Tumgik
#Bishop Spong
birdielouwho · 6 months
Text
9 notes · View notes
soiledlight · 1 year
Text
"God is not a Christian, God is not a Jew, or a Muslim, or a Hindu, or a Buddhist. All of those are human systems which human beings have created to try to help us walk into the mystery of God. I honor my tradition, but I don't believe my tradition defines God." – John Shelby Spong
3 notes · View notes
Quote
Christianity is, I believe, about expanded life, heightened consciousness and achieving a new humanity. It is not about closed minds, supernatural interventions, a fallen creation, guilt, original sin or divine rescue.
Bishop John Shelby Spong
8 notes · View notes
Quote
Doctrines are always a description or a definition of our God experience. They are never our God experience. My experience is my ability to perceive God, but the nature of God is beyond my ability to describe.
John Shelby Spong
3 notes · View notes
augustvandyne · 11 days
Note
5 times Maya Bishop tries to confess she's in love with you, and the one time she actually does please?
mayaaaaa my love
the only one
1.
“Hey,” Maya smiles at you sweetly. “What are you doing right now?”
The two of you were the only ones in the station right now because everyone had been called onto a call, so you were doing your chores while Maya was on desk duty.
“Just finished cleaning the table,” You look towards the dining room table, as you slowly move towards the kitchen to clean the counters off. “I’m about to start on the kitchen. What do you need?”
“Do you want to play on the pole?” Maya lifts her brows excitedly. “Come on, It’ll be fun.”
“I’m—“
“Come on!” Maya leans towards you with pleading eyes.
You sigh, giving in to her eyes. “Fine. Only for a few minutes.”
You place the sponge on the kitchen island, and then your hand is in Maya’s. You’re being pulled down the hall until you’re on the overlook above the barn, standing on the platform above the pole.
“Ready?” Maya places her hands on the pole and looks back at you before jumping.
“You know if Andy sees us, she’s gonna kill us!�� You yell down to the ground. “And you know I’m afraid of heights.”
“Then why are you a firefighter?” Maya places her hands on her hips, looking up at you from the ground.
“I don’t know,” You shrug.
“I’ll catch you if you fall, I promise,” Maya moves a little closer to the pole. “Come on, you’ve done this before.”
“Okay. Here I come.”
You slide down the pole, thankful you’re wearing pants, but you’d definitely have a burn on your thighs after that.
When you land, Maya has her hands on your hips to stabilize you.
“See? I got you,” Maya skims your face.
“Yes you do,” You laugh.
“Hey. Can I tell you something?”
“Sure!” You nod, opening your mouth to
speak again, you’re cut off by the sound of a horn.
The two of you look out the garage door and see the firetrucks pulling into the garage.
“We’ll talk later. Andy said that they were stopping at the kitchen after, so I better go finish cleaning the counters.”
“Okay. Yeah,” Maya nods disappointedly.
2.
You went out with the team after a particularly hard shift. Most of your calls were surrounded by children, and everyone knew it hurt you on a personal level.
The group and you had a specific table they always went to, because it would fit all of you, so that’s where they went tonight as well.
As you’re getting settled in, everyone decides what they want to drink (mostly beers) and so Maya offers to get the first round.
“Y/n, wanna help me carry them back?” She asks as she removes her coat.
“Sure,” You clear your throat, standing to walk over to her.
Maya places a hand on the small of your back, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel so much more better. If you asked her why she did it, she would’ve said there were too many men in the bar.
“You okay?” Maya frowns as she leads the two of you to the bar.
You shrug while Maya orders the beers.
“I’m okay. You know how I am about the kids. And.. the Crisis One calls don’t help me any.”
“I know,” Mayas face held a soft expression, and you loved her for it.
“I hate it on there,” You lean against the bar. “Andy must hate me, because it feels like I’m on Crisis One everyday.”
“You know that’s not true,” She tilts her head sadly. “But we can talk to her about taking you off the Crisis One schedule for a few weeks.”
“Thank you,” You chuckle slightly, leaning your forehead on her shoulder. “I really mean it. You’re the sweetest.”
“Of course,” She smiles. “Hey, could we maybe talk about something?”
“Yeah,” You lift your head. “We can talk soon though, because our beers are here, and it might be better if we talk in a quieter setting.”
Maya nods, grabs a few beers, and walks back to the table with you.
3.
You pull your shirt over your head, in no big rush to get back to your apartment and your lone dog.
Most nights it was lonely, and no one offered to go out anywhere, so you were in no hurry to get home. You’d probably get dinner or something on the way home, then pass out on the couch.
“Where are you going after this?” Maya asked, her back turned to you as she removed her shirt.
“Home,” You laugh, removing your pants. “Back to the dog and my lonely apartment.”
“Wanna grab a bite to eat?” Maya turns her head, trying her best to keep her eyes on the side of your face and not your legs.
“Yes!” You turn excitedly, seeing Maya was already staring at you. “I’m sorry.. it’s just that I was really hoping someone would say that because I do not want to go home right now.”
“Perfect,” Maya lifts her chin. “There’s a small cafe I’ve been wanting to try. It’s halfway between our apartments, so it won’t cause us any grief.”
“Good,” You nod, now trying to finish changing faster than before. “I really just want a good cup of coffee and some greasy food.”
Maya zips her jeans, “Mm yes. A burger and fries sounds so good right now.”
You turn to face to Maya, now fully changed. “Tell me about it.”
Maya laughs humorously, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” You grab your bag, moving to exit the room. “I’ll wait for you out here.”
Maya presses her lips together, her mood suddenly changing.
“Not the way I love you,” Maya says under her breath, slamming her locker door closed.
4.
“I am so hungry,” You groan as you rush into the kitchen.
“Oh?” Victoria lifts her brows. “What are you hungry for? I can get Travis in here to make us something.”
“I kind of want..” Maya trails off, catching your gaze from across the room.
“Spaghetti,” You and Maya say at the same time.
“Oo yes,” Victoria claps her hands together. “I will tell him right away. Because if I try to make it, we might be putting a fire out here.”
You chuckle, “Oh yeah, same.”
“Be right back,” Victoria runs down the hall excitedly.
“You know how to clear a room,” Maya jokes from the table.
You roll your eyes, coming to sit across from Maya.
“I haven’t seen you all day,” You rest your arms on the wood table.
“Well, you are on Aid Car today,” Maya says.
“Yeah..” You nod. “But at least it’s with someone I like.”
“Yeah. What’s not to like about Jack?”
“A lot,” You joke. “No I’m just kidding. He’s been a perfect gentleman.”
“That’s good,” Maya lets out a breathy laugh. “Hey so.. there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
“I’m all ears,” You lean forward.
“I have—“
“Here we come!” Victoria yells, dragging Travis behind her.
“Hold on,” Travis gasps, leaning over in hopes that he can get some air into his lungs. “Why am I here? Victoria was talking too fast.”
“You need to make us spaghetti,” Maya explains.
You look towards her and see her upset face, and make a note to ask her about it later.
5.
Somehow you got roped into helping with another training seminar. Every time either Andy or Victoria somehow got you signed up to help for the class.
This time it was a self defense class, which you had to admit wasn’t the worst of them, but you still didn’t like going to them, let alone teaching them.
You were praying you had someone who knew what they were doing to help teach with you, and apparently someone was on your side today, because Maya was preparing for the class when you got there.
“I must be late,” Your eyebrows drew together awkwardly.
“It’s okay. We were just starting,” Maya shrugs. “I’m Maya Bishop, and this is Y/n L/n. We’re going to teach you some basic self defense today.”
You nod along with everything Maya says, and suddenly you’re being flipped to the ground.
“Oo,” You groan in pain, ignoring the giggles from the teenagers.
“You should be paying attention,” Maya narrows her eyes down at you, offering a hand for you to take so you can lift yourself.
“I know. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Let’s get them set up on an exercise and we can talk. Okay?”
“Sounds good,” You dust your butt off.
You and Maya instruct them on what to do, and she pulls you off to the side so the two of you can talk.
“What’s been bothering you?” She takes a sip of water from the bottle she has sitting off on the table.
“I don’t know,” You lie.
But you did know. You’ve had oncoming feelings for Maya, and they were there now, more than ever. You wanted to tell her, but you were terrified she wouldn’t reciprocate them.
“The dog’s kind of sick,” You look to the ground. “She’s been throwing up.”
That part wasn’t a lie.
“Maybe you should take her to the vet.”
“Yeah, I’m going to tomorrow. It’s my day off,” You bite the inside of your cheek, debating on whether to invite her or not since she was off as well.
“I’m off tomorrow too,” Maya puts her bottle down on the table. “I’ll come too. She’s a big dog. You’ll need help.”
“Thank you!” You smiled wide. “That would be very helpful.”
“Of course. I love you and Missy.”
You tilt your head, and look away, wishing she really meant it.
+1
Maya’s heart was beating out of her chest. It felt like she was going to have a heart attack, and she may as well be. The heartbreak would be all the same to her.
She has to stand back as Andy and Travis work to get you stabilized.
You were working to get some civilians out of their apartment as the ceiling fell down on you. The people managed to get out, but you hadn’t.
Maya ran in to save you, but after she did so, Andy made her stand back. She was a conflict of interest.
Victoria places a gentle hand on Maya’s shoulder as she paces, and Maya throws herself into Victoria’s hold.
No one has ever seen Maya in such a state. Everyone knew of her crush on you, and they were half excited that she was finally going to admit, but they were terrified that you wouldn’t pull through and that all of this happened.
Victoria holds Maya as you slowly wake.
“Ow,” You croak, and Maya is out of Victoria’s hold in a heartbeat. Everyone around you laugh at your reaction.
Maya dives to the ground, pulling you up into her arms, wrapping you in a bone crushing hug.
“Maya—“
“Don’t ever do that again,” Maya berates. “I was so scared.”
“I’m sorry—“
“No. I love you,” Maya lowers you so she could see your face. “And not like a friend, because that’s what you seem to think when I say those three words. I mean more than a friend, Y/n. Ever since your first day here. Even though I acted like I hated you. I really just wanted you to go out with me.”
“Maya.. I didn’t know.”
“I know,” Maya nods. “And I know that I just ruined one of my best friendships ever, but.. it’s worth it if you know. I’d rather you know, and hate me, than you not know.”
“Maya. Shut up,” You shake your head. “And here I thought I was the only one.”
“What—“
Maya is cut off as you press your lips to hers.
Everyone around you claps, and whoops, and you couldn’t care less about your pain, because you finally got what you wanted.
37 notes · View notes
chi---nu · 1 year
Text
I wanna introduce yall my COTL OC, cuz I got the courage to do so
Meet;
GLABE THE LOBSTER!
More information about him down below, right after the pictures!!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Glabe is a very loyal follower to Kallamar and resides in Anchordeep, his role is to be some kind of a therapist/psychologist, he'd help people with their problems and let them relax in his own particular pond with a waterfall, to calm them down
In game, Glabe would be found in question mark areas in Anchordeep, and the Lamb could talk to him and experience the relaxation of his pond, HOWEVER once Kallamar is slain by the Lamb, Glabe would be nowhere to be found, the Lamb could enter his room, but he wouldn't be there anymore, he'd refuse to help the Lamb with their problems as they killed a very important person to him
Relaxing in Glabe's place would give you a random amount of blue hearts between 1 blue heart and 5 blue hearts
The friendhip between Glabe and Kallamar would've been established because Kallamar would go to Glabe to calm down his anxiety, as they would grow more closer every time, Glabe would learn more about the other bishops when Kallamar would speak about his problems(which would mainly be about Narinder)
Tumblr media
There would be a rare chance to spot Kallamar alongside Glabe in his room, he would leave as soon as the Lamb comes near the pond
Glabe's place was originally from his parents, a place where they would go for to take a break from cult stuff and release their stress, when Glabe's parents passed away, he kept the place for himself, welcoming any traveller to the place so they could have the same good feeling Glabe and his parents had in the pond, while also talking to them about their problems
Glabe is good at cooking, he gatters ingridents from all the areas to make some exotic dishes
Glabe's name is inspired by a Lobster Demon from Dungeons and Dragons named Glabrezu
You can send asks for Glabe in my ask box, I'll gladly answer them!(No NSFW stuff please, I'm a minor)
Also yes I do know Anchordeep is under the water, but Sponge Bob has underwater beaches so idc
215 notes · View notes
narcolini · 11 months
Text
making exceptions
obispo ‘bishop’ losa x gn!reader, hurt/comfort, 2532 words
warnings for descriptions of kidnap, reader in shock
for day 22 of whumpril: sponge bath & ‘lets get you cleaned up’
tagging: @cositapreciosa @drabbles-mc @hausofmamadas​
Tumblr media
You wouldn’t call it a relationship, by any means. What you and Bish have is temporary, occasional and conditional, something you give and take as you both please—which isn’t actually that often. A few dates, a few weeks in between. A few nights in his bed. It isn’t anything serious enough to deserve a label, and that suits you, it suits him. You like being single, he likes being unchained. Free to do what he wants. A relationship would come with duties that you both weren’t ready for, so you avoid it all together.
You were naïve to think that by doing that, you’d also avoid all the dangers that came with being connected to a man like him. But the time you’d spent together was already enough to put a target on your head. To make you viable as blackmail material, under the assumption that he cared enough about you for it to work. That they could throw you in the back of livestock trailer and make him do exactly as they said.
They weren’t wrong about the first part, at least, about how much he cared about you. He’d found you before they’d even really begun. Stolen you back, before they could lay a finger on you.
‘Here.’ He takes the keys from you now, because he’s seen you drop them twice already. Hands shaking too much still to get the right one in the lock. ‘I got it.’
You nod, stepping back to let him do it.
He’d brought half the club with him, you think, though you can’t remember who for certain. And you don’t know where you’d even been yourself. They’d put a bag over your head, a gag in your mouth, let you slide around in the straw and dirt of the trailer as they drove. You don’t know how long it was, how far they took you. By the time you were in the truck with Bishop, it all felt like it had happened in minutes.
One moment you were by your car, outside Starbucks, and the next you were bound and blind, wondering if your luck had run out. Praying you’d at least die quickly, if that’s what they were planning to do. The next thing you remember, is Bishop saying your name, his hands on your wrists. A knife through the tape. His voice in the driver’s seat beside you. No idea of the words, you couldn’t focus on that, but just the deep of his voice. The abstract feeling of safety.
It still hasn’t settled into reality. He’s brought you back home, is letting you in to your own place, palm flat on the front door.
‘Come on,’ he prompts, hovering his other hand behind your back. You’ve flinched from him enough times on the ride here that he knows to avoid it now. ‘You’re good.’
You’re home. You’re safe. Grabbing onto the idea feels like trying to catch fish bare-handed, fingers slipping and frantic.
When you’re inside, he shuts the door behind you and twists the lock—you make sure of that, you watch him do it—before hanging your keys onto the usual hook. He looks more at home than you feel right now, dawdling across the room. You’re standing like this is your first time here. Arms slack, gaze on the corner of the couch nearest to you.
You had thought you were going to die. Had assumed they would torture you until they got what they wanted from the club, from Bish, had expected you would pass out before the worst of it could happen. Had wished it, even. Too afraid to endure it. Too familiar with yourself to know that you couldn’t survive any sort of violence like that. But they’d never even got you out of the trailer, when the door opened again it was Bishop. Gilly. EZ, too. The voices are easier to pick out now, than they were at the time.
‘You…’ He clears his throat behind. ‘You sure you’re not hurt?’
He’d asked you already, but that was when you were still too shaken up to answer him. Too filled with fear and adrenaline to even know for sure yourself. You look down at your hands, flexing your fingers like you’ve just discovered that they work. There’s no blood that you know of. No restriction of movement to anything.
‘No,’ you tell him, voice quiet, ‘just sore.’ The ride has left you bruised, no doubt, banged up from each turn they’d taken, metal to soft flesh. ‘I’m okay.’
It does’t feel like the truth, but it’s not a lie either. You’re in the middle of it somewhere.
Bishop steps around you, putting himself in front because you haven’t turned back to look at him, you haven’t really acknowledged him at all. He ducks his head, interrupting the gaze you’ve still got set on your hands.
‘You gonna be alright here?’ he asks. ‘On your own?’
You nod, looking past him still.
He says your name once.
‘I’ll be fine,’ you force yourself to make eye contact, ‘thank-you.’
It doesn’t convince him, but he’s already done so much. You’d heard the gunshots from inside the trailer, could see the stress lines in his forehead still, the scratch up his arm that he’d got during the rescue. How could you ask more of him now? You’re safe, you’re at home. He’d killed whoever it was that had taken you in the first place.
He nods, his hands on his hips. Then you watch him switch to put a palm over his beard, smoothing the hairs as he waits.
What he’s waiting for, you don’t know. You’re just standing, looking at him, looking at you, and doing nothing at all. Existing, really. Making peace with the idea of it again.
After what feels like ten minutes, but could never have been, he sighs, looking resigned. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up,’ he says, flicking his chin toward you.
You haven’t really considered yourself until now. There’s straw in the tread of your shoes still, mud and dirt up the length of your jeans, along your bare arms. Sticky residue on your wrists, in your hair. As you swallow, you can taste the dust still, the grime, the dried paint from the rag they’d shoved into your mouth. It must look like you’ve been crawling through rabbit burrows, tousling with bulls and broncos.
‘What?’ You’re only just realising what he’s said.
He’s shrugging out of his kutte, and putting it over the back of the couch afterwards. ‘You’re in shock.’ He rolls his sleeves, glancing at you. ‘I’m not leaving you here like that.’
You can tell he’s trying to be kind, gentle, but the thought hasn’t quite reached his voice yet. He’s snippy still, short like he’s giving club orders, and not trying to look after you. It works, though. If he was talking to you like you might break, then, well, you would. It’s only staying in place right now because you are. Cracked pottery, perfectly balanced.
‘You don’t have to,’ you start, but he’s already gone, disappearing into the hallway behind. You hear him reach the bathroom, hear the tap crank, the water hitting the tub. He’s running you a bath. Bishop is running you a bath, unprompted. ‘Bish?’
You follow the path he took, minutes too late to really be able to stop him, and slow like you’re unfamiliar here, in your own home. Fingers bracing the walls as you pass them. When you get there, he’s sitting on the edge of the bath, forearm submerged in the water. He’s added soap, stirred it up into bubbles, and is testing the temperature while it fills still.
‘I don’t want you to…’ You fade off.
You don’t want him to what? It’s not the actions you have an issue with. You know you wouldn’t do it yourself. If someone wasn’t here to push you, you’d sit and rot in the dirt you’re wearing, let this day end and the next begin without moving at all. You can barely think from one action to the next, let alone put yourself back together.
But you don’t want him to feel like he has to be the one to do it. You aren’t his responsibility, he doesn’t owe you the care that a boyfriend might. He hadn’t known this would happen any more than you did.
‘Couldn’t find any, y’know, real bath shit,’ he says, flicking his hand dry. ‘Did my best with what you’ve got.’
You nod. You should smile, but you can��t. ‘I’m not a bath person.’
‘Yeah, well,’ he sighs, ‘you are tonight. Arms up.’
Your brows lift instead, surprise occupying your features. It’s the first emotion you’ve actually shown since you shut down to it all.
He stands, settling in front of you, boots to the bath matt. His lips stretch into a short smile that doesn’t convince either of you. ‘Come on, baby,’ he reasons. ‘You gotta let me look after you.’
He’s tired from the day, the stress, the fear, you know that. He’s unequipped to handle whatever it is you’re going through too, whatever has made you stand like a stranger in front of him. Whatever’s frozen you from doing anything at all. But he’s trying, that matters.
‘Okay.’ You say it aloud so it’s binding. He can help. If he wants to, you’ll let him.
You put your arms up and he pulls the hem of your top to get it off, gentle at first, then quick like he’s peeling a bandaid. In any other situation, any other time, it would excite you. Send a thrill from your heart, into your bare stomach. Make you rush to do the same in return. Now, though, the undress does nothing but brush a chill across your skin.
He bends, grunting as he lowers to the floor, one knee to the ground, one bent. He taps it, inviting you to put your foot there. Which you do, silent and obedient, glad to be anything but motionless. He unknots your laces, unfazed by the muck you’re leaving on his jeans, then tugs the boot from your foot. You do the same again with the other one, leaning on his shoulder to keep your balance.  
‘You want me to…?’ He’s looking up at you now, on one knee still. His hands are set either side of your thighs, waiting, ready to do what you need him to.
‘No.’ You shake your head. ‘I can do it.’
He’s started the process, led you half way, and that’s the hard part. You can manage the rest. Jeans and underwear. It isn’t much. It’s not much, and you can do it. The more you think it, the more plausible it seems.
‘Alright.’ He stands, with another grunt, before moving to twist the taps off now the bath’s full. ‘I’ll get you something to drink.’
You nod, watching him leave before you can stop him again. It’s uniform, the way he’s caring for you. One task and then the next, like he’s flicking through a user guide, checking all the boxes. But then, so is your response to it. Function over anything else. It isn’t making you feel better yet but it’s getting you further than you were. You’ll be clean soon, ready for the next step.
You shove the jeans off, socks too, leave them and your underwear in a pile on the floor, before stepping into the tub. It’s warm, just right, and you sink into it gladly. Let it cover you, head to toe. Wash the dirt and the day away from your skin. You put your head under for minute, welcoming the wet to your hair, the dull to your senses. It helps. It strips you back of the tension you’d been carrying, smothers the noise between your ears.
When you surface again, sighing, it feels like waking up—just a bit, stirring the daydream. You can breathe a little easier now. Can appreciate the soap swimming around you and the sound of the microwave in the other room. If this were any other time, you’d think you were being spoiled, treated to a DIY spar day. It would feel like Bishop and you had finally decided to settle into something serious.
The door isn’t shut, not fully, but he knocks when he comes back, waiting behind the wood of it. You can just about see his shoulder through the gap, his head facing the other direction.
‘Can I come in?’ he asks.
‘Yeah.’ You’re long past being shy of his gaze, especially in the current context. Naked as you are, it’s hardly compromising, or appealing. ‘Please.’
He does so, pulling the door back in place behind him and wafting the smell of coffee across to where you’re soaking. ‘Couldn’t find any cocoa.’ He sets the mug on the edge of the bath, close enough to reach. ‘Thought you should have something warm at least.’
‘Thank-you.’ When you try to smile this time, you manage it. Wooden, faint, but there. ‘You can sit, if you want.’
He’s hovering, and doing his best not to look any lower than your face. When you offer, he nods, taking a place on the closed lid of the toilet and leaning his forearms on his knees. Not a comfortable position, or one he can hold for long, surely, but it’s reassuring still. Like setting a guard by the door. You aren’t fully convinced you won’t fall asleep here, under the blanket of warm water. At least now, if that happens, he’ll be there to keep your head above the surface.
‘Look,’ he says, interlinking his fingers and staring at them afterwards, ‘this shit should’ve never happened to you.’
You close your eyes. Force a breath through your nose.
‘I wish I could—’
‘Please,’ you cut him off, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ The water sloshes as you move, sinking further in. ‘Only just starting to feel human again,’ you tell him, hoping to land it as a joke, but not quite getting there.
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s fine.’ Apologies don’t suit him anyway.
‘You’re gonna have to at some point,’ he says. ‘To someone.’
‘I know.’ But not yet, not to him. You open your eyes to find him across the room. He’s already watching you with a tired expression, concern printed somewhere beneath it. ‘Will you stay?’ you ask, which isn’t something you ever ask of him, really. It’s always, yeah, good to see you, til next time, baby. Never stay, never with a plea in your tone.
‘Tonight?’ He nods. ‘Yeah.’
You hesitate. ‘And after that?’
He frowns slightly, sparing a hand to scrub it across his chin as he searches for an answer. How to put it nicely, you assume, how to tell you he can’t babysit you until you’re brave again.
‘I don’t mean,’ you correct, ‘I know you can’t watch me forever, but…’
‘I can stay,’ he decides. ‘Until this shit dies down.’
You let out a breath, chest sinking, back curving with the base of the tub. It won’t do forever, but it’ll do for now. Temporary and conditional.
102 notes · View notes
Note
Hi can I have prompt 15 with bishop losa and i love all these prompts so hard to choose from
Tumblr media
Johnny Cash. You only ever heard of him in passing, a few bits of songs here and there too over the years, before you and Bishop became involved. Now, though, his lyrics are serenaded to you through the house on a daily basis, courtesy of your husband.
"Love is a burning thing, and it makes a fiery ring. Bound by wild desire, I fell into a ring of fire." You smile as you hear him in the shower, singing away without a care in the world, his only disturbance coming in the form of you whisking the curtain back and climbing in with him. “So, I can’t even take a shower alone any longer, huh?”
"No, not when I have my own private concert right in here, getting all soapy!" you exclaim, your fingers scratching at his foamy chest. "Keep singing."
"The taste of love is sweet, when hearts like ours meet. I fell for you like a child, oh, but the fire went wild."
"That's the second verse, you missed the chorus." Your playful correction is met by a scowl, your giggles filling the air.
"Finally, I get you familiar enough with Johnny Cash to recognise the lyrics." Leaning forward, he kisses you, moving the soapy sponge to your skin. "It's only taken you four years."
49 notes · View notes
breachverse · 1 year
Note
Hey Max! 👋😄 I have some questions for my favourite duo: Rook and Bishop, and also, Gabe, if you don’t mind.
First of all, what would be their ideal date be like? Second, if they can each have one super power of their own choosing (other than being able to produce tacos and items out of nowhere and being a bullet sponge 😆), what would they be?
Lastly, an extra hypothetical question for Bishop: What do you think about one of your sons getting in a relationship with one of Rook’s and MC’s kids 😂? Would you be approving? Stressed out perhaps?
Thank you! 😁
... I should probably put a limit on how many questions there can be for the interview. 😅
Interviewer: What would your ideal date be like? Rook: Ooh, well, pretty much anything that involves some kind of action. Going to see an action movie, sneaking into somewhere, getting chased in a car, chasing someone in a car, getting into fights... anything that gets the heart pumping~ Bishop: Dinner at a cafe, then a moonlight walk along an empty beach. Preferably ten miles away from Rook at all times. Gabriel: Um... probably a nice dinner at an empty restaurant. I'd empty pay the manager to empty the whole place for one day, let only the staff in. It'd just be the two of us, and the staff.
--------------------------
I know I've already answered the super power question once before so, if I answer differently, I'm very sorry, but this is what I can come up with on the spot in my mind 😅
Interviewer: If you were to have a super power each, what would it be? Rook: I'd w- Interviewer: Producing tacos out of thin air does not count, nor is being a bullet sponge. Rook: Damn... I'll go for super speed. Bishop: Super strength. Gabriel: Invisibility.
--------------------------
Interviewer: A hypothetical for you, Bishop. If any of your kids were to get into a rel- Bishop: No. Interviewer: You don't approve? Bishop: I'm not answering? Interviewer: Why not? Bishop: [Silence] Interviewer: Rook? Rook: I approve!~
55 notes · View notes
dolphin1812 · 1 year
Text
I’m particularly interested in this passage from today’s chapter:
“She [Fantine] has become marble in becoming mire. Whoever touches her feels cold. She passes; she endures you; she ignores you; she is the severe and dishonored figure. Life and the social order have said their last word for her. All has happened to her that will happen to her. She has felt everything, borne everything, experienced everything, suffered everything, lost everything, mourned everything. She is resigned, with that resignation which resembles indifference, as death resembles sleep. She no longer avoids anything. Let all the clouds fall upon her, and all the ocean sweep over her! What matters it to her? She is a sponge that is soaked.”
For all that “marble” is used to describe Fantine’s coldness/hardened exterior, it’s actually considered a fairly sensitive stone (mainly to acids). While it seems very sturdy, then, the “clouds falling upon” it and “the ocean sweep[ing] over” it would eventually cause harm, just as Fantine herself is not actually immune to all of her suffering. She’s just too worn down to show it. Her “resignation” is even paralleled with death through the structure of the sentence: “that resignation which resembles indifference, as death resembles sleep.”
Marble as a material is also associated with ancient Greek works, particularly in sculpture and in architecture. In this sense, it works well with Fantine’s prior tie to classical imagery. Whereas before she seemed to be an ancient divinity, now she is a monument, a remnant of the past. Of course, these monuments were (and are) highly valued. The sheer number of classical references in Hugo’s writing highlights his own connection to 19th-century Europe’s fascination with ancient Greece. However, these monuments were also considered “ruins,” suggesting that the use of “marble” links Fantine to some form of destruction and/or decay as well. Society is what made this happen to her rather than time, but she has similarly been eroded away.
This also isn’t the first time marble has been used to describe a character. While most references to marble so far have been literal marble (the tablet in the bishop’s original residence, for instance), marble has been used more metaphorically for two other characters: the Conventionist and Javert. In the case of the Conventionist, marble was used to describe the immobility of his lower body: “[he]  resembled the king in the Oriental legend, flesh above and marble below.” In this case, the comparison is indirect and is strictly about his appearance, so it’s not the best link to Fantine, who is like “marble” character-wise. Javert, on the other hand, is “a marble-hearted spy.” The stone is used to convey his coldness, strictness, and harshness, just like it’s used to illustrate Fantine’s reduced sensitivity. In some ways, they are made “marble” by similar forces, as Javert has also “hardened his heart” because of his experiences as a social outcast. Still, their “marble” natures are opposed (Javert is on the side of the law and Fantine is very vulnerable to that now that she’s on the outskirts of society), so it’s interesting that this connection between them exists.
Spoilers below:
The allusion to marble mainly makes me think of Enjolras, especially since there are already so many similarities in how he and Fantine as described. In his case, though, I think marble mostly links him visually to either a “hero of classical antiquity” or more recent works in that style, while also conveying his supposedly cold attitude. If Fantine is marble in the moment of her ruin, then Enjolras is the reappropriation of that marble image as an idealized symbol of the future.
27 notes · View notes
orlissa · 4 months
Text
So I'm reading Bishop Takes King, a Kate Bishop-centered YA novel and it's all nice and fun, I'm really enjoying it (I've read some comic book novels, and damn, this one is at the top of the scale), but it drives me mad that whenever the characters pet Lucky, the Pizza Dog, it's always "scrubbed him behind the ears" and "scrubbed him under the chin," and it makes me imagine the characters scrubbing poor dog with a soapy sponge.
4 notes · View notes
soiledlight · 1 year
Text
“If God is a source of love, then the only way I can worship God is by loving, loving wastefully. I mean the kind of love that never stops to calculate, never stops to wonder whether the object of its love is worthy to its recipient. It is love that loves not because it has been earned. That’s where I think God is made visible.”
“If God is the ground of being, then the only way I can worship God is by having the courage to be all that I can be,” Spong said. “The more deeply I can be all that I can be, the more I can make God visible.”
—Bishop John Shelby Spong
4 notes · View notes
smashupmashups · 2 years
Text
Nicktoons, assemble!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
A long awaited post five months in the making, I present to you the many Nicktoons as the Avengers (and friends).
I originally planned on posting this after finishing the six core Avengers, but postponed that to make the supporting characters of the team.
As there are so many made, you can check out out their individual pages below:
Captain Turner and Iron Neutron
Sponge Odinson and the Incredible Star
Agent Dani Romanoff and Dogeye
Trixie Carter and the Armored Vortex
Danny Barnes and Tucker Wilson
Jasmine Belova and Kitty Bishop
Samantha Carter and War Sheen
Spider-Loud
June Danvers
Jim Fury
36 notes · View notes
Video
youtube
Bishop John Shelby Spong’s last public lecture
June 28th, 2018. Chautauqua Institution.
0 notes
soberscientistlife · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
John Shelby Spong was an American bishop of the Episcopal Church. From 1979 to 2000, he was the Bishop of Newark, New Jersey.
34 notes · View notes
kellymagovern · 10 months
Video
In this interview from over 15 years ago, retired Episcopal bishop, John Shelby Spong, says religion is in the guilt-producing control business and that "hell" is an invention of the church to control people with fear. [x]
2 notes · View notes