#willingly carried out by the people who were supposed to protect and guide those children

[catboygirljoker]

hey you ever think about how its implied that you have to be turned into a nobody to get norted, like, every member of the real org13 who isnt literally xehanort or literally possessed by xehanort is a nobody (except maybe vanitas but *gestures* thats a . different can of worms), and the people who were recompleted had to then become nobodies again in order to be in the real org13 and serve as a vessel for xehanort, like perhaps your heart has to be removed in order to make room for another heart,

and then do you ever think about the one character who canonically got norted before becoming a nobody and is still norted even after being recompleted and thus canonically didnt need to become a nobody in order to be norted, and then lose your mind a little bit

[siennahrobek]

Obi-Wan could smell it before he even thought of lowering his shields enough to feel it. It is the tangy and coppery smell of blood. The Temple is drenched in it and even though it no longer flows, he can nearly see it flowing down the columns and steps, once beautiful and magnificent. Once home. There is fire and blood, smoke that fills his lungs until he feels he can no longer breathe.

There are corpses everywhere he turns, he cannot escape the sight. The clones had not done anything with the bodies, they had just shot elderly, sick, teachers, children and younglings, in the back and moved on to shoot another and another and another. His stomach was rolling in continuous waves and his feelings are nothing but nauseous.

He has seen many battles, many fields strewn with bodies of both the enemy and the innocent. Has seen his own men across these fields, fighting to protect those who cared very little for them. Fighting and dying in defense of the innocence on the planet they happened to be on, shielding them from mortars and blaster fire. Countless shot, blasted, crushed, ripped apart, fallen. There are few horrors he has not seen and witnessed.

But it has been many years since he last witnessed a place so soaked with the demise of so many children. But this time, this time, there is no one left to keep on.

*

Obi-Wan is drifting. Drifting through the halls, an aimless and futile search for survivors. The clones are good at what they do, battle and war. They carry their orders well. They do not leave survivors. They never left a single droid unbroken and operational on the countless battles he has fought alongside them with. He does not understand. He thinks he never will.

It does not escape his eye, however, that some bodies did not sport the death wounds of blaster shots. Many had been beheaded or relieved of any number of limbs. The cauterized wounds a lightsaber makes.

Someone led the troopers into the Temple, someone they trust and someone the younglings thought they could trust.

A jedi.

There was yet, another traitor.

Obi-Wan travels deeper and deeper, letting his feelings guide him. There is nothing left, he finds, only the feelings of horror and betrayal lingering. The oppressing cold of the dark side. It screamed at him, a mournful wail. Perhaps it is suitable, he thinks, if he died here, if he wandered so deep, became so lost, he could not return. The thought it almost appealing, he thinks, because this must be what his destiny is. Something so lonely and terrible that only he would survive it, because, in the end, for some reason he cannot fathom, he is the one who continues to stand, continues to survive. He is nearly to his knees, leaning against a cold stone wall when he hears it and in the beginning, he is not entirely sure that it is not his brain playing tricks upon him. Because if the sound is true and real, nothing would be the same. A hushed sound brings him back to his senses and he reaches out, hesitantly, carefully. Something reaches back. That sound changes his life.

*

There are survivors. A gaggle of children huddling behind a clone with askew armor and a lightning scar over his head. A tiny horned head pops over the top of it, little hands gripping the armor and eyes wide with curiosity. The clone went to cover it but upon the younglings cry of joy at the sight of the jedi master, his shoulders roll and with the motion, so does the tension. He somehow expects a battle, an enemy. Obi-Wan can relate.

Firework, the trooper supplies. Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize him and the clone barely knows who Obi-Wan is either. As the younglings cry and try to grab hold of the jedi they know, Firework spill out. He does not understand what is happening. He knows about as much as Obi-Wan does. He does not understand why his brother have done something so awful, so cruel, so out of character.

He thinks something must be wrong. Obi-Wan isn’t sure he can think about it right now, so he does not. He just stares at what is left, down at the bodies that are wriggling to get close to his presence, as if he can offer them some amount of safety. He is uncertain what he is able to offer. Out of ten thousand, it is not much, but it is something. It is everything.

It is hope.

He leads them to the communications and information hub for answers, for something else. He contacts Bail Organa on the way, his only known ally, and requests for a bigger ship. They have more cargo to smuggle now. The senator seemed relieved at the prospect. Firewok glances at him, cautiously. He doesn’t know who to trust, especially when it comes to the government, to the senate. Obi-Wan can relate.

He relays a message to any surviving jedi to not return to the Temple.

The darkness and tyranny has risen, the Republic, fallen.

That time is gone and passed. A future that is uncertain, no longer safe.

There will be challenges, trust, faith, friendships.

There will be a new hope, he assures.

He really does not know who he is trying to convince. The children listen, quiet and attentive but once he is done, all of the questions bombard him. What is happening Master Kenobi? Where will we go? Why are our loved ones dead? Why are our loved ones killing us?

He does not have the answers for them.

Instead, he directs Firework to lead the children out of the Temple, sneakily and quietly and away, as Bail’s awaiting ship approaches to take them far from this place. He tells him there is something, one other thing, he must do, and he will catch up for certain. There are security tapes near everywhere and he has accessed them. He must know.

“It will only bring you pain,” a voice, a little Tholothian youngling, declares, her voice mournful and sympathetic, but it is too late. The recording plays and his heart twists, his chest lumps together and he can no longer breathe. Because, of course, he knows that face. He knows that face, but he does not recognize those eyes. Those yellow eyes.

Anakin.

He doesn’t refute it. Not with a youngling around. Not when she witnessed the horror. Who is he to question her trauma, just because he does not want to believe it? Perhaps, if she had not been there, he would have muttered denials. Because it seemed impossible. Anakin was capable of a great many things, but he never would have thought that he would slaughter children. Not this.

He doesn’t say anything else on the matter. He just stares as his beloved apprentice, his beloved brother, kneels at the feet of a Sith Lord, declaring himself and pledging himself to the Master. Anakin was always so concerned about becoming a slave to anything, Obi-Wan supposed the young one hadn’t realized he had just walked into it willingly. “You must go with the others,” he says instead, his voice cracking and somehow, it has become hoarse. Unusual, considering he has not been screaming or crying or even talking that much as of late.

“You must come with me,” she replies instead.

“There is someone I must warn,” he counters, the words coming out of his mouth before his brain can catch up. Somehow, he knows who he must warn but he wants nothing to do with it, not really. She will not believe him.

“You can call her,” she adds, patiently. He wonders if she knows who he is thinking of. She almost acts as though she does and perhaps it is true. They had never been one for subtly. Anyone could know rather easily. “There is no one else we can trust. Please.”

He nods but his mind is full. How can he not? “I apologize for my inadequate behavior,” he says in express regret, tone quiet and subdued. She takes his hand, curling her fingers around his larger one, and starts to lead him away from the recording, playing on a loop. It will stop automatically in a few minutes; he realizes but he cannot summon the strength to turn it off. He can hear a few sounds, but little else from it. “I do not know what I am thinking.”

“It is okay,” she assures, squeezing his hand, gently. The touch grounds him, brings him back to the present. He is tired, he knows, but not enough to cease action, not enough to stop moving forward. “But you survived. You are everyone’s best hope to survive too,” she points out, shuffling closer to his side. “Our only hope. Help us.”

“I have survived,” he agrees, although his voice is rather bland. He isn’t sure exactly what she is saying he has survived. It could be any number of things. Conflict, war, pain, death. He still wonders why him, out of all people, all beings, that keeps surviving these things. But then again, he does know, doesn’t he?

Infinite sadness, a nonexistent wind whispers.

Right, he thinks. He hadn’t lost everything yet. He has not yet become a near powerless, lonely old man in the desert.

Life had more to take.

Firework had been on the verge of absolute panic upon discovering the youngling’s absence when they got to the docked ship. All of them were aboard and he appeared ready to dive back into the horror scene that was once their home. Obi-Wan nearly could swear the clone nearly fainted in his relieved sigh when he saw the two of them, hand in hand, approach the ship. Bail had a rather large air craft waiting for them to rendezvous with. No one knew what would happen know and they looked to Obi-Wan for answers.

How could he tell them that he didn’t have any? Not one?

Obi-Wan, after getting the children to sleep, called Padme. It isn’t a pleasant conversation, and it drags out, no matter how many times he tries to excuse himself. She has questions. And once again, he does not have answers. He warns her of Anakin, of what he has done and what he could do. She does not believe him. But there is something there that she does know, he just can’t read it through the call. He lacks surprise at her disbelief, she is even more blind to Anakin’s faults than he is, apparently.

But Obi-Wan knows the truth. He just cannot convince her of it. He suggests she get help, a lot and fast, if she wants to survive her pregnancy – the jedi cannot help her now. This she is surprised by although Obi-Wan doesn’t know which part. Is she surprised that he knows about her pregnancy, or did she not believe the jedi would have helped her? It does very little to matter.

They are gone.

He musters all his sympathy.

But everything falls away when a little mirialan youngling comes to him for comfort. The child is scared and unsure and does not want to frighten anyone else with his own fear. He wants to be strong for them, to help Obi-Wan and Firework in what way he can. He tells Obi-Wan this, staring up at him with dark eyes, green skin flush but determined and steadfast. Obi-Wan just stares, his eyes and gaze softening; everything about him tempering. Because at this point, he has no lost everything, not as of yet. He still has something to hold onto, something to live for, to love and cherish and protect. And he will, the jedi vows.

Obi-Wan’s resolve strengthens to near nothing he has felt before. It is invigorating somehow. His arms lose the ache of use to hold the child to his chest with warmth coursing through the surface of his skin. His heart intensifies, beating in time with the youngling’s own. He feels it, so does the child. They stare. The soreness in his legs cease significantly, as the will to lift him up continues to rise. He no longer feels the need to collapse, his legs no longer feel like they will collapse underneath him, unable to support his weight. Because now, he can support the weight of them all. He will continue

He will continue until he has nothing left. Until his bones crack and shatter, until he can physically no longer stand or sit or go gone. Until his heart gives out and his mind can take no more. Until he can no longer see with his eyes, see with his senses, see at all. Until he can no longer smell or taste or touch. Until he can no longer sense, danger, the force, the love and care that they have for him, and he has for them. Until his memory is long gone, and he cannot remember even how to breathe. Until he can no longer teach and protect and love. And then he will continue, beyond, still.

None of it mattered because he will continue, always, consistently, never with falter. There will be no giving up. If only for them. His love is not finite, and they will know it, he vows.

*

Somehow, someway, they end up in the medical facilities on Polis Massa as if they are meant to be there. Perhaps it was the senator’s droids that contact them, maybe it was the will of the force guiding them, perhaps it was even just plain coincidence. He does not know. But standing over her, surrounded by jedi survivors, jedi children, trying to keep her from dying, while holding her two bundles of light, he does not remember how they got here. And of course, as it all comes to be, he does not care much either.

They are beautiful.

And his jedi children, his strong and incredible jedi survivors, were trying so hard to keep Padme alive. They pull and pull, no matter how much she tries to withdraw. Obi-Wan does not know what she saw or what happened when she went after Anakin and confronted him, in any capacity. He cannot imagine that it had been good or productive, especially considering the state she is in and her lover’s absence. But she could not be so selfish to give up her life because of him, because of one man that gave up everything else in hatred and power, not when she had two innocent babies that needed her. He would not let her. She may not have cared for the genocide and murder of his people and his children, but Luke and Leia are two that are hers.

In the end, they do keep her alive but do not know when she will awaken. The doctors say she is exhausted and weak and needs a lot of time to regain her strength, if she is even capable of it at all. Obi-Wan nearly wonders why, a little, because how can she be so exhausted and weak, so ready to give up when she knows, when she knows that she has children depending on her. But, in the end, he supposes, it does not matter. What is done is done.

He gathers up his gaggle of younglings in his arms and praises them for their good work. He tells them how good jedi they are, and he is infinitely proud. He will always be infinitely proud. They beam and love and he just wants to bask in their light forever. After everything they had been through, the intense horror of their people’s genocide, they are still so light, so strong and so remarkable.

They are amazing.

Bail himself eventually makes his way to them soon after. From then on, it is just them who does most of the planning. Bail seems to be the Jedi’s nearly only ally as of currently, at this point. The war had done a number on them, the propaganda, even more so. But it is the new emperor’s statements and rise that really seals the jedi’s fate once and for all, at least, for now. They believe him, somehow. They all believe that the jedi are traitors, that they are evil, power hungry monsters. That their children deserved to be slaughtered in their beds. Never before has Obi-Wan wanted to truly commit to a move of sai tok on a person.

Ideas are bounced off between the two of them, as they search, as they plan. One thing is for sure – the Empire cannot continue to stand. They talk about what is next for them, for Obi-Wan and the younglings. Bail offers to take Padme, to their healers and doctors so she can rest and heal. For now, he can hide her away until she awakens and can make a choice on what she would like to do next. He offers to take Luke and Leia to raise as their own until Padme can do it herself and Obi-Wan hesitates.

It is not that he does not trust Bail, he thinks, especially after this, Bail is one of the few that he continues to trust, continues to in a galaxy where everything and everyone is against him and his people. He has no doubt that Bail and his beautiful wife would do a magnificent job raising children, even ones such as them. He knows Bail well and he has come to know Breha as well. They are quite wonderful people that he will continue to care for. But Luke and Leia are highly force sensitive. One could be hidden perhaps, quite easily even, but the two of them were bound to feed off one another’s emotions as they grew, eventually. They are twin suns.

In the end, somehow, he relents. They negotiate and compromise and once more, perhaps it helps that Bail can and is willing to hide all of them away. It helps that he is willing to hide them in the mysterious and remote mountains of his home planet, a place to treacherous to travel, it would be likely that only a jedi could really find passage. It may be right under the emperor’s nose but Obi-Wan has a feeling that this can work.

He is right.

It helps that Bail makes it clear that he will continue to help them.

They leave the medical facility quickly, in fear of who may chase after them, but their talks continue. He plans to start work in the senate, in the government, in the galaxy, immediately. He, Padme, and several others had already started a movement before this had happened, that could be turned into something of a rebellion. It would be slow coming, but it will come.

Bail nearly has a heart attack at the sight of Firework when he and Obi-Wan go into the ship with the younglings. He was nearly killed by clones when he had stopped at the Temple the first time, in the midst of the genocide. He was saved by a padawan. But after a conversation, it is agreed – there is something horribly wrong with the clones. No one is certain that what has happened to them is their fault. Bail promises them, he promises Firework, holding his hand to secure his words and his vow, to look into the issue. Perhaps kidnap a few to test and understand what can compel them to turn on the jedi. A few out of millions would hardly be amiss, Bail says. Little does Obi-Wan know at that point, Bail is already scheming to steal the 212th Attack Battalion back for him.

Breha is as kind and beautiful and strong and amazing as always. She is more determined and steadfast as ever in her support of Obi-Wan and his people and somehow, someway, has already started searches out for any surviving Jedi, to find them and bring them to their new home. He presents her the twins of Luke and Leia, and she tries not to fall in love with them immediately. She probably does not succeed, as Obi-Wan had not succeeded either.

She promises to do all the things Obi-Wan recommends when it comes to rearing the children so sensitive to the Force and tells him he can visit whenever he wants or needs. She even tells him she will bring him to their new home and place when he would request. She is willing to do virtually anything for the betterment of these children, Obi-Wan realizes and even questions about keeping them together and not with others of their kind. He offers her a few reading materials and some tips. She gives him the most secure comm link that is around for the two of them.

The trip to their mountain hideout is as treacherous and dangerous as Bail had warned him, but in the end, being a jedi was nearly the only way to get there without getting themselves killed. And Obi-Wan was right, it was the perfect place to hide away from the Empire. Alderaan itself might be close and suspicious in the Empire’s purview but not only was this place, carved deep into a mountain so remote and difficult to find, it hid them away, physically and spiritually.

It would need some cleaning up, but it was mostly untouched for however long it had been since the ancients had left it or died out. It was beautiful and although everyone is a little hesitant, he thinks and they think, they can somehow, someway, eventually call it home.

They stand in the grand fall after the third entrance, where the walls swallow and the ceiling reach high up, held together by study columns. They are all holding one another. The littlest ones in the adult’s arms and tucked against their chests, the others holding hands tightly, as if they release one another, they will disappear forever.

And then, it is just a lone jedi master, a single clone, and a gaggle of children.

And until the Empire was dead and gone, until the people in power no longer thought of his people as traitors, monsters, and evil ones, they are forced to run and hide.

[pendragon50]

Chapter 2: An Angel to the Rescue

Here’s Chapter 2 of Lovebirds in Gotham, my Arthur Fleck fanfic. Hope you like it! :D

The clown spun the large yellow sign this way and that, twirling it as easily and gracefully as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Painted on the sign in large black and red letters were the words: EVERYTHING MUST GO!! He was performing beside Kenny’s Music Shop, a small business no one seemed to be paying much attention to as they strolled past. It was like the shop was invisible.

Arthur didn’t let the smile on his face disappear. When he wore his clown costume and bright makeup, he slipped into a different identify entirely. On that cloudy morning, he was no longer Arthur Fleck, but a happy clown who’d stop at nothing to spread joy and laughter to the world.

On his right, an old man played a piano. Arthur shifted his feet in tune to the song, letting the music guide him.

When a father and his two children walked past, Arthur lifted the sign high above his head in a dramatic fashion. Making a silly face at the kids, the boy chuckled. The girl clapped her hands in evident delight. Pleased by their responses, he stomped his jumbo red-and-blue shoes, mouthing the words, “If you’re happy and you know it, stomp your feet!” Both kids immediately stomped their feet, watching the performing clown with obvious excitement.

The unamused father, meanwhile, scowled at the clown and nudged the kids to keep moving. The little girl stole a quick glance over her shoulder. Arthur frowned briefly, but wiped his frown away, reminding himself that he was a happy clown. You've got a purpose, he reminded himself: to spread joy and laughter to the world. Forcing his lips into a broad smile, he held up one hand and waved at her in a friendly, silent “bye!”

 Carnival.

That was Arthur Fleck’s clown name. It had been his clown name in the many years he’d been a party clown.

His smile widened as he recalled how he’d come up with the name. Growing up, he’d always longed to visit a carnival. A magical place chock full of sleepless fun – what greater place was there for a kid? But his mother had always struggled, financially, to support she and her son, so Arthur had never taken even one step inside a carnival. He could only imagine what it would be like to bite into a crisp, sweet candy apple, brave a thrilling roller coaster, to see nightly fireworks of all colors light up an evening sky. At thirty-five, still he longed to visit one, but times were hard. Life was difficult enough as it was; he could barely afford the apartment he and his sick mother currently lived in.

For now, he could only keep dreaming.

People of all sorts passed by Carnival as he danced to the music. In the sea of faces, Arthur noticed expressions of every kind.

Impatience.

Frustration.

Boredom.

Arrogance.

Apathy.

So much negativity. It didn’t matter what face he looked to; it was all the same. A never-ending sea of negativity. Gotham was a city weighed down by such hopelessness, Arthur was surprised the city hadn’t yet crumbled.

As one spindly woman strode towards him, Arthur offered her a toothy, clownish smile. As expected, the woman ignored the smiling clown and picked up the pace. Though he wanted nothing more than to spread joy and laughter to the world, it was somewhat difficult when the world didn’t seem to care.

But he couldn’t stop trying. He refused to.

It’s a new day, he thought, injecting as much positivity into his brain as he could. Considering his head was filled with enough negative thoughts, he knew the importance of digging deep for even the smallest bit of positive thinking.

Kids, at least, always seemed to enjoy Carnival.

That is, most kids.

Carnival was spinning his sign over his head. Up and down, left and right went the sign, the focused clown slowing his pace for not even a second. Too absorbed in his sign-twirling, he didn’t notice the group of teenagers strutting directly for him. Only when he heard a cocky voice call out to him did Arthur swallow nervously.

Trouble was on its way.

“Yo, what’s up with your shoes, bro?”

He’s talking about me, thought Arthur, his chest tightening with fear. He’s definitely talking about me. He’s gonna...gonna... He hated thinking of what might be in store for him. Afraid of sending his gaze elsewhere, he focused only on the sign. The guys approaching him were the very definition of troublemakers. The way they carried themselves, the smug smirks glued to their faces – it didn’t take a genius to see these teens were hungry for an extra large helping of trouble.

And Arthur Fleck was on the menu.

“Hey, if you’re gonna be a clown,” the same voice shouted with a sneer, “at least you can be a good one, you know that, right?”

 WHACK!

Poor Carnival had no time to react. The only noise that slipped from his painted lips was a startled, surprised, “ahh!” One minute he was spinning the sign round and round, lost in the world that was Carnival the Clown’s. The next it was knocked right out of his grasp. Lightning quick, one of the teens grabbed hold of the sign and bolted off, the other boys sprinting after him. Arthur reached out desperately for the sign, only to slip like a clumsy, confused camel.

“Hey!” he shouted in a hoarse voice.

Just like that, the chase was on.

Arthur knew he’d never catch them. Running in his jumbo clown shoes was not like running in comfy running sneakers. But he couldn’t let these kids run off with the sign. If Kenny came out and realized his sign was missing, the blame would fall all on Arthur and Arthur alone. Not to mention his unfairly strict boss, Hoyt, would not be pleased. The man had already given Arthur many chances. One more disappointment, and Arthur feared he’d lose his job at Ha-Ha’s before he’d have time to so much as blink.

“STOP THEM!” he hollered. Over and over again he called out for someone, anyone, to notice the pleading clown.

But they didn’t.

Because no one cared.

No one cared anymore.

“Come on, Clown!” the oldest guy taunted, laughing meanly. “We got the sign!”

Arthur ran as fast as he could, his lungs aching the faster he ran. Being a heavy smoker, it didn’t take much for him to get out of breath. But it didn’t matter. He was responsible for Kenny’s sign. He had to get it back.

Down the busy sidewalk Arthur ran. The teens kept looking back at him, the sneers on their faces refusing to die. How he managed to avoid knocking into people, Arthur wasn’t sure. With unexplainable speed, he weaved in and around men, women and children, praying he didn’t tumble and crash to the ground and break both his legs.

“Where’s your sign, Clown?”

In your hands, thought Arthur miserably. Determined to get his sign back, Arthur raced out into the busy street, not realizing at the time how dangerous a thing this was to do on a busy Monday morning.

 BEEEEEEP!

Arthur cried out in alarm as he barely avoided being slammed into by an oncoming car. A few steps forward and another vehicle slammed on their breaks. The embarrassed, fear-stricken look in his eyes went unnoticed by the peeved driver, who honked harshly at the clown. Before Arthur hurried off the street, the cabbie rolled down the window to yell out, “Watch where you’re going!”

Arthur felt his legs starting to cramp. He doubted he could run much longer until his fuel tank ran out and he’d have to stop. His lungs were screaming for air with each step he took.

Faster, run faster! he thought in a panic, quickening the pace. The teens were a few yards ahead of him. Again and again Arthur pleaded for them to give back the sign, but his efforts were in vain. No way were they returning this clown’s sign willingly. If the clown wanted his sign back, then he’d have to take it from them.

Down the sidewalk Arthur ran, pumping his aching legs as fast as he could. He couldn’t let them get away! More than once he almost tripped, but somehow, he managed to stay on his feet. The longer he ran, the more it seemed he’d never catch these speedy kids. It was like a tiring, terrible game of Tag, and Arthur was It. They were simply too fast for him. Between not being as young as he used to be and wearing shoes not at all fit for running, how in the world was he supposed to catch them?

“SLOW POKE!” one guy yelled, laughing at the insult.

The other boys chimed in with equally-mean remarks of their own.

“FREAK!”

“IDIOT!”

“Stop them!” Arthur shouted, feeling as invisible as a ghost. A few people strolling by cast him quick, curious glances, but nothing more.

Seeing the guys disappear into an alleyway, Arthur sped forward.

“HEY!” he yelled, nearly tumbling onto the grimy sidewalk. Wasting no time, he sprinted down the alley, relieved that he’d finally get his sign back. The group was standing beside a dumpster, sneering and making faces at the approaching clown.

“You fuckers!” Arthur panted.

So out of breath, Arthur didn’t notice the sign had disappeared. In the seconds it took for this to finally occur to him, it was too late. Out from behind the dumpster stepped the oldest teen, his face lit up in a satisfied grin. Up, up, up went the sign, right over poor Arthur’s head.

Then, with a sickening WHACK, down, down, down came the sign on Arthur's head. The boys cackled as the broken pieces fell to the ground. Even harder they laughed at the defenseless clown now at their feet.

“Come on, beat his ass up!” the oldest boy ordered.

Knowing what was coming, immediately Arthur shielded his head with his hand. The other he slipped between his legs, knowing one kick was all it took to cause serious damage down there. Having no chance of fighting off predators, all he could do was protect his head and privates as best he could.

“This guy’s weak!” Arthur heard the leader shout. “He can’t do nothing!” How many times those nasty kids kicked Arthur, he couldn’t say. Judging by the sharp pain radiating through his body, it felt like fifty. Though with how frail he was, even a few kicks or punches felt like a mountain of pain, pushing down upon him.

“Harder...HARDER!”

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard. Frantically he tried thinking of something happy. He imagined himself sitting cross-legged on his mother’s bed while the two of them watched their favorite TV program, The Murray Franklin Show; dancing in his living room as he let the music in his soul free and watching the smiling faces of kids as he sang “If You’re Happy and You Know It”, danced and made balloon animals for them.

Think of happy things, he thought, tears welling up in his eyes. Happy...happy...happy.

That was when he heard a voice.

Not a cold, cruel voice like so many in cold, cruel Gotham.

No, this voice banished Arthur’s fears instantly. The moment it reached his ears, he felt an unmistakable sense of comfort wash over him.

“Get away from him!”

Arthur’s eyes fluttered open. It took a moment for things to snap into focus. What he saw were the boys standing round him, staring in disappointment at the woman now a few feet away from them. Her mouth hung open in palpable shock.

“M-Mrs. Speck?” the boys shouted in unison. There was no masking the shock on their faces; it was as clear as the clouds in the sky.

“Is this what you boys do when you’re not in school?” she scolded. “Going around beating up on someone like it’s some kind of...of”—she let out a disgusted scowl—“joke?”

The boys said nothing. The oldest one merely stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, mumbling sulkily.

“And speaking of school,” the woman went on, staring sternly at the busted teens. “You should all be in Mr. Blackburn's class right now.” Her eyes fell on the bleeding clown, whose face was stained with tears. Arthur stared up, open-mouthed, wide-eyed, wondering if he’d somehow slipped into dreamland. "Though I guess math's just not as fun as beating up on a total stranger...is it?" She crossed her arms, saying, "Bet you weren't planning on coming to my class, either, huh?"

Arthur's eyes widened. This was the woman from the subway! She was even wearing the same pink turtleneck! A week had passed since that night. Since then, more than once she’d slid into Arthur’s mind. And now here she was, coming to his aid like an angel from the heavens. Too tired and dazed to lift his head off the ground, he laid there, staring at nothing else but her. She was scolding the teens, but Arthur couldn’t help taking in the sight of her.

She was small and skinny, like himself. Seeing her more close up, he couldn’t say for sure how old she was, but he guessed she was somewhere in her twenties. In this dark and dingy alley, her flamingo-pink turtleneck seemed to shine with color. If this was all only a dream, thought Arthur, he only hoped he could hold onto the image of this woman, whoever she was. He didn't want this precious picture to fade.

“I hope you know your parents will be hearing about this,” she said firmly. “This is beyond unacceptable! And don’t think Principal Parker won’t be giving you all a proper punishment. This kind of behavior is disgusting!"

Saying nothing, the group left. A few muttered sulkily, but most kept quiet. The oldest boy threw the woman a peeved look, but didn't dare say anything.

A moment later, the boys were gone.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but coughed painfully. He groaned softly, laying his head back on the wet pavement. Still he hadn’t taken his eyes off the woman. How had he managed to bump into this same woman, one whose name he didn’t even know? After wishing he could see her again, it seemed, somehow, amazingly, his wish had come true.

“I-I’m sorry,” she said quietly, rushing to his side. She locked eyes with the clown, shaking her head empathetically. “I’m a teacher at Hillridge High. Those...those boys are always getting into trouble at school."

“You,” Arthur uttered softly. “You saved my life.”

The woman’s gaze softened. Staring long and hard at this clown, it took only a moment for the light bulb to go off in her head.

“The...the subway,” she whispered in realization. “You’re the clown I saw on the subway last week.”

Arthur nodded, wincing slightly. His entire body was a throbbing, tender mess.

“You saved my life,” she told him, her quiet voice mirroring his own. For a moment, it looked like she might tear up.

“We saved each other’s,” Arthur commented, offering her a small, tired smile.

She returned his smile with one of her own.

“Guess we did.”

There was a brief pause.

“You’re hurt,” she said, looking Arthur over with palpable concern. “We have to get you to a doctor. You might need—”

“T-that’s okay,” Arthur answered softly, struggling to sit up. With the woman’s help, he managed. “I...I’ll be okay.”

“But you’re bleeding!” she cried, her eyes flickering to the blood at his feet. “You really should see a—”

“Nothing’s broken,” Arthur assured her. His face scrunched up in discomfort. Yes, he was bleeding, but it wasn’t anything a wet facecloth at home couldn’t fix. If he could just make it back home, he could clean himself up in the bathroom and rest on the couch.

The woman bit her lip. “Are you sure?” she said finally, eyeing Arthur’s bloody lips with a frown. “I’d be more than happy to drive you to a hospital.”

Arthur smiled in appreciation.

“That’s sweet of you,” he said kindly, feeling suddenly shy. He wasn’t used to anyone showing him such kindness. It was such a strange, but absolutely wonderful feeling. Despite his aching body, never had he felt so...happy. “B-but I’ll be okay...really.”

For a minute, neither Arthur nor the woman said a word. From outside the alley, the noise of honking cars, arguing pedestrians and barking dogs was all that could be heard.

Finally, the woman asked him, “What’s your name?”

“Arthur,” he answered, sounding like an innocent boy meeting a pretty girl. “Arthur Fleck.” Always in the mood for a joke, he put on his most clownish smile and added, “Well, actually right now I’m Carnival the Clown!” He squeezed his squeaky clown noise. It sounded like the horn on a child’s bicycle. “What’s your name?”

She smiled briefly. “Aubrey.”

Aubrey. Arthur replayed the sound of her name in his thoughts, loving the way her voice sounded. It was soft, like birds chirping early in the morning on a spring day. It was comforting, like the world’s most comforting blanket, one that’s fleecy and wraps around you on a cold winter’s night. He’d heard many sounds in the many years he’d been a resident of Gotham: the sound of one’s fist punching him in the face, the cruel laughter of those who showed him no empathy, fighting in the streets late at night...the list went on.

What he heard in Aubrey’s voice was that of an angels’ voice. No, she might not have had fluffy wings white as snow, or a shiny yellow halo hovering over her head...but what Arthur saw when he looked at this woman was an angel.

Just as quickly she was frowning again.

“You're in pain,” she said, focusing on his face. Arthur might have said he was fine, but his grimaces told her otherwise.

He sighed wearily. “It was just a bunch of kids,” he said, sounding visibly guilty. “I should have left it alone. Maybe if I hadn’t chased them for my sign, they wouldn’t have—”

“Wait,” she interrupted. “They stole that sign from you?”

Arthur shrugged silently.

“It’s completely their fault, Arthur!” she argued, laying a hand on his arm. “Don’t go and blame yourself for what they did. Those boys have gotten suspended more than once. Not surprised they went and did something like this but...but no way is this your fault. Okay?”

Arthur nodded meekly.

She’s beautiful, thought Arthur, unable to take his eyes off her. Not just physically, he thought, but beautiful for what she’d done: saving his life. Unlike the countless people who passed him everyday, indifferent to his endless suffering, she had noticed him. More than that, she cared. She could have easily ignored the suffering clown in the alley, but no, she’d noticed...and done something to help him. She didn’t have to help me, but...but she did.

“I-I’m kind of embarrassed,” Arthur said in a low voice. He dropped his head, his red lips sinking into a large frown. “I’m a grown man, I...I should have been able to fight back or...or—”

“But it was five against one!” Aubrey exclaimed. “They had you outnumbered. And it’s not like we’ve all got black belts and can defend ourselves.”

After a moment of unbroken silence, Arthur was back on his feet.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he told Aubrey kindly. “You didn’t have to do what you did. Those guys could have come at you, but you...you still helped me.” He fixed his sea-green eyes on her, his expression morphing into one of deep curiosity. “Why?”

“You needed help,” was her simple answer. “Not enough people in this shitty town help each other. Most only care about themselves.”

The words not you fluttered through Arthur’s mind. You stopped to help me. Again the word angel popped to mind. Never could he have expected to meet an angel when he set out that morning for work. Having met only uncaring devils, such an enormous, but wonderful surprise it was to have had an angel come to his rescue.

“Well, thank you again,” said Arthur, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. “I...I’ll just go wait for a bus to take me—”

“If you, I mean,” Aubrey started awkwardly. “If you want, I”—she ran her fingers through her long black hair. Arthur watched her, saying nothing. He wasn’t an expert in many things, but he could tell when one was feeling nervous. “I could drive you home, if...I mean, if you—”

“Oh, no...no, I couldn’t have you do that,” Arthur said. “You’ve already done enough. And...and anyway, I...I have to fix Kenny’s sign and get it back to—”

“Don’t worry about the sign,” she said, helping him pick up the broken pieces. “I can help you fix that. I’m sure with some glue and tape, we can at least put it back together."

“Really, you don’t have to,” Arthur quietly argued. “You’ve already done so much for me. I’m sure I can”—He grimaced as a bolt of pain ripped like knives through his shoulder.

“Where do you live?” asked Aubrey, holding him steady.

“Winslow Avenue,” Arthur said, gritting his teeth together. He was trying not to let on how much he was hurting, but there was no hiding his pain. “Near Robinson Park...”

“That’s perfect, then,” said Aubrey. “I’m on Winslow Street, too. I can drive you home.”

Again Arthur said under his breath, “You don’t have to do that.”

Aubrey’s cheeks flushed cherry red. “It’s okay. I...I want to."

She can’t be real, thought Arthur in denial. This can’t be real. I’m just dreaming. I’m gonna wake up and this’ll all be gone.

Aubrey’s car was parked on the opposite side of the street. After helping him across the street, Arthur found himself seated in the front seat of her small car. Dangling from the rear-view mirror was an air freshener. He inhaled, catching the definite scent of cinnamon. He wondered if she liked baking. As she settled in beside him and started the car, he suddenly felt shyer than ever. Here he was, a stranger, sitting in the car of a woman who’d shown him more kindness than anyone. He didn’t know what to say or do. He just wasn’t used to people showing him even an ounce of compassion.

What if she's not a smoker? he thought nervously. Being the heavy smoker he was, Arthur couldn't shake the smell of smoke from his clothes. What if the smell bothered her? What if she kicked him to the curb, telling him to find his own way home? He wouldn't have blamed her if she did it. He wished he had some cologne on him, something that could help mask the smell of nicotine.

Much to his surprise, she said nothing. Perhaps the smell didn't bother her? Or maybe, he thought, staring at her like a little boy with with an unshakeable crush, she's just a nice person.

When she drove off down the street toward Winslow Avenue, again Arthur told himself this was all a dream. A wonderful, too-good-to-be-true dream.

But even so, if it all truly was a dream, it was the most beautiful dream he’d ever had. And however much longer it lasted, he wanted to enjoy every single second of it.

Though he was in pain, he wasn’t thinking about this. He closed his eyes, letting a sleepy, relaxed smile spread across his face. For the first time in his life, Arthur Fleck felt something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

He felt safe.

[burdensword]

          ♛  ///  004. BURDEN OF A SELFLESS KING. There lived a King who was well-known throughout the Dark Ages as Britain’s noble King. Her reign inspired the Code of Chivalry among her people despite being of a fictional legend. What lead to that chivalry were her Knights of the Round Table who helped to guide her sword of victory among an army. Enemies were thwarted off, she claimed prosperity and eased civil unrest for a short time. It was praised throughout history even at the downfall where Mordred delivered a grave wound. She met her last minutes reflecting back onto a former life she carried before obtaining the crown. Of course, no one truly digs deeper into what truly lied inside that mind of hers as she stood up on Camelot’s tower. Those loyal to King Arturia Pendragon witnessed a brilliant but wrathful King who acted upon harsh decisions. None carried emotions nor understanding of her fellow comrades. She turned everything and everyone away while reigning her beloved Britain. What was this burden she carried and what lead to these events? It became a selfless whim, a desire spurred ever since Arturia was given birth.

          A cruel realization is Arturia was only conceived for the sake of producing a dire heir as Uther Pendragon’s time was cut short through illness. Yet this birth also gave hope into Uther for his country’s future to have Arturia fulfill the prophecy delivered by Merlin. He had Arturia be raised, from the moment she could stand on her two feet, as a man and began her training as a Knight by Sir Ector and Sir Kay. Throughout their time venturing out the homeland, Arturia personally witnessed the civil unrest manifesting her people. What she saw only further fuels her determination to continue her knight training, later to pull out Excalibur from the Stone. But that itself wasn’t the only thing to convince her into continuing this path of self-destruction. Within her heart, Arturia knew she could do more to help her people. No matter what it took, nothing else ever hit her mind even when offered a chance to live freely. She chose a path of strife than a simple maiden fairy tale where she could marry a man and produce children. No other life was ever introduced to Arturia the moment she was given to Sir Ector by birth and discovering the truth that he wasn’t her true father. Those feelings hardened her resolve to give change to her country as she looked through the future without asking for anything in her life. Despite this being “her whim”, it focused on her country’s happiness in exchange for her own. Of course, being a King doesn’t mean she cannot be happy herself correct? Sadly that wasn’t the case for Arturia Pendragon who had been given the constant impression of what kind of King was needed in Britain.

          A King must be strong, fearless of death itself, brave, rational, and above all lead his people without letting EMOTIONS get in the way to cloud her judgment. These were the ideals manifested within a young Arturia as she trained to become a knight until the prophecy would be fulfilled. At the moment of her accomplishment, before her hand touched the hilt of Excalibur from the Stone, Merlin arrived to give this fair warning. “The moment your hand touches this sword’s hilt, you shall no longer be human.” Regardless of the warning, Arturia’s selfless nature, her determination to bring an end to this civil unrest and other problems plaguing her beloved country, acted as her courage. She willingly accepted the responsibilities of sacrificing her very humanity, her WAY OF LIFE, for the sake of her country. Arturia understood everything no matter how heavy the task was alone. She accepted this burden that weighed her shoulders, carried mankind’s cries within Excalibur, and lead her country to a new horizon. Small as that prosperity lasted during her rule, King Arturia believed what she fought for and sacrificed would be enough to bring happiness to her people. Sir Bedivere testifies the simple hearings of how her people lived, down to giving birth to twin children, is enough to show a different side of King Arturia. She displayed true happiness from hearing her people carry out their lives, smiled for THEM rather than asking for anything in return. Whatever Arturia received in battle, it’d be further means to make her people live a prosperous life.

          Some would call this way of living cruel, despairing, and quite lonely which turned out to be a bitter truth. Arturia’s selfless nature and burden ended up molding her very existence to become this supposed “perfect king” before others. The Knights of the Round Table had their mixed feelings of how their King conducted her judgment for most battle tactics. Some instances were when Arturia put the sake of winning and saving a thousand lives over letting villages burn to defeat the enemy. She had her moments to depict this wrathful side where she won’t allow the enemy an upperhand, understanding when sacrificing lives were necessary. Excalibur, some of her comrades, did condemn her and spoken how heartless and emotionless their King was. A cruel person who didn’t think about saving lives and willing to destroy villages for overpowering their enemy. Sir Bedivere had been her loyal caretaker and right-hand man who always assured her the necessary means to protecting her people. Even she found it difficult to consider herself as being worthy as their King silently.

          This helps to spark the cruelty behind of what Arturia gave up. She was alone in those times of ruling, always felt isolated by her comrades within the Round Table due to their eyes witnessing a cold King. Never had she grown to comprehend them on a personal level nor spend too much free time to converse with them all. Their connections were out of devotion to serving their King and following his commands. All Arturia could ever hope to serve as connecting with her Knights of the Round Table is speaking privately to some. Most of the Knights still viewed no such changes but only her right-hand man managed to witness the truth behind Arturia Pendragon. Due to their long history together, Bedivere understands and sympathizes with what she fought for as just. He believed in his King’s reign, following through every decision she made without fail. Only his doubt for being accepted as an “ordinary man” are what halted Sir Bedivere from realizing his true potential. Yet their moments together are events that King Arturia had never been offered a chance to say she enjoyed them. Those small opportunities to speak with her Knights of the Round Table were appreciated but never developed into a stronger relationship, to even properly thank them for their hard work. Lack of comprehending her comrades were part of the factors that contributed to the downfall of Camelot, one she truly grieves for upon realizing this truth.

          Her despair, a road to self-destruction, were also part of this burden Arturia carried as a King. How saddening is it to be falling into despair without even realizing it from the start. It was necessary for another party to intervene, calling out the King that she had an apparently “beautiful despair”. She never saw her path of struggle and turmoil as something that brought her despair; this brought HER PEOPLE HAPPINESS. The fact that Arturia hadn’t ever thought of how everything made her specifically feel is enough depth to show her selfless nature. She isn’t freed of sin as a King but a human life was literally dwelling in despair. As a woman, Arturia lived in nothing but despair. Considering she sacrificed her very humanity and her life as a maiden, it speaks volumes of how cruel it must be for a country to expect an emotionless and strong King could ever come from someone so young and fragile. Though it never stopped Arturia from grasping Excalibur on that day and willingly traded her womanhood for the sake of her people’s smiles. Instead of seeking out a normal life as a maiden who could have been venturing in the innocent joys back then, finding love and having children who she can look after ... she was met with the turmoil as a King who later kills the son she never acknowledged. 

          How Arturia feels after her history varies among the Holy Grail Wars she participates in. At the Fourth Holy Grail War, her feelings prior to encountering Iskandar the Great were the same. She sought to continue this burden, participates in the war for the sake of wishing upon a miracle to bring her country salvation. In other words, Arturia still feels responsible for Britain’s downfall and desires to bring them prosperity in spite of what occurred. She doesn’t pursuit the grail to grant a miracle that benefits her but rather granting her people a second chance. Her reasons for fighting are still selfless and later ends with a huge cry for failing as her people’s King. The Fifth Holy Grail War, however, changes this perception by her Master Shirou who shows her how to live as a human. The struggles to fight for her country began to lower though it wouldn’t be enough to convince Arturia into staying behind for her sake. Arturia ends up passing on to finally decease from this burden, her soul entering Avalon so she may rest after a long harsh battle to later have Shirou reunite with her for eternity. Chaldea’s setting still recalls all these emotions though sticks with lending Excalibur but for the sake of other people. Instead of fighting for the past, Arturia chooses to fight for the future as the prophecy foretold by her country that Excalibur and King Arturia would one day return to this world to save the country.

[magdaleneswift-blog]

THE CHURCH EXPLAINS TRANSGENDER AND HOMOSEXUALITY TO THE WORLD

Acts 8:26-40

From the English Standard Version (ESV) Philip and the Ethiopian Eunuch:

Now an angel of the Lord said to Philip, “Rise and go toward the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza.” This is a desert place. And he rose and went. And there was an Ethiopian, a eunuch, a court official of Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, who was in charge of all her treasure. He had come to Jerusalem to worship  and was returning, seated in his chariot, and he was reading the prophet Isaiah.  And the Spirit said to Philip, “Go over and join this chariot.”  So Philip ran to him and heard him reading Isaiah the prophet and asked, “Do you understand what you are reading?”  And he said, “How can I, unless someone guides me?” And he invited Philip to come up and sit with him.  Now the passage of the Scripture that he was reading was this: “Like a sheep he was led to the slaughter    and like a lamb before its shearer is silent,    so he opens not his mouth.    In his humiliation justice was denied him.    Who can describe his generation?    For his life is taken away from the earth.” And the eunuch said to Philip, “About whom, I ask you, does the prophet say this, about himself or about someone else?”  Then Philip opened his mouth, and beginning with this Scripture he told him the good news about Jesus.  And as they were going along the road they came to some water, and the eunuch said, “See, here is water! What prevents me from being baptized?” And he commanded the chariot to stop, and they both went down into the water, Philip and the eunuch, and he baptized him. And when they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord carried Philip away, and the eunuch saw him no more, and went on his way rejoicing.  But Philip found himself at Azotus, and as he passed through he preached the gospel to all the towns until he came to Caesarea.

Under Hebrew law, a eunuch would not have been allowed to worship at the temple.  He would never have made it past the immersion baths and would have been sent to join the women and children.  They would have been as close to trans-gender as medical science was possible at the time.

What is God’s order to the Church?  Run after him.  As soon as the eunuch understands that he has the potential for full participation and welcome into the community he jumps for joy at the first chance he gets to be baptized.

The Bible says absolutely nothing about lesbianism.  In all primates, it is a survival trait to avoid being beaten up by the inferior males.  The inferior males hit.  The Old Testament has about 1 sentence on gay men.

So I would say I don’t understand the confusion.  The Church’s position on transgender and homosexuality is quite clear and joyfully fully welcomes them into the Church under direct orders from God.

Vatican Secretariat of State Palazzo Apostolico Vaticano Citta del Vaticano 00120

RE: Civil Unions – Tool to HELP families

Dear Catholic Politicians:

I created the first version of this letter over four years ago, when at mass, the church handed out a letter from the bishop instructing us to write our state senators concerning civil unions.  I had wanted to write such a letter for a long time and decided that since I was ordered it was a good time to do so.  I am updating this letter to correspond to the latest debate.

I am totally disgusted that House Speaker John Boehner seems to be twisting conditions as an opportunity to attack the President.  I see it is a positive that the President has elected not to waste tax dollars defending a law of questionable constitutionality and practicality.  From what I have seen, the President didn't initiate this debate; the civil union proponents did.  I'm sure the economy had a great deal to do with their timing, as they are asking for the right to bond together and take care of each other for health care and other costs rather than stick the American taxpayer with the bill.

From his rhetoric, he no doubt would have railed against President Lincoln for not fighting for slavery and the 'right' of slave owners to chase and reclaim their 'property' as far as the Canadian border.  Those also were laws of Congress.  It also was the law for women to be the property of their husbands and to not have the vote.  I'm sure he would be happy to see us return to the original Constitution for those laws as well.

I am also disgusted by how the subject of sex turns off all semblance of rational thought.  It amazes me how many people equate the law with right and wrong.  The law is and always has been primarily about the regulation of property and personal injury.  Right and wrong is religion.  I believe it is necessary to keep the two separate as a check and balance on each other. Religion without law results in Inquisitions.  Law without religion results in Nazi Germany.  

The second highest order of Christianity is to take care of each other.  It is a natural consequence of the first.  It is said that the whole purpose of society is to protect children and the infirm.  I believe we need as many tools as possible to take care of each other and people committing/ contracting to take care of each other and should be encouraged in as many ways as possible, sexual orientation is irrelevant.

I am also annoyed that the Catholic Church, which has over a millennia of experience in helping people of the same gender set up communities (with & without children) care for each other, and transfer property amongst them hasn't taken a leadership position in assisting with advice and practical solutions.

A traditional marriage between a man and woman totally committed to raising their children and caring for each other until death is and always will be the best way to raise children and ensure their own health.  I’m sure every minister or justice would willingly sell their souls to the devil if they could ensure their ceremony would cause that to happen. (I for one do not believe that the magic of a marriage ceremony will guarantee responsible behavior.) Nothing any one individual can do (short of armament) has the potential to cause as much damage as a thoughtless and unprotected sex act.  That is why the whole weight of the law and influence of religion is brought to bear in favor of marriage.

Now life happens and it is time for Plan B. How many children today live with both parents?  How many children have health insurance?  I think of many common possibilities such as the programs “Full House” or “Kate and Alley” "My 3 Sons' "Family Affair" where related and non-related adults team up to care for children.  How many people in these situations would welcome the opportunity to pick up the other adult on a company health policy? How many older residents would like to form an economic union to share expenses and provide for an aging friend?

You as lawmakers are supposed to have access to demographic information and have the legal background to determine the feasibility of such laws.  How well have the civil union laws in other states been working?  What have been the best benefits and worst abuses in those cases?  How do you minimize the abuses and increase the benefits?

As for homosexuality, all evidence seems to show it is a biological condition.  Growing up around cattle, I have come to think that all herd animals have homosexual tendencies.  It probably is necessary to living in groups.

I don’t believe in punishing people for something that ‘God’ did to them and tends more to be a difficulty for them than others.  I’m sure the Surgeon General would agree with all religious people that the best way to prevent the spread of STD’s is a lifelong monogamous relationship.  This would indicate that the best way to protect us all would be to encourage homosexuals to get ‘married’.

I wonder how many of those talking about the ‘good old days’ of marriage realize that until about 100 years ago a wife was considered the property of her husband.  Nothing reminds me of that as much as researching land deeds in the courthouse and seeing “To have and to hold” on nearly all of them.  Legally, marriage is an economic union.  It was not and still is not that uncommon for people to marry just to get a ticket to the U.S. (See Phi Kappa Phi - National Forum Spring 2015 & Summer 1995 "The Way We Weren't" - many variations on family through the centuries.)

As part of the non-survey survey on the family that the vatican did recently, I started reading the Bible cover to cover to find out exactly what it does say about family.  I am up to Proverbs.  So far it seems to be saying - You are lucky to survive.  I have also found not one word against either Lesbians or pedophiles. (Male homosexuals do have more potential for health problems.)

The previous entity in possession of the vatican seemed to have no problem with pedophiles "Women who want to be priests are worse than pedophiles."  I see no reason they should object to lesbians on the same grounds.

Of course after that statement, I believe they have the moral and theological credibility of child pornographers.