#& II Tragedy has a hold of my mind --but I can see the light between the lines ( Lunoct ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missluthorwillseeyounow · 4 years ago

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May You Always Be Satisfied

SuperCorp AU based on the song ‘Satisfied’

The tinkling of silverware against glass delicately ringing through the room pierces dully through the crystalline numbness surrounding Lena, and she looks up only when she hears her name amidst happy applause.

"...... the maid-of-honor, Lena Luthor."

The delicate bell of apathy Lena has been existing in since the ceremony shatters, and she is saved only by the impeccable manners that have been drilled into her since early childhood. The perfect smile on her face is as permanent and forced as one painted on a wooden doll.

That is exactly how she feels as she stands, wooden and lifeless, her elaborate dress and corset feeling heavy and constricting around her chest and middle, cutting off her breath. But her glass is already raised, her voice somehow steady despite the roiling in her insides.

"A toast to the groom!" She tips the glass toward her brother, handsome in his suit. Lex smiles at her, affectionate as ever.

Lena returns the smile, lingering in hesitation - and it's telling of how far gone she is, because Lena Luthor never hesitates, always wrestles her fears into submission - before letting her eyes slide to the woman beside him. She carefully curates the smile on her face, fearing it will betray her at this moment.

"To the bride."

The crowd echoes her words, all turning with fondness at the blushing woman in ivory white sitting beside Lex Luthor. Golden hair crowned with flowers and a sweet blush adorning her face, she is exquisite, and Lena's heart squeezes painfully in her chest.

Linda Lee Luthor, nee Danvers. That is how people call her now. Even Lex calls her by that name - it makes sense to call her Linda, he says -- she is still in hiding, and Linda was the name given to her by her adopted family since they arrived in Metropolis. It's a name fitting for a Luthor.

Only Lena still calls her Kara.

She had insisted on it, her warm hands clasping Lena's moments after she and Lex had announced their engagement to the room filled with their loved ones - family friends, Lex's associates, and Kara's kin.

Lena is now the only one, outside of a select group comprised of Kryptonian immigrants and Kara's family and friends, who calls her by the name she was born with.

"From your sister, who is always by your side." Lena smiles her way through the envy clogging her throat. It is the great tragedy of her life that she means every word out of her mouth - oh, how she means every felicitous wish of happiness that she expresses for her brother and his new wife, she means it with all the love in her heart she bears for both of them - and yet each one rasps out of her throat like a bittersweet barb as her gaze lands on that smiling face and those lovely eyes sparkling with joy.

"To your union!" Lena lets her fond gaze travel from the couple to the people surrounding them, citizens of Metropolis and Krypton all sharing the same table, thanks to these two most important people in her life. "And the hope that you provide."

Hope. That is what Kara is, and always will be for Lena. And that is what she is for her people.

"May you always be satisfied."

_____________

In 1763, Krypton was ravaged by Civil War.

Young Kara was always inquisitive, even at the age of thirteen -- “nosy”, her Aunt Astra had called it fondly -- and she’d heard whispers, between her parents, and Aunt Astra and Uncle Non.

Rumors of the House of Daxam. Of the formidable Lady Rhea. Of plots against the House of El.

It seemed preposterous at the time. She’d grown up under the near-holy light of the House of El. Her family had ruled Krypton for over a hundred years, and, it seemed, would rule a hundred more. Under its banner, Krypton had flourished. Her father’s brother, Jor-El II had been Bethgar even before Kara was born, and would continue to rule until her older cousin Kal succeeded him. On and on, the House of El would stand mighty, carrying Krypton on its unwavering back.

But she’d been too young, or perhaps too naive, to understand.

That night -- the night that changed Kara Zor-El’s life and destroyed everything she knew -- she was roused from her sleep by her mother, whose urgent face was drawn and pale.

She’d never seen the aristocratic Alura Zor-El look so ... terrified, and it frightened Kara. At her mother’s frantic insistence, the confused girl put on her warmest clothes and was just about to put on her favorite cloak with the El crest emblazoned on the back, but her mother yanked it off urgently.

“No! Not that one. Put this on,” Alura threw the mantle aside and grabbed another cloak, one of Kara’s older ones -- simpler and more worn, she’d always lamented that Kara looked like a street urchin rather than a princess in it.

Now she wrapped it securely around Kara’s shoulders and pulled the cowl up so that it obscured Kara’s golden hair and part of her face. “Now, follow me. Quickly!”

Her mother herded her down the vast marble steps, Kara struggling to keep up with her. There were raised voices all over the place, and was that smoke rising from the West Tower? As they rushed by a window, Kara could see the angry orange glow of a raging fire emanating from the tower that housed Kara’s beloved Science Guild. She wanted to run to the window and see, but Alura steered her firmly away.

She and her mother were met at the foot of the stairs by her father and Kal. Her older cousin was also wearing a cloak like Kara’s, his face similarly obscured, and it only added to Kara’s confusion. “Ieiu, Ukr. What’s going on?!”

Her mother hurriedly clapped a hand over Kara’s mouth, but it was too late. Her high, panicked voice carried through the empty hall and alerted others to their presence. She heard yells -- that was her Uncle Non’s voice! -- booming from beyond the Great Hall.

“There! They’re over there! Get them!”

Her father’s face hardened as he drew his sword and turned toward the mob pursuing them, his own kinsman among them. Their faces twisted and contorted like the monsters from the bedtime stories Kara had heard as a child, except these faces were terrifying real, glowing red from the light of their torches, and they were coming for Kara and her family.

At the head of the army was a tall, regal woman with eyes that reminded her of the stones at the riverbank she used to play in -- cold, black and smooth. She wore an armor stained dark with blood -- Uncle Jor-El’s blood, she would later learn.

At the sight of Kara and Kal, the smooth coldness of the woman’s dark gaze morphed into something mad and feral, and her lips twisted into a cruel smile. A blade glinted dangerously in her hand.

“Alura! Take the children and go!” Zor-El planted himself between the woman and his family. “I’ll hold them off! GO!”

Kara stood frozen in terror as her father raised his sword and the woman loomed over him with her eyes as black as stones and as mad as the inferno that engulfed the West Tower. She couldn’t have moved if her mother hadn’t yanked at her elbow, pulling her along as Alura and Kal fled down a back corridor.

Kara’s feet could barely keep up with them, and she struggled, screaming for her father, begging to go back and help him.

She struggled so much that Kal had to scoop her up in his arms -- it occurred to her vaguely in the back of her mind that he hadn’t carried her like a babe since she was a child, she was too big to be carried now -- but they ran faster, faster down narrow passageways, with the din of a pursuing mob behind them -- and all Kara could think of was her father struck down by that woman.

They reached the end of a corridor and Kal kicked the door open. He set Kara down long enough to barricade the door against their pursuers with Alura’s help. It was only then that Kara realized they were at the stables.

“We have to go back! Ieiu, Kal, we have to go back!”

“Kara,” Alura abandoned her task to take Kara by the shoulders. “Listen to me. I will go back to your father, but you -- you and Kal must go. Quickly, Kal. Take Steyg, he’s the fastest and he can carry you both…. Listen to me, Kara. You must be brave now. You must be strong. Your journey will be long and hard, but your father and I will be with you always.”

Alura reached around her neck and hurriedly unclasped the necklace Kara knew she always wore there -- the one with the crest of the House of El that Zor-El had given her on their Bonding Ceremony years ago.

Alura pressed her necklace into Kara’s palm and curled her small fingers around it. Even through her panic and confusion, Kara could see the tears in her mother’s eyes. She pulled Kara close, and Kara clung to her tightly, out of fear and a panicked certainty that she would never be able to hold her mother again.

“I am so proud of you, my Kara.” Alura whispered in her ear, her voice thick with tears. “I know you will do extraordinary things.”

Too soon -- much too soon -- they heard the clamor of their pursuers beyond the barricaded door, and Alura hoisted Kara up onto the horse in front of Kal.

“Take care of her, Kal. Go to the docks, there’s a ship waiting there that can take you to Metropolis. Look for Jeremiah Danvers. He was your father’s friend many years ago, and he will help you.” Alura’s fingers dug into Kal’s arm for one second more before she let go and pushed Steyg into motion. “Be safe. Don’t let them find you!”

Steyg was already galloping away when they heard the mob break through the barricade. Kara cried out and struggled to turn back, but Kal wouldn’t let her. He was immovable, no matter how much she pushed and pushed against him.

“We can’t go back, Kara. We can’t!”

They reached the docks after a few hours’ ride, Kal pushing Steyg to his limit while a sobbing Kara helplessly clung to him. The horse was given as payment to the Captain who let them hide in the ship with the other survivors just before it slipped its moorings.

They stayed hidden below deck, shivering out of fear and cold. The others -- supporters of the House of El, old enemies of the House of Daxam, slaves owned by the House of Daxam making a bid for freedom -- crowded around them, like moths drawn to a flame. They all huddled close to each other, hidden in the underbelly of the ship, staring at Kal and Kara, murmuring “Kir Bethgar… Kir Bythgar… Zhaonah… Zrhythrev Ehl… Voikirahm...”

Kara didn’t hear any of it. She spent most of the trip in a numb, shocked haze, clinging to Kal for most of the journey. The only thing that jolted her out of her catatonic haze was whenever Kal moved away, to retrieve food for them or to assist another refugee.

If Kara wasn’t holding onto a piece of Kal at any given moment, she would be besieged by a mindless terror that caused her to gasp for breath, fat tears leaking out of her eyes before she could stop them.

The only thing that could calm her was Kal holding her again, rocking her as the ship creaked around them, the sound of the waves lapping at the ship creating a dull rushing in her ears, allowing her to slowly calm down.

Finally, after weeks at sea, they docked at Metropolis in the dead of the night. Met in secret by Jor-El’s old friend, Jeremiah Danvers and his wife Eliza, who received them into their house warmly.

Only to tell them that Kal could not stay.

Kara was appalled and near-wild with fear. Jeremiah was talking on and on about the danger of the two of them being seen together, about how Jeremiah’s friendship with Jor-El had been well-known and it would only be too easy to deduce Kal’s lineage if he was suddenly adopted by the Danvers, Kara could stay, she shared Eliza’s coloring and looked enough like her that she could pass for a family relation, but Kal must go, perhaps to his friends, the Kents, who lived west of Metropolis --

But all Kara could hear was that Kal -- her only family left -- would be taken from her.

“no…. no… No… No! ….. NO! NO!!!” Kara could only mutter over and over, shaking her head back and forth, each interjection a terrified moan that escalated into high-pitched shrieks that both Jeremiah and Kal hurriedly tried to silence for fear of discovery.

Her screaming woke the Danvers’ daughter Alexandra, who found them all trying to subdue Kara, who was now crying and screeching inconsolably while clinging to Kal. Eliza was trying to wrap a blanket around her, but Kara refused to let go of her cousin.

“Alexandra, make a cup of tea. And fetch the laudanum from the cupboard.” Alexandra, confused and a little frightened of this howling creature, complied with her mother’s orders for the first time without protest.

In the end, there was no help for it, and they all knew it.

Kara would not be safe with Kal. They would be too easily discovered together -- two displaced young people with the telltale brilliant blue El eyes arriving in Metropolis at the same time the Prince and Princess of Krypton went missing? It would be frighteningly easy for Rhea -- who had now established herself Bythgar of Krypton -- to discover them.

So Kal stayed with the Kents, distant friends of Jeremiah’s, who lived out west in Smallville. And Kara stayed with the Danvers in Metropolis. Plagued nightly by nightmares of her family burning or dying at the hands of Rhea with her stone-black eyes.

Every night, Eliza Danvers slept in a chair beside her bed. Whenever Kara woke up screaming and shaking, Eliza was there, with her gentle calming voice, to smooth her hair back and hold her until she felt safe enough to sleep again. She wasn’t her mother -- could never be her mother -- but Eliza was a desperately-needed source of comfort for the terrified young girl.

The Danvers’ daughter, Alexandra was more than a little chilly toward her at first. Especially after her first impression of Kara, and especially after Kara called her Alexandra, a name she loathed with a burning passion. Alex treated her more like a nuisance than a sister during the first few months of her stay with the family.

Until one night, when Jeremiah and Eliza were invited to dinner at the Luthor Manor.

One did not simply turn down an invitation from the Luthors, and not even a renowned doctor like Jeremiah could refuse. Eliza was unable to sit with Kara that night, and the young girl, terrified of the nightmares, huddled in her bed, forcing herself to stay awake.

Sometime in the night, Alex found her there, crying silently, curled into a painful little ball.

Alex took one look at Kara, and with a deep, resigned sigh, she pulled the covers back and slipped into the bed beside the young girl, holding her gingerly.

It was awkward, since Alex did not customarily like giving or receiving hugs, but she made an effort to pat Kara stiffly on the back.

Instead of soothing her, the clumsy attempt at comfort made Kara snort a laugh, and Alex glared at her. But as her next attempts at comfort got no less awkward, Alex was forced to acknowledge to herself how inept she was at this, and she reluctantly joined in on Kara’s laughter.

Both Eliza and Jeremiah were astonished to see both girls sleeping soundly on the same bed when they got home late that night.

And they were even more astonished to see Alex pushing her bed into Kara’s room the next day. When asked what she was doing, Alex replied sniffily “Well, clearly she’s useless on her own. Someone has got to make sure she behaves like an actual human being!”

From then on, they were inseparable.

It was Alex who still called her Kara, even when the Danvers said that she must change her name to Linda to avoid detection.

It was Alex who stayed up with Kara on each passing birthday, waiting for Kal -- whose name was now Clark Kent -- to visit. He never did, though a letter would often arrive. Except Kara hated those more, because they had to be impersonal to avoid giving away information, and as such each missive contained as much emotion and affection as a handshake.

And it was Alex who would usually end the day making increasingly diabolical plans to get petty revenge on him to make Kara laugh.

It was Kara who took Alex’s side in every argument she had with Eliza. It was Kara who made funny faces behind her silk fan to entertain Alex whenever Eliza forced them to accompany her to a luncheon.

And it was Kara who held Alex’s hand tight as they stood silently at Jeremiah Danvers’ grave. It was Kara who sat quietly beside Alex after the funeral, and said nothing when Alex began sobbing -- faintly, in halting, reserved hiccups at first, then bigger and bigger until she was rasping her grief out into Kara’s collar while Kara stroked her hair.

Still, despite their mourning, there were still some things to be thankful for. They were far better off than the other Kryptonian stowaways with whom Kara had shared close quarters in the ship years ago.

The Kryptonian refugees had gathered among themselves, banding together like a school of fish in hostile waters -- which they were.

Metropolis was not kind to them. Metropolitans were trade people, and while some had welcomed the new business, most were resentful of these newcomers whom they whispered had come to take their land, their resources and livelihood.

And so, the Kryptonians had kept mostly to themselves all these years, making a home for themselves in the fringes of this new land they had found themselves in. Within a few years, a growing settlement had formed, a hopeful patch of land they had called New Argo, after the city that once had been their home.

Here, in New Argo, the Kryptonians felt safe -- away from the reach of Rhea and the House of Daxam. And if they were not accepted, they were at least somewhat tolerated by the Metropolitans.

Most Metropolitans would not cross into New Argo, and very few Kryptonians ventured too far into Metropolis. The few exceptions were Kara -- who lived in Metropolis with the Danvers family -- and the Olsens, who along with the Nals, owned an apothecary shop on Bakerline.

_________

It is in this manner that Kara is brought up, with one foot in one world and one foot in the other. Never quite able to let go of the past and uncertain of the future, never able to share the entirety of herself to another.

Now that they’re older, Kal -- or Clark, as he seemed more to be now, since Kara saw little of the Kal she had known before in him now -- visits New Argo and Metropolis more often.

He tries -- for Kara -- she knows he does.

He makes attempts to cross the gulf that has opened between them, but it’s hard. There is too much secrecy, the need for it permeating every aspect of their lives so that neither of them really knows what to say to the other any more.

He does tell her things about himself -- how he has been invited to write for the new publication that Perry White, a visionary publisher, and an illustrious and irrepressible widow named Cat Grant had been trying to get off the ground. The paper is to be called The Daily Planet, and Clark is tremendously excited at how much good he could do in such a position.

He speaks of how he had been invited to dine with the famed Luthor family, and had met the enigmatic Lex Luthor, who helms the Luthor Trading Company, and his beautiful sister. How he had the most fascinating conversation with a woman named Lois about the Metropolitans’ stance on New Argo at dinner with the Lanes’, and how they had spoken about what actions could be taken to build a bridge between the Metropolitans and the Kryptonians.

Kara tries to appreciate Kal’s efforts, but she cannot help but feel disconnected from him. Where is the boy who had taught her the prayers of Rao’s faithful? Who stood, tall, youthful and earnest in The Great Hall beside his father and told Kara stories of the Bethgars of old, and took pride in their family's legacy?

He asks about Kara’s life, but truthfully, there is not much to tell, and she can’t help but feel that this is at least partly his fault. The Danvers have sheltered her all these years for her own protection, but there is much she knows she has been kept from.

It's been thirteen years since that night.

Thirteen years of change and secrecy, of hiding, of holding herself back in so many ways.

Nights like this, however, give her the chance to drop her guard.

Tucked in cellar of Megan Mores’ home on the boundary between New Argo and Metropolis, she laughs as she watches the revelry around her. Even with twenty or so people crammed in the basement lit only by candles, her people still know how to have a good time.

She claps in time to the lively beat reverberating through the small space, nearly shaking the walls each time James plays the belahdiehd.

Winn, one of her oldest friends and one of the few Metropolitans present, is well on his way to drunk from the Aldebaran rum Megan has been pouring all night. Someone really should have told Winn that stuff is deadly to anyone who doesn’t have a Kryptonian’s constitution for liquor.

Most of the revelers are Kryptonian and all of them are familiar to her. She waves to each of them and stops to converse with each one, cheerfully inquiring about their livelihoods and their little ones. They all respond warmly, chatting and laughing heartily with her.

In the safety of this secret cloistered place, they all still call her Kara and the ones who are old enough to remember Krypton before they fled still call her Kir Bythgar, and she doesn’t have the heart to remind them that she is a princess no longer. She’s not Kara Zor-El anymore, she’s just Linda Lee Danvers.

She doesn’t begrudge them their nostalgia. She’s lived in Metropolis for thirteen years now, she’s lived here just as many years as she lived in Krypton. Outside of this basement, she looks and acts a Metropolitan as much as Alex does -- but she knows, in her heart, that a part of her is still that thirteen-year-old Kryptonian princess who never grew up.

She never speaks it out loud -- and she only ever lets herself think this thought at Gatherings like this, when she doesn't have to be Linda Lee Danvers -- but sometimes Kara feels as if she is the only El left.

Kal-El is now Clark Kent. He never speaks of Krypton. Instead, he speaks of Metropolis as if it is his home. He never speaks of their old friends in Krypton. He no longer speaks of their family, as if they had all vanished into the ether that terrible night.

Instead, every word out of Clark's mouth nowadays is usually attached to one of two names -- that of Lois Lane or Lex Luthor.

One is his beloved, and the other he calls his dearest friend. Kara sometimes wants to tease him that she can't tell which is which the way he talks about them both, but she and Clark are no longer familiar in that way.

She's never met Lex Luthor, but Kara has met Lois -- or rather, Linda has met Lois. She likes the older woman well enough: Lois is intelligent, bold and unafraid of speaking her mind. She keeps Clark on his toes, and she can see how happy Clark is with her.

Kara sometimes wishes she could be like her, that she can be as free with her words and her mind as Lois seems to be.

She spots Alex across the room. She’s talking to Kelly and another woman Kara doesn’t recognize. She can’t quite see her face, but from the looks of her, particularly the elegance of her clothes, she’s Metropolitan.

Alex beckons her over, and as Kara approaches, the other woman turns around, and the first thing that Kara immediately notices is the brilliant clarity of the woman’s jade-green eyes as she surveys the celebrations. There’s an agile curiosity in the way she watches the revelry around her, the people dancing to the belahd.

“This is my sister, Linda Lee.”

Those curious eyes flit to Kara’s and the lady holds out her hand. Kara takes it, expecting it to be soft and delicate, but instead, the other woman’s hands are surprisingly calloused and her grip is firm. She smiles archly as Kara stares at her. “Lena Luthor.”

So this is Lena Luthor. Only daughter of the most powerful family in Metropolis, and the sister of Clark’s best friend.

Kara vaguely remembers that Clark had described her as ‘beautiful’, but now she realizes her cousin has not done her justice. Lena Luthor is lissome and regal, her every move elegant even in the confines of this tiny, cloistered basement.

When Kelly manages to pull Alex over to the small makeshift dance floor, Kara and Lena are left on their own. Kara shifts nervously at first, unsure of what to say. Her sheltered upbringing has somewhat limited her capacity for small talk, and it’s especially difficult to come up with interesting and engaging conversation when faced with someone as beautiful and important as Lena Luthor.

But Lena surprises her.

She’s a stranger to these Gatherings. Most Metropolitans are, since very few come to them. Lena is brimming with curiosity and asks about every dance and every song James plays on the belahdiehd.

Kara tries to be careful about her answers. After all, she is supposed to be a Metropolitan too.

But Lena turns out to be dangerously easy to talk to. She’s effortlessly charming and she seems genuinely interested in listening to whatever Kara has to say.

At one point, their conversation turns to the latest advances in science, and Lena lights up even more. “.... I’ve heard of a self-taught inoculator from Scotland who claims to have developed a cure for smallpox, and while I’m skeptical about his technique, I think his ideas might have some merit.”

And Kara, who was once the youngest member of the Kryptonian Science Guild, is enthralled. She chimes in unreservedly, and the two of them spend most of the night by the fire, talking and talking. Kara doesn’t think she’s talked to someone this much or this freely in a long time, except perhaps Alex.

She tips her head, surveying Lena during a lull in their conversation. She’s never been good at filtering her thoughts before they leave her mouth, and Lena’s company is easy and comfortable. “You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied.”

Lena stills. For the first time in their conversation, she draws herself up to her full height, and Kara is reminded of her station. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. You forget yourself, Miss Danvers.”

And Kara looks away, down at her hands, sure she’s overstepped. “I just -- I only meant.... You’re like me.” she fiddles with her hands on her lap. “I’ve never been satisfied.”

It’s Lena’s turn to study her. One perfect eyebrow arches. “Is that right?”

Kara nods, risking a glance at her companion. Lena is watching her with a strange look on her face, thoughtful and measuring at the same time. She’s spared the agony of thinking of a reply when Megan announces that the Metropolitan Police have started their patrol.

While there is nothing illegal about the Gatherings, people tend to frown at any event that brings Metropolitans and Kryptonians together, and they don’t need to bring down the wrath of any Metropolitan authorities on New Argo. The crowd disperses quickly, but quietly.

Kara walks Lena back to her carriage, while Alex waits impatiently for her in theirs. Lena gives her a contemplative smile as she stops at the small door. “Thank you for a very interesting evening. Goodbye, Linda.”

The name jolts Kara, and she flounders. It sounds wrong coming from Lena. Just before Lena climbs into the carriage, Kara takes her wrist. And despite the all of the warnings that have been drilled into her by Alex, Jeremiah, Eliza and Kal, she finds herself speaking in a quiet voice meant only for the other woman.

“Kara. My name is Kara Zor-El.”

___________

Kara Zor-El.

The name has been swirling in Lena’s head since she heard it that night at the Gathering. The name had confirmed Lena's suspicion that "Linda" was Kryptonian.

It changes nothing for her.

She had found Linda -- Kara -- to be a very intriguing woman. Pretty, mild-mannered and unassuming at first glance, but so very quick and clever behind those lovely azure eyes -- with a straightforward frankness that had both surprised and ensnared Lena.

It doesn’t matter to her that Kara is Kryptonian, but she does want to know more.

Kara Zor-El.

The name is somehow familiar. She has heard the name before.

She asks around as discreetly as she can, and her inquiries lead her to the deposed House of El and its missing scions, believed to be dead.

Clearly not, if Kara -- Linda -- is to be believed.

The next time they meet is at a garden party. As the widow of an important doctor, Eliza is invited. Alex and Kara tag along as her dutiful daughters, Alex squirming in her dress the whole way.

Lena gravitates toward Kara, and she can see the trepidation in her eyes. Kara’s hands open and close nervously at her sides as she awaits Lena’s reaction.

Lena leads them away from prying eyes down a small path, and as their surroundings get less crowded, Kara seems to become less agitated. She calms more the farther they get from the party.

By the time they reach the lovely little fountain at the end of the path, Kara has visibly relaxed, though she still looks at Lena tentatively.

“Why did you tell me your secret?”

Kara ducks her head, watches the water burbling in the fountain for a long moment. “I don’t know.... I’ve only told one other person, and that was Winn, and he’s been my friend since I first came here. He’s practically a brother to me. Only my family and the other Kryptonians from New Argo know.”

“So why tell me?” Lena asks softly.

Kara meets her eyes slowly, and Lena can see the plain honesty in the, “It’s very easy to trust you.”

A sense of lightness sweeps over Lena’s chest, and she smiles. “It’s very easy to trust you too.”

A slow smile blooms over Kara’s face, and Lena delights in it for a long moment. Then she reaches out and, very gently, touches Kara’s hand.

“Tell me about Krypton.”

___________

That is where it begins for Lena. The slow, intoxicating downward spiral of emotions that Kara induced in her.

It only grows from that one conversation, in which she had listened, enraptured, to Kara’s stories of Krypton. And with each new encounter -- over tea, at parties she makes sure Kara is invited to -- Lena becomes more and more enamored, until she catches her heart racing when she sees Kara’s smile.

And she knows.

When Kara places her hand lightly on top of hers, and Lena’s heart skips a beat. When Lena says something that makes Kara throw her head back and laugh, and her heart soars along with the sound of Kara’s laughter -- she knows that what she feels has grown into something more.

She also knows there is simply nothing to be done about it.

Lillian has been pushing her to choose between two suitors, Jack Spheer and Morgan Edge. But Edge is simply abhorrent in every way, and while she adores Jack with all her heart, the thought of Jacky as a husband makes her balk just as much, because he has been a friend and almost a brother since childhood.

So it really is quite impossible for anything to come out of Lena's feelings, and so she keeps them to herself.

Then there is also the matter of Kara’s true identity. She has been in hiding for a long time, but the only thing protecting her right now is her anonymity. What happens if that is somehow taken away from her? She would be in danger, not just from Rhea, but also the other Metropolitans who are already hostile toward the Kryptonians.

The anti-Kryptonian sentiment has been rising with alarming swiftness throughout Metropolis recently. Enough that Lena knows Kara’s cousin has been investigating possible links between Rhea's regime in Krypton. It’s already necessitated several dangerous trips there for Clark, Kara has told her, and Lena is worried for her friend.

But, if Kara were under the protection of the Luthors....

No one would dare to come after Kara if she had the might of the Luthor family behind her.

As she watches Kara try to sip her tea as delicately as possible, Lena makes her decision. She reaches across the table and takes Kara’s hand. “Come with me.”

She rises, tugging Kara lightly with her. Kara sets the teacup down carefully, as if trying to avoid breaking the delicate thing. She tips her head curiously at Lena, but allows her to pull her along. “Where are we going?”

“I’m about to change your life.”

She leads Kara to the door of Lex’s study and knocks.

__________

Lex Luthor is a strange man, Kara thinks.

There’s something about him, something enigmatic that immediately draws the eye. Perhaps its the way he moves with confident ease through any room, commanding attention. He’s larger than life, and he has a charismatic way about him that makes it easy to gravitate toward him.

Kara doesn’t quite feel the same ease with him that she does with Lena, and in fact, she feels a certain discomfiture around him when he first asks to court her. She’s never had anyone court her, and to have her first suitor be the great Lex Luthor is enough to make Kara want to curl in on herself and hide.

It takes her and every one around her aback, because Lex is older and such a prominent figure, and Kara is, well, Kara. Or rather, Linda. But Lex gallantly applies himself to the task, and with Lena gently encouraging her, Kara slowly warms to him and she begins to spend more time with him.

Lex treats her with the same affection he gives Lena, and Kara has to admit, it feels nice to be the center of someone’s attention. She warms to him the way she warms to everyone else. She doesn't feel any of the affection for him that she saw between Jeremiah and Eliza, but she likes him well enough because Lena seems to love him so much. And she supposes that love can come later when they are married.

And Kara does find him intriguing. These Luthors entrance her, with their piercing intelligence and easy charisma. Lex reminds her of Lena, a bit. The way their brilliance simmers just underneath the skin -- Lena's brilliance is more tranquil; it radiates from her, like the sheen of a pearl; but with Lex it seems to coil and tense under a thin veneer.

She craves to know more about them. Kara calls on Luthor Manor more and more often. Often, it's Lex she sees there, since he is her intended. And she enjoys reading the books he gives her, and playing chess with him.

He tells her stories, of the history of the world as they play, things she never knew from her sheltered upbringing with the Danvers. Her family never neglected her education, nor did they keep her ignorant, but there is so much Kara has been kept from, and Lex, like Lena, seems to know so much.

On one occasion, he tells her of Philip of Macedon, and his son Alexander the Great, for whom Lex himself was named, and how he conquered the world. And Kara smiles as she moves her next piece.

"This appeals to you, the idea of conquering the world." This is as close as Kara's come to teasing him, and she lets it show in her voice. It's almost domestic, this routine they've fallen into while playing chess.

Lex huffs a short laugh. "You sound like my sister."

Kara can't help it, the way she looks up at any mention of Lena's name, the warmth it introduces to her chest, spilling down to her stomach slowly, like honey. Her smile is soft, and Lex notices.

"You remind me of her sometimes. The two of you share many things."

"Well," Kara keeps her voice light. "We are friends."

"More than that, you two are kindred spirits. You both aspire to be good." There's a note in Lex's voice that sounds almost condescending at the word. "You both believe in the good in people. You both belong in the light."

Then he smiles, teeth flashing. “Checkmate.”

“Not again!” Kara groans, and Lex laughs, teasing. She ducks her head and joins him in light laughter. It feels comfortable, and Lex promises to teach her how to play better with an affectionate smile. She can see why Lena loves him.

The more time Kara spends with Lex, the more she likes him. And the more time she spends with Lena, the happier she is. This is nice, she thinks. Playing chess with Lex, then having tea with Lena in her lovely sitting room later, just the two of them.

Whenever Kara gets back home, she's always smiling brightly, and Eliza teases her, says it's the happiness of a young girl in love. Alex is a little bit more skeptical, but she sees Kara’s light mood, and she refrains from saying anything.

When she joins Lena for tea later that week, Kara gives her permission to tell Lex her secret.

_____________

Lena watches the growing closeness between her brother and her friend from the sidelines.

She can see how much good this union will do. It's necessary, it's best for Kara, to protect her. And on top of that, she can see the hope it gives Kara’s people.

Already, she can see the changes.

Kara's true identity is still secret, of course, but as she becomes more and more visible with the Luthors, among the Kryptonians of Argo -- who know who Kara truly is, and look to her and her cousin as their leaders -- there is already a burgeoning sense of cautious hope, a possibility of more than just existing alongside the people of Metropolis, but of a union, of acceptance.

And this, to Lena, is further proof that she made the right choice. That this is the best way.

Lena can see the way Lex makes Kara smile, and he is as affectionate toward her as he is with Lena herself. And Kara, sweet Kara, who envelops everyone with her warmth and earnestness -- how could anyone not love her?

And Kara is always so excited to tell Lena everything she and Lex talk of. More than anything, Lena cherishes the moments she and Kara share just before Kara leaves. After her visit with Lex, Lena gets to steal Kara for herself, a little bit of precious time for the two of them to talk. ‘Ladies' gossip’, Lex calls it.

But these moments are never filled with idle chatter for Lena.

She's enraptured by everything Kara has to say, about Krypton, about the new things she's learned from Lex -- Lena has heard them all, of course, but seeing everything through Kara's eyes provides her with a uniquely refreshing perspective that thrills her.

And Kara seems equally interested in everything Lena has to say, God knows why -- but she'll listen raptly as Lena babbles on about her study in finding vaccinations for smallpox, which everyone else regards as preposterous and unladylike, but Kara nods along excitedly and provides her own ideas and opinions

This is more than Lena can hope for. This way, she gets to keep Kara in her life.

Kara was wrong. Lena can learn to be satisfied. She can.

When Clark returns from Krypton, Lex suggests to Lena that they all dine together.

"They are to be part of the family, after all." There's something about the way he says it, a note just slightly off-tune, his smile a tad too much like the one Lex wears when he plays chess against her and is near victory.

But then he puts his arm around her, warm affection all but seeping through his voice against Lena's temple.

"And I owe it all to you, sister. This is all because of you, Lena. Remember that."

Lena takes this for ardor, and she embraces him warmly, accepting his affection and gratitude as if it doesn't pain her, as if she is happy for him.

And she is.

__________

This is the domestic scene Clark comes home to, Kara all but ensconced in the Luthor home. His first instinct is to be defensive, to protect his cousin -- they’ve kept their identities hidden for so long, how can Kara share the truth without telling him?

But then he sees her with the Luthors.

Lillian is distant and pragmatic, but Lex is affectionate toward her, and Clark knows his closest friend to be a trustworthy man. He would never hurt Kara.

And Lena, well.... Clark sees the clear devotion between the two women, and he’s happy Kara has found a loyal friend and a confidante of her own. And when he sees how lighter she seems now than she ever has since they left Krypton, he smiles and tells her he’s happy for her.

___________

It begins after the wedding.

More and more Kryptonians had begun integrating into Metropolis, and the Gatherings between Metropolitans and Kryptonians become less secret and become more of the celebrations they were always meant to be. Kara’s marriage had drawn Kryptonians and their supporters out, and it had been a hopeful thing.

Until the Children of Liberty emerged with them.

They had started out in the fringes -- small, random isolated attacks, and Clark had been keeping an eye on them. However, they gain momentum quickly as more Kryptonians come out of the woodwork and become bigger targets for bigger attacks.

Storefronts damaged and defaced in the dead of night. A hooded and masked group carrying torches chasing down and terrorizing a young Kryptonian girl who had ventured into Metropolis to visit the Nals’ apothecary at Bakerline. Luckily, Clark and James had been nearby and had managed to fight most of the group off, while Nia had taken the girl quickly back to New Argo and delivered her safely to her parents.

And then the illness starts.

It hits the older people first. A couple of people, then five, then ten, then enough that Kelly has to leave the apothecary so she can tend to the sick.

Then come the children. Little ones crying for their mothers as they convulse on the bed, sweating and heaving. One after the other, they fall ill and Kelly makes a valiant effort, but it’s simply too much, and even Eliza and Alex have to come and help.

It’s simply too much, and Kara cannot stand by and let this happen to her people. An illness that only spreads among Kryptonians? It’s too deliberate. She knows that somehow, the Children of Liberty are behind this.

The organization is shadowy and incredibly effective, leading Lena, Kara and Clark to believe that it's being funded by people in high places. Lex offers to help the investigation by giving them access to Luthor Trading Co resources, but the answers remain elusive.

It’s only after weeks of fruitless investigation into the Children of Liberty and after several Kryptonians have already died of the mysterious disease, that Kara discovers that the sickness is caused by a certain substance found only on Krypton called Kryptonite. She discovers that it has been introduced to New Argo’s water supply, and the efforts to stop the spread begin in earnest, but the damage has been done, and the sick continue to get sicker.

Clark manages to procure a sample with great difficulty, despite the resources Lex has offered, and he gives the sample to Lena to study.

Lena applies all her skills and intellect into developing an antidote and a vaccine to the Kryptonite like she has never applied herself to anything before. She studies the substance diligently, with little thought to food or sleep.

When she has a breakthrough -- finally discovers how the substance was produced and takes one step closer to finding a cure -- it’s not what she expects. Nor what she wants to see.

The Kryptonite, she discovers, targets specific parts of the body’s cells, and Kryptonians have a particularly high susceptibility to the substance. And even more than disturbing, some of the materials that are necessary to produce the Kryptonite are incredibly rare. In fact, she knows only one trading company who would possibly have access to these materials.

Luthor Trading Company.

She enters her mother’s study on shaking legs. Lillian spares her a short disdainful look before returning to her book.

“How could you, Mother?”

Lillian doesn’t look up, merely drawls in a bored voice “How could I what?”

“All those people.... I knew you were no saint, but I had no idea you were the devil incarnate.”

This time, Lillian does look up with casual, almost bored, disdain. “What are you talking about?”

“Those people in New Argo! You procured the materials to produce Kryptonite, and you poisoned their water supply! Why would you do this?? Don’t tell me you’re one of those fools who believes the Kryptonians are here to steal resources from our business? How could that ever justify killing them? How could that ever justify what you’ve done?”

Lillian rises from her desk and pins Lena with a glacial look. For a moment, Lena feels like a child being cowed into submission. But she holds her ground.

“If I were you, I would choose my next words wisely, Lena. Don’t go making accusations on things you know nothing about. I'm not the one you should be chastising. After all, I’m not the one who poisoned those people. And I’m certainly not the one about to deliver your friend to her greatest enemy”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Lillian laughs, low and cruel. “Oh, you truly are slow, Lena. Gullible where your brother is brilliant. He had the right idea and the right sentiment against those parasites.”

Horror creeps over Lena as the realization slowly dawns on her. “Lex....” her voice breaks. “.... Lex was the one who poisoned all those people?”

"Finally, you’re catching up.” Lillian smiles, her lips a sharp, curved line, like a scythe slashed across her face. “Why do you think he married that worthless little twit? He needed a bargaining chip. Something he could trade for the materials he needed to make the Kryptonite and wipe out New Argo.”

Lena’s heart stops, and an icy sweat breaks out all over her body. “Kara...?”

“.... Is probably being delivered to Queen Rhea’s hands as we speak.”

Something inside Lena breaks, and she doesn’t remember rushing out of Lillian’s study, or the cruel laugh that trails after her. She doesn’t remember running and almost falling down the stairs in her haste. She doesn’t even remember mounting her horse and racing through the streets of Metropolis.

All she can think of is Kara, in danger because of her. Kara who could die because Lena was a fool and had unwittingly betrayed her. All this time, she’d thought she was protecting Kara, giving hope to the people of New Argo, when really she’d been offering Kara up to Rhea on a silver platter, and leading the Kryptonians by the hand to their deaths.

She’s so numb to everything else around her that she is nearly unseated when the explosion rocks the whole city. The ground beneath her trembles in the resulting blast, and she has to hold on to keep from falling off when her horse rears up in fright. It comes from a few miles east, near the port, where the Luthor Trading Company keeps its ships docked.

KARA!

Lena wastes no time. Once her spooked horse is under control, she turns toward the docks. Her breath comes heavy and she rides as fast as she can, but she’s too late.

There’s too much confusion at the scene -- too much smoke, people running to put out the fires as they spread from the docks to the homes, people fleeing the fires with their children and their possessions.

She can’t find Kara anywhere.

She tries to stay and look for her, but one of the fire wardens sees Lena trying to approach the burning wreckage, and hauls her away, struggling the whole time. She only calms down when she’s told that only one body was pulled out of the wreckage.

"Miss Luthor.... it’s your brother.”

______________

Everything descends into chaos then.

A witness, a dock worker named Ben Lockwood, comes forward, stating that he had seen Lex Luthor in a confrontation with Clark Kent. According to Lockwood, Kent claimed that Luthor was trying to kill the Kryptonians somehow with the illness that had spread through New Argo. Luthor, in turn, had exposed Kent and his cousin, Luthor’s wife as Kryptonian anarchists trying to incite a rebellion to take over Metropolis and claim it for the Kryptonians.

Luthor had then produced a device with what he claimed to be an unstable substance inside. Kent had tried to take it from him, and in the ensuing struggle, the device exploded.

It doesn’t matter how factual Lockwood’s statement was. Lex’s body at the site of the explosion is enough to seal her fate.

She returns home to find her mother, and all of the valuables in the house, gone. With Lillian gone, Lex dead, his wife revealed as a Kryptonian and both her and Clark Kent missing, the only one left to shift the blame to is Lena.

The whole city condemns her. Metropolitans blame her for the wreckage her brother inflicted on their home. They point the finger at her and say she must have been involved in it somehow. Even orchestrated it. After all, she is the only one left unscathed.

She inherits the company, and the mess Lex left behind. There’s still the Kryptonite poisoning to contend with, and now that she knows her brother was behind it, she throws herself into the work even more. People are still dying, and if she doesn’t come up with a vaccine soon, even more people will die.

All because Lena was a fool.

On top of it all, the Children of Liberty grows stronger -- now they call themselves Cadmus, and this time, their messages of hate contain a proclamation of vengeance, for the life of Metropolis’ son, Lex Luthor -- whom they have now claimed as their hero.

They blame Lena for this too.

She grits her teeth and bears it all, as she should. She scrambles blindly to keep everything together. The vaccine. The business. The family name.

But even all this is easier to bear than the memory of seeing Kara’s room empty. Of walking up the stairs to the Danvers’ porch and knocking on the doors fruitlessly. The house is dead and empty, devoid of Kara’s warmth and Alex’s teasing laughter.

Kara is gone, and Lena is completely and utterly alone.

________________

It’s a member of Rhea’s court who saves Kara.

His name is J’onn J’onnz and he reveals himself first to Clark the night of the explosion. He tells him of how he had served as one of Jor-El’s advisors before he was murdered, but Rhea had taken his wife and daughters, and threatened to kill them if he didn’t serve her.

He tells Clark of Rhea’s search for the last remaining members of the House of El, and how it had ended when Lex Luthor had approached her with a deal -- he would deliver Kara Zor-El and Kal-El to her, if she gave him the means to eradicate the Kryptonian population in New Argo.

J’onn also tells him of the growing rebellion in Krypton, of the roiling unrest under Rhea’s regime. J’onn himself has been involved in the emerging movement, at great personal risk. But the movement needs a leader the people can rally behind.

It’s at this point that Clark Kent makes a decision.

He is at a crossroads. He can choose to claim the mantle of the House of El as he was meant to all those years ago. Or he can confront the terrible reality that lies before him now -- that his people here in New Argo are dying, and it is because of the man he had loved and called a friend.

He chooses the latter. And now he lies on a pallet in a dark, cramped room, bleeding half to death as his wife mops his brow and tries to stave off his fever. He has bounty on his head placed there by the Children of Liberty -- or Cadmus, as he hears they’re called now -- for “killing” Lex Luthor, and he’s going to die if he doesn’t get medical help soon.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps as Lois adjusts the bandage she had tied around wound on his stomach. “If it weren’t for me--”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Smallville,” Lois presses a kiss to his brow. “This still beats Sunday dinners with my Father.”

He smiles weakly but the smile turns into a groan of pain as Lois presses on the wound again to keep it from bleeding.

At least Kara is safe with J’onn now.

_______________

Kara braces her hands on the table in front of her. The wood creaks where her hands grip it so forcefully, but she doesn’t hear it.

The messenger who delivered the news from Metropolis quails under her murderous stare, and J’onn dismisses him before he can say anything more. As the messenger scurried out, he lays a calming hand on Kara’s shoulder.

They’ve been travelling together for months, ever since the night she had been secreted away from Metropolis by Alex and J’onn and Eliza. In all that time, the one thing that had kept Kara going forward and preventing her from going back was the fact that with Lillian forced underground and Lex dead, Rhea remained the biggest threat.

He also knows Kara well enough by now to know when she needs a moment. “You need to calm down, Kara. This is a good thing.”

Kara looks up at him, her eyes almost wild. “How is this good, J’onn? How is any of this good? My cousin is missing, possibly dead. And my friend is being condemned for something she didn’t do, and the whole of Metropolis is out for her blood.”

J’onn keeps his voice calm and steady. “You heard what James reported, they’re still searching for Kal-El. Cadmus would want all of New Argo to know if Kal-El was dead. All signs point to him still being alive. As for the Luthors, Luthor Trading Company is failing. We know Rhea was relying on their trading partnership for funds. Without the Luthors, we’ve managed to cut off another significant limb holding up Rhea’s rule..... We have achieved so much in these past months, Kara. We have dismantled structures that have been in place for thirteen years. We have forced Rhea to retreat as her forces become smaller and smaller... I don’t think you realize how much this means to these people fighting with us. To the people of Krypton. We are so close to bringing down Rhea’s regime and restoring Krypton’s freedom. To restoring your throne. You cannot give up now.”

Kara looks away, and for the first time, she doesn’t accept his comfort. She shrugs her shoulder out of his head. “I need some air.”

J’onn opens his mouth to say something, but Alex steps forward and shakes her head. “I’ll talk to her.”

Kara isn’t outside the tent, but Alex finds her sitting in front of a dying fire near the edge of their camp. She’s poking viciously at the fizzling embers, a dark expression on her face.

Alex almost hesitates. She’s never seen Kara like this, not in all the years they’ve been sisters. “Wanna tell me what’s going on in your head?”

Kara exhales, long and slow. When she speaks, her voice breaks. “I want to go back, Alex. I need to go back. I know we’re doing the right thing here, but.... Clark... He could be dying, Alex. And a part of me is so angry at him right now, because he’s the reason why I’m here, because he chose to stay in Metropolis. And no one else would take up the crest of the House of El. He abandoned it a long time ago, and I was the only -- the only one left. And if he dies... if he dies, I truly will be the only El left.”

Alex doesn’t say anything, because she knows this has been building inside Kara for a long time.

“And Lena.” Kara’s eyes are shiny with tears now, reflecting the firelight. “She’s all alone, Alex. Everyone is turning against her, and she has no one. Lex betrayed her, and I left her. And I know you think she helped Lex, I can see it in your face every time I bring her up. But I know her, Alex. I know she would never hurt anyone, let alone create the Kryptonite that killed so many people. She would never, Alex.”

Kara’s voice breaks into a sob, and she pulls her knees up to her chest. “I never even got to say goodbye. To either of them.”

Alex scoots closer to her sister, tentatively putting one arm around her. Kara doesn’t brush her off like she did J’onn, but she doesn’t relax either. "You didn't think that Lex would do what he did either, Kara. None of us did, and yet here we are..... The truth is, Lena is a Luthor. And I think we've learned now that Luthors cannot be trusted. I know you care about Lena, but your life is in danger as well, and your people are in danger. If you go back, and the Luthors don't attack you, there's still Rhea to contend with. And she's not above hurting people just to get to you. We can't go back."

Under her arm, Kara sighs deeply, and a few tears slip from the corners of her eyes. She sniffs and gently disengages from Alex’s arm. “You’re right. I-I should probably get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow, Alex.”

Without waiting for a reply, Kara trudges off to her tent, leaving Alex to stare after her with a heavy heart.

________________

In the middle of the night, a knock sounds on the door of the Olsens’ house in New Argo. After a few seconds of silence, the knocking resumes, and James drags himself out of bed to answer, unwilling to let the knocking wake his sleeping mother, and knowing it would take a canon to wake Kelly in the middle of the night.

He peers through the hole in the door to see who this midnight caller is, and when he sees, he almost doesn’t open the door.

The knocking resumes, more urgently this time, and James sighs. He opens the door to find himself face-to-face with Lena Luthor.

“What are you doing here?” James knows his voice is hostile, but he doesn’t care.

If Lena is at all intimidated by his hostility, she doesn’t show it. “I need your help. Yours and Kelly’s.”

James scoffs, shaking his head with a humorless laugh. “You Luthors really are something. You think I would ever help you, after what your brother did?”

He moves to close the door, but Lena blocks him with her arm. “Wait! Please! I found him! I found Clark!”

That stops him for a moment. “What?”

“I found Clark.” Lena repeats breathlessly. “He’s in a cellar in an abandoned house near the docks. Lois is with him. He’s badly hurt--”

“And why should I trust you?”

Lena fixes him with a level look, her green eyes clear. “I know you don’t trust me, James, and I understand. Truly, I do. If I were in your position, I would feel the same way. But Clark needs help. If we don’t help him, he will die.”

James stares at her for a long moment, trying to see the lie in her eyes, and she meets his gaze head-on, without any trace of artifice. Then he sighs. He might end up regretting this later, but if there’s even the slightest chance he could save Clark, he’ll take it.

He opens the door wide enough for Lena to walk through. “Tell me what I need to do.”

_________________

When Kara Zor-El finally sets foot in the palace of Krypton -- the place of her birth, her old home -- after thirteen years of being gone, it's as if she never left. The exact scene lifted out of her nightmares -- people screaming and fleeing, the West Tower burning -- plays out in front of her numb eyes as if Fate is glories in letting her relive it again.

This time, she walks through the great doors, no longer the fleeing young girl, being carried kicking and screaming from her home. This time, she’s come to take it back.

She encounters very little resistance. Servants scurry past her to flee or plead for mercy. Rhea’s soldiers lay down arms in surrender at the sight of them.

Kara knows where she’ll find Rhea. She walks slowly through the Great Hall, up the steps she’d run down as a child. The last time she had been here, her uncle’s blood had marked the steps, and her father had stood between her and death.

She enters the throne room, knowing she’ll find Rhea there.

What she doesn’t expect to see are the three bodies lying at the feet of the throne. Two dead, one dying.

Kara drops her sword and rushes to Rhea’s side immediately. Her husband and son lie lifeless beside her, but Rhea continues to choke on life. Kara spies the small vial of what she recognizes as Kryptonite tipped over on the seat of the throne.

She orders the others to check on Rhea’s husband and son, but she knows it’s useless. Rhea she lifts as blood drips from her mouth. This woman killed her parents and has plagued her life for so many years, has given her nightmares nearly every night -- and yet now that she sees the husk of a woman choking on her own blood and bile, her eyes wide and gaping, it feels cruel to let her die like this.

Rhea's eyes bulge at her, demonic even to her last breath. "I will take my family to hell before I let you have them."

Kara draws her sword to end her suffering, but Rhea wrenches away, refusing mercy. There is nothing clean or dignified about her death, she retches and claws at her throat as her body attempts to fight off the poison to no avail. And all Kara can think of is how this woman sentenced all those people in New Argo to die in this way.

When it is done, she orders the bodies to be disposed of in a secret plot, with no markers or memorials. If she could erase every single trace of their existence on Krypton, she would.

She should be satisfied.

She should feel some sort of release now that the woman who had killed her family is dead.

But she doesn’t. Instead Kara just feels tired. And empty.

Maybe it is true, what she told Lena when they first met. She’ll never be satisfied.

_______________

James hesitates at the doorway to Lena’s sitting room. “Listen, Lena... Perhaps you should... stay home for today.”

Lena looks up at his concerned face. It’s a far cry from the look of judgment and mistrust with which he had greeted her when she first asked him for help.

“Clark and I can help Kelly administer the vaccines. You don’t need to put yourself through that again.”

‘That’ had been the persistent rejection of the people of New Argo whenever Lena came and attempted to administer the vaccine.

It’s been a month since she had finally completed it. James hadn’t trusted her at first, had kept looking over her shoulder whenever she worked. Or followed her whenever she brought down supplies to the basement of Luthor Manor where she had made accommodations for Clark and Lois. Eventually, however, his distrust lessened -- Lena suspects Clark or Lois or Kelly or even Winn had talked to him -- and Lena considered it a small personal victory when he had allowed her to inoculate him.

The other people of New Argo, however, are not as easy to convince.

Every time Lena arrives to administer the inoculations, doors and shutters close in her face. Everyone is too afraid of her, of what the Luthor might do to them. They don’t trust her, or her cure.

She’s seen Clark talk to the citizens about this, but Lena knows it’s pointless. The damage was too great. The kind of fear and hatred Lex left behind takes a long time to be erased. It might never heal completely, just like Clark’s own scars.

“You’re right, James.” Lena smiles, handing over the box of vaccines to him. “Thank you. My presence hinders the operation more than it helps. This should be about helping people, not about me. You, Kelly and Clark can do it.”

“Just you and Kelly today, I think, my friend.”

Both James and Lena turn to see Clark limping toward them. Lois walks beside him, ready to help if needed. “I’d like to talk to Lena, if you’re done.”

James nods at Clark, then tips his head at Lena, before leaving silently, taking the box with him.

Clark seats himself slowly at the chair beside the fireplace and Lois, bless her, pretends to busy herself somewhere else. Lena takes a seat opposite him, waiting.

“I’ve been thinking, Lena. There are still Kryptonians in Krypton who are vulnerable to Kryptonite. Someone needs to bring the vaccines to them, to ensure that no one else suffers from this disease.”

Lena immediately picks up on his train of thought. “And you want me to do it?”

“I need to stay behind to protect New Argo from Cadmus. Kelly, I suspect, will want to go, but she’s agreed to stay behind at least until we finish the inoculations here. James could go with you, to accompany you on your journey as well as witness to the events here. And I know Winn wants to go as well. You wouldn’t be alone.”

Lena hesitates, biting her lip. Metropolis is all she's ever known. And even though Kara has told her so much about it, Krypton is still a foreign place that seems as distant as a dream.

“I... I truly don’t know, Clark. Kryptonians hate me right now, because of what Lex did. And my family’s company is on its last legs. And there’s still so much to be done...” Lena's words trail off when she sees Clark smiling gently at her.

"You are not Lex, Lena.” Clark reaches over and places his hand gently on top of hers. The gesture reminds her so much of Kara. She’d been doing an admirable job of not thinking about Kara the past month. Once she’d found out that Kara was alive and unharmed, she had deliberately stopped herself from thinking about her.

It hurt too much.

“You have so much good in you, Lena. So much love in your heart..... Why do you stay and keep your heart here, for a family that betrayed you so cruelly, for a legacy that's been tainted and holds nothing but poison for you -- when we both know that heart belongs to someone else in Krypton? To the woman who has only ever held love for you in hers?"

Lena looks up at him, eyes wide, and Clark chuckles. “You talk in your sleep. I hear you sometimes when you fall asleep at your desk. And always, it’s Kara’s name you say.”

Lena worries her lower lip with her teeth again, looking away. “What if she doesn’t want to see me?”

“Oh, Lena. If I know Kara, I don’t think that would ever be the case.” Clark pulls her into an embrace that reminds her so much of Lex, of the brother she had before this madness, and Lena chokes out a sob. Clark strokes her hair gently.

"I will stay. Krypton has Kara, but the people of New Argo need me. Cadmus is still a threat, and there is a family business that needs to be run here, am I correct?"

Lena looks up at him, surprised. "You mean --"

Clark grins at her. "Well, we’d have to do something about your mother trying to kill me first. And I've never tried running a company, so I might do a far worse job than you did. But I have Ma and Pa, and Lois. I don't think the trading business is ready for Lois, but I think it'll have to be. She won't give it a choice....You don't mind if I change it to El Trading Company, do you?"

Lena laughs. "I wouldn't mind setting Lois loose on those pompous bastards. Morgan Edge won't know what hit him."

She embraces Clark warmly. "Thank you, Clark."

Clark smiles into her hair. "No need for thanks between family, Lena."

He waves her off at the docks, Lois, Kelly and the Kents beside him. Lena stands on the deck of the ship to Krypton, clutching the red cape that Clark had given her to wear.

He had told Lena that it would keep her safe. Now that the House of El was once again securely on the throne, no Kryptonian would dare attack anyone who wore the El crest on their person.

The sea voyage is enjoyable enough for Lena. Though she pities poor Winn who got seasick on the first day and never gained his sea legs until the last day and had to spend most of the trip in his bunk.

She spends most of her time on the deck, feeling the salty breeze against her skin. James often accompanies her. Now that he no longer distrusts her, she has observed a significant difference in his attitude towards her.

He is kinder, gentler, more thoughtful around her. He makes for quite fun company, to be honest, and he makes her laugh when she’s in a pensive mood.

Lena is not blind to his attentions, his courting. She allows him, because he’s a good man and, quite honestly, it's nice to have someone who wants her, after so long being hated.

But at the same time, it makes her feel guilty, because she knows her heart belongs only to one person.

But that person is Queen of Krypton now, and if she was too good for Lena when she was still Linda Lee Danvers, she's leagues beyond Lena now.

What does Lena have that she can offer Kara now? No prestige, no money, no protection, just the tatters of a name that she was once proud of that now only leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

And even if Lena does something to offer Kara, there's nothing to tell Lena that she views Lena as anything more than a once-sister or a former friend whose brother betrayed Kara in the cruelest way possible. And hadn’t she betrayed Kara as well, by pushing her towards Lex? Her own selfishness, her desire to have Kara in her life, had blinded her to Lex’s machinations, and she had delivered Kara to him without a fight.

And even if, by some miracle, Kara doesn't hate her -- if Fate smiles down on Lena for once in her miserable life -- and Kara still holds some measure of love for Lena in her heart, that love would never be the same as the way Lena loves her. Not in the way that the mere memory of Kara's smile fills Lena's heart with unbridled joy. Or the way each small touch of Kara's hand on hers had made her whole body burn and her heart skip a beat.

So Lena tempers her battered yet relentlessly hopeful heart, douses it with pragmatic reasoning, and determinedly turns toward James with a hopeful smile, as if she can teach herself to love him and not Kara.

Kara was wrong. Lena can be satisfied. She is.

She repeats the words in her head every night and wills herself to think of James’ hands holding hers, instead of Kara’s. She is satisfied.

____________

The ship docks at Dendahu in Krypton and immediately word spreads of the woman who wears the El sigil, who claims she bears the cure for the poison their brothers and sisters on New Argo have died from.

Kara thinks -- she dares to hope that it might be Lena. That her friend whom she loves so much doesn't hate her like her "husband" did. That she's come for Kara.

She almost races to the docks -- a full day's trip from the capital on the fastest horse. But Alex stops her. Caution, Alex warns. They still don't actually know how involved Lena was with the Children of Liberty, or how much she actually supported Lex.

"Think with your head, not with your heart." Alex tells her, and Kara knows she's just being cautious and protective, but she wants to shake her and tell her, that she knows Lena, and she knows that Lena would never want to hurt anyone, that Lena would never do anything so vile.

They arrive at the capital two days later, and Kara nearly runs out to meet them. They're surrounded by palace attendants and a small crowd. She sees Winn first, looking curiously around at the courtyard. James is at the bottom of the gigantic steps, helping a cloaked feminine figure off her horse.

Her back is turned, and Kara can see she is wearing the sigil of the House of El on her back, her dark hair spilling over it. Kara's breath gets stuck in her throat, and she expels it all in one breathless sigh. "Lena...."

The figure turns to her once she's dismounted, and Kara can see tears in green eyes that mirror the ones pooling in Kara's own, obscuring her vision.

All dignity lost and forgotten, Kara stumbles down the stairs, her hands reaching out for her friend. She can vaguely see Lena thrust the ornate box in her hands into Winn’s, and her own arms open to receive Kara.

“Lena... Lena...” Kara falls into Lena's arms, clinging to her friend as if her life depends on it. She can hear herself sobbing Lena's name over and over, and she knows people are watching them, but she can't stop herself.

She buries her face in Lena's neck and inhales her friend's familiar heady scent as she sobs. She doesn't even know why her emotions feel so out of control, she just knows she wants to keep Lena in her arms after so long without her.

She clings to Lena the way she used to cling to Kal, when she had lost everything she held dear, and in some ways it feels like she had, and it’s now been restored to her.

It’s as if the emptiness she’d been feeling since Rhea’s death has been replaced by the fullness of Lena’s presence. Kara feels whole again.

And Lena seems just as keen to hold her. She whispers "Oh, Kara..." into her hair and strokes her back, calling her darling and all these sweet names, and Kara just cries.

Eventually, Winn snickers and James clears his throat, reminding them that they must part, and Kara does so unwillingly, brushing back a lock of hair behind Lena's ear with a watery laugh.

She accepts the vaccine for the Kryptonite and extends and invitation for Lena and the boys to stay at the palace. James delivers his report, and testifies to Lena's kindness and everything she's done, not only to cure the Kryptonite, but also to save Kal-El. Winn seconds it enthusiastically, though he’s not

Kara beams at her friend and threads their fingers together just like they used to. ”I never doubted it.”

Lena smiles back sweetly, squeezing her fingers.

As the days pass, however, Kara notices a change. James is more solicitous and thoughtful around Lena, always inquiring about her, holding doors open for her, offering to help her out of carriages, eager to keep her company on walks.

It should make Kara happy that two of her closest friends are becoming closer and closer. James is a good man, and Lena deserves all the happiness she can find in the world.

But all she feels is a heaviness in her chest, like a lump under her breastbone, whenever she sees James smiling at Lena, or whenever she looks for Lena to keep her company on her daily walk and she finds out from one of the servants that Lena has been accompanied by James. The effervescent sense of happiness she’d felt with Lena’s arrival dims, and she feels guilty for it. She should be happy for them.

But she can't help but feel jealous when she finds out that James has taken it upon himself to show Lena around the capital. It's childish and immature, Kara knows it, but she was the one who had told Lena of these special places in Krypton back when they were still talking in contented silence in Lena's sitting room in Luthor Manor.

It was Kara who had shared these places and her memories of them to Lena, and she wanted to be the one to share these places with her in the flesh. Instead, it's James who brings Lena to the gardens of Kandor, to Kara's favorite river.

She sulks in the palace, until Lena returns home, flushed and bright-eyed, on James's arm, hanging onto his every word. All the while, the jealousy inside Kara simmers and hulks like a hurt creature until she can’t take it anymore.

She very politely and tentatively summons Lena to her private sitting room in the palace. They haven't seen each other much at all since Lena came to Krypton -- not nearly enough for Kara -- and she desperately misses the talks they used to have by the fire when they were still in Metropolis.

But so much has changed since then, and she hesitates.

She awkwardly asks Lena if she's enjoying Krypton, and Lena smiles and nods "Everyone has been good to me here, and I am so thankful. To you, most of all. Your kindness and warm welcome has turned the favor of Kryptonians toward me, and I -- I'm just grateful you still consider me a friend. Even after everything that Lex did."

Kara reaches out for her with wide eyes. "Of course I still consider you a friend! Lena..... I never, for a second, thought that you had anything to do with Lex's betrayal. You are far, far too good for that. And he... he betrayed you too. He betrayed us all, but he was your brother and you loved him."

“ But I introduced the two of you. I encouraged the two of you -- and he was your husband. I toasted your union, and the whole time--"

"It wasn't about Lex," Kara cuts in, her gaze dropping away from Lena's. Her hands open and close spasmodically at her sides, and the familiar nervous little habit almost makes Lena smile. "It wasn't him that I--"

Her voice trails off, and a charged silence grows between them. After a moment, Kara seems to steel herself. "I have something for you."

She reaches up to the back of her neck and unclasps the necklace Alura gave her all those years ago, that final night when Kara was forced to flee the palace.

The pendant with the sigil of the House of El glints slightly in the firelight.

"This was my Mother's. She gave it to me the night she died. It was given to her by my Father years ago on their Bonding Ceremony. Do you remember what that is?"

"Yes, of course. You told me that was a Kryptonian wedding. A sacred union."

Kara nods, swallowing thickly. "Yes. I-I want you to have it."

Lena's mouth drops and she seems to stop breathing. When she collects herself. "Oh, Kara... I-I couldn't take something so precious away from you."

Kara shakes her head. "I'm giving it to you. You saved us, Lena. You made the cure for Kryptonite. You risked everything to bring it here."

"I had to. I betrayed you. My brother --"

"Is not you. You didn’t betray me. He betrayed you. He betrayed all of us. You suffered the most for it, but you still righted his wrongs."

"It's what any decent person would have done."

Kara shakes her head, smiling softly at Lena, her azure eyes brilliant in the firelight. "You truly don't see how amazing you are, do you? I wish you could see yourself as I see you. You.... you are everything, Lena."

Lena's breath hitches, and she seems unable to speak. Kara holds up Alura's necklace in offering, her hands trembling ever so slightly. "Will you accept this?"

Lena nods mutely, seemingly overcome. Kara moves closer, holding the thin silver chain up, and motions for her to turn around. Lena does, and Kara feels how still she is, like the surface of a lake, one moment away from rippling.

Lena moves her hair away from her neck, exposing the tender, vulnerable curve of her nape, and Kara is overcome with the desire, no the need, to touch the smooth skin revealed to her.

Kara clasps the necklace with trembling fingers and moves closer still, her eyes moving downward to where the El sigil rests just underneath Lena's collarbones. Lena is motionless. She doesn't even seem to breathe when Kara's fingers find the small crest where it rests just above Lena's breast.

Of their own accord, Kara's fingers follow the chain upward, skimming ever so softly over Lena's skin. She doesn't realize how close she is until she feels Lena's soft breath against her cheek, shallow and tentative, as if she's unwilling to even breathe with Kara this close.

Kara starts to pull away, afraid that she's overstepped, but Lena exhales, her breath warming Kara's lips. “Please.”

Kara's mouth parts, and she is rendered helpless. She presses their lips together, softly at first. Warmth suffuses her whole body with that one small action, as if her whole being is rejoicing at the contact.

It feels so.... right.

As if coming home at the end of their long journey.

Kara presses forward, her fingers finding Lena's jaw and tilting her closer. Lena complies, her neck arching to find Kara, to press deeper. Kara urges her lips to part, and Lena accepts her with a small moan that sets her nerves on fire.

She was right. She will never be satisfied.

Not now that she knows the taste of Lena.

"Stay with me," Kara murmurs the words into the heated air between them. She can feel her lips trembling. She can’t bear it. "Please?"

Lena's eyes open, and in the brilliant jade-green of them, Kara can see her whole future. "Always."

________________

By SorrowsFlower

FUCKING HELL I FINALLY FINISHED THIS!!! I have not slept in 36 hours for this shit!!!

What made decide to write it into a long-ass fic instead of the AU format I had it in, I will never know. If you made it this far, I love you.

#supercorp #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers #katie mcgrath #melissa benoist #lex luthor #linda lee danvers #tw: some graphic content #i dont know what this is i didn't even edit it

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puckrph · 4 years ago

Text

HADESTOWN SENTENCE STARTERS - PT II

taken from the broadway cast album. feel free to change pronouns, etc.

IF IT’S TRUE

‘ is this how the world is? ’ ‘ if it’s true what they say, i’ll be on my way. ’ ‘ everybody knows that walls have ears. ’ ‘ what’s the purpose of a man? ’ ‘ what’s the use of your backbone if you never stand upright? ’ ‘ but who are they to say what the truth is anyway? ’ ‘ the ones who tell the lies are the solemnest to swear. ’ ‘ the ones who load the dice always say the toss is fair. ’ ‘ i’m asking if it’s true. ’ ‘ i believe in us together more than anyone alone. i believe that with each other, we are stronger than we know. ’

HOW LONG?

‘ what are you afraid of? ’ ‘ have a drink, why don’t you? ’ ‘ he has the kind of love for her that you and i once had. ’ ‘ she means nothing to me. ’ ‘ ____, my light. ____, my darkness. ’ ‘ all of my sorrow won’t fit in my chest. it just burns like a fire in the pit of my chest. ’ ‘ nothing comes of wishing on stars. and nothing comes of the songs people sing, however sorry they are. ’ ‘ give them a piece, and they’ll take it all. ’ ‘ what do i care for the logic of kings? ’ ‘ you and your pity don’t fit in my bed. you just burn like a fire in the pit of my bed, and i turn like a bird on a spit in my bed. ’ ‘ how long? just as long as i am your wife. ’ ‘ it’s true, the earth must die. but then the earth comes back to life, and the sun must go on rising. ’

CHANT (REPRISE)

‘ you gotta keep your head low if you wanna keep your head. ’ ‘ if we’re free, tell me why i can’t look in my bother’s eye. ’ ‘ got to hand it to you: guess you don’t scare easy, do you? ’ ‘ are you brave, or stupid? ’ ‘ it takes more than singing songs to keep a woman in your arms. ’ ‘ if you want to hold a woman, hang a chain around her throat made of many carat gold; shackle her from wrist to wrist with sterling silver bracelets; fill her pockets full of stones, precious ones, diamonds; bind her with a golden band. ’ ‘ could i change my fate? ’ ‘ i was left behind. turned on one too many times. ’ ‘ give me one more song. ’ ‘ sing a song for me. make me laugh, make me weep. ’

EPIC III

‘ oh, it’s about me? ’ ‘ i know how it was, because he was like me: a man in love with a woman. ’ ‘ where’d you get that melody? ’ ‘ i didn’t know how, and i didn’t know why, but i knew that i wanted to take you home. ’ ‘ i saw you alone there, against the sky; it was like you were someone i’d always known. ’ ‘ it was like i was holding the world when i held you. like mine were the arms that the whole world was in. ’ ‘ what has become of the heart of that man now that he has everything? ’ ‘ the more you have, the more you hold, the greater the weight of the world on your shoulders; see how you labor beneath that load? afraid to look up, and afraid to let go. ’ ‘ you’ve grown so afraid that he’ll lose what you own. but what you don’t know is that what you’re defending is already gone. ’ ‘ where is the treasure inside of your chest? where is your pleasure? where is your youth? ’ ‘ where is the man with his arms outstretched to the woman he loves with nothing to lose? ’ ‘ you brought the world back into tune is what you did. ’ ‘ you know what they did? they danced. ’

PROMISES

‘ now what do i do? ’ ‘ take me home with you. ’ ‘ let’s go, let’s go right now! ’ ‘ it’s a long road. it’s a long walk. are you sure you wanna go? ’ ‘ i have no ring for your finger. i have no banquet table to lay. i have no bed of feathers, whatever promises i made. ’ ‘ i can’t promise you fair sky above. i can’t promise you kind road below. but i’ll walk beside you, love, any way the wind blows. ’ ‘ i don’t need a ring for my finger. i just need a steady hand to hold. ’ ‘ he can’t say no. ’ ‘ i don’t know where this road will end, but i’ll walk it with you, hand in hand. ’ ‘ do you let me walk with you? and keep on walking, come what will? ’

WORD TO THE WISE

‘ can we go? ’ ‘ gotta think quick, gotta save face. you’re caught between a rock and a hard place. ’ ‘ whatche gonna do now? ’ ‘ if you tell him no, you’re a heartless man. ‘ ‘ you’re gonna have a martyr on your hands. ’ ‘ if you let him go, you’re a spineless king, and you’re never going to get them in line again. ’ ‘ damned if you don’t, damned if you do. the whole damn nation’s watching you. ’ ‘ men are fools. men are frail. give them the rope, and they’ll hang themselves. ’

HIS KISS, THE RIOT

‘ with your kiss, the riot starts. ’ ‘ all my children came here poor, clamoring for bed and board. ’ ‘ have i made myself their lord just to fall upon the sword? ’ ‘ who will lead them? ’ ‘ who lays all our best-laid plans? ’ ‘ she’s out of sight, and he’s out of his mind. ’ ‘ every coward seems courageous in the safety of a crowd. ’ ‘ nothing makes a man so bold as a woman’s smile and a hand to hold. ’

WAIT FOR ME (REPRISE)

‘ well, the good news is, he said that you can go. ’ ‘ it’s a test. ’ ‘ the meanest dog you’ll ever meet, he ain’t the hound dog in the street. he bares some teeth and tears some skin, but that’s the worst of him. the dog you really got to dread is the one that howls inside your head. it’s him whose howling drives men mad, and a mind to its undoing. ’ ‘ wait for me, i’m coming with you. ’ ‘ show the way so we can see. show the way the world could be. ’ ‘ we will follow where you lead. ’ ‘ think they’ll make it? ’ ‘ you let them go. ’ ‘ are we gonna try again? ’ ‘ it’s time for spring. we’ll try again next fall. ’ ‘ wait for me? ’ ‘ you’ve got a lonesome road to walk. ’ ‘ i’ll tell you where the real road lies: between your ears, behind your eyes. that is the path to paradise, and likewise, the road to ruin. ’ ‘ we are not alone. ’

DOUBT COMES IN

‘ the wind is changing. ’ ‘ who am i? ’ ‘ why am i all alone? ’ ‘ are you listening? ’ ‘ i’m right here, and i will be to the end. ’ ‘ who am i against him? why would he let me win? ’ ‘ who am i to think that he wouldn’t deceive me just to make me leave alone? ’ ‘ i used to see the way the world could be, but now the way it is is all i see. ’

ROAD TO HELL (REPRISE)

‘ it’s an old song, and that is how it ends. that’s how it goes. ’ ‘ don’t ask how he could have come so close. the song was written long ago. ’ ‘ it’s a tragedy. ‘ ‘ here’s the thing: to know how it ends, and still begin to sing it again, as if it might turn out this time? i learned that from a friend of mine. ’ ‘ got a match? ’ ‘ he could make you see how the world could be in spite of the way that it is. can you see it? can you hear it? can you feel it like a train? is it coming? is it coming this way? ’

WE RAISE OUR CUPS

‘ pour the wine and raise a cup. ’ ‘ some birds sing when the sun shines bright. my praise is not for them, but the ones who sing in the dead of night: i raise my cup to them. ’ ‘ let all my singing follow you and bring you comfort. ’ ‘ goodnight. ’

#memes.#sentence starters #rp meme #askbox meme #askbox memes #hadestown sentence starters

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sleepingheir · 6 years ago

Note

"It will be alright Noctis, I'll watch over you while you sleep."

“I’m sorry...” the words had spilled from his mouth a second time, she remained close to his side. Nights weren’t always a problem, lately the nightmares that sometimes plagued him reared their ugly head. At first, Noctis felt embarrassed, exposed in such a way in front of Luna. Sure, he mentioned it vaguely in their journal, but never detailed. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind, if anything, she understood. Astrals, he would never deserve Luna, she was too good for someone like himself.

Still.

Was it selfish for this small sensation of happiness and peace?

“Thank you... but don’t forget to sleep too. Um, there’s enough space for both of us,” he even blushed faintly. Just sleep. Nothing else. Still. It was Luna.

@rogueoracle

#rogueoracle #& II answered asks #( queued post. )#& II Tragedy has a hold of my mind --but I can see the light between the lines ( Lunoct )

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aceofwhump · 5 years ago

Note

Do you have any Lucifer fic recs? Especially anything involving wings?

Do I!!! I have so many Lucifer fic recs (161 to be precise) and that includes 31 fics involving his wings. This includes him cutting them off, him being insecure about them, his grooming them, team lucifer seeing them, etc.

Free the Devil from Pain by Navaros: “Looks like those sick bastards sewed the prosthetics onto his back.”Sick indeed. Chloe wanted to vomit at that thought, the bile already rising in her throat.“Give me a few more minutes, I’ll free the wings too. I can’t cut them loose in this position.”And with that the young forensic expert was back at work.

The Breakdown by SilverWolf7: Raphael visits Lucifer early in the morning to apologise to Lucifer. Lucifer lets out emotions he has been holding in for a very long time. Wing grooming.

Fluffy Blankets and Crossed Fingers by procrastinatingbookworm: In the God Johnson episode, Lucifer ends up being so high on the haldol that he can’t hide his wings. Besides dealing with this incredible revelation, Dan, Ella, and Chloe have to get a very loopy and not-at-all-helpful winged civilian consultant out of the building before anyone realizes he has wings. Bonus points if their methods for doing so involve a fluffy blanket and a lot of crossed fingers.

I’m Sorry by StrayDevil15: In the aftermath of 3x24, Lucifer is having a really hard time. Ella comes to the rescue. Self harm tw.

Castaway by ariaadagio: The Devil is real. A sentence Chloe Decker never believed until Lucifer Morningstar burned out her skepticism with his hellfire eyes. It’s a “Hell” of a reality shift, but Chloe realizes she may not have time for gradual acceptance when she discovers that one of the bodies in her most recent murder investigation isn’t human. Worse still, the next target might be Lucifer. A story that begs the question: who prays for Satan?

Malediction by orchidcactus: Chloe and Lucifer must face the consequences of 3x24, as well as dealing with new events that unfold around them.

It’s Only Me by mishasan7: She started to back up, back away from him, her eyes never leaving his face, and gasped, “It’s all true.”Lucifer felt a prickle of unease. What was true? She already knew Pierce was the Sinnerman, how could this possibly be a surprise to her now?“Detective?”What was wrong? Why was she looking at him like that?

Lucifer’s Protector by JAKishu: Trixie and Lucifer have been kidnapped, locked in a small cell and used as leverage against Chloe and her case.

Detour (with Jigsaw Puzzles) by HiroMyStory: An accident leaves Chloe and Lucifer snowed in.

Revealing by shadowolfhunter: He’s badly hurt. Chloe’s seen his true face, and Lucifer thinks she doesn’t want to know him any more.Ella’s mapped the scene. She knows what has to have happened. There’s only one answer she needs. She goes back to Lucifer’s loft apartment.

Ashes by theleafpile: Lucifer burned his wings, severing his connection to Hell.And Heaven.He vastly underestimated how much it would affect him.

And There Was Light by ariaadagio: When Lucifer Morningstar is found half dead in the desert, Chloe Decker is determined to find out why. The problem is … not even Lucifer knows the answer. As Chloe’s world is flipped upside down by incontrovertible evidence of the divine, Lucifer grapples with feelings of violation and futility. God’s meddling has started a chain reaction, but to what end?

Cleanse by ScooterThyme: After the chaotic events in the loft, Lucifer flees back to his penthouse. Once she’s dealt with the fallout at the scene as much as humanly possible, Chloe follows.Lucifer changes his mind about his wings.

Domini Canis by WhenFandomStrikes: When a strange and mysterious group of religious zealots known as the Domini Canis come to Los Angeles in search of the divine, they manage to kidnap Lucifer, Amenadiel, Charlotte and Chloe. The results of which brings a lot of secrets out of the dark and into the light.

The Bitter End by lucidwaking: SPOILERS FOR 3.24 this is my take on what happens next. Title may be deceiving this is coming out a lot less dark than I thought it would. I just had Blind Pilot stuck in my head when I named it.

After by apparition: Chloe comes face to face with the Devil. She’s terrified, but it’s his vulnerability that reminds her that he’s still the same Lucifer.

Broken Inside by fandomoverload: Chloe and Lucifer end up at a survivor’s meeting and Lucifer decides to tell a story. He gets a lot off of his chest, and Chloe draws the wrong conclusions. A one shot for now, more notes in the story.

Knives and wings don’t mix, Luciben8615: Lucifer groaned again, then inched the blade further into his traitorous muscle. Nearly there, just a bit more-The demon blade hit a clump of nerves, and Lucifer’s vision whited out as he screamed.

Home by Navaros: After waking up in the middle of nowhere, burned, exhausted and with those stupid, useless, feathered appendages on his back, he had no idea why they were back or who knocked him out. But that wasn’t important right now. He wanted to go home. The long forgotten and atrophied muscles screamed when he tried to move the wings more than just to open them or lay them against his back, and even that was painful.

Devil’s Advocate by Praemonitor: Non-chronological though interconnected ‘minisodes’ to catalogue the misadventures of Lucifer and Chloe, squeezed in-between their respective and occasionally overlapping day jobs. Minisode I - Lucifer babysits. That’s all.Minisode II - Lucifer and Chloe weather a storm.Minisode III - Lucifer earns back his wings in a bloodier fashion.Minisode IV - Chloe learns a thing or two from Dante’s Inferno.Minisode V - Maze and Chloe take on the original she-devil.Minisode VI - The Christmas Minisode. My personal favorite.Minisode VII - Chloe meets the family.Minisode VIII - Enter a certain petty dabbler in the dark arts.Minisode IX - Lucifer fractures a wing.Minisode X - Lucifer and Chloe go to Hell. Literally.

A Mutual Friend by jumble_of_fandoms: Pierce finds out some information about Lucifer that changes everything. If the Devil himself is going to break his deal, then Pierce is determined to do everything he can to break Lucifer. How far will Lucifer go to protect the woman he cares for?And how far is Pierce willing to go to break Lucifer?

Fever Dreams by Antarctic_Echoes: Lucifer isn’t about to let an odd chill stop him from seeing Chloe. He wants to tell her everything…. No more going backwards.And so he reveals himself – just not in the way he intended.

I Cut My Wings Off: A Lucifer TV Fanfiction by Anna_Erishkgal: Irritating, arrogant, and full of himself, Chloe goes to Lucifer Morningstar’s apartment to see if he made good on his promise to set up a meeting, but what she finds there only leaves her with more questions than answers. A one-shot drabble (at least for now).

Sympathy for an Angel by FearTheSpock: In the aftermath of the Season Finale, Chloe wakes in the middle of the night to a very clumsy home invasion.

If I Lose Myself by BurningUpASunJustToSayHello: If Lucifer’s fall from Heaven was a tragedy, then falling for Chloe was a goddamn sin.

Avenging Angel by Chlucifiction: It’s not Lucifer who finds the auctioneer, and his wings. Instead, Chloe beats him to it. (New story - not related to previous works). Comments encouraged :)

Wings are for Chickens by FearTheSpork: When Lucifer does a good deed for Chloe and Trixie, he’s rewarded. Although he isn’t too sure if he likes what he’s got.

Damnatio Memoriae by iceQueen1: Chloe tries to solve the riddle that is Lucifer Morningstar. Dan even manages to help. When mysterious ritualized killings start showing up, Chloe suspects Lucifer may know more than he lets on. Problem is, she doesn’t know what she thinks she does. Eventual Lucifer Whump.

A Walk in the Desert by Yunnaros: After waking up in the desert, Lucifer fly back to Chloe’s house to find a surprising number of people concerned by his disappearance.

Faint by chashkieh: Prompt: The pain of injuries and amputation never really go away. When Lucifer cut off his wings there was likely phantom pains of a lost limb in the immediate aftermath that faded as he adjusted but occasionally rears its ugly head on a rainy or hot/humid like most injuries. One day it flares in the middle of a case and is aggravated by one of Dan’s casual clap on the back. Basica

#theladyoffangorn #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #wings #wing whump #whump #whump fanfics #lucifer whump #mod post #mod replies #fic recs #fanfics #mods fic recs

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nicolewrites · 5 years ago

Text

i apologize for my divinity (it is never enough) - vi

it’s over. final thoughts to come in a separate post if anyone’s interested. love you guys.

Rating: T+ Genre: Angst, Friendship, Family Characters: Byleth/My Unit, Claude R., Dimitri B. Words: 8,620

AO3 | FFN

pt i | pt ii | pt iii | pt iv | pt v

vi - verdant moon

- ~ -

Byleth dreams of Seiros and Nemesis and the Tailtean Plains. The clash of their blades echoes across the battlefield and into Byleth’s skull. After a gruelling, dirty brawl, Seiros finally throws away both of their blades and gains the upper hand.

The swords skid to a stop in the mud at Byleth’s feet. Curious, she bends over and runs her hand along the Sword of the Creator. The blade is cool to the touch as opposed to the familiar warmth Byleth knows from her own time wielding the sword. The other blade, the one wielded by Seiros, is a straight blade with wave-like edges that glimmers with an undercurrent of blue.

Byleth pauses before she can touch the blade. She knows this sword. This is Rhea’s sword. Byleth’s head snaps up to where Seiros is pinning Nemesis to the earth. Seiros looks eerily familiar and when she speaks, cursing Nemesis for his past actions, Byleth recognizes her voice.

Rhea is Seiros.

Seiros’s knife sinks into Nemesis’s chest and as it retracts, piercing pain shoots through Byleth’s stomach. She gasps and her knees buckle as she falls into the mud. The knife sinks into Nemesis’s stomach again and this time when it retracts the pain in her stomach intensifies until her vision turns white and–

she wakes up.

- ~ -

/ verdant rain moon /

Byleth sits up sharply, gasping for air. Manuela, Mercedes, Dimitri, and Claude, who are all gathered around her, jolt back in surprise. Manuela is holding the dagger that Edelgard stabbed her with and Mercedes quickly draws the rune for a Fortify spell and lets the white magic sink into Byleth.

“Professor, please lie down!” Manuela says as she leans forward to grasp Byleth’s arms and lower her back to the ground.

Byleth’s head is spinning. She lies down as Manuela requests and stares blankly at the ceiling above her. The ornate designs that decorate it tell her she is still in the Imperial Palace. She is lying on the ground, but there is something heavy and soft beneath her. Her fingers brush along it blindly, feeling along the fur, until she realizes that it is Dimitri’s cloak.

“Teach, are you alright?” Claude asks, leaning more into her field of view.

Byleth nods. Mercedes’s magic healed her wound, but her mind is still spinning from the dream she had had. Byleth turns the palm of her right hand up and unfurls her fingers. Claude notices the action and drops his own hand into hers. His gloves have been removed and Byleth feels the familiar long, calloused fingers wind into her own. She lifts her left hand to the left of her body and both of Dimitri’s large hands close around it, cradling it between his.

Byleth lets her eyes shut for a long moment. “Is everyone alright?” There’s a heavy pause and her eyes snap open, flicking between Dimitri and Claude’s grim expressions.

“We have suffered heavy losses,” Dimitri admitted. “Edelgard’s last line of defences carried the kill or die trying mindset, that’s for sure. Some of our troops needed heavy medical attention and some didn’t make it.”

“We lost Gilbert, despite Flayn’s efforts, and we may yet lose Raph.” Claude’s voice is tinged with pain as he mentions the state of one of his former Golden Deer classmates.

Byleth squeezes his hand and nods. “Annette?” she asks Dimitri.

Mercedes answers her instead. “She was with Ingrid and Ashe the last time I saw her. She’ll be alright.”

Byleth takes a deep breath and ignores the throb of pain in her stomach. “Where’s Rhea?”

Claude looks surprised at the question and he and Dimitri exchange a furtive look. “She’s alive, but she doesn’t look good. The Knights have already started the return march to Garreg Mach and I believe she and Seteth have already left Enbarr.”

“I need to speak with her as soon as possible,” Byleth mutters. Her head hurts and her stomach still aches dully.

“You need to rest,” Dimitri says firmly. “You’re in no state to travel and we have some things to deal with here in Enbarr first.”

“Rest,” Byleth echoes dimly. She closes her eyes again. “I have to speak to Seiros,” she mumbles, but exhaustion is already flooding through her body.

She falls asleep where she lies, clutching Claude’s hand while Dimitri cradled her other one.

- ~ -

It takes a week to settle affairs in Enbarr before the main forces of the Alliance-Kingdom coalition army can begin the trek back to Garreg Mach. Mercedes keeps a watchful eye on Byleth’s injury, but it heals steadily until Byleth is back on her feet and attending political meetings in the Imperial Palace alongside her former students.

Dimitri and Claude lead the discussions, while nobles from across Adrestria assemble in the capital to denounce Edelgard’s ambitions. There is a great deal of work that will need to be done in reconstructing Adrestia, but Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance all require their own reworking. Byleth had apparently been appointed as the representative for the Church of Seiros at the discussions, though she mostly keeps her mouth shut and watches Claude and Dimitri handle the negotiations easily.

After the third day of meetings, Byleth has noticed a pattern. Claude seems to be loosening his grip on what power could easily become his. He directs questions about the Empire-Alliance border to the nobles in that region or even to Byleth and the church, but doesn’t elaborate on plans for the Alliance. Dimitri doesn’t appear to notice and if he does notice, he takes no issue with it. He seems content to step into his role as King of Faerghus.

On the seventh day, after the end of the discussions, Byleth lingers in the audience chamber, staring at the map of Fódlan. Her presence is clearly noted as both Dimitri and Claude stay to watch her. Byleth slides a marker indicating a group of Knights to the monastery’s location and then moves the piece indicating the Alliance troops there as well, followed by the Kingdom’s troops.

“When we leave tomorrow, what becomes of Adrestria?” she asks. “They are leaderless and there is no way there will ever be trust for them across Fódlan again.”

She tilts her head up to look between the two lords. Dimitri looks down at the map and swallows, but remains quiet. Claude shifts, pulling at his sash, but he meets her eyes. Byleth narrows her gaze and pins him with a firm stare.

“Fódlan will become one nation,” Claude finally answers. “I’m waiting on the last few letters of assent from Alliance nobles, but I know they won’t hold out too much longer.”

“We intend to combine all territories into the Kingdom of Fódlan and,” Dimitri pauses, looking slightly uncomfortable, “I am poised to take the crown as King.”

Claude’s lips twitch into a small smirk. “It wasn’t my original plan, that’s for sure, but you can’t exactly un-king the King of Faerghus.”

Dimitri laughs lightly and paces around the edge of the table, studying the pieces on the map that Byleth had moved. “We both know that your first choice would have turned down the position.”

Byleth frowns. “Turned down? Claude, surely you had your own intentions of becoming king?”

Claude shakes his head. “No, Teach, that was always a position that I intended to leave to a person who I thought this nation could truly rally behind.”

His gaze on her is warm and open and Byleth jolts as she realizes the truth of his statement. “Me?” she questions. “You intended for me to be a queen? Claude, I was born a commoner and I don’t know the first thing about ruling!”

He shrugs. “You were a unifying figure and if the way you stepped up to lead during the war was any indication, I know you could have done it. But, alas, Dimitri here has foiled that scheme quite thoroughly.”

Byleth’s surprise renders her speechless. It turns out that she wouldn’t have gotten a chance to speak anyways, as there is an interrupting knock at the doorway of the chamber. Byleth looks past Claude and sees a troubled-looking Lysithea standing in the doorway.

“Professor, Claude, Dimitri,” she greets politely, nodding to each of them. “I was hoping to have a word with the Professor about something.”

Dimitri nods. “I can take my leave if you’d like.”

Lysithea shakes her head. “No, as much as I once might have preferred that, this is information you should know as well.” She walks into the room and places a folded piece of paper on the table.

Claude, who is closest, picks it up and skims over it. His eyebrows shoot up and he looks back to Lysithea. “Lysithea?” he questions.

She inhales and closes her eyes before she tells them all she knows about Those Who Slither in the Dark and the contents of Hubert’s letter. She notes that the Javelins of Light at Fort Merceus were definitely their doing and that Edelgard was probably a victim to their schemes as well.

Claude passes Byleth the letter and Dimitri moves to stand behind her so he can read it over her shoulder. Lysithea continues her explanation and Byleth feels a cold chill creep along her spine as she starts to put things together. Kronya, Solon, and Thales were all members of this group, and if her suspicion was correct, so was Cornelia and the main perpetrators of the Tragedy of Duscur.

Her three former students all bear grim expressions as they all come to the same realization: this isn’t over yet.

Byleth folds the letter and slides it into a pocket in her coat. She squares her shoulders and nods. “Let us return to Garreg Mach. There is much we must ask Rhea.”

- ~ -

Seteth tries to stop her, but Byleth is done with secrets. She pushes aside the archbishop’s aide and steps into Rhea’s quarters. Behind her, Seteth protests and tries to halt her entourage as well, but Dimitri is strong and Claude is nimble so they both manage to maneuver past him as well.

Rhea is seated at a vanity on the far side of her room. She is slowly and methodically putting on her jewelry and the decorations that indicate her rank as archbishop. She sees Byleth approach in the mirror and pauses, turning to look back.

“I am happy to see you have survived,” Rhea says softly.

Byleth frowns. “I am not here for pleasantries, Rhea,” she says firmly. “The time for secrets is done. What do you know about Those Who Slither in the Dark?”

Rhea rights herself and her expression firms into something unreadable. “Yes, I suppose that it is time you knew everything.” She looks between Claude and Dimitri as well as the lingering figure of Seteth in the doorway.

And Rhea tells them.

- ~ -

They prepare to march on Shambhala. Hilda secures reinforcements from Holst that will meet them there on the last day of the month and the monastery bustles into motion as battle preparations begin in earnest. Some of her students return home briefly to see their families and pass on messages. Claude makes a trip to Derdriu for an impromptu Roundtable Conference, and Dimitri spends a week in Fhirdiad to smooth over Kingdom affairs.

Byleth remains in the monastery and she trains. Her body still struggles to keep up at times due to the injuries she sustained at Fort Merceus as well as the wound from Edelgard in Enbarr. Even so, she works herself back into top form. She spars with Felix and Caspar and Sylvain and Ingrid and Petra and Catherine. By the end of it, Byleth feels stronger than she has in a long time.

The night before Dimitri is set to return and three days before they march for Shambhala, Byleth heads to the Cathedral by herself. She stands in front of the ruined goddess statue and looks up at it. Reconstruction efforts on the church have continued, but there is something poetic about the way it stands now–half-broken and not entirely whole.

Sothis, she thinks. Thank you for your strength. I am sorry to have lost you as I did and I hope that you will forgive me, my friend.

There’s a flicker of warmth in her chest and the Sublime Creator Sword pulses with red light once. Byleth curls a hand over where her heart should be. You will always be with me.

- ~ -

Thales falls in front of her. Byleth stands above him, the Sublime Creator Sword burning in her hand. The battle for the city has been brutal and bloody and now it is over.

“So, Sothis, you have decided to finally strike us down, have you?” Thales hisses.

Byleth doesn’t reply and flicks her wrist so the tip of her sword is pointed straight at Thales. She breathes in deeply and barely catches the glint in Thales’s eyes.

“You will never get to enjoy your victory,” he snarls. Thales’s hand presses against the stone and a massive glyph set into the ground lights up.

Behind Byleth, Rhea gasps in shock. There is a terrible moment of nothing and then the roof of the underground city shakes and starts to give way. Byleth staggers back. Thales fixes her with a horrible, satisfied stare as the ceiling starts to fall in chunks around them. Byleth’s allies scream in terror and begin to retreat. Byleth steps towards Thales, but a massive chunk of rock from the ceiling falls and blocks her view of him, spraying her in dust and shards of rock.

“Byleth!” Dimitri yells to her over the chaos of battle. “The whole place is coming down! We have to get out of here!” He is one of the few people remaining in the central chamber as the rest of the army evacuates in an attempt to leave Shambhala before more destruction can occur.

Sunlight breaks through overhead and Byleth sees tears of light across the sky as more missiles approach. As much as she wants to see Thales’s death with her own eyes, she has no desire to die alongside him. Byleth takes one step back and then another before she turns and starts to run for the exit.

Rhea, however, doesn’t seem intent on retreat as she sprints towards where Thales had fallen and launches herself upward. In a familiar burst of green light, Rhea transforms and the Immaculate One soars upward towards the falling Javelins of Light. Byleth stands, transfixed, as Rhea defends the armies below from the missiles.

Rhea is not a god and one missile gets by her, streaking toward Shambhala. Byleth brings her arms up to protect her face as it detonates close enough that she can feel the terrible, familiar heat of the explosion. Something heavy hits her in the side and she finds herself being tackled out of the way.

Byleth opens her eyes and sees Dimitri with his eye shut and his arms wrapped around her as they hit the ground heavily. His large frame shields her from the blast, but she still feels the heat wash over them both as it radiates out. When the explosions cease, Byleth rolls Dimitri off of her and desperately assesses him, fear rising in her throat. His back is torn with shrapnel and he is soundly unconscious, but he is breathing heavily and after a quick Heal spell, his breathing evens out to be more like sleep. She brushes his hair out of his face and presses a kiss to his temple as she cradles him.

Byleth looks past him and sees the utter ruins that have been left in the place of Shambhala. Lying in the centre of the room, inside a ring of scorched stone, is Rhea’s human form. There is yelling and a loud blast and a wall of rocks on the fall side of the room are pushed aside to reveal Claude, Raphael, Annette, Seteth, and Felix.

Seteth and the others make haste to Rhea’s side, while Claude hurries towards Byleth. Byleth cradles Dimitri closer to her, but makes eye contact with Claude as he kneels next to her. Claude places a hand on Dimitri’s chest, feeling for a heartbeat, and relaxes once he finds one.

“Too stubborn to die, this one,” he murmurs lowly.

He turns to face her more fully and pulls her into an awkward hug, being mindful of the fact that Byleth is holding Dimitri. His lips press into her temple and Byleth can hear his heart racing. He holds her for a moment as if he is afraid to let her go. She closes her eyes and lets his closeness reassure her.

Alive, alive, alive, she thinks. We are all alive.

- ~ -

/ horsebow moon /

It takes nearly all of the healers in Garreg Mach to save Rhea, but they manage. Byleth tends to Dimitri herself to allow Mercedes and Marianne and Linhardt and Manuela to save their magic for people who need more care.

In the aftermath, people begin to realize that the war seems to be finally and truly over. Sylvain proposes to Ingrid almost immediately upon returning to the monastery and they are married a week later in an intimate ceremony that Byleth presides over upon their request. Lorenz constructs a small, understated proposal to Marianne because he knows that she would prefer something smaller and quiet. Byleth sees Felix lying in the grass with his head in Annette’s lap as she combs her fingers through his hair and sings quietly.

Ignatz and Mercedes are together every time Byleth sees them. Petra and Ashe spend enough time together that Byleth thinks something may be brewing. Linhardt seems to pester Lysithea at every turn about her crests, but the softness in her gaze seems to indicate she does not mind too much. Caspar tags along for the sheer purpose of pestering Linhardt and Byleth even stumbles upon Lysithea and Cyril huddled in a corner in the library as the latter learns to read.

Leonie falls into a position as something of a commander to the mercenaries that used to follow Jeralt, much to her surprise and Byleth’s pleasure. Raphael writes home twice as often and takes the time to seek out Hilda to learn about managing a business and dealing with his sister. Hilda herself writes to her brother fairly often and fully embraces her role in the organization of reconstruction efforts for the Church. Hilda and Raphael also manage to rope Bernadetta into several “confidence lessons” as they teach her to be more assertive and confident. Dedue keeps an eye on Dimitri through his recovery and continues his support as his vassal.

Dorothea organizes a funeral for Ferdinand amongst the remaining Black Eagles. She grieves deeply, but soon approaches Manuela with the idea of using the refugees of their old Opera Company to entertain wounded soldiers on bed rest. The idea turns out wonderfully and morale rises amongst those undergoing long recoveries.

Dimitri summons nobles from across Fódlan to Garreg Mach to discuss the future. Seteth agrees to represent the church in the meetings so that Byleth does not have to. She spectates them instead and feels a bit like an outsider. Many of her former students, especially those with titles they will inherit attend the meetings, but Claude is conspicuously absent.

- ~ -

It is three weeks after they take down Shambhala, that Dimitri asks her to stay after one of the meetings. She steps to his side and studies his face. He looks tired, but not discontent. Byleth reaches up without thinking and touches his face gently. Dimitri’s eye closes and he leans into the palm of her hand.

“Are you alright?” she asks him quietly. “Do you need anything?”

He gives a low laugh. “I am still having those dreams,” he murmurs. “I am restructuring the ruling system of a continent and most of the notes I have,” he gestures to the scribbled talking points he has been using in the discussions, “are not my own.”

Byleth drops her hand from his face and takes the notes from Dimitri. She recognizes the writing on them immediately: they were written by Claude. “Why is Claude writing you a new system of government and then bowing out of it completely?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “I am unsure. He has been in the library looking through the archives for some time now. I think much of what he saw at Shambhala has not settled with him.” Dimitri sighs. “Honestly, it has not settled with me either. What was that great beast that saved us? Why was it Rhea? Why were our opponents so dead set on destroying you and Rhea that they killed hundreds of their own?” He shakes his head again. “I have many questions for Rhea.”

For Seiros, Byleth’s mind reminds. She forces herself not to frown. “I have many of my own,” she admits. “And I am sure Claude feels the same. Perhaps we should bring our questions to her,” she muses.

Dimitri shakes his head. “Professor, Rhea needs rest now. We cannot interrupt that.”

Byleth frowns. “I do not believe that her rest takes precedence over everything we have done for her.” She turns away from Dimitri. “I need answers,” she admits. He doesn’t move behind her so she steps away and heads for the entrance of the door, pausing briefly once more. “I am going to go speak with Claude.”

He doesn’t follow her out.

- ~ -

She finds Claude in his room sitting on the floor, surrounded by books that she doesn’t recognize. Byleth taps her knuckles on the doorframe and he looks up. The lines of stress in his forehead relax and his gaze softens when he sees it’s her.

“Hey, Teach, what can I do for you?”

Byleth folds her arms and shifts her weight awkwardly. “We have been back from Shambhala for three weeks and I have hardly seen you.”

Claude’s lips twitch into a small smirk. “Did you miss me or something?”

She narrows her eyes. “Dimitri could use your support as well. Not everyone is as on board with the unification of Fódlan as you two are.”

Claude sighs. “I have my reasons for not being there,” he says vaguely. At Byleth’s unimpressed look, he gestures to the books around him. “I am looking for answers,” he elaborates.

Byleth purses her lips and steps into the room, glancing down at the book Claude is studying currently. It looks like the same one that held the image of the Immaculate One that he had shared with her all those years ago. Byleth knelt and ran a fingertip over the sketch on the page.

“You have questions for Rhea,” she murmured.

Claude snorts. “Who doesn’t after that display? Still, I am not sure I have the authority to disturb her rest since the war is basically over at this point.”

Byleth frowns. “I am going to speak to her tomorrow. I would like it if you were there.” She rises back to her feet, but before she can walk away, Claude grabs the edge of her coat. She looks back at him and there are several emotions swirling in the green of his eyes, many of which she cannot pick out.

“Byleth,” he says softly.

She pulls out of his grip and walks towards the door. “When you’re ready to stop keeping secrets from me, we can have this conversation,” she says.

- ~ -

Seteth folds his arms. “Absolutely not. I made an exception for you last time, Professor, but I absolutely must not let you pass now. Lady Rhea needs rest and she mustn’t be disturbed.”

Byleth takes a deep breath. “Seteth, I am not asking you to move. I am telling you that I am going to speak to Rhea.”

Seteth frowns at her and doesn’t budge from his place outside Rhea’s door. Cyril, who stands next to him, is also frowning. Byleth has come alone and is not interested in taking no for an answer. There are questions she has for Rhea and she was going to get her answers.

“Didn’t you learn a long time ago that you can’t win an argument with Teach, Seteth?” Claude calls as he rounds the corner from the stairwell.

Dimitri is with him and neither of the two of them looks in the mood for idle conversation. Byleth presses her lips into a line as the two lords approach. Dimitri nods to her.

“We have questions to ask Rhea,” Dimitri states firmly.

Finally, Seteth and Cyril seem to realize they are fighting a losing battle. Seteth turns to open the door, knocking lightly on it.

“Rhea,” he calls, “Byleth, Dimitri, and Claude are here to speak with you.”

He waits a moment until Rhea responds in a soft voice that Byleth can’t quite pick up on, but then he opens the door and steps aside. Byleth strides into the room and notes that Rhea is standing by the largest window in her room, looking out at the monastery. She is without her archbishop’s regalia and is dressed simply in a plain white dress.

Dimitri and Claude follow her into the room and Rhea turns towards them. Her face is drawn and tired looking, but she is alive, at least, and that is more than many of the people who died in her service can say. Anger wells in Byleth’s chest and she takes a deep breath to try and calm herself.

“Apologies for disturbing your rest, Lady Rhea,” Dimitri says politely.

Rhea shakes her head. “No, you must have questions, it is alright. Ask me and I will do my best to answer them.”

Claude tips his head to the side and gives Rhea a calculating look. “You’re the Immaculate One, aren’t you? You appeared to defend Garreg Mach five years ago. And if the rest of what I’m thinking is correct–”

“It is,” Rhea affirms. “I am the last child of the progenitor god. My mother, Sothis, lost all of her children in the Red Canyon massacre. All of them except me.”

“Is that when you started calling yourself Seiros? After Zanado?” Byleth asks. Her voice comes out harder than she intends, and Dimitri and Claude both seem startled by the implication of her words.

Rhea’s expression hardens. “Yes. I called myself Seiros and I raised an army to oppose Nemesis.”

She tells them about Nemesis’s true history and about the truth of the relics and the Crests. Beside her, Claude and Dimitri both seem uncomfortable at the realization that their weapons and the Crests the bear have come from such dark roots. Then, of course, they realize that the Sublime Creator Sword is not just any relic, but one that was created from Sothis’s remains.

“How can the Professor wield the Sword of the Creator?” Dimitri asks. His gaze drops to where it hangs at Byleth’s waist. “It does not have a Crest Stone.”

Rhea looks down and for the first time in the conversation, she actually appears guilty. The anger swells in Byleth again as she starts to connect the dots herself. “The Professor bears the Crest of Flames and can wield the Sword of the Creator because,” Rhea pauses, trying to gather the right words.

Byleth’s hand presses against her own chest where her heart should have been. “The Crest Stone is inside of me, isn’t it?” Rhea doesn’t disagree and Byleth’s anger grows. “You used me to try to resurrect Sothis,” she accuses.

Claude frowns. “All those years ago, in the Holy Mausoleum, when you said that Teach could expect a revelation,” he murmurs. His eyes widen and his expression hardens. “You thought that sending her to sit on that throne would bring back the goddess.”

Rhea closes her eyes. “I did many things in an attempt to reach my mother that I am not proud of. And still, it was not enough. She simply bestowed her power upon you and left.” Rhea raises her head and looks Byleth in the eyes. “I had hoped she would return to me.”

Byleth steps back from Rhea, feeling her anger well further. “I am not a pawn for you to play with in an attempt to raise a god,” she says sharply. “I will not let you use me.”

Rhea’s expression slips into something that is almost disappointed. “You were different from what I expected. You seemed to know what was happening after you merged and I had just hoped that perhaps I had succeeded this time.”

“This time?” Dimitri echoes, confused.

Claude turns his head to Byleth looking startled. “What do you mean, Rhea?”

The archbishop tilts her head. “I felt you tear the fabric of space and time the first time after Dimitri fell facing Edelgard. I felt her presence there, but it has never returned since that moment even as you walked the same path all this time.”

Byleth steps away from Rhea, fear and surprise quickly replacing her anger. “You knew. All this time you knew and you said nothing.”

Rhea doesn’t get a chance to reply before an armoured knight bursts into the room, followed by Hilda and Seteth.

“There is an army marching on Garreg Mach. They march under a banner that bears the Crest of Flames and the reports say that their leader wields a blade that looks exactly like the Sword of the Creator.”

There is no disguising the malice and the darkness in Rhea’s voice as she spits the name of their enemy:

“Nemesis.”

- ~ -

They meet Nemesis’s forces at the base of the mountains that surround Garreg Mach. It doesn’t take long for them to notice the 10 Elites and the army’s commander himself. Byleth disperses their forces as best as she can to take out as many of the Elites as possible and she charts herself a route directly to Nemesis.

He sees her coming and a cruel smile paints his features. His sword lashes out and Byleth swings with all of her strength to block the blow. She succeeds, but her feet slide in the dirt from the force of the impact. She doesn’t hesitate then, stepping forward and making her countermove as her own blade cracks along the spine to lash out at him.

Nemesis blocks in a similar manner and charges straight at her. The two Swords of the Creator clash with a deafening clang and a burst of light spread across the field around them. Nemesis leers at her and presses her back, putting his strength into the deadlock of swords. It takes all of her strength to resist the assault as she pushes back, keeping their swords locked together.

He is by far the best opponent Byleth has ever faced in terms of skill and in raw strength. He is practiced with the blade despite having been dead for a significant amount of time. She screams out as she presses him back, digging for the power of Sothis to help her resist the force of his attack.

Her aid comes in a different form, instead, as out of the corner of her eye, she spies a spear drive up towards Nemesis. Her opponent twists, breaking the deadlock of their blades to deflect the oncoming spear. Dimitri growls and slashes again, trying to push the bandit into retreating. Nemesis, however, seems more than capable of deflecting Dimitri’s blows while also keeping Byleth and her blade busy.

Claude’s arrow nearly lands, but Nemesis jumps back, cutting it from the air. He stands apart from them for a moment and assesses the situation. “You are too weak to take me on alone,” he goads Byleth.

She tightens her grip on her sword and says nothing.

“She is strong enough to have allies to help her,” Dimitri growls back.

“And we have the strength, together, to finish the job,” Claude replies.

He fires an arrow up in an arc and Byleth goes on the offensive again. Byleth’s blade locks against his for only a moment before the searing red of Claude’s arrow strikes down and shatters the Crest Stone in the hilt of the weapon. Dimitri doesn’t hesitate, driving his spear at the sword and shattering the blade in Nemesis’s hand.

Byleth deals the final blow and it is all finally over.

- ~ -

When Rhea summons her, she almost doesn’t go. Everyone is celebrating all throughout the monastery–Hilda is organizing a celebratory ball, even–and Byleth gets summoned to speak with Rhea alone.

She climbs the stairs to the third floor quietly. For once, she is not carrying her sword. The blade is currently on a hook in her chambers and the only weapon she is carrying is Jeralt’s hunting knife strapped to her hip. Byleth touches the stone walls as she ascends the stairs. She has spent so many hours inside of these walls and it finally feels like home to her. She just wishes that Jeralt was there to see it too.

Rhea isn’t in her chambers. Instead, Cyril silently directs her out into the star garden. Byleth smiles at him and slips past him, heading outside. Rhea stands in the centre, silhouetted by the setting sun. She still isn’t wearing her regalia and faces away from Byleth even as she approaches.

“Can you hear her, Professor?” Rhea asks quietly.

“No,” Byleth replies. “Not since I changed.”

Rhea looks down and lets out a long sigh. “What changed this time? Why did she return to you last time?”

Byleth crosses her arms. “When I went back, I severed most of my bond with Sothis. It was repaired mostly when we merged again, but she told me that we were different this time and that she did not know if she could ever reach me again.”

Rhea finally turns to look at her. “Perhaps if we continued to test your faith and abilities,” she began.

Byleth shakes her head. “No, you misunderstand. Sothis told me that she hoped I would never have a need for her power again.”

Rhea deflates a little and turns to look away from Byleth again, inclining her head to stare up at the darkening sky. “I see.”

Rhea doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but Byleth doesn’t leave. She waits.

“Do you know that I am still fading?” Rhea asks. “I doubt there will be much recovery for me after what happened in Shambhala, no matter the rest that Cyril and Seteth and Flayn insist I take. I have something to ask of you, Professor. I know that originally I brought you into this despite your wishes and those of your father, but I hope that you might consider leading the church in my place. Even if Sothis has truly left us this time, you shall soon be this world’s last real connection to the goddess.”

Byleth is shocked. Of all the things Rhea could have asked, this is not what she had been expecting. “Rhea, I did not believe in the goddess before all of this unfolded. I cannot hear her voice anymore and I am not a holy person.”

“I disagree. For the time that I was imprisoned in Enbarr, you fought with my knights. You led my armies into battle and you appeared as the image of my church.” Rhea turns back to her. “You have already led these people, won’t you do it again?” Byleth steps back. She frowns involuntarily and Rhea lifts a hand patiently. “Do not worry, I do not expect you to make a decision immediately. If all goes as I hope, you will have some time to consider this offer.”

“Rhea,” Byleth murmurs. She can see it now: how the archbishop is barely standing and how exhausted and defeated she looks.

Rhea smiles softly. “Go, now. There will be parties for you to attend and this world has a victory to celebrate. It would be a shame for you to miss that.”

- ~ -

Hilda knows how to throw a party. She had turned every inch of Garreg Mach into a celebration and had strongarmed every single former student and staff member into the finest of clothes. Dorothea’s Opera Company was performing a few beautiful numbers and local musicians had been performing otherwise, keeping a steady flow of music.

The main hall of the monastery looks reminiscent of the fateful ball in the Ethereal Moon of five years ago. It is a truly beautiful sight to behold. Former students and friends twirl on the dancefloor and laughter and conversation fill every inch of the room. Byleth feels warm all over, despite Rhea’s proposition weighing heavily on her mind.

“Professor!” Hilda exclaims.

Byleth turns and sees the Goneril noble. Hilda is wearing a beautiful red dress that clashes just enough to be eye-catching with her bright hair. Hilda sweeps forward and grabs Byleth by the arms, leaning in and kissing each of her cheeks in greeting.

“You look incredible!” Hilda compliments. “I knew that would be a perfect dress for you.”

Byleth plucks at the silky fabric. It is much, much fancier than any robe or dress she had worn before, but the dark fabric glimmers with silver inlay every time she moves, making it look like ripples of silver are holding the dress together. Byleth laughs and smiles warmly back at Hilda.

“This whole thing is incredible, Hilda. I think Dimitri may have to hire you as his Royal Party Planner once everything settles down.”

Hilda laughs and winks. “Well, anything to build up my resume, right?” She clears her throat. “Anyways, I have actually come with a message. Claude wanted to speak to you, but he said he hadn’t been able to locate you and I said he just hadn’t been trying hard enough.”

“Claude?” Byleth says, surprised.

“He said you’ll know where he is waiting. No idea what he wants to see you for though. Oh, there’s Marianne and Lorenz! Professor, you must excuse me!”

With that, Hilda is gone, darting off into the crowd again and Byleth knows exactly where Claude will be waiting.

- ~ -

“You always did know how to keep a guy waiting,” he says as she reaches the top of the stairway.

Byleth raises an eyebrow. “I could have not come,” she points out.

Claude shrugs. “Hilda’s persistent. She would have made you come, even if you hadn’t known where I would be.”

Byleth crosses the goddess tower to stand next to him on the balcony. The monastery looks beautiful below them, all lit up and lively. She smiles and leans forward, taking in every inch of it. After a moment, she looks back at Claude to find him watching her with a soft smile on his face.

“You’re staring,” she points out.

“I’ve got something worth staring at. You look beautiful, Byleth.”

Byleth feels her cheeks warm and she instinctively fiddles with a lock of hair by her ear. “Thank you.”

Claude watches her for another moment like he’s trying to memorize the moment. The light from below casts odd shadows on his eyes, but the green of them is dancing and absolutely mesmerizing.

Byleth finally breaks their eye contact and looks out over the monastery. “I know I have usually been the one to offer you advice, but I was hoping you might advise me on something,” she begins quietly.

“Anything.”

“Rhea asked me to become the archbishop when she steps down.”

Claude is silent for a moment as he processes. Then: “You should.”

Byleth turns to him, her brow furrowing. “How can you be so sure? You don’t even really believe in the goddess.”

Claude shrugs. “I may not, but there are thousands of people in Fódlan who do and they need a leader to look up to.” His grin widens into something more playful. “Besides, then I’ve still almost got my wish in having you lead the people, haven’t I?”

Byleth smiles despite herself. “You really think that it is worth it?”

“For all the good you could do for people? You can change the church into something better. Embrace differences, remove the power from Crests, and tell the right stories. You and Dimitri, you’ll have the opportunity to bring this land together and to prevent anything like what we went through from happening again.”

Byleth’s mind catches on the wording of his statement. “Me and Dimitri?” She faces him and touches his arm. “Claude, where are you in this situation?”

He inhales. “Ah, and here I was hoping to pull a fast one on you.”

“Claude,” she says, her tone firm.

Claude angles his body so that they are face-to-face completely. “Byleth, I love you,” he says and there is no lie in his voice. “I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone. When I first saw you, I wanted to use your power to my advantage. I wanted to use you to make my dream of a new world come through. But, after all that we’ve been through, I now know I just wanted to see that world come to be with you.”

He pauses and reaches into a pocket on his jacket. “I have something I want to give you.” He takes one of her hands and presses something into it.

Byleth uncurls her fingers and looks at what he has given her. It is a gold ring with an emerald set in it on a gold necklace chain. “Claude,” Byleth murmurs, her voice catching.

“Before you say anything, I have to explain something else,” he admits. “I have put the Fódlan blood in my veins to use as best as I can. I have more plans and dreams I wish to see through that require me to be elsewhere and I know, as much as it pains me, that you can’t be elsewhere right now.”

Byleth feels dizzy all of a sudden. The ring in her hand and the words he speaks seem to mean completely different things. “Claude,” she says firmly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you with everything that I am. But, I’m saying I need to leave and you need to stay.”

Byleth closes her eyes and breathes deeply. Her eyes burn with the warmth of tears. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Byleth, look at me.” She does. Claude cups her face with his hands. His gaze is so soft it nearly hurts. “I need you to stay and I need you to choose Dimitri. I need you two to build the Fódlan we have dreamed of seeing. I have to go home now and I have to make changes there, so this has to be it.”

“Can you tell me where ‘there’ is, at least?”

Claude chuckles and uses his thumb to wipe away a stray tear on her face. “You haven’t guessed yet? I thought Nader and the whole bit with Fódlan’s Throat had been clear enough.”

“Almyra,” she says quietly.

Claude doesn’t respond and leans forward until their foreheads are pressed together. He closes his eyes and just breathes for a long moment. Byleth raises her own hands to cup his face. She lets the ring he gave her rest against his cheek as neither of them moves.

“Why the ring?” she asks. “If you’re leaving and I can’t choose you, why did you give me this?”

“Because I am a sentimental fool,” he whispers. “And I will always love you and even if we are not together how I might have hoped, I hope you’ll keep me close to your heart through everything.”

“Put it on me?” she requests quietly. She leans back and pulls her hands from his face. She places the ring and chain in his hand and turns her back to him.

Claude brushes aside her hair and gently drapes the chain around before fastening it. She turns back to face him and places her hands on his collarbone. Claude slides his arms around her waist and he pulls her into a tight hug. Her arms lock around his neck and she presses her face against his warm skin, trying to memorize the feeling of him in her arms.

After a long, lingering moment, Claude shifts and presses a warm, heartfelt kiss to her temple. He hesitates to pull back and whispers to her:

“I love you. With everything that I am.”

He pulls back and steps out of her space. Byleth gets one more soft smile and a last glimpse of his troublemaker green-eyed gaze and then he’s stepping back into the shadows of the goddess tower and vanishing into the gloom.

Byleth presses a hand over the ring around her neck and closes her eyes. “A new dawn for all of us,” she whispers to the empty tower.

- ~ -

Byleth remains alone at the top of the goddess tower for what feels like an eternity. She stares out over the monastery and ponders Claude’s words, his confidence in her to change the world for the better. She thinks about Rhea’s request and the options she has in her future. She thinks about Sothis and what the goddess would have made of everything.

She thinks about her father and what he would have thought about the turmoil in her heart.

Her silence is interrupted by heavy, familiar footsteps. Byleth turns and sees Dimitri appear from the shadows. He looks handsome in fancy royal regalia and someone has obviously made an attempt to tame his long hair, pulling it mostly out of his face. He smiles when he sees her and steps towards her.

“Professor, I had been looking for you,” he says. “Claude told me you would be here.”

Byleth swallows and touches the ring around her neck unconsciously. “I’m sorry I was so hard to find.”

Dimitri’s gaze lands on the ring and he looks surprised for a moment. “Professor, did someone give you?” he leaves the question almost unfinished in his surprise and Byleth catches a tinge of sadness in his voice.

She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “No, it’s a token from a friend, that is all.” She drops her hand from her chest and reaches for his hand, pulling him to stand next to her. “Look at the monastery like this. It’s so beautiful.”

Dimitri doesn’t take his eyes off of her face. “Breathtaking,” he agrees.

Byleth feels her cheeks warm and she looks away from him shyly. “Did you want to speak with me about anything in particular?”

Dimitri laughs, low and gentle. “You know, I don’t know that myself. I suppose I was just seeking your company. You have a way of making me feel more like myself, especially in a room full of people.”

Byleth nods. “I know that feeling. I am glad you came to find me. I actually have something I wish to ask you.”

“Of course.”

“How do you know you are ready to be king of a united Fódlan? How do you know that what you do will be enough?”

Dimitri sighs. “In all honesty, I do not. I can only hope what we have accomplished in ending the war and routing Those Who Slither in the Dark and forging the relationships we have with Alliance and Empire citizens will be enough to start us down the right road. I do hope that the church will continue to stand with me as I move forward.”

“Rhea has asked me to become archbishop,” Byleth says abruptly.

Dimitri is surprised, but he touches her arm gently. “If you do not wish to accept the position, no one would blame you. You have earned a life of peace and quiet. That said, I would feel honoured if you would serve beside me to help me guide Fódlan to a new, brighter future.”

Byleth smiles softly. “A day ago, I would have rejected this offer, but now I feel I have gained some perspective on everything. When I accept, we will have the opportunity to make the best of this situation. We will have the chance to change the narrative and be the guardians of peace I have hoped would arise from this conflict. And,” she turns toward Dimitri, raising a hand to his cheek. “We would have time. Together.”

“Byleth,” Dimitri murmurs. He raises a hand and gently removes hers from his face and instead cradles it between his own hands. “These are the hands of a woman who has saved me countless times. You brought me back from the beast I had become and you helped ensure that this world would have a future to look forward to. We once walked it as a professor and a student and now we shall have the chance to walk it as an archbishop and a king.”

He holds her hand with one of his while the other reaches into a pocket on his jacket in a move that startlingly echoes Claude. He pulls out a silver ring set with two small diamonds and a larger sapphire.

“Byleth, you have been my ally through everything. I do not understand everything you have been through and those things that Rhea said, but I know you have been with me through everything. You may not have chosen to lead my house, but I believe you have led us all into this new age, regardless of that. You have been my ally through everything and I have come to find myself quite reliant on you. You are beloved to me and I hope that you might accept this offer to stand by me for a while longer.”

Byleth raises her other hand and touches Dimitri’s face. “Dimitri, if you doubted for a moment that I don’t love you, then you have been mistaken. I have loved you completely and agonizingly through everything.” She glances at the ring he holds.

“This was my mother’s ring,” he says quietly. “My mother, not Patricia. I had hoped you might accept it.”

Byleth feels herself smile softly. “My father gave me this,” she pauses to remove the beautiful silver ring she wears on her index finger, “and told me that one day he hoped I would give it to someone I loved just as he loved my mother.”

Dimitri’s eye widens in surprise. “Then,” he murmurs softly, trying to process what she is saying.

Byleth plucks the ring from his grip and swaps it with the one she had been wearing. “Dimitri, my love, surely I mustn’t need to spell it out for you.”

He exhales shakily and leans down to press their foreheads together. “My beloved, I had only hoped. I had been afraid for so long and knowing that you chose Claude and the way that he looks at you, it had made me fear for what connection I share with you.”

Byleth exhales shakily. “Dimitri, I will not lie to you. A part of me loves Claude very dearly. But, I cannot forget, nor shall I ever forget, that I loved you first. And I am choosing you.”

Dimitri pulls away just enough that she can see adoration and love glimmering in his eye. “And I will choose you until the day I die, my beloved.”

Byleth slides his ring onto her finger and then glides her hands up to rest on the sides of his face. “We have earned this peace and I intend to make the best of every moment.”

She pulls on him gently and he does not resist as he lowers his mouth to hers and kisses her. He is warm and solid against her as his arms slide around her waist and her arms drop behind his neck. Byleth feels warm from the tips of her fingertips to her toes. Her chest is singing.

Alive, her mind whispers. Alive and beautiful and mine.

And it is good.

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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 5 years ago

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19th May >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on John 16:5-11 for Tuesday, Sixth Week of Easter: ‘It is for your own good that I am going’.

Tuesday, Sixth Week of Easter

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

John 16:5-11

Unless I go, the Advocate will not come to you

Jesus said to his disciples:

‘Now I am going to the one who sent me.

Not one of you has asked, “Where are you going?”

Yet you are sad at heart because I have told you this.

Still, I must tell you the truth:

it is for your own good that I am going

because unless I go,

the Advocate will not come to you;

but if I do go,

I will send him to you.

And when he comes,

he will show the world how wrong it was,

about sin,

and about who was in the right,

and about judgement:

about sin: proved by their refusal to believe in me;

about who was in the right: proved by my going to the Father and your seeing me no more;

about judgement: proved by the prince of this world being already condemned.’

Gospel (USA)

John 16:5-11

For if I do not go, the Advocate will not come to you.

Jesus said to his disciples: “Now I am going to the one who sent me, and not one of you asks me, ‘Where are you going?’ But because I told you this, grief has filled your hearts. But I tell you the truth, it is better for you that I go. For if I do not go, the Advocate will not come to you. But if I go, I will send him to you. And when he comes he will convict the world in regard to sin and righteousness and condemnation: sin, because they do not believe in me; righteousness, because I am going to the Father and you will no longer see me; condemnation, because the ruler of this world has been condemned.”

Reflections (7)

(i) Tuesday, Sixth Week of Easter

In critical situations, such as the one we are presently experiencing, we can be very conscious of what we are losing. We sense the loss of a great deal that means so much to us. As a result, we can find ourselves, ‘sad at heart’ in the words of today’s gospel reading. There Jesus is speaking in a critical moment for himself and his disciples. It is the evening of the last supper, and the disciples are ‘sad at heart’ because they sense that they are losing Jesus. He is going from them and will not return. However, whereas Jesus does not deny the reality of their loss, he tries to show them that something worthwhile is coming out of this loss that wouldn’t otherwise happen. He says to them, ‘it is for your own good that I am going because unless I go, the Advocate will not come to you’. Jesus’ departure to his heavenly Father will make possible the sending of the Holy Spirit who will make Jesus present in a new and more wonderful way, not just to these disciples, but to disciples of every generation. Moreover, Jesus says, when the Advocate comes, he will go on the offensive against the opponents of Jesus and his disciples, proving these opponents wrong in their assessment of Jesus and his followers as sinners, and of themselves as being in the right, and, also, in their assessment that Jesus was been judged or condemned by God on the cross. In other words, when the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, comes, he will be a wonderful resource to the disciples, to the church. Yet, because the Advocate is the Spirit of the risen Lord, he cannot come unless Jesus returns to his Father through his death and resurrection. Jesus is assuring his disciples that great good will come out of the tragedy that is unfolding. That is the perspective we need to have on what is unfolding around us today. There is great tragedy in what is happening, and, yet, we can be confident that the risen Lord is working to bring some good out of this affliction. In today’s first reading, the affliction of Paul’s imprisonment led to the baptism of the jailer and his family. The Lord can work powerfully in situations where we feel powerless and helpless, if we give him the space to do so.

And/Or

(ii) Tuesday, Sixth Week of Easter

In this morning’s gospel reading, Jesus, on the night before he died, addresses himself to the sadness of the disciples. They are sad because they have heard him talk about going away. On this evening, full of foreboding, they sense that he is referring to his imminent death. We always experience sadness when someone who has been significant for us, someone we have loved and valued, is taken from us in death. We need to grieve the loss of our loved ones. Yet, Jesus wants to bring some light into the sadness, the darkness of spirit, of his disciples. He does so by assuring them that, in going from them, he will be able to do something for them that he would not otherwise be able to do. In returning to the Father, he will be able to send them the Advocate, the Paraclete, the Holy Spirit. In and through this Spirit, Jesus will be present to his disciples in a new and very intimate way, and he will be present in this manner not just to his disciples gathered with him that evening but to all future disciples, including ourselves gathered here this morning. Jesus’ death and his resurrection from the dead leads to the outpouring of the Holy Spirit upon us all, and, in and through the Spirit, Jesus is within us and among us. That same Spirit is with us in all our dark and difficult times, in all our times of painful loss. The Spirit assures us of the Lord’s loving presence at such moments, so that even in our sadness we can experience something of that joy which is the fruit of the Spirit.

And/Or

(iii) Tuesday, Sixth Week of Easter

In the gospel reading this morning, Jesus tells the disciples that when the Advocate, the Holy Spirit comes, he will show the world how wrong it was about sin, about who was in the right and about judgement. Those who were responsible for the death of Jesus concluded that Jesus must have been a sinner to have died in the way he did; his ignominious death showed that God had judged him. Therefore, those responsible for Jesus’ death thought that they were right to put this sinner to death. Jesus declares that the Holy Spirit will demonstrate that this unbelieving world is totally wrong in these assessments. Jesus was not a sinner; he was not judged by God; those who put him to death were not in the right. We see here the enormous disparity between God’s perception and human perception. The one whom God looked upon as a beloved Son, others looked upon as a sinner. The one whom vindicated was considered judged or condemned by God. Those who saw themselves as in the right were judged by God to be completely in the wrong. Our perspective can be very wide of the mark. We need to keep growing into God’s perspective, to see as God sees, to judge as God judges. It is the Holy Spirit, the Advocate, who gives us God’s perspective. It is the Holy Spirit who enables us to see as God sees, to know as God knows, to understand as God understands, to be wise in the way God is wise. That is why we desperately need the Holy Spirit to keep filling our hearts and our minds afresh.

And/Or

(iv) Tuesday, Sixth Week of Easter

In the gospel reading this morning, Jesus describes his disciples as ‘sad at heart’ because he had told them that he was going back to the one who sent him, God the Father. There are times in all our lives when we are ‘sad at heart’ for various reasons. Like the sadness of the disciples, our sadness too can be related to some experience of loss, the loss of someone who has been significant for us. Jesus understood the sadness of his disciples, yet, he wanted to show them that his leaving them had a value; it would open up his coming to them in a new and different way. He would come back to them in and through the coming of the Advocate, the Holy Spirit. In many respects, this second coming of Jesus would be more life-giving than his first coming. In and through the Spirit, the Lord would come to believers of every generation in every part of the world, to us here in Clontarf this morning. The disciples were experiencing a necessary loss, a loss that was in the service of a greater blessing. Many of our losses have the potential to be in the service of a greater blessing if we work through them with the help of the Holy Spirit whom the risen Lord sends to us.

And/Or

(v) Tuesday of Sixth Week of Easter

In the gospel reading Jesus declares that when the Advocate comes he will prove the world wrong about sin, about who was in the right, and about judgement. Those responsible for having Jesus crucified presumed that he was the sinner, the breaker of God’s law, and that they, the defenders of God’s law,were in the right; they also presumed that Jesus’ crucifixion demonstrated God had judged him, condemned him. The Holy Spirit at work among the disciples would demonstrate, however, that Jesus was in the right, having been vindicated by God beyond death, and those who crucified him were the sinners, having rejected God’s only Son. Human estimations as to who is in tune with God and who is a sinner can be wide of the mark. Left to our own devices, we can so easily get things wrong. We need the Holy Spirit to enlighten us, to teach us, to help us see things from God’s perspective and not just our own. Sometimes what the Spirit tries to show us is something we don’t really want to see. We make our judgements, and we tend to hold on to them. Yet, we need to listen to what the Spirit may be saying to us. We need the deeper picture that only the Holy Spirit can give us.

And/Or

(vi) Tuesday, Sixth Week of Easter

In this morning’s gospel reading, Jesus explains to his disciples that his leaving them will ultimately be to their advantage. Although they will experience a great loss at no longer being able to see Jesus’ bodily presence, this loss will make possible a greater good. In going back to the Father, Jesus will send the Holy Spirit and through the Spirit he will be present in a new way to his disciples and to disciples of every generation. The experience of loss will be life-giving because Jesus’ going away will result in a new coming. Jesus’ departure is a necessary loss if God’s purposes are to be realized. It is often the way in life that we find ourselves having to deal with certain necessary losses, losses that are unavoidable and that are somehow part of God’s purpose for our lives. At the time, such losses can be very painful, but over time we can begin to see some new life emerging out of the loss. The going away that the loss entails can often give way to a new coming, a new birth, new life. The gospel reading this morning invites us to trust that the Lord can and will bring good out of the losses we have to suffer in the course of our lives.

And/Or

(vii) Tuesday, Sixth Week of Easter

Departures can be sad affairs. Many are the tears that are shed at airports. The most difficult of all departures is the death of a loved one and that particular experience of departure brings its own very particular form of sadness. In the gospel reading this morning Jesus acknowledges the sadness of his disciples because of his imminent departure. ‘You are sad at heart’, Jesus said to them. They are sad because Jesus had been saying, ‘I am going to the one who sent me’. On the evening before Jesus was crucified, the disciples were aware that Jesus was taking his leave of them and sadness filled their hearts. Yet, Jesus wants his disciples to see that his departure is not the tragedy it appears to be; it contains within it the seeds of new life. It is only his departure that makes it possible for him to send the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, to his disciples, and it is in and through the Spirit that Jesus can be present to them in a new way. To that extent, as Jesus says to them, ‘it is for your own good that I am going’. In our own day to day experience the pain of letting go can be the birth pangs of a new and fuller life. As we face into our own necessary losses, we will experience the Lord’s coming in new ways.

Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland.

Email: [email protected] or [email protected]

Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ie Please join us via our webcam.

Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC.

Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf.

Tumblr: Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin.

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the-gongoozler · 5 years ago

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POST-TROS Trilogy reactions, my own opinions.

I just saw The Rise of Skywalker. These are my opinions as someone who doesn’t follow any of the actors (besides Adam Driver’s charity because that’s something I wrote a paper on) or fandom drama (racism! sexism! something happened with John Boyega?)

Preface: I don’t need outrage. I don’t care. I will block you if you’re rude, period. This is my opinion and I am not a crazy fan, I just watch the movies about once a year and I enjoy every single one of them. I loved The Rise of Skywalker and found it to be a fantastic full circle for the entire 9 movie series as well as the trilogy. Don’t need any negative vibes, thank you :)

Ben Solo

I really enjoyed Ben Solo. It felt like the point of the series was the redemption arc of Ben Solo. It was a symbolic repeat of Anakin/Vader’s story line. Anakin was alone, taught by masters, tempted by the dark side, and then turned into a completely separate man. They both came back to themselves in time to save the day, but there is a massively key difference. Darth Vader is not Anakin, he is the darkness that lives inside of Anakin (and everyone has this darkness). Kylo Ren was the corrupted Ben Solo, but he never got the foothold in Ben’s psyche that Vader got in Anakin’s. Anakin was controlled by Vader completely whereas Kylo Ren never had complete control over Ben (first example I can think of: He didn’t shoot Leia when he had the opportunity to kill her). In the body of Anakin Skywalker, there is only Vader, whereas Ben’s body has two battling minds: Ben v. Kylo Ren.

What I found really really cool was that Rey killed Kylo Ren. On the Death Star II in IX, where Darth Vader died in VI, Kylo Ren dies when he is stabbed by Rey. Then, with Rey’s help, Ben Solo is reborn as the only mind in his body. He was healed by light and love and then told that if he was just Ben Solo, she would have taken his hand. If he hadn’t thought that he needed the Dark Side to be whole, he might have had everything that he could possibly hope for (romantic love, familial love, a future, power).

The tragedy of Ben Solo is that Luke saw him tempted by darkness and accidentally pushed him toward the darkness. If Luke had talked to him, expressed love and understanding instead of fear, then Ben Solo would never have been controlled by Kylo Ren. Instead, he fell and was corrupted only to be brought back by someone truly understanding him (which, other than through unstoppable access to his deepest thoughts,would have never happened) and then choosing to love him because of that understanding. Ben didn’t have to bring Rey back, he could have just mourned her and disappeared to live his life, but he was driven to sacrifice himself by the love he felt for Rey.

I am a HUGE fan of a redemption arc and I think they pulled it off beautifully for him. His last words ever spoken (while holding Rey’s lifeless body) were “Can you hear me? Hold on.” The instant recognition of his goodness by Rey, the smile on his face when he saw the result of his sacrifice, and then their kiss (a recognition of his return to himself) was honestly just... it was achingly gorgeous. I really liked the film.

Rey

A strong force wielder, a mechanic, a scavenger, and an orphan. She kicks ass, she takes names, and she is the strongest Jedi the world has ever seen. Love her.

Finn

Finn is cool in VII and IX. He was funny, smart, and helpful in the first and last of the trilogy, both playing a stand alone and serious character while providing good comic relief. I also really appreciate the platonic nature of the relationship between him and Rey, something that could have turned romantic. He’s a good soldier and he found his way out of the ranks of the Storm Troopers on his own. He’s obviously less developed in VII because it’s the first movie, but he’s generally a nice guy (not a Nice Guy) and I was excited to see more from him. I loved his connection to BB-8 and Poe immediately.

In VIII, he did more harm than good. Had he not disobeyed orders and left the ship, less people would have died. He left the ship, freed that guy from jail, then that guy gave the plans away and made the bad guys aware of the escaping ships that they otherwise would have missed. If Finn had stayed put, those ships would have escaped. It was a failure in writing and his character would have been better served by not even being in the movie. His near-sacrifice didn’t even make sense to me? He would have been obliterated by the laser before he could have reached it anyway? Give him something more epic, thank you please.

Then, IX. He kicked ass. I don’t know what he was going to say to Rey, but everything he said to Poe was golden. They are a great duo and I enjoyed every moment they interacted. He was a good friend and he tried to keep his group together (mostly having to go after Rey when she was being a stubborn brick wall). I mean, Rey made it to the Death Star because she had a lot of experience with machinery and the force. He did it by sheer “I gotta save this dumbass” willpower. He had a similar energy to Steve Harrington in Stranger Things (”mommy steve”).

Poe Dameron

Love him. No complaints. He was Han Solo but less brash and more funny. He was funny as shit and I enjoyed him from the first moment we saw him. I really wish he was in more of the trilogy, but the parts that he was in were great. Him and Finn kicked some serious ass. I love the way that he incorporated Finn into his family unit immediately and then again with Rey. He is a dedicated and headstrong and funny pilot. That’s it.

Rose

Tbh, I don’t care too much about her? I just disliked everything she did/was involved in in VIII and the way she was introduced was mishandled, really. She was 100x better in IX and I definitely cared about her more. Her introduction felt rushed and forced and she was a big character before I cared about her at all, then she was put into the worst plot line in the whole series (discussed in the Finn section). I think that they could do more with her, but I don’t mind if they don’t.

Luke Skywalker

His whole thing was kinda bullshit? He was the catalyst for the birth of Kylo Ren, he abandoned the galaxy when it needed him most, and he wasn’t gay- those pussies. I didn’t like when he yeeted his light saber, it felt disrespectful. I didn’t like the way he died. I did like his personality and the way that he dusted off when Kylo Ren shot him all those times.

Leia Organa

People I’ve talked to keep bitching about her using the force and like... what? She was always force sensitive and she had a long time to learn between series. Plus, she lived with or around Luke for a long time before he decided to fuck off into a corner of the galaxy. She was a general and a Jedi and a gorgeously perfect woman. I also love the way that she was always ready to give her son another chance. The only way to get someone to come back is to tell them they are welcome and no matter what he did (HAN SOLO) she could always accept him if he changed. Adore.

Han Solo

He was also ready to help his son, if it was necessary. He had faith that Ben could do what needed to be done. Also, the version of him that is in Ben’s memories is so sweet and fantastic. I loved that little bit. When Ben calls him “dad”?? my heart melted. Plus, his mentorship of Rey combined with him and Chewie’s interactions? God, he’s cool.

I didn’t like that he was so dispassionate though. That was bothersome, I would have thought he would have been more for-the-cause since he was connected to the rebellion the whole damn time. It would have been cool to have him havea moment where you saw that change.

Chewbacca, R2-D2, C3-PO, BB-8, and D-O

Obviously fantastic?

General Hux

rat bastard

Snoke

Weird thumb man

Palpatine

Aggressive tickle monster

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Another note-

Rey/Ben

I saw it coming the moment I watched VII. I really enjoyed it. They both were so closed off to the world and so horribly alone for various reasons, both in and out of their control. They were tempted by the dark side and anger and hurt and betrayal. They were scared of their own burgeoning power. Where Rey’s powers and temptation were met with support, Ben was met with fear. That drove him down.

Because of their force bond, they were literally soul mates. Not in a romantic way! They literally were made with an unbreakable connection through the force and that allowed them to speak and know the depths of their hidden thoughts and desires and fears. Ben knew Rey better than anyone else did and better than he knew anyone else, the same is true in reverse.

Rey could see the dual nature of his mind and understood his struggle. She knew Ben Solo and she knew Kylo Ren. She also recognized that it was his fight to win and that all she could do was offer her hand to take if he wanted it. She admitted outright that she would have stayed with him had he been just Ben Solo when he offered her a place by his side. She was in love with Ben Solo as soon as she knew him and that was shown very explicitly in that moment by the fire, when they were both vulnerable and curious. In the moments that he was Ben, she would reach out to him. When he was Kylo, she had no interest.

I love that she had no interest in Kylo Ren. She wasn’t about to stick around and fix him, that was his job. This sort of draws the line between physical attraction or shallow attraction and the true bond that she had with Ben Solo. She wasn’t drawn to him out of interest, she loved him and understood him and was not going to be tricked by that love into falling for Kylo Ren. Super strong choice for her and it goes against a lot of Enemies to Lovers tropes.

When she stabs him, she kills Kylo Ren. When she heals him, she revives Ben Solo. She all but says that she loves Ben and that provides the momentum that he needs to move forward. She held out her hand one last time by saying that she would have stayed with Ben, then escapes for her own safety and the safety of the Rebels in case he makes the wrong decision once again.

Then the fight scene where she transfers him the saber? The way that he limps over to her and hold her in his arms? The way he smiles when he looks at her beautiful lively eyes? The kiss that said “You saved my life/I’m so proud of you/You are the only person in my entire life that truly understands me” on both parts? Gawjus.

#Reylo #TROS #Star Wars #Kylo Ren #Rey #Ben Solo #TROS spoilers #The Rise of Skywalker #TROS positivity

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the-lightning-strikes-again · 6 years ago

Note

Hello. I'm Dasha from ao3. As you say, you opened reguests, so i ask a Lion King (first and second cartoons) for Lotor's movies might. Thank you.

Movie Time With TSL Lotor: The Lion King I (1994) and II (1998)Edition

“And this,” Lotor was saying, leaning his elbows against thepillow in his lap, “is another Disney movie, yes?”

Pidge sat on the floor beside the couch, flanked by both Hunkand Lance. “Yep.” The image of the movie’s cover flashed onto the main screen,revealing an image of a hand-drawn lion and the title The Lion King.

Lotor’s white brow quirked. “Strange,” he murmured. “Are youcertain we did not already watch this? What was that children’s programming youintroduced me to earlier…” He snapped his fingers a few times to jog hismemory. “The White Lion, with Kimba.”

“A separate cartoon, but uh, yeah. Lions, man.” Hunk laughednervously. “They’re everywhere.”

Lotor hummed. “I am beginning to think so as well.” Heleaned his cheek in his hand curiously, narrowing his eyes. “Regardless, knowingthat this is Disney, I can assume with a particular level of certainty that theprotagonist is a young one whose parent or parents are in a tragedy of sorts. Thestory will undoubtably pull my heartstrings in some way, regale me with song,and then round back to a message of hope or self-discovery. Does that aboutcover it?”

The three young paladins paused and looked at each other.Lance scratched his chin and said, “Yeah, that’s about right. Way to spoil it,dude.”

The prince shrugged in a light humor. “I enjoy sensiblepatterns.”

But as the movie began, an inspiring call of song rosethroughout the hall. Lotor’s brows raised in interest of the sound, which wasdifferent from the other music he had so far heard from the planet Earth.

Pidge then turned to Lance and whispered, “Ten bucks saysAllura’s gonna fly through that door any second.”

Lotor’s ear flicked, caught between listening to the wondrousmusic and the paladins’ whispering.

Lance whispered back, “I’m so not taking that bet. She’sprobably already in the hall. I give her like, five seconds.”

“I give her three.”

Just then, Allura slammed open the door, eyes wide in a franticexcitement. “Lions!” she called. “Oh, this is The Lion King, how dare you all watch something about lions withoutme. Honestly, the nerve. You know I love lions.”

All four sets of eyes stared up at her—with Lotor’s beingthe widest.

Allura swept in, her regal dress and perfectly set curlsflaring behind her. And then she, with an upmost lack of regality, flopped ontothe couch opposite Lotor. She dared to stretch her slippered feet out, to theprince’s surprise. He stared down in shock, face flushing, as he realized thatshe had propped her feet right into his lap as if such things were perfectly ordinary.

“I…was sittinghere, princess,” he strangled out lightly.

The tips of her slippers wiggled in excitement, the goldthreads catching the light upon the pillow. “And now I am too. I cannot say noto The Lion King.”

Lotor swallowed hard as he gazed upon her excited face.

Hunk broke his maddening race to think of something to say.

“You’ve seen this, like, four times,” Hunk called to Allura.“So we kinda figured maybe you’d be bored or something.”

The princess gasped, raising a hand to her chest. “Never.This movie is precious. And it has talking lions. I could not ask for more.”

Lotor hesitantly leaned his arms over Allura’s calves insearch of a comfortable position. He had seen the paladins flop over oneanother often—with Pidge falling asleep on top of Lance, Hunk leaning his headagainst Keith’s shoulder, and even Shiro dog-piling on top of them all once in thename of claiming the couch. Such actions were, Lotor believed, signs of deepcamaraderie.

He wondered if Allura’s candid movements were a sign ofincreased trust. He felt a rising sun in his chest at the thought, and theglimmer of stars bursting in his lungs when she did not move away but wiggled abit in all her finery to get comfortable for the rest of the movie.

He could feel her warmth through the fabric of theirclothes.

“If you all must know,” she declared airily, “Nala is my favoritecharacter.”

Lance deadpanned, voice light, “Would have never guessed.”

“Oh, hush, you. Your favorite characters are the laughinghyenas.”

“Hey, those hyenas are legit,alright?”

Lotor’s lips twitched, knowing at a certain point that thepaladins were growing careless in their discussions of spoilers.

——

As the movie progressed, Lotor’s merry smile turned to a suspended,thoughtful expression. The character of Simba was such a curious thing. Like him.But not like him.

The relationship he had with his father was something thatLotor almost felt envious of.

“You are more thanwhat you have become,” said the cosmic Mufasa. “You must take your place in the circle of life.”

Simba returned helplessly, “How can I go back? I’m not who I used to be.”

“Remember who you are.You are my son, and the one true king.”

Lotor felt chills down his body in an odd way, and for a time,he completely disengaged from the movie at the statement.

You are my son, andthe one true king.

He looked down at his emaciated hands. Despite eating enoughfor three people, he was still struggling to regain who he had once been. Helooked up.

“Going back means I’llhave to face my past,” Simba was saying to Rafiki on the screen.

“You can either runfrom it, or learn from it.” And then the baboon took a swipe at Simba withhis staff, and the young lion avoided the strike.

Lotor’s eyes widened in surprise, his previous thoughts fading to the back of his mind. “Ah, I know this tactic.How familiar and strange to see it here. Friends, this is the Galran way of the palen-bol.Learning from pain so that you may avoid it.“

Hunk’s eyes slid to his. “Ah, yeah, I’ve heard about palen-bol.Interesting stuff.” He laughed nervously.

The prince raised his chin in a quiet delight, to seehimself—somehow, a merrier version of his own people—in the movie.

—-

As it turned out, one movie about lions merged into two, the story continuing with Simba ruling over Pride Rock. Lotor was leaningforward now, brows furrowed in increased interest. So far, he had never seen asequel to a movie. He had not known that humans continued their stories onoccasion.

Now that Simba had ascended and claimed the throne of hisfather, what else was there to his story?

And then, after a short time, Lotor’s furrowed brows relaxed. “Ah, I see wherethe plot is going. This is a romance, with a forbidden element per Scar beingoutcast in the first movie.”

Lance waved his hand. “Romeo and Juliet style, with a lil’lion razzle dazzle thrown in for fun.”

Pidge cut in then. “Except they don’t die in the end.”

Hunk waved his hand and deadpanned, “I mean, nobody’s that heartless with a kid’s show, right? You can totally tell this is going somewhere good.”

Lotor leaned forward, lightly squishing against Allura’slegs as he grabbed for one of the rolls Hunk had so kindly grabbed from thekitchen. The princess herself had fallen asleep at some point toward the end ofthe first movie—her acts of diplomacy across the Coaltion often exhausted her—andshe grumped lightly at his movements.

Lotor stilled for a moment before hooking his claws into aroll, carefully leaning back. “At least,” he murmured, “a benefit of spoilersis knowing what I’m getting into. I can feel the themes of prejudice in thisstory. I should hate for it to end poorly.”

It was around then that Keith walked in, somewhat dead-eyedfrom a nap. He took one look at the movie screen and groaned. “Seriously, guys?This movie again?”

Lance raised his nose. “It’s a totally valid movie, Keef.”

“It’s so cliché,” the older boy moaned. “Just a dumbromance.” He turned to Lotor and added, “Seriously, if you ever wanna watchreal movies again, just—”

Lotor lightly set his roll aside and leaned down to clap hishands over Pidge’s ears. “—Best not to speak such criticism before the children,”he called merrily. “They are impressionable.” Pidge squawked. The movements wokeup a bleary-eyed Princess Allura, who found herself staring at the side-profileof a Lotor who was smiling without reservation, his lips wide.

The princess blinked several times at the image.

Her heart skipped, the sleep wearing away from her as sherealized that Lotor had her feet quite pinned between his lap and his chest.

Lotor seemed to sense her waking state. “Apologies, princess,”he murmured to her, still holding his hands strong to Pidge’s ears while Keithcomplained about the movie. “I believe we are all engaging in…play of somekind.”

Allura rubbed her eyes and giggled a bit. “It sounds likeit.” Her sleep-rough voice softened. “It is such a merry sound, though.”

And on the screen, one Kiara and Kovu stared at each otherin close proximity, awkwardly brushing off their increasing attraction.

Lotor turned to her, a quizzical arch in his brow despitehis merriment. “You would speak so highly of our chaos?”

“Always,” she said softly. And then she teasingly poked her slipperedtoe against his side.

The prince’s eyes widened as a noise escaped him. For a second,he grew very still. Then he slipped his hands away from Pidge’s ears to graspfor Allura’s foot. “Princess,” he said, voice strained. “You should know I amticklish.”

“I’m not sure you should admit to that around here,” shesaid merrily, still a bit sleepy in her eyes with a lazy smile stretching herfull lips.

He could not help himself.

Without warning, he ran his finger up the flat of her foot.

She squealed, eyes widening as she jerked her feet closer toher, her skirts slipping up her calves. “Oh, what a dirty trick!”

“On the contrary,” he said lightly. “Now I know you areticklish as well.”

Allura forced herself to sit up, her face flushing brightlyas she hid her feet well beneath the long length of her skirts, giving him adirty glare. “Well. At least I know we are evenly matched.”

A glimmer of a smile danced in his eyes. “For all ourdifferences, princess, I fear I must agree with you.”

And back on the floor, Hunk whispered to Pidge and Lance,jerking his thumb up, “You guys getting Kiara and Kovu vibes from these two orwhat.”

“Oh, man. Totally.”

“Not even a question.” Pidge rubbed her ear where Lotor hadlightly muffled her hearing with his hands. “But I worry about what that makesus.”

#Movie Time With TSL Lotor #Lotor #Allura #Lotura #Pidge #Hunk #Lance #Keith #Thanks for the request Dasha!#I hope you enjoy it!#this ended up a bit happier than I thought it would haha #it's hard to get the paladins to just watch a movie #i had fun writing this though #After so many movies Lotor must be feeling more at home with the paladins #my writings

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dndeviants · 6 years ago

Text

Carriage Ride to Vallaki

Linda entered the carriage after Ireena and Ismark entered. The interior was just as black as the outside and it made her very disoriented for a few minutes, right before Vasili lit the lamps on the wall. With warm candlelight now within, Linda could see that the carriage was large enough to fit a large party of people, around eight or so, with benches topped with plush velvet seats, and small pillows for support. Built into the sides were slabs of wood that could be used as tables. Ireena and Ismark sat next to each other, opposite of Linda and Vasili. They rode on to Vallaki...

"Even though the lights are on now, I still can't see much...” Ireena muttered, “...and it must be noon now... this carriage really does block out a lot of light."

Vasili shrugged, "It is probably because it was commissioned by Lord Strahd for his own travels. We all know how... inconvenient daylight is for vampires."

Ismark snorted, "Yeah, fatally inconvenient."

Ireena nodded, "When we get to Vallaki, we can go to the cathedral? The Father there is... stable, right?" She looked to Vasili with concern.

Vasili nodded, "The last time I checked he was. He still holds active communion."

"We should meet up with Aric first," Linda suggested.

"I agree,” said Ismark, “The more familiar faces the better. I only visited Vallaki once when I was a boy, and Ireena has never been."

"Good to know I am not the only one,” Linda smiled encouragingly at Ireena before delving into the book, Barovia and its Histories...

Pre-Conquest: The Tergish Invasion and the Twenty-Eight Years War (Years 320-348)

Before the rule of Strahd von Zarovich the First, Barovia was a territory belonging to Barov von Zarovich, a foreign King. However, in the year 320, a group of peoples known as the Tergs invaded Barovia, quickly overrunning the pitiful amount of garrisons established by Barov and his predecessors. Since Barov was too old to fight, re-conquest of the territory fell to his eldest son, Strahd von Zarovich.

Strahd von Zarovich was only 21 at the time of the invasion, but already a highly decorated general, known for his cunning mind and his strategies that had led to a decisive victory in a civil war from his own homelands known as the War of Silver Knives. Strahd had developed the strategy that would quiet the rival households at only age 17, and solidify his father's rule over the various territories. Strahd was a natural choice for leading the many armies to victory as they went to liberate Barovia from the Tergs.

However, this was not a quick war. The Tergs had advantages on almost every front as they had more advanced technology than that of Strahd's army, as well as more military power, and more men. In order to combat these disadvantages, it was up to Strahd to compensate, as political turmoil in his homeland limited what he could do. The first few years of the war were very bitter, and led to more stalemates than victories. Strahd instructed his armies to work in small groups, raid, and disrupt the Tergish operations. During this time, the guerrilla tactics used earned him the nickname of 'The Devil' by the Tergs, and they grew to fear his nighttime raids and attacks on their camps.

Strahd was also known as being a ruthless leader for his own armies. Records show that Strahd had at one point rounded up deserters and suspected traitors and had them impaled in the fields to serve as an example to the rest of his army. It is said that this first act of uncharacteristic ruthlessness towards his own men had given him the reputation of being a devil for the Barovians as well.

The first light of hope for Strahd was during the year 326, when his army liberated the town of Krezk from the Tergs in the battle known as the Siege of Krezk. The Siege of Krezk took one fortnight to pull off in its entirety, as the armies of Strahd had cut off trade with the town, along with bombarding the palisades with catapults and fire...

However, this was a mere distraction. Strahd himself along with a few elite soldiers, namely Reinhold Dilisnya and Gunther Cosco, disguised themselves as Tergs and infiltrated the town, armed the citizens of Krezk, and staged a rebellion against the occupiers. It was the success of the Seige of Krezk and arming common citizens that inspired Strahd to make revolutionary changes in military structure. No longer were his military commanders solely from the noble ranks, but included commoners of great skill, along with women.

Under Strahd's command, women and commonfolk were trained as warriors, and some even rose through the ranks. Strahd kept Krezk as his stronghold for most of the remainder of the war, building up its defenses before continuing the invasion. During the years it took to fortify Krezk, Strahd vowed to not leave Barovia until the war had been won. Strahd resumed his conquest with a far larger and disciplined army than he had started. In the Year 340, he had over half of Barovia under his control. But another setback occurred in the year 342, when the Order of the Silver Dragon attacked his army, forfeiting the Order's claim of neutrality. The Order was defeated in the year 345, when the Order's silver dragon was slain by Strahd. However, tragedy struck the same year, when King Barov and Queen Ravenovia were assassinated by the hands of a Tergish Assassin. Strahd carried on with the war, and defeated the Tergs at their stronghold in Dorian's Keep, which was rebuilt into Castle Ravenloft, which completed its construction in the year 348.

"Does anyone know anything else about these 'Tergs'? What all was involved with their invasion?" Linda looked up from the book, curiously.

Ireena shook her head, "It is only something that ever gets briefly mentioned, if ever."

Ismark offered his knowledge, "Well I think Pa researched them and found that they were a desert people that came in from the Southern Border when they invaded. They came for Barovia's resources, mainly fresh water, coal, silver, pine logs... necessary things for civilization. They were like any other empire trying to expand. But the invasion was terrible for the native Barovians because they dismantled our religious foundations, imposed strict laws, and carried out a ton of abuses which included press-ganging the Barovians into slavery."

Vasili was visibly impressed, "Yes, exactly so. And if I may add, the Tergs also had developed technologies that allowed them to take Barovia and defend it for as long as they did. Advancements not only in war machines, but in medicine and magic as well. That part gets glazed over in many historic recountings. They had wheeled vehicles that could traverse rocky ground, with slats for going over sand, which also worked for ice. They ought to be praised for their mechanical ingenuity... but their crimes against the people were abhorrent."

"Hm. So that's why the war lasted so long,” Linda took some time to reflect on the new information, then continued to read.

Reign of Strahd I: Years 348-400

The first years of Strahd I were tumultuous and full of bloodshed. Strahd beheaded many of the village burgomasters on charges of theft and corruption in order to set an example to his people, as he was not content to live in his own homelands as King. He kept Barovia as his new capital, and displaced several of the nobility and boyars, including his own brothers, Sturm and Sergei von Zarovich. Sturm remained in the homelands, but Sergei von Zarovich moved to Castle Ravenloft in the year 350, with the corpses of Barov and Ravenovia in order to be interred in the tombs of Castle Ravenloft.

In the year 351, the Wedding Massacre took place. A wedding was to be held between Sergei and Tatayana Federovna, however many of the nobility, including Sergei and Tatayana herself were murdered that night. It is not entirely clear the reason why. Many theorize that Strahd himself initiated the massacre in order to quell the growing discontent with the nobility, and to limit the possibility of heirs to the Von Zarovich line. However, none of this has been confirmed.

Linda blinked and looked up, "So, this Wedding Massacre... is there anything more about what happened? What theories? Who survived?"

The siblings shook their heads apologetically and looked to Vasili. Linda turned to face him as well.

Vasili folded his hands and closed his eyes, concentrating, "Truth be told, my memory is a little foggy on the subject... but if I recall correctly... I believe that only a few members of the Wedding Massacre survived... namely the patron of the Wachter household, his daughter... and a priestess. Everyone else was murdered, or disappeared. As far as theories... many believe Strahd killed the guests, but I am not certain that is the case."

"Does this Wachter household still have a surviving lineage?" Linda asked.

Vasili nodded and held up a finger, "Actually, they are one of the noble families of Vallaki. They have property within the town, near my own residence."

"I would like to meet them, then," she finished up the last part:

The remainder of Strahd I's reign was quiet. When he died in the year 400 at the age of 101, his corpse was paraded around Barovia for national mourning by his nephew, Grigori von Zarovich, who changed his name to Strahd II in his honor. After the period of mourning was over, Strahd I was interred in the tombs of Castle Ravenloft beside his parents.

Linda laughed a little bit, “Hah, what an incredible cover-up...” she mused, thinking about the vampire must have enjoyed his funeral parade. She returned to reading...

Reign of Strahd II: Years 400-475

Strahd II kept much of the same policies as his predecessor, maintaining a strict rule, but also allowing many of the villages to decide amongst themselves how to handle their own justice. Strangely, during this time, the Vistani had reappeared in Barovia for the first time in many decades since their banishment by Barov. In the year 445, the Vistani swear fealty to the von Zarovich line.

In the year 424, Strahd II marries Georgina von Ilyona, who produces a son in the year 430, and dies in childbirth.

Strahd II died in the year 475 at the age of 99, and was succeeded by his son, Strahd III. This solidified the naming tradition as was common in Barovia, and still is to this day.

"These policies...?” Linda looked to her companions, “What are the laws of Barovia? And who are these Vistani?"

Ireena tilted her head,"The laws? What part of them? Civil? Taxes? Punishment?"

Linda made a broad gesture, "All of them."

Ismark began to list, "Laws of the land are that Strahd is supreme ruler of all Barovia. All those that live here are serfs. We have boyars, who are able to own- or I should say manage- the lands for Lord Strahd. And the Nobles are granted even greater management responsibility. Civil laws are very simple. There is no murder, thievery, assault, rape, fraud, et cetera.... and then Punishment is simpler. If you break the law, you die. Certain goods are taxed at certain rates, and these rates are fixed."

Linda’s eyes widen at the thought of death for every crime, "Alright... that's archaic... and the Vistani?"

“Well...” Ireena shrugs, “they are a kind of nomadic and trading people, but they also have a kind of strange power that is both magic... and not magic at the same time. They are the only ones who can leave the mists."

Ismark raised a palm, "They are also spies for Lord Strahd, and will sell your secrets to him."

"Alright... good to know..." Linda looked to Vasili.

Vasili made a flippant gesture, "It's just one of the things they can do for Lord Strahd in exchange for them staying here. They- and Lord Strahd- don't actually care about your secrets. They only care if someone is actively planning an attack... not gossip about someone's auntie or anything like that."

Linda nodded and returned to reading.

Reign of Strahd III: Years 475-530

The reign of Strahd III is marked by harsh treatment of the boyars in his own land, and a surge of immigration from foreign lands. For most of Strahd III's reign, he kept the company of an Elvish man, Jander Sunstar, until the elf's death in the year 500.

In the year 501, two rival houses, the Petkovs, and the Cheknyas raised armies against each other in order to settle the feud. However, this was not taken lightly by Strahd III, and he had agents slay each member of the households, and impale their high-ranking sympathizers as a warning against civil war.

In the year 503, Strahd III married Gertrude von Trak and has a son, Strahd IV. Gertrude passes away in 513.

In the year 530, at the age of 100, Strahd III decided to formally relinquish command to his son, Strahd IV.

"Alright... murder... that's nice....”

Reign of Strahd IV: Years 530-579, the War Against Azalin.

Strahd IV married Nilya von Katarina in the year 530, and had a son, Strahd V in the year 535. Strahd III died in the year 535, quietly and out of the public eye.Five years later, Nilya bore a second son, Barov. Strahd IV had a more peaceful beginning to his rule, but it was disturbed when a lich masquerading as a mage made himself a guest of Strahd in Barovia in the year 542.

Azalin, as the lich was known, was a terror to the commonfolk, which Strahd made his duty to appease and contain, even going so far to shield his own subjects from the "mage's" wrath. In the year 575, Azalin slipped through Strahd IV's grasp, and conquered neighboring Darkon, and declared war against Barovia.

Strahd IV formally relinquished command of his army to his son Strahd V, who was a brilliant tactician and strategist. Strahd IV passed away only four years into the war.

"A lich...? Oh, a war..."

Reign of Strahd V: Years 579-583, The War Against Azalin continues.

The reign of Strahd the fifth was the shortest reign of all of the von Zarovich's, due to the tragic end of the War Against Azalin. Strahd the V was described as being an honorable mage, who used most of the magic he learned under the lich's tutelage in order to protect the Barovian people from the very same monster. During the war, he had placed Aldrick Wachter as his second in command, and the both of them fended off hordes of the lich's undead, werewolves, and even the dreaded vampires.

The turning point of the war was when Strahd V discovered how to magically close the borders between Darkon and Barovia, but unfortunately, both Strahd V and Aldrick Wachter died in the process. A period of national mourning lasted for well over a year.

Strahd VI, who was 48 at the time, took over a quiet and peaceful rule.

Linda nodded a bit, “Strahd is the hero? Ah, him and a guy named Wachter. Yes, I must meet these people."

Reign of Strahd VI: 583-600

Another tragically short reign was that of Strahd VI, who was a peaceful and great ruler, allowing villages to flourish, and trade between the realms led to economic prosperity for the poor peoples of Barovia. During his rulership, much of Barovia was rebuilt and fortified after the high costs of the War Against Azalin.

However, in the year 600, at the age of 65, Strahd VI grew deathly ill very suddenly, and his brother, Barov, claimed the throne and renamed himself Strahd VII, at the age of 60.

It has long been suspected that Barov murdered his brother, but that has yet to be proven.

Reign of Strahd VII: Years 600-628

The rule of Strahd VII was noted as being a reign of terror throughout all of Barovia. Not only were the taxes harsher on its citizens, but public executions of criminals rose, along with accusations of treason from prominent noble houses. During his reign, many boyar families were driven to poverty or made extinct. Worse still, Strahd VII was a mage who had used magic to extend his mortal life. It seemed that the harsh and tyrannical rule would continue for lifetimes, until a group of foreign adventurers came to Barovia. Venine, a half-elven warrior, and his band of friends, Luska (a human cleric), Beatrice (a human rogue), Clyde Coppershins (a dwarf paladin), and Many-Scales (a dragonborne mage) came to Barovia from another world, and set to liberate it from the tyrant. Sadly, Venine was slain, along with Clyde and Beatrice, but the heroes managed to dethrone the corrupt mage lord, and undo many of his foul enchantments on Barovia, allowing many to escape.

There was a period of time where those remaining in Barovia were questioning who would lead them, until Strahd VIII mysteriously appeared and claimed the throne.

"Wait... Venine? A half-elf? Slain?" Linda’s heart raced and pounded, "I know this Venine! I... I killed him, actually..."

The siblings looked at Linda, confused, and Vasili tilted his head, perplexed, "But I had thought that he was already dead- at least according to the histories... how do you know this... man?"

Linda closed her eyes and thought of her days as a soldier of the Vanguard, and the half-elf that trained her to hunt vampires... "He was a vampire, and tried to kill me."

Yes, she remembered that he trained her to hunt a vampire that was attacking soldiers in the night... only to reveal that he himself was the vampire hunting her fellows, and that he only trained her to make the game more challenging for himself... except Linda won, Venine died, and that drove her down the path to becoming a hunter herself.

Ireena breathed, "So Strahd must have turned him..."

"I would assume so," Linda muttered and re-read the part about Strahd’s death... "Though I don't think intentionally, because he died... and many escaped from Barovia."

Vasili observed Linda, "That is interesting conjecture."

Linda continued her read.

Reign of Strahd VIII: Years 628-650

The first years of Strahd VIII's rule were filled with tension and uncertainty, but he lowered taxes on the peoples, and worked to rebuild much of Barovia, allowing people to settle under his rule. The rule of Strahd VIII otherwise was unremarkable.

Reign of Strahd IX: Years 650-675

Strahd VIII stepped down to allow his son, Strahd IX to rule over Barovia, before dying in the year 658.

In the year 650, Strahd IX was due to be married to a woman named Ireena Strasnya, but she fell ill the night of the wedding, and died shortly after contracting illness.

Not much is known about Strahd IX due to the destruction of records in Vallaki at the hand of Lord Soth in the year 660. Strahd IX was unprepared to face a Death Knight, and so he had called Soth to Castle Ravenloft to appease the invader for a time, until the Death Knight grew impatient and unleashed a reign of terror over the townsfolk which lasted three days. Strahd IX misdirected Soth into the Mists, which led Soth to Sithicus. Soth conquered Sithicus, and the nation has had a rivalry with Barovia ever since.

It is estimated (due to the lack of records) that Strahd X was born sometime in the year 652 to an unknown mother. He ascended the throne in 675 when his father died suddenly.

"Hmm... a death knight.... also thwarted by Strahd."

Strahd X, from years 675- 689 (Present Day as of time of publish)

The early reign of Strahd X was marked by a newfound peace in Barovia, as trade between the realms had increased, along with several treaties with the other surrounding nations. Diplomacy between the boyars and Lord Strahd is frequent and mostly pleasant. Taxation of goods has been steady- neither being lowered or heightened, and infrastructure and restoration of documents has been a priority.

However in recent years, the reign of Strahd X has grown more tense, due to the actions of Malik Malokovich in the year 686 when Strahd X attended the Spring Festival of Vallaki. Lord Strahd had made his usual public appearance for the Spring Festival, and was ambushed by Malik when he had begun the ceremonial dance with the Spring Maiden, Volenta Popofsky. Strahd X survived the attack and Malik was quickly dispatched, however, Volenta tragically died in the attack.

Probes into Malik's intent found that the Burgomaster, Baron Metus-

Linda blinked and re-examined the name, "Baron Metus was from Barovia?"

Vasili nodded, "He was burgomaster of Vallaki before Vargas."

"Hm... Another uncontrollable vampire..." Linda felt she was on to something... and it wasn’t just any vampire either...

Vasili was cautious with her, "What makes you say that?"

Linda knew the Baron Metus was the vampire that was responsible for murdering and raising Erasmus as a vampire... Erasmus Van Richten, the son of the legendary monster hunter, Dr. Rudolph Van Richten. That was the vampire that started Van Richten down his own path of monster hunting. She looked to Vasili... anything she said, she knew would be passed on to Strahd... it was best not to reveal her hand yet, "I came across it while reading something else."

She looked back down at the final pages...

Probes into Malik's intent found that the Burgomaster, Baron Metus was responsible for orchestrating the attack, and the Baron was taken prisoner to Castle Ravenloft by Lord Strahd, tortured, and executed for treason. Since then, Vargas Vallakovich was appointed as Burgomaster of the town.

Lord Strahd has since also limited his public appearances and launches investigations into the various households of nobility to search for traitiors. When a traitor is found, a public execution hastily follows. Many a village gate have been adorned with the heads of traitors in recent years, and no one speaks any doubts of Lord Strahd's right to do so, especially since Lord Strahd X is the rightful Lord and Protector of Barovia. One can only hope that anyone with traitorous intent come to their senses and abandon all thought of rebellion, or else meet a dismal end by the executioner's blade.

Morninglord bless us, and long live Lord Strahd.

"And finish with good propaganda," She closed the book with a thump and looked at the other people in the carriage, "Well this Strahd is a... character, isn't he?"

Ismark shrugged, "Hasn't been too great to us, certainly. But what can you do?"

"Well if Linda and the rest of us continue our mission, he won't be anyone else's problem anymore,” Vasili spoke curtly.

Linda raised a brow and huffed skeptically, "So, Vasili... Why has Strahd started looking for an heir now, of all times?"

Vasili contemplated, "I... am not certain. I think it is something having to do with magic, and being able to escape... along with the events of last year's... rebellion, if you want to call it that. I don't think Lord Strahd feels it is necessary to rule anymore- but at the same time, the political instability of the boyars prevents me from being more open about my search. I think he fears that if he is open about the search, it will cause an even bigger rebellion, more instability... and it also doesn't leave him leeway to change if it ends up that this manner of escape doesn't work. It-”

Vasili paused, “It is a complicated matter."

Linda gestured around her, "How will finding an heir fix this? Won't it cause more instability by putting someone in his place and leaving?"

"Which is what makes my job so complicated...” Vasili explained, “He can't leave just anyone in charge, but finding someone with the right potential, and grooming them to lead, while being open to new ideas and a fresh start, while at the same time completing the magical requirements necessary for escape... that is the goal."

Linda huffed, "I don't think finding an heir is going to work. Quite frankly."

Vasili was stunned, "Why... why not?"

Linda spoke with exasperation, "Because you are still forcing someone who might not even want the position. You would still have a massive rebellion anyway, because you are just having someone groomed to rule by someone that they are really unhappy with. It would be better to make their current opinion of Strahd better."

Ireena nodded, "I actually agree when you say it like that Linda. Right now... I don't know what to think of him, but I haven't really been given anything to think well of him either,” she gingerly touched the wounds on her neck.

Ismark deadpanned, "That is going to be tougher than just ousting him-” he made a defensive gesture to Vasili, “-not trying to sound treasonous, just realistic."

Linda waved a finger to Ismark, "However, you aren't thinking about what has already happened in your history- Strahd has been killed before by foreigners. It's not a viable option."

Vasili slowly raised his hand, "I agree that such drastic measures would be detrimental to everyone... still seeing how half of Barovia is already divided on opinion. If Strahd were to... perish, then the Barovians would turn on each other. It's already happened before."

Linda blinked and turned to Vasili, "What do you mean 'before'? Nothin' about that in the history book."

Vasili sighed, "The book glosses over a lot of things. 'Questioning who would lead them' I believe is how they put it. Think, Linda... what would they do to each other, if they were divided on such a 'despotic' ruler? If he was as terrible as it is stated, do you think the 'Eighth' would have had so easy a time claiming the throne? No, they were on the verge of civil war. Half of the nation was not effected by the magics and the rule, and half were. Half supported, half opposed. No one could agree on who would rule, so they decided each to get rid of the other half."

Linda folded her arms, "That's not the case this time. Now everyone seems to hate Strahd. So it wouldn't happen the same way again."

Ireena grew curious, "What would you think would happen?"

Linda held up her hand, "Instead of the nation being divided into two, it would divide by villages, and the factions with each village. Even more unrest, and bickering."

Ismark folded his hands and thought for a minute. "Well... the first thing he'd have to do to get people to not be so afraid, would be to limit his own power. Because, there may still be a way to stop him, even with him coming back. I mean, you could trap him in his coffin, and that would solve a lot of problems."

Linda looked to Ismark with an expression of exasperation, "It still comes down to who would rule you. It doesn't fix the problem."

Vasili held up his hands, "I see both your points. I may not agree with some of the things that he's done, but I still think that somewhere deep down there is a part that still cares about his people, which is why he's not abandoning them outright... as flawed as the plan may be."

Linda snapped at Vasili, "The whole problem is that the people don't see that Strahd cares! We have this-" she waved the book in the air, "-and it doesn't say anything!"

Ismark nodded, and pointed to Ireena’s bite, "We also have this- and we still don't know why he targeted my sister, or what the thing with the wolves and my father were."

Ireena touched her throat unconsciously, then forced her hand back down to her side, "I don't know what happened, or why he bit me twice, or why there was something after Papa. But I remember the doctor telling me when I was very little to keep the Devil Strahd from seeing me... Papa took it seriously too. They were afraid of what he would do to me, and I am too. I would just like to know why."

Vasili grew silent. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, but hollow, "Well, Lady Ireena, you have my word, and the word of Strahd that there will be no further instances with you or your family. And we are heading to a priest right now, rest assured, you will be safe from any harm in Vallaki."

Ireena seemed to grow a bit more calm. "Thank you. I think you are trying your best, Lord Vasili."

Ismark grew curious, "How many errands do you typically run? If Strahd manages to escape, would you go too?"

Vasili rubbed his temples,"I run too many errands. I haven't rested in my home in quite some time, so if it is in less than suitable condition, I apologize. However, it shouldn't be, because I have Mina to take care of it in my absence....” He looked to Ismark, “As for whether or not I would go..." He paused, "I think I would have to. He'd need someone to handle daytime affairs and to keep an eye out for any nemesis that would try to hunt for him in a new place."

Linda looked to Vasili... she felt that there was something less-than-truthful about Vasili’s manner... she definitely felt that he would go with Strahd... but not for the reasons stated... His underlying tone, though very well and expertly disguised... betrayed a small hint of fear. Something hidden from her and the siblings...

"What are you afraid of, Vasili? What are you hiding?" Linda squinted at the vampire’s servant...

Vasili looked coolly over to Linda, only briefly quirking his brow, “What do you mean? About what? Everyone has something they fear, everyone has secrets...”

"That is not why you would leave."

Vasili paused and went quiet, "Perhaps I will tell you the real reason in private. I am not comfortable sharing this amongst everyone however. But I will say that I do not believe Strahd could survive without me outside of this realm. And that is a fact."

Linda scoffed, "So why would this all-mighty vampire need your help Vasili? I'm pretty sure he downed a lich and a death knight without you."

Vasili listed, "Well... for one, daytime vulnerability, getting much needed supplies, determining appropriate feeding- and let's face it, I think I am more likable than Strahd when it comes to people..." Vasili offered a small smile.

Linda forced herself to ignore his charming smile, "I don't really think he needs your help. ‘Cause you can get by without those things. I think he's using you. Manipulating you. Have you ever thought about life away from Strahd?"

Vasili blinked, "Once or twice. But it's difficult. Really, it's all I have ever known... I was kind of... born into it."

Linda felt pity for him, "I think you need a break from his influence."

He raised a brow, "What would you suggest? It is a little difficult, seeing as I have to report in every so often."

Linda waved him off, "Just send a letter. Travel with us for a bit. See our point of view, and make your own opinions. "

Vasili hesitated, "I'm not sure..."

"You should have a break,” Ireena pitched in, “Gods know what you've been forced to do with all the villages after last year. Take some time for yourself. You seem like you do a lot for very little in return. So just listen to Linda and take a break, I mean, your mission isn't going to work anyway, and you know it, so don't try to force it."

Ismark nodded and smirked, "Just grab a couple pints with me at Blue Water. Help Linda with her research if you need something else to do. But definitely get Ireena to the priest."

Vasili seemed surprised by the sudden comradery. He shifted in his seat,"Alright, very well. I can at the very least take notes, so that he thinks I am doing something. But if I delay any more than I need to, 'trouble' isn't going to be what I am in."

Linda smirked, "Don't sweat it. I am sure he won't be very cruel to you, seeing as you are the only one who ever does anything for him."

Vasili conceded, folding his arms across his chest, "Alright. Fine. I will allow myself to indulge in pleasant company, and put business aside..."

Linda leaned toward Vasili, and gave him a friendly pat on his shoulder. She smiled at him and lowered her voice, "There you go, that wasn't hard, was it?"

Vasili blinked at Linda and looked at her, and opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it, and instead looked out the window, “Ah, hm... Here we are, Vallaki...” He cranes his head and furrows his brow, “I wasn’t aware that there was going to be a festival... I wonder what all this is about, then...”

#curse of strahd #story update #linda tacklemeyer #vasili von holtz #strahd von zarovich

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savedfromsalvation · 6 years ago

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Compiled by Jim Walker

Be Wise As Serpents

"Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves." (Matthew 10:16)

Comment

This verse instructs the apostles to act "wise as serpents." Since Christians hold that the serpent in the Bible represents Satan, one might wonder about this. In Genesis 3:1 the Bible describes the serpent as "more subtil than any beast..." Some early Gnostic heretics believed that Satan and Jesus were the same. They may have used sayings such as this to support their belief.

It seems odd that Jesus would resort to the metaphorical "sheep" instead of sheep-dogs or some other noble animal. The awkward fact remains: people raise sheep to either fleece them or kill them for food. To send them as prey in the midst of marauders hardly seems advisable.

Note also that doves actually act just the opposite of "harmless." Doves sometimes act viciously against other birds.

Beat That Slave

"And that servant, which knew his lord's will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes." (Luke 12:47)

Comment

Note, the word "servant" here means slave. The Biblical Jesus lived in a time when slavery flourished, yet He never spoke or fought against it.

"English North Americans embraced slavery because they were Christians, not in spite of it... It was Christianity that perverted the African's way of life. Not leaving them alone was the real tragedy." --Forrest G. Wood

Burn Them!

"Keep me, O LORD, from the hands of the wicked; preserve me from the violent man; who have purposed to overthrow my goings." (Psalms 140:4)

"Let burning coals fall upon them: let them be cast into the fire; into deep pits, that they rise not up again." (Psalms 140:10)

Comment

Such wicked words can justify to the religious person any atrocity including holocausts. Ironically, the words "Keep me, O Lord, from the hands of the wicked" and which verse 10 calls for horrible acts against their enemies, hardly imparts a message of love of thine enemies.

Creation Contradiction, 1

"And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day." (Genesis 1: 3-5)

"And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stars also. And God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth." (Genesis 1:16-17)

Comment

God creates day and night on the first day and then makes the stars and the two great lights (sun and moon) on the fourth day (Genesis 1:19). How can you have day and night on the first day without a star? This describes a dramatic contradiction to the way the actual universe works. To have a day you must have a rotating planet and a sun. Genesis proves that God (or more accurately, the authors of Genesis) could not have known about the structure of the universe, or even the difference between stars and planets.

Creation Contradiction, 2

"And God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind: and God saw that is was good. And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness..." (Genesis 1:25-26)

"And the LORD God said, It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him. And out of the ground the LORD God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the air..." (Genesis 2:18-19)

Comment

In the first account, man gets created after the beasts, the second account has man created before the beasts . Only a person who exercised warped logic or blind faith could believe this outright contradiction. Yet to the fundamentalist reader, the many hundreds of contradictions and discrepancies in the Bible go by unseen, regardless of how many honest scholars and theologians have discovered otherwise.

In fact there occurs two stories of Genesis, the second story starts at Genesis 2:4. The first story uses Elohim (God in the plural form) and the second story uses the LORD God (Yahweh Elohim, sometimes incorrectly termed Jehovah). Both stories appear markedly different, yet somehow in history the stories got annexed together. This shows the allegorical intent of Genesis rather than a factual account.

Even the belief among non-fundamentalists, that the Bible has kept its original form despite minor changes, has led many theologians to think otherwise. One of the most highly respected theologians, Bruce Metzger, has written extensively on the errors in the Bible. For example, in his book "The text of the New Testament- Its Transmission, Corruption, and Restoration," Metzger asserts errors due to:

Errors arising from faulty eyesight

Errors arising from faulty hearing

Errors of the mind

Errors of judgment

Difficulties historical and geographical

Alterations from doctrinal considerations

Addition of miscellaneous details.

Many times whole belief systems and vast changes to a society can change from a simple mistranslation of a single word. (For example "virgin" got confused in Isaiah 7:14 for young woman "almah")

Creation Contradiction, 3

"So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them." (Genesis 1:27)

"And the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof; And the rib, which the LORD God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man." (Genesis 2:21-22)

Comment

In the first account, God created a man and female simultaneously, in God's image. In the second account Adam gets created from the dust (Genesis 2:7), and then later, a woman came from one of Adam's ribs. Again, this shows another difference between the two Genesis story accounts, each contradicting the other.

There occurs a plethora of contradictions in the Bible, far too many for the scope of the Dark Bible. For those who wish further edification, consult "The Bible Handbook for Free-Thinkers and Inquiring Christians," edited by G. W. Foote and W. P. Ball (Pioneer Press, London)

Curse The Children

"And your children shall wander in the wilderness forty years, and bear your whoredoms, until your carcases be wasted in the wilderness. After the number of the days in which ye searched the land, even forty days, each day for a year, shall ye bear your iniquities, even forty years, and ye shall know my breach of promise." (Numbers 14:33-34)

Comment

This cruel curse on children attributed to God, for the sins of their parents, bears the typical harsh vengeful evil spirit that permeates the Old Testament.

How can one not conclude that these verses give the greatest insult to a loving God?

Eat Your Children

"And thou shalt eat the fruit of thine own body, the flesh of thy sons and of thy daughters, which the LORD they God hath given thee, in the siege, and in the straightness, wherewith thine enemies shall distress thee:" (Deuteronomy 28:53)

"And toward her young one that cometh out from between her feet, and toward her children which she shall bear: for she shall eat them for want of all things secretly in the siege and straitness, wherewith thine enemy shall distress thee in thy gates." (Deuteronomy 28:57)

Comment

Here we have the horrific calling for cannibalism. It comes even more barbaric considering it calls for the devouring of their own sons and daughters.

Hardly anyone today accepts cannibalism, yet many fundamentalist Christians would have us believe that cannibalism or some other depravity will result if we choose not to believe in God or to choose another god.

(See also II Kings 6:28-29)

God Accepts Slavery

"And if the servant shall plainly say, I love my master, my wife, and my children; I will not go out free: Then his master shall bring him unto the judges; he shall also bring him to the door, or unto the door post; and his master shall bore his ear through with an aul; and he shall serve him for ever." (Exodus 21:5-6)

Comment

The Bible bears witness to the fact that God accepts not only slavery but violence against such slaves (in this case a awl driven through the ear) for the innocent statement of love for their master, wife and children.

It came from precisely these verses that justified, in many peoples minds, the tortures inflicted on African slaves when they tried to leave their cruel masters in the American colonies. "Good" Christians of the day would drive nails and spikes through the ears of defenseless slaves whose only offense came from the will to no longer serve as slaves.

Not until after the Civil War did federal laws become enacted to protect African Americans from gross physical abuse. Even today, the KKK and "the Aryan Race" use the Bible as justification for their attacks against "Negroes."

God Condones Slavery

"Both thy bondmen, and thy bondmaids, which thou shalt have, shall be of the heathen that are round about you; of them shall ye buy bondmen and bondmaids." (Leviticus 25:44 , KJV)

"As for the male and female slaves whom you may have, it is from the nations around you that you may aquire male and female slaves." (Leviticus 25:44, NRSV)

Comment

The Biblical meaning rings clear: God not only condones slavery, but gives permission to buy and own slaves. The Southern United States fought The Civil War over such Scriptural teachings.

The Gods creation

"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth." (Genesis 1:1)

"And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness..." (Genesis 1:26) [Bold caps mind, Ed.]

Comment

The Bible has a crisis from the very beginning in that Biblical translators have chosen to use the word "God" for the Hebrew term 'Elohim.' The problem, here lies in the fact that Elohim represents the plural form of 'El.' Elohim literally means 'gods.' A more honest translation of Verse 1 should read, "In the beginning Gods created the heaven and the earth," and in Verse 26: "And the Gods said..."

The idea of Genesis and the Creation story did not come originally from the Hebrews, but rather from various cultures in the area. For example, excavations in Mesopotamia uncovered small cylinder seals depicting the creation stories. Of course these early people believed in many gods and goddesses, just as did the first Hebrews. The Enuma Elish, the Mesopotamian creation story which predates Genesis and which believers recited in every Mesopotamian temple every year for some 4000 years and more, parallels the Biblical stories to such an extent that it even makes abundant use of the "magical" number seven. [Romer, p.35-36]

Although as the Hebrew belief system grew, and the word Elohim came to mean the singular God, the fact still remains: The original meaning meant the plural form. Any honest translation of Elohim, therefore should reflect this plurality. In the name of honesty, we should ask why our Church fathers would allow the dishonest singular forms of the word God in the Bible.

Note, when anyone questioned this plurality, Christian priests tried to resolve this sticky problem by using the concept of the Trinity (Father, Son and the Holy Ghost) or the heavenly angels to explain the plurality. The problem here comes that if they truly believed this, then why not use the proper plural translation in the first place? Substituting a singular term for the plurality of the Trinity or other heavenly agents amounts to dishonesty or subterfuge.

God Orders Adultery

"This said the LORD, Behold, I will raise up evil against thee out of thine own house, and I will take thy wives before thine eyes, and give them unto thy neighbour, and he shall lie with thy wives in the sight of this sun." (II Samuel 12:11)

Comment

Here describes God, not only condoning adultery, but literally causes it to happen!

Note also, the strange assertion that God raises up evil, supposedly an act reserved for Satan. In fact, nowhere does the Bible accuse Satan of raising evil. Little do most faithful realize that they worship a raiser and creator of evil (for God's creation of evil, see Isaiah 45:7).

God's OK On Abortion

"And when he hath made her drink the water, then it shall come to pass, that, if she be defiled, and have done trespass against her husband, that the water that causeth the curse shall enter into her, and become bitter, and her belly shall swell, and her thigh shall rot: and the woman shall be a curse among her people. And if the woman be not defiled, but be clean; then she shall be free, and shall conceive seed." (Numbers 5:27-28)

Comment

This nonsensical ritual, prescribed by God, to a woman suspected of infidelity, must undergo the drinking of a vile concoction made of bitter water and dust from the floor of a tabernacle. A priest calls a curse upon the woman's head to insure that if she has acted in adultery the drinking of the liquid will cause her to have a miscarriage. If she comes out clean, then she shall conceive.

Regardless of how ridiculous this procedure seems, any person who believes every word of the Bible must come to terms with the realization that the quoted God here sometimes authorizes abortion.

(also see Num. 5:1-25)

Golden Rule

"And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise." (Luke 6:31)

Comment

From this verse we have the Jesus formulation: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Also known as the Golden Rule. This gives an example of perhaps the most admired and quoted saying by Jesus, not only from Christians, but from unbelievers alike.

Most people do not realize that Jesus did not originate this saying. K'ung-Tzu (also known as Confucius) also expressed a similar idea, ironically called the Silver Rule. However, does this seemingly worthy Golden Rule live up to its billing?

At first glance, the rule appears justified. Who wouldn't want to receive treatment the way we wish? And who wouldn't want to give the same treatment to others? However, upon further reflection we quickly come upon problems. Who says that the receiving person wishes to always get treated the way "we" wish? Would most people like to get treated like a masochist from a masochist? Would an atheist like to get treated like a Christian? Would a Christian like to get treated as an atheist? Clearly, the Golden rule can cause severe incompatibilities with the other person involved. The Golden Rule only seems commendable because we impart our own individual concepts without realizing that "doing unto others" has various meanings to other people. The Golden Rule reflects upon selfish motives instead of incorporating a system that can work for a diverse society. Therefore, when Jesus uses this incomplete and illusory command, he deceives the believer into a false sense of morality. Consider that in some cases, treating people the way they would like to get treated works better than the way you would like to get treated. Think about it.

Note: many studies of rule based systems (including ethics, game theory, and computer simulations) reveal two rules that always lose: the Golden Rule and the Iron Rule. The systems that work best involve Tit-For-Tat strategies that include many situational rules.

[For more information on game theories, refer to the works of Robert Axelrod (for example: 'The Evolution of Cooperation,' and 'The evolution of strategies in the iterated prisoner's dilemma') and Douglas R. Hofstadter's, Metamagical Themas)]

Happy To Kill Children

"Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones." (Psalms 137:9, KJV)

"How blessed will be the one who seizes and dashes your little ones Against the rock." (Psalms 137:9, New American Bible)

"Happy the man who shall seize and smash your little ones against the rock!" (Psalms 137:9, New American Bible)

"a blessing on anyone who seizes your babies and shatters them against a rock!" (Psalms 137:9, Jerusalem Bible)

Comment

Ask a Christian friend whether he or she should feel happy to dash a child against the rocks. Your friend will most likely stare at you in horror, much less believe this idea exists in their sacred Bible.

Many Churches have found this verse quite embarrassing. It gives no wonder why priests, Jews, and Christians alike, who quote from Psalms 137, always leave out this last verse.

(See also Isaiah 13:16; Hosea 13-16)

Hate Them!

"Surely thou will slay the wicked, O God: depart from me therefore, ye bloody men. For they speak against thee wickedly, and thine enemies take thy name in vain. Do not I hate them, O LORD, that hate thee? and am not I grieved with those that rise up against thee? I hate them with perfect hatred: I count them mine enemies." (Psalms 139:19-22)

Comment

A message of hate from the, supposed, inspired words of God against anyone who takes God's name in vain or who goes against God.

Faith in one's belief produces a barrier to further investigation. Religious groups that differ in beliefs from other societies cannot see past their own barriers. When hate enters into the prison of their beliefs, the seeds for violence to act out against other societies come to full bloom.

Hate Your Family!

"If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple." (Luke 14:26)

Comment

This remarkable statement of hate by Jesus directly contradicts the idea of a loving Christ. If one must hate their father, mother, wife, children, brethren and sisters and even themselves, in order to become a disciple of Jesus, one must question Christ's idea love, family, and decency.

(See also Luke 12:51-53, Matthew 10:34-37.)

Note: A few desperate apologists attempt to dismiss this verse claiming that the word 'hate' here really doesn't mean what it says. The problem with this approach boarders on complete deception and the ironic dismissal of the Bible and Biblical scholarship. The word 'hate' here comes from the ancient Greek word 'miseo' which means hate (from the primary 'misos' [hatred]). If any synonym could substitute for this word, it would come from a word like 'detest,' 'loath,' or 'despise.' Moreover, virtually all Bibles translate the term as hate. To deny this intent means to deny the Bible and the alleged word of Jesus.

He Must Increase But I Must Decrease

"He must increase but I must decrease." (John 3:30)

Comment

The dubious Old Testament concept of declaring the entire human population as depraved and sinful goes far to insure an inferiority complex, but this verse takes it to a lower level. One of the distinctive features of the Dark Ages showed how the faithful would publicly display their lower status by prostrating and punishing themselves before crosses, priests, and churches. Monastic disciplines adopted flagellation and scourging in the fifth and following centuries. Self-flagellation served as a discipline as a measure of mortification and penance as exemplified in the lives of St. Dominic Loricatus and St. Peter Damian. Damian wrote a special treatise in praise of self-flagellation. In the 13th century a sect developed called the Flagellants where its members would whip themselves in public which aroused much excitement among the populace. [Catholic Encyclopedia]

To decrease one's earthly life for promoting an increase of a superstitious idea, in effect, declares humans as unworthy and valueless. Belief in universal sin and increasing the myth of Jesus above all human concerns must put this kind of worship as among the most insidious and depraved forms of human thought known to man.

"There was a time when religion ruled the world. It is known as The Dark Ages."

-Ruth Hurmence Green (The Born Again Skeptic's Guide to the Bible)

Human Sacrifice

"Thou shalt not delay to offer the first of thy ripe fruits, and of thy liquors: the firstborn of thy sons shalt thou give unto me." (Exodus 22:29)

Comment

This verse refers to human sacrifice which many primitive cultures practiced.

In the Canaanite world the Molech cult practiced human sacrifice and many scholars equate Yahweh with the Molech god. Explicit references to Molech appear in Lev. 18:21, 20:2-5; Jer. 32:35 and II Kings 23:10. Fortunately, few people believe in sacrificing humans directly to gods these days (but Christian leaders still sacrifice soldiers and innocent men, women, and children in the name of "freedom" and God).

(See also Gen. 22:1-19 for Abraham's will to sacrifice his son Isaac, and Judges 11)

Make Weapons

"Proclaim ye this among the Gentiles; Prepare war, wake up the mighty men, let all the men of war draw near; let them come up: Beat your plowshares into swords, and your pruninghooks into spears: let the weak say, I am strong." (Joel 3:9-10)

Comment

Peace loving Jews and Christians love to quote the biblical passage about beating swords into ploughshares and spears into pruninghooks, (Micah 4:3) but here we have just the opposite.

More Than One God

"Now I know that the LORD is greater than all gods: for in the thing wherein they dealt proudly he was above them." (Exodus 18:11)

Comment

Here we have the Bible alluding to the existence of more than one god.

Note that it does not say "the Lord is the only god" but rather that he "is greater than all gods."

History records that the ancient people in the area of the Middle East, including the Hebrews, believed in many goddesses and gods. Yahweh served only as their god, a god among many others.

"It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are 20 gods, or no God. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg."

--Thomas Jefferson

Pray in the Closet

"And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward. But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly." (Matthew 6:5-6)

Comment

The Religious Right wishes to put into law public prayer. How many Christians realize that the Biblical Jesus strongly opposed public prayer?

The wall of separation between Church and State, actually protects the religious liberties for all of us in the United States and here we have Biblical justification for keeping prayer private.

Serpent Jews

"Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell?" (Matthew 23:33)

Comment

Chapter 23 describes the famous diatribe of Jesus against the Jewish leaders. Such biblical words has, for centuries, given believers justification for Jewish hatred. This verse, spoken by the alleged Jesus himself, compares the unbelieving Jews with the serpent devil.

Slay Enemies

"But those mine enemies, which would not that I should reign over them, bring hither, and slay them before me." (Luke 19:27)

Comment

Although Jesus in one instance calls for the love of enemies, at the end of the parable of ten pounds, he orders to slay his enemies that would deny his reign (Luke 19:12-27). Despite the commandment not to kill, Jesus accepts the killing of humans here.

Believers try to escape this problem by claiming, "Well, it's just a parable." Of course when Jesus gives a parable about love or living, then the parable serves as an important lesson which the faithful should take seriously. So also must any of Jesus' parables. Nor can one escape by route of metaphorical excuse. The parable clearly connects the "nobleman" with Jesus (see verse 12) , and there occurs no other meaning for a metaphorical "slay" other than words like "kill," "slaughter," "massacre," etc.

Although there occurs scholarly debate as to whether Jesus meant verse 27 as part of the parable or as a non-parable conclusion, it has far more serious consequences if believed as a parable. Why? Because a parable instructs beyond the life-time of the parable's author. If the author of these words meant it only as an example during Jesus' alleged life on earth, then it would serve only as a request of Jesus during his life time. But as a parable, it lives through the followers of Jesus who believe that he still lives (in Heaven) and that they might follow his commands, even after his death-and-resurrection. As a parable then, slaying of enemies "before me" (in Jesus' spirit) instructs believers well past the alleged life of Jesus.

If any one need Biblical justification to kill anyone who denies Jesus, or whom you believe acts as an enemy, you need only to believe this verse.

Synagogues Of Satan

"But this thou hast, that thou hatest the deeds of the Nicolaitanes, which I also hate." (Revelation 2:6)

"I know thy works, and tribulation, and poverty, (but thou art rich) and I know the blasphemy of them which say they are Jews, and are not, but are the synagogue of Satan." (Revelation 2:9)

"So hast thou also them that hold the doctrine of the Nicolaitanes, which the thing I hate." (Revelation 2:15)

"Behold, I will make them of the synagogue of Satan, which say they are Jews, and are not, but do lie; behold, I will make them to come and worship before thy feet, and to know that I have loved thee." (Revelation 3:9)

Comment

These verses by Jesus has fueled the engine of anti-Semitism throughout Europe and the rest of the world for centuries. Unfortunately many believers today still justify their hatred of Jews based on Scripture.

Note that we have here in Rev 2:6 the words of Jesus admitting to hate, contrary to the belief by many Christians that Jesus holds only to the principle of love.

The Talking Donkey

"And when the ass saw the angel of the LORD, she fell down under Balaam: and Balaam's anger was kindled, and he smote the ass with a staff. And the LORD opened the mouth of the ass, and she said unto Balaam, 'What have I done unto thee, that thou hast smitten me these three times?' And Balaam said unto the ass, 'Because thou hast mocked me: I would there were a sword in mine hand, for now would I kill thee.' And the ass said unto Balaam, 'Am not I thine ass, upon which thou hast ridden ever since I was thine unto this day? was I ever wont to do so unto thee?' And he said, 'Nay.'" (Numbers 22:27-30)

Comment

Here we have, as absurd as it may seem, a talking donkey. If we came across a talking animal, would we not feel amazed? Yet, oddly, Balaam here seems not the least bit concerned and converses with the ass as if nothing unusual had happened!

Given that millions of fundamentalists believe every world in the Bible, they would have us also believe that the Bible has its own version of Mr. Ed.

Notice that Balaam's cruel behavior to the donkey seems to have mimicked God's jealous behavior towards His people. Yet God responds to Balaam: "thy way is perverse before me." (Num. 22:32)

"If the bible had said that Jonah swallowed the whale, I would believe it."

--William Jennings Bryan

The "Gods"

"Thou shalt have no other gods before me." (Exodus 20:3)

"Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the LORD thy God am a jealous God, visiting unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me;" (Exodus 20:5)

Comment

Note this does not mean "I am the only god," but rather, that one shall not believe in other gods above the God of the Chosen People.

Scholars and archeologists know that the early Hebrews practiced polytheism.

Not only does the Bible describe the polytheism of the Hebrews but digs from archeological sites give evidence that these early people believed in many gods, or more accurately, goddesses. They have found many statuette goddesses among their living dwellings.

Monotheism appears later in the Bible. Historically, monotheism got taught by many Greek philosophers. Judaism later separated itself from the Hellenistic world with its belief in only one supreme deity.

In verse 20:5 we have here a god so jealous that he holds a grudge against the children of the fathers who hated him. Hardly a concept of a forgiving and loving God. And if not against the other gods, just who could God claim for his jealousy?

The Sun Stands Still

"Then spake Joshua to the LORD in the day when the LORD delivered up the Amorites before the children of Israel, and he said in the sight of Israel, Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon. And the sun stood still, and the moon stayed, until the people had avenged themselves upon their enemies. Is not this written in the book of Jasher? So the sun stood still in the midst of heaven, and hasted not to go down about a whole day." (Joshua 10:12-13)

Comment

These verses imply that the sun moves around the earth. If the Bible actually represents the words or inspired words of God, then why didn't the Great Creator inspire them to tell the truth about the universe and our solar system?

Also, the Bible asks us to believe that a supposedly loving God made the sun stand still for the sole purpose of helping the Israelites slaughter the Amorites. How can one not see that these verses would insult the intelligence of any person who believes God possess wisdom, knowledge and love?

Turn Thy Cheek

"But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also." (Matthew 5:39)

Comment

This nonviolent principle does not originate with Jesus. Lao-tse and the Buddha taught this five or six hundred years before Jesus, but does this represent a good rule to follow?

Ironically, few Christians hold to this principle. In fact, the Religious Right preach just the opposite as Christians throughout the centuries have violently attacked anyone who dared threaten them.

Although one should not overly react if smacked on the cheek, it might prove prudent to raise your hand in defense or at least leave the scene of trouble to avoid conflict. If you turn your other cheek to get smacked again, your enemy may just break your jaw or beat you to a pulp.

Wars must be

"And when ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars, be ye not troubled: for such things must needs be; but the end shall not be yet. For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be earthquakes in divers places, and there shall be famines and troubles: these are the beginnings of sorrows." (Mark 13:7-8)

Comment

Belief in these words can justify any war and atrocity against nations. Yet Jesus here tells us that we should not feel troubled by it as long as we have belief in Him.

When Jesus prophesies about the future, he gives the message that we have no control over our lives other than to choose or not choose a belief in the Lord. With such a message, it should not surprise anyone why the Religious Right does little to strive against war.

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tsundozer · 6 years ago

Text

Pride for Auction, Pt. II

You can read Pt. I here!

It had been a bell. Where the fuck were they? Larkson tapped a foot impatiently, as he watched item by item come and go from the center stage. He watched a spindly looking man, with nervous fingers and no business wearing a suit make off with an ancient Khopesh, once used by a Sil’dihn lord to fend off an initial Ul’dahn attack. The story behind it? Magnificent, of a man repelling an entire patrol from not just his home property, but then managed to rally the city against the invaders (this was of course, ultimately in vain when you consider what happened not weeks later).

He doubted the buyer appreciated the significance.

Hells, not even he did. Not really. That was Gray’s role in all this, and he was more than happy to leave him to it. It shoulda been Gray, he found himself noting quietly. All of this shit belongs with someone who appreciates it, it’s not--fucking. Trophies on walls.

He was sure that his companion would have been interested in the relics going up for display, if only he had remained around. As soon as Askoya’s voice crackled over the linkpearl, letting him know that there was a delay--in how long it’d take her to kill the power ( distracted, she explained. Sure.) and when the dagger (a Mhachi scian, Gray was always quick to elaborate) would be put on, to begin with.

That was half a bell ago, and Gray had immediately given him the slip. ‘Gotta check on th’kid’ he had said. Really? The kid? What kind of irresponsible man would bring a child to such a dangerous event as this? Why did he even keep the kid around? The justifications prattled off in his mind, over each and every previous discussion on the matter: She ain’t got nowhere else, Larksy.

She’s just like us at that age, Larksy.

She’s useful. She’s clever, Larksy.

She’s almost an adult now! She can handle this, Larksy.

Just look at that smile! Y’can’t tell her no, Larksy!

Larkson felt hot, uncomfortable coals settle in the pit of his stomach. Something within him had steadily burned over the past several years, and he would later in life realize it as jealousy. For now, all he felt was confusion, as to why Gray saw fit to pick up every person he met and drop them into their little crowd. He had, at least for a time, been the primary object of Gray’s attentions. He was his support, and Gray was his. They made it this far together. They came to Sharlayan together, they graduated together. He didn’t--he didn’t see, why they needed anyone else. Least of all some rebellious, bratty whelp who demanded so much of his focus, or students who he was fairly certain were more interested in drinks and empty laps, than a proper education.

( Why was he like this? He’d never been this way before. Why did Gray cause him to foster such anger, and resentment, towards those who came into his life?)

His thoughts were interrupted, by the chiming of the pearl:

AK: Hey! Look alive, boys~ I’ve got my little problems taken care of, and got your little dagger scheduled to come up in five. I’ll be killing the lights shortly. Careful that you aren’t caught unawares, hrm?

Shit. Larkson muttered into the pearl, ducking his head low and fading off into the schmoozing crowds, “Shit. Gray, y’hear that?”

Nothing. Not a single goddamn w-- PG: Yeah, yeah. Jus’ hold on a minute. Dealin’ with somethin’...

AK: Professor? Not to question your authority, but I’m not so sure you’ve got the time to--

Click.

Thal’s fucking stones. Couldn’t anything ever go--simply? He stormed off, looking for whatever trouble Gray must have gotten himself into.

Gray had been more than happy to take a bit of time to relax. Once he’d heard that plans had changed, he decided he may as well take the opportunity to enjoy himself. Who wouldn’t, right? What’s the point in getting all tense, in waiting with bated breath and winding gears until he was so tightly coiled that he burst? He made some excuse to get over to the liquor--that he had to check on Svana, and make sure she had her part down. A few hors d'oeuvres plucked with a muttered thanks, a wave, a nod, a smile to various people he had never met but gladly pretended he did, and a stop at the cocktail bar later (whiskey, chilled coffee, and a bit of brown sugar), and after a brief discussion with his resident disaster for the sole sake of appearances, left to find himself mulling about a library upstairs from the main ballroom, marveling at his ‘host’s’ collection.

He plucked a familiar book from the shelf. A Treatise on Modern Potentials of Allagan Aetherochemistry: Suggested Benefits to Medicine and Agriculture.

Erik Gray.

“Ha. Whaddya know? Wouldn’t think you’d have been a fan, Gravatte.” He gazed at the product of several years of dedicated research, the culmination of all of his experience--and was interrupted, by an inquisitive hum.

“You didn’t think he’d have been a fan of what?”

Gray snapped his head towards the door, holding the book ( his book) to himself almost protectively. There was a woman, a Keeper, leaning in the frame with wide, expressive eyes flecked with gold and an even wider, welcoming smile--the sort of smile that showed you all you needed to know, even the teeth, while managing to withhold everything you didn’t. It was hard to find words, he found, looking into that smile. He fumbled for the briefest of moments, caught off guard. “I--ah. My book? My book. I didn’t think he’d be a fan of my book.”

“ Your book?” The woman strode confidently, snatching up the book from his hands. “A Treatise on Modern..hmnmhmhm, mhm. Erik Gray.” The eyes narrowed, “You don’t look like an Erik. Or a Gray.”

Her words caused bile to rise up in his throat, and his fists to clench, briefly--he stayed himself. It’s not like she knew better, right? He held up his hands towards the woman, and gave a flippant shrug.

“I wanted to ditch the tribal stigma,” he explained, “I got--tired, of bein’ assumed I was some illiterate mountain man, some stupid forest dweller who ain’t know his way ‘round a book, let alone a mattock. I took th’name when I got my papers here. S’on my degree, too.” The irritated huff belied the presentation of flippancy and carelessness over the matter. Why were the cute ones always so fucking grating? She was cute, he gave her that. The lovely teal to her eyes, with gold flecked throughout, the sandy blonde to her hair. The lithe, athletic look to her--even the scrapes on her right knuckle, and a bruise on her forearm. She’d been in a fight, he noted. The woman laughed, loud and rich, “Oh, so that’s how it is? And what, you leave your culture, your birthright, heritage, behind?”

“My culture is shit. Ain’t never cared for it, much.” It was hard to hold back the irritation in his voice, now. He reached to snatch the book back up, only for her to yank it just out of his reach.

“Hey! Hey. No, I didn’t mean it like that.” Two steps back, and the woman flipped through the pages with a little hum in between each turn. “..I get you. I was never a fan of mine, either. What’s your real name, though?”

Gray was caught off guard by the camaraderie, the empathy. He felt the churning irritation in his chest soothe. Whatever lake of fire that churned at the heart of him, and kept him going all these years, reluctantly grew quiet (it was how he knew, that someone was important to include in his life--as soon as it happened, he picked them up. Larksons, Svana, As’koya--whoever this was). “You first. Precaution.”

The woman flicked her ears forward, and her tail lashed about with a sudden energy. There was a glint of mischief to her eyes, as she picked up on what wasn’t being spoken: “You shouldn’t be here. I get it. Well, don’t worry. I’m no Gravatte.” With a little flourish, she offered the book back to him. “Siri, of the Relanah. I’m a journalist, here for a story. I won’t tell, if you won’t.”

Quite the olive branch, announcing her own name, her own intentions. She was either reckless, or confident--a quick look over near enough confirmed it the latter. “G’rha,” he responded. “Folks back in Eorzea, they call me Rha.”

“A Tia?”

“Nah-- just Rha. A Tia...suggests, by its nature, that I still subscribe to their cultural norms. There’s a lot of meaning, in what title you take, and how, an’ even more meaning in taking a title despite something. A, ah. A good friend taught me that.”

Siri nodded, smiling along to the explanation. It was a good enough one, though she felt, perhaps, she could offer something better: “Well, Just Rha seems pretty good, to me. Better than calling yourself ‘Gray.’ It’s, like--taking back, yeah? It’s poetic. It’d make a good story. I don’t know your reasons, but if it was enough to leave behind the person you were? I think, there must be quite a tale, there.”

Gray averted his gaze, at that. In all of three ticks, this woman had waltzed into his life and cut to the heart of him. That was a first. “A sad story, I s’pose. But--one that has a happy endin’ in the works.”

“Aren’t sad stories the best? It sounds to me, Rha, that you put your pride up to the highest bidder, if it meant getting what you wanted. If that was your name, to fit in with academic life? So be it. Maybe it’s time you reclaim that pride.” Siri pulled herself up onto the central coffee table, swinging her feet casually as she studied the man. “Anyway, happy stories are boring. They’re trite. There’s something beautiful, in tragedy. The way people find meaning in the worst of things. Happiness can’t forge empathy, y’know. Only hurt.”

Gray barked out a dismissive laugh (though, in later years, he would come to appreciate those words and hold to them desperately, a frail reminder that there was something good, at the bottom of it all). “Nah. I prefer stories of adventure, stories of intrigue, mystery, thrill. An’ ultimately? Triumph. I’m lookin’ for Belah’dia!”

“Belah’dia?” “Yeah. Belah’dia. I’m lookin’ for my Belah’dia. Where I can hold the sun itself, in the palm of my fuckin’ hand. Just like their temples.” He cracked a confident grin, though his widest, most fiery smile couldn’t hide the lines that had already crept into his face so young.

“Well, I don’t see why it can’t be both.” Siri gave a little shrug, just as flippant as he had demonstrated before. “Every hero worth his salt has a bit of tragedy. It makes them relatable. Flaws, failures, sadness. -- I wouldn’t write about anything less than imperfect, you know.” She winked, as though she knew him. Saw him.

Gray wasn’t sure how to handle that. So he--ignored it, opting instead to ask about her work. “You wanna write?”

“I do write, Rha. Just not what I want. I write what the crowds wanna hear. What I want? I want a story. I want to tell a tale that moves, inspires.” She looked about the room, then parroted him verbatim: “I want to tell a story of adventure, stories of intrigue, mystery, thrill. And ultimately, triumph!” A delay, “but I think Nym is better.”

“Yeah, well. S’alright in bein’ wrong, I suppose.”

A laugh was shared--then his pearl went off. Showtime. “Yeah, yeah,” he spoke into it before giving Siri an apologetic smile. “Jus’ hold on a minute. Dealin’ with somethin’...” Click. He shut off the pearl, and gave a little shrug. “Sorry ‘bout that! Nice talkin’ to ya, really. I suspect my pal’s gonna be bargin’ in here, and I’d rather him not give you any more a taste of the hells than necessary. I’ve got a lil’ magic trick to put on.” Siri’s eyes glinted, as she realized--she was looking at the story of the night. “A magic trick?” “Yeah!” Gray strode for the door, casting a smirk over his shoulder. “Get downstairs in five. You’re about to see a vanishin’ act.”

#pride for auction #drabble #basically a short story by now???#legacy of allag #ffxiv #ic #g'rha nunh #svana heart #as'koya renha #larkson odh #siri relanah

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laflenkenway · 4 years ago

Text

These are not my words. I did not write them. But I do post them here because I agree with them.

The Declaration of Clarification

Preamble

Over the course of human history, it has been natural and cyclical in nature that those below in the various hierarchies set by mankind’s many societies should rise up in defiance in pursuit of freedom or, at the bare minimum, an improvement to conditions set by their society.

To this end, if they deem necessary, they will destroy and reestablish what was once thought to be set in stone in place to what is, at least at the time, a better order.

As humans are corruptible and flawed, those uprisings and acts may not always be considered ethical by modern, or even contemporary, standards. Democracies are overthrown in favor of monarchies, tyrants are replaced by tyrants, and monsters replace monsters.

However, that is the beauty of the nature of revolution. In the most literal of interpretations, revolution is cyclical. As a wheel revolves around an axle, those revolutions that are corrupt will, in due time, be overthrown in revolutions of their own.

It is in this regard that we, the people of the 21st Century, are involved in what many see as the repeating of that never-ending cycle of revolution. While many groups have arisen, from many viewpoints, we do call ourselves the Boogaloo. What began as a joke centered around an unserious notion of revolt against a corrupt system has evolved into a movement which has come to represent much more.

In the course of a year or so, we were shaped under the pressures of pandemic and monumental encroachments upon our freedoms, freedoms we were promised in the founding documents of these United States.

Thus, the joke became a seed, planted in the soils of revolution, rooted in the ideology of freedom and liberty for all.

Misunderstandings of us are rampant and loudly voiced. Due to the non-cohesive nature of our movement at this moment, we have been called many things without any true structure or voice with which to recant. We have faced accusations of bigotry, racism, and wanting to impose one horrid idea of governance or another. Meanwhile, our refutations to these baseless claims have fallen on deaf ears.

This document is meant to, at least in small part, express what we are (and in turn what we are not), the general ideals of the movement as a whole, our goals, and why we find ourselves knowing that the natural cycle of revolution is about to be repeated. Furthermore, it is not only natural to do so, but it is the duty of all those who believe in freedom and equality to rise up in the face of great injustice.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”— Declaration of Independence, July 4th, 1776

Origins

Due to the disorganized and decentralized nature of our organization (as with many modern internet-originating socio-political movements), the exact origins of the Boogaloo movement are obscure and debatable. Bad press given by major media organizations, political groups and organizations opposed to our ideals have further muddied the waters. Generally speaking, a consensus among many of us generally posits that approximately 2014 (though, again, this is at times disputed) was when the meme of the Boogaloo started, or at the very least was noticed. The term Boogaloo itself can find its origins in a joke that passed through many circles, referencing the idea that a second civil war would be called Civil War II, Electric Boogaloo. This in itself is a reference to the 1984 film Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo. “Electric Boogaloo” in itself was, and is often used in a joking manner to refer to a nonexistent sequel to any given piece of entertainment.

However, the point at which the Boogaloo became a genuine political movement with consistent ideals is an even more disputed issue, as the point at which it went from a meme to an ideal differs from person to person. For many, it’s the individual’s own experience that would determine at which point the Boogaloo ideal ascended beyond the realm of jokes and internet culture to become something that one is willing to fight, and die, for.

As the movement has grown, a certain subculture has formed within it. Anything from attire, phrases, vernacular, and even artwork has been created or formed within the community that has sprouted from the Boogaloo. Some as a result of people joining and bringing their own senses of humor and personality, some forming naturally as a form of mass inside-joke, and others formed by necessity due to the watchful (and vengeful) eyes of our enemies, forcing many to speak in coded language and drop old terms for new ones to avoid detection by algorithms.

One of the most cited reasons for joining the Boogaloo as a movement, as discussed among many members and idealists, was the death of Duncan Lemp, a Maryland man murdered by county police on March 12th, 2020, as a result of a no-knock raid performed by the Montgomery County Police Department. Duncan was a twenty-one year old software developer and student. The raid was performed under suspicion of possessing illegal firearms. When the raid began, Duncan was asleep in his bed, and he was asleep when he was murdered.

Since then, Duncan has, among others, been placed in a light of martyrdom (and rightly so) for people who undyingly support the Second Amendment and, furthermore, those who despise tyranny in all its horrific forms and guises.

Duncan’s death, for many, is not only what established a belief that civilian ownership of arms and the right to use them is essential to a free people (as it is), but also a deep distrust for the increasingly corrupt, tyrannical, and uncaring United States government.

Another key event that has been often cited was the death of Breonna Taylor, a 26 year old woman murdered on March 13th, 2020 by plainclothes Louisville police officers in a no-knock raid (performed against the wrong apartment, mind you), wherein her boyfriend, one Kenneth Walker, a gun owner, fired back at the police officers, whom he believed (justly), to be violent intruders. By every metric, he was correct in assuming as much. Kenneth was later released and the charges that were pressed (attempted murder on a police officer) were dropped. However, at the time of this writing, none of the officers involved in this raid have been charged or arrested for their involvement in Breonna’s death, several months after the fact.

The reasons for joining the movement are as varied and diverse as the people who join. Some join primarily as anti-government activists, some are free speech absolutists concerned with the encroaching death of civil discourse, some are free market libertarians whose belief in capitalism is final and total, some are gun lovers and those concerned with the theft of their ability to protect themselves and those they love from all threats, and many are hardworking people who, most simply and purely, wish to be left alone.

For many, these tragedies, and many others too numerous to list in a single document without becoming disingenuous in tone, are not merely sad events and unjust takings of life, but, at the root of it all, it is proof. Proof that in this country, and in many other places the world around, the system has become too corrupt to save through its own avenues. ThusThus, the crop should be razed through fire and scythe rather than to let the blight continue to fester and destroy.

Whatever the cause, whatever the origins, whatever the story, the Boogaloo stands for a simple mission that, as mankind’s history will show, as will its future, is worth dying for.

“Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.”— H.L. Mencken, Prejudices (first series), 1929

Beliefs

As stated elsewhere in this document, the Boogaloo consists of many groups, conclaves, and people from nearly every walk of life. Thus, gaining a consensus on the personal philosophies of every member would not only be difficult, but impossible. Some here are inspired by Rand, others by Hayek, Rothbard, or scores of other great thinkers who believed in liberty before all else, but there are two ideals that are universal among all those who join.

The first is a simpler idea to explain to one who is not familiar with the movement, albeit one surrounded by controversy for many: the right of the people to bear arms. To the Boogaloo, this right does not stop merely at hunting weapons and home defense weapons, but all arms, including (and especially) those weapons that would be called “military style” by our ideological opposites. For the Boogaloo, “shall not be infringed” is total, absolute, and literal. To the Boogaloo, a populace of armed, ready, and willing citizens is what truly stands as the only defense between a free and equal life and that cancerous growth upon which every great atrocity in our history as a species may be blamed for: tyranny, in all forms, faces, and names.

To us, it is not only the right of the people to stay armed and to be a vanguard against injustice, but it is a duty to do so.

It is not enough that standing against authoritarianism and autocracy should be considered heroic, but that it is a cowardly and shameful act to do anything else when faced with the abomination that is authoritarianism.

The second origin for the philosophical roots of the movement, as cited by many, are those of the enlightenment era. Thinkers like Voltaire, Locke, and Rousseau, those philosophers who are accredited with the setting-in-stone of the ideas of individual liberty, equality among all men, freedom of thought, and those noble and righteous goals of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of happiness.

To this extent, the Boogaloo often has found use for glorifying the founding fathers, those great leaders of the American Revolution. Jefferson, Washington, Franklin, and many others find their way into the conversations and memes of many a Facebook or discord group, often reminding the recipient that, by now (were the founding fathers to be in the same situation we find ourselves in) they would have taken up arms and raised the black flag years ago.

We are aware that the founding fathers and those enlightenment philosophers weren’t perfect men, nor do we believe in excusing any abhorrent behavior that they have performed within their lifetime. They were human beings, corruptible and imperfect as anyone. But we do not fight simply for the corpse of George Washington or John Locke, because they were men. Men whose flesh, like ours will one day, has turned to rot. We fight for those ideals, the belief that all people on this earth ought to live free and happy so long as they infringe not on the rights of others, ideas that many men have died for over the course of the odyssey of human history, and will do so until the end of time.

“The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish”— Charlie Chaplin, The Great Dictator, 1940

Who we are

With as diverse and varied our base is, it seems easiest to first establish what we are not: we are not “far right.” We are not white nationalists supremacists; we are not neo nazis; we are not hateful people; nor are we communists, socialists, or violent nihilists.

Earlier we were accused of being all those things, of being neo nazis and wishing to perform some abhorrent cleanse of one group or another. This simply is not true, and our enemies have caught on to this.

Following the death of George Floyd, an African-American man murdered on camera by the Minneapolis police department on May 25th, 2020, sparking worldwide protests. With this, the Boogaloo seemingly gained public attention, as many of us finally decided that this was the time. We had grown weary of watching our rights be infringed upon, tired of the guilty walking free, fed up with the innocent being butchered, and exhausted from feeling helpless to stop it.

In those beginning stages, the mainstream media tried their usual tactics, accusing us of only going to the protests to target minorities and to start a race war, without any substantial evidence to point to this, and a myriad of examples proving exactly the contrary.

They gave up on that narrative soon enough upon seeing who we really are. Due to the nature of the movement, and for the safety and security of all those involved in it, an accurate consensus of just who we are on a statistical basis (and even the total number of people within) is impossible, but not hard to know the generalized results of.

Among us there are people from walks of life, races, religions, upbringings, and backgrounds. The movement works to break down superficial barriers, such as the ones noted above, and seeks to unite all those who see liberty not only as a right, but as a necessity.

As of writing this, the media seems to put a different slant to us. Calling us white supremcists and far-right nationalists doesn't hold up when we stand with the protesters against police brutality and have, on more than one occasion, faced down the guns of SWAT teams in order to protect those that seek nothing more than equality and justice, nothing more than what we were promised. While some of us disagree with Black Lives Matter as an organization, it is rare that you will find a Boogaloo boy that believes the protests are unneeded, and that asking for those who are meant to protect us to be held accountable is unreasonable.

The narrative the media tries to spin now is a simpler one, but one that seems uniquely bestowed upon us and not many others, and one that speaks more to the character of the media more than it does to the character of our movement: they accuse us of “trying to spread chaos.”

This speaks to their character for one simple reason: chaos is, has been, and always will be, the tyrant’s synonym for freedom, and, in turn, the tyrant shall always offer “safety” and “order” as an alternative to this purported chaos.

Is it chaotic to want to be left alone? Is it chaotic to wish for those who enforce our laws to abide by those same laws? Is it chaotic to love one’s family and wish to protect them from all those who would wish harm upon them? Is it chaotic to ask for a day’s pay for a day’s work? Is it chaotic to live freely and ask nothing more than to not be taken advantage of?

These are the things the grand majority of us stand for, and if that is chaos, one must call into question the character of those who would oppose this so-called chaos. While the views of our members vary from person to person, one sentiment rings true for all of us: we wish to be free and unmolested by the grip of tyranny in all facets. If that demand is unreasonable and extreme, we will bear the burden of that label. For if those demands, those things we plead for, are vile and extreme, what does that say of those who would oppose them?

“I was always willing to be reasonable until I had to be unreasonable. Sometimes reasonable men must do unreasonable things.”— Marvin Heemeyer, personal audio diary, 2003/2004

A free people’s speech

To us, it is abhorrent that our ideals must be laid out in this way. It is a travesty and a miscarriage of justice that any group should be negated to the point where they must speak in code just to voice their beliefs. The Boogaloo movement believes strongly that all people have the right to freedom of speech, even our enemies.

As of writing this, a mass purge of Boogaloo groups has occurred across several social media platforms, and we have been labeled extremists.

This horrifies us. Not only because our message is being silenced, but because we are aware of the domino effect. Once one type of speech is no longer safe, no speech is free.

Free speech is not only vital and sacred on principle, but also in practice. To this end, using the example of far right and neo-nazi extemism, while vile and disgusting by every measurement, will aid in illustrating this point. Because freedom of speech exists for the protection of unpopular speech, since popular speech does not need protection.

Over the course of the past couple of years, far right rhetoric and propaganda has been wiped from major social media platforms as a whole in a great purge in its own right.

Sadly, however, this has not wiped out the believers of those ideologies from this earth, far from it. The neo-nazis and the white supremacists, for the large part, have been relegated to their own special corners of the internet, either those set up specifically for them or those forums that allow for anonymous posting like 4chan and 8chan.

This phenomenon is brought up for one important reason: as those ideas are abhorrent, vile, and worthy of the most brutal destruction in debate, they have, by those social media companies, been shielded from all debate, reason, and civil discourse, which has allowed those groups to fester like a gangrenous wound. Without that protection, those ideas should be brought into the light, wherein they may be taken down not by forceful censorship, but by reason and conversation.

Our point is this: unlike those who oppose us, we do not seek to take away the rights of our enemies. Be they communist or fascist, Ku Klux Klan or NFAC, we do believe with all of our being that all people are created equal. For us, there can be no conflict without our enemies striking first and our rights encroached upon.

To this end, one may perhaps make the assumption that we are a reactionary movement, one formed in response and to antithesize another. One would be right, if they were to see someone defending what is theirs after it has been stolen as “reactionary.” If it is radical and extreme to simply want to be left alone, then we will be radical, and we will be extremists. We have warned, to our enemies, enough times. “Don’t tread on me,” we have said since 1778, when the Gadsden flag was first raised. They have tread, and there shall be consequences. One does not shake the hornets’ nest and complain of the venom.

“If we do not believe in free expression for people we despise, we don’t believe in it all.” — Noam Chomsky, 1992

Policies of the Boogaloo

One of the key reasons for the penning of this document is to make public the ideals and stances of the Boogaloo movement at large. As stated elsewhere in this document, our disorganized nature has its benefits. There are few leaders to be targeted, the movement can operate in largely independent groups, with some communication in between (although this is becoming more precarious and difficult following the crackdown by our enemies).

However, the largest, and most dangerous, downside to this is that anything can be accused of us, whether baseless, false, or otherwise slanderous and untrue, and there is no voice for us at large.

This section herein shall serve primarily to cite the Boogaloo’s stances at large that can be broadly attributed to the whole movement. This information was collected via democratic votes through a congress of those representing various cells of the movement. These are beliefs that are key to the movement that have as of yet not been discussed in this document so far, and will follow a lit format in order to promptly and clearly state our policies and principles. This declaration of principles will not necessarily go fully in depth to the origins and intricacies of the beliefs unless it has been deemed necessary, as some are so complex as to warrant a larger dissertation of their own, or the specifics of the stances vary too greatly from member to member to get into without alienating others.

I) Most prominently, the Boogaloo stands for the ideal of the Non Aggression Principle (which will be abbreviated to NAP to save space), the idea that all aggressive actions are, inherently, illegitimate and immoral, regardless of outcome for the one aggressed upon. To this end, the Boogaloo believes strongly that the means must always justify the ends, and not the reverse. In addition, this principle despises the idea of any “victimless crime,” as this is an idea directly opposed to the NAP. “Crimes of moral turpitude” such as sex work, drug possession, gambling, and any other action wherein no one is directly caused harm should be allowed to be performed by all people. Of course, this excludes slavery, forced bondage, or any other such deed that would violate the inherent rights of a human being.

II) To expand upon one idea cited in the previous principle, the Boogaloo finds it important to note that we believe that a person’s body and mind are theirs, and theirs alone, to control. To this end, we believe in the legalization of all intoxicating substances. Unless an individual cannot handle their high and thus causes harm or otherwise violates the rights of another, the state has no business in telling an individual what they may or may not do with their own money and their own body. Furthermore, if use of substances is no longer treated as a crime, then addiction may, by proxy, lose its stigma over time, and therefore those suffering from addiction, and those that love them, may be more likely to seek help, thus ending the disease wherein before shame and fear would have led them away from this path of recovering.

III) One great weight placed upon the American people, and nearly all peoples upon the earth, is the excess of taxation. Every year the tax burden increases, yet every year those programs meant to aid the people, funded by the people, continue to fail, and the country is sunken deeper into debt that cannot be paid back. It is not the issue of not having enough currency, but it is the spending of the government and their silver-tongued extortion of the people. While “taxation is theft” has itself become a meme of sorts, its principle stands. The people are, at threat of violence and imprisonment, forced to hand over a large fraction of their pay to the state before they can even see a single cent of it, and that does not include utility bills, taxes on property, taxes on sales, taxes on their car. With such extortion and so much money leached away from the people, one would think the parasite that is government would be well fed, but year by year we are told that they need more, that fees must increase, that more must be taken “for the greater good”, and year by year those promises are broken. We have never been more in debt, more desperate, and more hopeless, and the root of that is the fact that “a day's work for a days pay” is an empty, almost ironic, adage. One great argument posed to this line of thinking is “who will pave the roads,” as if the state is the only entity physically able to lay those roads and infrastructure, with those same people having the thought in their minds that, even though private entities can produce cell phones, build skyscrapers, assemble automobiles, and accelerate humanity into the future, they cannot lay hot tar upon the ground. To this end, the boogaloo does state that the extortion of the people must end. Time and time again, we are promised that taxing the rich will solve the problems, and time and time again does that tax not fall upon the elite, as is promised, but upon the ever-shrinking middle class. The elites, the CEO’s and the big-wigs will never pay their fair share, for that is the nature of greed, nor will the politicians truly attempt to end this corruption, much as one would never try to infuriate their own boss. This must end. The people, who stand as the columns that hold up the great American citadel, must either have this abuse ceased, or allow the tower to crumble and be rebuilt.

IV) The Boogaloo firmly and vehemently stands against all forms of bigotry, including racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, religious discrimination, and all other intolerant values, though our detractors and slanderous “journalists” (though calling the modern media essayist a journalist is a vast stretch of the meaning, with their twisted truths and mental gymnastics always amazing us with what they’re willing to say) would try to convince you otherwise. We firmly believe that unless all people are free and equal, no one will be, and we will always believe this. All groups of people must be free, and they must all have their voices heard. That being said, we do also believe in a limit to tolerances. Those groups whose nature is inherently harmful, such as pedophiles, rapists, and those who would promote the violation of rights and the deaths of innocents, will not be tolerated. As stated before, we do believe in absolute free speech and the chance to be heard, but upon the harming of an innocent, one's right to that tolerance is revoked. The Boogaloo is made up from people of all races, creeds, religions, sexual orientations, and socioeconomic statuses. Thus, tolerance has been innate to our ideals, and our survival.

V) The immediate and complete demilitarization of police on all levels is inherent and vital to a free and equal people. To this end, not only is the removal of military-style weapons and equipment from law enforcement agencies needed, but so too is the ending of qualified immunity among police officers, and the disbanding of all police unions. Doing so makes those tasked with enforcing the law subject to the law, not above it. They must, like all other citizens, be held responsible for their own representation and their own defense in cases where they are accused of abuse of power. In our modern era, abuses of power are endemic and widespread throughout the country. Because of these factors put in place by the elites and the powers-that-be, “protect and serve” has been discarded in favor of “obey or suffer.” This is abhorrent and must be debrided as gangrene is from clean flesh.

VI) The Boogaloo firmly believes in mass reform of congress, both in pay and in term limits. As it stands, a congressperson can serve their state for less than a decade in many cases, retire, and receive lavish pensions for the rest of their lives, leeching off the money of those they no longer benefit or serve. To this end, the Boogaloo believes in a complete reform of this system. Greatly reducing Congress’ pay, establishing set term limits, and forcing congressmen to plan their own pension and retirement just like the rest of us is the only way forward.

VII) The diminishing and restriction of powers held by the federal government of the United States is seen by many as integral to the Boogaloo Movement. The Federal government has invaded and taken advantage of the lives of the American people for far too long. Their strength, resources, reach must be limited, and the direct influence the federal government holds upon the individual must be greatly reduced, if not eliminated.

VIII) Before all other threats, enemies, and opponents, the Boogaloo stands against tyranny in all forms, and hereby swears that all those who would seek to violate, infringe upon, steal, or otherwise tamper with the rights and lives of the people shall be exposed as tyrants and quickly and promptly destroyed. We stand against tyranny in all forms, whether religious or secular; whether right wing or left. We stand firmly against all those who promote the decimation of innocents, the forsaking of the less fortunate, and all those who wish only for the corrupt and broken machine of our government to continue as is and to expand. The Boogaloo is not right wing or left wing, and thus both far right authoritarians and far left ones are but one thing to us: live targets.

“Behind this mask there is more than just flesh. Beneath this mask there is an idea... and ideas are bulletproof.”—Alan Moore, V For Vendetta, 1989

From here on

The greatest hope here is that, at the very least, this document has brought forth an understanding of the Boogaloo; an understanding of who we are, what we believe, and why we stand as we do. Perhaps you, the reader, have become convinced of our ways and seen the light of liberty that we have seen, or perhaps not.

But one thing, above all others, must be understood, if the Boogaloo is to be understood at all: That we are not the first to bear these beliefs, nor shall we be the last. It is to our belief that we are but another vignette in the everlasting and cyclical story of what we see as man’s greatest and most profound act, the act of revolution. At this point, it is impossible to know how history will remember our iteration of this belief, our success or failure is up to only the fates and to the sands of time.

We stand at the precipice of history, the precipice of war, and the precipice of the unknown. To many, that last item, the unknown, is what instills fear in the most, not knowing what tomorrow will bring. However, to those understanding of history, society, and humanity, this unknown (and its accompanying terror) is what all those names from the odyssey of mankind have faced. Alexander, Octavian, Washington, Lincoln, and countless others all stood on these shores of the ocean of the unknown, hoisted their sails and set off in search of those things they found most important, those things worth more than life itself, and in defiance of those who would deny them what they sought.

We all now stand upon that shore, buffered by the winds of trial and frostbitten by the chill of a nation that cares not. There is only one question left posited to all people of every standing: Do you cast away that fear and board a ship, or cower upon the waterside?

“The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots & tyrants. it is its natural manure”— Thomas Jefferson, letter to William Stephens Smith, 1787

A note from the transcriber

I am no one special. I am just another part of the movement, a piece of a much larger thing. I am okay with that. I am young, barely out of school, but I have watched over the years as the world has become, what I see, a darker place, and those things I was promised, what we were all promised, stolen slowly through the course of a slow, methodical necrosis of our liberties. The powers-that-be seemed, to me, to think that the slow death would not trigger a response from those that would seek to protect what is ours, the Boiling Frog method.

I have always loved freedom, or would like to think I have. When I found the Boogaloo, I found something, something I think many could associate with: a voice where they had none before, and something to believe in, something worth fighting for.

I see myself as part of a generation that is deeply disillusioned with the status quo. I have noticed, at least within my circle, that many of us seek change for the nation, not just in policy changes, but in structure and creating a more perfect, more free union. If you are an older member of the movement, fear not, it shall not die with you. The Boogaloo is a hydra, and we shall never die, but rise stronger at each attempt to destroy us.

To the people who are unsure of their own beliefs and are searching for meaning, the Boogaloo is about more than guns, jokes, and the terminology we use. We are about something greater than ourselves, we are about understanding that some things are worth even more than life itself, that some things are worth dying for and, furthermore, living for. A person can die, their bodies ravaged by the many dangers that come with being human, be they natural or otherwise, but an idea, something to fight for, something with meaning, cannot be killed. Liberty shall always be an innate instinct to us, as natural as breathing.

To our detractors, know this: There can be no conflict with us unless you are the ones to strike first. Our mission is simple: to be left alone. If there will be no strife unless you shoot first, and we shall shoot back, and we will do so until we are free, and we will be the ones to let off the last shot. Tread at your own peril.

And to the Boogaloo boys reading this, march on, become indomitable, and hold your head high. You are on the right side of history. You are on the side of freedom. You are on the side of true justice.

Until Valhalla — Kilbourne

#the boogaloo #the bill of rights #social stuff #government overreach #freedom #freedom isn't extremism #political activism #freedom and justice for all and not just for some #US Constitution

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philly-osopher · 7 years ago

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a great big meta about musical!Laurens

... presented on this occasion of the 235th anniversary of his death.

Let’s just get this out of the way: the John Laurens of Hamilton isn’t a very well-developed character. That doesn’t mean Lin did a bad job writing him, it just means that he didn’t have a lot of time to work with, and had to be very economical with his storytelling. In the play we see a Laurens who drinks a lot, who’s hotheaded and a good shot, who likes Hamilton, who’s constantly working against slavery… and then he’s dead. Compared to historical Laurens or even some incarnations of fanon Laurens (which often draw heavily on historical Laurens), musical Laurens can kind of fall flat. And it’s not like he looms large in the source material: Chernow mentions Laurens on a few dozen pages out of a 750-page book. So why is this character in the musical at all? Or rather, what structural purpose does the character of John Laurens serve in Hamilton? In my opinion, he’s more important than you might expect. I think Laurens’ optimism, recklessness, and determination are emblematic of the simple conflict of Act I, and his death late in Act I is a major inflection point in both Hamilton’s character arc and the tone of the play more generally, driving the transition to the moral ambiguity of Act II.

More under the cut, because The Meta It Is Very Long

You’re the closest friend I’ve got: Laurens and Hamilton’s character

Ultimately, this is a musical about Hamilton’s place in history, and so it makes sense that when Lin was trying to condense such an enormous story down to two and a half hours that most of the other characters got boiled down to who they were to Hamilton. So who was Laurens to Hamilton, in the context of the musical?

First of all, I am almost certain that historical Laurens and Hamilton were romantically/sexually involved. Other, better blogs than mine have spilled much ink on this subject. But there’s not much mention of their romantic relationship in the musical. There has been… much discourse on this topic, which is irrelevant for what I’m going to say here. What’s important is that someone could walk out of the play as it stands right now and not have any hint of a more-than-brotherly relationship between Hamilton and Laurens. (Yeah, in some productions they walk arm-in-arm a lot. This… does not count.) Purely for the purposes of this essay, I’m not really interested in whether or not the musical is accurate. Rather, I’m looking at it as a constructed work of fiction, and how it works as a narrative, not as a work of history.

So, if musical Laurens isn’t a lover to Hamilton, who is he?

1) His best friend and political ally

This one’s pretty self-explanatory. Laurens admires Hamilton as early as “Aaron Burr, Sir,” and is the one who first recognizes Hamilton’s political brilliance and begins his rise to fame in “My Shot” (“let’s get this guy in front of a crowd!”). Whether he’s laughing like a dork in the background of “Farmer Refuted” or working together with Hamilton during “Stay Alive,” they’re together for most of the war portions of the first act.

Another example of best friend-ship: when Hamilton is stymied in his desire to punish Lee for his fuckery at the Battle of Monmouth, Laurens offers to step into place. I’m not saying this was a great idea on Laurens’ part, and it gets Hamilton in trouble, but… look, you guys have all seen the Internet cliché that a good friend is the one who bails you out of jail and a best friend is the one giggling in the cell next to you. For better or for worse, that’s Hamilton and Laurens.

2) A terrible role model

Let’s take the “for worse” side of that first, shall we? Regardless of whose idea it was, in “Stay Alive” Laurens is the one who challenges Lee to a duel. As Hamilton’s best friend, Laurens probably plays a big role in defining what Hamilton thinks of as acceptable conduct. He kicks off “Ten Duel Commandments” and narrates commandments 1 (if they apologize, no need for further action), 2 (if they don’t, grab a friend, that’s your second), and 4 (if they don’t reach a peace, that’s alright/ time to get some pistols and a doctor on site).

Interestingly, Hamilton has the more aggressive and death-focused lines in the song (countering Burr’s “negotiate a peace” with “or negotiate a time and place” + “Leave a note for your next of kin/ Tell ‘em where you been. Pray that hell or heaven lets you in” + the final escalation with Burr that’s all about whether potentially killing Lee would be justified). While this doesn’t make much sense to me given all we know about historical Laurens, if we ignore that context and think only in terms of the musical, giving these lines to Alexander “I imagine death” Hamilton is not only reasonable characterization, it also establishes an association between duels and death… and duels and Hamilton and death… and duels and Hamilton and Laurens and death. Keep those in mind for later.

Regarding Hamilton’s character arc, Laurens does two important things in the duel: he shoots to kill and he remains unscathed. By wounding Lee, Laurens establishes the high stakes of duels. He also sets the precedent that a character we like—one of the “good guys”—has the option of straight-up wasting a guy in a duel without the narrative being too fussed. (Washington’s concern about the duel is that it will piss off their allies to the South—he doesn’t seem to see anything wrong with dueling in general.) This makes both Philip’s and Alexander’s choices to hold their fire in their own duels more morally meaningful. If it was just the thing we expected them to do as “good guys” it wouldn’t hold as much narrative weight.

Laurens also isn’t harmed at all by his duel, either physically or politically. This makes Philip and Hamilton seem slightly less insane for dueling later in the play—after all, there’s a chance this might turn out okay! We saw it happen with Laurens. So, not only does Laurens set up the idea of duels as acceptable ways to resolve disputes, he also gets away from his without experiencing a single negative repercussion! Narratively, this expectation is… not fulfilled. But by setting up a precedent with Laurens and then breaking it, Lin is able to heighten the impact of the later duels.

3) A moral light

Okay, now for the good side of Laurens’ friendship. Hamilton positions the Revolution as a war of uplift (literally—how many times do they say “rise up,” again?), but John Laurens is the only character who consistently (/ever) wants to make that uplift inclusive. I’ve seen some critique of his characterization as being flattened by his laser-focus on slavery, but it’s super important from a narrative standpoint to have someone in-story pointing slavery out, just in case the meta aspect of having PoC playing almost all the characters flies over our heads. In-story Laurens is the one who highlights that the revolution is not inclusive, that they need to be uplifting everyone. He even has a gender-inclusive call to arms in “My Shot” (“tell your brother that he’s gotta rise up/ tell your sister that she’s gotta rise up”).

Critically, Laurens’ fight for freedom is for everyone—he explicitly says “we’ll never be truly free/ until those in bondage have the same rights as you and me,” and, more pithily, “we’ll never be free until we end slavery.” There’s no room for hypocrisy in Laurens’ moral universe—if one person is left out of the revolution, it isn’t a true revolution. His absolute, no-exceptions approach and single-minded determination are a sharp contrast to the Act II wheeler-dealer political horse-trading of Hamilton, Jefferson, and Madison and the bald ambition of Burr. Laurens has something that every politically-oriented character in Act II lacks: a political goal with moral clarity and purity of purpose. (Of course, every one of those characters manages to survive to Act II, unlike Laurens, so the ultimate utility of Laurens’ approach is… up for debate.)

Laurens’ constant fight against slavery represents optimism and idealism that the characters can get the revolution right and spread freedom for all, even as it (meta-narratively) points out their failure to have done so. He also pushes Hamilton towards greater opposition to slavery (in “Stay Alive”). As the audience, we know that slavery is the central, high-stakes moral battle of early America, and it’s at the top of our minds given the prominence of PoC in the cast. So Laurens having an eye on slavery even while everyone else is focused on winning the war is pretty striking, and seeing him push Hamilton further towards abolitionism gives us hope. Even though we know from history class that the battle against institutionalized slavery won’t be won until the Civil War, we can at least hope that Hamilton will be on the right side of it.

I may not live to see our glory: Laurens’ death as a turning point

Let’s talk about the narrative structure of Hamilton. For a long time, I thought that Act I and Act II were simply two opposite arcs. In Act I Hamilton rises; in Act II Hamilton falls. (Fun fact: in the six basic story shapes, this is called the “Icarus.”) And going along with that, each act has its own set of rules and expectations. Act I, for all its drama, doesn’t have much in the way of hard choices or interpretive challenges for the characters (except Angelica, but other folks have already written better meta about her). You win or you lose, you live or you die, you’re right (like Alex and John) or you’re wrong (like Lee). And mostly those categories line up: the winners are right, and they live (except some extras). The losers are wrong, and they die/are defeated. Hamilton starts out as a Cinderella story, both for Hamilton and for America, in which the underdog rises up and, in spite of incredible odds, succeeds. The good guys wear blue, the goal is to stay alive, and the morality of the world is simple.

But once the war is won, the character-driven political tragedy of Act II emerges, and all the easy old equivalences start to break down. A criminal blackmailer gets off scot free, an innocent is murdered, a smart man makes a series of incredibly stupid choices. In addition to defying Act I’s fairytale good-guys-win logic, Act II is a much more morally ambiguous place. The challenge (as assessed by Washington, when he says, dying is easy, young man, living is harder) of Act I is “living”—which is not to say that staying alive is easy, but rather that, as a goal, it isn’t complicated. In Act II, the challenge shifts to “governing” (winning was easy, young man, governing’s harder). And with governing comes compromise, and sacrifice. As Burr puts it, to accomplish your political agenda you must, “hold your nose and close your eyes.” The art of political deal-making isn’t for the faint of heart or stomach. In the face of this compromised and complicated world, Hamilton’s internal flaws, just as much as his enemies, lead to his downfall.

But then I started thinking about Laurens and his relationship with the rules of Act I, and I realized something strange was going on. Laurens thrives in the simple moral world of the war. Remember, in most of Act I winning, rightness, and survival all go together. As the character who never shuts up about ending slavery, Laurens is the most prominently morally right guy in the play. And along with that rightness comes victory in battle-- not only does he shoot Charles Lee, at one point he and the Bullet kill a redcoat with their bare hands. So at first, Laurens’ story seems to be perfectly adhering to the rules of Act I.

Despite this, when the rules of Act I start to fray, they do so first for Laurens. This happens in a moment that I want to bring attention to in “Yorktown” (you can see it even better around 6:20 in the B roll footage). In the stunned moments following the British surrender, Laurens says, “Black and white soldiers wonder alike if this really means freedom.” And Washington, looming over the company from high on the balcony, says, “Not yet.” There’s a sudden minor chord like a blow being struck, and the company drops. It’s like every single member of the ensemble has been simultaneously punched in the stomach. Washington, the history-wise audience knows, has made the political and personal calculation that ending slavery would be too costly.

In this moment, in defiance of the usual Act I rules, Laurens’ youth and egalitarian idealism collide directly with Washington’s political cunning—and lose. Before we even see the full triumph of Yorktown, Laurens’ dream of ending slavery is over. Twenty stage-seconds after the war ends, and already the simple equivocation between being right and winning breaks down. We’re moving into the murkier political drama of Act II, where being morally right is no guarantee of victory—and even allies like Washington aren’t necessarily morally right. Laurens’ failure to secure the end of slavery ushers in a loss of the hope that the America’s moral problems can be solved as easily as her military problems.

The moment that Washington dashes Laurens’ idealistic plans to end slavery marks the beginning of the end for the “Act I rules”, but the complete break doesn’t occur until Laurens’ death in the Laurens Interlude/ “Tomorrow There’ll Be More of Us.” Brutally, the news that he’s dead comes two whole songs after the victory at Yorktown, at which point the audience believes all of our favorite soldiers have made it out alive. Even more brutally, the song immediately preceding Laurens’ death is “Dear Theodosia,” a sweet and simple ode to new life. The precedents set before in Act I are shattered—just as with the duels, Lin sets up expectations only to break them. In a world where the good guys not only survive, but triumph, you wouldn’t expect the character most closely aligned with political moral goodness to die in battle when there isn’t even a war anymore. To anyone unfamiliar with Laurens’ personal story, his death is a stunning blow. What’s more, it heralds a shift in the internal logic of the play.

The Laurens Interlude also represents a shift in Hamilton’s character. Remember, Laurens fights for equal application of America’s ideal of freedom to all people, and pushes his friend Hamilton to do the same. Laurens’ death closes the chapter on young, idealistic Act I Hamilton. Act II Hamilton, as effective as he is politically at first, fails to live up to his ideals. He hypocritically screams at Maria for an affair that’s just as much his fault as hers; he pays off a blackmailer to avoid telling his wife about the same affair; and he casually abandons his old friend Lafayette in “Cabinet Battle #2.” He even adopts Burr’s “talk less, smile more” strategy to get his debt plan through—an amazing reversal given his bafflement and criticism at that same strategy in Act I. And tellingly, he almost totally abandons the issue of slavery. It’s clear he’s still disgusted by it when he mocks Jefferson in “Cabinet Battle #1.” But he never goes further than that, and Lin even preserves historical Hamilton’s line calling the Washington administration “unconscious of intentional error” (for why this is historically totally inaccurate re: slavery, see this post). So, both in the specific case of slavery and in other cases, the Hamilton we see in Act II compromises his values where Act I Hamilton might have fought.

Act I Hamilton is hotheaded and lacks a certain degree of common sense, but he’s fighting for a just cause against an oppressive government. Act II Hamilton is fighting for America to be run the way he thinks best, but the problems he’s solving, and the approaches he takes to solve them, are all practical/ pragmatic ones (e.g., let’s start a national bank to get our credit working, let’s not help France because the situation is too chaotic). Clearly he grows less idealistic and more practical, and I think the start of this shift isn’t the act break, but actually the end of the Laurens Interlude. In fact, I think Laurens’ death precipitates it.

Hamilton’s reaction to Laurens’ death is understated but devastating. He slumps, there’s a long period of silence, and then finally he chokes out, “I have so much work to do.” This isn’t a call back—it’s a call forward to one of Jefferson’s first lines in Act II: “now the work at home begins.” And just like the music, Hamilton points himself forward. The news of Laurens’ death spurs Hamilton into a manic spiral of productivity. After all, Laurens’ dream dies with him, and Hamilton doesn’t want the same fate to overtake his own legacy… so he starts building frantically, launching immediately into the juggernaut that is “Non-Stop.” An astonished Burr even asks him, “why do you write like you’re running out of time?”—a question Hamilton never answers. He bounces from Albany to the Constitutional Convention to the Federalist Papers without the music so much as pausing for breath. And we should note that the majority of Hamilton’s “so much work” is self-assigned. He didn’t have to write any Federalist Papers, much less 51 of them. This is a man dealing with a severe existential crisis via workaholism.

Musically, Hamilton succeeds in crowding Laurens out of the story in “Non-Stop.” The song brings together almost every single motif of Act I — except the ones that Laurens is associated with (more on these in the last section). I think the score here supports the idea that Hamilton’s frantic activity during “Non-Stop” is to distract himself from the pain and existential crisis caused by Laurens’ death. But in doing so, he leaves behind more than just his pain. He also leaves behind much of the idealism that Laurens pushed him towards in Act I. With his overriding focus on his legacy as a whole, he’s willing to make sacrifices and compromises that Laurens might never have taken.

Even though I just said that musically “Non-Stop” is a roundup of Act I themes, it actually comes after the Laurens Interlude. If my idea is correct that Laurens’ death is where the play transitions from the simple moral world of Act I to the complicated moral world of Act II, then “Non-Stop” should actually be spiritually closer to Act II, since it falls after the Interlude. I think the evidence supports this idea. First, we get the moral complication that is characteristic of the Act II when we witness Alexander’s first truly skeezy emotional move of the play: he steals Eliza’s own melody (“Look around, look around…”) to justify sacrificing time with his family in favor of his work and the legacy he wants to build. Second, Burr introduces the audience for the first time to a serious character flaw of Alexander’s: he’s great at giving his enemies the tools to destroy him. The conflict in the play has evolved: it’s no longer Continentals vs. redcoats, but rather Alexander’s brilliance against his own self-destructive tendencies. This foreshadows multiple partially self-inflicted conflicts in Act II that will prove fatal to Alexander’s political career, (almost) marriage, son, and self. Third, I’ve already talked about how most of Act I deals with the struggle for survival/ living, and Act II deals with the challenges of governing. “Non-Stop” is all about governing, and culminates in Hamilton’s ascent to a position of power in government. As such, even though the musical themes are looking back to Act I, the story and character arcs have already landed in the more complex world of Act II. This supports the idea that the Laurens Interlude, and the loss of idealism and optimism that it represents, is the true pivot point of the play.

Shout it from the rooftops! Musical motifs

Laurens initiates three different leitmotifs:

1 ) He starts up the “whoa whoa WHOA-oh-oh”s in “My Shot.” These are, properly speaking, a melodic line to go along with the “My Shot” chord progression, which is in turn one of Hamilton’s leitmotifs. This dovetails neatly with Laurens’ narrative place: he’s Hamilton’s good friend, hence him sharing Hamilton’s chord progression in this moment, and he helps him developing and disseminate his political ideas. Howard Ho, in his fantastic musical analysis of the show, calls the melody that Laurens adds on top a “call to violence in the name of honor.” Laurens is getting the rest of the crowd—and the audience—pumped up to revolt.

Incidentally, this moment seems to be a jolt for Hamilton, because he goes straight into his first “I imagine death so much…” verse here, and has some clear reservations about the anarchic atmosphere that Laurens is stirring up (“And? If we win our independence?/ Is that a guarantee of freedom for our descendants? / Or will the blood we shed begin an endless / Cycle of vengeance and death with no defendants?”). This signals a gap between Hamilton’s and Laurens’ approaches to violence — Hamilton’s already thinking far into the future, to his legacy, while Laurens is thinking about the here and now. And with Hamilton’s focus on his legacy — that guarantee of freedom for his descendants — that very focus drives him to momentarily shy away from Laurens’ call to violence. Would it be too much of a stretch to say that this foreshadows Hamilton’s and Laurens’ different decisions about whether to shoot in their respective duels? Probably. But at the very least, it shows that Hamilton and Laurens aren’t in lockstep as far as methods go, even as their goal — revolution — is the same.

2) Laurens is the first to use the phrase “Rise up!” in “My Shot,” a call to action that is subsequently taken up by the ensemble. This is an explicit call to revolt, but for Hamilton, it has a double meaning: not only is he rising up against Britain, he’s also rising up in society.

3) Laurens is the first to “raise a glass to freedom” in “The Story of Tonight.”

After an absence for almost all of Act II, Laurens’ “My Shot” melody recurs in “The World Was Wide Enough.” What’s it doing there? I think one possibility is that it’s meant to evoke nostalgia about the young and idealistic days of the early revolution, before the morality of the show falls into the light-gray vs dark-gray struggles and failures of Act II. When Hamilton sees Laurens on the other side, he even identifies the melody (the “soldier’s chorus”) by name, this time explicitly linking it to the military past they share. But that ignores the tension of the moment, right as Hamilton and Burr are gearing up for the duel. It sounds foreboding, almost ghostly, and I think it’s meant to recall Laurens’ own young and senseless death, right before Hamilton is about to die, also too young and senseless. If this connection seems tenuous, maybe more evidence will convince you: Hamilton frantically reprises “rise up” in bullet-time during “The World Was Wide Enough,” and “raise a glass to freedom” is the last thing we hear Hamilton say. In other words, Laurens originates a total of three musical motifs in Hamilton, and all three of them recur immediately before Hamilton’s violent, tragic death. So the absence of these motifs from the end of Act I doesn’t mean they’re gone forever. Like death, they can only be postponed, and they find their way home here. With them comes Act I’s simple dichotomy: live, or die.

But in Act II, we’ve learned that life—and victory—aren’t as simple as we thought in Act I. Though Hamilton loses the duel, he wins his legacy, while Burr survives and reaps terrible consequences. Hamilton can’t follow in Laurens’ footsteps—he can’t shoot—because to do so would be to destroy his political legacy. Hamilton’s decision not to shoot causes terrible pain for Hamilton’s surviving family; it’s a sacrifice he makes with great regret. But the rules of Act II no longer allow Hamilton to both “win” the duel (survive it) and “win” his legacy, the way Laurens was able to get away with in his duel when the Act I rules still applied. And so, in order to preserve his legacy, Hamilton must hold his fire. Just as Laurens both wins (the war) and dies, so will Hamilton—but for him, because of the perverse logic of the duel, to win he must die. Laurens’ leitmotifs guide Hamilton away from the musical world of the living into the musical world of the dead. This is to be Hamilton’s last battle, and he marches into it with the memory of Laurens by his side.

#Hamilton meta #my meta #John Laurens #Hamilton Broadway

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