well, no one will be helping him now.” 

Your eyes widened at the implication, you didn’t want to ask but you had to. Your mouth felt dry and your stomach churned. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“He shouldn’t have hurt you--” he growled, hands balling into fists as they rested on his lap. “I made sure he won’t ever again.” 

“Y--You,” you reached out and grabbed his forearm, nails digging into his skin. “You killed him?” 

His gaze shifted to you slowly, first it landed on your hand then gradually moved towards you. When he made eye contact you gasped and immediately let go of his arm, his eyes looked so hollow. Thoma raised an eyebrow at your reaction and suddenly burst out laughing. He laughed at you. He killed a man and he was laughing. 

“Don’t act so innocent,” he said between giggles, wiping a tear from his eyes. “It’s your fault, really.” 

“How--” 

“If you hadn’t run off wanting to pretend to be a hero,” he cooed as he gripped your chin, forcing your gaze on him. “You wouldn’t have almost died. I wouldn’t have had to resort to such measures.” 

“That’s,” 

“That’s, what?” 

“That’s neither here nor there,” you hissed, moving away from his grip. “You can’t blame me for what you did.” 

The next thing you feel is pain, skin burning at the impact his hand made against your cheek. Your head flung to the other side and with shock your hand went to touch the side of your face. It stung just by the tip of your fingers grazing against it. Tears welled up in your eyes but you didn’t dare to move. Your heart beating loudly in your chest, you closed your eyes and pressed your palm fully against the burnt, hoping it would subside. 

“I did it for you,” he said. His voice sounded distant, void of anything. You started to shiver as you imagined what he looked like. You hated seeing him when he was like this. It struck fear to your very core. “Do I need to remind you who saved you?” 

“You didn’t have to kill him,” you whispered, straightening up but still not looking at him. “He didn’t deserve to die.” 

“And how are you supposed to know?” Thoma asked in a mocking tone. “Are you even aware of how bad your state was? I-- You almost died.” 

“Yeah, well it would’ve been better than living like this!” 

With a gasp you covered your mouth, fuck, did you really just say that? This was the first you admitted such a thing to him. Bile rose in your throat, fear rushed through your veins. With wide eyes your gaze shifted to him, you were scared but you couldn’t help it. It was like watching an accident unfold before you, a deadly one at that. You held your breath. Thoma was shivering all over, body trembling and his nails digging into his clothed thighs. His breathing was ragged, only short sharp breaths filling the overly bright room. The worst thing was his unblinking gaze, he didn’t even look mad. He looked betrayed, shocked. His bright emerald eyes became a dark forest green as he stared at you. 

Then out of nowhere he lunged at you. Pinning your arms above your head and pressing his cold forehead against your own. His breath ghosted over your face, it smelled faintly of sake. You took in a shaky breath as he looked down at you, his body still trembled. 

“How could you say such a thing,” he growled. “I let you do whatever you want, so much so that you almost ended up dying. If you did die, who would be accountable, hm? Me. I would forever live with the guilt of sending the one I love most to an early grave.” 

“This…” your voice trembled, tears now freeling sliding down your burning cheeks. “This isn’t love. You captured me, put me in a prison. I didn’t ask for love like this.” 

“I remember you saying you needed no one other than me,” 

“How was I supposed to know,” you whispered. “I used to love you. I was foolish.” 

His hands squeezed your wrists, you knew it wasn’t meant to be painful, it was a warning. Your mind muddled and heart filled with emotion, you decide to ignore it. 

“You don’t love me anymore?” 

Why did he sound like he was about to cry? What did he want from you? Why were you angry at yourself for making him feel this way? 

“No.” you replied, surprised at your own voice for sounding so cold. “Not anymore.” 

Suddenly the weight pressing down on you was lifted and the pressure was gone. The bed creaked as he got off. Your eyes snapped towards him, fearing what he might do upon hearing the truth. But he just stared. His blond locks covered most of his gaze but you could clearly see the look of disgust lingering in his eyes.

“I see,” he replied. “I did give you too much freedom after all.” 

He took a step forward and searched your body, you weren’t quite sure what for but didn’t dare to move. The fear had made your body lock up so instead you just took in deep breaths, waiting for it to all be over. Then Thoma finally found what he was searching for, a soft hum of victory reaching your ears. He pulled something from your waist, a round dark blue object you were much familiar with-- 

Your vision. 

“No!” you screamed out, lurching forward as you ignored the pain blossoming once more. “Thoma give it back!” 

“This is the cause of it,” he said, ignoring you. He inspected the vision, turning it as he held it between his fingers. “I should’ve taken this a long time ago. You don’t need a vision when I’m all you need.” 

“I do need it!” you reached the end of the bed but he gracefully moved away. “What if-- What if I need to defend myself?” 

“Defend yourself?” he snorted. “Clearly it’s not doing a very good job since you almost died.” 

Heat raised up to your cheeks. Clutching your stomach, you got up on shaky feet and started to chase him around. With a mocking smile, he kept escaping you, teasingly holding your vision in his hand. With a groan you jumped forward but your legs were still weak, the ground slid from underneath you and with a yelp you started to fall. But before you hit the floor, a gentle touch wrapped itself around your waist and you found yourself being placed back upon the bed. Thoma sighed as he knelt in front of you, your vision still glowing in his hand. Finally you broke down, tears falling and hiccuping as you sobbed, begging him to give it back. Empty promises dropped from your mouth, promising him that you won’t ever leave, never do anything stupid again. He only placed a hand on your thighs, caressing your skin as your body shook with tremors. 

“This will be good for you, you’ll see,” he said, his voice sounding too understanding. “You don’t need things like ambition, a dream. You have me.” 

“You know what happens to the people who lose their vision,” you replied between sobs. “I don’t want to forget. I won’t be me anymore. Thoma please.” 

“Of course you’ll still be you,” he tutted. “In fact you’ll be a better version. A version that doesn’t go and get herself almost killed. Besides, you'll have a new ambition-- Me.” 

“What?” you whispered. “Thoma, just please. If you love me you’ll give it back.” 

“I do love you,” he said. “That’s why I’m doing this.” 

With that he disappeared, taking your vision with him. The door slammed as he left the house, leaving you feeling empty, void. He actually did it. He took the one thing that was most important to you. You started to cry harder, a giant lump in your throat as you wiped your tears with both hands. It was painful. So painful to be completely helpless. You would hate him forever for this. You hated him. Hated him. Hated-- 

You hear the door creaking open and look up. Thoma was standing right at the door frame, staring at you with a curious gaze. You searched his hands. Your vision was gone. 

“How could you?!” you screamed as you jolted up, ignoring the pain. “You took the one thing that matters most to me! That was mine! Given to me by an archon! You had no right--” 

“Yeah like the archons know best,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “You should rest.” 

“No! You know what? Fuck you! I don’t even care anymore!” tears continuously streamed down your face. 

You walked up to him, your hands balled into fists, you prepared to shout again but you stumbled and he held you by your waist. You hated this. Why was he even acting like he cared? His lips formed a thin line as you raised your fists and slammed them against his chest. He seemed unaffected, you couldn’t blame him, you were still weak after all. 

“Give it back!” you shouted between gritted teeth. “Give. It. Back.” 

“I can’t,” he said simply. “I gave it to the soldiers of the Tenryou commision. It’s gone now.” 

“You...” 

“I’ve never witnessed what happens right after someone loses their vision. Is denial the first step?” 

He was mocking you. It was clear as day. You wanted to hurt him back, wanted him to feel as much pain as you did. You look up at him, with an evident glare in your eyes, you snarl. 

“I hate you,” you hissed. “And I’ll hate you forever.” 

That was the last straw. Removing his hands from your waist, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and dragged you to the bed. You screamed, new tears filling your eyes. He sat on the bed and watched you squirm against the floor. Thrashing around as your hands held his, nailing biting into his skin. He scoffed and let go, you fell back and your gaze immediately snapped up. He could only see fear in them but hopefully it would change soon. 

“Fucking shut up already,” he jeered. “I’m sick of you crying when I’m the one looking after you.” 

You parted your lips to speak but before you could his hand pierced the air and landed on your face. You groaned at the pain settling under the skin and held your cheek with both hands. He was never this rough with you. Never. 

“Undress.” 

You stood there in utter shock, body trembling as you looked down at the floor. You couldn’t even comprehend the command, it sounded so ridiculous compared to the situation. When the silence between you grew, he sighed and pressed his foot down against your thigh. You weren’t expecting it to hurt but it did, you flinched and tried to move away but he didn’t let you as he pressed further down. 

“Did I stutter?” he asked. “Undress. Now.” 

With shaking hands you do as you’re told. You weren’t wearing much to begin with, only a long dress. You took it off in one sweep motion and threw it on the floor. He nodded, pleased that you finally started to listen. 

“I don’t want to get dressed anymore,” he said as he removed his foot from your thigh. “You’ll never leave this house anyway. No more mister nice guy.” 

Thoma raised his hand and beckoned you near him, you didn’t want to but you feared you had no other choice but to listen. Your body felt numb and your mind felt empty. Crawling between his legs, you sat down and waited for him to say anything else. Another teat left your eye when you blinked, was this your life now? Being a slave. Thoma grabbed your chin and pulled you closer towards his crotch, you realized in disgust that he was tenting. Your lips formed a thin line as you shook your head but you were too weak to actually escape his grip. He sighed and forced you to look up at him, he looked tired. 

“I know you enjoy this little cat and mouse game we often play,” he said, sounding almost bored. “But I’m not amused anymore. I don’t want to hurt you, I just want you to love me.” 

“That won’t--” 

Another smack pierced the air and your head flung back, this time you could taste blood. Before you can recover he gripped your chin once more and pulled you back so you could face him. 

“Don’t say that again,” he hissed, leaning down. “I swear if you do I won’t be able to control myself.” 

He squeezed the sides of your chin. 

“Open up.” 

Reluctant, you obeyed. Parting your lips, you stuck your tongue out just like Thoma wanted. He pursed his lips and spat loudly into your mouth and you wrinkled your nose with disgust. Noticing this, he did it a second time. 

“Swallow.” 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you close your mouth and swallow. The taste and texture made your stomach churn. It felt disgusting. 

“Good,” he said as he patted your head. “Good girl.” 

You remained seated between his legs as he unzipped himself and pulled his cock out of its confinements. The tip was a deep shade of red, already glistening with precum. You knew where this was going and it made you sick, but why it did, you weren’t quite sure anymore. You part your lips and let him pull you towards his cock, you wrap your lips around the tip and swirl your tongue. Your stomach retching at the taste of precum, he noticed your discomfort and chuckled. 

“You really hate bodily fluids don’t you,” he mused. “Too bad you’re about to receive lots of it.” 

With that he thrusted his hips and buried himself completely into your mouth. You gagged around his length, your throat squeezing around him. He groaned at the sensation as he pulled back and slammed in again, using your mouth as an absolute cocksleeve. Thoma didn’t have a care in the world, after all he deserved it for taking such good care of you. Each time your nose touched the dark blond pubes at the base, you felt yourself near to blacking out. Breathing was getting more and more difficult as his movements became more eager, the tip reaching the back of your throat. 

“Touch yourself,” he ordered between pants. A confused noise left your throat as you looked up. “Touch yourself. You know, like you do when you masturbate? Are you that stupid?”  

You hesitated for a moment before your hand went to your core. You flinched when your fingers touched the clit, your cunt already feeling wet. 

“Come on,” you hummed, his movements slowing down. “I know you can do it.” 

With an exceptionally hard thrust into your mouth, you finally do as you were told. Your chin felt strained as you felt his balls smacking against your chin, precum and spit dribbling from the sides. Your fingers shaking, you started to play with your clit. Rolling and pinching the sensitive nub, then you rubbed your fingers between your folds, moaning around Thoma’s cock. 

“That’s it,” he praised. “Good, you’re learning.” 

You were angry at his words but you didn’t understand why. Shrugging off the unsettling feeling you continued to finger yourself, playing with your clit while your other hand started to tease your twitching hole. You pushed in a finger and moaned once more and pushed your hips down. You looked up to Thoma with half lidded eyes, he had a wide grin spread across his handsome features and his green eyes almost looked delirious. He was so handsome, how did you end up here again? 

“Are you going to cum with my cock stuffed down your throat?” Thoma mused. “Now that would be a sight to see.” 

He pulled your hair, pushing your head down. You groaned as your airflow was cut entirely, choking and gagging around him. His cock throbbed, spurting out thick ropes of cum down your throat. You almost threw up at the taste, trying to pull back but he held your head in place. 

“If you cum I’ll let you go.” 

Squeezing your eyes shut, your fingers delve in deeper and you rubbed your clit harder. Heat built up in your loins, suddenly a sense of pleasure slowly started to build and build. You needed to breathe but you couldn’t, you could only feel his fat cock deep in your throat-- A strangled loud moan was ripped from your throat as your cunt clenched around your fingers, the overwhelming pleasure washing over your worn out body. Thoma’s smile grew as he caressed your head and he pulled out like he promised, a minimal amount of cum dribbling from the corner of your lips. 

You fell on your arms, your body spasming with coughs. Taking in deeper breaths, you let your lungs fill with sweet oxygen. 

“Fuck I can’t beliece you came from that,” he said, voice condescending. “I guess that whole I don’t love you thing was just a ruse then. You’re such a slut for wanting me to fuck your mouth.” 

“S-Shut up--” 

Thoma stood up, holding his cock between his hands. He laughed at your confusion as a stream of piss washed over you. You gagged at the sharp smell, covering your nose and turning your head down. It was unbearably warm, dripping down your neck, back, chest. His loud laughter subsided into a chuckle. 

“Look at you,” he said, with a chilling smirk. “Covered in my piss as you should be. Mine. Do you understand?” 

Your mind blanked out for a moment, drops of piss dripping from your hair and face. You felt… confused? Your face relaxed as you looked back up, your gaze clouded. 

“N-No,” your voice was meek, body still trembling. Why were you trembling? You weren’t cold? Tears pricked the corner of your eyes. “What’s going on, Thoma?” 

Thoma shot you a curious gaze, he reached out to you but you quickly jumped back. You resembled an animal, afraid of anything and everything. He found it endearing. He tilted his head to the side as he placed his hand on his lap. 

“You don’t need to be scared of me,” he replied, his voice suddenly going soft. “I would never hurt you.” 

“No, you did,” your voice was shaking. “I-How did I end up here? I don’t remember…” 

“You don’t need to, those were painful memories that’s why you forgot them.” 

“Painful?” 

“Yes,” Thoma nodded. He turned his hand over and opened his palm. You were hesitant but placed his hand in his and crawled closer. “You almost died because of it. I was so scared.” 

“I almost died?” 

“And I saved you. That’s why you’re here.” 

You looked up to him, fresh tears glimmering in your eyes. He smiled. 

“We love each other,” he said. “Very much.” 

Suddenly your racing heart started to settle. Thoma looked so kind with the sunlight shining through. Another tear slid down your face but this time you were smiling, this felt right. You being with him felt right. Your heart started to flutter. You loved him. Loved him. Love-- 

“You want to please me don’t you?” 

You nodded, a grin blooming across your face. 

“Good, go and get on the bed then. Lay on your back.” 

Quickly, you do as you’re told. You felt happy, burying the nagging sense of doubt deep into your mind. Thoma settled between your legs, nudging your thighs open, he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance. You took in a sharp breath as he pushed in, your cunt fluttering around his cock. He felt so thick inside you, so big. You hissed as he stretched you, with a smile he peppered your face with kisses. It felt nice, it made you relax as he continued to fill you up, inch by inch. You couldn’t quite remember why you were mad at him in the first place, it seemed to be a painful memory buried deep within your mind. But you felt happy now, did it really matter? 

“How does it feel?” he groaned when he bottomed out. “Does it...ahh...feel good?” 

“Yes,” you cooed, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Thoma, ‘t feels so good--” 

Without any hesitation he rocked his hips into you, each time his weeping cock hit your deepest parts, your moan bounced off of the walls. Your cunt drooled all over him, staining the sheets as he continued to fuck you with a merciless speed. Thoma grabbed your hips and ground his cock deep, you screamed out his name as he leaned down and sucked your neck. Your back arched, breasts bouncing each time he slammed into you. 

“Fuck look at you,” he moaned. “Look how well you’re taking my cock, you were made for this baby--” 

You couldn’t even speak, a series of nonsense blubbering out of your lips. He laughed at your state, his nails biting into your skin as he pounded harder. Thoma watched intently, seeing how slick strings stretched out between your bodies. You were made for this. No more stupid ambitions and dreams. He would keep you happy, satisfied and drunk on his cock. His balls tightened as he thought about all the things he would make you do, getting rid of that stupid vision was an excellent idea. It’s been only an hour since he got rid of it and already you were happier, moaning in pleasure as he drilled his cock into you. 

“I’m going to cum,” he said between pants. “Shit, cum with me y/n--” 

Before he finished you were already gushing all around his cock, your eyes fluttering and head thrown back as you screamed his name. The way your pretty little cunt squeezed his cock made him follow, cumming deep inside you, painting your walls white. You groaned at the feeling of getting filled by him, your cunt twitching around him. When he pulled out you couldn’t help but whine, wanting him to fill you up more. Thoma chuckled and placed a quick kiss on your forehead as he hopped off of the bed. 

“I’ll be right back with towels,” he chirped. “Don’t worry.” 

You stared at him as he left, much to your disappointment he was still almost completely dressed, only his shirt missing. A smile stretched across your face, you were so lucky-- what was that? A shine? You squint your eyes, seeing the red pyro vision dangling from his hips. You felt your mind screaming at you, trying to remind you of something. A vision was a gift bestowed upon from the gods. Thoma really was amazing, having a vision like that. Didn’t you used to have a vision? What happened to it? Your pulse quickened as your gaze shifted back to the white ceiling. 

Why did you feel like you were in danger?   

[edelweissluh]

tommygrace x cowboy like me

I’ve been lurking peakytwt and the tommygrace x taylor swift folkmore pipeline is real but why haven’t I seen anything about how cowboy like me is THE s1 tommygrace song?? They’re all I think about when I listen to the lyrics. Yes, the song is about two literal con-artists falling in love. But are s1 tommygrace not con-people by definition? You can interpret con-artists as people who deceive others for their own gain. Tommy deceives people by rigging races and making shady deals and Grace deceives Tommy and the Peaky Blinders by working undercover. 

Most of the lines suit them so well. Let me take you almost line by line of what and how cowboy like me reminds me of tommygrace. 

“And you asked me to dance but I said, "Dancing is a dangerous game"

This is an obvious one. When Tommy asks Grace to dance for the first time. A pivotal scene that highlights their growing attraction for one another. Dangerous: for him for falling for someone in spite of himself and her, for falling for the enemy. 

“I've got some tricks up my sleeve/Takes one to know one/You're a cowboy like me/ You’re a bandit like me”

One of the main themes of the song I interpreted was the narrator recognizing trickery and deceit (negative characteristics) in another person but in a warm and comforting way (positive). Kind of like she’s met her match but in a way where she doesn’t feel alienated from the high society around them and doesn’t need to pretend anymore. Similarly, reciprocity and feeling seen are the main tommygrace motifs: “Now you’ve seen me.” “And, you’ve seen me.”/ “I found you and you found me.”/ “We know each other. We’re the same.”

“Never wanted love just a fancy car/ Now I'm waiting by the phone”

Tommy never wanted to fall in love since the war, he just wanted to make a lot of money! Cut to: Tommy in S2 pondering over Grace’s letter, wondering if he should call her. 

“Eyes full of stars, hustling for the good life/Never thought I'd meet you here, it could be love”

S1 Tommy was so hopeful (eyes full of stars), working his ass off to go legitimate and unexpectedly meeting barmaid Grace!

“And the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up//We could be the way forward and I know I'll pay for it”

Their skeletons (or baggage) were initially in the way of acknowledging their feelings. Her vengeful mission and his wartime PTSD. Despite this, Tommy and Grace accept the love they have but like the narrator, they figuratively pay for it. Grace by having to betray the man she loves and Tommy, by being betrayed by the woman he loves. 

“And the old men that I've swindled really did believe I was the one/ And the ladies lunching have their stories about when you passed through town”

A nice parallel of Inspector Campbell loving Grace and the high-status women who fawn over and fetishize Tommy. 

“Now you hang from my lips like the Gardens of Babylon/With your boots beneath my bed, forever is the sweetest con”

My favourite lines. It reminds me of tommygrace’s first night together and with Grace dying so soon after their wedding, forever really was their sweetest con. (To me, this line meant that forever can’t be promised, even in a wedding vow, but it is a lie meant with the sweetest intentions.)

“You're a cowboy like me, and I'm never gonna love again”

Some people interpret this line to mean that the two con-artists have stopped conning and will never love another because they are together now. However, I took it to mean that the man left such a significant mark that the narrator will never love again even if he leaves (or cons) her. Tommy never falls in love again after Grace first betrays him and after her death.

All in all, cowboy like me is my favourite song from Folklore+Evermore and the love story about two con-artists unexpectedly falling in love reminded me of Season 1 tommygrace, my favourite season. Sonically, the song even sounds like a tune that could play in a 1920s British gangster drama and both depict social class themes! Also you can’t convince me Tommy Shelby can’t be considered a cowboy every time he pulls up on his horse!!!

Thanks for reading up until now! I’ve always wanted to do an analysis of my two favourite things and with this season being the last, this is also my little love letter to tommygrace and Peaky Blinders <3

*gif credits to owners*

[yeniayofnymeria]

Arya Stark's Green Fork scene and Daenerys' Dream

Selam, hello!

I hadn't written for a while. I wanted to come back with a good topic. Actually, this was something that came to my mind a few years ago, but I had never thought before that there was a parallel with Dany's dream. I have recently started interpreting asoiaf dreams and prophecies, at which time I realized that these two subjects are similar.

(Sorry for my bad grammar.)

Dany's Dream

The dream takes place in a Storm of Swords 3rd Daenerys POV (I don't know if it's coincidence or intentional to see such a dream in the 3rd pov, of course, but it seemed like one of the triple loops to me for Dany).

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened.

Dany was often compared to her older brother Rhaegar, if you remember... Naturally, she dreams of herself as Rhaegar, who went to the Trident river to triumph over the Rebels; this is her subconscious dream way of saying "I'm not like Viserys, I'm like Rhaegar, they say I am". So obviously Dany accept it by now. Of course, she goes to war on a dragon, not on a horse. As such, it is highly likely to be a dragon dream.

Now, the most common interpretation of this dream is as a sign of Dany's future war with the Others in the region of this river because of "ice armors". I thought the same when I first read it, but let's see what Martin said: “Prophecies come true unexpectedly... those prophecies that you see as spoilers aren't always what they seem... the prophecies should not be too obvious... ' words echo in my head. Despite these words, when people saw the “ice armors” depiction, Dany commented that she was fighting the Others. This is what even writes as an interpretation of this dream on the ASOIAF Wiki.

It's pretty obvious, don't you think? This came to mind first, and no other alternative thought was even suggested. In fact, we've read that the characters often interpret the prophecies they hear as they first come to mind, making inferences wrong. For example, when Cersei heard the prophecy, she believed that the valonqar was Tyrion; it will probably be Jaime, or maybe someone else too… When Dany saw the prophecies of betrayal, she quickly accepted Mirri and Jorah as two of the three betrayals, but the past actions of both do not fall under these three reported betrayals.

So I'm going to make another comment, going beyond the obvious. Now, assuming that the war we see will take place in the future, if Dany arrives in the Riverlands, on the Trident; there's a good chance she'll fight on the Green Fork side because Rhaegar was killed in an area connected to this place, and it was named Ruby Ford because of rubies spilling from his armor... Near here is Crossroads Inn. Since the river is shallow here, you can cross the river, the armies gathered and fought here. Naturally, the army that Dany sees is coming from the north to fight Dany. Green color is unlucky for Dany; The fact that Rhaegar was killed here, and the "ice-armoured" armies coming from the north... moreover, these are the "rebel armies(Starks)" for Dany...

I think there is a strong possibility that these armies are indeed the armies of the northerners. The armies of the north belong to the House Stark, representing the "ice" side in the pact of ice and fire. Even the name of the famous family heirloom sword was “ice”. In the fifth book Jon; We read that in one of his dreams he wore "ice armor". We see that the Others are not the only ones wearing ice armor in this series. In particular, seeing another pov character wearing the ice armor seen in the dream, in his dream, gives us the opportunity to interpret this dream differently than the Others. In a nutshell, it's likely Daenerys is fighting the northern army here, led by the Starks. So she will fight in the future... Dany sees here that she is burning them with fire, melting them and this rebel army overflowing the river against the water... Remember this part.

Arya and Sandor Scene

Now, when Sandor kidnaps Arya, he wants to take her across the river, but Arya doesn't know where she is. Just as Tyrion thought Jorah was taking him to Cersei, Arya thought Sandor was taking him to Cersei, and she thought the river she saw was the BLACK - WATER river, although she wasn't sure... of course there is a nice Arya-Tyrion parallel here too we have seen it... if we continue, when he saw the river, the sky was cloudy and it was raining; This, of course, made the river go wild. I will now interpret the chapter by quoting it bit by bit; of course, remember the dream that Dany had and look at what happened here.

When they reached the top of the ridge and saw the river, Sandor Clegane reined up hard and cursed.

The rain was falling from a black iron sky, pricking the green and brown torrent with ten thousand swords. It must be a mile across, Arya thought. The tops of half a hundred trees poked up out the swirling waters, their limbs clutching for the sky like the arms of drowning men. Thick mats of sodden leaves choked the shoreline, and farther out in the channel she glimpsed something pale and swollen, a deer or perhaps a dead horse, moving swiftly downstream. There was a sound too, a low rumble at the edge of hearing, like the sound a dog makes just before he growls.

The first thing that draws attention is the iron blackness of the sky... The fact that Arya thinks this place is BLACK water twice, both in this scene and later in the chapter, may be noteworthy as the emphasis on "black" because this is the green fork, the only thing that has anything to do with black is the sky... the pouring rain pierces the GREEN and BROWN stream with 10,000 swords... There are trees in the river too, their branches reaching to the sky look like the arms of drowning men, and mats of leaves choked the shoreline... Everyone knows that the leaves are green. We understand that the river is green fork with the "green" description, and the information that the town of Harroway is nearby is also given in the section, exactly on the green fork sides, even near Ruby Ford, like Crossroads Inn. So Sandor and Arya are trying to cross the Ruby Ford, just as Dany saw in her dream. As such, both the dream and this scene are happening same place; Green Fork, Ruby Ford.

The fact that the sky is black iron reminds us of Drogon, that the bones of dragons are black because of iron, and we can attribute the expression of the sky to the flying of dragons and attacking from the sky ( I might pushed this part too much). Therefore, the iron black sky becomes a somewhat meaningful description. From this sky comes 10,000 swords too... In this book, Dany had just bought 10,000 Unsullied. Aegon also has 10,000 men in the last book; Golden Company. In other words, an army of at least 10 thousand soldiers led by Dany comes here with her dragon and attacks Starks, northerens.

These 10,000 swords pierce this green river... ominous for the green dany; green symbolizes Dany's enemies... or, to be more precise, it's green side in Dance 2... You know that in the first Dance, the main parties were divided into greens and blacks; These colors were named as names because of the dresses the two queens wore in a tournament. Undoubtedly, what will happen in the 2nd dance will never, never happen same exacly, but they will be similar, a few common points; will be reflected. One of them is probably the separation of the sides into greens and blacks. Naturally, only the colors of the dragons can decide this; Since the black dragon is Dany's, Dany symbolizes the "black" side, which in this story coincides with the queen of the first dance anyway; We can think that Jon, who is expected to ride the green dragon, will also symbolize the green side. Remember my thread Jorah; Even Tyrion's eyes are black and green; a sign that he will switch sides. Of course, Aegon will probably take his side in this Dance 2 issue, I think it could be between 3 people, not two people, and there are signs about it (Like Tyrion's dream and Moqorro's Tyrion prophice)

The trees look like drowning men. Maybe it was a bit of a force, but I will make such a comment anyway. You know the connection between the beliefs of the Nords and the trees, the trees represent their beliefs. Green is already the symbol of the “nature” side; Remember my THREE HEADS thread... So it's only natural for Jon to represent the greens as the "balance" side(in battle of dawn).

Thus, the analogy of the treemen drowning in the river seems to fit almost exactly with the description of Dany's dream of coming from the sky with a dragon, setting the men in ice armor on fire, melting them into the river, and overflowing into the river, in other words, drowning. Already the river has overflowed and raged in Arya's scene, the waters have risen and even the town of Harroway has been submerged. So the river runs parallel to the scene, as Dany saw in her dream (Remember, a symbolic expression like the river's current was made by the author before the Red Wedding, I think he's doing the same thing).

Naturally, mats of sodden leaves choked the shoreline and appearing like a mats may be a situation that depicts these dying-drowning northern soldiers. Looks like Dany is dealing a heavy blow to the northerners so far. Or perhaps the opposite statement that these leaves “choke” the shoreline; it may be explaining that the northerners were crowded and perhaps they were superior to the enemy soldiers. I'm just trying to interpret it from every angle as possible, I'm not saying that this interpretation is final. There are dead deer or horses floating in the sea; Arya isn't sure which one it is. When I think of horse, Dothrak comes to mind, and when I say deer, naturally I think of Baratheon, the soldiers of the Stormlands. Maybe Dany and Aegon's forces have come together and an army of 10,000 has arrived, or rather will come, and will have Dothraki and Storm armies in it... You know that in book 6, Aegon took the Storm Castle, which is equivalent to same thing take all Stormlands.

These drowning animals inevitably give the impression that Dany's army will lose. Or at worst, both sides will suffer heavy losses. It is also true that, as I said before, Rhaegar had died here, and Dany saw herself as Rhaegar. Naturally, this dream of Dany and the possible foreshadowing narration in this scene of Arya; In fact, it may be Dany's last battle, we may have seen the moment she went to her death. Martin's assistants, I don't know why, think that Dany will be killed by Jon before the fight with the Others is over. On the other hand, I think that Dany will die with Jon and Arya act together. Continue the quote.

The oarsmen were rowing more vigorously now, fighting the rage of the river. Leaves and broken branches swirled past as fast as if they'd been fired from a scorpion.

There is a formal depiction of war here; anyway, the scene that tells about Arya and Sandor crossing to the north of the river is a battle scene in itself, you can see it very easily even when you read it yourself. The river is angry; leaves and broken branches seem to be “thrown by a scorpion”... The tree-green leaf depiction here and the rage of the river seem to symbolize the "northerns" because they were the ones who were drowned and died by the attack in the first place; This was the case in Dany's dream as well, and the river overflows with anger and attacks the enemy with all its might...

The word scorpion is also notable, this is the weapon you need to hunt a dragon. The leaves and tree branches symbolizing the northerners seem to have been thrown by the scorpion... So they are trying to kill the dragon. Remember that it was a scorpion that killed Meraxes.

But a sudden shout snapped her head about before she could leap. The ferrymen were rushing forward, poles in hand. For a moment she did not understand what was happening. Then she saw it: an uprooted tree, huge and dark, coming straight at them. A tangle of roots and limbs poked up out of the water as it came, like the reaching arms of a great kraken. The oarsmen were backing water frantically, trying to avoid a collision that could capsize them or stove their hull in. The old man had wrenched the rudder about, and the horse at the prow was swinging downstream, but too slowly. Glistening brown and black, the tree rushed toward them like a battering ram. It could not have been more than ten feet from their prow when two of the boatmen somehow caught it with their long poles. One snapped, and the long splintering craaaack made it sound as if the ferry were breaking up beneath them. But the second man managed to give the trunk a hard shove, just enough to deflect it away from them. The tree swept past the ferry with inches to spare, its branches scrabbling like claws against the horsehead. Only just when it seemed as if they were clear, one of the monster's upper limbs dealt them a glancing thump. The ferry seemed to shudder, and Arya slipped, landing painfully on one knee. The man with the broken pole was not so lucky. She heard him shout as he stumbled over the side. Then the raging brown water closed over him, and he was gone in the time it took Arya to climb back to her feet. One of the other boatmen snatched up a coil of rope, but there was no one to throw it to.

Yes, I think we just saw Euron Greyjoy's ship. Our sea monster called the Great kraken and the black-brown ship... although Euron's ship is dark red in hull but has black sails and a picture of a sea monster, he later started to use his own special crest. So it seems that Euron's naval power is also involved in the war. Remember; The Lord of White Harbor had also built at least 30-40 warships... Martin doesn't have those ships built as decorations. In summary; As I mentioned in Euron Ice or Fire, the King of the Iron Islands seems to have taken sides with Dany. The Valerions, who were already sea power in Dance 1, were on the side of the black queen, while the now powerful sea power is the Greyjoys, which belongs to Euron. They were already on the black side in the first Dance.

So in conclusion, with both Dany's dream and Arya's Green Fork "Ruby Ford" scene, the author told us about the Stark - Targaryen collision that will take place in the 7th book.

What are you thinking?

[mundeign]

something stupid

word count: 2.9k

setting: old philippines, early 1900s

based on this song | photos: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

!! note: poorly researched setting and information, characters and some places are fiction, contains some filipino words, and i haven’t written in a long time

+

“Oh my, I’m sorry, but I’m not much for dancing,” Amaya says, declining the handsome young man’s offer to have a moment with her on the floor, which breaks her heart quite a bit. Some feelings might have emerged for this fine gentleman since the very day they met, which she would never admit though she has been dying to know what it would feel like to hold his hand ever since.

However, she thought that not dancing with him tonight would save her from making a fool out herself. Ever since they were school kids, she noticed that Felix’s exuberance and quick-wit have been challenging to catch up on. And she often enjoys every single second of it trying, but she did not want to sound unintelligent that night for she was wearing an elegantly lavish garment from cloth that her Papa had bought overseas.

“I really am sorry, Felix. Some other time, maybe?” She suggests. Oh, but she wanted to dance with him. Yet, she was afraid she would run out of smart things to say. She loves how articulate he is, especially when he would talk about his interests, such as Bosch, his favorite artist. She took note of how he thought the artist was ever so brilliant for “depicting fantastical creatures that were so out of the ordinary,” he said. And she was quite embarrassed for she has never heard of a Bosch or ever seen any of his works.

So she asked her Papa to buy her oil paint and charcoal one supper, but he told her that he was too busy and that it was too much of a hassle to get them because they would have to sail to España, he said. When she pointed out that Felix’s father bought his in Maynila, she was told that it was inappropriate for her to talk back and that she should instead learn how to sew as it was easier and fit for her delicate hands. She thought that sewing was not easy at all. She would always prick her fingers. And she was absolutely vexed, she could not stand the sight of him.

Without telling Papa, she had decided to come up with a plan involving sneaking out the mansion with some of her necklaces. Of course, Adonis, one of her brothers, saw her go to the trading shop near the school where he was attending, which was actually in the neighboring town. He did promise not to tell on her. However, he warned her that Papa would be ruthless when it comes to discipline. She was reminded of the many times when Adonis disobeyed Papa when they were younger. Papa would even compare him with the young Amaya because though she was a year younger, he felt she was far more mature than Adonis.

Although she was aware that she was adored and cherished as the única hija in the family of four sons, Amaya also knows that the family name is far too important for her to tarnish with whatever “foolery” that she was up to. She had thought about it carefully.

But she assured Adonis (and more herself) that nothing was to happen to her, saying she’s much smarter than she looks. Then asked him if he would be kind enough to buy her first commission, which he thought was funny as he joked that she was precisely like Papa.

And she is. She takes pride in being her Papa’s child—ambitious and determined and will do all means to get what she wants. As she prepared herself to create her first piece, Amaya read and asked about other artists around town, tried to educate herself as much as possible, and started discovering and practicing her niche. However, she thought that impressing someone who might never see her the way she wants to be seen, is a difficult commission.

And though she has come to love and appreciate all that she has learned, she feels that starting a conversation with Felix now, might end up stuttering or not making sense at all. She is not one to fancy humiliation.

“Ah, but you don’t have to fret too much. I have two left feet! And I am very sure that no one would notice if a lovely looking maiden like you would be around to dance with me. Come on now.” He persuades her, grabbing her right arm and pulling her to the middle of the room, knowing that she could never say no to him.

She flinches a little when he touched her, but relaxes when he grins at her. She felt as if though her entire body was on fire. And she thought she would not care at all if she got burnt, like Nanay Elena’s burnt empanadas during merienda, as long as the spark that ignites the fire would be his touch.

“How have you been, Maya?” He quietly asks as he guides her. She looks down at their feet, moving left to the right and forward and backward, trying not to step on him.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time.” She mumbles, still looking down, thinking that if she looks up at his eyes, her ribs will crack from how hard her heart is beating just looking at him.

“It has been a long time, I know.” He agrees, trying to catch her eyes, but she’s quite stiff. Although she had wondered many sleepless nights what it would feel like to have his arms around her, she did not want to acknowledge the actuality of her missing him and that yearning that she felt for the past four years that he has been away to Intramuros.

When the Toledo family visited the town of Pinsel, everyone was elated, knowing that Señor Josef Toledo is an eminent artist known to have worked for many families of the principalía in Luzon, España, and Pransiya. Don Salvador Tanghal, Amaya’s Papa, was the one who invited the artist over one afternoon to have his portrait painted. And to catch up on as they were old friends, who Don Salvador said was once a rival for a maiden but ended up being his best mate as they both mope over the fact that neither of them was chosen.

Every time she looked back at the first time they met, she can’t quite point out why these emerging feelings came to be, and it made her restless. That afternoon the Toledos knocked on their door, Amaya found herself charmed by the little boy beside the artist, who was holding a bag that looked heavier than he was over his shoulder. With Señor Josef was his son, Felix, who came along to observe as part of his training to be an artist like his father.

She remembers being intrigued that the ten-year-old boy begged his Tatay Josef to let him come to work with him when she and her brothers were always sent out to play outside whenever their Papa was working. Maybe it was the way his eyes would light up whenever she would ask about his Tatay or the way he would fascinate her with his vast interests in arts, but maybe it was mostly the way he would encourage her to talk about anything, and he would listen. 

“Well, I have been keeping myself busy.” She says, contemplating whether she should open up about her readings and interpretations of Gentileschi’s works, which she found ghastly but engrossing at the same time.

“Really?”

“Mhm.” She decides not to talk about Gentileschi. She was not even sure if she has enough knowledge to even have her own interpretations.

“That’s lovely. May I know what’s keeping this little bird busy?”

“I’ve been painting actually.”

“Oh?”

And they were silent for a while before Felix pulls her closer to him. As she tries to concentrate on their steps, she could not help but smile at this strange yet mellow tingling feeling when she felt his hand move.

However, she notices the scowling eyes of the other ladies, specifically Melchor and Angela, making her uncomfortable as if their glares were burning her skin.

Although it is flattering that he would ask her to spend time with him, she was quite aware that she is the fourth girl he had offered a dance to. She was also well aware that Felix Toledo had always had his way with girls even when they were school kids. 

Amaya remembers how every time the Toledos would visit their little town, her girlfriends would always run to the Tanghals and ask about the fascinating young man. They would ask questions that she would not even dare ask the boy, which made some of the girls agitated, accusing Amaya of keeping him all for herself. And of course, it was true. She wanted to be the only one who knew him, but she often denied these allegations except to the portrait of her mother hanging in front of the dining table.

“Have you missed me?” Felix suddenly asks out of the blue. When the question left his lips, she looks up swiftly. He studies her face and chuckles at her flushing cheeks, which causes her to scoff at this man’s self-regard.

“Of course, I did. But I would never tell anyone.” She answers eventually.

“Oh?” She laughs a little at him as she playfully hits his arm.

“Well, I have missed you, and I’ve been telling everyone.” He teases. She turns her head back to face him as she freezes when he looks into her eyes with a well-pleased smile, knowing his words would wind her up in knots. She takes a deep breath before giving him a sardonic smile.

“Excuse me.” She says, then she lets go of his hand.

“How maddening he is.” She mumbles to herself as she walks off to the back door and out to the garden. She should not have walked away like that, she thought. However, she knew she could not handle their judging eyes as well as her ever so growing feelings for Felix.

She takes a deep breath before letting out a loud sigh. Walking around the oval, she tries to shake off the heavy feeling in her chest that she noticed only happens whenever she would think of him in a way she could never think of herself with other suitors. Back then, she would deny these feelings to herself. She would refuse to succumb to the ever confusing plight of being in love, thinking it was more of a predicament than a state of happiness.

Staring at the pond, she looks back at when seventeen-year-old Aurelio, the eldest Tanghal, came home from college a year earlier than expected. The rain was pouring hard when Adonis opened the door to be greeted by his brother with clothes soaked and tired eyes. And with him was a lovely maiden who introduced herself as Carmelita. Amaya recalls how Aurelio knelt on his knees with this frustrated look on his face, begging Papa to let him make the young maiden his wife. However, Papa was very much against it as Carmelita was just a gardener’s daughter, saying she only wanted their wealth.

And at that time, Amaya was so sure that Aurelio’s love was genuine, and she wanted that for herself. She wished on every star and prayed to the deep skies. However, the Tanghals realized soon that Aurelio’s love may be genuine, but he was blinded. No one could deny that Carmelita was beautiful, and Amaya does not blame her for using that beauty to her advantage. But she thought that his brother was kind and pure, and did not deserve the broken heart she had left him. They found out that Carmelita was seeing other men, and none of them except Don Salvador knew what happened next.

Amaya tried not to think much of what had happened, but she remembers looking at her mother’s portrait with tears in her eyes, asking the picture to protect dear Aurelio. And she wished on every star and prayed to the deep skies, that she may never fall in love.

“What are you thinking about, Maya?” Felix takes a step back when Amaya turns to face him with a doleful expression on her face.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course.” She whispers as she looks back at the pond.

“I’m sorry, Maya, if I said something to upset you. I was just teasing.” He says.

And they were silent for a while before Felix walks closer to her. They could hear the music playing from inside the mansion. They could hear the chatter and the laughter and the clinking of wine glasses. They could even hear the insects chirping and the wind blowing against their skin. But all Amaya could listen to is her uneven breaths and how her heartbeat keeps knocking on her chest.

“I love you.”

Felix suddenly looks at her, dumbfounded at what the maiden beside him has said. And she, with shaky hands, stares back at the lake, trying to memorize the direction of the wind and how it pushes the pond’s little waves. She thought the moon looked especially mesmerizing in the water.

“Amaya,” Felix calls out to which she reacts. He never calls her Amaya.

“What do you mean by—“

“I love you, Felix.” She repeats, this time, she is looking at his eyes. At the moment, she is glad that she isn’t melting like she thought she would.

He tries to say something, but whenever he would open his mouth, he would close it right away. So he thinks for a moment as Amaya takes in every feature of his face in this light. She feels lighter, she thought, now that what she felt for the young Toledo boy was said aloud.

“You cannot say that, Amaya.” She wants to tell him that she did not like the way her name sounded. She wants him to call her Maya like he always would.

“Why not?”

“You just can’t!” When these words left his lips, Amaya was startled as she has never seen him like this. She watches him as he scratches the back of his neck then sighing.

“You are in no position to tell me what I can and cannot do.” She says after a few moments of him pacing back and forth.

“And so what? What if I feel this way for someone? And so what if it’s for you?”

“Why?!”

“Why?! Punyeta, Felix! I don’t know! Is it so bad, huh, that I am in love with you? I know that I am sure with what my heart is telling me and that it couldn’t help but want to tell you too. I have loved you ever since you painted me the sky.” She says the last words a little quieter.

Every time she would look back at the first time they met, she can’t quite point out the reason as to how these emerging feelings came to be, and it made her restless. Maybe it was the way his eyes would light up or the way he would fascinate her, but perhaps it was mostly how he would encourage her to talk about anything, and he would listen.

And as he listened to the little girl, he painted her the sky, and she remembers staring at it and crying, knowing that this is the sky where her mother would be. Felix remembers smiling at her and pointing at the bird on the branch at the side of the painting.

“Little Maya.” He mumbles.

“But you can’t love me, little bird.” He says before distancing himself from Amaya.

“Why not?” She asks again. He studies her face for a little while before speaking.

“I’ll be leaving again soon,” Felix pauses as he holds her cheek with a weak smile.

“I’m to be married.”

As soon as he announced it, Amaya slaps his hand off of her face. She looks at him with such hurt and such confusion that what he said to her made him upset too.

“I’ll be off to Maynila again to meet with her family and to arrange the wedding.”

She could not speak. All she could do is look at the pond, wishing it was the sea so she could just walk in the middle and float off anywhere but here.

“Her name is Nieves Macario. She loves to sew and dance.”

“Did I ask for her name?” Amaya snaps.

“Oh, I just thought you should know.”

And they were silent for a while before Amaya turns around, her back facing the pond. She looks at the window where the dining room is, where her mother is. And Felix, wondering what to do, stares at her. He did notice her elegantly lavish garment and thought she looked lovely. He did notice the way she wouldn’t look at him in the eyes and thought it was cute. And he had noticed every single thing about her ever since.

“Do you love her?” She asks, still looking at that window, wishing that if she walks into that room, her mother would embrace her and tell her that everything will be alright.

“Of course, why would I ask her hand in marriage if I did not?” And with that, Amaya calmly excuses herself to Felix and walks back to the mansion, so gracefully that Felix was worried as he knew that she only acts so stiff to guard herself.

He watches her walk away and could not do anything. He did not do anything. He just watched her. And as soon as she was out of his sight, he turns to face the little waves of the pond and tries to forget that he hurt his little Maya.

[babbushka]

Blue Moon (5/?)

New York, 1987. The air was filled with smog and the streets were ridden with crime. Just another day in paradise. Your quiet life turns upside down when a striking man moves in across from you. You’re falling, fast, into a love that could never, ever, happen…or could it?

Pale x Reader

(Could be interpreted as modern!au Kylo Ren/Reader for those who don't know who Pale is, but really this is Pale from Burn This!)

Word Count: 7200 (I know it’s a bit shorter, my apologies, school kicked my ass over midterms lol)

Warnings: N*FW content! (Language, mentions of drug use, explicit content), Violence (graphic depictions of violence [not against reader])

Also on AO3! 

Chapter 5: Presents

He didn’t know what to do with himself, didn’t know how to stop shaking like he was.

He wanted to yell, he wanted to scream. He had you in his arms and felt sane for the first time in a long time, but like he was going crazy too. Was it always like this? There was somethin’ wrong with him – he had to go to the fuckin’ doctor, ask the doc why his heart was beatin’ so fuckin’ fast, ask him why –

“You’re back.” You sighed, and everything stopped, and you were holding him tight, and everything was okay.

“I told you I would be.” Pale said, not trusting his voice but talking anyway. It sounded raw and hoarse, like he’d been yelling – of course he’d been yelling. He’d been yelling for all of two fucking weeks.

“You smell like the ocean.” You said, taking in deep breaths, big deep breaths like you were trying not to cry.

Wouldn’t that’ve been somethin’? Someone crying happy tears over him.

“I haven’t fuckin’ washed these clothes, didn’t expect to be gone longer than I was.” He grumbled, and you looked up at him, smiled at him so big he could see all your teeth.

“I missed you.” You were plastered to him, wearing nothin but a pair of panties and his jacket – so you had found his jacket.

Did you find the other shit he left you? The money and the food? You looked like you were tired, like something bummed you out. Maybe you meant it, what you said. Maybe maybe maybe – he hoped you meant it.

“Yeah I bet you did.” He said, giving you a smile of his own, a certified grade-A smile.

“Kiss me?” You asked, and it was like any ounce of restraint he had had vanished.

He ripped – literally fuckin’ ripped – your panties off, pushed the jacket off your arms until it was a sad leather heap on the floor, and kissed you.

He was on you in an instant, held your upper-arms in a death grip. He wondered if you could feel his hands shaking, if you could tell they were bruising you from the strength of him. He crushed you against him, kissing you, biting at your lips, feral almost.

He felt cagey the whole fucking time he was down in Miami – a fuckin’ circus animal pacing his cage, too much pent up frustration to even fucking think straight.

“God I’m gonna fuck you so hard, I didn’t even so much as jerk off the whole fuckin’ time I was down there – can you fuckin’ believe that?” He bared his teeth at you.

You kissed him, sucked gross wet kisses onto his lips, his chin, his cheek. Licked into his mouth and walked backwards to the bed, god he had missed your bed, your shitty bed that was way too fuckin’ small but somehow just right all at once.

“You’re here now, you got me to fuck now.” You said, breathing in sharp little breaths when he gripped you too tight, pushed you onto the bed and crawled over your body.

He tweaked one of your nipples hard, made you make a face at him. He did it again, you smiled. Fuck, that smile did something to him.

“Yeah that’s right, my whore waitin’ for me – god you’re fuckin’ beautiful.” He couldn’t help but say, prying your mouth open, shoving his fingers there getting them wet.

“Are you high?” You asked, sounding funny with his hand in your mouth, all muffled.

“Yeah yeah yeah I’m high. You’d be too if you had to deal with those fuckin’ people. I don’t like planes. I don’t like the fucking turbulence or whatever the hell they tell you it is when the giant metal death trap in the sky starts rattling. So what if I’m high? Let me taste you.” He licked his lips, gathered up your spit and smeared it between his fingers, before pushing them into you.

“Pale – !” You said, a bit of a laugh to your voice, like you had been waitin’ for this for a long fucking time. Well, so was he.

“I ain’t fuckin’ had a bite of you in two fucking weeks, I’m starving over here.” He said, and you nodded, kissed him, pushed his shoulders down and spread your legs for him – fuck he loved it when you spread your legs.

He made out with your cunt, drank you down like he had never had a drop to fucking drink before. He buried his nose right between your folds, so it nudged at your clit when he worried his teeth at you. He was getting drunk off the noises you made, the little fucking whimpers and gasps, like you hadn’t been fucked in years and years and years.

Your hips kept moving, kept pushing onto him, and he almost wanted to smile, too hungry to bother. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, yanked you down to the edge of the bed where he could kneel and get proper leverage. He was so much fucking stronger than you, it made him dizzy, made him dizzy that you wanted him, wanted him to fuck you – to eat you out, to make you feel good – he was drunk he was high he was on fire.

He spared a glance to look up, but all he saw were your perfect fucking tits. You must’ve thrown your head back, and he did smile then.

You didn’t give him a warning before you came, he could just feel it, feel the way your thighs clenched down around his head, how you cried out. He tasted your come on his tongue, sucked it down and rolled your clit until it was too much and you arched your back off the bed.                                  

He pulled back, grabbed at the flesh of your thigh, bit a hard mark there.

“You ready for me? Huh? You slut.” He asked, wiping his mouth on your stomach, making his way up your body.

He took your hands and pulled them to his belt, you quickly got the memo and undid his belt and popped the button of his trousers off, unzipped him.

“Yeah, please, give it to me, I missed it – I need it.” You said, reaching inside his pants and stroking at his cock.

“What do you need?” He panted, already dying for you, for the feeling of your now pleasantly stretched pussy swallowing his cock.

“Your big dick, please, I’m starving too.” You said, looking up at him with big eyes.

He wanted to set something on fire for you, the way you looked at him.

“We got a lot of fucking time to make up, don’t we sweetheart?” He grabbed at your jaw, and you smiled and re-settled yourself further up the bed, bringing him with you.

“Fuck.” He groaned, pushing into your wet heat for the first time after so long of not having you.

He understood now, why there were people addicted to sex, sex addicts. He got it, got it completely when he fucked you, thrust into you hard, drew those noises out of your pretty fucking mouth – he could drown in those noises.

He hiked your leg up, there were so many positions he wanted to try with you, but fuck he liked you on your back – liked the way you took him so well.

“Say my name, say my fucking name you slut.” He pushed into you harder, fucked you so hard the headboard was slamming into the wall, he was gonna fucking break it, he was gonna break the fucking wall and the headboard and he wouldn’t stop fucking you even if he did.

“Pale! Pale please, you’re so good, fuck, Pale!” You grabbed at him, your hands were all over him, in his hair digging into his back and shoulders.

He pressed a hand against your neck, covered your mouth with his own and breathed into you, breathed in your air until you were both dizzy. He spit into your mouth, right on your tongue, and you swallowed it – because of course you did.

“That’s right, god – you’re mine, ain’t that right?” The headboard slammed and slammed into the wall, solid fucking wood meeting concrete.

“I’m yours, only yours – fuck Pale!” You shouted, loud loud loud, tears in your eyes kind of loud.

You reached down for a second, but he snatched your wrist and bit down on your hand, pinned it above you.

“No – you get to come on my cock or not at all, you got that whore?” He wanted you to come just from this, just from his dick fucking into you, just from the force of him.

“Okayokayokay.” You nodded, crying – so wet, slippery all over, sweating crying, coming, and coming and coming and coming.

“I’m – fuck I’m going to come.” He had wanted to last, but it was too much, so much all at once, you felt too good, he could feel you coming around him.

“Do it, please, come in me, Pale.” You nodded encouragingly, hands flexing from where he had it pinned.

“Fuck – !” Pale said, shoving so far up into you that he pushed you up the bed with the force of it.

He came and he saw stars and fireworks, and there was all this fucking applause inside his head –

…Until he wasn’t so sure it just in his brain, and he wasn’t so sure the fireworks weren’t real, and he was confused and exhausted and the coke had worn off and he didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

“What the fuck was that?” He asked you, panting into your tits, just wanting to feel his skin on yours. He was too hot, sweating in his clothes.

“It’s New Year’s eve.” You said, breathing hard just the same, your eyes glazed over and a satisfied smile dancing on your lips.

He experimentally thrust his hips slowly, starting to go soft but wanting to shove all his come deep inside you, smiling at you when you hissed at the oversensitivity of it.

He pulled out, discarded the rest of his clothes, threw them right on the fucking floor, not giving a shit about the pleats in his pants.

You reached for him, and something in his chest hitched, the way you reached for him.

He laid down next to you, pulled you too close, too tight to him, but you were like putty in his arms, still pliant and so so fucking warm.

He was exhausted, the stress, the flight, the fucking – all of it.

Out of the window you both watched the fireworks, a calm coming over Pale that he hadn’t felt in a long fucking time.

He’d deal with that later.

For now, he wrapped an arm around your waist, his chest pressing into your back, and watched the fireworks.

“Happy new year, (Y/N).” He whispered when he could feel his eyes growing heavy.

You turned around to face him, shuffled as close as you could, and kissed him sweetly, too sweet, sweeter than he fucking deserved. You gently nuzzled your nose against his, pressed a kiss to his cheek. Sweet, sweet, sweet.

“Happy new year, Pale.” You whispered back, and it was, for the first fucking time – it was.

He stayed the night again, couldn’t bear to leave you yet, not after just fucking getting back. Not yet. He’d stay. This wouldn’t become regular, he told himself as he blinked awake, he wouldn’t get used to this, but for now he’d stay.

You were still asleep.

He liked the way you looked when you were asleep.

It wasn’t peaceful exactly, and that troubled him, but fucking everything troubled him, so he didn’t read too much into it. If something happened, you’d tell him about it.

He missed you. Fuck what a sentimental thing to think, he thought, but he missed you.

His hand felt strange, naked without his ring. He felt naked, like he was lying. He was a liar. But he wasn’t really, not if you really think about it. Or so he tells himself.

It was too early, always too early and Pale was awake.

So he watched you.

Watched the way you puffed breath out of your lips onto his chest, watched how your nose twitched and your fingers clenched every now and again. He wondered what the fuck you were dreaming about, if you remembered your dreams. He hadn’t had a dream in a long time. Maybe he’d ask you when you woke up.

He had his arms around you, smiled at that. See? He’d say, see it’s fuckin’ natural, you bein’ in my arms. Don’t even need to be awake to know that’s where you fuckin’ belong.

He’d say that, maybe.

Maybe he did say it, out loud.

It was too quiet, too hard to tell.

It didn’t matter, you weren’t awake to hear it anyway.

“I’m gonna take you to central park.” He whispered, “I’m gonna rent us a fuckin’ rowboat and kiss you on the fucking lake. It’ll be like a post-card. You’d like that, huh?”

You didn’t answer – of course you didn’t, you were asleep.

Why the fuck would you answer?

He waited a minute for you to answer anyway.

“I used to collect post-cards as a kid, we didn’t travel much though, it wasn’t a very good fuckin’ collection. I almost sent you one from Miami – what a fucking nightmare of a trip that was.” He whispered, talking to you, wondering if somewhere deep down in dream-land you could hear him.

You just breathed, in and out, drooled on his chest.

“You got me, you know that? You got me real fuckin’ good. I think I’m dying sometimes, when I think about you.” He frowned, not liking how that sounded, “Not in a fuckin’ bad way or nothing. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. This ain’t bad, you ain’t bad. You’re too good. Too good for me, too good for your own good.”

In and out, in and out.

“Sometimes you make me feel like I’m losin’ it. Maybe I am fuckin’ losing it. I don’t know. You make me jumpy, I’m always fuckin’ thinking about you. I’d do anything you want, you know that? Any fucking thing. I’d kill someone for you, no fuckin’ joke. That’s how good you got me.”

He stared out your window, stared at his own, cold apartment.

“You know I didn’t even check my place yet?” He whispered, “I came straight here. Fucking threatened a guy with a tire iron for a parking spot, that’s how fucked you got me. I had to see you, and now look at you, you’re asleep.”

He didn’t need to look back at you to know you were still asleep, so he kept staring out your window.

 He stared until the sun came up.

 Stared until you stirred in his arms, and then he blinked, and suddenly the room was filled with golden light, like he had missed the part where it was all fuckin’ bright and pink and pretty, that’s how long he’d been staring.

“Pale?” You beamed up at him, and he found he didn’t miss the sunrise so much.

“The one and only.” He said softly, getting that starstruck fuckin’ feeling again.

You hummed a sleepy laugh, started stretching out on top of him, easing out the sleep from the muscles in your legs, your arms.

You couldn’t get very far, he was holding you too tight. He didn’t want to let you go get, not yet.

He could feel the heat of your cunt from where it pressed against his thigh, let one of his hands roam on over, slip into you.

“Mmm.” You sighed, your eyes closing again, licking your lips as he stroked your pussy.

“Just stay relaxed for me, would ya?” He asked, sliding out from under you.

You buried your face into his pillow, took in big breaths, getting the smell of him. He moved behind you, kneaded your ass in his hands.

His cock was hard, like it always fucking was when you were around, and you were so hot from sleeping that it was practically fucking drooling all over you, begging for you. He didn’t even bother denying it, he lifted your hips and held them as he thrust into you, making you make little gasps from over on the pillow.

Your cunt made the most obscene noises, even more so when he spit onto his dick and fucked it into you, making the drag easier.

“Pale.” You sighed, tucked your calves under you to prop yourself up better for him.

“Fuck, (Y/N).” He mumbled, pushing his hips right up against you, holding you there, holding your ass right in his fucking hands at seven-thirty in the fucking morning.

He was glad he told Jerry he’d not be back for another fucking day or two, glad he didn’t have to stop fucking you.

He fucked you like that, not nearly as hard as he was gonna after breakfast, but hard enough to get you coming all over your bedsheets, hard enough to come in you.

He pulled out, fed his come back into you, pushed it all right back into that fucking cunt of yours. He patted your ass, he was fucking thirsty.

“Good morning.” You grinned at him, blissed out.

“Nine-teen-eighty-fuckin’-eight.” He whistled low, caged you in his arms, hovered over you.

“A whole ‘nother year, can you believe it?” You asked, reaching up to kiss him. You tasted sour, but he didn’t mind, he kissed you back.

“No.” He said, making you smile. He rolled off, stretched his back and his arms, “We gotta use the bathroom, come on.”

“Will you make breakfast?” You asked, lookin’ real fuckin’ pretty with your nipples out and perky like that.

He just had to lean over and kiss at your tits, who the fuck could blame him?

“What kind of rhetorical fuckin’ question is that, of course I’m making breakfast. But you don’t want to fuckin’ sit at the table covered in dried sweat and come, it’ll itch.” He said.

“It’s already itchin’.” You laughed, and he smacked your thigh lightly.

“See?” He pulled you up, you held onto his hand on your way to the bathroom.

He tried not to think about that feeling in his chest.

“It’s really incon-fucking-venient you don’t have a shower, you know that?” He frowned, wrinkled up his nose at the thought of getting into an entire bath.

He had forgotten for a fucking second, that you didn’t have a shower.

“Yeah I know.” You smiled, settling into the hot water.

You didn’t bother with bubbles, this wasn’t a long fuckin’ soak, this was a scrub-down, and he could at least appreciate that. He climbed in after you, settled behind you, washed your back.

You felt kind of distant, it made him anxious.

“You okay?” He asked, real serious. He could be serious, he was always fuckin’ serious.

“Yeah, I’m okay, promise.” You said taking his hand, his left hand, kissing the knuckles there, not sayin’ nothing about the ring, or lack there of. “Just thinkin’, is all.”

“Thinkin’ about what?” He prompted, letting you hold and kiss his hand.

“Lots of things. I got you something for the holidays.” You smiled at him.

“Why the fuck’d you do that?” He frowned back, making you smile even bigger.

“Because I felt like it. It ain’t nothing big, don’t worry.” You let go of his hand, but he just grabbed yours anyway, his turn to kiss at you.

“I got you something too.” He said, and you rolled your eyes, he could practically hear you callin’ him a fuckin’ hypocrite.

“We can have a good ol’ fashioned exchange.” You hummed happily.

“After breakfast?” He asked, with a raised eyebrow. He needed to go down to his fucking car and get everything for you, it was a lot of stuff.

“Yeah, what’re you making?” You asked, and he splashed you with some water, trying to wipe the smug grin off your face.

It didn’t work.

He didn’t mind.

 The two of you stayed in the tub until you were clean and impatient, toweled off and shrugged into clean underwear. Pale tugged a wife-beater on, briefs and a pair of socks, it was fuckin’ cold in your kitchen. You were wearing one of his shirts, and he had to kiss you for it, just fucking had to.

“You like tea?” He asked against your lips, kissing the corner of your mouth before going on a hunt in the cabinets for a kettle.

“I don’t drink it that much, not as much as coffee.” You said, and he liked that about you, liked that you were honest like that. “But yeah, I like it.”

“It’s calm, you know? Good to start the year off with calm.” He said, all sorts of shit clanging around in the cabinets as he pulled out one of those old-fashioned-whistle-on-the-stove kinds of kettles.  

“You started the year off with come.” You said, a big cheesy smile on your face.

“You think you’re real fuckin’ funny, don’t you?” He asked, fighting a smile of his own.

“You’re laughing, ain’t ya?” You asked, and fuck, he did let out one then.

“Come here and put that mouth to good use.” He said, putting the kettle on the stove.

It was gonna need some time to heat up anyway, and you looked too good sitting in his fucking shirt like that.

He was thinkin’ you were gonna just come over and kiss him, so when you sank down to your knees and rubbed your face all over the front of his fuckin’ briefs, he had to almost steel himself against the counter with how hard he got so fucking fast.

Looking up at him, you tugged his underwear down his thighs, wasting no time at all sucking him off.

You were an actual fucking angel, he decided, right then and there. An angel with a tongue sent straight from Heaven.

He took a fistful of your hand and held your head in place, but you weren’t in any hurry or nothin’, sucking his dick and drooling all over yourself.

“I’m gonna fuck your throat.” He announced, and you hummed around him, opened your throat for him, stuck your tongue out for him.

He thrust lazily into your throat, wished he could see the way it looked bulging out your neck as he did, but the way your eyes shut and the corner of your mouth lifted was good enough for him – it was more than fucking good enough.

He fucked your mouth until he was close to coming, and then backed off, letting you suck and suck and lick and kiss his cock and his balls and scratch at his thighs until he was there, painting your smiling mouth and cheeks.

The kettle whistled, startling you.

“Tea time?” You asked, wiping your face with the back of your hand.

“Yeah,” he replied, dazed, “Tea time.”

  He kept you in bed all fucking day, fucked you for most of it.

He just couldn’t get enough of you – didn’t want to. He’d never ever fucking get tired of this, get used to it, the feeling of your skin on his, the faces you made for him and the noises he ripped out of your throat.

You were so loud for him, doing all the right fucking things that drove him wild – you drove him wild, did you know that? Did you know? He didn’t know, he was balls-deep and he didn’t fucking know anything.  

He was fucking you when there was a pounding on the front door, kept fucking you still, thinking it was just the headboard – how’d you not put a fucking hole in the wall yet?

The banging didn’t stop, but it was clearly aggravating you just as much as it was him, so he slowed his hips enough – not all the fucking way, but enough – to try and pay attention.

“What the fuck is that?” He asked, looking down at you.

You were covering your face, mortified.

“Oh my god, Pale – I think that’s the neighbor.” You said, trying not to burst into a fit of embarrassed laughter.

“Neighbor?” Pale asked, and then he laughed, making you laugh then, freely.

He swore he never fucking laughed this much during sex – wasn’t so sure he hadn’t laughed this much ever.

“Yeah, Eric, he normally works day shifts, I guess he’s home for the holiday.” You burned, the mood practically destroyed with each fuckin’ bang on the front door.

“Fuck this – ” He sucked his teeth, pulling out of you cold turkey and rummaging around the floor for his briefs.

“Pale!” You gasped, watching him storm out the room.

He heard you yank the sheet off the bed, saw you wrap it around yourself through his peripheral vision as he made his way to the pounding front fuckin’ door.

He yanked it open, coming face to face with a pasty brown-haired guy that was maybe half Pale’s fuckin’ size.

The guy, Eric, immediately gulped, clearly not expecting him.

“Hey man, I’m glad you two are having a good fuckin’ time over here but you gotta knock it the fuck off, it’s one in the afternoon. We’re trying to have lunch.” Poor fuckin’ guy tried to stand his ground.

Unlucky for him, Pale didn’t like that attitude too much.

“What the fuck you say to me?” He asked, clenching his jaw.

Eric must have just fuckin’ noticed the state of things, and awkwardly looked away – served him right, bastard coming over to ruin the fuckin’ party.

“Jesus could you put some clothes on?” He asked, and Pale glared.

“Listen pal, go back to your fuckin’ apartment before I make you regret this little fuckin’ interruption.” He said, tall and unmoving as a fucking mountain. “Me and (Y/N) were having a real nice time before you decided to get off your flat ass and walk over to our door and bang on it like you were some fuckin’ fireman checking for a heads-up. You ever heard of ringing the fuckin’ doorbell? You tellin’ me you’re so fuckin’ uncivilized that not only do you gotta interrupt a man fucking his woman, but you don’t even have the decency to ring the doorbell?”

“I don’t mean no fuckin’ trouble, it’s just embarrassing hearing all the fuckin’ yelling.” Eric said, blushin’ real bright.

“You got a girl?” Pale clicked his tongue, growing impatient.

“What?” Eric asked, dumb.

“What?’ A wife, a girlfriend, a fucking fuck buddy?” He snapped.

“Yeah I got a wife.” Eric gulped.

“Then why the fuck are you standing here instead of eatin’ her pussy, huh?” He asked, and you groaned.

“Pale, oh my god.” You covered your face, had to leave the room you were gonna start laughing so fucking hard.

Pale wasn’t laughing. He was pissed he wasn’t coming all over your tits right now.

“Maybe if you made your old lady yell half as loud, we wouldn’t fuckin’ be here, huh?” He sneered at Eric, before slamming the door in his face.

“Pale! You’re gonna get me evicted I swear to god.” You shook your head from the living room.

“Yeah? So what, you’re too good for this fucking place anyway.” He sucked his teeth, tugged your hand and walked into the bedroom. “Come on, we’re gonna have a little fun…”

 Soon he was fucking you harder and faster than he had, making a real big show of it, making you shout and yell and slamming the fucking headboard against the wall, pounding against the concrete with his fucking fists.

“Fuck! God you’re so fucking good.” He panted, holding your jaw and licking your teeth.

“Oh – oh!” You could barely get any words out, that’s how fucking hard he was ramming his cock into you.

“Say my name, you whore, come on say it!” He couldn’t keep his own grunts and groans quiet, the effort from fucking you alone had his throat raw.

“Pale! You’re so fucking good – I’m your whore, yours Pale.” You shouted, an angel an angel an angel, all for him, his fucking whore, his girl, his his his.

“You fuckin’ hear that? You hear that 5-A? You fucking hear that 5-B? 5-D?” He shouted, the veins in his fucking neck popping from the volume of it.

“Pale you’re going to get the cops called on us.” You laughed, burying your face into his neck, moaning high and loud as he railed you.

“So what, let them come, I’ll fuck you right in front of them.” He sneered, eyes lighting up when he felt you clench real fuckin’ hard around him. “Oh, you like that? Dirty girl, you like giving shows, that’s right, that’s fuckin’ right, isn’t it?”

“Fuck.” You blushed, and fuckin’ bingo.

“Maybe I’ll invite them over, make em watch as I fuck you right in front of them, spread your fucking pussy for them – they can look but they can’t fucking touch, ain’t that right?” He was sweating, always so fucking sweaty, he bit down on your jaw.

“Yeah, only you Pale.” You nodded, before another loud cry slipped outta your lips, making him smirk.

“God you’re so fucking sexy, you know that? Perfect fucking slut, fuck.” He couldn’t look at you without coming right on the fucking spot, wanted to make sure you got to first, had to warn you “I’m gonna come in you and you’re gonna fuckin’ thank me for it, you got that?”

“I got it – Pale, let me come? Please?” You begged, sounded so fuckin’ pretty when you begged.

“Say it louder honey.” He said, and you smiled, smiled so wide for him.

“Can I come? Please let me come.” You yelled, breaking into a laugh that he muffled with a hand over your mouth.

“Go ahead.” He grunted, grinding into you hard and fast, and you came

“Fuck – ”

“Oh shit.” He came with you, and he slapped his fucking hand against the wall one last time before his muscles shook from the thrill of the whole fucking thing, and he fell down on top of you, the two of you breathing real hard.

“Thank you, thank you Pale.” You said, dizzy, blissed out and fucking perfect.

“Anything for you doll.” He found himself saying, anything anything.

  “I got your voicemails.” You said, a long time later.

It was well into the afternoon, the two of you alternating between eating, dozing off in the sunlight, and fucking like rabbits.

You looked good in the sun, looked good in general. He missed bein’ able to look at you, drank in the sight of you. He was so thirsty.

He smoked a cigarette, the nicotine soothing his nerves, how the fuck was he so relaxed and so fucking jumpy at the same time?

“Some of them weren’t too pretty, huh?” He finally said.

The voicemails were the only fucking thing keeping him sane, down in Miami.

Down in Miami, that should be the name of a fuckin’ movie, he thought.

Down down down. He’d been real down. Yellin’ and fighting and yellin’ some more. In lows and wives and kids and aunts and uncles, it was too fuckin’ hot in Miami.

He’d done too much coke, down in Miami. That sounded like a line to a song.

Maybe he was losing it.

“I liked hearing your voice, I wish I coulda called you back.” You said, and he sighed. He wished you coulda called him too.

“I couldn’t risk her picking the fucking phone up.” He explained, but you just nodded.

“I know, I know.” You said, real gracious – you had always been so gracious about him, about his fucking mistakes and his fuck-ups.

He wondered what went on in your head, how you rationalized all of it. He didn’t think he’d ever find anyone like you, anyone that liked him like you liked him. You made him dizzy, he told you that once, didn’t he? You were always too gracious, too sweet, making him dizzy.

Miami had been bad, but maybe it wasn’t Miami. Maybe he’d take you down there and bring you to the beach and rub sunscreen all over you and fuck you real good while the sun set over the ocean. Maybe he’d show you where he threw his fucking ring over the pier, maybe he’d see some loser with a fuckin’ metal detector finding it, fishing it out of the ocean. It wasn’t worth much or nothin’ there were no diamonds on it, it was just the silver band.

But it was at the bottom of the fucking ocean now, and he was here, in your bed, and you were kissing his neck real sweet, too sweet.

“Catch me up, what’d I fuckin’ miss while I was sweating my ass off down there?” He asked, tucking some of your loose hair behind your ear, pinching playfully at your earlobe.

“Nothin’ much. Went to work, came home.” You shrugged.

“That’s all?” He frowned, that couldn’t be all.

“That’s all.” You shrugged again, and he gave you a stare that brooked no fuckin’ argument, making you sigh. “Well, there was this thing, with Marty.”

His blood ran cold.

“I’ll kill him.” He went real still real fast, mind already spinning.

“No, I’m okay, he was flirtin’, that’s all. Wouldn’t quit it. I didn’t like the way he was talking about you.” You frowned, and he sat up real fast, the room spinning.

Flirting. He was flirting with you, that no good son of a bastard fucking bitch –

“What’d he say about me?” He asked, jaw clenched and eyebrows knit.

The universe was hell fucking bent on pissing him off today, wasn’t it?

“Nothing but bullshit.” You said, frowning too. Pale didn’t like it when you frowned like that, made your forehead all creased up, made your big eyes angry. No one was supposed to fucking make you angry.

“He touch you?” Pale asked, quiet, so quiet, like if he spoke he’d scream. Maybe he would scream.

“Tried holding my hand.” You nodded.

He snapped.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” He snarled, and threw the covers off of him.

His blood was pounding in his ears, he could only think about one fucking thing at a time but a hundred different fucking thoughts came at him all at once.

What if he had hurt you?

Did he make you cry?

He had to teach the fucking punk a lesson, but first he had to find his fucking pants.

He picked up the wrinkled pair that he had thrown down the night before, the pleats were all wrong but it didn’t fucking matter because he was about to get blood all over them anyway. Where was his shirt? No shirt no shoes no service.

“Hey, why don’t you kiss me a little first, huh? Calm you down some.” You tried, bless you you fuckin’ tried, but he wasn’t having it.

He found his shirt, angry, so fucking angry – he goes away for two god damned weeks and the scum of the earth thinks it can run fuckin’ wild and free, not on his watch, not now that he was fucking back.

“Is he downstairs?” Pale asked, careful not to be harsh with you, careful to be gentle.

He didn’t want you to be afraid of him, but fuck he couldn’t stop, he had to do something – had to teach Marty not to touch what was his.

“Of course he’s downstairs.” You said, not sounding afraid.

Thank god for that, Pale thought.

“I’ll kiss you later, we’re gonna go have a little fuckin’ chat with him.” Pale scowled, leaning in to kiss you anyway.

You looped your arms around his neck and he kissed you and you kissed him and and and. He was shaking, shaking from rage, he wished he were drunk, or high, or maybe that he could just keep kissing you. He had to beat the shit out of Marty – fucking Marty.

“Pale you can’t go killing the deli guy, who’s gonna make our sandwiches if you do?” You asked, and he laughed, how were you so perfect?

“I can fucking make them.” He said, smiling and kissing you before the smile dropped and he was shoving his feet into his fucking boots and you were scrambling to get dressed while he stormed downstairs.

 The deli was thankfully, empty. It was Friday, but it was just before the fucking lunch rush.

Marty glared at him through the fucking window, and Pale shoved the door open with a little more force than necessary. Maybe he slammed it a little too hard, maybe. Who fucking cares, he thought. Two seconds later you showed up, lookin’ real pretty with your hair pinned up and in whatever decent clothes you had close-by. Pale opened the door softer for you, held it for you as you walked in, held his hand in your own.

Marty didn’t like that, didn’t like the look of you standing with your hand in his, so he turned to leave, but Pale wasn’t having none of that.

“Hey!” He called to get Marty’s attention, fuming, absolutely fucking seething with rage. “You fuckin’ botherin’ my girl?”

That got his attention, and he spun on his heel, lookin’ incredulous in a stupid way.

“Since when is she your girl?” Marty demanded, a crazed look in his eye.

Pale was smart enough to know all the fuckin’ ways this guy probably knew how to butcher something, but he was also mad enough to not give a shit. He gave your hand a squeeze without even realizing it, detangled your fingers from his own so he could walk right up to the counter.

“Since always, dipshit – now listen, I’m a real reasonable fuckin’ guy, so I’m only gonna break your face into two pieces instead of two-fucking-hundred, you got that?” He asked, cracking his knuckles.

“What – ” Marty didn’t even get a fucking sentence out before Pale had grabbed him by the apron, and was hauling him over the counter, away from the fucking knives and the machines that could probably take his head off.

He hadn’t gotten into a good ol’ fashioned fist fight in a couple of months, he was itching all over from it, crazy, he felt crazy.

The first punch landed right in Marty’s gut, his stomach tensing but not having enough muscle to do much about it. He went reeling, doubling over from the pain of it.

The second punch was right to his fucking face, right on the cheek – he’d knock out a couple fucking teeth if he were lucky.

Marty managed to get a couple hits in, staggering to his feet and throwing his fists wildly, they were uncoordinated, he was clear he didn’t know how to fucking fight. He did get a couple hits, right in Pale’s side and an upper-cut that knocked his jaw up a little, but Pale just went feral on him, beat his face into oblivion.

Pale couldn’t focus on anything, too focused on everything all at once. He pushed and shoved Marty into shelves, up against the counter, choked him and punched him and punched him and punched him. Even kneed him in the fucking stomach, knocked the wind right out of him.

“I told you he wasn’t gonna like it.” You said, leaning against the door, blocking the view from anyone seeing or coming in.

Pale grabbed Marty by the front of his now very stained apron, pointed his face in the direction of where you were standing.

“She don’t want you to fucking touch her, you don’t touch her. She don’t want to flirt with you, you don’t fucking flirt with you, you got that?” He seethed.

“Fuck you, you piece of shit.” Marty spit blood out onto the floor, onto his own fucking floor – now Pale had seen a lot of poor restaurant practices, but that one took the fucking cake as far as he was concerned – before glaring at you. “Aren’t you gonna fucking do something?”

He didn’t mean that to be to you, did he? He had a whole ‘nother fucking thing coming if he thought he was going to fucking talk to you like that.

You shook your head, shrugged at him, and Pale growled low in his fucking throat, “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

He had half a mind to snap the man’s fucking neck, but he settled on bashing Marty’s head into the counter and letting him fall to the ground unbalanced.

If he went any further, he’d kill him.

He looked back at you, still standing there, just watching, wary. You didn’t run away yet, didn’t call him dangerous, didn’t tell him you were afraid of him, not yet anyway. He took Marty’s dishtowel and wiped his hands down, decided not to kill him.

Instead, he looked Marty dead in the fucking eye as he picked the phone off the wall, dialed 9-1-1.

“Operator? Yeah, there’s been some kind of fight here – yeah sure thing, no he’s okay, just a little beat up.” He answered the questions the woman on the other end of the line asked, and then hung up.

He took out a stack of hundred dollar bills and went around the counter, stuck it in the fucking register.

“Don’t fuck with her again.” He said, jabbing a finger in his fucking direction.

Marty nodded, sitting up. He really wasn’t that beat up, just had some nasty bruising and maybe a broken fucking nose. Big deal, who didn’t have a broken nose every once in a while?

“We cool?” Pale asked, and Marty nodded again.

“Yeah, we’re cool.” Marty said, “Sorry (Y/N).”

“It’s alright Marty.” You replied, reaching your hand out to Pale.

The fucking knuckles were split, and he knew your medicine cabinet didn’t have everything he needed to stitch them back up, which meant –

“Come on, let’s go.” He said, taking your hand in his, leading you out of the deli.

No one on the streets had known nothin’, not one single person bothered to look or to care. Pale crossed the street, actually fucking waited for the little green man to pop up on the sign so you wouldn’t get hit by a fuckin’ car – no one knows how to drive in this damn city – crossed the street and held your hand and tried to breathe.

“Where are we going?” You asked, confused.

“To my place.” He sighed, and you immediately perked up with interest, about to ask probably a thousand questions – and rightfully so – but he put a hand up, “When we get inside, okay? I’m bleeding all over the fuckin’ sidewalk.”

“Everyone bleeds on the sidewalk sometimes.” You shrugged, but you were smiling, and you weren’t running from him, or crying, or hurt, or angry, and that’d what mattered to Pale in that moment.

So much for starting the year off with calm, he thought, but with the way you were smiling at him, the way you held onto his arm like you were his date at some big fucking gala, the way you helped him push the button on the elevator, the way you just were, he knew things were going to be okay.

  Tagging some pals! As always, if you’d like to be added or taken off the list please just shoot me a message!  @fullofbees @spinebarrel @dreamboatdriver @thecurlycaptain @bourbonboredom @driverficarchive @aweirdlookingtree @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd @adamsnackdriver @glitzescape @arwarz @adamsnacc-kler @kyloxfem @fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne @attorneyl

[scarsandammunition]

Love is for Losers song meanings

Earlier this year I wrote 4,500 words about my (unofficial) interpretations of The Longshot’s Love is for Losers and every time I hear it, I want to go on some more about how much I love it and how Deep these songs actually are. So I’m resurrecting it to share with tumblr, ft. illustrations for some songs

The Last Time

The narrator has upset his lover, they're giving him the silent treatment, he doesn't really understand why or if there's even a valid reason, but he's promising it'll be the last time in desperation to keep them. It's like a prequel to the following songs about lost love.

Taxi Driver

Summary: a metaphor for jumping in a taxi to anywhere but here to escape misery. It's frantic like actually trying to get an urgent taxi in New York City during rush hour.

"I got a suitcase in my hand, don't even know just where I am, so take me to my destination" - the narrator is carrying his emotional baggage, unsure where he even is in his mind and asking the metaphorical taxi driver to take him to a destination he doesn't even know. It's like literally running away with just a suitcase in his hand, not even knowing where he is in desperation to escape. "Don't want a ride, I need a lift, so drop me to the late night shift, somewhere out of your jurisdiction" - he doesn't want a ride, he just needs a lift to anywhere but here. "Late night shift" could refer to the musings and anxiety of sleepless nights.

"Are we alone or are we all we've ever known? Taxi driver, I'm rolling like a stone" - he's posing questions about life that a taxi driver could never answer, because in this moment, the taxi driver is everything as he takes him away from his misery. His thoughts are rolling like a stone and he feels like he's triumphantly rolling as he gets away.

"So take me down the motorway, the highway to another day, I'll take the side street out of vision" - he's metaphorically out of town, on the highway to another day with the taxi driver he's expecting way too much of, taking the side street out of vision from the misery he's escaping. This may be reading way too much into simple word choices, but I like it - "motorway" is British English, "highway" is American English and the contrast feels representative of confusion and how far he'll go with this metaphorical taxi driver just to get away.

"Give me a sign, give me a home," asking the taxi driver, currently representative of fate to him, to give him a sign if what he's feeling is right and a home at the end of his journey; "damned if I do, damned if I don't" - damned if he stays and accepts his misery, damned if he doesn't because "oh taxi driver, what's the mission?" - he doesn't even know what he's doing.

"I wanna get around, I wanna get a new ride, I gotta get along so when the hope comes I'm all go!" - he wants to be ready in case he suddenly finds the answer to all these questions he's asking about life, and in case hope for his situation to improve suddenly presents itself. That could be in the form of hope for his relationship working out, rediscovering love he's lost, or just for feeling better about life in general.

Chasing a Ghost

Summary: chasing the ghost of a lost love.

"Piss stains and cigarettes, this party's getting dull, I'm looking for a bump and a wall (???) to call my home" - I'm not sure “wall” is correct but anyway, the former two lines imply the narrator is partying to take his mind off how he's "chasing a ghost," but without that person it's getting dull and his feelings are getting harder to ignore.

"I'm feeling like a moron, bitter and withdrawn" - his feelings about the dying relationship are making him bitter and withdrawn, which he feels like a moron for; "standing in the shadows with all the good times gone" - he's retreating into the dark, where he's miserable and feels like all good times are in the past.

"I've got the tears oh baby, crying in my soul" - the narrator is putting on a brave face but crying inside; "hang from the chandelier from a long long time ago" - hanging from the chandelier probably refers to wild sex or fantasies they shared (which could in turn be referring to ¡Dos!), but the way it's sung is sensitive and emotional rather than crude. It's a “long, long time ago” but he's still reminiscing about it. He's "chasing a ghost" because he's desperately chasing his memory of someone, even though they're little more than a ghost.

"Everyone is happy and everyone is gay, feeling the spirits and twisting the night away," refers to a party or show, one that the song's subject is also at. They could be someone he only sees at events, which could tie into Brutal Love with "dance forever, under the lights" and the trilogy's forbidden love themes. Perhaps he's never even been in a relationship with them but just wonders if, as he sings in Stay the Night, they could be "the one that got away." That would also fit with them being a "ghost" because he can't actually have them. Or maybe it's none of that and he just happens to be seeing them at this event. "But when the thrill is gone and I'm staring at my phone," is a beautiful depiction of modern day longing and disappointment, when the party's over and he tells the subject "thanks for the company but I'm still standing alone," because even though the short time they spent together was thrilling, they're still not together. Instead, he's aimlessly staring at his phone, as we all have at some point. The party could be a metaphor for how exciting and thrilling the subject's company is. Lots of interpretations there!

"And it ain't the same, ain't it a shame?" - whatever he shares with the subject is no longer the same and he's lamenting that in both this line and the following "here's to the painkillers, oh yeah, on a Saturday night." Saturday nights are associated with fun, partying and letting go for a night, but instead, the narrator is alone taking metaphorical painkillers to numb the pain of his lost love.

"So if you see her tell her that I said hello" - he's given up hope that he'll even see her again to say hello, but feels no animosity towards her; "I miss the times we spent and now I gotta go" - whatever they shared, he misses it but now he has to move on, whether because their love was forbidden or just didn't work out; "she was my last hurrah and always got me stoned" - she was his last thrill, his last love and he enjoyed his time with her so much it was like drugs that left him stoned; "thanks for the sympathy and the punch in the nose" - thanking her, whoever is listening, for the sympathy and sarcastically "thanking" her, or the circumstances that prevent their love, for the "punch in the nose" as a metaphor for heartbreak.

The "ghost" could be a real person who’s become a “ghost” since he’ll never see them again - and in that case, most likely the same one the trilogy is about. It could also be the “imaginary girlfriends” Billie’s mentioned and refers to in Razor Baby, hence why they’re a “ghost.” Some people interpret this entire song as being about drugs (with the “ghost” being cocaine) and the human subject just a metaphor for that. Whilst I do think it refers to addiction (since an addict wrote it so it naturally does), I think that’s used as a metaphor for the relationship rather than the other way around. This is such a heartbreaking song.

Body Bag

Summary: feeling like his relationship leaves him dead in a body bag.

"She knits me a pastel purple sweater" - she does sweet things for me; "I'm staring blank into the sky" - maybe he's left staring blank into the sky as he revels in those sweet things, or perhaps he's doing so because he has to look away, knowing those sweet things won't last, either because of his own mistakes or hers; "she reads me like a scarlet letter" - she sees through me and won't take my shit; "she holds my heart and hopes to die" - like “cross my heart and hope to die,” she holds my heart, keeping me in love with her, while holding me to account if I hurt her and even sometimes when I don't. "Sometimes it ain't so bad, like a soul lies on the slab" - sometimes it doesn't hurt so much, though that seems sarcastic, because even when it's not so bad it's still as if his soul has been thrown down on a slab; "this is my life in a body bag" - this is how he lives his life, feeling dead and abandoned in a body bag. "She's got a diary of madness" - perhaps referring to his lover's own issues, or if considered from a forbidden love angle, a diary she keeps of their love that feels like madness because they can't truly have it; "she is a murder mystery" - referring back to how her love makes him feel like a dead man, but also how he doesn't really understand her and romanticises her as a mystery; "she dumped me in a brand new address, with a brand new sweater made for me" - she sugarcoats her ruthlessness with sweet gestures.

If I linked this to another song, I'd pick Wild One. He's almost afraid of the subject of Wild One, because she's “manic,” ruthless and he's put her on a pedestal as someone ethereal, but he can't help but give in to her anyway; Body Bag feels like a more tired, toned down portrayal of the same subject

Love Is For Losers

Summary: sarcastically dismissing love as being for losers because he's been left longing for a love he's lost.

"I'm riding shotgun in a car that's broken down" - the narrator is being dragged through a love that's broken down; "nowhere to run and this city's like a ghost town" - there's nowhere to run to avoid facing his feelings and the truth. He feels so alone as his lover has deserted him that the entire city feels like a ghost town. "And I'm feeling like a stranger, and I'm standing in the dark" - he feels like a stranger to his lover and himself in the face of losing her. He's standing alone in the dark, as he's "standing in the shadows with all the good times gone" in Chasing a Ghost, where it feels like there's no light at the end of the tunnel. "Hey kid, love is for losers now, alright. Stupid kid, you're a loser now, alright" - he's sarcastically - because he doesn't really mean it since he's still pathetically in love - telling himself and his lover that love is for losers, calling them stupid for falling for it, to make himself feel better. He refers to himself and her as kids because that's how vulnerable he feels.

"My heart's a has-been for my long lost valentine" - his lover is long gone now, but his heart is a has-been, stuck in the past as he's longing for her and "chasing a ghost." Then, he laments that "I searched the winter for the bride of Frankenstein." He searched and fought desperately for someone that could never exist as his bride. When Frankenstein's monster (and I do think Billie has probably read or at least seen Frankenstein and is referring to this) asked for a bride so he wouldn't be so alone, Dr. Frankenstein initially agreed to create one. However, he abandoned it out of fear they might produce more monsters, and the monster remained alone. His bride couldn't exist. She was never more than an unattainable dream, as the narrator is searching for someone who couldn't be more than that. This is one of my favourite lines Billie has ever written and I got it tattooed on my arm right before the Vancouver show (and it's a bit faded because dancing on the front row with a fresh tattoo is a Bad Idea, but that makes me love it more).

In See You Tonight on ¡Dos!, the narrator says “the colder it gets you won’t see me anymore.” Then in Love is for Losers, he’s desperately searching that winter, where he once said she wouldn’t see him anymore, for someone he’ll never find. "But we all got our delusions" - but we all have that one dream, like my bride of Frankenstein, that we cling onto and delude ourselves might be real. "Say goodbye to an old flame" - but now I have to move on.

"It goes to show ya, when they say that love is pain" - taking a cliche that turned out to be true for him to describe his feelings; "only the lonesome, got nowhere to run but the tears to go..." - inviting all the lonesome to lament with him and accept they have nowhere to run but to face the heartbreak.

Cult Hero

Summary: turning someone, whether himself or another, who's unknown and/or doesn't fit the image of a "hero" into a "cult hero."

"I am the patron of a story never told" - the narrator is nobody, but only because his story will never be told; "I am the longest shot in town" - a great line because it refers back to the band's name and how he feels everything about him is a long shot; "I ride the darkest horses in the rodeo" - unlike your regular hero, I walk a darker path;  "I am the unsung of the clowns" - I'm the unheard representative of fools.

"I am hyena at the dog and pony show" - I'm an outcast; "I'm the last of the lesser knowns, 'cause I wanna be a cult hero" - in a sense, he's making fun of himself by sarcastically exaggerating his own importance as the last person to be lesser known, which isn't something most people would be proud of; but he wants to be a cult hero.

"I got my darkest secrets and whispers at the moon, where all the stars never align" - acknowledging that he has dark secrets, which most "heroes" don't, that only the moon and unaligned stars will ever hear because he's a "lesser known"; "well, I can self destruct on any given note, my ruin is my storyline" - he has issues, he's imperfect, but that in itself is his storyline. It's what makes him a cult hero.

When Billie posted clips of Cult Hero, he included a photo of his dad, who was on the teamsters and always fighting for the right thing. That could be considered heroic. But obviously, no one outside of his family, friends and fans even knows who his father is; and even if they did, he's not the kind of person who's generally celebrated as a hero. So I interpret this song as making a cult hero of someone like his father who'd never achieve mainstream hero status and putting that on a pedestal.

Kill Your Friends

Summary: using killing your friends as a violent metaphor to mock, and as a contrast to, the meaningless and surface level kindness that's rife in society today. The narrator is letting go and doing whatever he wants, because everything is going to shit anyway.

"Heaven's making rent, there's a vacancy for me and all my friends" - heaven (notably not hell) has room for the narrator and his fairweather friends who'll metaphorically die; "the end of days are on the way" - he feels a metaphorical apocalypse is coming, so it doesn't matter what he does; "who needs eulogies? When you got your loved ones and everyone's depressed" - mocking the concept of performative loved ones and gratitude for them when in reality everyone's depressed, by saying you don't even need eulogies when you have something so falsely perfect; "party in the morgue tonight, everything's gonna be alright" - what happens matters so little they they'll practically still be alive when they're dead.

"And we'll be singing kill your friends and we better get it, and we'll show up missing" - we'll be singing something crass and gory, but who cares? It means little to him because the friends he's singing about aren't really his friends. "Show up missing" is some fun wordplay.

"Deadbeats on parade, gonna bite the bullet and jump on the grenade" - calling these people displaying false kindness deadbeats. He's going to say what he wants instead of holding back, even though that might be like jumping on a grenade, "Fuck the world, it's judgment day!" - again, he's going to do what he wants, because it feels like judgment day is coming anyway; "we got thoughts and prayers" - mocking another societal concept of "thoughts and prayers" which don't really help anyone, so he sings "nothing comes to mind and I don't even care." Instead, "I'm gonna take it to the mausoleum” - similar to “waking up the dead and everything will be alright in Angel Blue” - “and we're not going 'til you're screaming..." because he will be heard, he won't be brushed off with thoughts and prayers and he's not afraid to use violent imagery to get that across.

"One finger on the trigger and lying on the stereo" - he's got one finger on a metaphorical trigger while he lies on the stereo (mass publicity) that everything is fine; "I think you're killing me with kindness" - he's sick of pity parties that mean nothing; "gunslinger, dead ringer and Michelangelo" - he wants to feel like he's dangerous; "I'm in stitches blowing kisses and a death wish" - he's laughing as he does something morbid and offensive because he doesn't care anymore and in reality, what he's mocking is equally offensive. The song as a whole could reflect his reckless feelings as he loses his lover.

Happiness

Summary: ironically singing about happiness to communicate the opposite.

"Where is my sanctuary town? My love is reaching for a higher ground" - the narrator is asking where he can find this mythical sanctuary of happiness he's never known, trying and failing to reach a higher ground where love doesn't hurt; "I'm in the church of broken hearts, these congregations for the after dark" - he's wallowing in heartbreak like it's a religion, shared with people who spiritually congregate on sleepness nights, in the dark where they'll never be seen.

"How lonely is your lonely? How lonely is your restlessness?" - do you feel as lonely as I do? "See when the war is over, some day when hell freezes over, how unhappy is your happiness?" - it's a rhetorical question, because he knows hell will freeze over before he gets an answer and feels less alone.

"Up on the lonely avenue, my ride is running late or I'm too soon" - using the metaphor of a ride again to describe how nothing goes right for him; "my wheels are spinning in a ditch" - he can't escape his loneliness; "that sinking feeling on a floating bridge" - comparing that to feeling like standing on a bridge that's bound to sink and drown you.

"Lonely nights and too dumb to cry, as the songs are down" - lamenting how lonely he is, awake at night writing songs about his lost love and misery, unable to cry and feeling dumb as a result; "safety pins and purge all my sins, seasons of my murder" - again, I'm not actually sure what that last word is (release the lyrics Billie), but regardless that line is probably still, to me, about unhappiness escalating to the point where you think about death.

Soul Surrender

Summary: surrendering your soul to someone in love and feeling an almost spiritual connection with them, even when they're gone.

"Sweet soul surrender" - the narrator describes his love with the subject as baring their souls to each other in devotion, even if that is "sweet old suicide." It feels almost like a spiritual connection of their souls. "She's my sole/soul defender," because despite the faults the relationship had and her absence now, she's still the only person who'll defend him. If it's "soul," not "sole" defender, he could feel her presence literally defends his soul from negativity. He tells her "don't be so uptight" because there's no need to be when they were this close. He could also be telling other people not to be so uptight about their relationship because she's his "soul surrender."

"Just me and my imagination, I swear I think I saw a ghost" - this line tells us he's actually alone. Seeing a "ghost" refers back to Chasing a Ghost. He's longing for her so much, and he still feels so connected to her that he's seeing her like a ghost who isn't there, but almost wants to believe that image is real. "Oh, lead me out of my temptation, I got a case of letting go" - he's asking a higher power, or her as if she's that higher power herself, to stop him spiralling back into his worst throes of longing or trying to find her again.

"Send me a message through the window, something that I have never known" - in wanting to know if she still thinks about him, or if that ghost could metaphorically be real like a manifestation of their reciprocal longing, he asks her to send him a message through the window. The window is like a divide between them, because she can't or won't tell him in person, going back to the forbidden love theme. He wants something he's never known, because he wants to know how that feels for once in his life and because it would identify that message as being from her. "I think I need a long vacation, to keep me clean and blow my nose" - he needs a vacation, where he can cry and forget, to escape this longing and avoid giving in to it.

Some people interpret this song as being about rehab because of the “keep me clean” line. That's an interesting angle too. For me though, "soul surrender" is the furthest you can go in your love for someone, and experiencing something like that leaves a mark so deep you might still see the person's ghost after they're gone.

Turn Me Loose

Summary: trying to be triumphant in the face of a relationship ending.

"Don't let your ponytail get out of line, I got a feeling on my mind," stop and pay attention to me, because I have something to say; "I'm on the spectrum and the borderline, I got the shakes but I'm alright," I'm dealing with my own issues but I'm alright, insisting he's fine despite how his lover made him feel, when in reality he knows he isn't.

"Turn me loose,” let me go, “I'm only gonna stagger" - I'll "stagger" but won’t fall, it won't hurt too much; "April Fool's and I'm not a runner," I'm already a fool anyway, so whatever; just "don't call me a loser with dumb tattoos" and hurt me, but "it doesn't matter," pretending he doesn't care, which is sarcastic because he's just admitted he does.

"I'll go down swinging for the final line," I'll fight for myself until the end; "I'm not the rebel for my bride," I'm a rebel for myself and not for you; "just for the record and the afterlife, I'll take a beating not a dive," I'll take a beating but I won't be knocked down. That could also link back to Fell For You - "steal a kiss and I took a dive" - saying that this time I won't take a dive for you.

Because it's kind of bluster and he is hurting really, he sings "I'm gonna make a racket, I'm gonna start a riot, I'm gonna make you crash and burn," saying he's going to be immature and break the person's heart in return.

Goodbye to Romance

So this is an Ozzy Osbourne cover and Billie didn't write it, so it could be argued it means nothing. To me it's there for a reason though. It's like hope for the unattainable love he's been singing about for the whole album - "we'll meet in the end" and "it won't be me this time around to love in vain" - while empowering himself by saying "goodbye to friends and to romance" at the same time. It was also played by Green Day at the first trilogy show at the Tiki Bar in Costa Mesa, so this is a nice way of that whole concept coming full circle.

Finally, some quick takes on a few of the b-sides, which I'm sure weren't meant to be analysed but let’s go with it:

Fever Blister

The narrator uses the concept of a fever blister and being contagious as a metaphor for how repulsive he considers himself, his self-hatred and how he feels he's so awful people should avoid him.

Razor Baby

I can't even discern all the lyrics to this so it's a bit of a shot in the dark (or long shot?). I get the impression it's from the perspective of a female character like Gloria ("of love and razor blades") that's loosely based on Billie, using her self-harm ("razor baby" / "she covers up all through the summer") to empower her instead of put her down. Also refers to her having “imaginary girlfriends, someone that she can share her pain,” tying into the “ghost” theme.

I've Got My Problems

A simple and cynical love song. The narrator plays down his desire for romance - he just wants someone rousing (“I wanna be a girl like you”) to hang around with. Finding that feels like a temporary “solution” to his problems, while he's "hitting bottom" but "she's alright." He feels more strongly about her than he's letting on, since he doesn’t “wanna fuck around with nobody else” and will “take one on the chin for you.” Whilst Baby Blue is a song written for These Paper Bullets, in this case I think “like voodoo dolls and baby blue” refers back to Angel Blue, someone who’ll “cut my chest just to see the blood.”

Devil’s Kind

Summary: a new romance is compared to the devil because it's typically "sinful."

"Beer stains and cigarettes, the party is in my pocket" - two interpretations here. "Party is in my pocket" could mean an intimate party is dependant on the narrator and he's in control. Like the phrase "in your pocket" typically means being extremely close to, or dependant on, someone. It could also, as a lot of other people interpret it, refer to cocaine (especially with the following "bump" line). If so, I think that whilst this "party" might literally involve drugs, it's also a metaphor for how high the subject makes him feel - "she was my last hurrah and always got me stoned."

"I'm looking for a drink and a couch to call my home / give me a bump and I will call" - drugs and alcohol could be giving the narrator the confidence to behave like "the devil's kind" with the subject or even approach her at all. It could also be the same metaphor as the previous line, asking the subject to get him drunk and high on her.

"And whisper dirty lies, the rapture in your ear and we'll both be terrified" - the couple are revelling in their "sin." Being "terrified" is like a high, or sarcastic because they're actually loving it. Or they could be doing things that do terrify them, but fired up by each other, they're up for it. I'd link this again to Wild One and Body Bag; how he's almost afraid of the subject because she's ruthless and so idealised by him.

"Bloodshot eyes and you're peppermint" - their eyes are bloodshot because they're up all night and partying (whether metaphorically or literally), but like peppermint is associated with lowered heart rate and blood pressure, the subject is like a cure for the narrator. Like taking ecstasy so you don't have to sleep. "We can roll like dogs from the devil" - they should be afraid of the devil, but instead in their sin they'll come close to him, only to roll like dogs without a care away.

"Give me one last try for your love tonight" - this isn't their first encounter and the narrator doesn't want it to last just one more night as fun, he actually wants her love. Reminds me yet again of Wild One and the note in the lyric book, "let's fall in love (just for an hour)." Really he wants more than just an hour's love, though.

"I'll be the king forever and you can be my sunshine" - to use a cliche, he'll be king of the subject's heart forever. Again, he wants her forever, not just now and he wants to leave a mark on her. In return, she'll be like his sunshine in the dark. Her being like a “cure” or “defender” is a recurring theme. "We are the devil's kind" - they're the devil's kind of people because they're sinful. I think a lot of the implications of sin are subtle references to sex. "And now I won't back down, I said I won't back down" - he won't give up on trying to win the subject's love.

"Take me into the water" - could refer to holy water or water as cleansing for his demons or sins, or alternatively her metaphorically drowning him; "and pull me from the slaughter" - the defender theme coming up again, like she's the only one who can pull him from negativity; "because I've got the shakes and I'm so petrified" - this time only he's petrified. The way it's sung is confident and assertive, but admitting this to her as if she's his comfort is quite vulnerable. Could be linked to "I've got the shakes but I'm alright" in Turn Me Loose, which is a bit of a heartbreaking comparison because at that point the relationship is over, but he's trying to insist he'll be alright anyway.

For the drawing, I used the "sunshine" theme and link to "dance forever, under the lights." The girl is loosely based on how I imagine the character in Wow! That's Loud and the guy on the young Perry Miller performing Devil's Kind in Ordinary World.

So I might be reading way too much into some of this, but as some of my favourite songs Billie has written, they deserve it. These are of course my own personal interpretations based on my own feelings and I could be completely wrong about them all. I also don't mean to imply anything about Billie personally or his private life. I have no idea who or what he's singing about and knowing wouldn't change any of my intepretations. Because hey, some people find analysing art fun... and I have a photography degree so finding meaning in things no one else cares about is what I do for a living.

Feel free to add your own interpretations!

[puppyluver256]

Spirifest 2018 Compilation

All right, here it is like I promised. The compilation post of my Halloween series, with descriptions for the pics so you can decide for yourself whether or not to look at them.

Ghosts - A dead man in spirit form staring at the ruined remains of his former home from some state of his life. Probably not too bothersome unless you’re uncomfortable with death or if you look too closely at the ghost’s chest, as the wound from his cause of death is visible.

Bats - A woman watching bats fly through a cave. Generally wholesome as the bats are not being creepy and the woman is just there to observe them, though if you’re afraid of bats there may be a little bit of an issue. If it makes you feel any better, the bats were not drawn realistically. ;3

Pumpkins - A woman preparing to carve an enormous pumpkin, looking off to the side as though someone has gotten her attention. Generally wholesome unless you’re bothered by knives, even though the knife featured is placed on the table and not currently being used.

Faceless - A young boy has his face magically removed by some weird goblin creature while another creature watches. I’d count this as fantasy body horror personally, even though nothing too gruesome happens (think like Miitopia), and if featureless faces bother you then it’d be safe to stay away. (trigger potential - safety level yellow)

Werewolf - A werewolf happily howling at the full moon. Not mid-transformation and it’s clear the werewolf is enjoying herself. Nothing of note to warn of here.

Skeleton - A woman dancing with a plastic decorative skeleton, like you’d find for cheap at the Halloween store. Nothing of note to warn about here.

Vampire - A vampire man holding a woman from whom he has been feeding, her neck exposed where he has clearly bitten her and blood oozing from the bite. Will bother you if you’re bothered by blood.

Water Monster - A man is underwater and being observed by a strange beast of the deep, which is slowly approaching him. Will bother you if you have anxiety over open water and the things that may lurk within, or the potential for drowning. (trigger potential - safety level yellow)

Serpent - A naga woman having a conversation with a fairy. Nothing of note to warn about here, as I’m pretty sure nagas don’t figure into the general fear of snakes due to the humanoid torso.

Spider Web - A man wrapped up in spider silk to the point of being immobile, clearly distressed and struggling while the ominous eyes of something that can be inferred to be a giant spider watch on. Will bother you if you’re bothered by seeing people being made immobile against their will and/or you suffer from arachnophobia. (trigger potential - safety level yellow)

Graveyard - A woman walking through a graveyard at sunset. The graves are undisturbed, and there aren’t like any zombies there or anything, so it’s pretty much just a walk through a tranquil area.

Party - A fun Hallowe--er, I mean Spirifest party where people are enjoying themselves. Nothing of note to warn about here, unless you interpret the drink that the background characters are toasting with is an alcoholic beverage and that bothers you.

Masks - A man holding a pair of masks. Nothing of note to warn about here.

Spooky Forest - A woman standing at the entrance to a dark forest holding a flashlight. Nothing of note to warn about here unless dark forests make you nervous.

Plants - A woman having vines sprout forth from her mouth and wrap around her body, with a flower blooming from her eye. Will bother you if you’re bothered by blood, body horror, and plants invading and growing through the body. (trigger potential - safety level red)

Eyes - A woman with multiple eyes sprouting on her body in places they shouldn’t be, while being watched by four large eyes in the background. Will bother you if staring and body parts that are either too numerous or in places they should not be. (trigger potential - safety level yellow)

Puppet - A person being forcibly altered into a marionette, with strings attached to rings forced into their wrists and ankles, an oversized button replacing one of their eyes, and their mouth sewn shut. Will bother you if you’re put off by blood and mutilation. (trigger potential - safety level red)

Moonlight - A woman sitting on a wall under moonlight, holding a drink in a champagne flute. Very chill mood, nothing of note to warn about.

Haunted House - A woman standing in front of an old dilapidated house, holding a device. Spooky in atmosphere only, nothing of note to warn about.

Mummy - Two people working together to have one wrap up the other in bandages, with spent rolls on a table nearby. May bother you if you’re uncomfortable with seeing people wrapped up and immobile, but there is no danger present for the one being wrapped. (trigger potential - safety level green)

Scarecrow - A woman setting up a scarecrow in a field. Nothing of note to warn about here unless you’re bothered by scarecrows, though this one is not meant to be frightening to people.

Shadow - A man being verbally abused by his own shadow given life. There’s blood on the table and splattered on the man, so if you’re bothered by that there’s warning ya.

Doll - A woman holding a doll and being creepy. Unless you’re creeped out by dolls there’s nothing that bad here.

Owl - A woman watching a majestic owl fly overhead. No danger present except for the potential to be hit by a possible owl pellet or droppings.

Cursed Object - A man holding an object that he cannot let go of and is slowly turning him into some sort of solid material. Possibly counts as fantasy body horror.  (trigger potential - safety level yellow/red)

Corruption - A man restrained as an insidious corrupting force spreads across him. Will bother you if you’re put off by blood and people being restrained. This is a depiction of a canonical TH event and yeah, depending on your interpretation, the dude in this pic is either actively dying or already dead in this illustration. (trigger potential - safety level black)

Headless - A dullahan (headless unseelie fairy from Irish mythology) woman throwing a basin of blood towards the viewer, her head in midair on its way to the ground on account of her using both hands to hold the basin. Contains blood and lots of it (though not from the neck of the character thankfully), and may bother you based on that and the obvious headlessness.

Jumpscare - Going by my reblog from September about how I would definitely not be sharing jumpscares that would startle the viewer, that is not what this is. It is, instead, a woman popping out of a hiding spot and a man’s reaction to being startled. For us it’s just harmless fun.

Black Cat - A woman petting a black cat, who seems to be very much enjoying the kind treatment they’re receiving. Nothing of note to warn about here, and hey, kitty!

Cryptid - A monster inspired by the Flatwoods monster carrying a camera in the forest. Nothing to warn about unless you’re bothered by the Flatwoods monster.

Costumes and Candy - Some children wearing costumes and trick-or-treating. No danger present for the kiddos whatsoever, though their costumes may be a bit 2spooky4u. =P

[faithfulnews]

Papal Fiction

Papal Fiction

By Rita Ferrone

December 23, 2019

“The most glorious journey can begin with a mistake.” This is the observation made by Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio in the opening scene of Fernando Meirelles’s The Two Popes, as he preaches to throngs of poor people in a Buenos Aires slum. It signals the central themes of the film: change, reconciliation, and hope for the future. The scene, shot on location in Argentina, surges with the energy of the people and the place. A kaleidoscope of color and activity soon settles into a moment of stillness and focused attention as Bergoglio speaks. He stands in the midst of all these people: not above them, but with them. And they are listening.

But what is the mistake? The first possible answer the film offers is that Bergoglio (played by Jonathan Pryce) has decided to resign from his position at the head of the church of Buenos Aires. He is tired and weary from the direction that the church is taking, and he wants out. As his repeated letters to Pope Benedict XVI go unanswered, he plans a trip to Rome to press the pope in person to let him retire.

Little does he know that, at the same time, Pope Benedict is contemplating his own resignation. What holds Benedict back from retirement, however, is his fear that Bergoglio might succeed him. In the 2005 conclave at which Benedict was elected, Bergoglio was a serious contender. The public forgot this fact during the conclave of 2013; many presumed that Bergoglio came out of nowhere. But the prospect of Bergoglio’s rise was not lost on Benedict. He kept an eye (and a file) on him. And he didn’t like what he saw: too much willingness to bend the rules and too little respect for tradition. Benedict comes to regard Bergoglio as his nemesis, someone with whom he disagrees so fundamentally that he fears what might happen to the church should the Argentine ascend to the Chair of Peter. Benedict (played by a fine Anthony Hopkins) decides to face his fears. Just as Bergoglio prepares to head to Rome, Benedict summons him for a face-to-face meeting—for his own purposes. “He must have gotten my letter after all,” Bergoglio mutters, not realizing there’s another agenda at play.

This is the stuff of comedy. And indeed The Two Popes is full of humorous bits, arising from the clash of opposites, thwarted expectations, and unexpected convergences. (One laugh-out-loud moment: the soundtrack accompanying the solemn entrance of the cardinals into the Sistine Chapel for the 2005 conclave suddenly blares strains of Abba’s “Dancing Queen.” A hat tip to Frédéric Martel?) Yet it is also a serious affair. The meeting between Benedict and Bergoglio becomes a three-day conversation over which the central drama of the film unfolds.

The first encounter between the two men takes place in a perfectly manicured garden at the pope’s summer residence—a sharp contrast with the rollicking streets of Argentina we’ve just seen. And of course this is a setup. All the clichés concerning the differences between the two popes come tumbling out. Benedict lives in regal isolation. He is stern, even censorious. He is concerned about protecting Tradition and Truth with a capital “T.” In a reminder that the indignities of old age are upon him, Benedict receives commands from his watch to “Keep moving” every time he pauses in his walk. Yet he’s clearly a tough old bird, and his strong will is on full display. Hopkins’s elderly pope knows that change is on the horizon, but he resists it with every fiber of his being.

Pryce’s Bergoglio is the perfect foil for all this. With wit and winsomeness, and aided by an uncanny resemblance to Francis, Pryce quickly helps establish the contrast between his character and Benedict. Bergoglio eschews luxury and lives simply. A true son of Argentina, he’s passionate about soccer and dances the tango. He enjoys his food. Most of all, he enjoys being with people. (At one point, Benedict arrives on the scene and is startled to find that Bergoglio has made friends with the gardener; together they are extolling the merits of oregano.) Throughout, and just as you would expect, Bergoglio wears clunky black shoes and carries his famous, scuffed black briefcase. The briefcase holds his resignation letter, which he will push under the nose of Benedict at every opportunity—a bit of stage business that grows more hilarious each time it is repeated (and it is repeated often). His dogged persistence in carrying out his mission is an indicator of his own strength of will. He does not bend easily.

There is no evidence either that Benedict was particularly anxious about the prospect of Bergoglio stepping into his shoes.

As their encounter progresses, Benedict proceeds to challenge Bergoglio on his record, while Bergoglio puts up a lively defense of his decisions and priorities. The discussion that follows is a quick run-through of matters of philosophical principle on which the two popes are reputed to disagree, or at least to have distinctly different practical approaches. But this is treated simplistically. At no point does The Two Popes become a film of ideas; there is no attempt to chart the nuances of their viewpoints. Meirelles hews firmly to the time-tested formula of setting two opposing personalities against each other.

Yet as they spend more time together, their exchanges become more personal in nature, more intimate, and more human. We learn through flashbacks about how the young Bergoglio decided to become a Jesuit priest. At a point of decision in his life, a chance conversation with a thoughtful priest whom he had never seen before and who, as it happens, was dying of leukemia, tips the balance. Is the unexpected conversation with a kind stranger perhaps the mistake that opens onto a glorious journey?

But the journey is not so glorious. Through flashbacks, we learn about the young Bergoglio (played by the accomplished Argentinian actor Juan Minujín). There are wrenching scenes concerning events that occurred during the dictatorship. Bergoglio was indeed mentored by a communist, a woman at a food chemistry lab whom he deeply respected. Her daughter was abducted by the regime, and she herself was later arrested and killed. We see the mistakes Bergoglio makes after being appointed provincial of his order at an early age. The film depicts the true story of how he ordered two Jesuits out of their frontline ministry among the poor during the Dirty War, out of fear for their safety, and his suspension of them when they refused. What he did not anticipate was that this suspension then would be interpreted as lifting the church’s protection; the two men were soon arrested, detained, and tortured. Many years later, one of these priests forgave him; the other never did. We learn of Bergoglio’s struggle with guilt for not having done more to save those targeted by the regime. We see how he carries within himself his own consciousness of sin and unworthiness as he goes into exile in Córdoba, Argentina, where his community has sent him after a tumultuous and divisive term.

Benedict, who by now has thawed considerably, listens and attempts to console Bergoglio. He confides his own sense of spiritual loneliness, and reveals his decision to resign the papacy. At the end of the scene, Benedict is moved to confess his own sins, and asks for sacramental absolution, which Bergoglio gives him despite being deeply shocked by what he has heard.

The roles are now reversed. Bergoglio forgets about pressing Benedict to accept his resignation as archbishop and tries instead to dissuade Benedict from resigning the papacy. Why? Because tradition demands it! The reformer doesn’t want so much change after all! Meanwhile, Benedict, loses his resistance to the prospect of Bergoglio as his successor. Maybe the man from Buenos Aires is just the person the church needs as pontiff. The defender of tradition becomes the one who breaks with tradition! And so we are to understand that the two men have looked into each other’s hearts with compassion. This changes everything.

  All of this, of course, is fiction. Despite the emotionally satisfying resolution of the film, we need to remember that none of this actually happened. The conversation never took place. Confession and forgiveness were neither sought nor received. Benedict never threw his weight behind Bergoglio in the 2013 conclave (according to many journalists, he favored Angelo Scola of Milan and Marc Ouellet of Quebec), and in any case a retiring pope does not choose his successor. There is no evidence either that Benedict was particularly anxious about the prospect of Bergoglio stepping into his shoes, or that he changed his mind in the end. Although Francis has shown great kindness and solicitude toward his predecessor, the two have never become what you’d call buddies.

The most troubling fictionalization, however, is Benedict’s confession to Bergoglio. Meirelles muffles the dialogue, so we don’t actually hear what he says. But it seems we are to believe that Benedict confesses to knowingly reassigning predator priests—something not supported by his actual biography. The admission of guilt is prefaced by a vague reference to Marcial Maciel, the notorious sex abuser who founded the Legionaries of Christ. Ratzinger’s role in that case, however, was quite different from that implied by the movie. Far from enabling Maciel, Ratzinger, in his capacity as prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, strove to have him removed from ministry; it was John Paul II who resisted. As pope, Benedict finally got rid of Maciel, sentencing him to “a life of prayer and penance.”

Did Ratzinger perhaps reassign predator priests while he was archbishop of Munich? Anything is possible, and certainly this sort of thing happened in many dioceses. But it is not a known fact that Benedict did so, and on a topic like this, an admission of guilt is far from a harmless artistic embellishment. This stuff is radioactive.

Obviously, Meirelles wanted to dramatize a relationship in which two men acknowledge their sins and confide in one another about their feelings of unworthiness for the great office they have been called to fill. And many viewers like to see antagonists arrive at forgiveness and reconciliation. The imagined dynamic between the two men is the most engaging aspect of the film, the most hilarious, and also the most meaning-laden—and the confession scene is part of it. Yet to suggest complicity in the sex-abuse scandals without a solid anchor in fact needlessly complicates things. Wasn’t there something that Benedict actually felt remorseful about to depict instead?

Glorious journeys do unfold, despite all of our mistakes. And sometimes, tradition and progress meet—and embrace. That’s the uplifting message of The Two Popes. If only it could happen in real-life Rome.

Issue: 

January 2020

Go to the article

[bandrowskisblog]

The series that I chose to analyze was Margaret Courtney-Clarke’s Cry Sadness into the Coming Rain. Top right is the first image of the series I am writing about.

1.1 I think this series was created for someone that could use a bit more of an understanding about what the world is like outside their little town. I think it was created because they are beautifully taken photos that are ascetically pleasing to look at. People might not understand why these photos are together in a series, but I think that makes a photograph series more interesting because the viewer has the chance to interpret it themselves.

1.2 From this series what I can tell about life here is that it may be hard but that doesn't mean they can’t have fun and smile.

1.3 Reading the captions it made me realize that this entire series is this family waiting for rain to come because they are running out and need it to live. I think that at the beginning when the women are happy and dancing compared to the end when the woman is all sad and unhealthy because she hasn't had water is so important to this series. The captions make the series easier to understand but also harder because the captions don’t always make sense and you have to figure out what it means in your own opinion. The captions have nothing to do with what is actually happening in the photos, which is something I don't see very often.

1.4 I really think this series is very well done because it is very aesthetic to look at and it obviously has a very deep meaning. I think that it is very worthy of my praise because the meaning behind these pictures is what makes it so great. One problem I have is that I don’t really understand what some of these images are suppose to be of and it confuses me a little.

1.5 a. The photos in the three series I chose from are all from war or famine related series’. The subjects in two of them are very clear but the subject in the bottom left photo is very hard to depict. The photographer decided to not include (top right) anything other than the subjects and one little plant and desk on the right. They probably did this in order to make the understanding of the subjects easier and make them the entire focus. In the second photo (2nd left) the photographer decided to make this photo much more chaotic because it is about being in a state of emergency and therefore it is more intense and the situation is unknown; kind of like how the image is. The last one the subject is the man holding the baby and they decided to include other soldiers on the sides to reinstate the idea of where they are and the situation they are in. The first photo has lots of color while the other two have little to no colors in them.

b. For some reason I feel like in these photos the photographer doesn't really have a relationship with the subjects. That they are a journalist and are taking these photos for something like a magazine or newspaper. Maybe it is because of the locations. The photographer is at eye level in all of them.

2.1 I think it illustrates “Thousands of families have travelled for days across scorched scrubland from Somalia to Kenya.”

2.2 This photo makes the text seem real and makes the viewer know it is actually a huge problem many people don't know about.

2.3 It makes me visualize what the people looked like and what they were wearing on their long travels and that just makes the text even more sad to read.

3.1 This photo illustrates “no food or water after their crops and livestock were destroyed by drought” to me.

3.2 It makes me think of this quote because of the animals walking aimlessly around not having anything to eat or drink either.

3.3 This image makes me realize how little water and crops there are during this time and how the entire area is sand with people around.

4.1 This makes me think of the quote “child refugees from Somalia are dying of causes related to malnutrition either during the journey or very shortly after arrival at aid camps” from the text.

4.2 It makes me think of this quote because this child is being tube fed at this young of an age because they are unable to eat or drink because of the lack of resources.

4.3 This photo makes me understand the text better because it makes it real and makes me think more about this problem and how sad it is.

4.1 The quote is “More than 10 million people have been affected across the Horn of Africa.”

4.2 It reminds me because I feel like this little boy is not the only person this bad off because of the lack of food and water and it makes me imagine all the young children who are malnourished.

4.3 It makes me understand the text better because I couldn't comprehend 10 million malnourished children and after seeing just one I can imagine way more as sad as it is.

I think the leader imagine is the little boy in the basket because it is the one that is easiest to tell that malnutrition is a huge issue because you can see he doesn't eat. Along with that, but you can also connect with it and that is so vital in photography.

For my photos that I took this week (bottom 2) I decided to photograph someone smoking cigarettes. It is something that is obviously happening everywhere around London but it is not something that many people think about when we are told to photograph something we don’t the part in. It is definitely something that a lot of Londoners and people in Europe in general do. It is definitely something I think of when I think about Europe and London because smoking is so common in Europe compared to the US. It was taken in a way that was very authentic because the person was walking and smoking very casually and that is what I like about the photos I took. I like that they aren’t super artsy or thought out because smoking is such a casual part of life here just like the images I took for this series. I also edited the pictures and added a darker filter to go along with the idea of London being a dark and gloomy place. It is kind of hard to tell what the person is doing but honestly that makes the photos so much better because it was very casual, too. Nothing really specific is in the photo or not in this photo series, except the river and the park that I was on a casual walk on watching people smoke in front of me.

[dial-m-for-movies]

Lipstick Under My Burkha – Film Appreciation

Cast – Ratna Pathak Shah, Konkona Sen Sharma, Aahana Kumra, Plabita Borthakur, Sushant Singh, Shashank Arora, Vaibhav Tatwawaadi and Vikrant Massey.

Produced by – Prakash Jha Productions

Music – Zebunnisa Bangash and Mangesh Dhakde

Direction of  Photography – Akshay Singh

Edited by – Charu Shree Roy

Story by – Alankrita Srivastava

Written & Directed by – Alankrita Srivastava

“Lipstick Under My Burkha is a bold and ballsy female oriented flick that subcutaneously gets under the skin of four women, only to weave an intimate story of their humanely desires.”

It was an exhaustive, prolonged and equally inquisitive wait of almost over nine months to witness this cinema, after a surprise release of its beguiling teaser on October 14, 2016, which galvanized the cinephiles and the parallel cinema-lovers, only as much as it inadvertently titillated the voracious voyeurs across the nation. The trailer promised that it would hit the big screen “soon”, but was sadly and quite expectedly destined to be squeezed between the regressive pair of palms of a rather misunderstood organization called CBFC (Central Board of Film Certification), which made sure that the film would pulverize under the juggernaut of its baseless, lame and more often than not, sarcastically tagged as “sanskari” ideologies. But the film that already bragged of bountiful of well deserved accolades and its triumph at twelve different film festivals; and which is also quite heretical in its subject matter, characteristically didn’t give up and managed to hit the Indian big screens on July 21, 2017, only to spread a word that really matters.

The film has four female protagonists of very different moulds living in the city of lakes, Bhopal; and their stories of social struggles running in tandem are wonderfully enlaced with a narrative of an erotic book called “Lipstic Wale Sapne”, which happens to be the motif throughout the film. Before getting into the narrative structure and appreciation of this cinema it would be better to get introduced to the main characters.

Ushaji / Buaji / Rosy played by Ratna Pathak Shah – She is an old widow in her mid 50’s, who has garnered a unanimous reverence in the society owing to her religious beliefs and spiritual knowledge; who in the progression of the story develops a penchant for swimming; and inspired by an erotica, reinvents her sexual desires in the realms of a palpable seduction imbued by a physically fit and reasonably handsome training instructor, Jaspal played by Jagat Singh Solanki.

Shireen Aslam played by Konkona Sen Sharma – A talented saleswoman Muslim lady who is a responsible mother to three school going children in the absence of their father, Rahim Aslam played by the renowned actor Sushant Singh, who stereotypically travels to middle east to earn money, and who, in the progression of the story chauvinistically suppresses his wife’s ambitious desires of a good career.

Leela played by Aahana Kumra – A tall, strapping and spunky girl who feels claustrophobic in the clamour of a rather hidebound Bhopal, and tries to find succour in a lusciously weaved, boldly portrayed yet sensitively dealt relationship with an amorous philander know as Arshad played by the new sensation, Vikrant Massey. Leela is also supposed to marry a formidably boring guy, Manoj, which adds an insult to her injury. For her, her bike is a symbol of her freedom, which she loses for monetary needs, later on.

Rhehana Abidi played by Plabita Borthakur – A rock music, who love Led Zeppelin, a dance enthusiast who doesn’t mind to tap her feet anytime, and an enigmatic kleptomaniac Muslim girl in her nearing twenty, who is stridently repressed by her family, and discovers her innocuous love interest in a college band member and a stud known as Dhruv, played by Shashank Arora, who disowns her in the end. She also fulfils her materialistic desires by some spasmodic pilferage and thievery that she cleverly carries out during the progression of the film. 

As mentioned before, the narratives of the story are, linearly though, interwoven with the narratives of an erotic novella called “Lipstick Wale Sapne” (formerly which happens to be the title of the film, but latterly the makers chose the rhetoric one). Buaji narrates the story of the film through her voice over, while she reads the anecdotes of the protagonist of the novel who is named Rosy, and those tales of lechery, societal suppression and dying desires delineates the sequences and happenstance in the lives of four protagonist wonderfully edited in such a coherent way that it becomes impossible to find any incongruity. From the fade in, when the Kleptomaniac Rhehana pilferages a pair of shoes from a seemingly Shopper’s Stop arrangement to the fade out when the four protagonists meet for pacifying cigarette session in a room, the film keeps one at the edge of the seat and interested in unleashing of  Rosy’s desires.

Instead of a sloppy narration of the plot of the film, it would be rather interesting to appreciate some inventive & metaphorical narratives, backed by Alankrita Srivastava’s sensitive direction, who happens to be the helmsman of an ensemble of some proven actors and some novice yet propitious talents.

Act 1 –

There is a sequence in which Rhehana gets frustrated after listening to her abhorrent father’s stringent monologue in which he tells her to start behaving like a girl who would look indigenous to their community; she gets in the room and insanely starts humming rock song and dances on the beats of it. There is no background music or song used in this and the images are as uninflected as it can get. It was quite an innovative piece of filmmaking.

Act 2 –

There is this scene in the film, when Rhehana is being unjustly scolded by her lambasting father for having desires of wearing jeans. While her father shouts her lessons to edify her behavioural limits, she has been shown weaving Burkhas (which happens to be her father’s business), and the cameraman increases depth of field and manifests the mannequins that are kept behind Rhehana, probably to metaphorically address the life of women, which are handled as dummies and are encumbered to the shackles of purist societal dogmas. One of the dummies also makes an appearance in the last scene of the film, which kind of approves the above interpretation.

Act 3 –

In a scene shot in the college campus where Rhehana is studying, the students are carrying out a rebellious protest march to get the approbation for the girls to be allowed to wear jeans, and when the media pays the visit, Rhehana speaks her mind addressing all the stereotypes and injustice that are part and parcel of a typical Indian girl or woman. The mere appearance of media makes the scene a little less preachy, which would have been too rhetoric and clichéd in its form otherwise.

Act 4 –

The vulnerability of Leela has been very sensitively handled by the lady director. Had it not been for the dialogue when she accuses her mother of “forcefully getting her married to an unsuitable guy against her wish”, instead of giving her liberty to chose the guy of her own choice; her character would have been stereotyped as a lecherous woman who just liberally two times and hypocritically hides her lust by portraying herself as a confused girl.

Act 5 –

There is this narrative in which Shireen Aslam’s colleague quips to her, “Do you want to achieve something in your career or just want to get busy making more kids”; and in a very parallel sequence, an audience learns that her husband avoids using any contraceptive sheath during a rather forced intercourse with Shireen. There is an ambiguity in the narrative. When it also depicts Rahim’s dominance and objectifying his wife as nothing but an infant producing machine; but on the same way an audience observe an element of suspicion of adultery involved, when one thinks of the fact that he travels to middle-east for work. Even though, it may or may not be true, but not far to be believed that it is subtly told.

Act 6 –

In the final sequence, when Jaspal finds out that “The Rosy Woman” he enjoys bouts of phone intercourses with, and with whom he wants to fulfil his carnal desires, happens to be no one but Ushaji / Buaji, he retorts the very fact that this fifty plus woman wants to live the rediscovered fantasies of flesh with a young guy like him, who was expecting someone younger to be his Rosy. After that, everyone ill-treats her in unison including the ladies of the house. There is a palpable air of impartiality in the scene when the makers have shown even the female counterparts of Buaji reproaching her character, which offends them too. It was a sensible thing to show in a rather female oriented film, which doesn’t have single good man. The scene that follows in which Buaji succumbs to the societal force and cries again doesn’t have any fervid background score to force an evocation of strong emotions in the audience, and rather instils empathy by exploiting Ratna Pathak Shah’s invincible acting forte.  

Lipstick Under My Burkha has a very simple cinematography, when it shows Bhopal the way it is without glamorizing it, that keeps the film absolved of carrying out the technical drudgery. It is also backed by some really sensitive photography to capture facial expressions of the actors, especially Ratna Pathak Shah, who makes a tremendous and triumphant appearance. The editing has been very precise as the narratives that are interwoven with erotic literature are always in inclination with the voice over and anecdotes and the sequences are juxtaposed in such a way that it brings contrast in the storyline and at the same time indulges sporadic appearance of surprise elements, like how in an introductory scene, Sheerin takes out a pistol that was in a bag that was cradled by her. Casting looks to be appropriate, as every actor has done justice to the corresponding character, in terms of the way they look and of course performance that becomes the highlight of the film as Alankrita Srivastava directs all the actors wonderfully with an enormous knowledge of body language and human psychology. The costumes selected for the characters, especially the protagonists totally looks intrinsic and culture specific. When it comes to character screen time, it’s unfortunately Konkona Sen Sharma’s screen time that looks a little less than that of others. The former title of the film “Lipstick Wale Sapne” was also appropriate and that also goes with the voice over book that Ratna Pathak Shah narrates, but maybe the current title has its roots in an ambition to infuse heresy.

All in all, Lipstick Under My Burkha is an excellent piece of cinema that tells the story of woman of different age, mould, social responsibilities, families, entangled in a different kind of masculine and patriarchal dominance; but having similar yet humanely desires portrayed as social stigmas. Ultimately and realistically, they suffer in the same way for different reasons. It also covers every facet of a woman’s desires – individuality, love, physical need, emotional need and even monetary ambitions. Sadly, the film doesn’t show a single male character that is progressive in nature and liberal in thoughts, and that’s the only major pitfall. The film is definitely bold and honest in its conviction, as it doesn’t offer any remedy to these social challenges faced by woman. Without being too feminist in its form, it rather raises the quintessential question, which reads, “How are humanely desires of a woman considered to be a taboo?”

In the final cut, when the four protagonists are talking about their problems and smoking cigarettes to sublimate their frustration, the audiences exit the auditorium questioning their own conscience about such matters. And that’s what Lipstick Under My Burkha achieves…

If you still haven’t watched, go and watch it, for this Lipstick is, for sure, not going to disappoint.

[tumblunni]

MORE PERSONASONA THOUGHTS

Actually maybe it could be cool to imagine a design for a phantom thief whose mask is like a full face-covering thing? Like a faceless mask. or a mask with a buncha eye symbols on it. OR maybe the persona has that aesthetic, I dunno??? One of the beta protag designs in the artbook has a mask like that, but with a smiley face covering it. That + an all-concealing cloak = a pretty damn cool aesthetic! Even if it didnt fit the protagonist its a shame that they didnt give it to another character, so I might try and make something with a similar appeal.

MORE POTENTIAL THINGS THAT SHOULD BE PERSONAS

Bunnies of myth! There’s the Jackalope (a bunny with horns), the Wolpertinger (a bunny with horns AND wings) and Al-mi’raq (a bunny with only one horn, also said to be one of a kind and incredibly powerful despite being regular bunny sized) And there’s apparantly quite a few other tales of powerful horned rabbits from all different countries and time periods! O_O I was totally under the impression that the Jackalope was just made up in semi-modern cryptid legends, and didnt really count as a proper mythological creature. Rasselbock is the german name, and that sounds really awesome! Also there’s apparantly a hella mysterious recurring symbol of three hares attatched at the ears in an eternal circle, which has appeared in multiple cultures across the world and nobody knows its meaning.

Okay I LEGITIMATELY DID NOT KNOW that Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream is given neutral pronouns in the original form of the play! O_O I mean, the pop culture version is always male, and in school when we read it the character was taught to us as male! I feel totally destroyed that I missed a chance to learn about LGBT characters in history during my school years... Holy shit I REALLY wanna pick Puck now! I always love trickster figures!!

okay i really do not know much at all about folk heroes/classical literature heroes but I do know one from my country at least! Taliesin (tally-essin) was a kind of robin hood esque figure who gets all the same ‘did he actually exist? is he a myth? did a real man exist but was exaggerated in myth?’ stuff. He was a super magical poet bard dude who was magically blessed with the most witty tongue in all of existance because he stole a potion of super knowledge from a witch as a child. It also made him super beautiful cos the witch’s son was super ugly, I always felt REALLy sorry for the poor witch’s son cos seriously she made this potion for him and some random kid stole it and then he’s never mentioned again except to say that ‘he was so ugly that everyone who saw him died, so he made a career as a warrior’. Poor guy. Man, I actually like Morfran a lot better, can I make him a persona? He’s not really a hero or anything, he only gets like two sentences in someone else’s story but I just wanna give him a hug. It also always bugged me that the description of his ‘ugliness’ mentioned how his skin was ‘so black he was like a human crow’ like seriously screw u ancient mythological racisms... ANYWAY thats the only celtic mythology character that’s interesting that hasnt already appeared as a persona, lol. Tho since most of the personas that’ve appeared have been the scottish and irish versions, Finn MacCool was the equivelant to Taliesin. (Same origin story and everything!) The disadvantage is that his name sounds like a shitpost. Also incidentally its really fuckin sad that the only canonical depictions of LGBT characters in welsh myth are all like.. Problematic As Fuck Negative Depictions. I used to like the character Math Ap Mathonwy but then I read the story where he punishes the villains by turning them into a pig and a sow and making them rape each other and get pregnant... as punishment... its so fucked up.. And they’re like the only gay characters ever, and they’re also incestuous brothers, and just... so fucked up... The bad side of getting a mythology Special Interest as a kid: pretty much every mythology has at least one horrible sex story in it!

I’m really interested in learning more about Tu’er Shen! He’s apparantly a chinese deity of gay blessings, the spirit of a mortal man who was executed for loving other men and reincarnated as the form of a magical rabbit spirit. I hope he ended up finding true love in the spirit world... :( Seriously, even friggin mythological figures are dying from hate crimes. I don’t think people were very optimistic when they created this story, its horrible to know that society still hasnt progressed far enough that this bullshit has stopped happening! Cmon, seriously!! Please say the future is gonna be safe, someday! I can just imagine Tu’er Shen looking down on us and still crying.

Huh! Persona 5′s homophobia also manifesting in a weird unintentional way! They mention how one of the ways everyone attempted to get the sun god Ameratsu to open up her door was ‘someone doing a lewd dance’, and there’s a joke about Ryuji being that person. But I had NO IDEA that originally the person who did that was Ame No Uzume, another female deity! And it seems pretty damn ‘LGBT themes in mythology’, i mean the dialogue is Ame No Uzume saying ‘come and admire how perfect I am’ *points at crotch* I mean they probably couldnt mention all the explicit details in this random cameo mention in a persona game, but seriously would it have been so hard to just say it was ameratsu and ame no uzume? I suppose maybe since its a japanese game there was the assumption everyone would know the myth tho, so its more of a failure of the dubbing.

And then there’s a lot of themes of androgeny and gender-changing in Hindu and various african mythologies, but I feel like I’d have to do a lot more research into those cultures to depict them accurately. Its a damn shame that barely any european cultures had that level of respect for LGBT people so long ago, yet we like to act like we’re the height of progress and assume every other culture followed along the same historical template as us... I’m really interested in learning more about Dahomey mythology, wikipedia says that they have a genderless creator deity who split into two male and female twins, which then combined again into a different bigender deity. (Nana Buluku, Mawu, Lisa and Mawu-Lisa) And apparantly in zimbabwe there’s a shona deity called Mwari who is also genderless. I really don’t know anything about these cultures though, and there’s no way I’m gonna be drawing dumb anime versions of people’s important mythological figures based on just a wikipedia crawl! But at least this has inspired me to wanna go learn more. Also it just makes me feel a lot happier about myself to know that its not like there’s zero genderless people in all of mythology, just because my country has always been hella bigoted ^_^ But man, wikipedia’s list of LGBT figures in mythology is really REALLY focused on only depictions of sex, and it counts all the super negative stereotypes and shit of villainous rapist gay folks and people being ‘punished’ by being turned into another gender. And then any sort of positive interpretation is all THIS IS TOTALLY JUST AN INTERPRETATION HERE IS ALL THE EVIDENCE FOR IT BEING WRONG, YOU CANT IMPOSE MODERN IDEALS ON MYTHOLOGY NOBODY WAS EVER GAY BEFORE THE WORD EXISTED IN ENGLISH SO yeah its really demotivating to me to continue reading this and just Yikes with a capital Yikes. I’m gonna try and find if there’s more sources online about LGBT mythology education written by actual LGBT scholars...

[jeromeschamp84]

“Welcome, Sister Death!”

“Keeping Away Death” on The Fulton County Department of Health and Wellness

My first couple years in the funeral business nearly destroyed me.  Growing up as the son of a funeral directing family, I had danced around death for most of my youth.  When I finally danced with it upon full-time employment at my family’s funeral home, all I could see was darkness.  I had a death negative narrative, a pair of lenses that viewed death as devoid of goodness and full of fear.  I suppose most of us do.

In my book, I list five reasons this narrative is so strong; such as the professionalization of death care, the religious belief that death is a punishment for sin, and our evolutionary heritage.  This narrative doesn’t exist in every culture, but it’s so strong for us in Western culture even death’s personification is this scary and dark figure we call the “Grim Reaper.”

The rise of the cold and bony Grim Reaper began during the 14th century, as the Black Death swept over Europe leaving anywhere from 25% to 60% of Europe’s population dead.  Those infected suffered high fevers, seizers and possible gangrene of the extremities.  Such an awful death produced a fear among the healthy, who regularly abandon their affected spouses and children.  Not surprisingly, Death was depicted as the Grim Reaper, a bony figure with no flesh and no feeling with a scythe that mows down the living with reckless abandon.  What is surprising is that this personification of Death didn’t die out with the Black Death, but remains THE depiction of death in Western culture today.

After my closeness with death nearly destroyed my own life, I knew that I’d either have to find something more in death, or I’d leave the business.  As I searched, I began to see that death wasn’t entirely bad … it was deeply human.  I write in my book, “I tremble to say there’s good in death, because I’ve looked in the eyes of the grieving mother and I’ve seen the heartbreak of the stricken widow, but I’ve also seen something more in death, something good.  Death’s hands aren’t all cold and bony.”

Death isn’t the Grim Reaper.  It isn’t unfeeling.  It isn’t subhuman.

Marzanna is death personified in Baltic and Slavic lore.  Unlike the “Grim Reaper” with the bony hands, or other popular personifications of death, Marzanna takes on the gender of a woman, as she’s not only associated with death but the rebirth of death in nature.  Neil Gaiman brought a Marzanna type depiction to his comic book series, The Sandman.  Gaiman’s Death is a beautiful, youth goth woman who is kind, relatable and nurturing.  She’s nearly the exact opposite of the Reaper, a welcome sight to be sure, and one that continues to be a fan favorite.

As much as I like Gaiman’s personification, there’s another personification of death that comes from St. Francis of Assisi (1181/1182 – 3 October 1226) that is more intimate still than Gaiman’s Death.

St. Francis committed his life to serving the poor, a commitment that inspired a following in the Catholic Church known as Franciscans, the most well know of which is Pope Francis, who took St. Francis’ name as his papal name to show his own commitment to the poor.  St. Francis of Assisi is also the patron saint of animals and nature, a facet of his life that is surrounded by folklore stories that tell of him preaching to birds and taming wolves.  Folklore aside, St. Francis’ “Canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon” speaks of his intimacy with nature and love for it.  In the Canticle, Francis goes through many of the natural occurrences — moon, sun, wind, water, fire, earth — framing each part as his sister or brother.  To end the Canticle, Francis takes a surprising turn and thanks God for “Sister Death.”

As someone who felt deeply connected to nature, we shouldn’t be surprised that Francis saw Death as something intimate, something natural.  Francis believed that all nature was good, although some of it needed redemption.  It’s said that when Francis was dying, he told death to praise God, which was his way of calling death to not be painful or harrowing, but good.  He believed death to be such an ingrained part of the natural order that it too — like all of nature — harbored a sense of goodness, even though it can often be cruel and terrifying.  Like the fable of St. Francis and the wolf, he saw past the cruel and hoped for the good.  According to the Transitus, at his life’s end, Francis proclaimed, “Welcome, Sister Death!”

Assisi’s “sister death” is a visage of death that asks us to see death as intimate, as something we’re deeply related to.  It’s not some scary, distant creature of evil like the Grim Reaper, although neither is it a happy, painless experience.  It isn’t something other than us, it’s a part of us.  Death is ours.  If we’re looking for the face of Death in a narrative that isn’t death negative, it’s St. Francis’ Sister Death, a face that closely resembles our own.

This reframing helps us interpret life’s end as something not cold and distant, but something that is entirely human.  Death, after all, is ours.  And I do believe if I had entered my dance with death with a different image, a different personification of Death, my view of it wouldn’t have been so disheartening.  How we view death influences how we experience it.  It’s time for a new visage, and maybe St. Assisi’s figure can help.

This is the first in a series of articles dealing with the “10 Confessions” of my book.  If you’d like to order the book, click on the image below:

     from Funeral https://www.calebwilde.com/2017/10/welcome-sister-death/ via http://www.rssmix.com/